“So?” Gordo said, brows furrowed. He didn’t like it when the barbarian started to think for himself.
“I reckon there’s somefin’ goin’ on there,” said Groan suspiciously. “I don’t reckon he’s as old as he makes out.”
“But he’s got to be!” said Gordo. “I mean, I remember he was quite famous when I first came to Dullitch, way back. Tambor Forestall! Everyone knew about Tambor Forestall back then. I’m sure of it. Tambor Forestall and the Seven Dragons, Tambor Forestall and the Trolls of Epsworth Creek, Tambor Forestall and, and…”
“And the Tower of Screamin’ Doom?” ventured Groan. He smiled; sarcasm was a new experience for him.
Tambor was slowly descending from the top of the tree. He slipped on one of the lower branches and landed on the forest floor with a crash.
“Well,” he said eventually, “there’s good news and there’s bad news. Which do you want first?”
Gordo shrugged. “Either.”
“Right,” Tambor continued, getting to his feet. “The good news is, we’ve lost the orcs. The bad news is, we have to go back the way we came.”
“Why would we want to do that?” exclaimed Gordo.
“Because there happens to be a giant chopping wood about two clearings ahead of us.”
“A giant?” said Gordo.
“Yes. G-i-a-n-t. Giant. He’s twice the size of Groan.” The old sorcerer shook his head. “I suppose he might be friendly, but I doubt it. Either way, we can’t take the risk.”
“We won’t then,” Groan muttered. “I’ll just knock ’im out.
“What?” Tambor gasped, looking down at Gordo. “Did you hear that? He’s out of his stupid mind. That’s a giant, for crying out loud. He’ll get us all killed.”
The dwarf shrugged. “Stay here if you like,” he said, unclasping his battle-axe. “I doubt this’ll take long.
“Hey!” Tambor called after them. “Is there any chance of dashing back to fetch my carpet?”
Deep inside the Twelve there was a barely audible clink and the prison door swung open.
“That’s incredible!” said Stump. “We’re impressed.”
Jimmy was about to point out that he couldn’t actually see anybody else in the cell, when another question came to mind. “You haven’t seen anything unusual since you’ve been in here, have you?” Jimmy asked.
Stump squinted back at the cage. “Like what?” said Stump.
“Well, like an eight-foot-tall barbarian, an old sorcerer, and a dwarf,” answered Jimmy, hopefully.
“Nope, sorry,” said Stump, smiling. “Haven’t seen anyone like that. Don’t know about Mick; he was already down here when I arrived. He might’ve seen somethin’. You can ask him yourself.”
Jimmy smiled at Stump sympathetically. “Insanity’s a terrible thing,” he muttered.
“What’s that?”
“Er…I said it must’ve been horrible to be locked up down here all that time.”
“Oh, not really,” said Stump, shaking his head. “We kept ourselves busy, you know how it is.” He scratched a stubbly upper lip. “The first few days were the worst, gettin’ to know each other, like. We had a couple of cross words then. Mick’s not much of a talker,” he added, sighing heavily.
“Really,” said Jimmy.
“Plus,” Stump continued, unabashed, “you wouldn’t believe how many people just walk right by, don’t even lift a finger when they hear a bloke in distress; ain’t that right, Mick? Bloody scoutmasters.”
Jimmy frowned. “Scoutmasters?”
“Yeah,” said Stump reasonably. “At any rate, he looked like a scoutmaster. He had a lot of kids with him, didn’t he, Mick?”
Back in Dullitch, the city’s fragile morale was beginning to crack.
“I’m sorry, the what?” Duke Modeset asked, leaning across his desk and cupping a hand to his ear.
“The, er, the Dullitch Society for the Successful Location and Safe Return of Missing Children, milord,” said Pegrand.
“And they’re demanding my abdication?”
“Yes, milord.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Modeset. “I’ve never even heard of them. In fact, I’d be surprised if they existed before lunch.”
Pegrand smiled nervously. “They say they’ve been going twenty years, milord. You know, on the off-chance.”
