by Mark Bowsher
Balthrir glanced over her shoulder. ‘No. They had to see a man about a dog.’ Then in a whisper: ‘The man was the Criminal Justice Department. The dog was a prison sentence. If they find out my parents are inmates they’ll send me to work in the fields.’ Her eyes darted from the window to the stairs and then back to Krish. She put a finger to her lips and then sulked off. Krish stared out of the window and took in the shimmering black towers of the palace once again.
CHAPTER 11
SMASHED GLASS
The next few days were quiet. Or as quiet as a world that never sleeps can be.
Krish was sleeping badly, not just because of the lack of progress he was making but mainly due to sleeping in the Broken Scythe. His tiny room stank of damp, the bed was as comfortable as sleeping on a cold stone floor with a thin layer of cardboard between you and the ground, and the tap in the bathroom spluttered water for just a few seconds before giving up completely. There was no shower either so the best Krish could ever hope for was a small volume of water in his cupped hands to wash his face with. He didn’t smell great and his clothes got worn and torn within a few days, but it all seemed to help him fit in.
Tol fed him rice and spiced meat in the mornings and rice with sugar and currants in the evenings. This world (which he’d now discovered was called Ilir) had only two meals a day, both of which he had at the bar with a glass of mint tea. The town by the Black Palace was named Al Kara. Al Kara controlled many of the nearby towns and settlements, with the Lords of the West, East and South (Elwynt, R’ghir and Hesh) and the Lady of the North (Vira) enforcing the King’s control over their lands. In return for a share of the harvest (most of it coming from the fertile fields of Melkur), Al Kara unburdened many citizens of the little wealth they possessed. Most were willing to obey, as the alternative was a sword separating your head from the rest of your body or an extended stint as part of the Black Palace. Tol said (in hushed tones) that the King often felt that his citizens were too obedient (many were indeed obedient but only through fear) and that his palace would soon run out of convicts to hold up the walls. So he simply invented new crimes to keep the walls standing. Tol stated, after giving his nose a particularly long scratch, that he’d almost ended up as a wash basin in the royal lavatory for a month because all the mint leaves he placed in the glasses of tea he served were purportedly ‘the wrong way up’. This was how people usually talked of the King and his Lords and Lady: quietly and with a shake of the head. If anyone said they liked or respected him they’d state it flatly and without much conviction.
Krish was getting a little sick of the laughter he was met with every time he mentioned the Night Ocean, FireHawks or tying a bow around the world, so he became even quieter than usual. He worried that he was wasting time but the devil had said that time would only move for him; when he returned it would be exactly the same time he left. Somehow this didn’t help.
He passed Balthrir in class a few times as well and she looked progressively more miserable with each day that went by. Occasionally she caught his eye and directed an exaggerated yawn at him while Madam Nboosa explained crop rotation, but mainly she just sat there, staring into nothingness, asleep with her eyes open.
One evening Krish was surprised to see Nboosa and Balthrir alone in the classroom together. He sat at the top of the stairs for a while and watched them.
‘No, like this!’ said Nboosa. A vision of a miniature pink horse shot out of her fingertip and ran across the desk. It was a little faint and hazy.
‘What, like this?’ Balthrir held up her staff and a full-sized purple horse with yellow spots dashed across the room, clear and solid-looking.
‘Well, yes… but…’ Nboosa looked embarrassed. ‘Well, it’s easier with a staff, of course! Look, I’ll write to Madam Eshter. If she permits magic to be taught as an extra-curricular activity then, well… maybe we can consider you sitting your wizardry exams.’
Balthrir instantly perked up. For a moment Krish thought she was going to hug Madam Nboosa. On all other occasions he’d seen them together he could have been certain they were sworn enemies. Right now they seemed much more comfortable with each other – they were still wary but there was a certain respect between the two of them. Until Balthrir almost spoilt everything by eyeing up a potential customer lingering outside of the Scythe. Nboosa turned sour.
‘I’m serious, Balthrir!’ said Nboosa. ‘Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ll be in if you’re caught cramming people into broom cupboards again? And how much trouble I’ll be in as your teacher for not knowing what you were up to and stopping you? You’ll get us both thrown into the walls of the palace!’
