“A very wise decision, if I may say,” affirmed Bazalgette, happy to have any residual blame deflected.
Satisfied, his imperial majesty slumped back in his throne. All in all, it had been a good morning’s work. He would suspend his court duties for the rest of the day. Seeing that the matter was settled, the Lord High Alchemist begged leave to return to his experiments.
“Yes, you may go with our thanks,” Rudolf told him, then looked around at his minister. “Well? What is it, Knoblauch?”
The minister held up the much-consulted paper. “What is Your Majesty’s pleasure?”
“We are not pleased in the least, Knoblauch,” replied Rudolf, rising from his throne. “We are not pleased at all.” Rudolf took two thoughtful steps down to the floor and started for the door.
“Magistrate Richter requires an answer, Your Highness. What shall I tell him?”
“You may tell Magistrate Richter that the rogue Burleigh can stay in prison until he rots.”
CHAPTER 7
In Which the Tump Is Not to Be Trusted
Wilhelmina stepped quickly off the rutted lane and into the shadows. She had marked the place where the road dipped below the crest of a long, gradual rise and was momentarily lost from view. When she reached the low spot, she made her move, jumping across the water-filled ditch, worming her way through a bramble-and-hawthorn hedge and into the barley field on the other side.
The feeling that she was being followed had been growing with every passing mile since leaving the Fox and Geese Inn that morning; and now, almost within sight of Black Mixen Tump, the impression had grown too strong to ignore. Once inside the sheltering hedgerow, she found a place where she could watch the road without being seen and settled back to see whether her fears would be confirmed.
The day was fresh and dry, if a bit blustery, and she had time to kill—unfortunately, the ley portal atop the tump would not be active until sunset, and that was a few hours away. If she could just stay out of sight until then, Wilhelmina figured she had an even chance of getting back to where she should be. With that goal in mind, she found a place to hunker down and think. What she thought, chiefly, was that dimensional volatility was a real nightmare. Not only was it making everyday reality unpredictable and untrustworthy, it also made tried-and-true ley lines undependable. With every failed attempt, hope for a quick reunion with Kit and Cass dwindled that much more.
Since leaving Damascus, what should have been a straightforward hop-skip-and-jump to Prague had become a series of wildly random translocations. Each leap had become a leap into the unknown. Even though she did not seem to be getting any closer to Prague, at least her latest destination was a place she knew. At the moment, that was the only thing between her and despair.
All this would be so-o-o much easier with a Shadow Lamp, she thought. This is just like the bad old days. Funny how one became so quickly dependent on that clever little device. Navigating ley lines and times without it was a real chore; it was like trying to hit a bull’s-eye on a moving target hidden among a multitude of near-identical targets . . . blindfolded.
She was still lamenting the demise of the gizmo when she heard voices out on the track. Staying low, she crept to the edge of her leafy bower and looked out. Three figures had just come over the rise and begun their ascent. One glance told her all she needed to know: the long black coats and threatening aspect were a dead giveaway; and if any doubt remained, the presence of the preternaturally large slope-shouldered cat swept it clean away. Burley Men! muttered Wilhelmina to herself. Well, that’s just bloody fantastic.
Now what? Avoiding her pursuers on the road would be child’s play next to evading them on the hilltop, where they would be watching for her and waiting to pounce. The top of Black Mixen was flat as a table and almost as bare. Save for three great oak trees, there was no cover, no place to hide. As soon as she showed herself, she was dead meat—literally, if they let Baby off the chain.
Carefully, she withdrew into the shadows once more and found a place in a clump of bracken to lie low until the trio of thugs had passed. Whatever she did, she reckoned it would be more easily done if she kept the Burley Men in front of her; if nothing else, she would not have to be always looking over her shoulder. At least there seemed to be only three of them. Minutes passed, and she heard the voices grow louder by degrees. She flattened herself to the ground, and when they stopped dead even with her position, she froze entirely, hardly daring to breathe. Had the cave cat caught her scent? Straining her ears, she could hear them disputing among themselves but could not make out anything they said. After a tense interval, the trio and their attack lion moved on. The voices diminished slowly, and when Mina could hear them no more, she eased up and stole back to the edge of the road.
