by Craig Spence
Quiggle, standing in attendance behind Vortigen’s chair, coughed loudly.
Vortigen twisted round to stare at him. “You would do well to stay quite invisible, Quiggle,” his chief warned. “Do you understand?”
“Oh yes, your most eminent Eminence,” the valet bowed. “I would not want to do anything that might put our young master off his appetite. After all, the way to a boy’s heart is through his stomach, as they say — although in this instance, the boy’s stomach is in a different world! Ha, ha.”
“You are on the brink of ruin,” Vortigen threatened. “One more word and you shall find yourself in a place where you’ll wish you had bit your tongue.”
Despite this dire warning, Quiggle did open his mouth as if to speak, and for a flickering, anger — even outrage — clouded the valet’s face. But Vortigen paralyzed him with a fierce glance.
“Absolute silence, Quiggle, or my wrath shall be upon you,” Vortigen warned.
“Now Josh,” he said. “You are about to partake of the finest fruits Tilth has to offer. Enjoy! You will find the food here superior to anything in Outworld.”
Josh stared at the silver platter before him. Vegetables, fruit, meat — the meal had been artfully arranged. But he could not eat. Partaking of Syde’s bounty would have been a betrayal. He would rather have subsisted on the hospital food that awaited him in Outworld than share in the gourmet delights of Syde.
“Eat!” Vortigen encouraged. “There is nothing to be gained by starving yourself. You will find a thousand other ways to snub your host in the coming days. There’s no need to deny yourself this pleasure.”
Was that an invitation, or a challenge? Josh couldn’t say. But he continued his fast even though the food did smell delicious. Its aroma enticed him. He’d never smelled anything so good. Vortigen smiled slyly. Suddenly Josh’s appetite intensified. Hunger gnawed at his stomach and the scent of Syde’s delicacies actually stung in his nostrils and throat. He imagined what it must be like for a starving child to walk by the kitchen of a rich household. All around him the hall resounded with the sounds of eating, yet there he was, turning up his nose like a spoiled brat. No one paid any attention to him. Not a single person was watching to see if he’d take a bite of the forbidden food. And his hunger was unbearable!
“I can try a morsel at least,” Josh said.
He forked a stick of what looked like asparagus and examined it carefully. Then he snipped the tip off with his teeth, a particle no bigger than a fingernail.
If you’ve ever mistakenly downed a lump of horseradish not knowing what it was, you will appreciate a little what happened next. The flavour from Josh’s nibble expanded with the searing force of a bomb. His taste buds blazed. More than that, every nerve in his body tingled, inflamed by the flavour of paradise.
Josh gasped.
“Does it please you, My Lord?”
A gentleman to his left who had been surreptitiously watching Josh’s reaction smiled.
“I-i-it” Josh could not speak.
“Drink this,” the man handed him a goblet. “It will quell the overwhelming taste.”
Josh hesitated a fraction of a second then snatched the glass and gulped down half its contents.
Bad to worse! The liquid, if indeed it was water, tasted sweeter than any drink Josh had ever tried. Instead of quenching his thirst, it made him want more, and more.
“Stop! Stop!” his benefactor cried. “You will burst unless you temper your delight.”
He clasped Josh’s hand in his own and guided the cup back to the table. “Moderation, my friend,” the stranger cautioned. “The food and drink here is a thousand times more potent than what you are accustomed to in Outworld. You must imbibe slowly, building your capacity for pleasure over time.”
“But the others,” Josh gestured toward the crowded tables, where minions were gobbling down their food.
“They have become used to feasting,” his companion said, barely concealing a look of disgust. “They have developed a capacity for pleasure, which some call gluttony.”
“I see,” Josh said stiffly, suddenly aware that he did not know this man, and probably should not trust him.
Sensing Josh’s suspicion, his new friend extended his hand. “I’m so sorry,” he introduced himself. “You don’t even know me and here I am giving you advice. My name is Athelrod, and I have been appointed your tutor.”
“Tutor?”
