by V M Jones
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Jamie thoughtfully. ‘It seems weird to me. Something about it just doesn’t … feel right.’
‘I agree,’ said Gen. The whole thing has a … sort of sinister feeling. Nothing I can put my finger on …’
‘Hang on a moment,’ I said slowly, replaying the scene in my mind. ‘What was it that guy said? I have no son …’
‘Yeah, and he seemed pretty sure about it,’ grumbled Rich, still smarting from the turn things had taken.
‘I have no son,’ I repeated. ‘I didn’t say I wanted to speak to his son; I said I wanted to speak to Kai. And he comes back with I have no son quick as a flash. He should have said, “Who’s Kai?” or, “There be no one of that name here,” or something.’
‘You’re right, Adam,’ said Kenta. ‘It’s as if he did have a son, once, and it was Kai … but now something’s happened …’ her soft voice trailed off into unhappy silence.
‘And the way he went all weird when I said that about Zephyr,’ muttered Rich, rather sheepishly. ‘I thought …’
‘Of course you did,’ said Gen. ‘Anyone would. Don’t beat yourself up about it, Rich. It wasn’t your fault the wheels fell off.’
‘So what do we do now?’ asked Jamie glumly. ‘We’ve got a missing cat, and a missing Hannah, and now Kai’s disappeared and his dad’s denying he ever existed … and … and I wish we’d never come!’ His chin wobbled ominously.
‘I’ll tell you what we do now,’ said Gen decisively. ‘We pay our old friend Hob a visit. There’s nothing strange or sinister about Hob. He’s Kai’s best friend: he’ll know where he is.’
Finding Second Chances — Hob’s father’s junk shop — was easier said than done. We trudged around the streets for what seemed like hours, watching the light slowly fade, staying as much out of the way of other people as possible, and trying to ignore the cooking smells that wafted from every doorway we passed. It was getting steadily colder too — a hard, metallic chill that seemed to sink into the marrow of my bones.
Then suddenly, just when I thought we were totally lost, there it was: the familiar faded wooden sign above the door, and — to my huge relief — faint light still shining dimly through the thick panes of glass in the window. ‘Working late,’ said Rich with satisfaction. ‘Looks like our luck’s about to change!’
‘Just so long as his dad doesn’t answer the door and say Who’s Hob? ’muttered Jamie.
Hob’s dad was there. Peering through the glass, ready to make a run for it if necessary, we could make him out all too clearly: a bald, bespectacled man who reminded me with a pang of Q, perched on a tall stool with his nose deep in a pile of parchments. There was no sign of Hob.
Richard said a very rude word.
‘Here we go again,’ said Gen with a certain amount of relish. ‘My turn this time.’
‘Hang on, Gen,’ I said. Truth was, I wasn’t keen to try out our acting talents again. It hadn’t worked too well so far. ‘There’s a wooden door here in the wall. It might lead through to some kind of courtyard. What say we have a quick snoop around before we do anything rash? Who knows, maybe they live above the shop or something. Maybe Hob’s round the back. It’s worth a try.’
We edged the door open and slipped silently through. It felt good to be off the street, away from the hooded grey shadows I was beginning to imagine round every corner. Best of all, I was right. It was a courtyard — cobbled, with a rickety washing line at one end with a few drab garments hanging forlornly from it. ‘Late to leave the washing out,’ Gen murmured disapprovingly … and at that moment, right on cue, a door at the back of the building opened and out came Hob, a wicker basket dangling from his hand.
He looked taller than I remembered, but otherwise just the same — skinny and red-haired, with an up-turned nose and a jaunty air of self-confidence. Without so much as a glance at the doorway where we stood in a breathless huddle, he sauntered over to the washing line and started taking the clothes down, whistling between his teeth. We all exchanged a lightning glance of complete agreement.
‘Pssssst! Hob!’
Hob squawked and dropped the basket, whipping round with a face suddenly whiter than the shirt he was holding. He saw us, and his eyes widened in disbelief. Grinning, I stepped forward, holding out a hand in greeting.
But to my horror Hob’s mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed. Shaking his head slowly from side to side, he backed away towards the open door, both hands held out in front of him as if to ward away something evil.
Suddenly, he didn’t look at all like the Hob we’d known. He looked way, way different. Adult … suspicious … and afraid.
