by Anna Dale
‘Stop staring at me, cat,’ Athene said, opening the stove door.
She held the ball of paper tightly. It was the only remaining thing which could be identified as Zach’s. Once she had got rid of it there would be nothing to show that she’d ever had a brother. Athene’s fingers uncurled. The paper trembled on her palm. She urged herself to throw it in.
Chapter Six
Athene’s Make-over
Athene closed the stove door with a clunk. She stayed where she was. Getting up from her kneeling position seemed to require too much effort. She felt out of breath – as if she’d just competed in a race. But it hadn’t been a race, of course; it had been more like a test, the outcome of which would determine whether her next few days would be fun-filled and carefree or fraught with hardship and danger. Athene groaned. It dismayed her to feel so weak. She knew that she would need to summon all her strength from now on, in order to face the perils that lay ahead.
A nudge from the nose of Crumbs the cat interrupted Athene’s thoughts. She ran one hand along the cat’s soft, stripy back. She might have used her other hand to stroke Crumbs, too, had it not been clenched around Zach’s drawing.
When Crumbs had tired of being caressed and had wandered away, Athene opened her hand and smoothed out the page from her diary. She took a long look at Zach’s picture of the tall lady, which when it had come to the crunch, she had not been able to destroy.
Naively, she had imagined that she could forget about Zach and get on with her life without feeling the tiniest twinge of guilt, but in the last few minutes she had realised that blocking out your conscience wasn’t easy.
She got up from the floor and with a heavy heart and a weary tread, Athene went upstairs to pack a bag. She knew what she would have to do.
Thinking that she’d need a torch to guide her to the Humble Gloam’s encampment, Athene had put one in the pocket of her coat, but as it turned out, she did not need to use it. Huffkin and Humdudgeon were waiting for her in the usual place.
‘It worked, did it? The spell?’ said Huffkin. The two Gloam poked their heads around the trunk of the sycamore tree and looked expectantly at her.
‘It did,’ Athene said, smiling weakly at them both. ‘Thanks. The spell was great. My mum and dad were clueless. They couldn’t remember Zach at all. You must have gone to a lot of trouble. I’m grateful.’
‘Taking a trip?’ Humdudgeon said.
‘Pardon?’ said Athene.
‘The bag,’ Humdudgeon said, indicating the bulging rucksack which Athene had strapped to her back. ‘Where are you bound?’ he said glibly. ‘Up a mountain?’
‘I’m going down rather than up,’ Athene responded darkly. ‘Listen, I’ve got a favour to ask. I’d like some more of those Goggle Drops, if you can get them. I’ll probably need a big bottleful.’
The two Gloam were dumbfounded. ‘We might be able to get them for you by the end of the week,’ ventured Huffkin in a puzzled voice.
‘That won’t do,’ Athene said. ‘I have to have them tonight.’
‘Why?’ Humdudgeon said. ‘What for? What the devil’s the matter, Athene? Are you planning to run away?’
‘Not exactly,’ she replied. ‘I’m going to bring my brother back. I’m going down the hollow tree to where the Low Gloam live.’
Huffkin and Humdudgeon both gave a horrified gasp and clutched each other in fright.
As they walked across the fields to the place where the Humble Gloam gathered at night, Huffkin and Humdudgeon tried to talk her out of it, but Athene would not be dissuaded. She was just as adamant when Pucklepod and the rest of the Gloam begged her to reconsider.
‘I’ve made up my mind to go. It’s as simple as that,’ she said.
‘But no one joins the Low Gloam voluntarily,’ said Pucklepod, struggling to comprehend why anyone would do such a thing. ‘Once the Low Gloam have you in their clutches, they’ll never let you go again. The same spell that pulls you underground keeps you confined there. It’s like being in a cage that doesn’t have a key. You can’t escape. There’s no way you’d manage it.’
The eighty-three-year-old woman called Dottle, whom Athene had met a few nights before, forged a path through the little crowd by rapping the Gloam on the ankles with her hazel walking stick to make them move aside. ‘I say that if the girlie wants to go, she should,’ she said.
Humdudgeon began to protest but the old woman shouted him down.
