by Holly Race
‘Careful,’ Rachel says in my ear. ‘Keep the birds with you until the last minute if you can. There are dreamers in the area, but the harkers are finding it difficult to tell if there are aventures hiding amongst them.’
Lamb lands softly in a park a short walk away from Royal Arsenal. As quickly as I can, I untack her and stash her saddle and bridle in a nearby bush. I touch the leaves, twining the inspyre in my hands, letting it feed from my power. It grows quickly, folding itself around the tack until it’s almost impossible to see it hidden there. A final touch, and from the bush grows a single, purple flower. That will tell me where to look if I forget when I come back. A goodbye to Rachel, and I take the helmet off too. Finally, I return to Lamb, who’s already made a start on the lush grass.
‘Wait for me, okay?’ I say. She whickers and nuzzles me, then returns to her grazing, evidently more concerned that someone else is going to find the good grass than by the prospect of my imminent death.
‘Well, love you too,’ I tell her, and walk away.
‘Fern!’
Ollie jumps off Balius, whose sides are heaving from cantering the long way round. Ollie skids up to me. ‘Be careful,’ he says.
‘Don’t come in after me unless you’re sure …’ I begin, handing him the helmet so that he can keep in touch with Rachel back in Tintagel.
‘I know,’ he says. ‘I won’t cramp your style unless I’m pretty certain you’re dead, okay?’
‘You’re the best.’
There are only a few roads to cross before the high walls of the Arsenal come into view. I spend the time gathering inspyre, arranging it around me in an attempt to make me look like a dream. The trouble is, my efforts so far are already resulting in a mild headache that is growing in strength by the second. The knowledge that Lord Allenby has overestimated my abilities taunts me.
The gate to the Arsenal is guarded by armed aventures, undoubtedly in Medraut’s employ. But I’m not sure they’re needed – they’re certainly not there to guard it from dreams, because any time a dream or nightmare approaches the walls, it either diverts its course as though repelled by something inside, or breaks down into inspyre. Then I feel it – the same stomach-churning emptiness that came over me at the Globe. The inspyre surrounding me clings to me momentarily, before being blown away before the force of whatever power is inside those walls. I am exposed, no longer appearing as a dream, but maybe they won’t have seen me.
‘Halt!’
Ah, crap.
29
It’s okay, Fern. We planned for this. I take a deep breath, tell my heart to pipe the hell down, and approach the guards.
‘Thank God you can see me,’ I say.
‘You’re a bit young to be an aventure,’ one of the guards says.
‘Look,’ I say, ‘I opened my mum’s mirror and there was this white light, then I ended up here. I am freaked, okay? So, is this a virtual reality game or something?’
The guards glance at each other.
‘It’s probably best that you come with me.’ One of the guards grips my arm and pulls me beyond the gates.
‘Get off me!’ I try to sound appalled. ‘I haven’t done anything. Look, if you can just show me how to get out of here I’ll go, okay?’
‘You should be quiet,’ the guard says softly. ‘No one’s allowed to shout in here. He doesn’t like it.’
He. Medraut. Just as he took away those dreamers’ mouths, he’s taking away his own servants’ voices. I carry on protesting – albeit more quietly – as the guard leads me down wide pedestrian streets. Cannons and military flags stand sentinel along our route. I look at the flags in closer detail. A white background, a simple black circle and a V-shape slicing into it. It reminds me a little of the thanes’ emblem, except Medraut’s flag has only a single point, instead of a five-pointed star.
‘Here.’ The guard pushes me through a wooden door, down a blank corridor and finally into a brick-lined cell that contains nothing but a wooden chair. ‘Hands against the wall,’ he says. He pats me down, searching for anything that might incriminate me or endanger him. He’s thorough, but of course he doesn’t find anything, and soon enough he’s left me on my own, to begin my task in earnest.
At first, I just move around the cell, feeling for any inspyre that might be lurking in the vestiges of this prison. The dreadful, empty feeling has only intensified the further I was dragged into this place, but I try to ignore it.