‘Hob?’ quavered Gen uncertainly. ‘It’s us — Kai’s friends. Don’t you remember us?’
‘Stay away from me! Haven’t you done enough?’
Behind me, I heard Jamie give a stifled snuffle of dismay. And then suddenly I felt my confusion give way to anger. What was it with everyone? Why were they all treating us like we had some kind of terrible disease? And what was with all the mystery?
I stepped forward, scowling. ‘Hang on one minute, Hob,’ I said, my voice low, but with an edge to it that stopped him in his tracks. ‘Run away if you want. But first tell us where Kai is, and why his dad says he’s never heard of him. What’s going on — why is everyone being so weird?’
Hob hesitated, a look of uncertainty crossing his face. Then his expression hardened again. ‘You ask that?’ he spat. ‘You? When it be your fault? And now you come to the door like friends … when a true friend would stay away! Kai helped you — he trusted you! And now …’ suddenly his face contorted, and he made a strangled hiccupping sound.
Kenta was at his side in an instant. ‘Poor Hob,’ she said softly, looking anxiously up into his face. ‘We are your friends — we truly are. We don’t know what’s gone wrong — what’s happened to change the way you feel — or what’s happened to Kai. And if you don’t tell us, we can’t help.’
She was speaking over the anguished, wrenching sound of his sobs. And then we were all around him, Kenta with a comforting arm round his shoulders, Gen offering him the handkerchief Nanny had insisted on us bringing, Rich patting his arm awkwardly. Me standing there like a spare part, all hands and feet. But: ‘Adam — the gate!’ Hob’s voice was low and urgent. Quickly I crossed the courtyard and closed it, first checking there was no one in the street.
Two minutes later we were all hunkered down on the stone step outside the back door, and Hob was his old self again. ‘First things first,’ said Rich, taking charge. ‘Where’s Kai?’
Hob wiped his nose on his sleeve and sniffed, ignoring Gen’s hanky. ‘Kai …’ he whispered, ‘Kai … is gone forever. He was … taken, two sunsets after I gave you the parchment.’
‘Taken where? Who by?’ Gen’s face was pale in the darkness.
‘By the Followers — the Faceless.’ Hob’s voice was almost inaudible.
‘Because … of us?’
Hob nodded. ‘Aye. There be nothing their eyes do not see — if eyes they have — or their senses cannot seek out. I have been fortunate. Yet if they saw us now …’
A shiver ran down my spine. Finally I understood: by talking to Hob, we were putting him in deadly danger. The girls knew it too — they searched the courtyard with wide, frightened eyes, as if a grey shadow might materialise from the very walls. Jamie gave a muffled whimper. Rich scowled. ‘OK then — tell us quick,’ he demanded. ‘Where is he? Where have they taken him? Will he still be …’
Alive. The word hung, unspoken, in the air.
‘And why did his dad — his pa — say he’d never heard of him? I don’t understand …’ said Jamie plaintively.
‘It is death to speak the names of those taken by the Faceless. It must be as if they have never lived at all. And does Kai live, you ask? There is no knowing. Maybe it is better that he does not. There be worse fates than death — where he has gone, any road.’
‘Where is that?’ Kenta’s question was
the merest breath.
‘Where all be taken who are of … interest… to King Karazeel. Beyond the shroud … to Shakesh.’
At his soft words a chill ran through me. Shakesh … where had I heard that name before? Suddenly it came to me: Kai’s voice, grim and low: It would be the axe and entrails on the walls of Shakesh, children or no. That — or worse. Or worse …
‘All are taken?’ Gen was asking. ‘You mean — anyone who does anything wrong?’
‘Wrongdoers … strangers … those that speak forbidden names. Believers; the innocent. Any man or woman — aye, or child — who draws the Faceless to their trail. There be ways without number to fall under their shadow — and none I know of to emerge again.’
Hannah.
‘We know of someone’ — I said hesitantly — ‘a young girl — a friend of ours. We believe she may have come here — dressed differently … pale faced, like we …’
‘Once were,’ Hob finished, with the faintest glimmer of a smile. ‘Aye — you be learning, any road. Your friend — she too will be gone. Taken north to Marshall … and beyond. Forget her. Do not speak her name again. She is lost forever.’
