“Look!” He pointed to where fresh tracks ran across the rutted path and veered away. “He’s heading straight for the stones, I reckon he knows we’re following him.”
“We run!” Thun cried.
Chortley grabbed the barbarian’s arm and then immediately let go as Thun’s forward momentum threatened to rip his arm off. “We must be careful. It’s going dark and we might lose his trail if he leaves the track.”
Thun stopped and regarded Chortley with what passed for thought in a man with more fingers than brain cells. “Goblin going to stones, no need to see track, just run fast.”
“But what if he ambushes us?”
Thun shrugged. “Then Thun give him his arsehole to wear as crown for hurting lady your sister.”
Chortley levered himself onto Horace’s back, endured the inevitable results of the horse's digestive system being squeezed and nodded. “Let’s go!”
It was completely dark, save for a wan moon, when they finally approached the Stones. A circle of sarcens crowning a hill in the middle of the wide chalk-lands, it was hard to believe a battle had been fought here less than a year ago although, Chortley imagined, there would be a whole lot more evidence when the sun was up.
Where was Bently? Had he already gone through? Chortley thought not as he’d driven Horace as fast as his bandy legs could manage. In fact, Chortley had expected to overtake the goblin before now. Thun stood next to him panting softly and scanning the slope.
A cry from above. Chortley kicked Horace’s side and the horse farted himself into a gallop up the hill. As he reached the top he saw a group of figures. One was obviously the hunched shape of Bently, but the three that barred his way were clearly human. And the man standing in the middle of the doughnut shaped portal stone, torch held aloft and barring the way, was the last person Chortley expected to see.
“Ignis Bel,” he hissed.
“Stand away!” called Ignis, his voice bouncing from pillar to stony pillar. “I will detonate this charge if you come any closer!”
Chortley dropped gracelessly from the saddle, drew his sword and approached the stooped form of Bently who swung round in shock at his approach. The staff swung with him, its tip hovering inches from Chortley’s nose.
“Put it down, hobgoblin,” Chortley hissed.
Bently, trapped between two enemies, laughed. He actually laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Ignis said and Bently turned his head back and forth between the two of them laughing uncontrollably.
“Oh the trouble I have caused you,” he said, finally regaining some control of himself. “It would take you a long time to put right my mischief: my master will be so proud of me! It would take you a long time, except you won’t have a long time. He is coming, you know, he is coming soon!”
Chortley was about to swing his sword to cut short the infuriating merriment of the hobgoblin when Ignis said, “Do you know what I have here?”
The scene froze and Chortley could sense Bently focusing his attention on the wooden box and plunger that Ignis held between his hands.
“I’ll tell you, shall I?” he continued in the sort of voice reserved for university lecturers introducing quantum physics to a group of particularly thick students. “This is a detonator and it’s connected to a couple of barrels of gunpowder that I’ve placed beside this rock. In a moment, I’m going to push the plunger and bring the portal down. Now, I’d prefer it if we were all a little further away from the explosives when this happens as I’m rather attached to my limbs, but if you come any closer and do not yield the staff, I will blow us all straight through the Darkworld and out the other side.”
There was silence for a moment, the sort of silence that only a hilltop in the middle of a chalk down on a breathless night can produce. A cricket began chirruping but soon lapsed into embarrassed quiet when his mates refused to join in. And then Bently began to laugh again. At first quietly, as if trying to contain it within himself and then it burst out of him and he doubled over, dropping the staff.
“Oh, you must think me such an idiot. And yet it is you who are the fools. You have underestimated me for the last time.” He put his fingers to his lips and gave a whistle.
Chortley heard her before he saw her. “Aggrapella!”
His sister was dragged into the light from Ignis’s torch by another man. It took Chortley a moment to recognise him. “Odius!”
Former General Odius was a ghoulish travesty of his former arrogant self. Here he was merely a servant obeying commands. It was only when his dead eyes turned to Chortley that they flickered into hateful life.
“Yes, I had him released a few days ago. Remarkable that he survived so long in the deepest dungeon of Crapplecreek, but he had strength enough to perform one last service. Now, you will drop the box and destroy it, or the woman dies,” Bently said, turning to Ignis.