“Yes,” Athelrod confirmed, still holding out his hand. “There is much for you to learn about the wonders of Syde.”
“I’m not staying here!” Josh shouted.
Athelrod dropped his hand into his lap and sighed. “Then you had best become an attentive pupil,” he said.
“Why should I, when I want nothing to do with this place?”
“Because you will never escape unless you learn all there is to learn about Syde. Do you know the dimensions of our realm? Its geography? Can you fly? Move stones with the power of thought? Appear in one place and leave another simply by willing it?”
The tutor waited for Josh’s answer. “If you cannot do these things,” he continued, “how do you expect to escape? Are you going to walk to Outworld? Even if you could, you wouldn’t know where to begin your trek. Take my advice: learn as much as you can as quickly as you can. There is no other hope for you.”
“You’re trying to trick me,” Josh objected.
“Of course I am,” the other laughed. “But think on it. The trick is not of my making; it is fate, and you cannot avoid it.”
Josh wanted to deny Athelrod’s cold logic, but truth is truth, whether it is uttered by a devil or a saint. If he was ever to escape, he had to embrace the powers Athelrod offered. He had to do exactly what Lord Vortigen wanted him to do!
“Is that settled, then?” Vortigen smirked.
Startled, Josh turned to him. The Lord of Syde had been watching all along. “It is,” Josh answered.
“Good, then let’s get on with our meal, for after dessert we shall begin your training. We must have you ready for the Grand Procession.”
“Grand Procession?”
“Yes,” Vortigen smiled. “Tomorrow I shall introduce you to my subjects — to our subjects.”
Josh wanted to shout “No!” , but quelled the urge. What was the use? Yelling at Vortigen was like trying to knock down a fortress with a slingshot.
52
You sure you want to do this?” Ian said.
Millie nodded then they headed down Main Street from the Café Java. She held the Book of Syde clutched to her chest inside its plastic shopping bag. It was heavy, its cargo of mystic lore and ancient spells seeking the centre of the earth. The Spell of Transmigration was among them, and the Spell of Imprisonment. To Millie it seemed she carried the fate of thousands in her arms.
“Endorathlil might not want to help us,” Ian warned.
“We won’t know that until we ask, will we?” she answered tartly. He was right, though. Why would the old witch want to help them reach Josh? Millie ran through the probabilities once more: if Endorathlil had reverted to her old ways and regretted helping them in the first place, she would turn them away, or use the occasion to get back The Book; if she had truly given up magic, then she wouldn’t be able to help them either, for it was magic they needed if they were going to reach Josh in Syde.
She was still mulling these depressing prospects when Ian grabbed her arm. “Trouble,” he muttered, inclining his head toward a rag-tag troop of boys on bicycles who were making their way up the sidewalk. He glanced over his shoulder, Millie’s eyes following his. A second squad was closing in from the rear. “Conky’s crew,” Ian muttered. “I think we’re in for a fight.”
“But there’s too many of them,” she cried.
“Got any better ideas,” he said grimly, pushing her behind him as the gang encircled them like a pack of hyenas.
“Well, well,” a squat, ugly youth rasped. “If it isn’t our good friend Lytle.” The others lau
ghed menacingly. “Come back to join us, Ian? Or did you just want to see how your pals were doing, now that we’ve been kicked out of Lil’s?” He stared at Millie with his hard, beady eyes. “Who’s your friend, Lytle?” He demanded. “And what’s in the bag?”
“None of your business,” Ian said.
“Aw! Come on Lytle! You know everything that happens in my turf is my business.”
“This still your turf?”
Conky’s eyes narrowed even more and his cheeks reddened.
“These guys still hangin’with you?” Ian challenged, staring round the group.
Grinning fiercely, Conky dropped his bike, and with a jerk of his head, signalled the others to do likewise. The bikes clattered to the pavement and the circle tightened around Ian and Millie. “Well boys, I think it’s time to settle some scores, eh,” Conky growled, taking a step forward. “You know, I really like you Lytle. It’s fun beating the crap out of you. This is really going to make my day.”