Balthrir brushed off her obvious interest in the potential customer outside and the lesson continued.
The next evening, as Krish was tidying the bar area after all the customers had gone home, he heard a familiar voice outside the window.
‘Seesi Nboosa!’ The voice belonged to Madam Eshter, the court wizard. She strolled up to Madam Nboosa, who was eating a bowl of soup in a doorway with two friends who sat on little stools playing cards. Nboosa looked up. She was shocked at the sudden appearance of Eshter. She quickly put down her bowl and took to her feet.
‘Madam Eshter!’ said Nboosa. ‘It’s a real honour—’
‘You are Madam Seesi Nboosa?’
Nboosa considered for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she answered, flatly.
‘You’ve been teaching magic to a pupil, I understand?’
‘Well, yes, I… I didn’t think it was a crime if it was voluntary and the pupil was keen to learn.’
‘You are correct that it is not a crime to teach extra lessons.’ Eshter drew herself up to her full height as she spoke, just to emphasise to Nboosa that although the teacher was younger and more beautiful than her, she, Madam Eshter, was at least considerably taller. ‘But are you a fully qualified wizard…?’
Nboosa was silent but she refused to look down in shame. Eshter drew close to Nboosa. Krish strained to hear what was being said. He only just made it out.
‘It’s my job to hunt down and prosecute amateur wizards masquerading as professionals,’ whispered Eshter. ‘It involves a lot of paperwork. I am not keen on the concept of “paperwork”. And you wouldn’t want to overburden me with time-consuming paperwork, would you?’
Nboosa shook her head, masking her fury well.
‘Good,’ said Eshter. ‘No more magic lessons, amateur.’ She narrowed her eyes at Nboosa as she walked off. Nboosa stared in Eshter’s direction long after she’d gone, boiling with rage.
Krish spent the rest of his evening sweeping and feeling quite sorry for both Nboosa and Balthrir. He was also aware that it was the most exciting thing that had happened in days. The monotony of working at the Broken Scythe was making him restless. He knew he had to do something soon or he’d never get home.
*
One day Krish returned from another fruitless jaunt into town to find that both Madam Nboosa and Balthrir were absent from school and a short man with rough and filthy clothes was explaining to the class about the advantages of children – who didn’t have the obstacle of extreme height to overcome – working in the mines of Traldaar and that there were plenty of work placements there this summer.
Krish thought little of this scene as he climbed the stairs to sweep the hallway. As he reached the top he found Balthrir pacing up and down the corridor. After a moment she caught his eye.
‘Thank Jingaloid!’ He didn’t have time to stop and ask who or what Jingaloid was as Balthrir marched up to him. ‘Listen, Krist – that was yer name, weren’t it? – I need yer help! One more scam and I can do m’wizardry exam! That rhymes! Gotta make sense, innit?’ Krish half nodded, half mumbled in agreement. ‘Nboosa’s stopped giving me extra lessons for some reason but she’s said I can take the exam… and I can do it soon, she says! Even better, the old bat’s away today! It’s perfect! Right, listen up – this is the plan—’
‘Hang on!’ said Krish. ‘I haven�
��t agreed to anything yet!’
‘What?!’ Balthrir looked genuinely confused. ‘What d’yer mean? You’re the boring one! The boring one that just goes along with whatever the not-boring one (that’s me, by the way) says!’
Krish thought fast. ‘In return for what?’
Balthrir’s head jolted backwards as a half-shocked, half-disgusted expression spread across her face. ‘What the ’ell are you talkin’ about?’
‘W-well,’ Krish hadn’t quite thought this far ahead. ‘You do magic tricks for money! I want something in return for helping you! L-like a trip to the Night Ocean or-or—’
‘What?! We only just met and yer want me to take yer on an ’oliday? To the Night Ocean?! What are you…?’ Balthrir stopped. They heard voices downstairs. It was a new customer speaking to Tol at the bar. They caught a little of what the new customer was saying…
‘Just for a night or two…’
‘Right!’ said Balthrir. ‘Whatever you want! But first, this is what yer’ve got to do…’
A minute or so later they had a plan ready and they heard the new customer (or ‘sucker’ as Balthrir liked to call them) head up the stairs.