Now it was Bel’s turn to laugh. “And you call me a fool? I don’t care if she dies, she deserves it a thousand-fold. Do your worst; kill her.”
For a moment, Bently’s face shifted in uncertainty.
“Save me brother,” Aggrapella whimpered, holding out her bound hands imploringly.
Chortley sensed a “moment” approaching. The sort of fork in the road of destiny that, either way, he’d end up regretting in the future. It was merely a question of which choice would, in retrospect, piss him off more. And, in the final analysis, which choice felt right.
“Put the box down, Ignis,” Chortley said, so quietly that he was forced to repeat himself.
Bel looked from him to Bently to Aggrapella, his mouth moving up and down soundlessly. Finally, he mastered himself. “Are you insane?” he said, “Of course you are, you’re a Fitzmichael. You’d obviously side with your murdering sister, but I’m intrigued to understand why, in the name of all that is holey46, you imagine I would do as you say?”
“Would it help if I asked you nicely?” Chortley sighed.
“Thar would certainly be novel, but no, it wouldn’t make any difference. My duty is clear, and no Fitzmichael is going to stop me.”
A shape moved from out of the shadows. “Listen to him, Ignis. He was once a complete shit, but I reckon he’s a reformed character. Our Velicity thinks so, anyway.”
“I can’t, Flem,” Bel hissed over his shoulder, “if I give up the box, there’s no way we can destroy this portal before that goblin unleashes all the forces of hells on us.”
Flem’s hand appeared on Ignis’ shoulder. “Put it down, old chap,” he said, so softly that his words barely carried in the still night air, “sometimes you’ve just got to do the right thing by the people what’s in front of you and let the future take care of isself.”
Chortley watched as Ignis seemed to deflate in defeat. Then, after a moment, he pulled theatrically at the wires emerging from the side of the box and threw it away into the darkness. “There, now release the woman.”
Odius stepped forward and, without looking at Bel, stepped into the night. A few seconds later the crash of splintering wood echoed around the stones. He re-emerged and nodded to Bently.
It was over in a moment. Bently lurched forward, pushing Ignis aside and, with a cry, disappeared into the portal with Odius on his heels. Aggrapella fell to the floor, shoved away by Bently, something swooshed past Chortley’s right ear, and Odius fell, a knife embedded in his back, disappearing as his momentum carried him through the stone.
Chortley rushed to his sister’s side and rolled her onto her back. “Are you okay?” he asked as he sensed, rather than saw, the looming shape of Thun looking down.
Aggrapella looked past him. “Thank you, my love,” she whispered. Chortley backed away as the barbarian stooped down and lifted her tenderly into his arms.
“Thun got one. Shame he missed hunchback.”
And then, for the third time that night, Chortley heard laughter. “Are you hysterical?” he asked.
Ignis Bel looked up at him. “Sorry, but that was priceless. It just goes to show th
e value of having a plan C.”
“What do you mean?” Chortley asked as he helped Ignis to his feet.
Bel brushed his leather coat down and adjusted his wide-brimmed black hat. His white beard vibrated with merriment.
“Well, you see, plan A was to get here and blow up the stone before that hobgoblin got wind of us. We knew that had failed when we saw him approach. Plan B was to deny him passage somehow, though I really didn’t want to have to blow myself up in the process.”
“And plan C?”
“That was my favourite. Plan C involved a backup detonator, currently in the custody of the third member of my little team. Step forward Willy.”
Out of the darkness rose the shape of Willy Clitheroe. Judging by the gorse prickles he was picking out of his waistcoat, he’d chosen a particularly uncomfortable place to hide. “‘Ere we are, Master Bel,” he said, almost exploding with the unfamiliar pride of a job competently done, “all safe and sound as I promised.” Clitheroe produced a box, identical to the first, and handed it to Ignis with a flourish.
“Thank you, Willy. Now, you see, we can destroy the portal in complete safety and with the satisfaction of knowing that the goblin will have quite a surprise when he tries to lead his master’s army through into our world. I somehow doubt Humunculus will be in a forgiving mood this time. So, if you’ll stand back a bit, we’ll set this up and bring down the stones.”