“Then I suppose you’ll want the pleasure all to yourself, Conky,” Ian challenged. “Why don’t you call your buddies off and take me all on your own. Wouldn’t that be more fun?”
“Oh no,” Conky mocked. “I think everyone will want to be in on the kill, Lytle. Isn’t that right boys?” The pack closed in tighter. “We’ve all been waiting for this a long time. Ready boys?”
Conky raised his hand and was about to utter his command, when suddenly an unearthly shriek cut through the air as if some bird of prey was descending on them. Conky’s eyes widened in panic. He seemed to be frozen — fixed to the spot as firmly as a statue. His face turned from red to purple and his eyes rolled in terror. The other gang members backed away in awed horror. “You will not touch either of them,” a shrill voice commanded. “If one of you so much as touches the boy or his friend, you will have to contend with me.”
Twisting and looking up, Millie shuddered at the glaring face of Endorathlil in a second floor window.
“Come up, the two of you,” the she ordered Ian and Millie.
Still held in the iron grip of her spell, Conky followed with desperate eyes as his gang parted, letting them through.
“My God!” Millie stammered as they hurried up the stairs. “That was incredible!”
“Do you believe me now?” Ian said as the buzzer sounded and they shoved the door open. “Endorathlil is not someone you want to mess with. I hope she’s in a good mood.”
Millie hoped so, too.
Endorathlil placed the tray on the rickety coffee table, then sat heavily in the armchair opposite the sofa. Lumpkin jumped offMillie’s lap and into the lap of her mistress, purring loudly. “Nothing like tea and cookies to help the workings of the brain,” the witch said brightly. “Please help yourselves.”
Out of politeness Millie poured cups of tea for herself and Ian.
“What you ask is no simple matter,” Endorathlil said doubtfully. “And besides, I’ve had enough of sending people into the underworld.”
“But this wouldn’t be sending anyone to the underworld,” Millie argued. “Not really. You would be helping to get somebody out.”
“Sort of like a magical search and rescue mission,” Ian put in.
The witch winced, as if even considering the proposition pained her. “If I hadn’t uttered that cursed spell we wouldn’t even be considering your idea,” she said. “But to send two others after one I should not have sent in the first place . . . that’s a dangerous strategy my dears. Instead of one lost arrow, we may end up with three. I don’t like it.”
“He’s in a coma, Endorathlil . . . ”
“I know that well enough,” she said glumly.
“Which means he’s in Syde.”
“True.”
“Then you have to help us reach him!” Millie begged. “If you don’t, and he doesn’t make it back, we’ll all be to blame.”
“I don’t see how you and Ian can be held accountable, young lady. You had nothing to do with sending Josh to Vortigen. How can you be to blame?”
“We’ve kept it from our parents. Instead of telling the truth, we’ve hidden it. That gives us a responsibility to do something about Josh’s predicament doesn’t it?”
Endorathlil rubbed her chin as she pondered Millie’s claim.
Ian winked, as if he already knew the outcome of the old woman’s deliberations. Millie sat on the edge of her seat. “Well,” Endorathlil said after a long while. “I suppose that’s true. And I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to consult The Book to see if there is a safe way to get you in and out of Syde.” She regarded the two of them warily. “But I won’t do it unless I am absolutely certain there is no chance of your getting trapped, do you understand?”
Both Millie and Ian shook their heads eagerly. Muttering, Endorathlil picked up The Book of Syde and limped off down the hall. “You wait here,” she said over her shoulder. “Have some more cookies and tea. Lumpkin will keep you company.”
53
Athelrod held the robe up for Josh to see. “It’s of the finest material and manufacture, My Lord.”
“Stop calling me that!” Josh complained.
“What, My Lord?”
“You know what I mean. If I am Your Lord, I order you to stop saying so!”
“You shall have to get used to it, I’m afraid,” the tutor informed him. “Your station in life has changed, young man, and you have to put off your old clothes and put on the new.”
