The Skin Map

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “C’mon, Mina,” he cajoled. “Just think—you’ll get to see some fetching landscape, have a nice cream tea somewhere, and a walk in the fresh sea air. You’ll like it. It’ll be fun.”

  By way of reply she scowled and gave him a smack on the arm.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “I warned you,” she said, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. “Anyway, I don’t want to go to the seaside, thanks all the same.”

  “You’ve got to see this.”

  “So is he going to be there?”

  “Who?”

  “The bloody pope!”

  “You mean my great-grandfather?”

  “Who else?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Then again, maybe.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “If I said I believed you,” Mina ventured, “would we have to go through with this?”

  “You make it sound like an ordeal,” he countered. “This’ll be”—he saw her eyes glint dangerously, and abruptly changed tack—“an education.”

  They walked on. A few hundred yards later, Kit spied the street sign for Stane Way. “Look! This is where it happened—or hereabouts.” He stepped to the mouth of the alley and started down the long, shadowed street. “This way, and don’t worry—it’s not as bad as it looks.”

  They walked a short way, the shadows deepening around them.

  “My, this is a lovely spot.” Mina stepped over a plastic carrier bag spilling sandwich boxes and crisp packets onto the pavement. “Why haven’t you brought me here before?”

  “Just keep walking.”

  “You’re gonna make this up to me, boy,” Mina warned. “And it’s gonna take more than a cup of tea and a microwaved scone.”

  Kit was striding down the middle of the alleyway with big, exaggerated steps. She followed, imitating his walk—more from boredom than conviction. “I don’t know if it will work,” he called back to her. “I was closer to the other end when it happened.”

  “When what happened, exactly?”

  “This fierce little storm boiled up out of nowhere, and—”

  “What?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard above the sound of the wind just then gusting down the alleyway.

  “I said,” he shouted back, “a storm came along—”

  “Like this one, you mean?” she hollered, shouting at the top of her lungs.

  He stopped. The storm! Black clouds roiled above them, a wild wind screamed through the gap between the buildings, and it started to rain. “This way!” he yelled. “Do you feel it?”

  “What?” cried Wilhelmina, trying to hear and be heard above the uncanny shriek of the gale.

  “Follow me!” he shouted. “Stay close! You don’t want to get lost.”

  He started running to get out of the rain and felt the ground give beneath him in a fluid, shifty way—like jogging on the floor of a bouncy castle. In the same instant, his vision blurred and he felt himself falling: no great distance, as it turned out, merely the space between a stair tread and the floor.

  Dashing water from his eyes with the heels of his hands, he shouted. “Over here!”

  Receiving no reply, he turned to the alley behind him. Wilhelmina was nowhere to be seen.

  CHAPTER 4

  In Which Unwanted Attention Is Roused

  The storm howled away into the heavens, leaving Kit wet, nauseated, and with a head that felt two sizes too big. He wiped drool from his chin with a sodden sleeve and waited, listening to the sound of the rapidly diminishing storm.

  “Mina!” he called after a moment.

  No answer.

  He called her name again and started walking back the way he had come, searching for a doorway, an alcove, any cubbyhole however small where she might have sought shelter. He found nothing but blank brick walls on either side and, upon reaching the end of the alley, was forced to conclude that she was not there.

  Of all the things that might have happened, this was one he had not anticipated: that he would make the jump to the other place, as he now thought of it, and she would remain in the real world. The thought of her wending her soggy way home, cursing his name aloud to the four winds, made him frustrated and angry—almost as angry as he had been before, when she didn’t believe him. She believed him now, perhaps. Having seen him vanish before her eyes, what else could she think but that he had been telling the truth all along?

  On the other hand, he had abandoned her in a filthy alley in King’s Cross. That could cancel out whatever he might have gained in the truth-telling stakes. Who knew? With Wilhelmina, one could never tell.

  But it came to him that the remedy was perfectly obvious: he would go back.

