by Ember Lane
“Well, I’ll be buggered,” said Frank.
“What, Frank?” Merl asked.
“Looks like Mushroom’s just slurped up all the information.”
Merl tore himself away from the window. “So, it’s trapped inside of him now? How the hell are we going to get it out of him?”
Mushroom had shoved the remnants of The Worm to one side and now stood beside the iron throne. Its stalk was straight, and its cap was tilted back as if it was standing to attention.
“I think it thinks it’s The Worm,” Frank hissed.
“Nose has definitely gotten bigger,” Billy pointed out.
“It hasn’t—” Frank made to snap at Billy but stopped midway. “You know what, I think you’re right. It does look like a nose.”
They all crowded around Mushroom, ignoring the threat of its fangs, and studied its now quite bulbous snout. Two oval shadows had appeared above it, and crease, an arc, like a smile, had formed under it.
“Hate to say this, but that looks a bit like the bloke from the tin mine,” Desmelda said, though her voice was no more than a whisper.
“Greetings adventurer!” Mushroom’s deep, gravelly voice boomed out as its mouth tore free of its stalk’s skin.
Desmelda recoiled, tripped, and fell straight onto her butt. Billy jumped away but managed to snag his foot on Desmelda’s knees and went flying into the guardian constructs. Frank crouched, Scaramanza raised and ready. Merl’s head jolted back, but soon returned to its rightful place on his neck.
Mushroom continued.
“Welcome to Erreden, City of the Squall, Cardinal Crown of The Elder Way, and Maker of The Rules. The Great Iron Throne of Erreden, Seat of the Immortals, Chair of the Dispenser, lays before you. Do you claim it? Yes or no”
Merl took a step back as his surprise got the better of him. He glanced at Frank. “Do I?” he whispered.
Frank glanced at Desmelda, who shrugged and let her mouth drop open a little as if to say; Don’t ask me.
“I wouldn’t,” Billy advised, his great anvil of a chest puffed out. “Imagine having to say that bloody lot whenever someone asks you where you come from.”
“Don’t think that’s the point, Billy,” Merl said, and then a thought colored the bland confusion that had spread through his mind.
What have I got to lose?
“Yes,” he said, as much to his surprise as everyone else’s.
The iron throne began to glow. At first it was a dull amber, but then it changed to a fiery red and finally white hot, and Merl and the others had to take a step back from its radiant heat. It creaked as it cooled and then faded to black. Merl gasped and pointed at an M that was now cast on the throne’s back.
“See, there,” he cried, stabbing a finger out, “that’s M fer Merl! That’s my name and that’s that.”
Vindication ran through Merl’s veins. He was who he thought he was, and the surge of joy he felt because of it was almost too much for his little heart.
“Well go on, Merl, sit in your seat, like,” Billy told him.
“You think I should?” Merl asked, his newfound confidence still not firmly rooted.
“Doesn’t look like we’ll find out anything else until you do.” Frank was grinning, but it was the type of grin Merl knew was born of nervous excitement. It was the type of grin you had on your fizog when you needed a little encouragement to take a leap of faith.
Merl stepped up to the throne, turned, and sat on it. A whoosh of warm air whipped around the room. Two ranks of golden trumpets appeared above him, spreading across the throne room ceiling. Invisible mouths blew a fanfare, and Mushroom’s voice then filled the throne room.
“Behold, the Great Iron Throne of Erreden, Seat of the Immortals, Chair of the Dispenser, has been filled. All hail Merl of Morgan Mount, First Lord of the Lands of the Crescent Moon, Admiral of the Sea of the Stranded Fool, Dispenser of the Law, Defender of the Power. May all who oppose him tremble.”
Merl blinked, and then he screamed in surprise as a box opened up in his mind and its contents spilled out. He finally saw his gold, but it was just a tally set upon a golden coin and positioned high on the right in his mind’s eye. Another two symbols sat by the golden coin, but he had little clue as to what they were. One was green and looked a little like an ear of corn. The other was brown and resembled a brick. Both had so many figures on them that Merl’s head just swam as it tried to grasp the enormity of the number they were trying to show him.
“What, Merl?” Frank asked, eagerly. His eyes were wide with wonder, and his mouth was agape in anticipation.