Josh inspected the robe suspiciously. The fabric was exquisite, set off by threads of gold and studded with precious gems. “I can’t wear this! It’s too fancy,” Josh said doubtfully. “Besides, it will weigh a ton.”
“Put it on, just the same,” Athelrod insisted, holding the garment ready. “There’s no one here to see you, and I’m sure a healthy lad like yourself can support it for a few seconds at the very least.”
Reluctantly Josh slipped his arms into one sleeve, then the other, donning the Sydean finery. “It hardly weighs anything at all!” he cried, astonished at how lightly the robe sat on his shoulders. “How can that be?”
“No king on earth has ever worn raiment such as this,” Athelrod explained. “The fabric of Syde fits like a dream. It is tailored from the best materials and by the most skillful fingers.” He walked around Josh, admiring the transformation in his student. “Besides,” Athelrod added, “you are only just getting used to Sydean gravity. The very air here weighs nothing compared to the gross atmosphere of Outworld.”
A tap at the door interrupted these thoughts. It opened a crack admitting Quiggle. “Vortigen grows impatient,” the Valet informed them. “He is eager for the procession to begin.”
“Ah, Quiggle!” Athelrod exclaimed. “You have arrived just in time for a little demonstration I wanted to make for His Lordship.”
Quiggle frowned, looking very uneasy.
“Our young prince must gain a knowledge of how differently matter behaves in our dimension from what he’s used to in Outworld, don’t you agree?”
The valet nodded distrustfully.
“I was going to show him how a vase or a chair could be moved by the direct application of will, but now that you’re here I’m thinking a somewhat heavier object, that has a will of its own and might not want to be moved, would make a more memorable demonstration.”
“Sir,” Quiggle pleaded. “I don’t have time for experiments and such. His Highest Highness has instructed me to deliver my message and bring back an answer without delay.”
“Then we shan’t waste another second.”
Athelrod waved his hand and poor Quiggle floated up, up into the air.
“Put me down!” Quigs protested.
But Athelrod continued the game, levitating the valet to the ceiling, then floating him to the very centre of the room where he hooked him by his jacket to one of the arms of the chandelier.
“Sir! I beg of you, stop this foolishness! Vortigen will be very angry.”
“Let him down,” Josh intervened. “You’ve
made your point.”
“Yes, I think I have,” the tutor smirked, “and now it’s time you made yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“You get him down, young master. It’s perfectly within your capabilities.”
“But he’s had no training!” Quiggle squeaked. “He’d drop me like a sack from a wagon. All my bones will be broken.”
“He’s right,” Josh said. “I have no idea how to get him down.”
“Think him down,” Athelrod instructed. “And if you value his friendship — though I cannot see why — you will do so quickly, for Vortigen does not like to be kept waiting and his patience with dear old Quiggle is wearing dangerously thin already.”
“But this is unfair!” Josh protested, even though he could not help smirking.
“What’s fair or unfair has nothing to do with anything in this world or your former dimension,” Athelrod replied. “Those who grasp the levers of power determine what’s fair and what’s not. I suggest you begin your rescue.”
Josh glanced up at his hapless friend. “Shall I try, Quiggle?” he asked.
The valet hung limp. “I suppose you must take a fish off the hook if you want to set it free,” he grumbled. “Yes, do try, and if you break my bones, I forgive you.”
“Thank you for your contribution Quigs,” Athelrod mocked.
“Now,” he coached Josh, “you must think him down. Imagine him floating off his hook, then drifting down to the floor.”
Josh stared and thought Quiggle down with all his might. But nothing happened.
“Good!” Athelrod cheered.
“But I haven’t budged him.”
“You felt the weight of him though. You felt it resisting your will, didn’t you?”
While he had been straining to move Quiggle, Josh hadn’t noticed this. But now that Athelrod mentioned it he had to admit it was true. Bewildered, he nodded.
Athelrod leaned close to him. “Now, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he whispered. “Instead of working like a donkey to hoist this laggard off his hook, transform him into something light — like a balloon. Fill the ponderous weight of the man with insubstantial fluff, then guide him through the air.”
