Yes, he thought to himself, I've really nailed that one. It's a shame about the Sneer, though.
He dismissed Bogbean and looked in the mirror. He tried the Sneer again. No, he just couldn't get it right. He was never going to inflict fear with that look. Perhaps he should try another look.
Disdain?
He tried it.
Not bad, he thought. Maybe if he could perfect Disdain, he could move from that to the Sneer. They weren't dissimilar.
He stared at himself in the mirror. He still wondered about the moustache, but what was the point without the Sneer? He tried Disdain again and tried to imagine it with a moustache.
Hmm. He wasn't sure if Disdain could be improved by facial hair. Not to worry. He would work hard on Disdain and then try the Sneer again. He really needed to perfect it before the attack.
Work, work, work. But perfection took work, work, work. And practice, practice, practice.
And maybe a new outfit.
*
“SO, we catch it again,” grinned Charlock.
He stroked the side of Liam's face with his knife. Liam felt the trickle of blood tickle his cheek. There had been no pain. The knife had been that sharp.
Liam tried to call out to Cinnabar, but the sound wouldn't leave his throat.
“Slowly or quickly?” pondered Charlock. He drew the knife down the side of Liam's neck. “Perhaps we skin it before we kill it?”
Liam backed away, his hands scrabbling for anything he might use as a weapon. There was nothing. Where was Cinnabar? Hadn't he noticed Liam wasn't behind him?
Charlock lunged at the boy, the knife flashing like white lightning in the air between them. Liam scrambled backwards again, and this time collided with an immovable object. There was nowhere to go now. He was up against the root of a tree.
Charlock crouched down in front of him, tossing his knife from one hand to the other. Liam looked into the face of the assassin and considered himself dead. There was no mercy in those black eyes, no pity and there would be no remorse.
Charlock smiled a mirthless smile. “Shall we play with it? I think we shall.”
Liam's hand scrabbled about in the earth behind him. Something, something! There must be something! There was something, something hard and smooth. It was a pebble. Hardly the deadliest of weapons, especially in light of the size of the rock Cinnabar had hit Charlock with previously.
The assassin's bloodless face leered towards him, the white knife raised in readiness. Behind the white there was a flash of yellow and black.
Desperation seized Liam. His hand grasped a fistful of dirt and threw it into Charlock's face. As the assassin instinctively turned his face away, Liam leapt to his feet and, with all his might, threw the pebble at the retreating abdomen of the wasp. Before Charlock could react, Liam launched himself over the root he had backed up against, and crawled on his belly into a gap between the root and the earth.
The frenetic buzzing of the wasp was suddenly louder. Had it seen Charlock? Had Charlock realised his danger in time?
There was a yell and a collection of short screams. Then there was just the buzzing, angry at first, but becoming more rhythmic and calm.
Liam prayed silently to himself that the wasp had got over the insult of the hurled pebble and would shortly be leaving the area. He listened for any sound from Charlock, but only the busy buzzing of the wasp could be heard.
Suddenly, there was a change in key to the wasp's buzzing and the sound began to move. It's flying off, thought Liam and pushed further back into the crack under the root.
The sound of the wasp began to fade away. Liam risked a look. He slid slowly up the face of the root until just the top of his head and his eyes were visible. He saw the wasp climbing up towards the trees. It was carrying something. Liam gasped. It was carrying Charlock away. The body of the assassin hung limp from the creature's six legs.
“Well, that's him sorted,” said a voice close to Liam's ear. It was Cinnabar, red of face and rather out of breath. “I ran back as fast as I could, but evidently you didn't need me.”
Cinnabar watched the wasp disappear and then clapped Liam on the shoulder. “Well done,” he said to the boy. “I'm not sure I'd have thought to do what you just did. Well done. It should keep Charlock off our tails for a while.”
“Just for a while?” said Liam in dismay. “You don't think he's...?”
“I wouldn't count on it. And that's twice you've got away. He's not going to be very happy about that.”
Liam sighed. “So we just keep going?”
“'Fraid so.”
