He glanced around the garden. The group of soldiers loitered further away from the house, closer to where the portal would open. No hedge to block his view now, only a few burnt stumps. He could even see where the grass was stained red with blood from the battle. Paris shuddered.
He turned back to face the house. Cassandra was sitting on some of the dislodged rubble, with Tergil standing by her side. The elf wore his sword belt now, Grarf having brought it with him. The ancient weapon amongst all the semi-automatic rifles made Tergil look even more out of place than usual. If that was possible. The idea of being descended from the same species as the elf almost made Paris shudder again. But the feeling appeared to be mutual. They hadn’t mentioned it since he’d first raised the subject, like a family argument put on hold at a wedding. There were more important matters to deal with first. Just wait until after the speeches, thought Paris, when the champagne kicks in.
‘How did you get hold of Grarf anyway?’ he asked. ‘I can’t imagine he’s got a mobile.’
‘He does not,’ replied Tergil. ‘I rang Eric.’
Paris looked over at the dwarf, standing by the side of the troops. He was chatting away to one of them with his folded arms resting on top of his battleaxe. The army were supposed to be rounding up magical creatures, yet here they were making small talk. In this case, very small talk. Paris pondered. Perhaps he’d been wrong about the troops after all. Or perhaps everyone realised they needed all the help they could get.
‘I asked him to pass on the message,’ continued Tergil. ‘I did not request him to come as well. Eric volunteered.’
Paris said nothing. The courage and self-sacrifice shown by every one of these strange beings made him feel quite humble. Even Malbus, annoying pain in the bum that he was, had proved his bravery, going into the portal alone to scout ahead. He’d been gone half an hour now and the tension was rising. It was only while they waited for him to return that Grarf had started his Mr Universe routine. So maybe gathering the soldiers around him actually had another purpose: keeping everyone from thinking about what was coming next.
‘Are you okay with them both being here?’ asked Cassandra. ‘Will Rocky be safe?’
Tergil nodded. ‘The other dwarves are still with her, and some of your police. Also, I do not expect the Vanethria to attack again for some time.’
‘You reckon this was the big assault?’ asked Paris.
Tergil studied him thoughtfully. ‘Have we won? For now, yes, but that is all. They will be back. However, I believe this was indeed supposed to be “the big assault”. A dragon to cause panic, ground troops to eliminate your forces around the portal, then battle mages in the role of heavy artillery. It would have been successful, had you not realised that magic runs out more quickly in your world.’
Cassandra clasped Paris’s hand.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Well done you. And without any booze, either!’
Paris forced a smile. He didn’t want to tell her that, right at the moment, he really needed a drink.
He looked down at her beaming goth face. Surely people who wore this kind of make-up were supposed to be miserable? But then, he knew, Cassandra never did the expected. They were going into the magic world to face God knows what, and she acted like she was on a day trip. Even when they’d been chased by a dragon, she’d seemed excited rather than terrified. If she was a book, her cover would say “Do not read this unless you want to get your head really screwed up”.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘What do you know about magic being less powerful this side of the portal?’
‘Not much,’ she replied. ‘I’ve only got this side to go on, haven’t I? That’s why I’m coming too. The chance to visit a whole world full of mysticism? I can’t wait!’
Paris stared down at her. He’d tried to convince her otherwise. He’d tried ordering her. He’d come very close to telling her how he felt – but it was hard to explain when he wasn’t sure himself.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I also know the only way to stop you is get the army to lock you up. You do realise we might all be killed?’
Cassandra shrugged. ‘Occupational hazard. Besides, we’ve got magic of our own.’
Paris raised an eyebrow. He’d spent days trying to figure out what it all meant. Could this be when he finally found out?
‘Really?’ he said. ‘We’ve got magic?’
‘Yes. You haven’t told me to let go of your hand, have you?’
She grinned as Paris extricated his fingers. He gritted his teeth and wondered if he should take this particular book back to the library.
