“That wasn’t a good start. So what are you?”
“Loosely speaking, an ancient elemental force, bound in corporeal form.”
Jack raised his eyebrows in annoyance, but then, he thought, talking to a glowing animal that could understand and talk back, he really wasn’t in a position to be making judgements about what was real or not.
“It’s not as grand as it sounds. I’m not like other spirits. You have to walk around looking like a miniature snowstorm, and the hair balls are horrendous.”
“I thought only cats got hair balls.”
“I thought so too, but something obviously went wrong in the transfer. It’s really not pleasant. Be thankful you mortals invented baths.”
“Right … Who put you in that body? Did you choose to be a fox?”
“Ah, now that would be telling,” replied the fox slyly.
Jack got the distinct impression that the fox was enjoying himself.
“I believe your next question was why the Cult is after you. Actually, they weren’t. They tracked down what they were looking for—a Door to Darkness—and it just so happened that it was in your town. They needed Alex’s Shard, and so they targeted your friend Lucy on the expectation that he’d come running. They were right. Unfortunately, you saw too much, and you needed silencing. And your escape the first time has only made that a more urgent priority for them. Then there’s the matter of your Shard, though I doubt they know about that … yet.”
Somehow, Jack thought, this wasn’t much better. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time was just as bad as being actively searched out. He pulled out the Shard from under his tunic and let it hang in the lamplight. He’d almost forgotten about it on the journey.
“It’s not really mine, though, is it?” he asked, pondering its gleaming surface. “I mean, you gave it to me. I don’t own it.”
“Of course you do,” the fox replied, hopping off the bed and coming to sit in front of him. “Trust me. It would be a grave mistake to part with. Keep it on you at all times.”
Jack shrugged and replaced it under his top. It hadn’t proven itself to be of any particular significance yet, other than that it was a gift from a glowing animal spirit and that Alex had one just like it. “What about Alex? Did you give him his too?”
“No, I didn’t, but I believe it was an allied agent who did. I’m afraid I don’t know what happened to Mr. Steele,” the fox said, and for the first time he sounded worried. “I’m sorry,” he added in response to the morose look on Jack’s face.
“I’d—we’d waited for him for over a year … and he’d only just come back …”
There was silence, in which the fox didn’t move but just stared at him.
“I’m tired,” Jack said finally. He took off his top and got into bed, pulling the covers up over him. It was extremely comfortable—some kind of stuffed mattress with about five sheets piled on top. He closed his eyes and left himself open for sleep to take him. The candles, flickering in the slight brush from the disturbed sheets, were still lit.
“Do you think you could turn those off?” he said to the fox, yawning. Before he had even realized that he had just asked an animal to put out the lights, the flames were extinguished. The weaving patterns of smoke faded away into the now dark room.
Well, it would have been dark, except that the fox was still glowing with the brightness of a firefly on ecstasy.
“Can’t you put your light out?”
“That’s one thing I can do.” A moment later the light faded into complete darkness. “You know, Jack, I like you. I was worried you’d be more pompous, just like everyone else involved in this mess of a war, but you’re not.” The irony that this was said in what amounted to an upper-middle-class southern English accent did not escape Jack.
“You really think it’s going to come to war?”
“I know historians don’t like the word inevitable, but this pretty much is. And it doesn’t look like we’re well prepared. I’ve seen many wars, and this one looks like it’s going to be particularly nasty. And yet, statesmen who should be protecting their lands just sit in council rooms splitting grungles over the minutiae of fiscal policy, whilst their worlds fall apart around them.”
“The Apollonians have been around for hundreds of years?” Jack asked sleepily, the dates not adding up even in his state of sliding consciousness.
“Not as such, no. But there have always been some people who opposed the Cult. The Cult’s been around for a good few hundred years now, but the imperialist escapades are relatively new. In fact, even before the deluge of Ndiuno—” The fox spluttered again, his words apparently cut off against his will once more.
“What’s a grungle?”
“Troll hair. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Oh. Right. And what’s a cockatrice?”
“Did you ever see Sesame Street?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Think Big Bird but with fangs, talons, and a poisonous tail.”
“Oh.” In the shadows, Jack smiled. He was beginning to like the fox, not least because he was giving him some straight answers that seemed so rare around here, even if they were being rooted out by some invisible force. “How the hell did you get here? From Earth? We had to fly this dragonfly machine thing, then spend three days in a turtle submarine.”
“Oh, I managed it much quicker than that. But sorry. That’s on the blacklist too.”
Jack thought for a minute. “Do you have a name? Or does that come under who you are?”
“That, my friend, is called a loophole. My name is Inari.”
Chapter IV
resolutions and preparations
Jack rolled over in bed. Light filtered through his window in a broken block, highlighting the spiralling sheets of dust sifting through the air. From outside, the drifting noises of bustling crowds and the protestant grunts of machinery signalled the start of a new day.
Someone screamed.
Jack sat up straight in his bed and listened. There was another scream. He hoisted himself out of bed, threw on a tunic and a belt, and rushed out of the room.
Lucy’s door was open. She stood, looking horror-stricken, staring at her own reflection in the mirror.