Lord Allenby told us that the very walls and rooms of the place would alter according to Medraut’s whim, but I hadn’t expected it to feel so alien. The emptiness scrapes at my bones. The building has been so strongly manipulated that the ability to change has almost been crushed out of it, like wood pressed into charcoal. But there, deep within the brick, I can just about sense the inspyre. I run my hand over the wooden door. There’s no lock on this side, but there is one on the outside. I try to reach the mechanisms, but the wood is too dense. I need something else.
The chair. It’s been popped there as an afterthought – a shadow of courtesy – and I can tell. The inspyre that holds it together is less set than the walls or door. One of the legs should do. I tap into that other sense, the one that usually springs from my fingertips or the back of my head. I pull at the inspyre, encouraging it to let go of its form. Gradually, it responds and the shape falls away until I have just a handful of inspyre and a chair teetering on three legs. I gently tip the chair onto its side so it doesn’t fall and give me away, then go to the door. Pressing my inspyre through the wood, I urge it to find the spaces between the compressed lattices of Medraut’s imagination. It wends its way into the wards, moulding itself into a key. The levers are reluctant to move, sensing the trick, but gradually they slip away, and at last I hear the gentle click of the door unlocking.
The corridor is empty, although I can hear movement not far away. Clearly the guard didn’t think I’d be able to leave my cell – and why would he? As far as he’s aware, I’m just an odd-looking teenage girl.
Lord Allenby said I’d need to navigate by intuition. Well, at the moment my intuition is telling me to run, as fast as I can, away from the corridor to my right. The feeling of impending doom is strongest from that direction, so I should probably go that way. As fortification, I clutch the remaining inspyre against my stomach, which helps to quell the nausea a little. The corridor splits into two, and I take the left turn, always pushing towards the direction my gut is screaming at me to avoid.
The sickness peaks as I pass one particular door, then begins to lessen. I force myself to turn back and allow myself a retch or two before using some of my precious inspyre to force the lock again. This time it’s harder. The ache that’s been growing in the back of my head is matched by the strength of the lock inside this door. I’m also terribly aware that someone could catch me at any moment. At last, the door clicks open.
Nausea hits me with such force as I step inside that I can’t help it – I vomit over the concrete floor. Bile sour on my tongue, I look at what caused that reaction. At first I am sure it is another kalend like the one at the Globe. This time, though, the kalend has a shape. It’s human in form. No – it’s clothing. Armour, to be precise, draped over a mannequin. From a distance it looks as though someone has meshed iron with black silk; smooth, flexible but impenetrable. It is made of the same stuff on all sides, although I can’t think why anyone would want to create something so terrible, especially if they have Immral themselves. Perhaps it’s a torture device, designed to send the wearer insane. The remaining inspyre that was in my hand gathers at my stomach as though hiding there in terror. I cannot be near it any longer and I flee the room.
Further down the corridor, the space opens up into an echoey hall. A group of men and women surround a table, talking in low voices. I press myself to the wall, wishing that there was a door between us. As quietly as I can, I peer around the corner, trying to hear what they’re saying.
‘Almost ready …’
‘He’s
going to be here soon …’
‘When did someone last check on the prisoner?’
The prisoner. Could that be Samson? Lord Allenby didn’t know whether Samson had been captured or was simply unable to communicate. He had feared the former, and it sounds as though he was right yet again. Now all I need to do is find out where Samson’s being held.
I follow my path back towards the corridor of cells, the twisty feeling in my stomach lightening with every step. I hadn’t paid attention to the other doors on my way past them before, but now I do I can just about tell whether they’re occupied or not. Just a few cells away from the one I’d been imprisoned in, I feel movement beyond the wood and brick.
‘Hello?’ I whisper, trying to send my voice through the web of inspyre between myself and the prisoner.
There’s a pause, then, ‘Hello?’ It’s a thin, nervy voice.
‘Samson?’ I say.
‘Who?’