  Taking a deep breath, he braced himself and gathered his feet under him for another run. Just as he was about to launch himself into the deep-shadowed darkness of the alley, he heard someone call his name. Turning once more toward the alley entrance, he saw the now familiar figure of the old man who claimed to be his great-grandfather.

  “Hello, Kit,” called Cosimo, hastening to meet him. He was dressed, as before, in a long dark coat and a broad-brimmed felt hat pulled low on his head. “I knew you’d come back,” he said as he came to stand before his great-grandson. “Am I to take it that you’ve changed your mind? Settled your affairs, made your farewells, and now you’re ready to lend a willing hand to a most vital enterprise that requires your particular good self ?”

  “Okay, okay,” conceded the younger man. “Whatever.”

  “Stop evading the question. Are you ready to join me?”

  “Yeah, well there’s a little problem with that. This girl I know—my girlfriend, Mina—is waiting for me back home. In Stane Way, actually. We were supposed to come here together and—”

  “What?”

  “I was just going to show her, but she didn’t make the jump.”

  “Make the jump?” echoed Cosimo, his brows lowering in a scowl. “What did you do, Kit?”

  “Nothing!” protested Kit. “I was just going to show her. She didn’t believe me, so I wanted to show her the ley line, you know. Well, the same thing happened as last time, and I ended up here, but she got left on the other side.”

  “Stupid boy!” roared Cosimo. “How could you do something so utterly asinine?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” replied Kit lamely. “Anyway, there’s no reason to assume the worst. Nothing happened.”

  “You’d better hope so.”

  “She’ll take the tube home. Big deal. She’ll be royally annoyed at me, but she’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t know what you’ve done, do you? You haven’t the foggiest idea how incredibly dangerous this is.”

  “No, I—” Kit began, then paused. “How dangerous?”

  “More dangerous than you can possibly imagine.”

  “But you said if I changed my mind I was to come back, so—”

  “I didn’t expect you to try to bring along your paramour. I suppose you told her everything? Why not tell half of London while you’re at it—place a notice in the Times, broadcast it on the BBC?” The elder fellow shook his head in dismay. “Well, the churn is upturned. All that remains is to assess the damage. Pray that it is not a complete disaster.”

  Kit frowned. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m sorry. Let’s move on.”

  “See here, my boy. Telluric energy is one of the more subtle yet powerful forces in the universe—the least understood and probably the most unpredictable,” explained Cosimo. “You have travelled through what some are pleased to call a low-frequency window—a threshold, if you will, separating dimensions. You have ended up here, as anticipated, but there is no way to tell where your girlfriend has gone.”

  “But she didn’t go anywhere,” Kit protested. “She didn’t follow me. She stayed on the other side. . . .” One glance at the elder man’s face and he lost all confidence in this assertion. He finished weakly, “Didn’t she?”

  “It is possible, but n
ot at all certain. You have neither the skill nor experience to be bringing others with you. In time, should you live long enough, you may develop your talents. But until then, you really must refrain from attempting to drag others along—however good an idea it might seem at the time.”

  “Well, I didn’t know, did I?” muttered Kit peevishly.

  “I suspect your friend travelled too,” Cosimo continued, “but inasmuch as she did not arrive here, we must surmise she went somewhere else.”

  “Where, then?”

  “That’s the trouble, you see—the possibilities are endless. Your friend could be anywhere or anywhen.”

  “Anywhen?”

  “Moving from one world or dimension to another, you inevitably travel in time as well. There is no way around it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “Time travel, of course.” Kit realized then why he had arrived back in London eight hours late, and he grasped the fact that Sefton-on-Sea was something other than a quaint tourist attraction.

  “Stay right here,” commanded the old man. “Don’t move a muscle. Can you do that for two minutes end to end?”

  “Got it, professor.”