“You can’t,” Chortley said, “at least not yet.”
“What is it now?” Ignis snapped.
Chortley shrugged. “This is the only way we know of that Bill can get back into this world and, in any case, I mean to follow Bently and retrieve the staff.”
“But you can’t go through! The way is shut to us.”
Smiling grimly, Chortley strode up to the portal. “But, you see, my mother was of the faerie race, and so I can follow him. And, if I retrieve the staff, I can also return.”
Chortley Fitzmichael looked across at Ignis who stood, transfixed, in the torchlight. “I am going through,” he said, “and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. On balance, I’d prefer you didn’t blow up the portal unless goblins start emerging. But, of course, I have nothing more than faith in your good sense and my duty to go on.”
Ignis Bel nodded. “You have 48 hours. We can’t wait any longer in case there are other agents on this side who are ordered to converge here. And if so much as the hairy wart of a goblin appears through the portal, the plunger goes down whether you’re back or not.”
“Fair enough,” Chortley said.
Ignis held out his hand and Chortley took it. “Perhaps I misjudged you,” the alchemist said.
“No, I’m a reforming bastard, but the evil runs deep and is hard to entirely purge. Do what you must to save our country, but please just give me a chance to get the staff and, perhaps, find my brother.”
“You have 48 hours,” Ignis said, as he watched Chortley Fitzmichael step, sword in hand, through the portal and into the Darkworld.
Chapter 34
ALL WAS QUIET. THE FIRE crackled gently as the remains of Daven and Nessa smouldered. It was astonishing just how upsetting it could be to watch two statues made of wood and metal go up in flames. He could hear the screams now and, he suspected, he’d hear them for the rest of his life. Which, by all logic, would be a pretty short span of time.
Humunculus had gone suddenly. It was as if he’d received some kind of message that something long planned was now taking place. He’d been dancing around the burning machines when he’d stopped, called an immediate halt to the revelries, and had stomped off into the darkness, followed by all the machines. Bill had lain, totally forgotten, in the wet grass, to watch his friends disintegrate.
Well, largely forgotten. There was still Beryl the dragon to take into account. Perhaps it had been his fevered imagination but he could have sworn he’d heard the swishing of leathery wings in the darkness above.
He lay there, listening to the night winds in the grass and the clink-clink of the cooling fire. He lay there and despaired. Humunculus had won. He had the most powerful magic in any of the three worlds in his wooden gauntlets and Bill was as certain as he could be that the bastard didn’t intend to remain in the Beyond - his revenge would be wrought in the Darkworld and then, finally, in the Brightworld. And if he got his hands on the staff too…
Bill’s thought was interrupted by a different clink-clink. Something scrambled over his wrists, moving the chains. Some sort of monstrous spider, he thought, as he reflexively swiped it away.
“Oi” said a tiny voice from somewhere in the grass.
Bill sat up. “Sebaceous?”
“Yes, of course, it is I, friend Bill. You not think I would leave you?”
“But your people, they need to be far away with the dragon on the loose, not to mention angry elfs.”
The voice moved towards him and, finally, resolved itself into the little lizard as he crawled onto Bill’s knee. “My peoples is safe, deep underground, that is why I couldn’t stay with you friend Bill. I sorry.”
“Don’t apologise. This is all my fault.”
“Ah stop feel sorry,” Sebaceous said, before giving a whistle. The grass rustled as other figures approached. “Clive, he is our master at getting into things, he will remove lock.”
Sure enough, Bill felt something clamber around his ankles before the padlock was lifted and tilted from side to side. A few seconds later, he felt the pressure release as the chains came away. “Done, boss,” a voice said, “rubbish padlocks. Look like elf made assembly.”
“Interesting that machines should have metal padlocks. Not copper, but still metal. Elfs and machines, bad combination.”
Bill watched as the little figure flitted to his wrists and breathed a sigh as, finally, he could separate his hands.
“But anyways boss,” Clive said as he wiped his claws down his grubby shirt, “why doesn’t you just fire your ways out? Sebaceous, he says you are fire wizard extryordinarious.”