‘Well, we’re going to Shakesh to find them both,’ Richard said angrily. ‘We’re going to prove you wrong, Hob. This never speaking names and passing beyond the shroud is rubbish. Who does this King Karazeel think he is? Where we come from, no one would dare carry on like that! We’d have him out on his backside in no time, king or no king! Haven’t you people heard of dem — dem —’
‘Democracy,’ Jamie offered helpfully.
‘And what’s with this guy Zephyr?’ Richard ranted on. ‘Who is he, and why did Kai’s dad look like he’d swallowed a fishbone when I said his name? I’m sure glad I don’t live in Arakesh — it’d drive me bananas!’
‘You spoke the name of Zephyr at the inn?’ Hob stared at Rich in disbelief. Then he gave a snort of laughter. ‘Rich, you are — were — a friend of Kai’s, and of mine. Therefore, Friend, I say this to you: as you value your soul, do not breathe that name where any but the most trusted and true may hear it.’
‘But — why? Who is he? Is he so bad …’
‘Bad?’ Hob’s eyes shone in the darkness. ‘Bad? Nay … not bad. Zephyr —’ he said the name with awe bordering almost on reverence, his voice so low I had to lean forward to catch his words, feeling his warm breath on my cheek, ‘Zephyr is the Lost Prince — the Prince of the Wind. Legend has it such a one was born to the fair Queen Zaronel half a hundred spans ago. You speak of overthrowing King Karazeel.’ His voice was grim. ‘None can accomplish that — none save the Lost Prince. There be whispers of a prophecy: a prophecy held true by those that believe all goodness is not gone forever. A prophecy that foretells, after two score spans and ten, Prince Zephyr will return again to claim his throne. On the day the warrior prince returns from exile, riding tall and proud upon a winged horse — on that day, the crown of Karazan will return to its rightful head.
‘And now, my friend, do you see why none dare breathe the name of Zephyr where it may be overheard?’
The sound of a door banging somewhere inside the building made us all jump. Hob clambered to his feet. ‘I wish you good fortune, my friends — but above all, I wish you common sense and caution,’ he whispered. ‘The common sense to forget those that are lost, lest you join them — and the caution to keep your mouths shut, or at the very least your voices low. Now, I bid you farewell. And I beg you, do not seek me out again.’
‘But Hob — we don’t even know the way to Shakesh. I don’t suppose you happen to have a map or something …’ Gen said hopefully.
One look at Hob’s face, and I knew we’d had all we were getting. And who could blame him?
I held out my hand. ‘Hob — thank you. You have helped us more than we had any right to expect.’ For a long moment our eyes locked in a smile. Then he clasped my wrist briefly, turned, and let himself quietly into the house, the door clicking shut behind him.
The courtyard seemed suddenly very empty. Then Jamie’s voice spoke up out of the gloom, trembling slightly: ‘We aren’t really going to go to Shakesh, are we?’
‘You betcha,’ said Rich.
A dishonest mistake
‘This Five Grain Pan Bread looks more like instant brick mix to me,’ Rich said dubiously, poking at the contents of the saucepan. ‘Are you sure we’ve done it right?’
We’d decided to set up camp in the woods to the north of Arakesh, have a slap-up rehydrated meal and a good night’s sleep, and set out for Shakesh at first light.
‘I’d feel a lot better about tomorrow if we at least knew the way,’ Gen frowned, stirring the pot of MeenXtreem Souper Minestrone that was bubbling over the fire. ‘What was it Hob told us? North to Marshall … and beyond. Not an awful lot of help.’
‘I don’t know.’ I took the spoon from her and had a taste. ‘I doubt there’s more than one north road, and once it gets light it should be easy to find.’
‘I still wish we had a map,’ she said wistfully.
Jamie was rummaging in his rucksack. He turned to face the fire again, his hands behind his back, with a funny, secretive look on his face.
‘Hey, guys,’ he said, ‘I’m not keen on going to Shakesh, but one thing’s for sure: if we’re going anywhere, I’d rather we knew the way. Like Gen says.’ He gave her a shy, sidelong look. ‘Remember what Q once told us about keeping our eyes open for things we might find useful? Well, looks like I’m the only one who listened! You wish we had a map, Gen? And now … ta-da!’ He brought his hand round with a flourish. We goggled at him. He was holding up a scroll — a rolled parchment, neatly tied with a leather thong.