‘’Taint right what the Chief said, and you should know that more than most, young fellow m’lad,’ remarked the old woman astutely.
‘Oof!’ said Humdudgeon as she poked him in the belly with her walking stick.
‘Aren’t you the youngster who found one of the Low Gloam’s slaves wandering by herself in Moggy Wood?’ said Dottle.
Humdudgeon nodded his head.
‘And didn’t you get into fisticuffs with two of those nasty critters when they turned up to recapture her?’
‘Actually, there were three of them,’ Humdudgeon said. ‘Great hulking fellows they were. Biceps the size of turnips.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ snapped the old woman, squinting at him. ‘The point is that the Low Gloam were seen above ground and a slave got free for a little while at least. The spell had to be broken for that to happen, didn’t it? And if a thing can be done once, it can be done again.’
‘She’s right,’ said Huffkin and the rest of the Humble Gloam murmured in reluctant agreement.
Dottle seized one of Athene’s hands and squeezed it hard. ‘I’d go with you, dearie, but I’m a wee bit long in the tooth for gallivanting about underground.’
The Chief of the Humble Gloam cleared his throat. He seemed a little ashamed of himself. The old woman had shown herself to be shrewd and spirited and he felt a cowardly chump by comparison. In an attempt to save face, he thought of a way in which the Gloam could be of some help to Athene. ‘I have decided that we shall send one of our bravest Gloam to accompany this young Glare on her quest,’ he said. ‘I propose Humdudgeon. What do the rest of you say?’
Pucklepod’s suggestion was greeted with stunned silence at first. Then the Humble Gloam found their voices. All of them declared Humdudgeon to be the perfect choice, being as he was the pluckiest and the worthiest Gloam of their number.
‘Right you are. Humdudgeon it is!’ said Pucklepod officiously.
Over the sound of loud hurrahs being made by the Humble tribe, who were undoubtedly relieved that they would not be going themselves, Athene heard Humdudgeon gulp.
‘It would be an honour,’ he said, giving her a stiff little bow. Athene thought she’d never seen him look more depressed.
‘What about your leg?’ hissed Huffkin to Humdudgeon. ‘Who’s going to bandage it for you when you’re underground? And what happens if you need to make a quick getaway? You’re far too brave for your own good. I can’t let you go by yourself.’
‘Nonsense. Of course you can,’ Humdudgeon said.
They bickered about this issue for a while longer and then Huffkin stood on a tree trunk and spoke in a loud, clear voice. ‘If Humdudgeon’s going, then I am too,’ she told her tribe determinedly.
This fresh announcement drew gasps from the crowd.
Athene was bowled over. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said to her two Gloam friends who had bravely consented to come with her on what would probably turn out to be the most hair-raising adventure of their lives. She gave them both a grateful hug. She’d been prepared to attempt her brother’s rescue by herself, but she had to admit that the task seemed far less daunting with two friends accompanying her.
A collection was organised. The older members of the Humble tribe were encouraged to part with any Goggle Drops that they could spare. Huffkin stored them in a thin glass bottle, which appeared to be a bud vase with a cork in the top. In an act of martyrdom, Dottle donated all her Drops. She said that it didn’t matter if she couldn’t see for a few weeks – she’d feel her way with her walking stick and if any
thing seemed at all suspicious she’d give it a good whack.
‘Take this, too,’ insisted Dottle, pressing a metal ball into Athene’s hands. ‘It’s magic. I made it myself – from a Glare thingy I found in a field.’
‘What kind of “thingy” was it?’ asked Athene curiously.
‘You know – one of them what-d’you-call-its with pointy bits that twiddle round and round. A clock, I think it’s called.’
‘Great!’ said Athene. ‘Thanks a lot.’ She wondered what was so magical about it. The metal ball, which had a strap attached to it, looked fairly harmless sitting in her hand and it certainly did not resemble a clock. Thinking that Dottle might be affronted if she asked her what it did, Athene decided to consult Humdudgeon or Huffkin later on.
‘Best of luck, dearie,’ said the old woman warmly.
‘Now, about your parents …’ said Pucklepod, drawing Athene to one side. ‘I was thinking that we might have to cast another spell on them.’