Walking along the shore of the lake wasn't easy. The day had begun sunny, and was now also very warm. The air was full of insects, a lot of them, apparently, predatory. This meant Liam and Cinnabar were constantly having to take cover. On top of this or, rather, below, was the terrain itself, which was full of boggy patches and unexpected wide inlets of water, which meant they had to keep detouring.
By the time the sun was beginning to drop in the sky, they were both exhausted, but unable to find a safe place to stop. The brackish puddles and rivulets they had to cross or circumvent began to look more and more inviting to the thirsty Liam. He really didn't think he'd be able to go without a drink until tomorrow morning.
Cinnabar didn't look much better. He stumbled and tripped a lot and seemed permanently out of breath. When Liam asked him if he was asthmatic, Cinnabar replied, rather curtly, that he normally flew and his legs weren't used to all of this walking.
As the sun began to sink behind the trees around the lake, things began to get urgent.
“We've got to find somewhere for the night,” muttered Cinnabar. “And soon. I really can't walk much further.”
Liam nodded in agreement. He was too tired to talk. The recent cuts Charlock had given him were beginning to smart intolerably as sweat and dirt entered them. He felt thoroughly miserable.
Cinnabar stumbled and fell head first into a bog. Liam hurried to help him up. Cinnabar groaned. He was plastered from head to foot with mud.
“Great!” he growled. “Just great.” He sighed. “Well, at least my wings didn't get wet.”
He stood with his hands on his hips, looking at his feet, and shook his head. “It's no good,” he said. “I've got to sit down or I'll fall down.”
Liam nodded. He felt much the same. He scouted around for somewhere that might afford them some cover. He spotted part of a limestone slab just above the wet shoreline. “What about there?” he suggested. “At least it'll be dry.”
Cinnabar agreed and they both staggered up the incline, the muddy ground underneath sucking at their tired feet.
“There, look,” mumbled Cinnabar. There was a shallow crevice in the rock, facing out on to the lake. They settled themselves into it and sighed with relief.
“Gosh, it's good to sit down,” yawned Liam.
There was no response. Cinnabar was already asleep.
*
“WHAT were you thinking?” grumbled Mezereon for what seemed like the thousandth time. “I was nowhere near that hole. I wouldn't even have sounded like I was near that hole.”
Hornbeam rolled his eyes and began imagining the many, varied and extremely painful ways Mezereon might yet meet his end. Was it too much to hope something might manage to eat his master before Hornbeam throttled him himself?
Hornbeam nursed these thoughts while his eyes cast about for clues. A footprint here, a ragged bit of material hanging on a splinter, like a waving flag. All these told him two people had passed this way, and he was now fairly confident Liam had found an ally.
“...I've always been aware you're not the brightest apprentice a magician of my calibre should be able to expect, but even you should be able to tell where my voice was coming from, for goodness sake...”
Doesn't the stupid old duffer ever shut up? Hornbeam thought. Magician of my calibre, my foot! He only knows three spells and two of those are totally useless.
“Hello!” he said ou
t loud. “Something happened here!”
Mezereon stopped his incessant moaning and hurried over to Hornbeam. His apprentice was standing next to the root of a tree.
“What is it? What have you found?” asked Mezereon breathlessly.
Hornbeam was silent as he examined the ground.
“There's blood,” he said at last. “Not a lot, but nevertheless, blood. And something happened here. Something odd.” He paused for a moment and then shook his head. “No idea,” he admitted. He shrugged and then stood up.
“What do you mean, no idea?” squawked Mezereon. “I thought you were supposed to be good at this sort of stuff.”
“If my master wishes to take over and show me how it should be done, he is more than welcome to,” said Hornbeam, barely able to keep the note of annoyance out of his voice.
“No need for that tone!” said Mezereon, waving a bony finger at Hornbeam. “Now, find where they've gone and let's get going.”
“Oh, I know where they've gone,” replied Hornbeam. “There's a track over there you could drive a May bug through. I just can't make out what went on before they left this site.”
“They being whom?” asked Mezereon.
“Yet again, no idea Master. It looks like two people must have come through here, but who knows?”