I step back. Not Samson. The person I want must be in another cell. I turn and walk straight into the chest of a guard. I look up at him. He is dark skinned and strong jawed.
‘I think you’re looking for me,’ Samson says.
30
‘I’m here to rescue you,’ I say dumbly.
Samson smiles. ‘If Lord Allenby thinks that the Knight Captain needs rescuing by a squire then I must’ve gone down in his estimation.’
‘I’m not just a squire,’ I retort. Ignoring the pounding headache that tells me not to use my power unless absolutely necessary, I send a shot of inspyre into the lock of the door containing the weedy-voiced boy and with a further twist turn it into a key.
Samson’s smile vanishes immediately. He looks at me sharply.
‘Who are you?’ he says.
‘Lord Allenby sent me. My name’s Fern. I’m a squire in your regiment. Dagonet got the dreamers you rescued, but when Lord Allenby didn’t hear from you again he got worried that you’d been caught.’
Samson doesn’t seem to register what I’ve just said. ‘You’ve got Immral too?’
‘Well … yes.’ There’s no time to tell him about Ollie. That’ll have to be a surprise if we manage to get out of here. ‘Look, what do I have to gain from being here if I’m not who I say I am?’
After some thought Samson seems to accept this, but instead of heading for the exit, he puts a hand on my arm. ‘There’s something I want to try doing.’
Oh, God. He’s going to suggest something stupidly brave, isn’t he?
The door beside us opens and a young, pale face peers out. I’d forgotten that I’d unlocked it. I look at Samson. ‘Is he dangerous?’
‘He was brought here last night. Medraut’s decided to experiment on aventures this time, instead of dreamers.’
‘Can we let him go?’ I ask.
‘Please do,’ says the boy, wide-eyed.
‘He might blow our cover,’ says Samson.
‘I won’t.’ The boy tries to push the door open further. ‘Please.’
Samson and I look at each other. The spectre of the dreamers he rescued, with their mutilated faces, hangs between us. ‘Of course we won’t leave you,’ Samson tells the boy, ‘but you need to wait in here for a little while. I promise I’ll come back for you. Okay?’
The boy looks doubtful, but retreats back into his room. As Samson closes the door, I see the boy sit on his own chair.
‘Wait.’ I dart in and turn the chair into inspyre, keeping some for myself and turning the rest into a little, silent bird that hops and flits around the room, making the boy smile.
As I lock the door on boy and bird, I catch Samson watching me. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I’ve spent the last ten months in this place. I never thought I’d say this about someone with Immral but … you’re really a breath of fresh air.’
‘Yeah, well … thanks.’ His sincerity wrong-foots me. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ I tell him. ‘The story about the vampires is legendary.’
But Samson barely smiles at my compliment, as though the knowledge of his fame doesn’t please him.
‘We’d better be quick if we’re going to pull off what I want to do,’ he tells me, setting off. ‘If they weren’t on to me before they definitely will be after this.’
‘So you weren’t in danger? More danger than normal, I mean?’
‘They found the helmet I’d been using to get word back to Tintagel and I couldn’t risk trying to get it back. I just had to hope that Lord Allenby would find a way to get me out or get another helmet in. But he sent you, and much as I’m ready to get out of here I’m not going to pass up this chance.’
He peers round a corner and nods an all clear.
‘Medraut keeps something locked away, in a place I can’t reach. I don’t know for sure what it is, but he’s the only one who ever touches it so I’m guessing it’s important. I’ve been dying to get my hands on it but without Immral I didn’t stand a chance. You’ll see.’
We break out into the open air and dart across a manicured lawn towards a cannon.
‘Here,’ Samson says, and lifts me into the cannon’s mouth. Inside is a tunnel. I worm my way through until I fall, head first, onto soft earth. Samson lands, cat-like, next to me. We move deeper down the tunnel, my inspyre the only thing lighting our way.
‘How did you find this place?’ I whisper.