  “Good,” said Cosimo, already starting away. He turned back after only a few steps. “What does this Mina of yours look like?” Kit offered a brief description, including the colour of her jacket and the trousers she was wearing. “Yes, that’s enough,” said the old man. He turned and walked into the shadows. His body grew hazy—as if viewed through the pane of a frosted glass window. There was a sudden gust of wind, and he vanished completely.

  Kit waited and wondered how long he would have to stand in the alley. The thought was still bouncing around in his head when he felt the breeze stir and saw Cosimo hurrying out of the shadows once more.

  “She’s not there.”

  “Where?”

  “Stane Way.”

  “Maybe she went home.”

  “No, she should have been exactly where you left her.”

  Kit shrugged. “If you say so.”

  Cosimo shook his head slowly. “You really have no idea what’s going on here, do you?”

  “If you put it like that,” muttered Kit, “I guess not.”

  “If your friend has travelled to another plane of existence it is a problem—a very big problem—and one that must be addressed with all urgency and seriousness of purpose. So, come along, my boy.” Cosimo began moving toward the seafront. “We’re going to see an old friend of mine. He’s giving a lecture this evening, and I’ve arranged for us to have dinner afterwards. We’ll explain the situation to him. As it happens, he’s a colleague and a scientist, and he may be able to help.”

  They emerged from the alley and walked along the quayside. The seafront was quieter, almost deserted now. The large schooner was still there, but the stevedores and fishermen were gone, their boats secured for the night. A sprinkling of early stars was beginning to appear in the eastern sky, and the sun was going down like a molten globe behind the blue-shadowed headland. “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight . . . ,” mused Kit. The sea was calm and taking on a silvery glow.

  They soon came to a deeply rutted road and turned onto it. With the bay at their backs, the two proceeded up a steep slope, climbing through a clutch of low houses to the top of the sheltering hill. Kit was puffing and sweating as they gained the rim, and he was allowed to pause and catch his breath. The bay spread out below them in a gleaming arc, bronzed by the light of a setting sun.

  “Where are we going?” Kit asked, feeling the air cool the sweat on his skin.

  “See that stone?” Cosimo pointed to a finger-thin standing stone beside the road a couple hundred yards away. “That marks a ley I have found particularly useful.” He cast a hasty glance at the darkening sky. “We’d best be getting along.”

  They continued on the road at a sprightly pace. The old man seemed to gain vigour with every step, and Kit found himself having to scurry time and again to keep up. Upon reaching the standing stone, Kit called, “Hey! Can we stop a second?”

  Cosimo stopped. “Young people have no endurance.”

  “We have other qualities.” Kit stooped, hands on knees, and gulped air.

  “Sorry, old chap, but we must push on,” his grandsire said. “We really cannot dillydally any longer.”

  He beetled off again, leaving the road and forging out cross-country, striding through long grass toward a broad rise, the first of a bank of hills glowing deep emerald in the dusky twilight. Kit followed, jogging to keep up.

  “The leys are mostly time sensitive, you see,” Cosimo informed him. These words were still being spoken when out of nowhere sounded a horrendous, blood-stopping snarl. The sound echoed across the quickly darkening landscape, driving out all lesser sounds.

  “What was that?”

  “We’ve been careless,” said Cosimo. “Now they’ve found us.”

  “Who?” Kit demanded, looking around frantically for the source of the unnerving growl. “What was that?”

  “Listen to me,” said Cosimo, desperation edging into his tone. “Do exactly as I say without hesitation or deviation.”

  The snarl erupted again—a vicious, guttural rumble that reverberated in the pit of his stomach.

  “Sure,” said Kit, trying to look everywhere at once. “What do we do?”

  Three dark shapes appeared at the spot where they had left the road. They hesitated for a moment, then picked up the trail and came upon two vaguely human shapes either side of a low-slung mass too small for a horse but too big for a dog.

  “Pay attention,” snapped Cosimo. “That notch—” He pointed to a V-shaped cleft in the crest of the hill directly above them. “See it?”

  Kit nodded.

  “Run for it and don’t look back.” He gave the young man a slap on the back. “Go!”

