by Robin Jarvis
The gate was before them: they ducked under it and blinked. A main road lay in front of them. For a moment Twit and Thomas steadied themselves and watched as roaring, wheeled monsters hurtled past. Twit did not like the road. It threw him into such a confusion that Thomas had to hold his paw tightly.
We’ve got to cross this nightmare,’ he called above the tumult. ‘Wait till there’s a break.’
So they stood and waited until there was a space between the receding red lights and the oncoming white beams.
‘Now,’ shouted Thomas and he dragged Twit off the pavement and down on to the road. Quickly they ran. Then up on to the paving at the other side, just as an oncoming engine swept past. Twit panted heavily and Thomas coughed into his hat.
‘That was a near thing,’ he said after a while. They turned to look at what lay before them.
‘Oh no,’ groaned Twit, ‘another ‘un.’
They were sitting on a grass verge sandwiched between two roads and the next one looked busier than the last.
The two mice walked through the grass up to the edge of the road. Beyond the dash of bright lights and the rumble of traffic was the Heath. It was a dark place, a vast area of flat grassland surrounded by roads and buildings. A few paths crossed the breadth of the Heath but hardly any trees grew there. There was only one small tight clump and this was fenced in.
An old church rested uncomfortably on the brink of Blackheath – it was a disturbing place: nothing stirred and only the stars gazed down on it. Thomas and Twit waited patiently on the pavement as the noisy engines sped by. They wiped the smoke from their eyes and held their paws over their noses as the fumes spluttered over them. Conversation was impossible so they just sat and waited for their chance. Twit regarded his new friend and wondered what had made him give up the sea. Was it merely his age? Or had something dreadful happened to make Thomas want to forget his voyages? Twit knew that Thomas longed to be out on the rolling oceans. He was such a strong character that the small matter of his age would surely be no problem. But then Twit had seen enough of folk to understand that everyone has a reason for doing what they do even if they can’t explain it – even he was going to return home soon, back to his parents, back to the sniggers of some and the pity of others. If the midshipmouse had a reason for staying on dry land then it had to be a good one, Twit decided.
Gradually the number of the machines became fewer.
‘This is it.’ Thomas jumped to his feet. ‘Now Twit!’ Once more they dashed from the pavement and ran across the road. When they reached the grass they flung themselves down on the ground and caught their breath.
‘Let’s away from the noise of the road so we can hear ourselves think,’ Thomas said.
The grass was short on the Heath: it only came up to Twit’s tummy. As he glanced around he saw a number of strange marks. Here and there patches grew, darker than the rest, only in perfect circles – deep ring patterns. He wondered about this odd occurrence.
‘What be these circles Thomas?’ he asked.
‘I seen ’em too – though I’m blowed if I know. Been at sea most of my days – not up on grass an’ such. Reckoned you could tell me, old son.’
Twit went up to one of the dark bands. ‘Strange this is,’ he murmured. ‘’Tis actually a deeper colour in the very blade of the grass. And look, toadstools do grow in the circles nowhere else, only in amongst the dark grass rings.’
Tall spindly white fungi were scattered around the circles.
Thomas did not like the look of them. ‘I had mushrooms once,’ he said. ‘Nice ‘n tasty they were too, but I wouldn’t touch those pale excuses with a bargepole.’
He eyed them disdainfully.
‘No they don’t smell too good,’ Twit added, sniffing them tentatively, ‘Poisonous most like.’ He pulled a face.
‘What’s in the soil to cause it, I’m thinkin’,’ Thomas muttered. ‘On what do they feed to turn out so?’ Twit was staring out on to the Heath. Something had caught his eye: it was a small dot of light.
‘It’s so quiet here,’ Thomas went on, ‘hushed and lulled like a sea becalmed. What are you lookin’ at, matey?’
Twit pointed. ‘There! You see that there light a-winkin’, ‘tis only small.’
‘Oh aye,’ said Thomas. ‘Let’s take peep. Only we ought to go quiet, there’s summat about this place makes me tail twitch. Can’t put my finger on it yet but that’s always a bad sign – last time it happened —’ He pulled himself short as if he had said more than he meant to. ‘Come on matey.’
