by Caro King
‘Remember now – go across the fields until you see the barn, then get on to the road and you’ll be there.’
Fish nodded, but she was already in her car. The engine roared into life, drew forward a little way, paused for a moment then was gone, swept into the river of traffic.
He stood and watched for a while, puzzled. But then there was no reason why he should be. After all, he was only a kid. He could hardly have seen everything that the hidden world had to show him. Look at the curse demon. He had never seen one of those until yesterday. Maybe she was just one of many something elses.
He turned it over in his mind, wondering what other strange and terrifying things might be out there that he hadn’t met yet. Then he turned his face to the fields and started to run all over again.
Ten minutes after he had gone from view, a car cruised up the road, going as slowly as it could. Inside it was the newsagent, his eyes like chips of ice, scanning the roadside as keenly as if he were looking for a favourite toy. He didn’t guess that his target had taken a different route and was well away across the fields by now. So he found nothing.
This time.
19
STONEY CROSS
The fields went on for a little way after the barn, but eventually Fish got back on to a narrow, winding road in the middle of nowhere. A mile or so down it he spotted a large monument to one side, surrounded by grass and overhung by tall trees.
He veered towards it and dropped to the ground. Leaning against the rough stone, he dug out the last of the chocolate, which he finished quickly. He saved the juice as the water had quenched his thirst enough for now.
Next, he pulled out the road map and studied it. From everything the woman had told him, he should be near the village of Stoney Cross by now. He craned his head backwards to look at the monument. Sure enough, it was a huge cross, roughly hewn from some grainy golden stone and standing about twelve feet high from the ground. The actual cross part rose from a solid base that was taller than Fish and it was this base that he was leaning against. Fish stared up at the monument for a few seconds, then smiled. This was Stoney Cross, all right! The village must be further on down the road. He studied the map, getting an idea of the land and which way he should go after the village.
Glancing at his watch, Fish saw that it was exactly midday. Everything was quiet and peaceful and nothing moved, apart from a lone aeroplane speeding towards the horizon. He stared up through the green and gold canopy over his head, his mind moving on to Susan. This time he could see that his mother was where she needed to be, in hospital with doctors and nurses who would do everything they could to make sure that she was safe and cared for. So, in the dappled shade of Stoney Cross, Fish faced his last horrible fear. The personal one, the one that made him feel faint with terror.
He looked down at himself.
Seeing nothing but his own skinny chest wrapped in a T-shirt that was torn and dirty and far too big for him, Fish drew in a wobbly breath full of relief. He must not let himself sink into despair and be crushed by a shadow-snake, or they would both be lost.
Now, gazing at the fish outlined on the no-longer white material, Fish smiled for the first time that day. Leaning back, he kicked off his trainers to let his sore feet feel the air. Sitting here in the dappled shade under the trees, he realised that he was feeling a lot better. The fears that had dogged him since this morning hadn’t all gone away, but they seemed more like things he could deal with rather than things that would crush him. It had something to do with the peacefulness of Stoney Cross and something to do with the shining woman and the long, cool drink of water. All of it had stolen the fire from his fears and damped them down to a manageable level. Closing his eyes, he let the soft air flow over him. He had no idea how long it would take him to reach Crow’s Cottage, but he wanted to get there before nightfall. The cottage, unlived in for some time now, would be showing the signs of neglect, and he wanted to face any lurking demons of dirt or decay while it was still light. So he wouldn’t stay long at Stoney Cross, however nice it was to sit in the warm with the gentle sounds of the world buzzing about his ears and to keep his nightmares at arm’s length for a while.
But he could afford a short rest and so he stayed for five minutes, and in that five minutes his eyes closed and Fish fell asleep.
For the thousandth time Grimshaw asked himself why a lost chronometer didn’t automatically return to its Avatar instead of its Architect. It was a stupid question, because he already knew the answer.