Adâ joined Jack in the doorway. She didn’t look very pleased.
“What the hell did you do?” Lucy shouted at her, indicating her altered body.
“It’s necessary for your disguise,” Adâ said, sounding a little wary for the first time.
“Put them back!” screamed Lucy. She looked as if she had been about to point to her breasts, but realizing Jack was there, had thought better of it.
Both Jack and Adâ stared in silence. Then, when Lucy didn’t speak, each slowly backed out of the doorway in opposite directions.
“Be quick. We’re having breakfast with the king.”
Jack returned to his room and put on the pair of boots. They were extremely thick and at first hard to walk in but quite comfortable. He shuffled out of his bedroom, trying not to trip over himself. The other two were waiting outside, Adâ impatient, Lucy seemingly quite a bit happier. Looking at her now, Jack thought, she must have dropped at least a size. There was obviously some compensation.
A female dwarf was waiting at the end of the corridor, ready to descend with them into the administrative chaos of the colony-city-fortress. Just as the previous day, the hallways were throttled with people, and it looked as if the refugees had spent the night there. Only a narrow stream in the center allowed for the free movement of guards and miners. Weaving down the path of least resistance to the floor below, their guide led them finally to another pair of large double doors. She conversed with the guard for a moment.
He nodded and pounded his axe upon the floor as the one outside had done. In the same way, a five-foot-high door sprung open out of the larger one.
The dwarf headed through it, followed by Adâ, Jack, and Lucy.
This next chamber was roughly the size of the entrance
chamber—another cavern that seemed to be hollowed out of the innards of the cliff. Rows and rows of hefty wooden tables filled its floor space, surrounded by dwarves in lines, eating, drinking, and talking. Magnified a hundred times by the cave-like ceiling, the cacophony was astronomical; the roar of voices, clinking of goblets and cutlery, creaking of benches and noises from the other hallways and chambers echoed all around them.
The dwarf guided them down the aisle between the two central tables, passing a multitude of dwarves. Jack noticed a definite segregation here—separate tables for fine-tunic officers, other guards, male and female miners, others in overalls, and several more who appeared to be scribes or civil servants. The chamber was full to the breaking point. Through another pair of wide doors to their left, he spotted a thick queue of refugees packing in towards a kitchen, apparently receiving their own rations to take back to those waiting in the hallways.
At the end of the chamber, a few stone steps led to another door. On it were carved several runes, but after a moment’s examination Jack realized he could read them. He glanced at his ring, but it was not glowing.
West Dining Room–Annex
The dwarf paused outside the door, then motioned them to go inside.
Adâ turned, one foot on the step, looking the other two up and down. “Lucy, do something with your hair. Jack, your tunic’s back to front.”
They made their adjustments (Adâ replanting her sapphire hair clip on her scalp) and straightened up.
The elf opened the door, and they headed inside.
This room was far smaller, only a little bigger than Jack’s bedroom. An octagonal stone table, like the one in the throne room, dominated the space, though this one was littered with the remnants of crispy-looking meat and thin slices of something like bread. A few crusty cheese rinds were scattered on the plates, and a large lump of what seemed to be a golden-brown roast, its original animal indistinguishable, sat in the middle of the table like a strangely overcooked Christmas turkey. It was already partially eaten with the dull white of bone visible, and a knife was planted vertically in it like a sword.
Several people sat around the table, with several more attendants standing behind them in between now empty trays. The king was seated directly opposite the doorway, with a similar-looking but younger dwarf next to him. On one side of them was another dwarf, dressed in the same curious grey overalls as his fellows outside, his face black with soot and goggle marks etched around his eyes. A pair of scaly, elbow-length gloves was tucked through his wide belt. On the other side sat a tall figure—recognizable as an elf by his pointed ears and Arabic look. Reading glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and he wore a deep crimson tunic and a gold-laced robe.
“Sorry we’re late,” Adâ remarked, taking a seat. “There was some confusion over cleavage.”
Jack snorted but managed to turn it into a cough.
Lucy did not look amused at all.
“No matter, we saved some for you,” the king said, gesturing to one of the attendants.
He sprung up between them with three plates of crispy meat, a few slices of bread, and a slightly green-tinted cheese.
“And feel free to help yourselves to the roast. I apologize; your first meal here should have been somewhat more extravagant, but I have vowed in these troubled times to eat only as the most meagre of my subjects. How can we hope for others to act for the common good if we do not ourselves?” Thorin looked at the three newcomers. Adâ nodded, but Jack and Lucy glanced at each other, unsure of whether this was a rhetorical question.
“So, what’s the plan, Thengel?” the burnt-looking dwarf asked of the king after Jack and Lucy had been given the chance to begin their surprisingly familiar-tasting meals.
Thorin nodded at the attendants, and they bowed and left the room by the same single door. “Well—”
“I think these two need to be filled in first,” the male elf said, interrupting the king.