‘Right,’ said Balthrir under her breath. ‘Ready?’
‘Yeah,’ answered Krish. ‘I guess.’ He spoke up so that the customer/‘sucker’ could hear. ‘It is indeed a most excellent room, madam, and the view is to die for! But my father says he won’t pay a Shella more than forty-five Kalrahs!’
‘That is a real shame, sir.’ Balthrir was a very good actor and she seemed to have a captive audience in the new customer. ‘We reduced the room from sixty-five Kalrahs to fifty-five this morning! Tell yer what, if yer can stretch to fifty I’m sure I can smooth things over with the management.’
‘Sorry,’ said Krish. ‘My father can’t go over forty-five. Even for that amazing view!’
‘Not to worry, sir,’ sighed Balthrir. ‘I don’t suppose you’re looking for the best room in the house for a bargain, Mr…?’
As Balthrir turned with a winning smile to face the customer he passed a hand in front of his face and the ‘sucker’s’ whole body rippled as if someone had dropped a pebble into a pond. The form standing before them settled and they were faced with Madam Nboosa’s furious gaze.
‘Ah,’ said Balthrir conclusively.
‘That is how you do a convincing mask spell, young lady,’ said Madam Nboosa, hardly moving her lips from the pursed expression they were participating in.
‘Blimey! I’ve been rumbled!’ Balthrir’s voice quavered with hysteria.
‘I gave you so many chances, Balthrir.’ Nboosa shook her head. ‘I gave you one last warning and you completely ignored me! You and your accomplice are going to pay a visit to the authorities.’
‘Ah. Sorry, miss.’ She seized her staff from the corner. ‘Allergic to the fuzz.’
‘Is that so?’ Nboosa sighed. ‘Come on, Balthrir. Enough of this.’
Balthrir turned to Krish, her eyes as wild with panic as they were with excitement. ‘What d’yer reckon, kid? Hand ourselves in?’
Krish answered with a gaping open mouth from which syllables seemed reluctant to escape.
‘Y’er right,’ Balthrir continued the exchange without him. ‘Better jump out the window. Much more sensible.’
And without another word she took his hand, sped past Madam Nboosa, who reached out to apprehend both of them, and Krish found himself experiencing the sting of smashing glass against his body and the crashing sounds of destruction followed by the whooshing of air in his ears. He was in the air just long enough to see three things: firstly, the ground coming up rather quickly. Secondly, Balthrir’s staff swooshing across his field of vision accompanied by a burst of colour. And finally, the ground suddenly becoming slightly nearer and considerably more mattress-shaped just before they crashed into it.
Balthrir dragged him to his feet. Krish could only focus on the number of little cuts across his arms and the shouts of Nboosa above.
‘Come on!’ cried Balthrir. ‘Let’s get the fudge-monkeys outta here!’ Krish didn’t know quite what his brain had just translated but judging by the proceeding minutes’ activities it definitely involved a lot of running.
CHAPTER 12
A POT OF HALFIRE
‘What now?’ asked Krish, struggling to keep up with Balthrir.
‘What now?!’ Balthrir answered. ‘What now?! Now is time for me to get the ’ell outta here! That’s it, mate! No wizardry exams for me! Nothing! I’m done for! I’m outta here! Thanks for screwin’ things up!’
‘I-I-I… I’m sorry! I—’
Balthrir stopped, turned and shoved her face so close to his that she almost poked his eye out with her nose. ‘You’re the boring one. The boring one shuts up now before ’e gets us into further fughundi do-do!’
Balthrir led them to the edge of town where there was a mule tied to a post. Krish was too out of breath to ask any more questions as Balthrir, without looking at him, produced two large water bottles coated in animal skins from the mule’s saddle bags and disappeared round the corner, where there was a handful of merchants’ stalls. She returned minutes later with a few items wrapped in brown paper and the water bottles looking a little heavier than before. Then she led the mule towards the end of the road and Krish followed. The dry solid earth turned to hot powdery sand in minutes and the noise of the town soon left his ears.