“Ah yes, like the Association for Making Friends with the People of Phlegm Before They Invade Us Next Tuesday? Or even, what was it, the Long-Established League Against the Early Closing of the Rotting Ferret on a Friday Night? Ha! They must think I was born upside down in a haystack. Tell them to drop dead.”
“Yes, milord,” said Pegrand.
“But not in those words, of course.”
“Course not, milord.” Pegrand shuffled some documents and, holding them out to the duke, he continued, “They did have this, though.”
Modeset sighed and rubbed his eyelids. “What is it?”
“Er, well, it’s a petition demanding answers, milord.”
“Is it signed?” asked Modeset.
“Yes, milord.”
“Just the one page?”
“Er, yes, milord. Oh, no, tell a lie, there’re two. Unless this one’s part…oh right, three. Oh, no, four…and the two I’ve just dropped.”
“Give it to me!”
Modeset reached up, snatched the sheaf of documents and threw them straight into the bin.
“Now, go and find Quaris Sands!” he snapped. “We need a workable speech by the morning and I’m damn sure I’m not going to be the one writing it.”
SEVENTEEN
JIMMY WAS TRYING TO get a grip on his excitement.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You saw a stranger leading a large group of children through here?”
“Yeah, like I said,” Stump yawned. “There’s a grate in the back of the cell, you see. I saw ’em all filing past in the next tunnel, so I shouted for help. Funny thing was, they didn’t even hear me! It was like they were all hypnotized or somethin’. Totally zonked. Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Jimmy swallowed, swallowed, and swallowed again. “Please listen to me very carefully,” he began, his hands shaking violently as he spoke. “My name is Jimmy Quickstint; I come from Dullitch. That scoutmaster is some kind of evil enchanter. He stole those children from Dullitch, and I need to get them back before, well, before he decides to do something unspeakable to them.”
“That’s awful!” Stump gasped. “Hang on, though, wait a minute; are you telling me they’ve sent you out on your own to stop this fella?”
“No, not exactly. I was supposed to find these mercenaries who are traveling with my granddad—he’s an ex-sorcerer, by the way—and oh, it’s all too complicated to explain now! Listen, do you think there’s any way we can get through this wall?”
Stump peered into his cell for what seemed like a long time. “No,” he said eventually, turning back. “But you shouldn’t need to. The Twelve’s full of these tunnels; one big network from the outside in; junctions all over the place. You just have to follow this tunnel through; no doubts it’ll link up to the others somewhere along the line. Maybe Mick would know, he’s lived down here for years.”
This time, Jimmy just couldn’t let the question go unspoken.
“Is Mick a ghost?” he asked tentatively.
Stump frowned at him. “Mick doesn’t know whether to be insulted or not by that remark.”
“Oh, sorry. Tell him I apologize.”
“Look,” said Stump, suddenly straightening up. “I ain’t no mediator; tell him yourself.”
“I can’t see him!” shouted Jimmy. He shoved the prisoner aside, marched into the cell and walked twice around it. Then he got down on his hands and knees to crawl under a sloping wall in the rear of the room. Stump watched with a detached amusement.
“What are you up to?” he asked.
“I’m just trying to prove to myself,” said Jimmy, prodding a leg into
parts the rest of him couldn’t reach, “that I’m not going crazy. There is no Mick.”
“Did you hear that, Mick?” said Stump. “He says you don’t exist.”
The thief struggled to his feet and shook his head. Of all the prisoners in all the cells, in all the lands, he thought, why did I have to get this lunatic?
Then he saw Mick waving at him.
Standing on the prisoner’s palm was a man two inches tall. He was wearing britches and a jerkin. He had a tiny eye patch over one eye. Jimmy gaped at him.
“See?” said Stump, excitedly. “That’s Mick, that is.
“Flimder,” said Mick. It sounded more like a squeak than a word.
“What is he?” Jimmy asked, fascinated.
“Mick’s a mite. Says he’s the bastard son of Tim Index. He don’t say much, but I think we understand each other on a kind of spiritual level. He might be telepathic.”
The little man produced a miniature rope and looped the end over Stump’s forefinger. Then he started to rappel down the prisoner’s hand.