‘Where did you get that?’ croaked Rich.
‘From The Brewer’s Butt,’ smirked Jamie, bursting with pride. ‘While you guys were nattering away to Kai’s father, I had a look around. And it’s just as well I did. There were two little barrels on the reception desk — not that any of you noticed. But I did. Maps, it said — so I took one. And guess what else? It’s not just a normal map. Feel!’ He held the scroll out to me. Automatically, I took it … and felt a faint tingle, almost as if the scroll was humming to itself under its breath. Magic.
‘Yeah — it’s a magic map,’ crowed Jamie. ‘A magic map, courtesy of Jamie Fitzpatrick, the only one to keep his eyes open and his wits about him!’
Rich was grinning from ear to ear. Gen was beaming at Jamie, impressed. But Kenta’s face was very serious, and her eyes grave. ‘Jamie,’ she said gently, ‘those maps weren’t free. You were supposed to pay for them.’
Jamie’s mouth dropped open and he gawked at her. ‘But — it didn’t — there wasn’t …’
‘There was,’ she said. ‘Underneath the big sign was a smaller one and it said, New: 5 gelden. Used: 10 gelden.’
Jamie’s face had flushed a rosy apricot. ‘It can’t have said that,’ he muttered. ‘You must have read it wrong, Kenta. Why would a new map be cheaper than a used one? That’s dumb! And anyway, even if it did …’
‘Even if it did, it isn’t Jamie’s fault,’ I interrupted. ‘We all know Jamie’d never steal anything on purpose. OK, he took a map without paying for it — but it was an honest mistake.’
‘A dishonest one, more like,’ grinned Rich. ‘But remember what Kai once told us — about patterns, and things happening for a purpose? Maybe Jamie was meant not to see the price on the maps. Maybe he was meant to take one. Anyhow, it’s done now. Let’s have a look at it!’
Jamie untied the thong with careful fingers, and unrolled the scroll. Kenta and Gen huddled beside him as Rich and I peered over his shoulder. The five of us stared down at the map in total silence.
‘Well, Jamie,’ said Rich, ‘you might have saved yourself the trouble of pinching it, for all the use it’s going to be.’
I didn’t say anything. I felt sick with disappointment. Some of the map was how I’d expected it to be — old-fashioned, hand-drawn in black ink on buff-coloured parchmen
t. Sea, rivers, towns … a normal map. But the part of the map we needed — the part north of Arakesh, where Kai had said Marshall and Shakesh lay — was completely covered by a solid black splodge. The stain started about where we were now, just north of the city, and extended up to the very top of the map, and westwards to the entry point to Karazan and beyond.
Cautiously, I looked at Jamie. His lips were pressed tight together, and I could tell he was struggling not to cry. I knew just how he felt. Gen put one arm round him and gave him a hug. ‘Cheer up, Jamie — it’s not your fault it’s a dud.’
Jamie blushed scarlet. Then Richard started to laugh. ‘You have to admit it’s got its funny side,’ he chortled. ‘Typical Jamie. Tries to be a hero … steals a map without meaning to … and chooses the only one with ink spilled all over the important bit! We might as well chuck it away — it’s no use to us, and precious little use to anyone else. But at least we’re no worse off than we were before. Here, Jamie — shove it back in your bag and perk up. We can always use it as toilet paper if we run out! And now, who’s for some Five Grain Gobstopper and a bowl of hot soup?’
Rustles in the dark
In spite of Richard’s attempt to put a brave face on things, the disappointment of the map changed the mood round the campfire. It was almost as if some of the darkness from the map had found its way into the forest surrounding our little campsite. The flickering flames that had seemed so comforting before now seemed to make the shadows deeper and more threatening. Without noticing, we’d all drawn closer to the fire. ‘I only want a little, please,’ said Kenta when the soup was ready. ‘I’m not very hungry.’
‘All the more for me — us, I mean,’ said Richard cheerfully.
Spicy steam tickled my nose, and I eagerly spooned up my first mouthful of soup. Silence fell as we ate — at least, as close as the rustling forest would ever get to silence. Kenta pushed her plate away almost untouched. ‘Do you suppose …’ she said hesitantly, ‘do you suppose there are …things living in these woods?’