‘Yes, please,’ Athene said gratefully. Before she had left the farmhouse, she had attempted to leave her parents a note to explain where she had gone, but had found it impossible to write one without mentioning the Gloam. No matter how cleverly she had tried to word her message, the magic spell preventing her from talking about the Gloam had drained all the ink from her pen. The anguish that her disappearance was likely to cause her mum and dad had been worrying Athene greatly. Pucklepod’s willingness to recast the spell that had so effectively wiped the memory of Zach from her parents’ minds was a huge relief to her.
In half an hour, Athene and the two Gloam were ready to go. Huffkin had crammed a parcel of food and a flask of brew into a satchel, together with the bottle of Goggle Drops. Humdudgeon’s load comprised three rolled-up blankets, a bundle of clothes and a small set of tools.
They were preparing to say their farewells to the Humble tribe who had gathered in a circle around them, when Pucklepod dampened their spirits by asking them about their plan.
‘Ah,’ said Humdudgeon, his face falling. ‘Yes, we’ll need one of those.’
The three friends stared at each other in alarm. With so much else to think about (what to take and what to leave behind), they had completely forgotten to focus on the strategy that they would adopt once they had entered the Low Gloam’s kingdom.
‘You can’t just waltz in there, grab Zach and run out again,’ said Pucklepod, unhelpfully stating the obvious.
‘Well, of course not,’ said Athene, frowning at the Chief’s insinuation that they thought it was going to be easy. ‘The first thing we’ll have to do is find my brother and then we’ll need to work out how to break the spell,’ she said. ‘It’ll be a cloak-and-dagger sort of operation. We’ll need to creep about and hide and things. Oh, I’m sure we’ll manage.’
She was most annoyed when the three Gloam shot her idea to pieces.
‘You forget, my dear, that you’re a Glare,’ said Humdudgeon, spotting the flaw in Athene’s plan immediately. ‘Remember what happened when I introduced you to my tribe?’
‘I was mobbed,’ said Athene, her heart sinking. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. I’ll be like a celebrity down there. I won’t be able to move for people following me about.’
‘Not unless we give you a disguise,’ said Huffkin, tugging the bundle of clothes from Humdudgeon’s back. ‘We’ll turn you into a Gloam. You wouldn’t pass as a Humble because you’re a bit too tall. We’ll tell them you’re a Gargantuan. The Gargantuan tribe live in an old dried-up well in the woods a few miles east of here. They’re all about the same height as you.’
‘So, I’ve got to get changed, have I?’ said Athene, eyeing the pile of Gloam garments that Huffkin was sorting through. Between them, they selected an outfit which looked the right sort of size and Athene disappeared behind a large oak tree to effect her transformation. She took off her jeans, hooded top and trainers and replaced them with a pair of comfortable trousers, a cardigan and some soft leather shoes.
She emerged from behind the tree to murmurs of approval. Then she was persuaded to kneel on the ground while Huffkin dabbed at Athene’s face with a paintbrush, making sweeping strokes and stippling her with spots. Every few seconds Huffkin dipped the brush into a pot which contained a dark, treacly mixture. It felt as cool as moisturiser on Athene’s skin, but didn’t smell nearly as pleasant.
‘I’m giving you a Gloam’s complexion,’ explained Huffkin. She was taking her task very seriously. She kept stepping back and appraising her work, like an artist in front of her easel.
‘What is that stuff you’re using?’ said Athene, wrinkling her nose.
‘It’s called Blend,’ said Huffkin. ‘We use it for all sorts. We painted our canoe with it. It’s waterproof, you see. It won’t come off in a hurry, not even if you scrub at it. I’ve also used Blend to glue a cracked dish together, and Humdudgeon’s rather partial to a spoonful of Blend in his brew.’
‘I see,’ said Athene, wishing she hadn’t asked.
When her face was done, Huffkin gave Athene’s hands the same treatment and pulled down the sleeves of her cardigan as far as they would stretch to hide her unblemished arms.
‘The plait will have to go,’ said Huffkin briskly, removing Athene’s hairband and letting her hair fall forward so that it covered her small Glare ears. ‘There, that’s better.’