“Look at him,” said Stump cheerfully. “He’s always tryin’ to get away.”
Jimmy watched as he flicked his wrist and caught the mite back in the palm of his hand.
“He’s a real one for escaping, is Mick.”
“But that’s ridiculous! He could’ve walked between the bars at any time.”
“Eh?”
Jimmy shook his head in disbelief. “You said,” he began, trying to speak in plain language in case Stump was having problems in that department, “that he was already here when you arrived. Why didn’t he just leave?”
“I think he’d made himself at home, to be honest. He had a nice little house built out of an old tinderbox.”
“What happened to that?” said Jimmy, looking around again.
“I landed on it.”
“Flimder,” said Mick, shaking a minuscule fist at the prisoner. It appeared to be the only sound the little creature was capable of making.
“You know something, Stump?” said Jimmy.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think Mick likes you very much.”
Jimmy slumped down on to the dusty stone and wiped some sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
“So,” he said. “We know the children are down here somewhere. If we find them, that leaves me to fight the enchanter. Great, just great. I wonder where Granddad is?”
Groan Teethgrit was experiencing a situation which, to his mind, simply didn’t add up. Usually when he threw punches people fell; most times they just fell over and, occasionally, they fell thousands of feet. They never just stood there looking at him. Groan felt as if he were punching a cushion.
The giant just stood motionless, and continued to glare.
“C’mon then,” Groan managed, after the third blow had failed to garner a reaction. “I’m not touchin’ me sword, this is fightin’ ol’ style, han’ to han’. Lesee what you got.”
The giant reeled back and gave him a slap. Groan sailed backward, hitting a young coomba tree so hard that he actually heard the roots splitting as he lost consciousness.
The giant stepped amid the rubble and reached down to pick up the comatose barbarian. Unexpectedly, he got a battle-axe buried in his back. It felt like a wasp sting.
Gordo yanked as hard as could but the axe simply wouldn’t come loose. He put one foot on the giant’s back for leverage and found himself on the receiving end of a slap from a hand of pumpkin proportions. The giant didn’t see where Gordo landed, but he did see, out of the corner of his eye, the old man running toward him, frantically waving a broken branch. He stretched out a fist and there was a dull thud. The branch fell to the floor.
The giant yawned, removed the axe from his back, and hung it on a belt hook. Then he slung Tambor over one shoulder, snatched hold of Groan’s boots, and began dragging the barbarian back through the forest. On the way, he collected Gordo Goldeaxe, who’d landed upside down in a briar patch.
In the far distance, a coil of smoke headed skyward. The giant smiled. He always lit a succession of small fires whenever he went out to chop wood. They marked the path back to the entrance of his cave in the mountainside. He headed toward it with his new prisoners, feeling that on the whole, life couldn’t get much better.
EIGHTEEN
STUMP HAD SECRETED MICK about his person. Jimmy didn’t dare to ask where.
This is ridiculous, he thought. Even if I do find out where the foreigner took them, how am I ever going to sneak hundreds of children out of a mountain without him noticing?
“Look,” he said eventually, employing what he hoped was a friendly smile. “I’ve got to start looking. Can you help me?”
“No,” answered Stump, flatly.
Jimmy boggled at him. “No? You won’t help me rescue kidnapped children?”
“The thing is,” Stump continued, “it feels like I’ve been down here for ages and I wanna go back and see my family, you know how it is. Beryl, that’s my wife, she’s probably remarried, thinkin’ I’m a goner.”
“Oh, right,” said Jimmy. “You’d better get back to her, then.”
“Yeah, well, you know how it is. Sorry about that; good luck and all.”
“Thanks. I think.”
Jimmy nodded, got to his feet and marched off toward the lower staircase.
“No hard feelings,” Stump called after him. “I’m sure you aaaahhh! Mick! Stop bitin’ me!”
“Tambor?”
Eyelids flickered. A light in the darkness: small, indistinct. It hovered around at the edge of the sorcerer’s field of vision. Then, slowly, shapes began to swim into focus. He saw a lot of faces, no, correction; he saw a lot of face….