But Merl didn’t answer Frank. He carried on trying to work out what was happening to him. Something was wrong. A dozen, maybe more, little rectangles had all appeared behind his eyes, and they all had words written on them. The rectangles formed a column down the left-hand side of his vision. He looked at the top one, and as he did his eyes clouded, like he was looking through a muddy puddle. A man stood in the puddle’s center and he was naked. He held an axe in one hand. Merl recognized it as the firestone axe, and then concluded it was him holding it. He double checked he was still wearing a tunic, and saw that he was, to his great relief. Merl blinked and the puddled vanished. He focused on the next rectangle down.
His vision changed again, and this time it was like he was looking through a broad, thin leaf. The leaf had an outline of a hill upon it. The hill had a golden bowl over it, but no water fell from it, and its slope was bare. Merl squeezed his eyes and looked at the golden bowl, but there were no etchings on it.
“Well, Merl?” Frank asked.
Merl let the green panel slide back into its rectangle, and he stared long and hard at Frank. “I need to learn to read, Frank, and I need to learn right now.”
Frank nodded. He had turned the same color green as the leaf. Merl could tell he was as nervous as a child at Sprouting Fair. “Have you unlocked…” Frank asked, clearly unable to complete his question.
“Yes, I think have, Frank. Yes, I think have.”
“The Power of…”
“Construction, I’m certain of it, perhaps others, but I can’t use them until I can understand them. I can’t understand them until I can read the words.”
Frank nodded, but Merl knew it was a sign of his disappointment. Merl now had the knowledge, but no idea exactly what it was. “What about this place? What are we going to do with it?”
Desmelda huffed. “It makes it hard just to leave it. What if some ruffian, bandit, or warlord comes along and just takes it? Will Merl lose whatever he’s just gained? Can we afford to take the chance?”
As if to answer her, the trumpets appeared above them, and another fanfare rang out.
“Let all know that Merl of Morgan Mount, First Lord of the Lands of the Crescent Moon, Admiral of the Sea of the Stranded Fool, Dispenser of the Law, Defender of the Power has assumed control of Erreden, City of the Squall, Cardinal Crown of The Elder Way, and Maker of The Rules. The Great Iron Throne of Erreden, Seat of the Immortals, Chair of the Dispenser is now occupied. The sacred position of Defender of the Powers must now be filled. The Land asks once and once only. Who would you nominate for this position?”
Merl slumped back in his throne under the sudden weight of the demand. It was all coming too fast for him. But when he thought further about it, he realized that it wouldn’t matter if he had a ton of time to think about it. He’d still be none the wiser. Of the question posed, he had no doubt it had to be Frank, so without even discussing it with the others, he nominated the Wizard of Quintz. “I choose Frank.”
A fanfare sounded, and Mushroom’s voice cracked across the hall again. “All hail Frank of Erreden, Defender of the Powers, Hero of Vesterbrant Cut, Wizard of Quintz, and Butcher of Malingar Cross. May all who abuse The Power tremble before his Knight Protectors.”
Frank looked distant, and Merl knew he was assimilating whatever had appeared in his bonce, so Merl looked back up at the heavily beamed ceiling and saw that the golden tr
umpets were still there.
Mushroom cleared its stalk.
“The sacred position of Defender of the Powers is now complete. The sacred position of Cultivator of the Source must now be filled. The Land asks once and once only. Who would you nominate for this position?”
Merl’s gaze fell on Desmelda. She appeared to be the obvious choice, but it just didn’t feel right. The Power of Source had something to do with fields, farms, and supply. Merl was sure about that. It was linked to the green bricks and the brown, and it was Billy that had solved Stobart Torped’s problem with his green and brown constructs. For some reason, Billy seemed to fit. Plus, Merl wanted him by his side. Merl needed him by his side. Billy was Merl’s best friend. The rest didn’t matter.
“I choose Billy,” Merl said, and Desmelda’s expression clouded to thunder.
The Witch from Falling Glen stamped her feet and spun around, walking away and then stopping dead still as if she didn’t want to make whatever point she was trying to, anymore. The trumpets blared their fanfare.