They waded through the grass making for the light. Once more Twit was glad to have Thomas Triton with him. They were careful to avoid the dark circles.
The noise of the road sank into the background and the angry lights became small points that streamed in bright ribbons in either direction. As they neared the source of the light Thomas pulled Twit to the ground.
‘We’ve got to go careful now,’ he whispered. ‘Summat’s funny about that glow.’
Morgan spat on the ground. He had walked a long way and he was not used to it. Things were not going too well for him at the moment. Madame Akkikuyu had his Lord’s favour and so had a few others, younger rats bucking for his position. Morgan trod a tightrope of treachery; he could trust no one. He carried a sack on his back: it was not for him to do manual labour but Jupiter had commanded it and given him certain crazy-sounding instructions. Still, he was the big boss. If Jupiter wanted him to wear ribbons, Morgan would do it gladly so long as he remained the chief lieutenant and could exercise power over the others. Power! What a pleasant sweetmeat that was. Yet he never had his fill, and if obtaining more meant grovelling and scraping to those eyes in the dark portal then he would do it.
Morgan hated being outside. Like every rat his main instinct was to run for the nearest dark and smelly hole. But ‘Go to the Heath!’ Jupiter had commanded him, so here he was. He could not afford to displease His Majesty. He had been pushing it of late: too many things going wrong and all the lads at that digging. It was difficult to keep them at it. Rebellious words were being voiced quite openly and it would be him, Morgan, who would be held responsible.
His thoughts turned to the last thing that Jupiter had told him before sending him out of the sewers. ‘I shall meet you there,’ he had said. Morgan wondered if this meant that he would get to see his Lord at last. Many a long year he had served Him without so much as a glimpse of those two heads. The rat afforded himself a quick sly smile as he remembered how he had got his job. He had been younger then, his claws stronger, but still Black Ratchet had put up a very decent struggle – it had taken longer than he had expected to throttle him.
‘I’d best watch out myself.’ He shuddered at the thought of some usurper dishing out the same fate to him. Morgan licked his long yellow teeth.
His directions had been precise. To the middle of the Heath he had to go. Well, he judged this to be fairly central. He put down the sack: it was light but he could feel through the cloth a round object that weighed more than the other contents. He had no idea what they were. Normally he would have had a good look but at the moment, things being what they were, he dared not.
‘Go to the centre and remove the crystal from the sack,’ had been Jupiter’s instructions. Morgan opened the neck and groped round inside. Finally he fished out the smooth, heavy, round object.
‘Blast it,’ he cursed. ‘What’d He want this rubbish for?’ It was the crystal ball of Madame Akkikuyu. ‘Still, He knows best,’ he said scornfully. Morgan tried hard to remember his next instruction. It was to find a ring in the grass, the largest there was, and place the globe inside. What a daft thing to do.
Nevertheless, if Jupiter was going to come in person Morgan did not want to be found wasting time. He looked around. No, there was nobody about, unless he was hiding, watching, testing. Morgan made sure that he followed the orders to the letter. The crystal was put in a large round ring. Morgan, tempted by the toadstools, popped some in his mouth but
even his tainted palate found them impossible. He stuck out his coated tongue in disgust and spat out big brown phlegmy globs. He drew his arm over his dribbling mouth then recalled the rest of the instructions. Morgan stepped out of the ring and said the words he had committed to memory.
‘Jupiter, Lord of All, in Darkness’ name come forth.’ He bowed as he had been told to and waited for the creature with two heads to step forward from the hiding place. In that, Morgan was disappointed, but all thought was soon driven from him as a blinding flash seared his eyes.
Madame Akkikuyu’s crystal was burning.
Morgan peered up. There in the dark ring the glass globe was on fire. No, the flame was within the crystal. It lapped the insides, yet there was no sign of the glass getting scorched and no smoke issued from it. Morgan gazed at it dumbly and then he saw two small points of red amongst the flames. Gradually these grew larger; floating orbs of scarlet brilliance blazing away far brighter than the other fire. Morgan realised that he was looking at two fiery eyes. Jupiter stared out of the crystal at him.