He was spared any further embarrassment as all eyes turned towards the bottom of the garden. A familiar twinkling oval started to appear. It opened up a metre above the grass, roughly another metre high. Grarf and the soldiers abandoned their conversation to take up defensive positions. Commands rang out across the garden, accompanied by the sound of rifles being readied.
A single shape flew out of the sparkling blackness and over the heads of the troops. Malbus circled, cawing loudly. Paris ignored him, keeping his eyes on the portal. He watched it close with a sigh of relief.
He turned his attention back to the crow as he fluttered down to land on Tergil’s shoulder. Paris tutted. Malbus was milking the applause of the approaching soldiers, wings held aloft and head nodding. If birds could grin triumphantly, this one was doing it.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ said Malbus. ‘No autographs, though. I can’t hold a pen.’
‘You made it,’ said Cassandra.
‘Easy-peasy,’ replied Malbus. ‘Fly in, keep schtum, make like an ordinary crow who went through by accident. Have a butchers, then come back. Job’s a good ’un.’ He fixed his eyes on Paris. ‘So where’s me fag?’
Paris pulled out the cigarette he had ready and considered. Sometimes brave deeds were done for fame and fortune. Sometimes it was merely for a smoke.
Malbus clamped his beak around the cigarette as Paris held up his lighter.
‘What did you find?’ asked the inspector.
‘There’s two V soldiers on guard,’ replied the crow, puffing away as he spoke. ‘The rest of them are away a bit down the hill. Ain’t enough room for them all right next to it. And I’ve seen your guy. He’s alive. Tied to a tree and not looking too happy, but alive at the mo. Dunno how long for.’
‘Well, smoke quickly then,’ said Paris. ‘We need to get a move on.’
‘I still say this is utter madness,’ said Montrose. ‘You know I can’t send any of my men in there with you. I don’t have the authority.’
‘I do not want them to come,’ said Tergil. ‘A large force would attract the Vanethria’s attention. As a small group we can go in, rescue Sergeant Bonetti and sneak away unnoticed.’
‘Aye!’ bellowed Grarf.
Paris pondered. There was no doubting the magical creatures’ bravery, although he did sometimes question their sanity. And his own. However, they’d discussed Tergil’s plan and it had been agreed. It was the best option available from the choice of rock, hard place, and whatever was even worse than both of them. He swallowed.
‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
The cluster of soldiers moved aside, allowing Paris to set off down the garden. Grarf, Eric, Cassandra and Tergil fell in behind, with Malbus still perched on the elf’s shoulder.
In front of where the mystic gateway should be, Paris stopped. He knew how to make it open now. He concentrated as hard as he could, attempting to draw upon primitive natural instincts. Nothing. Damn, he thought. Tergil moved alongside him, but didn’t do or say anything. Regardless, a tiny speck of light appeared before them. Double damn, thought Paris.
The light sparkled as it grew, spreading out wide and tall enough to accommodate Grarf. Malbus took one last, long drag, then spat out the cigarette onto the grass.
‘Final chance,’ said the crow. ‘Anybody wanna turn back?’
‘Not on your life!’ said Cassandra.
‘Nay,
’ boomed Grarf. ‘I am Grarf. Warrior of Delostra, Knight of the High Council, destroyer of the Bantuk.’
‘And I,’ said Tergil, ‘am Tergil Vos. Warrior of Bazon, Knight of the High Council, defender of the faith.’
‘And I,’ said Eric, ‘am Eric Tubthumper. Dwarf.’
Paris looked around the group.
‘I’m Nick Paris,’ he said. ‘And I’m honoured.’
He turned to face the portal, took a very deep breath, and stepped in.
43
It was, thought Paris, a very strange thing indeed. The shimmering blackness of the portal looked almost solid as he approached, yet parted like smoke as his right foot moved into it. He watched the vapours swirl around his shoe: intangible as mist but impenetrable as a mystery. Then again, this was a bridge to another world. If it wasn’t a bit bizarre, that would be, well, bizarre. It billowed up about him as he went forward and he almost smiled. He had no idea what lay on the other side, but the worst that this strange thing itself could offer was a wacky appearance.