“All hail Billy Muckspreader of Morgan Mount. The sacred position of Cultivator of the Source is now filled. The sacred position of The Spur of Nascent must now be filled. The Land asks once and once only. Who would you nominate for this position?”
Desmelda whipped around. She strode up to the iron throne and glared at Merl, leaving no doubt in his mind that she quite fancied the position. Merl had no idea what nascent meant, but he was sure that Desmelda would be able to handle it.
“Desmelda,” he said, and the fanfare blared and then vanished.
“All Hail Desmelda, Witch of Falling Glen, Sister of Wormelow Tump, Herald of The Chaotic Way.”
“Wise choice,” Desmelda said, and then she fell silent. “And no one heard the last bit, got it?” Her glare cut around them. “Understand?”
Merl had heard the last bit, but hadn’t understood what it meant. He assumed that was as good as not hearing it, and wondered why she’d said such a ridiculous thing in the first place. It wasn’t like you could un-hear stuff.
Frank ambled over to the window. He stretched his arms as if he was waking from a long sleep. “What now?” he asked no one in particular, and then he turned, leaning back against the leaded glass as if he couldn’t support his own weight. “What do we do?”
Gloomy Joe walked up onto the dais and curled up at Merl’s feet. Quaiyl jumped up and stood next to Merl. Although the construct had no features whatsoever, Merl was sure he could feel Quaiyl’s eyes boring into him. It was like the construct’s presence was bleeding into him. “We do what we always do,” Merl said.
“And what’s that?” Frank asked. He walked toward the throne. The clip of his boots on the stone flags echoed around.
“We follow our noses, Frank.”
27
Merl sat in the keep’s courtyard, making the most of a break in the terrible weather. Gloomy Joe lay by him, his slobber-covered chin on Merl’s lap, his eyes tight shut, and the intermittent, soothing sounds of his lip-smacking snores curling around him. Every now and then, Gloomy’s paws would kick out, as if he was running along, chasing a dune cat or something. Merl stroked the dune dog absently.
Merl needed space. He needed air. The latest in what was getting to be a long line of strange days had sapped all his remaining energy. The throne room walls had begun closing in on him as Frank and Desmelda argued over their best course. By all accounts, it all boiled down to the unknown. None of them could be sure what would happen to Erreden, to the castle with all the grand names, if they all left. Frank was terrified it would be taken over and Merl would lose his powers, along with Frank, Desmelda and Billy, and the giant stride they’d taken toward understanding the secrets of the bygone lords, or even those that had existed before them, would be locked away once more.
Or, they could stay, and if they stayed, what were they supposed to do? Rule the land? Eradicate all the zombays? What about Quintz? Surely they needed the great wizards to interpret the rectangles in all Merl’s heads. Frank could teach him to read—there was that—but what if it was all just a jumble of words? What if, for instance, they couldn’t unravel the brown panel with his naked body on it? Merl wasn’t too taken with that panel, although he wasn’t entirely naked. He had his axe.
Billy dumped himself down next to Merl. “You’ve muddled my mind—buggered it right up. I got stuff all down one side. Stuff all along the bottom. Can’t make head nor tail of it. You know what you’ve done, Merl?”
Merl chanced a look out of the corner of his eye. “What?”
“You’ve forced me, that’s what. Looks like I gotta read too, now. Gotta learn me words jus’ like you.”
“Then we learn together,” Merl told him. “Jus’ like we learned how to kill zombays. Just like we learned how to jump into Bucket Lake. And so you know, I would have asked you t’do it even if you had no hope of doin’ it right. Jus’ wanted you by my side.”
“An’ I’da stayed with you anyway. Gotta say, all the zombays and death aside, we’re seein’ tha world, Merl. We’re seein’ stuff we’d’a never seen. Giants, Merl, we’re friends with bloody giants.”
Merl picked up a small round pebble. He tossed it towards the stables. “But where will it all end, Billy? When does it end? Don’t you want to go back to Morgan Mount an’ see tha girls?”
Billy cocked his head this way and that. “Sure,” he eventually said. “Sure, sure I do, but we’ve got a whole lifetime to get old there.” The ends of his lips curled to a smile.