‘Oh my Lord of the Night,’ he mumbled as his knees shook and his legs gave way in fright. What powers Jupiter possessed! Morgan had never dreamed they were this strong.
Morgan remained bowed.
‘My Lord?’ he ventured. ‘Can you hear me?’ He was answered by a hollow, mocking laugh from the crystal.
Thomas and Twit had crept silently along the ground until they could see the source of the light.
Twit smothered a gasp and even Thomas the stout mariner was taken aback at what he saw.
The two mice were at the edge of one of the rings, concealed in the grass from the rat standing before them. It was Morgan. Madame Akkikuyu’s crystal was held high over his head. Two burning, cruel eyes were suspended in the heart of the globe.
The voice of Jupiter bellowed from the middle of the flames and Twit quailed in his hiding place.
‘Mark out the circle, Morgan,’ it snarled harshly. ‘The first stage must be completed tonight.’
The rat placed the crystal on the ground and moved hurriedly to a bundle of sacking outside the ring.
‘Move them inside,’ hissed Jupiter. ‘Once complete the circle must not be broken.’
Morgan hauled the bundle within the ring. Thomas peered over the grass stems. The flickering light from the crystal licked across the sack as the rat foraged inside.
‘Which is it first, Master?’ Morgan asked, his snout muzzled in the sacking.
‘The bones, Morgan – I have just explained it all to you.’
The rat brought out four shinbones and flourished them proudly.
Thomas covered his eyes – they were the bones of mice.
‘That’s right,’ Jupiter hissed and the fire rippled softly in the globe.
‘Trace the circle around with the notched bone, then place the others at the compass points, saving that one for the north. And take great care if you value your neck.’
Morgan carefully drew over the ring. ‘Am I doin’ it right, Majesty?’
‘Get on with it.’
Twit moved nearer to Thomas. ‘How do that there ball talk and why do it burn?’ he whispered.
Thomas looked worried. ‘That is the voice of Jupiter speaking through yonder globe by some magic art,’ he said gravely.
Twit was astounded and terribly afraid: the worst nightmare of all mice was in front of him. ‘Green save us!’ he shuddered.
‘Amen to that,’ returned Thomas.
Morgan had completed his first task. Gleefully he smiled and clapped his claws together. He looked to the crystal for further instructions.
‘Now the candle,’ uttered Jupiter.
The rat searched in the sack once more and fished out a short thick candle. It was a dull brown colour and Morgan gave it a cautious sniff. ‘Here it is . . .’ he began to say. ‘Oh it smells good enough to eat.’ He licked his teeth appreciatively.
‘Do not even try,’ threatened the disembodied voice. ‘I have spent a long time distilling the substance from which that candle is made – it is not a common wax.’
Morgan sniffed once more and slobbered over it. The wax reminded him of juicy bacon fat and crispy crackling – what a wrench it was not to gobble it down. The wick of the candle was odd too – not the usual string, more like fine plaited hair of different shades.
‘Hold it up, Morgan,’ ordered Jupiter.
The rat did as he was told and waited.
The flaming eyes in the crystal narrowed and the voice became low – too low to hear.
Suddenly the fire in the glass flashed out in a whip of blazing flame. It snaked around a startled Morgan who closed his eyes and cowered. The fire flared above him and in a splutter of sparks the strange candle was lit.
‘Observe,’ said Jupiter. ‘You may put it to the north.’ Morgan took the guttering candle to the edge of the circle and placed it next to the notched bone. The candle gave off a thick pall of brown, evil-smelling smoke.
Not far off, Thomas and Twit had to back away to avoid choking.
‘What a stink,’ coughed Twit.
‘Don’t breathe any of it in,’ urged Thomas hastily. ‘Let’s move upwind.’
‘Now,’ resumed Jupiter! ‘return to the sack and bring out the parcel.’
Once more Morgan did as he was told. It was a heavy package wrapped around with brown paper through which sticky grease was oozing.
‘Remove the contents – carefully.’