As his head moved into the portal, this confidence vanished as quickly as the smoke. He now seemed to be striding through space and the twinkling specks of light around him were stars. He travelled in slow motion, through a place with no time, with the sensation of his body being pulled apart and put back together simultaneously. His senses expanded beyond the edge of his consciousness, touching sounds and smelling colours through his fingertips. He fought to make sense of it, to no avail. He tried to scream, though no noise came. Then his foot landed on solid ground and he emerged, panting and staring at the floor.
Paris planted his left foot next to his right and dropped down onto his haunches, hands clasped to his temples. One step, he’d taken. One step. And in that brief movement he’d been to the edge of the universe and back. He felt shredded. The only thing left intact was a sense of wonder. If this was what the magic creatures had to put up with, he wondered how they did it at all.
He crouched with his elbows by his knees and his head resting on his hands, trying to focus his brain back into some sort of normality. Warm sunshine caressed his skin. In the distance he could hear birdsong. He realised, with great relief, that he’d picked these signals up through the correct senses. Paris gazed at the ground, trying to make sure his vision worked too. Beneath his feet he saw barren grey rock, not the grass of the Didsbury garden. He was vaguely aware that he must have moved to some other place. And, as he fought to re-establish control of himself, he was also aware that he was not alone.
Paris lowered his hands as he stood up unsteadily. Two Vanethria soldiers were standing a short distance in front of him. The first was pink, with an almost hexagonal head and a horn protruding from his brow. The second was navy blue and had the face of a squirrel. A squirrel with tusks. Both wore the compulsory loincloth and carried long curved swords. They stared at him in apparent amazement. Paris stared back. He didn’t know who was the most shocked – although he was quite certain who was the most frightened.
The pink one jabbed his scimitar towards the new arrival. He barked out something in the impenetrable demon language. It appeared to be a question, except Paris had no idea what he’d been asked. Probably “Where did you come from?” but it could have been “Who won the World Cup in 1938?” Right at this moment it would be impossible for him to answer either query.
The two demons stomped closer on their tyrannosaurus-like feet as Paris’s size nines remained rooted to the spot. Stepping forward was not an option. Behind him the mystic gateway remained open, although going through it again was not something he wanted to do for a very long time. The guards stopped in front of the policeman as he wavered, each one half a metre taller than him. They glared down through baleful – though identical – orange eyes. Paris thought the colour went with navy, but didn’t really suit pink. And then he thought, “What the hell am I thinking?”
A six-sided face loomed towards him, spitting out the same gibberish as before. Paris gulped.
‘Parlez-vous français?’
Confusion flickered in the unsuitable orange eyes, followed by a look of horror. Something whizzed across the top of Paris’s head and the demon’s one was sliced from his neck. A blur of motion shot past the inspector’s side and the second demon staggered back, Eric’s battleaxe embedded in his chest. Tergil darted forward, thrusting out his sword to finish the job.
Both guards fell to the ground, green blood spurting out around them. Paris gaped at the corpses for a moment, then turned to peer over his left shoulder. Grarf was emerging from the portal, his huge black blade covered in the same emerald blood. Paris wondered briefly at the strength it must take to cleave a skull from a body in one swipe, although he didn’t give it too much thought. Grarf had that sort of power in abundance.
He turned to his right, where Tergil was wiping his sword clean. Eric stood by the fallen blue body, wrestling his axe free from the Vanethria soldier’s torso. Paris studied the dwarf’s rippling biceps. He decided that if he ever had to choose between Eric or Grarf to thump him, he would be voting for “none of the above”.
Tergil inspected his blade, then looked across at Paris.
‘The element of surprise,’ said the elf. ‘It is only a cliché because it is true.’
‘That’s right, Mr Parrots,’ said Eric. ‘Hit ’em hard and fast. Nice day for killing demons, don’t you think?’