It was punishment. Punishment for being a pathetic no-hoper who couldn’t kill his Sufferers and who even went so far as to actually LOSE the main instrument of his craft. An Avatar without a chronometer was like a bus driver on a bicycle, a dentist with a toothpick, a … a …
He stopped and groaned out loud, this time with the pain of an injured spirit rather than injured flesh. On top of his spiritual misery and his still aching bones, Grimshaw’s paws were cut to ribbons and hurting horribly. He just wasn’t designed for walking. Still he kept going.
At last, after what seemed to Grimshaw like several lives’ worth of walking, he found what he was hoping for. A huge lump of grey stone by the road, looking spectacularly slab-like in its dullness. Its top half was roughly hacked into the shape of a cross. Too weary to feel relieved, Grimshaw dropped down on to the dry cracked earth. He needed to rest, and this was as good a place as any. Just as he leaned back against the base part, underneath the cross, everything blinked as Limbo updated itself. Which meant it had to be midday.
Grimshaw squinted up at the grey sky. Because anything in the Limbo sky usually meant trouble, it soon got to be a habit for curse demons and Wanderers to check regularly just to make sure they weren’t missing anything important. Especially after a Blink. This time, far in the distance, he could see the grey smudge of an aeroplane as it drifted to Earth, bereft of passengers and pilot and with its engines suddenly as good at flying as a metal brick. Any moment now Limbo’s dodgy gravity would notice the thing and bring it crashing to the ground. Fortunately it was too far away to be a problem to Grimshaw. Almost as he thought it, the plane stopped drifting and began to plummet.
Satisfied that he was in no danger, Grimshaw looked over the vast stretches of dusty earth on either side of the road. In the distance he could see a single Wanderer trudging across the land towards the horizon. He couldn’t tell if it was male or female, but he could hear the faint echo of its voice as it sang a determined-not-to-give-up type of marching song into the empty waste. It sounded very lonely.
Then it stopped and silence fell.
It was a flat silence, the sort of silence that really gets going on any nearby ears until they start making sounds up just to maintain a little sanity. It got on Grimshaw’s nerves almost at once. In the silence, an odd feeling came to Grimshaw. He felt as if Fish Jones was there, somewhere nearby but unseen. Normally, a curse demon knew where his Sufferer was at all times, but that knowledge was tied in to the possession of a chronometer. So, having this strange sensation when his chronometer was not strapped firmly to his wrist as usual was kind of spooky. Grimshaw shivered and looked around anxiously. Not surprisingly, there was nothing there, but the feeling persisted.
Although Grimshaw didn’t know it, as it was not the sort of information available on the Acts and Facts, there were rare times when Grey Space and Real Space could be drawn closer together.
Demons didn’t sleep, but Grimshaw was worn out by all his misery and anger, so he stopped thinking and let his mind drift. Sinking into a kind of daze, he found himself seeing the Jones boy as if he was right there, next to Grimshaw. The boy looked peaceful, with sunlight on his face and a faint breeze ruffling his hair.
At the thought of the sun and the breeze, and of the boy’s right to live in Real Space and enjoy all those things which were denied to Grimshaw, the demon felt a surge of jealousy so fierce he thought he would break in two. At first, the boy had been just another Sufferer. Then he had turned into s
omething more – a problem case with a destiny. He had become a frustration, an obstacle in Grimshaw’s way, when all the demon wanted to do was finish the job. But seeing the boy lying there bathed in the sun of another dimension, Grimshaw’s feelings changed again. At this exact moment, right here and now on this spot, he began to hate Fish Jones.
The boy stirred and woke up. He looked at Grimshaw, his eyes wide with shock, and then scrabbled backwards, away from the demon.
Grimshaw puffed up at once. He shook himself and bared his teeth in a snarl, glaring at the boy with his corner-to-corner black eyes, trying to look as fierce as possible. Shaking with fright, Fish stayed where he was, half crouching, his face level with that of the demon.
‘Please,’ Fish said suddenly, ‘please let us live.’
It was the first time Grimshaw had heard the boy speak and his voice was softer than he had expected.
‘Your mother disturbed the sleep of the dead,’ Grimshaw snarled, making his own voice deeper than usual, hoping it sounded more like Tun’s. ‘She deserves to suffer.’