Sebaceous swiped Clive with his arm. “Does not be so stupid, Clive. Of course friend Bill would have fired his way out if he could. Wouldn’t he?” With that, the little lizard looked up at Bill, a shadow of doubt clouding his expression.
“Well of course,” Bill said, trying to remain calm, “I could have melted the locks with my super-power…”
The lizards froze.
“... but then my hands and feet would have fallen off so I decided, on balance, that it wouldn’t be a good idea.”
The lizards breathed out, then started laughing.
“Look, what can you tell me? Where’s Humunculus going?” Bill asked, “And where’s Beryl?”
Sebaceous drew in a breath and moved closer to Bill’s ear, all the better to be conspiratorial. “Big fairie in box is heading for same rift we cames through. Very bad. Very, very bad. For you, that is, and Darkworlds peoples. For us, we glads to see the backs of him.”
“And Beryl?”
The lizard looked up at the dark sky. “She does not fly much at night. Can’t see very wells. But we better be longs way away when she wakes up - she knows box is here but she feared big fairie. Now she will come. We must hide.”
Bill shook his head, keeping his eyes focused on the fire and the collapsing heaps that were all that remained of his friends. “No, Sebaceous. You can hide, but I am going after him. I gave him the box and I must pay for my stupidity.”
“No!” yelled Clive, “Is you idiots? With box of power, giant fairie is lord of all magics. Your fire is nothing to his eruptions.”
“That may be so, but I must follow him and do what I can. But you shouldn’t come. Go and find your people.” Bill patted Sebaceous on the head before hauling himself to his feet.
“No ways!” the lizard screamed, and Bill could see the grass moving as he jumped up and down in agitation. “Clive, he will go back and tell our people that we follow king. My place, it is with my friend Bill.” And with that, Sebaceous began climbing up
Bill’s leg and dropped into a pocket.
Bill smiled and rubbed his chin. An appreciable beard47 had sprung up since he’d been in this world and he enjoyed, for a moment, both the tickly sensation and the thought that he was, finally, becoming a man. Not only was hair growing in all the manly places but he was doing the manly thing. Which, as Brianna would have pointed out, was equivalent to the stupid thing since the quality of decision making of the average pair of testicles was patently pretty poor. Bill found himself wondering whether Brianna would ever get to find out what the capacity of his testicles was or whether his newfound manhood was likely to end in a premature barbeque at the hands of the Fairie King or, if he didn’t move quickly, Beryl the dragon.
“Come on then,” he said to his pocket as he trudged off across the grasslands.
#
It took little skill to follow the Faerie King and his entourage, even in the dark. Bill stumbled on in a state of nervous buggeration, starting every now and again at cries whipping out of the darkness. Sebaceous assured him they were merely the sounds of animals - the “nah nah neenah nah” of the Ninnyknockers, the “thwack thwack” of the Drivers and the “Fore Fore” of their close relatives the Hackers - but they only served to remind Bill of the alienness of this world. If you didn’t look too closely, the Beyond appeared to be similar to the chalk downlands and rolling woods of Fitzmichael County, but other senses gave it away. The Beyond smelled different - there was a deep mustiness to the air that sat at the top of his nose, like a gentle echo of a particularly fragrant manure pile. And the sounds. When his attention wasn’t entirely on running for his life, Bill couldn’t help but hear how strange and different this world was. And it only served to make him feel all the more alone.
“We must hurry, friend Bill,” the voice from his pocket said, “dawn is coming and she will find us.”
On cue, as the first hint of light appeared on the horizon, a dragon called.
Chortley came up fighting, but there was no one in sight, except for the inert body of Odius which lay sprawled on this side of the dark window he’d passed through. He swayed, his mind swimming from, presumably, the passage through the portal. Chortley ignored the corpse, once he’d made certain it was lifeless, and looked at the portal. From this side, it looked like a man-high window, the sort commonly seen in temples. He could make out Ignis sitting on a rock watching. Bel gave a little wave and Chortley, somewhat reluctantly, waved back before turning away.
Denizens and Dragons Page 19