Paris patted himself on the head.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘And a nice day for almost getting a haircut.’
‘’Twas thine own fault, Nipparis,’ said Grarf. ‘Thou wert meant to duck.’
Paris gritted his teeth. Now that his wits were approaching working order, he remembered the plan as well as anyone. Tergil had stopped him when he first went to enter the twinkling black oval, checking with Malbus on the position of the guards. “You go first,” the elf had then said. “They will not expect to see a human in their world. It will disorientate them, much as the dragon did your soldiers. When they come near to investigate, crouch down as if cowering. We will be right behind you.” It sounded so simple. Except nobody told him his brain would be fried. He could hardly recall his own name, never mind what he was supposed to do. The allegedly simple plan was as easy as falling off a log. When your feet were nailed to it.
He sensed someone behind him and looked round. Cassandra was coming through to the magic world, with Malbus standing on her shoulder. The crow took off as soon as he had completely appeared, circling above as lookout. Cassandra didn’t even seem to notice. Instead she gazed at Paris through glassy eyes, swaying a little as she grabbed hold of his arm.
‘Oh wow!’ she said. ‘Fantastic!’
Paris frowned. ‘Fantastic? Having your mind turned inside out and scattered across the galaxy?’
‘Absolutely!’ The witch beamed. ‘See, I’m too young to know for sure. But that’s how I always imagined a Hawkwind concert.’
Paris looked at her with a mixture of admiration and astonishment. Nothing fazed this woman at all, not even hyper-dimensional transportation or whatever they’d just done. He saw the gateway closing behind her and he still had no idea what it actually was or how it worked. Cassandra, of course, didn’t seem to care. She was evidently far too busy enjoying the big adventure. Paris pondered. Maybe he should be more like her. Or maybe not. Besides, she was without doubt one of a kind, and he wouldn’t have her any other way. Plus she obviously had good taste in music.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Similar, anyway. Now me, I’m too much of a cop to know for sure. But that’s how I always imagined the effect of eating magic mushrooms.’
‘Yes,’ said Cassandra. ‘Similar, anyway.’
Paris felt a tap on his shoulder before he could ask any more questions. He turned, somewhat gratefully, to face Tergil.
‘Do I understand,’ said the elf, ‘that you found crossing between the worlds to be an unpleasant experience?’
Paris glared at him.
‘Oh, not at all,’ said the p
oliceman. ‘It’s right up there on my list of favourite activities, somewhere between root canal work and eating my own leg. How the bloody hell do you manage it?’
Tergil thought for a moment.
‘We do not experience any sensory problems,’ he said. ‘In fact, we do not experience anything; we pass from one place to another instantaneously. However, you are a human. Your scientific mind is trying to analyse everything, whereas we simply accept it.’
Cassandra poked Paris in the arm. ‘And you know why it was worse for you? Because me, I just enjoyed the ride. But you think too much.’
Paris studied her grinning face as he weighed up what he’d heard. He’d spent his entire life trying to be logical, even if it had been very hard to do over the last few days. Now he stood in a place where logic might not apply. Should he “go with the flow”? Could it be possible that his intellect, his most potent weapon, was currently both useless and a liability? This needed serious consideration. Though possibly not serious logical consideration. Or something. Bugger.
He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. His nostrils caught the scent of pine. Paris realised he’d been so out of it that he hadn’t even taken in his new surroundings. He looked about him, trying to correct matters. Wherever they were, it certainly wasn’t Manchester. The houses and shops had gone, replaced by what appeared to be a mountainous region, devoid of any sign of civilisation. He was standing on a flat area of rock, more or less square, approximately ten metres along each side. One border of the rough quadrilateral was formed by a cliff behind where the portal had opened, which towered up above them. The other three sides fell away out of sight, leaving only views of the adjacent hills. Odd clumps of grass sprouted from the otherwise bare grey stone under his feet, although he could see some trees on the slopes of the nearby peaks.
Breaking the Lore Page 25