‘I know we are only humans,’ said Fish, the words tumbling out of him now. ‘We aren’t powerful like you. I know we are nothing special, we’re not going to do great works or … or make great discoveries, but neither are we evil. My mother didn’t wish to disturb the dead, she would never have wished that, she just didn’t understand. Please, let us live and enjoy the world, that’s all we want.’
Grimshaw howled. He hadn’t meant to, but at that moment his jealousy and rage got so huge they boiled over. The boy’s attempt to reach out across the vast space that separated the living from the half-alive, even though he was in mortal fear for his life, was too much. How dare the boy be noble on top of everything else!
‘I’LL GET YOU,’ Grimshaw screamed, his voice a harsh, spitting roar. ‘NO MATTER WHERE YOU HIDE, I’LL FIND YOU, FISH JONES. I’LL FIND YOU AND I’LL KILL YOU.’
The demon sprang, his claws spread, ready to break the Rules and visit death on the human with his bare paws. But the connection between their worlds had been broken and Fish Jones had gone, and Grimshaw, fully alert and seething, was burying his claws in nothing but dry earth.
He lay there for a while, huffing miserably, while rage and frustration tore him to pieces. Then, silent and grim, he got to his feet and started once again to limp on towards home.
In Real Space, Fish Jones woke up with a start. He had been dreaming about the demon, as if it had been right there, next to him. It had glared at him with its terrifying, all-black eyes, and had leapt at him as if meaning to tear out his throat. Fish shuddered. For some reason it had never occurred to him that the demon might attack him with its bare ha … paws. Images filled his head of having to fight it, of touching the horrible thing. It made his blood run cold.
He shook himself. It was just a dream – what else could it be? The demon wasn’t here, he would know when it arrived. Still, the things it had said and the look of hatred and fury in its eyes stayed with him.
Getting to his feet, Fish brushed the grass from his jeans and T-shirt. Then, his face set with determination, he turned towards Crow’s Cottage and started on his way again.
20
KILL FISH JONES
Some hours later, Grimshaw was making real progress, his paws hardening up as they healed so that he could walk faster. Fired up by the dream of Fish Jones that had made him so angry, he connected to the Acts and Facts looking for any hints about how to deal with Destiny.
The curse-demon information web was vast, encompassing the deeds done by the Avatars of all curses everywhere throughout history, plus any interesting snippets of information that they felt inclined to post. The easiest way to find anything was to think about the demon or the subject that you wanted to know about and see what turned up.
Focusing on Destiny got Grimshaw absolutely nothing. Not a bean. It was annoying, because Grimshaw was sure that Tun must be right. He couldn’t be the only demon ever to have come up against this problem. Clearly the Acts and Facts wasn’t allowed to hold information on such lofty matters. He couldn’t even find a firm reference to the fact that Destiny trumped curses, even though everyone knew that!
What he did turn up was a list of curses where there had been a significant delay in the killing of one of the Sufferers. It was a short list. In most of those the delay was due to missed futures, or a Sufferer who didn’t stop moving – one of them got around the world twice before the second-rate demon Juniper finally caught up with him; and then only because the man had collapsed from nervous exhaustion. In one case a Sufferer holed himself up in a single room, waited on solely by his faithful servant, and managed to survive for some years before the third-rater Ansifar finally managed to arrange a (slow) death by poison. It took a huge amount of planning, searching the possible futures, more planning and so on, and Ansifar was granted a kind of honorary second-rate status for his efforts.
But most interesting of all was a failed attempt by a first-rate demon to kill off his third victim. The failure was followed by a delay of three years before the Sufferer was finally dealt with. The first interesting thing about this case was the lack of any recorded explanation for either the failure or the delay, and the second interesting thing was the demon’s name. Hanhut.
Grimshaw paused as a sign loomed up in front of him, the words meaningless because place names didn’t work in Limbo. Limbo wasn’t a world with direction. Even so, Grimshaw was pretty certain that he should leave the roadway here.