She saw only two Burley Men with the young lion . . . What had become of the third? Making an about-face, she scanned the road behind her and caught a glimpse of black coat just as the fellow disappeared from view over the top of the hill—most likely to prevent her doubling back and returning to the town.
This just gets better and better, Mina huffed. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about . . . She let the thought go and moved back into the barley field, then set off along the hedgerow, pursuing a roughly circular course she hoped would bring her to the tump from the back door, so to speak. The country lane passed by the southern side of the great earthwork; she would approach from the northwest and hope to evade detection.
Working along the hedgerows, she made good progress and, despite her circuitous route, arrived at the ancient mound as the sun touched the tree line to the west. She paused at one of the little clear-running brooks that seamed the Cotswold valleys, unslung her rucksack, and ate a handful of nuts and a bit of dried beef and drank her fill from the stream. Then, removing her boots and socks, she dangled her feet in the water and sat back to keep an eye on the dark hill looming before her.
Black Mixen Tump breathed an air as old as the woods themselves. Certainly, it was an intrusive, almost alien presence in the peaceful, bucolic countryside. The locals held it in superstitious awe, and the peculiar conical mound attracted all sorts of weird and wonderful tales: clocks stopping or running backward in its proximity, animals refusing to graze on its smooth, grassy slopes, dreams disturbed, inexplicable storms, abnormal vapours, people disappearing.
This last one Wilhelmina knew to be true. No mere old wives’ tale, it happened. In fact, she was counting on it happening again shortly. She dearly hoped it would happen without complications or company. Ley travel had become difficult enough without interference from Burley Men. In her quest to get to Prague and join Kit and Cass, failure was not an option. She would keep going because she had to keep going. The fate of all she held dear depended on it.
These thoughts occupied her until the sun began to sink toward the horizon. From the fields around her she could hear sheep calling and a dog barking. Some farmer was taking in his flock for the night. It was time to be about her business. Pulling on her socks and boots, she set off for the tump.
Moving with all the stealth at her command, Mina started up the steep-angled slope, climbing slowly but steadily. Halfway there she met the little trail that spiralled around from the southerly approach. She crossed it and carried on, stopping only when she came within reach of the summit. Before scrambling up onto the top, she paused and, lying on her stomach, squirmed the rest of the way to peer cautiously over the edge. The flat plateau opened before her. Across the way, lit by the last of the daylight, stood the gnarly knot-bound eminences: the Three Trolls. She gazed at the ancient oaks for a long moment but did not detect any sign of movement around the trunks or among the tangled roots. She even scanned the thick-grown branches, but if any Burley Men were there, they had hidden themselves well.
Perhaps they’ve gone, she thought. Good riddance. But she could not be certain that they, like her, were not merely lurking below the rim of the tump, keeping themselves out of sight. That possibility was confirmed
a short time later when, as the first stars appeared in the eastern sky, the first Burley Man emerged. She saw him move out from behind the first Troll on the right and slowly make his way across the hilltop. A moment later Mina felt the familiar prickling on her skin that signalled a live ley line. The portal was open and the Burley Men were ready.
She watched as the thug crossed to the centre of the mound, where he paused a moment, then continued at an angle to her and proceeded to work his way slowly around the outer rim of the plateau. At first she could not make out what he was doing, but as she watched him making a careful circuit of the hilltop, his purpose became clear: he was looking for her!
The Burley Men obviously expected her to appear any moment and were checking the perimeter to see from which direction she might arrive. Just my luck, she thought darkly. Still, it would take him a few minutes to make his way around to her. Glancing down the slope behind her, she calculated her position. She would not be able to reach the bottom of the tump before he saw her, but she might reach the trail that spiralled up from the base. If she slid back down the hillside, she might hide in the slight hollow formed by the path as it cut into the side of the mound. In the dim light he might not be able to see her.
It was her only chance. She gave a last look at the Burley Man, and her heart missed a beat. The rogue had stopped, made an about-face, reversed course, and was now headed straight for her.