The sand got everywhere. His mouth, his nostrils, the corners of his eyes. He swore it had even found its way into his underwear. Removing it from his hair was almost impossible. And his shoes filled with the stuff with every footstep. He tried walking barefoot but it was like torture: the sand, having been exposed to harsh sunlight all day long, burned the soles of his feet, but a moment later his feet would sink into the ice-cold grains beneath the surface that the sun had not had time to heat in Ilir’s short days. Balthrir kept on marching forward in her beaten-up old sandals without looking back at him, apparently not feeling the sand or letting it hinder her.
The sand appeared to change colour as the sun arched across the sky. A pale, off-white hue in the mornings, light yellow at midday and deep orange as the sun was swallowed by the horizon, becoming almost red in the dying light of the day, minutes before the sky filled with stars and darkness.
Krish was glad when the sand turned to earth once more: a large stretch of light brown ground, baked by the sun and riddled with cracks. This world was so small he swore he could see the curvature of the land on the horizon, just as he had up on the mountain when he’d first arrived. He stared into the distance, the shape of Ilir so clear, so real, tasting the sand in his mouth, feeling the warmth of a sun so far from his own, and wondering how any book, any story Jess or anyone else had ever read could compare to this. Feeling, tasting, smelling another world that appeared, in many respects, so normal. Yet it was so far from normal. The way the breeze meandered around him, the way the sun warmed him to the bone and the flavours of this world’s food were so subtly different from anything he had ever experienced he could not begin to describe how much this world looked like his own but felt like nothing you could possibly have imagined.
The sand returned. Dunes as high as houses to his left. To his right there was a small ridge in the sand, a natural border stretching for miles. Across the border was a channel of sand and small grey rocks. Beyond this, a valley and hills appearing to consist of more dunes covered in the grey rocks. Ahead of them, clusters of trees and scrub atop small mounds. These must be oases: pockets of water beneath the surface, or perhaps there were even underground rivers here that fed the hardy flora growing in this barren terrain.
Day faded into night once more and they stopped in the shelter of one of the oases. Balthrir enchanted an axe and sent it to work chopping wood from a dead tree. It took her some time to get the spell right. At first the axe was hacking away at the wood with such vigour that splinters were flying off all over the place. The mule decided that it was safest to place Kris
h between himself and the maniacal axe.
‘Bloody thing!’ shouted Balthrir as she cast another spell to slow it down. Once she’d got the speed right she started searching the oasis for kindling. Krish tried to gather some kindling himself but when the wizard struck up a fire she politely left his rather pathetic-looking collection of twigs to one side. She then produced a large spiky fruit from the undergrowth, wrapped it tightly in a dark-coloured skin from a bag on the mule (who was munching on shrubs growing at the foot of the tree they were seated under) and placed it just off the centre of the fire to cook.
It was only when Balthrir spoke, as they both stared tiredly into the flames, that Krish realised that they’d scarcely said a word to each other all day.
‘So, yer still ’ere, eh?’ said the wizard, her voice merry but tired.
‘Erm, yeah. I guess,’ answered Krish.
They examined each other over the crackling fire, their faces deep orange against the endless black that blocked the rest of the world from sight. The smoke stung their eyes.
‘So,’ began the wizard. ‘Maybe it’s time for some proper introductions and all that. Hello, as I said, my name’s Balthrir. Well, Balthrira really. Balthrir is a boy’s name. My grandfather’s. But Balthrira is a rubbish name. Sounds like an ear infection or summink. You ever ’ad an ear infection? They’re rubbish. Kriss, innit?’
A second or two after Balthrir had finished speaking Krish realised it was his turn.
‘Krish. Er… Krishna. But… yeah, Krish. Krish is best.’
‘And yer followin’ me because…?’
‘I… thought we skipped town.’
A knowing smile and a raised eyebrow from Balthrir invited him to say more.
‘And because… I don’t know anybody else,’ he said.
