Dominoes

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “This is who I am, fool,” said the red centre, and it began to spin in the opposite direction to the outer black circle.

  Watching and without blinking,, Sam began to feel dizzy. Then he felt sick. But he managed to say, “You’re Yaark. I know who you are. You have no body, so you try to steal others. You tried to use that disgusting slug to get inside me, but you can’t. You’re not so clever. And I’m magic too.”

  The voice sounded angry and became louder. It began to screech, very high pitched like a squeaking machine. And the noise echoed.

  “You are mine, boy. You belong to Yaark.”

  Then again the echo – “Belong to Yaark.”

  A fainter echo – “To Yaark.”

  And finally, “Yaark,” like a bellow of horrific hatred, booming around the room.

  But no one came running. Sam thought, “Either they’re all dead. Or they’re too scared. And it doesn’t matter anyway because it’s just me and not Nathan or Poppy. They’re the important ones. I’m not.” And then he realised something else. “Perhaps I’m the only one who can hear him. No one can hear a thing.”

  He was shaking and had to admit he was utterly terrified. So he held up his finger the way he had seen Nathan hold up the Knife of Clarr. The silver sheen around his finger grew brighter, and an arrow of bright silver light shot from his fingertip straight into the red centre of the spinning black circle.

  The vivid scarlet spun huge, zooming forwards as though in attack. It rushed at Sam, larger and brighter,. Sam shrank back but kept his finger, his only strength, pointing at the thing. A silver arrow rushed from his arm and straight through the spinning circle.

  There was a rush of air, as though a balloon broke. The air was frozen. Sam’s finger went cold. Yet it remained silver, straight, strong and determined. Now it was the circle that shrank back. It spun, but slowly, as though wounded.

  Sam watched it fade. Like a trumpet where outside it was black and threatening, a turning like the lost shadow of a wandering wheel. Yet within its hollow frame, the inner space was angry, faster, a furious red and it continued to speak. “Puppet. Puppet of the Octobrs. You have no power, no brain and no knowledge. You are a dying puppet and a crawling fool. My worms will eat you and defecate your ragged remains into the clouds.”

  He didn’t know what defecate meant and he didn’t care. Sam leaned forwards, pointed with his silver finger, and shouted, “Are you Clebbster? You’re Yaark’s pitiful slave. You’re the puppet. And the slugs are your slaves. Be gone before I trap you in glass.” And his anger shot out of his finger like a bullet, a silver shot of pure magic.

  The whole thing collapsed. The dark outer mist and the glittering red centre both fell into wriggling shadow-fingers. It shredded, the fingers began to grow spindly and as thin as needles. Then, without a sound, they drifted through the closed window. A shadowy doubt remained, and then that too was gone. Gradually Sam could again see the stars brilliant silver through the window glass, and then slowly both moons gleamed through the clouds. The pearly white moonlight was strong and reassuring, but the light from the smaller pink moon was pretty like rose petals as it shimmered and glinted.

  “He’s gone,” Sam whispered to himself. “Yaark’s gone.”

  What he did not see as he curled under the quilt, was the lump of red waxy jelly which had crawled down the back of his neck and was now wedged beneath the collar of his pyjamas.

  Messina woke him for breakfast. As usual Granny was cooking in the kitchen and the perfume of hot toast, fried bacon and scrambled eggs was gloriously rich and tantalising. But Sam said, “I’m not really hungry. Can I stay in bed?’

  Bayldon looked at him with suspicion and sat on the bed beside him. “Did you sleep well?” he asked. “Did you dream?”

  Sam didn’t remember. “I think I did. And no, I think I didn’t.”

  Zakmeister leaned over Bayldon’s shoulder and laid the palm of his hand on Sam’s forehead. “You have a fever, my boy,” he said. “You need medicine.”

  Scratching the back of his head where an irritating itch had begun to get worse, Sam muttered thank you and lay down again in bed. “I just want to sleep,” he mumbled.

  “You had a dreadful night,” Messina nodded. “So I understand. That vile thing must have exhausted you. But first let me find out what medicine you need, and then we shall all leave you in peace.”

  “Breakfast is ready,” called out Ferdinand’s squeaky voice from the kitchen. There was still the sound of a bubbling kettle.