So he left the highway with its untidy rows of dead cars and lolloped on to the smaller network of roads that would eventually lead him back to the church of St Peter and St Paul. He barely noticed the change of surroundings as dead houses and shops took the place of dead earth, and his mind kept going back to the odd case of Hanhut’s third Sufferer. Instinct told him that the reason there was no reason given for the failure and the following delay was that it involved something that could not be recorded on the curse-demon web. Destiny.
And yet Hanhut had succeeded in the end! Of course, Hanhut was a first-rate demon where Grimshaw was only a third-rater.
Grimshaw paused to snarl quietly to himself. He felt angry at everyone and with everything. He was furious with Flute for being so spiteful as to steal his chronometer. With Tun and Hanhut and their like for being so superior. With himself for being such a useless Avatar. With Lampwick for creating him in the first place. With Fish Jones for having a destiny. And for being noble. And for being human.
Especially with Fish Jones.
After a short detour to pick up his dropped notebook and abandoned backpack, Grimshaw turned wearily into the gate of the church. He really, really didn’t want to do the next hour or so. With a sigh, he pushed open the door and went in.
‘Utterly disgraceful!’ Lampwick was striding, or rather lurching, up and down the crypt, waving his arm occasionally for emphasis.
Slumped in the middle of the floor, Grimshaw stared at his toes. His chronometer was laid out on the top of Lampwick’s coffin and he was itching to grab it and put it on, but he had to wait until Lampwick gave it back to him. Unfortunately, the magician was enjoying himself too much to bring the lecture to an end.
‘I can hardly believe that even you would do something so … so … farcical!’
Grimshaw didn’t know what farcical meant, but he got the general idea and shuffled his paws.
‘What were you thinking of! Putting yourself in the way of the Sisters of Gladness! Going to chat to them like Grey Space was a tea party!’
‘They had things to tell me,’ mumbled Grimshaw. ‘Even if they were nasty about it.’
‘Losing … and this I really cannot believe … losing your chronometer!!’
‘They took it!’
Lampwick gave him a shrivelling gaze. He was pretty good at shrivelling gazes. When he was alive, he had used them a lot on anyone who dared to question his honesty.
‘Well, they did!’
Lampwick
ignored him. ‘Losing your chronometer! You’ve always been a joke, barely fit to do your job, but that is shameful. Quite shameful. You’re the laughing stock of the demons!’ Lampwick paused and looked at him steadily before delivering the deepest cut. ‘Even Wimble.’
Grimshaw closed his eyes in pain. He had been hoping that it wasn’t so, that in spite of his disgrace his not-quite-bottom position in the demon hierarchy hadn’t changed, but there it was, Lampwick had said it. Grimshaw was the lowest of the low. Even Wimble could look down on him now.
‘Not to mention,’ went on Lampwick, his voice heavy with scorn, ‘that you appear to be incapable of killing a small, defenceless boy!’
‘He has a destiny,’ snarled Grimshaw. ‘Destiny trumps curses.’
‘Always an excuse,’ sneered Lampwick, waving a hand dismissively. ‘It’s not my fault,’ he whined, putting on a high, wavering voice, ‘it’s not my fault I’m useless …’
Grimshaw raised his head and fixed his corner-to-corner black eyes on Lampwick with a look of intense hatred. For a brief moment the magician faltered, but it passed.
‘I suppose you will just have to join the roll call of shame, those few dismal Avatars who have Survivors!’ Lampwick sighed and shook his head.
‘Wimble. Wimble is the only Avatar to have a Survivor.’
‘We will have to wait until they rebury me and you have a new Litany,’ went on Lampwick, talking over him. ‘Let’s hope you can work on that without messing up.’
‘I’ll do it!’ snarled Grimshaw suddenly. The hatred and rage were too much to bear, and inside, something snapped. ‘I’ll kill the boy one way or another, you see if I don’t!’
‘What happened to Destiny trumps curses?’ snorted Lampwick.
‘I DON’T CARE,’ screamed Grimshaw, rearing up on his back paws as far as he could. A twitch was building up in his body, he could feel his muscles crackling with it. When it struck, he leapt with it, landing on the tomb next to Lampwick. He leaned forward and looked into his Architect’s pale eyes.