Piece by piece Morgan tore the wrapping away. ‘Streuth!’ he cursed. ‘There’s a howlin’ fume from this. Ach, it makes me wanna honk!’
‘Be silent!’ growled the voice. ‘Separate the pieces into four and put them with the bones.’
Twit and Thomas could, hear Morgan grumbling as he obeyed his master.
‘What is it?’ asked the fieldmouse. ‘I can’t see what’s in his hands.’
‘You don’t want to know,’ replied Thomas shakily. ‘I can scarce believe it. This is an awful, evil thing to witness.’ Thomas lowered his head.
‘There Master. ‘Tis done,’ said Morgan wiping his claws on his belly.
‘And finally the remaining items.’
The rat brought from the sack several lumpy roots.
‘Throw them into the candle flame.’
Morgan did so. The roots burst into flame and vanished in a cloud of sparks as they passed through the flickering candle.
‘Now Morgan, lift me! Lift the crystal over your head and prepare yourself.’
The globe was seized in sharp claws and raised over the rat’s head.
The fire within shone into the night as the eyes opened wide.
‘With fire I summon thee,’ called Jupiter.
The candle flared abruptly and the smoke became a dark plume above them.
‘With mandrake I woo thee.’
A scream came from the air. Thomas pulled Twit away.
‘Come, we dare not linger for this. We must return you to your friends.’
‘But this—’ Twit stammered. He did not understand the terrible danger that they were in.
‘Pay no heed and stop your ears if you ever want to sleep again, my lad. A curse will fall on us if we don’t leave now.’ He dragged Twit away as fast as he could. ‘In India I did see summat similar to that but not as powerful – or disgusting.’
The mice pelted from the Heath. Nervously Twit glanced back. Whatever had been taking place must have been truly horrible to scare sturdy Thomas. A phrase came to him, something the bats had said – ‘Thank your Green Mouse that you were blessed with your simple wit.’
Yes, Twit thanked the Green Mouse now. He was glad he did not understand what Jupiter was making Morgan do. Sometimes it was a blessing to be simple.
Thomas gripped his paw tightly and they crossed the two roads.
Back in the magic circle Jupiter finished his last conjuration.
‘And with bone I order thee,’ he shouted exultantly.
Morgan looked cautious
ly around trying not to tremble. His Lord and Master had never asked him to do anything like this before. He wondered where it would all lead. Oh, how he had underestimated Jupiter’s powers – they seemed to be growing daily, or was he merely showing his full strength at last. If so, why?
There were many things Morgan did not understand. He for one did not know why he had to come to Blackheath on this windy night – couldn’t all this stuff have been done in the sewers? That would keep the lads quiet for a while. Morgan stiffened. It was windy. Before there had been a slight breeze but now, how that wind howled! It wasn’t natural.
The candle flame was blown here and there, battered down by the wind but not, extinguished.
Mercy, the rat thought with round, staring eyes.
The smoke from the candle was snatched and torn by the wind.
‘Oh breath of the darkest night,’ Jupiter began again. ‘Take the form I have designed. Kiss the final embrace and step down from your throne in the void.’
Morgan was nearly knocked off his feet by the rending gale. It stampeded out from the black sky and whirled about the circle.
Above Morgan’s head the eyes in the crystal shot beams of red, flickering light upwards and luminous vapours trailed off the glass in great swirls.
Much as he wanted to, Morgan could not close his eyes. ‘Stone me, what next?’ he yammered wildly.
The four clusters of objects that he had placed, around the circle suddenly burst into flames and presently there was a ring of fire surrounding him. But the fire was a sickly purple in colour with pulses of red running through, a red that looked like rivers of blood.
‘Do not enter here,’ Jupiter spoke into the wind. ‘Consume your feast and begin the task appointed.’
The thick dark smoke curled about the objects, then it swirled over the flames and rose high into the darkness.
Morgan’s stumpy tail swung awkwardly between his legs. Then he heard voices in the air. They whistled and yelled, but they were hollow sounds with no body.
They came from the smoke and worst of all, they called his name.