Before Merl could answer, a small bird flew down and landed just in front of Billy. It pecked at the bailey’s cobbles. Billy reached into his pocket and brought out some of Farwatcher’s seed.
“Here you go, little one.” Billy held his open palm out.
“There’s a—” Merl made to say, but Billy shot him a quieting look.
The little bird hopped onto Billy’s hand, pecking at the seed. Billy brought his other around, cupping the bird. “There you go, little fella,” he said softly. “Merl, ease the tag off.”
Merl leaned over. He gently prized a small lead wire away from its leg and teased a note out from under. “Is it?” he said, but he knew, and he jumped to his feet, running up the keep’s steps as fast as his legs would take him. “Frank! Frank!”
Frank was still in the throne room. He’d placed his level-one mud hut right in its center. His fire pit was aflame, its smoke gathering on the ceiling before being dragged away by an old, ceramic flue. Desmelda sat over the fire from him. Both had a mug in their hands. Merl skidded to a halt and thrust the note out. “It’s from the giants.”
Taking the note, Frank unfolded it and read it aloud. “Billy, glad you made it. Keep hold of Pickwick and send him back with your instruction. Weatherseer foretells storms and blizzards, make haste – Farwatcher.” Frank looked up. “Go fetch Billy. Looks like we need to get a move on.” Billy had already rushed in and slid to a halt, falling down by the fire before the sound had faded from Frank’s breath.
“We gotta get going, I’ll bet. There’s a storm brewin’ as sure as eggs is eggs and wolves hide in long grass,” Billy announced. “Yesterday was a tester-storm, I’ll betcha.”
“Yep, we’ve got to choose,” Frank said, and then produced two more mugs and a flagon of wine. He poured one each for Billy and Merl. “We gotta decide whether we’re going, or whether we’re stayin’ here and keeping the castle.”
Merl took a sip of wine, which was a little sour. He tried his hardest not to screw his face up like a rinsed wash rag. The wine made his mind swim instantly. “Both,” he managed to say through twisted lips.
All eyes settled on him, and Frank asked: “How are we going to defend a castle if we’re not here?”
Merl blinked his eyes shut and then blinked Sir Gareth into being. “We’re not, he is,” Merl told them. “Sir Gareth?”
“Yes, my lord.” Sir Gareth bowed.
“How many constructs would it take to defend this castle?”
“Let me survey.” Without waiting for a reply, Sir Gareth turned and ran out.
“Is that it? Is that your solution?” Desmelda asked.
Merl shrugged. “I ain’t no army commander, but it strikes me that to take this castle, you gotta get through a city fulla zombays first. Chances are, you’ll fail that. If you don’t, only takes one zombay to spread the rage, and then you’re buggered. But say you did manage to kill every last one of them, and you still gotta take this place. How would you defend the castle, Frank?”
Frank jumped up and marched over to the window. He thrust his hands behind his back and clicked his heels. “Can’t be attacked by sea. Cliffs all around. Just a single track up.” He spun around. “A hundred swords, a hundred archers, and a shit-ton of stuff piled against them gates, and no bastard’s getting in. They’ll need food for forever, mind—and fresh water. Drives a soldier insane when he’s surrounded by water and dyin’ of thirst. They’ll need an endless supply of arrows too. Then, they can defend until the walls are torn down, which would be no mean task as you aren’t getting a trebuchet close.” He slapped his thigh. “The only way an attacker gets through me defense is to starve them or make them die of thirst.”
Sir Gareth returned.
“Let’s see what Sir Gareth thinks,” Merl said, quite enjoying himself. “Sir Gareth?”
“One hundred archer. One hundred swords. Ten quarrymen. Ten carpenters. With those, I can defend.”
Merl stared at Frank. “Close.” He smiled. “Break out the chests, let’s make some constructs.”
Frank smiled back. “Because constructs don’t need feedin’.”
“Yep, because they don’t need normal food. I think I have enough in me noggin t’keep them goin’.”
“You got food in yer bonce?” Billy asked.
“Think so. I think that it’s been there all the time, but before, I didn’t know it was there so they couldn’t feed off it. Now it’s there. I think it’s the corn ear with all the numbers on it. The constructs needed what was in me bonce, but I jus’ couldn’t get to it. Can now.”