“Yes, yes, of course.” He turned to Jack and Lucy. “I know from yesterday’s experiences that you are already aware of the presence of greenskins in the mountains. These are uncivilized, brutish creatures; they are naturally nomadic, with no fixed abode, and so usually take to pillaging our outlying villages in tribal raids. Over the last several weeks, however, changes have become more and more evident in their organization and actions. Raids have been coming thick and fast from the east, with forces numbering far greater than before. Of those villages that have been attacked, there have been few survivors. I have recently decided to evacuate all villages. We have several greater colonies arranged over these mountains into which refugees have been pouring for days now. As you will have seen, we are struggling with the increased demands on space and rations.”
Jack was trying to listen, but Lucy didn’t help things by rocking back on her chair repeatedly in a bored sort of way.
“And there are the additional rationing problems caused by the loss of most of our arable farming land due to a bad harvest season—”
“Alright, Thengel, I think they have the general idea,” the male elf asserted, as the king looked as if he was beginning to list all his current grievances. “What matters to them is Sardâr’s current predicament.”
“Indeed, yes,” Thorin continued, acknowledging the change of subject. “You probably know by now that Sardâr Râhnamâ is the leader of the Apollonians. A week ago, he disappeared. He was in this colony, and we have reason to believe he has gone to investigate the causes of our problems. It appears he left on a dangerous mission in secret to prevent endangering anyone”—he looked at Adâ—”who might have insisted on accompanying him. We are debating as to whether to send a search party out …”
There was an exchange of looks around the five senior members of the table. Adâ glared at the younger dwarf next to Thorin, whilst the other dwarf and elf seemed to share a reserved understanding.
“So … what’s the plan, then?” Lucy ventured, nonplussed by the series of silent exchanges.
“Well, Adâ has wanted to send a search party since Sardâr disappeared. Meanwhile, Bál”—he glanced at the younger dwarf to his right—”argues that we cannot spare the resources for the time being.”
“Especially not for one who isn’t even a countryman of ours,” Bál put in. “We’re virtually in a state of national crisis, and we have to care for those within our walls.”
Adâ renewed her glare with increased vigor. “This is so much bigger than you can possibly imagine, dwarf—”
“Adâ, that is enough,” the other elf said sharply. “At any rate, Smith and I agree that Sardâr is more than capable of handling himself. He is our most experienced agent, and I, for one, have complete faith in his judgement. He would not have allowed himself to become embroiled in anything he cannot handle.”
The grubby dwarf, evidently Smith, nodded in agreement.
For once, Adâ kept her silence.
“And so,” Thorin continued wearily, “we return to square one. But with your arrival, I believe we can come to a solution. Before Sardâr left he said that in the event of anything untoward occurring in relation to the Earth operation, nothing substantial was to be said or done without his presence. Another example of his seeming omniscience. So, the choice is yours. Do we leave him to his mission and trust that he is well or send out a search party?”
Jack and Lucy looked at each other, taken aback by the surprise choice before them. Having been so close for so long, they could tell what the other was thinking without speaking. Both seemed to view this as a choice between unknown quantities. But Jack recognized in Lucy’s face the same propelling yearning to get some concrete answers about their extraordinary predicament. And if finding this Sardâr was the only way that could happen, then the choice suddenly seemed very simple.
“Yes,” replied Jack, “send a search party.”
Lucy nodded.
“But on the condition that we get to go.” Jack could tell with this secondary request that he had lost her s
upport. Unsurprisingly, he supposed, she felt she had been shifted around enough for now and would want to wait in this colony-city in relative comfort for some answers. But he could not square that with his impulses. He needed answers, and he needed them now. More, a voice said in the back of his mind, for Alex’s sake than for his own. But then, Lucy didn’t have a glowing fox spirit harassing her with enigmatic hints at awkward moments.
The five around the table were silent, evidently surprised. Entirely different expressions moved between them, from Thorin’s shock to the male elf’s wry smile.
“I say let them go. They deserve answers as quickly as possible. And if Bál’s complaint is about not being able to set aside resources, then they should adequately fill two places on the search party.” The male elf took out a wooden pipe and lit it with an ornate leaf-shaped lighter.
Bál looked mutinous at his own argument being used against his cause. Adâ appraised them coolly, her gaze flicking between the two. Thorin and Smith exchanged a shrug.
“That’s decided, then. Mount Fafnir. You leave this afternoon.” The king stood up, as did everyone else around the table. Nodding at them solemnly, he left the room.
“I’m sorry, but we weren’t properly introduced,” the burnt-looking dwarf said to Jack and Lucy. “Smith Brassmelter, Forgemaster,” he said, smiling toothily from under his skullcap-like helmet and offering his hand to Jack.
He took it and shook it vigorously.
“Hakim Morabbi, Chancellor of the National Academy of Khălese in Tâbesh, at your service,” the elf said, shaking Jack’s hand perfectly normally. “And this,” he continued, when the remaining dwarf failed to introduce himself, “is Bál Thorin, His Majesty’s nephew.”
Bál grunted at them, doing an excellent impression of Lucy on Monday mornings. Jack got the feeling that he resented missing his chance to leave the room with the king.
A moment later, Bál and Hakim made their excuses and hurried off, though a considerable distance apart.
The White Fox Page 13