‘I’ve had a lot of time to explore,’ he replies, ‘but I haven’t managed to see everything. It’s much bigger than what’s up there.’
When we spot light I fold my hand over my inspyre to extinguish it. I had assumed that we’d emerge into the harsh light of a laboratory. But instead I clamber out of the tunnel into grey. We’re not inside, but we’re not exactly outside, either. Everything is the kind of grey you get just after sunset, that flattens a landscape. I think I am walking on stone, although it’s so dull I can’t be sure it exists at all.
‘I reckon Medraut made this place,’ Samson says. ‘It’s just like the warehouse up above, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I see what you mean.’
Being inside Medraut’s fortress makes me realise what I love about Annwn. The whimsy and joy brought by millions of imaginations clashing together. This place has been created by someone so focused that he has lost sight of what imagination should be. This is imagination turned into single-minded purpose.
‘This way.’ Samson pulls me to one side.
As we jog through the grey, I sense walls rearing up on either side, although much like the floor I can’t be certain they are really there. How Samson knows where he’s going is a mystery to me, but he leads me left and right, down and up, without hesitation.
‘Here,’ he says at last. ‘It’s behind there.’
We have reached a dead end in the dullness. I press my fingers against the wall and nod. I can feel the difference between this wall and the ones on either side. This one is supposed to be a door, although it has no handle and, as far as I can tell, no lock. My inspyre-into-key trick isn’t going to work here.
‘Do you think you can get through it?’ Samson asks.
‘I don’t know. I think …’ I call to the inspyre lurking beyond the door, but it doesn’t want to respond to me. This time is different from when I simply wasn’t using my Immral in the right way. It’s as though the inspyre is actively turning away from me; as though it’s been cowed into listening to one person alone. ‘I can’t. It … I think it only answers to Medraut.’
Samson frowns. ‘I might be way off here, but could you maybe do what you did up there, for the boy?’
‘Why?’
‘Just try it?’
I take some of my little store of inspyre and mould it into a bird again. The sparrow flits to the wall and taps against it, looking for seeds. At first, nothing happens. Then –
‘There!’ Samson whispers. ‘Did you see it?’
The door doesn’t give way, but it shimmers like mother of pearl, as though the inspyre inside is responding to the bird.
‘Try something
else.’
I make a butterfly, a squirrel and, just because, a small dragon that breathes hundreds and thousands instead of fire. The door shimmer intensifies as it responds to the dreams I’ve created. Then, like chocolate melting beneath warm sauce, it breaks back into the inspyre it came from.
‘How did you know?’ I ask.
‘I figured the inspyre here needed reminding of what it could be.’
The room beyond is more of a cupboard, so despite his efforts to give me as much space as possible, I find my face uncomfortably close to Samson’s chest. He smells of cinnamon and chilli. The warmth from his body in this cold chamber makes me shiver.
There’s another shimmer, then a shape forms in midair.
It’s the most beautiful piece of woodwork I’ve ever seen. A mahogany cube, inlaid on all sides with black resin that weaves over it like lava.
‘A puzzle box,’ Samson says, running his hands over it. ‘The lid stays hidden unless you press the right sequence of levers. I’ve never managed to get close enough to see it.’
I turn it over, but try as I might, I can’t find a button or a lever anywhere. Samson tries next, with the same success.
The inspyre that has been drifting freely starts to vibrate. Samson feels it too. ‘He’s changing the layout,’ he says. ‘Shit. We’ve got to go.’
Samson stows the box inside his guard’s uniform. We pass back through the grey space, but already the walls are rippling.
We dart between them, but the route we came down no longer exists. Samson tries leading us in the right direction but the sameness of the surroundings makes it impossible to keep track of our path.
‘Samson, stop!’ I pant.
‘Can’t,’ he says, and for the first time I hear a note of panic. ‘I can’t be stuck down here. I can’t.’
I put a hand on his back and Samson turns and grips my arm, steadying both of us.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’ve no idea where we are. Let’s go for a process of elimination. I see three openings up ahead.’