“You’re all right, then?” asked Gordo.
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” said Tambor weakly.
“I thought you might be dead,” said Gordo.
Tambor stared blearily around the room. It seemed to be a cell of some kind. He noted the half-rusted chains and manacles that hung from every wall. A tiny grille offered one of only two light sources, the other being a rather pathetic candle, half melted, on a shelf above Gordo’s head. There were also some half-rotted torches stacked in one corner.
The dwarf was kneeling beside him. Blood leaked from a cut on his forehead and his clothes were in tatters. Despite all this, he seemed as companionable as ever. Groan was lying flat out like a felled oak. He twitched every few seconds.
The sorcerer moaned. A dull throb that had started in the base of his spine was gradually working its way north, planning a terrible assault on his neck and shoulders. “What happened?” Tambor said.
“Well, I don’t know what happened to you, but we’ve taken a right old belting. Groan got KO’d by the giant, and I tried to help but he knocked me flying. Then I think he must have dragged us up to his cave. Groan was spark out, but I came round pretty quick.” Gordo grinned with masculine pride. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“You’d have to be. So, in fact, we’re inside a cell, inside the giant’s cave, inside the mountain. Sound right?”
“Yep, that’s the way of it.”
“I don’t understand,” said Tambor. “Why would he keep us here?”
“Who knows?” answered Gordo. “Maybe he’ll ransom us.”
Tambor nodded, and had a good go at a positively wretched expression. As his vision improved, so the scene around him was becoming progressively worse. When things were bad they were bad; you didn’t want details.
For example, he hadn’t seen the snake before. It slithered from a hole in the wall and wriggled into a crevice beneath the stone staircase. A number of indescribable obscenities crawled, on a wide variety of legs, across the cell floor. Tambor closed his eyes and pretended he was somewhere sunny.
There was a commotion outside, the cell door flew open and a few plates were thrown in, landing facedown on the stone. The door closed again.
Tambor managed to fight off a
few of the milder monstrosities to gain possession of something that looked like a distant relation to the dumpling.
He bit hard, closed his eyes, and swallowed. “I expect he’s fattening us up,” he told Gordo. “Well, fattening two of us up. He might want to starve you.”
“He’d better not,” snapped the dwarf. “Before we got into this mess, I hadn’t missed a single meal in thirty years.”
“Now, why don’t I find that surprising?” said Tambor sarcastically.
He struggled to his feet and kicked some dust over a dubious shadow in the corner. When it didn’t slink back or make a dive for his leg, he gave it a tentative tap with the toe of his boot. It turned out to be an old rag. He subjected it to a malicious stare, and then kicked some more dust over it. “Well, we’re done for, then,” he said.
Gordo gazed up at him, his face radiating surprise. “Really?” he said. “I was sure you’d think of something. You sorcerers always struck me as the intelligent sort, specially when it comes to escape and the like.”
“Oh, we are, generally speaking,” said Tambor. “It’s just that, well, being a sorcerer with a bad memory and no spell book doesn’t really prepare you for a prison break, if you know what I mean.”
“Mmm. I see your point,” said Gordo. “So, that’s it. We’re doomed.”
“So it would appear,” said Tambor, with a sigh.
They sat sharing the embarrassed silence for a while, before Gordo jumped to his feet. “I’ve got an idea,” he said.
Tambor started; he’d seen ideas dawn on people before, but Gordo gave the term “stroke of genius” a literal meaning.
“Why don’t we turn out our pockets and see if we’ve got anything that might get us out?” he said, excitedly.
“Fine,” said Tambor. “Let’s see. I’ve got a mousetrap and a piece of cheese. How about you?”
“Er, oh…I don’t have anything. Sorry.”
“Good plan, though.”
“Thanks,” said Gordo.
“I’m going to sleep now,” said Tambor, yawning. “Wake me up if anything dramatic happens.”
Jimmy had been wandering along the same dank tunnel for what seemed like hours. He looked at the walls on either side of him, wondering if it was one of those deceptive tunnels, where it appeared as if you were getting somewhere when you were actually just walking around in a circle.
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