“So it's this way, then?” said Mezereon, lifting an imperious hand and pointing in the direction Hornbeam had indicated.
“Yes, Master.”
In the grass, a few yards away, a strange creature raised its head. It was bipedal and white skinned. Its body was contorted with painful looking lumps. Its eyes were difficult to find on the mess that appeared to be its face, and only the black glint at the bottom of two sore looking slits suggested where they might be.
So, those were the other two he had to dispose of, he thought. But not yet, not yet. He needed to get ahead of them and get the other two first. Then, when he'd had his revenge for the recent indignities heaped upon him, he'd return to these two and take his time with them. But only when he'd had his revenge on that human child and his accomplice. They would not escape him again. Yes, he would enjoy punishing them for their presumption.
*
IT was dark when Liam woke up. He didn't know how long he'd slept, but clearly it had not been enough. He still felt dreadfully weary and now it seemed like every part of him had stiffened up. But worse than all this, he was incredibly thirsty. His tongue felt like it was made of cotton wool and he had difficulty swallowing.
Outside their cramped hiding place, the world was black. He could vaguely make out odd shapes which might be trees or clumps of grass. The sounds of creatures going about their business reached his ears. The screech of an owl made him jump.
And he was so thirsty. Could he find his way to the lake and get a drink? He put his head outside the crack. Immediately, something flew past his head, sending him reeling back in a panic. Calm down, he told himself sternly. You probably just disturbed a moth or something.
Once his heart had stopped pounding, Liam risked another look. He stood waiting for his eyes to grow accustomed to the light, but no matter how long he stood there, he couldn't make out where the lake was. He had a vague recollection in which direction it was, and now and then the sound of water slapping on the shore could be heard, but he was fairly certain he would be unable to reach the water safely. And as for getting back—yes, he nearly hadn't thought of that. He'd never find his way back to this crack in the earth in this light.
Is there no moon? he wondered. Or just a lot of cloud cover? He looked up. There was no sign of any moon. Not many stars either. So maybe it's a bit cloudy, he thought. I hope it's not rain cloud. And there—
His thoughts stopped in their tracks as he stared across what he now supposed to be the lake.
A light!
There was definitely a light! No, he was mistaken. There were several lights! He turned and began shaking Cinnabar. Cinnabar proved extraordinarily difficult to wake. “Cinnabar! Cinnabar!” hissed Liam, mindful of attracting unwanted attention.
“'S matter?” mumbled Cinnabar. His head nodded back onto his chest.
“Look at this! Come and look at this!” hissed Liam urgently. He shook Cinnabar as violently as he dared.
“'I'm not marrying her, Mother. She's purple. Don't like purple.”
Liam prodded Cinnabar sharply in the ribs.
“OW!” exclaimed Cinnabar, suddenly fully awake. “What did you do that for?”
Cinnabar tried to stand up, found his leg had gone to sleep, and slipped sideways into the crevice. He groaned and accepted a helping hand from Liam.
“What is it?” yawned Cinnabar. “What's so urgent it can't wait 'til morning?”
“Look!” said Liam, stepping out of the crevice to allow Cinnabar to see.
Cinnabar gazed out to where Liam was pointing. He looked for quite a while. “Nope”, he said at last. “Can't see anything.”
“Try up a bit,” suggested Liam. “A bit more... more... mo—”
“It's a light! By Oberon's underpants! It's a light! We've got to get there. Right now!”
“But...”
“Before they go! It could be our only chance!”
“Cinnabar, how...?”
“I bet it's Hooktip, I bet it is. I knew he wouldn't give up on me. Let's go!”
Liam laid a staying hand on the excited fairy. “Cinnabar,” he said again. “How are we going to get to it? It's pitch black out there.”
“Well,” began Cinnabar. He paused. “Or we could...” He paused again. “Or...” He shook his head. “We can't just ignore it!” he said desperately. “It may not be there tomorrow.”
“But it seems to be on the other side of the lake, Cinnabar. We'll never get there before daybreak. Even in daylight, we'd not be able to get that far in one day.”