Think! Think! Think! she told herself. There was no time to slide down the hill, no time to run, no time for anything. She was caught on the exposed side of the hill a scant few feet from the top. He would see her the moment he looked over the edge.
Risking a last furtive glimpse over the edge of the hilltop, Mina marked the Burley Man’s stride and distance and then sank back, pressing herself flat against the side of the hill. She held her breath and counted off the paces in her head. Presently, she heard the swish and thump of heavy boots in the long grass. Thump . . . swish . . . thump . . . swish . . .
The steps paused. The brute was standing directly above her.
In one swift motion, Mina propelled herself straight up over the edge and grabbed the man’s ankle. Already unbalanced, the thug pitched forward. Before he could brace himself, her hand snaked out and snagged his belt. Wilhelmina pulled with all her might. Every last ounce of her strength went into the effort, and the Burley Man was launched into space.
She saw his arms pinwheeling as his body sailed over her and plunged down the side of the hill. His startled yelp was cut short when he hit the ground some distance below and, unable to prevent his descent, began to roll.
Mina did not wait to see what happened next. She scrambled up and over the edge and, without an instant’s hesitation, streaked off toward the centre of the mound—marked by a single flat stone—and jumped on it. Standing erect, she raised a fist into the air as if claiming Black Mixen for queen and country. Across the dish-flat plain of the tump she heard a shout. Out from behind the right-most troll appeared the second Burley Man, wielding a dark object in one hand and the end of Baby’s chain in the other.
Shouting, he bulled across the distance toward her. “You there!” he cried. “Stop that! Put your hands down!”
Wilhelmina stood her ground.
“Stop that!” he cried, waving the object in his hands. “I’m warning you!”
Mina sensed a thickening in the air and felt static electricity raise the small hairs on her arms and neck. “Come on, come on, come on . . . ,” she muttered through clenched teeth.
The Burley Man barrelled closer. “I’ve got a pistol,” he shouted. “I’ll shoot you dead.”
A hissing sound filled Mina’s ears and a cool breeze gusted from nowhere. The rogue sped closer, the cave cat straining on its steel leash. “For the last time, lady—put your hands down . . . now!”
Mina stood with her arm raised high, refusing to budge. A thin, transparent blue shimmer formed in the air above her head. “Come on, come on, come on,” she chanted. “Come on, come on, come on . . .”
The wind strengthened, rushing down from unseen heights. The Burley Man raced nearer. “I’ll shoot you dead, I will!” he cried.
Statue still, Wilhelmina remained planted on the stone.
“Right!” shouted the rogue. “That’s it for you!”
He stopped in his tracks and raised the pistol—an old flintlock contraption with a long barrel and stubby handle. Extending his arm, he lowered the weapon and took aim.
Mina squeezed her eyes shut.
The wild wind shrieked and the air around her sizzled. She heard a metallic click as the Burley Man pulled the trigger, but the powder failed to ignite. He lowered the pistol to cock it again but needed two hands. Baby, straining at the end of the chain, pulled free from his grasp and bounded toward her.
“Hurry up!” Wilhelmina screamed, the wind tearing the words from her mouth. Her limbs grew inexplicably heavy, as if muscles, bones, and sinews had suddenly turned to lead. She struggled to stay upright under the crush.
The Burley Man cocked the pistol and aimed it again. In the same instant, the cave cat gathered its feet and sprang, its lithe, muscular body soaring effortlessly into the air. Mina had a glimpse of fangs and claws sweeping toward her. There was a pop and a fearsome crackle as the pistol charge exploded. She saw smoke and fire spew from the muzzle and heard the crack of thunder.
Everything grew misty and indistinct. The Burley Man appeared to stretch and diminish simultaneously. Light filled her vision, and then everything disappeared in a fizzling pop.
Wilhelmina experienced a sensation of falling; she gulped air, but there was none. For one terrifying instant she thought she would suffocate. Her toes stretched for a foothold in the void. And then the ground came up beneath her feet, and she landed with a jolt that travelled up through her bones from ankles to hips. Both sight and sound returned all at once.