  Bayldon wandered in to eat, but Zakmeister stayed where he was. “You need a father, my boy,” he said firmly, “and I offer myself. I’m the wrong shape and the wrong colour, but I doubt any of us will worry about that.”

  “I’d like a real dad,” Sam whispered, his voice disappearing back into his throat.

  “You’ve got one. Now, let’s see what’s wrong with you.” Zakmeister put his ear to Sam’s wrist, and immediately said, “A strong temperature and a high pulse. He needs blooding magic.”

  Doctors back at home often blooded their sick patients, which meant putting leeches on their chests, or cutting parts of their arms to drain off a cup full of blood. Sam didn’t like this idea at all. “Oh dear,” he asked,, “please don’t take my blood.”

  With a grin, Zakmeister held up two long dark brown fingers, saying, “No, no, my son. That’s not the way we do it here. Your blood needs to swim more slowly, and to calm itself into narrow places. I shall achieve all that with magic whilst I cool your fever.”

  The words he spoke were so soft that Sam heard nothing, but he smiled slightly, cuddled back down into the bed, and within seconds he was asleep again.

  He woke three times over the next few hours, aware of a deep pain at the back of his head. He scratched, unable to stop the terrible itch. But scratching made it hurt more, and the spot soon began to bleed. The bleeding, which seemed strange, made the spot feel a little better, and Sam once again slept long and deep.

  It was late afternoon when Zakmeister and Granny came back into the living room, opened the thin curtains to let in the last rays of bright warm sunshine, and sat down beside Sam, watching him sleep. His eyes, although closed, seemed to be darting from right to left and back again, constantly moving beneath his eyelids. Granny shook her head. “There’s something wrong.”

  Zakmeister agreed. “He no longer has a fever, but he’s slept too long and yet isn’t at rest. Altabella, check on that vile thing in the jar.”

  Granny brought it over. The jar at first appeared empty, but as she tipped it up, it could be seen that the thing was stuck upside down to the inside of the lid. Its suckers were fast glued, and its ten arms hung down and then clasped around its back. It had lost a little colour, as the dark red lumps had turned a paler pink, but otherwise it looked the same.

  “I wonder if it needs food,” Granny said.

  “Offer it your finger,” suggested Zakmeister.

  Granny laughed. “I don’t care if it starves,” she smiled. “But I’m interested in what it is and how it lives. I believe it is associated to Yaark and the other stars, but I have no real certainty. It might be a normal slug from the garden.”

  “There’s nothing normal about it,” said Zakmeister. “And I’m sure it’s some part of Yaark. There was a pink Star. Could this be it?”

  Although they were speaking quite loudly, Sam had not woken. Granny kissed his cheek and gave him a gentle shake. He still did not wake. Indeed, he did not even move.

  Zakmeister was immediately concerned. He pushed his hands below the covers and lifted Sam into his arms. Then Granny, standing behind, said suddenly, “Look. The back of his neck is bleeding.”

  Again Zakmeister murmured softly magical words and gradually Sam opened his eyes. They were bloodshot, and he seemed half lost in some haunted world. “Please,” he muttered, “don’t blood me again. I have so little. I need what I have left.”

  Laying him back down on the crumpled quilt on the couch, Zakmeis
ter rolled Sam over to see why he was bleeding, and what wound there was. “My dear boy,” he said, “I am your father now. I will never hurt you. I did not take your blood, but it’s true you are bleeding a little. Do you feel sore – here – at the back of your neck.”

  Sam screamed. Zakmeister had not even touched the spot, but his hand had hovered near. That had been enough to fire up the terrible pain. Sam’s scream was wild and desperate. Now he pulled the sheet over his head. Granny and Zakmeister stared at each other over Sam’s curled body and wondered exactly what was wrong.

  “Sam?” demanded Granny. “Tell me. What have you seen? What have you done? And what have you dreamed?”

  Sam did not answer, and seemed to be lying motionless, as if he slept once again. So Granny changed her voice and this time it was a chant and an order. “Tell me and answer me as I demand,” she said, raising both hands in the magical salute. “Tell me what has happened to you this night and this day. Tell me what you have seen, what you have dreamed and what you have done.” From beneath the sheet, Sam’s muffled voice answered as though dreaming indeed.