  Kit scrambled for the notch, climbing, leaping, flying over the uneven ground. Shouts rang out in the valley below; he ignored them. Upon reaching the curious gap cut in the rim of the hill, he paused and risked a fleeting backward glance. In the fading light he imagined he saw an enormous cat roughly the size of a small pony, tawny brown with a spray of dark spots across its muscular shoulders and back. The creature was straining at a leash made from an iron chain in the grip of a very large man. A second man of similar size carried a torch. Both wore wide-brimmed green hats and long green coats.

  Cosimo pounded up behind him. “Kit! Don’t stop. This way.” His grandfather motioned for him to follow. “Hurry!”

  Stretching out across the broad upland expanse, Kit saw a thin trail worn in the grass. He set his feet to it and started running.

  “Stay right where you are!” shouted one of the men behind them.

  “You know what we want,” came the voice beyond the flashlight.

  “Give it to us,” added the voice at the end of the chained cat. “You can walk free—you and your little friend there. No harm done.”

  “I don’t have it,” shouted Cosimo, frantically gesturing for Kit to keep moving. “Now leave us alone. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “It’s time to pay the piper, old man,” said the one restraining the chained beast.

  “I may be forced to use violence,” Cosimo called. “I’m warning you.”

  A dry laugh was the only reply he received.

  Cosimo moved on down the path with Kit right behind.

  “You can’t get away!” shouted the man holding the chain. “Stop, or we’ll let Baby gnaw on your leg bones.”

  “One last chance,” called the man with the torch. “Give us the map—and you’ll walk away in one piece.”

  “I’ll count to three,” said his companion, “and then I’m going to release Baby.”

  “You’re making a big mistake,” called Cosimo over his shoulder. “I don’t have it.”

  “One . . .”

  “A very big mistake, indeed.”

  “Two . . .”

  “Grab my hand, Kit,” urged Cosimo, his vo
ice a tense whisper. “Whatever happens, don’t let go.”

  “Three!”

  There was a rattle of chain, and the brute shouted, “Feed, Baby! Kill!”

  The huge cat seemed to gather itself, then gave out an ear-shattering roar as it launched itself at them.

  Kit, grasping the old man’s hand, felt himself pulled along with such force it nearly wrenched his arm from the socket. The creature bounded effortlessly up the hill and onto the trail, dragging its oversized keeper with it. If not for the man hanging onto the end of the chain, the beast would have been on them in an instant. As it was, the human slowed the animal enough for them to stay a step or two ahead of it—until Kit stepped in a hole, stumbled, and went down—inadvertently releasing his grip.

  He squirmed on the ground and caught a glimpse of a curved tooth and the evil glint of a golden eye. He felt the air vibrate with the creature’s roar as it bounded nearer. Hauling himself up, he lurched into flight once more and heard the clatter of the chain and the dreadful rush of great clawed feet slicing through the grass. Somehow, Kit snagged the old man’s hand once more and, holding on like grim death, was yanked farther along the track. The next thing he knew they were running hard into a rising headwind. He felt drizzle on his face, and he could hear cursing and shouting behind them.

  “Don’t stop!” cried the old man. “Keep running.”

  Their pursuers’ voices seemed to dwindle behind them, growing smaller and farther away.

  “Hold on!” cried Cosimo. “Here we go!”

  The wild howl of the enraged cat was suddenly swallowed by the shriek of the wind as Kit sprawled headlong into the unknown.

  CHAPTER 5

  In Which Kit Attends a Lecture at the Royal Society for the Improvement of Natural Knowledge

  The next moment was filled with the scream of the wind and blinding rain. It lasted only a second or two, and when he could see again Kit found himself on his hands and knees in yet another coal-dark alley—this one stinking of urine and slops. But the storm that had brought them was quickly vanishing. “Are we . . . ?” he gasped.

  “Safe now,” Cosimo reassured him. “We gave them the slip. As soon as you’re ready, we should be getting along.”