The wind roared, battering her exposed flesh with an icy blast. Her skin was peppered with pellets of ice, and she threw her hands before her face to wait out the incipient storm. But the gale did not cease. It seemed to go on and on, and when Mina peered out from between her fingers, she found herself in a place she had never been before.
All around her the same featureless landscape met her gaze: a blank white wilderness of snow and ice without vegetation or habitation of any kind. The jagged peaks of barren mountains rose in the distance like the blade of a serrated knife. A savage wind sent wandering ropes of snow snaking across a plain of solid ice.
She was freezing cold.
PART TWO
Of Crime and Punishment
CHAPTER 8
In Which Sleep Is Overrated
In Hashimoto, Japan, three school buses containing sixty-seven schoolchildren, their teachers, classroom aides, and bus drivers disappeared on a field trip to Kozuki Park Nature Reserve. The buses, operated by the Wakayam Prefecture Educational Services Co-operative, left the school at 9:30 a.m. on what had become an annual outing. So far as is known, the three vehicles were last seen by several passing motorists on Highway 24 only minutes after leaving the school.
The nine-kilometre trip should have taken no more than twenty minutes. Yet when the school party did not arrive at the designated time, park rangers called the school to enquire whether there had been a change of schedule; they were informed that the children had departed as planned. Fearing an accident, police were called in and a search rapidly mounted. When the first pass failed to locate the three buses, helicopters and additional patrol cars were deployed, along with dog handlers. The entire region was painstakingly combed. The entire Wakayama and Gojo prefectures were put on alert, and the search quickly spread outward into adjoining provinces.
No sign of the buses or their occupants was found, nor was any contact made between those missing and parents or school officials. Their disappearance was troubling—all the more so since, as Principal Kamito Kiyanaka pointed out, “All teachers carried cell phones, and most of the students too. If th
ere had been any difficulty, someone would have received a call or text. There would have been multiple calls for help. But we have received no communication at all.”
Yet, on a rice farm near Nara-Ken, Japan, three school buses appeared mired up to their wheel-wells in the middle of a rice paddy. The vehicles and their occupants—a number of young children, all dressed in the same peculiar costume, and what appeared to be their adult guardians—were discovered midmorning by field hands arriving for work. The strangers were in a state of extreme confusion and hysteria. Consequently, officials were unable to arrive at a coherent account of what had happened.
No one was able to explain precisely how the large blue vehicles came to be in the paddy field, as the nearest road—an unpaved market track some distance to the north—was unsuitable for motorised vehicles. The mystery was compounded by the fact that, while the strangers appeared to be Japanese, their speech was not readily intelligible to the local, mostly rural population. Linguistic experts posit that the strangers speak an unknown variant of the Shikoku dialect.
Doctors, nurses, and staff administrators beginning their morning shift at the Georgetown Hospital were stunned and alarmed to find that the modern two-story brick-and-glass 450-bed medical facility had been replaced by a single-story clapboard building. Prompt investigation revealed that each of the 150 beds was occupied by a wounded serviceman, most of them either US Air Force or Navy. The patients, many of them officers, maintained that they had received their injuries during ongoing military actions in the Northern Pacific Theatre of Operations. Investigations continue amidst tremendous media attention, but no explanation to date has been offered.
In a somewhat related incident, five TBM Avenger aircraft landed at Up-Park Camp airfield outside Kingston, Jamaica. The planes and their crew were last seen leaving the Naval Air Station at Fort Lauderdale, Florida, for a training mission in low-level bombing. The pilots and their instructor had been in radio contact with the control tower, expressing disorientation and poor visibility, although weather conditions were reported as average for the season. All contact ceased as of 4:00 p.m., and Flight 19 was not heard from again. A thorough and exhaustive search by both surface vessels and aircraft tracing the flight path turned up no wreckage, and no bodies were ever recovered. The official explanation was that the planes were lost due to adverse weather conditions in the Caribbean, although no storms were recorded or reported.
The Fatal Tree Page 6