“But—but—” Cinnabar stood in silence. “Then,” he said quietly, “we go by water.”
“Water!” said Liam, alarmed.
“Water,” repeated Cinnabar. “We find us a boat and we float.” He paused and then laughed. “Let's see Charlock follow us out there.” He turned to Liam, a triumphant smile on his face. “Let's get looking,” he said.
“But Cinnabar—” Liam tried again to talk some sense into his companion, but it was no good. Cinnabar wasn't listening.
Cinnabar had staggered down the slope to the lake. Already Liam had lost sight of him and, in a panic, hurried after the fairy. He stumbled and tripped over, rolling down the slope and arriving at Cinnabar's feet.
“Oh, there you are,” said Cinnabar cheerfully as he hauled Liam up. “Thought you weren't coming, for a moment.”
Liam sighed as he brushed himself down. More bruises, he thought. His mum would have a fit if she could see him now.
Mum.
Dad.
Suddenly, Liam felt terribly homesick. Dream or no dream, he just wanted to go home, to be in his own bed, to be safe. But here he was, with what appeared to be an over-excited, totally irrational fairy, who was Hell bent on taking him over this lake on a bit of log in the middle of the night.
“We are going to die.” he said out loud. “Eaten or drowned—either way, we are going to die if we do this.”
Cinnabar laughed and clapped Liam on the shoulder. “Good,” he said, “I like a bit of positive thinking.” He thought for a moment. “Really,” he said, “we need our own light.”
“So we need a pet glow worm,” said Liam sarcastically.
“That would help,” mused Cinnabar. “But what to tempt it with? We can hardly drag one of those around against its will. And they're partial to snails—well the young are. The adults don't eat, and a snail's hardly easy to drag around either. Least ways, not the size that's going to tempt a glow worm. No. All in all, a good idea, but—ooh! Er!”
Cinnabar fell over and disappeared from view.
“Cinnabar?” called Liam anxiously.
Cinnabar popped up on the other side of a large, dark something.
“That'll teach me to look where I'm going,” he said cheerfully. “And look here!” He rubbed his hands over the obstacle he had fallen over. “I do believe we've just found our boat,” he said.
*
“THEY'RE ready, Master.” Bogbean bowed awkwardly as he spoke.
“Ah, Bogbean,” said the Vapourer distractedly. “Are they ready?”
“Master?” responded Bogbean, puzzled.
“The assassins,” said the Vapourer. “Or as we like to call them now, the Frenzy. Yes,” he sighed, “the Frenzy. That will sound good in the history books.” He looked at Bogbean sharply. “Are they ready? I asked you to prepare them for my inspection and address.” He sighed again. “Don't tell me you've forgotten?”
“Er, no Master, they're...”
“Then why haven't you done it?”
“But Master..”
“No excuses, Bogbean. Really, you just can't get the calibre of people you need to achieve world domination, these days!”
“But...”
“Run along and get them ready. Don't just stand there mumbling.”
“But...”
“Now, Bogbean! Or I will have to turn you into something even more unpleasant than that which you already are!”
“Master...”
“I shall count, Bogbean! I really don't want to have to count!”
Bogbean sighed inwardly. It was going to be one of those days, he just knew it.
“I'm counting, Bogbean. One, two, don't let me get to five, three!”
“Very well,” muttered Bogbean resentfully. There were some days when he got really tired of being Evil's minion.
Bogbean went outside and counted up to twenty as best he could, before re-entering his master's rooms.
“Master,” he said in a loud voice, making sure his master was paying attention this time.
“Ah, Bogbean,” said the Vapourer, looking up. “What is it now?”
“The assassins are ready for your address,” said Bogbean, in an even louder voice.
“What? Already? That was quick!”
“Master,” said Bogbean with a deep and inelegant bow. He was beginning to get a headache.
“And what of Charlock?” demanded the Vapourer. “Is there any news from him yet?”
“No, oh invincible one,” advised Bogbean. “There is no further news to add to the news I already appraised you of yesterday, Master.”
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