Athene wished that she had brought a mirror with her so that she could see the results of the make-over for herself, but judging by the comments of those around her, she gathered that the disguise was a convincing one.
They shouldered their baggage and said goodbye to the Gloam that had surrounded them, before striding swiftly out of the clearing.
‘We’ll take turns to watch for your home-coming!’ promised Pucklepod. ‘There’ll be someone posted by the hollow tree from dusk to dawn. Good luck!’ he called after them, and they turned to see him gesticulating madly, like an overwrought parent waving his children off to school on their very first day.
Chapter Seven
A Stripy Stranger
For the first mile, Huffkin, Humdudgeon and Athene talked about ordinary, everyday things. Then the mood lightened and they started to tell each other jokes, laughing uproariously even though none were terribly funny. When they had covered half the distance to the hollow tree, they stopped to replenish Athene’s Goggle Drops. She had had two dripped into her eyes in the Stirrups’ front garden earlier that evening, but they were losing their effectiveness.
‘They don’t last long, do they?’ said Athene, hoping that they had brought an adequate supply for the amount of time that they’d be spending underground. It wouldn’t be much fun trapped in the bowels of the earth without them.
For the last mile-and-a-half they walked without speaking, each of them preoccupied with their own thoughts; and at a quarter past midnight, they reached their destination.
The moon seemed to hang like an apple from the topmost branch of the hollow tree, but other than that the tree had no adornments. It was leafless and barren, with a wide gash in its malformed trunk. They approached the tree with silent dread. Joining hands, they half stumbled into a ditch and up on to a bank. The tree towered over them. Its branches curled above their heads like the bowed legs of a giant spider. Athene felt the two Gloam waver and tightened her grip on their trembling hands.
‘There’s no turning back now,’ she said, and with those words she bent herself double and ducked inside the gash in the cavernous trunk, pulling the others in after her.
The Low Gloam’s spell worked instantly. Its power wrapped itself around their limbs and tugged them downwards. The earth opened up and they were sucked below. Instead of falling freely, Athene and the Gloam were handled by the tree’s roots. They were grabbed and tossed roughly from one root to the next. Dishevelled and bruised and smeared with soil, they eventually landed on a solid dirt floor.
It was cold and damp underground and the pungent smell of moist earth was almost unbearable.
‘
What an undignified way to arrive,’ said Humdudgeon, straightening his jacket and brushing crumbs of earth from his lap. ‘Are you girls all right?’
‘Yes,’ said Huffkin dolefully, although she did not look it. Her hair was a tangled mess and she had lost a shoe.
‘We should have brought plasters,’ Athene said, examining a nasty graze on her arm.
‘Plasters? What are plasters?’ said Humdudgeon.
Rather shakily they got to their feet and began to take a look around. They seemed to have been deposited at the centre of a crossroads. Low-roofed tunnels stretched away from them in four directions and they began to discuss which one they should follow. Every few seconds, a shower of soil dropped on to their heads from above and, looking up, Athene saw the tree roots writhing as they set about repairing the walls of the shaft down which the three friends had plummeted.
‘Let’s choose this one,’ suggested Athene, starting down the nearest tunnel. She had not enjoyed the sensation of being thrown around by scaly tree roots and she wanted to get out of their reach as quickly as she could.
‘Right you are,’ Humdudgeon said, gathering up his bundles and limping after her.
Huffkin gave her head a shake and small clods of earth flew out of her hair. ‘Wait for me!’ she said in a loud whisper. She was about to hurry after them when she spotted her missing shoe and hopped on one leg down the tunnel while she struggled to put it on.
The tunnel was like an oversized rabbit burrow. Its roof was high enough for the Gloam to pass under quite comfortably, but Athene found it necessary to stoop every now and then. The walls were plain and unremarkable at first, but then they noticed that, every so often, a flat white stone had been pressed into the earth at shoulder height. Each stone appeared to be a sort of Low Gloam lantern because it emitted a dim, steady light. It seemed that total darkness was not tolerable, even for a tribe who had lived beneath the ground for many years. The two Humble Gloam and Athene were glad of the discs of gentle light, for although they could see very well in the dark, out-and-out blackness might have caused them some problems.