  “They have come,” he said. His voice was unnatural, as if a robot spoke in his place. “They are now attached and have found the place they wish. They will travel with me. I shall carry them wherever they ask.” Then he pulled down the sheet and gazed up. His face was absolutely white, but his eyes were still bloodshot. “I have seen them,” the robot voice continued. “First the drone brought me news, but my own magic was stronger and counter-attacked. I therefore quietened my own silver power and invited the drone to take shape. That is what I saw. Then,” and here the strained voice sunk even lower,” I dreamed of the past. I dreamed of the Meteor K.E. 869 and how my peaceful friends were cast out and drifted without home or sustenance. My dream has been a nightmare of injustice. Now I need peace, and you must leave me to rest.”

  Shutting his eyes at once, Sam drifted back into what seemed more like a coma. Immediately Zakmeister leaned over and peered at the spot which had been bleeding. On the back of Sam’s neck slightly above where his hair covered and just under his straw-like curls, were the marks of dried blood. The blood had trickled down his backbone, but there was no other wound. And then Zakmeister felt a little further up under Sam’s hair. He gasped and drew back quickly.

  “There is another of the slug creatures,” he said softly. “It is half embedded into the bone. Call Sherdam and Messina. This may need us all. And keep hold of that jar.”

  His own face had paled, and he seemed more fearful than he had when watching his brother turn against him, and then later when he watched his brother die. Granny, still clutching the glass jar, ran off to call the others. They came at once, and Bayldon as well. “I shall do whatever is needed,” Bayldon said. “Make the tea? Bring wine? Blankets? Clean the boy, once the thing is removed.”

  “We have to remove it first,” Messina sighed. “And the difficulty will be making sure no part, not even the slime, has entered Sam’s head. Let me see him.”

  Wrapping Sam up in his arms and onto his lap, Zakmeister showed Messina where the little blood-stained wound was right up under the back of Sam’s blonde hair. She touched it very carefully, and once again the spot started to bleed. But this time Sam did not scream. He seemed to have fainted.

  “He’s in a coma,” said Sherdam. “Here, put the other one close. Keep it trapped in that jar of course, but keep it close.”

  Granny did this, holding the cold glass to the side of Sam’s neck. At once the thing dropped from its hold inside the lid and fell to the jar’s base. Then, kicking its many arms and legs, it scuttled up the side, and peered through. “It sees,” decided Granny. “Even though it has no eyes.”

  Meanwhile Zakmeister was very carefully and gently attempting to prise off the slug that had burrowed into the back of Sam’s neck. Clearly he was worried to hurt the boy, and also not to break the thing, which could risk a piece of it remaining in Sam’s body. He picked at it slowly, jabbing at its underparts. One of the sucking lips was pulled away. But as Zakmeister tugged apart the sticky grip of the next sucker, so the first one reattached. Biting his bottom lip in frustration, Zakmeister began again. It took a very long time. And while he worked, Sam appeared to sleep.

  “I believe,” sighed Granny regretfully, “you will have to wrestle with it. Tug the whole thing away with one heave, or each part will stick again and again, and stronger each time.”

  Messina was holding Sam’s hand, trying to wake him from the nightmare, but she did not want to use strong magic while Zakmeister was trying so hard to pull the thing away without breaking it, or allowing any tiny sliver to be left behind, burrowing deeper into Sam’s head.

  But finally Zakmeister said, “Altabella, my dear, I believe you are right,” and with one fist he grasped the whole creature and with a sudden jerk, tore it from Sam’s neck and hair.

  It burst in his hand. A great reek of stinking red juice rolled between Zakmeister’s fingers, the lump of red jelly squashed into dripping slime, and Zakmeister fell back. He gazed at the sticky dying squelch and tried to rub it from his fingers onto his kerchief. But it had glued itself to his hand, and the oozing liquid muck was climbing, worm-like, up the muscles of his arm.

  Suddenly it was Sam that woke. He jumped up as Zakmeister fell, and was more wide awake than he had been for the whole day and night. Now he pointed his bright silver finger at the red mess on Zakmeister’s hand and arm. “Be gone,” Sam shouted. The sludge quivered but stayed.

  Sherdam and Messina stood beside Sam, gazing down at Zakmeister, pointing their raised hands at him. The silver on Sam’s one finger was now blazing brighter than ever. Finally Granny stood on his other side, still holding the glass jar. She also pointed at Zakmeister. They spoke together. Immediately the squashed mess of broken creature disappeared from Zakmeister’s hand and reappeared within the glass jar that Granny still held. The unharmed creature scurried to help his injured and crippled companion.

  “I’d not expected that,”’ decided Granny. “That one of these foul pests would care about another and rushed to help it.”

  Zakmeister was now sitting beside Sam, examining the place where the thing had been fastened. “How are you?” he asked. “It’s important, if any place is still painful, or whether you feel dazed or part asleep.”

  “I’m fine.” But Sam was examining his silver finger and sounded puzzled.

  “I’m your father now, Sam,” Zakmeister insisted. “No polite refusals, please. I need to know the truth.”

  “But it is the truth,” Sam assured him. “Where that sucking slime was burrowing into my head – well – it’s hot. Sort of burning. It doesn’t hurt. It just feels hot. But my silver finger is buzzing. You know, sort of tingling.” But he was smiling. “I feel so much better. Those dreams were disgusting. Terrifying. But they’ve almost disappeared, and I can’t even remember anything except a few flickers.”

  First putting down the jar, Granny gazed at where the suckers had been, lifting Sam’s hair at the back. “No more bleeding,” she announced. “And no sign of a hole, or any red jelly left behind. It seems perfect. But I’m not so easily convinced. I’d like to make up a magical cleansing patch and stitch it to that place.”

  “An excellent idea.” Zakmeister nodded.

  But Messina had picked up the glass jar. “Look,” she said. “The uninjured creature has slithered underneath the red sludge, and, has eaten the remains of the other. It wasn’t going to help the sick one, it was simply going to eat it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  After eating, they all lay down on deck, gazing up at the stars. The sky was black, unclouded, and glowing with a thousand tiny diamonds. “Tis mighty beautiful,” said John. “Reckon I’ll go fer a walk.”

  “I’m coming.” Poppy jumped up.

  Nathan, Peter, Alice and Alfie all nodded, half grumbling, but eventually scuffling to their feet. “It’s real nice just dozing off on deck,” sighed Alfie. “But I’d wake
with a broken back.” Ninester, with the puppy nuzzling inside his coat, leapt to his feet, eager to explore, but Deben scowled.

  “I won’t be left here alone,” he complained.

  “You won’t be alone. There’s a crew of nearly twenty men,” Nathan pointed out. “And one woman.”

  “You needn’t think I’ll accept being left here amongst pirates and thieves,” said Violet at once.

  “Come on, then,” said the captain abruptly, on his feet and kicking at Podge and Shark, but still smiling. “Come on, you lubbers. The rest of you guard the ship. We’ll go with this parcel of brats and see if we can find some stuff to steal, and find a place to leave the kids behind.”

  Back on dry land, everyone found it funny to balance differently, and the solid ground beneath their feet felt quite strange after standing on the moving deck. But with a bit of a roll and a trip, they all set off towards the rocky horizon. It was difficult to see what lay ahead, but no one really cared. Nathan went to walk beside Shark. “You can’t steal from these poor people,” he said, staring up and the big man. “They’re so poor. We should be giving them some of our food.”

  “We bin here afore,” grinned Shark. “We knows how poor they is, and we done given ‘em stuff afore. We only steal from the French and them big grand Spanish ships. They carry great stores.”

  “And Stromboli was dangerous,” Nathan continued. “I know another volcano in a different country. They are terrible thing.”

  “Not when you got yer ship nearby,” insisted Shark. “You hear them roars and rumbles, and you just sail away.”

  Nathan couldn’t say any more about the Sparkan volcano, so he changed the subject. “I quite like being on the ship. It’s very relaxing except in storms, But I’d never want to be a pirate.”

  “Reckon you’d change yer mind,” said Shark, “if yer saw all that gold and treasure what the Spanish ships bring back from that other country out west.”