Toby Fisher and the Arc Light

by Ian McFarlane

  Toby followed the silvery arm of a faceless suit of armour as it lifted with a clang and a metallic scrape. It pointed down a corridor towards some purple-carpeted stone stairs. The steps were surprisingly well lit by natural light from a series of small vertical slits that followed the contour of the upward winding stairwell. A small, faded plaque greeted Toby at the top. It was impossible to read. One thing was for sure – it didn’t say it was Mr Kapoor’s office. For a moment Toby wondered whether he had taken a wrong turn somewhere. But no matter how much he tried to reassure himself everything was okay his gut churned so badly he felt as if he had swallowed a dozen electric eels. The hallway that led away from the top step was covered in undisturbed dust and cobwebs that created a series of large and very unwelcoming mangy, spider-infested veils. At the end of the short hall was a door, slightly ajar. Toby didn’t believe for one moment it was the very smart and sophisticated Mr Kapoor’s office.

  ‘I must have taken a wrong turn,’ he said out loud, trying to bolster his flagging bravery.

  He turned as quickly as he could to walk back down the stairs. But before his hovering left foot even managed to touch the first step the dark-stained wooden door began to slowly open with a long drawn-out creak. It sounded just like a mountain troll gargling on a smoothie made of human flesh and bone.

  3 - The Room That Isn't

  The spine-tingling creak filled the small hallway in front of the dark-stained wooden door. Toby shivered. His left foot was still hovering over the first step. He closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders protectively as if waiting for some creature to clamp its blood-dripping claws down hard on his frail and puny neck. It would have been far easier to run down the steps and forget this ever happened but instead, and despite his fear, that frustrating little seed of curiosity sprang outward willing him to turn around and venture forward to discover what waited for him.

  Do it fast, do it slow?

  Toby couldn’t decide how to negotiate the hall with its almost impenetrable wall of spider-congested cobwebs. He squeezed his eyes steadfastly shut to the point they hurt, hoping things would seem clearer when he opened them. Finally, and without thinking, he stepped back from the stairs and turned, ready to face whatever it was that waited for him.

  To his surprise and overwhelming relief all he could see was a room beyond the door as the veil of spider’s webs drifted sideways like theatre curtains at the start of a play. Toby nervously shuffled forward, keeping a wary eye on the spiders who were watching him with their thousand beady eyes. Small mushroom clouds of dust plumed gently upwards with each step, coating the spider’s webs.

  He reached the threshold of the door. The room looked no bigger than the dingy coal truck on the Ferret Express but fortunately it was considerably brighter. The room was bathed in natural light which beamed down from the windows that encircled the room high above. There was nobody, or nothing waiting for him either, which caused mixed feelings. Sometimes it was easier to just get on and meet whatever or whoever he was supposed to meet and by now Toby was getting the feeling he was here for a reason. He waited a little bit longer but still no one came. It was as quiet as a graveyard, a comparison he immediately regretted as he pictured maggot-infested hands crawling from underneath a grave. He shook his head to clear it.

  Toby edged to the side of the hall and peered into the room. Large picture frames lined the wall. Beneath the frames was one large curved sideboard that butted up against the cold-looking stone. It continued around the wall for as far as Toby could see. A small, round, swivel-type stool stood isolated in the centre on the room. An impression of someone’s backside was left in its centre – two round dents. Toby hoped the previous occupant was as small as the bum print suggested. He edged his feet forward a bit at a time, peering inside the room and eventually into the blind corner behind the door. No one was home.

  Toby examined the picture frames. They looked blank, almost like windows rather than pictures. The curiosity seed had almost fully blossomed by now as Toby left the shelter of the doorway and shuffled into the room.

  ‘Footprints!’ said Toby sharply.

  The sideboard was littered with different sized prints: large ones and small ones, some with criss-cross patterns and others of bare feet; one foot had seven toes. Yet Toby remained alone. His nerves started to jangle again. Unlike the bright windows high above, the picture frames were dark and full of shadows. Something lurked inside one of the frames. Toby’s blossoming curiosity shrivelled and died in an instant. He turned, almost tripping over the stool, and headed for the door.

  It was locked.

  He tried the metal ring handle but it didn’t budge one inch. He turned sharply, firmly pressing his back up against the door and staring at the picture frames. He tried desperately not to blink in case he missed something. His chest rose and fell with the rapid beat of his heart. The shadow in the frame had stopped moving.

  Toby warily scanned the room again. His eyes settled on the stool. In the middle of the bum print was a small piece of paper. Now that had definitely not been there before. Toby reached for the door handle behind his back one more time. Somehow he thought it would work if he didn’t look at it. It remained frustratingly locked. The only other possible exits were the picture frames on the wall – he wasn’t going to try those.

  In a sudden bout of superficial bravery Toby took a deep breath and boldly walked over to the note. There was no point in trying to hide; there was nowhere to hide. He reached for the note with a shaking hand and unfolded it. It simply stated:

  Please sit down, Mr Toby Fisher

  ‘Crap!’ he whimpered quietly, repeatedly squeezing his hands tightly trying to calm himself before reaching for the stool and sitting down slowly. The stool squealed so loud a banshee would have covered her ears in pain. He cringed. If they hadn’t known he was there they did now, surely?

  They did. The shadows started to move again.

  Toby’s heart pounded inside his chest as if it was trying to break free and make a run for it on its own. The picture frame closest to Toby filled up with blackness. For a brief moment it stilled before something alarmingly poked through into the light of the room.

  A purple slipper with sparkling stars and half moons glided through the frame. A dark-coloured, gowned leg followed. A second slipper appeared, strangely blue in colour with white fluffy clouds followed by the lower body. Toby was mesmerised as voices and whispers filtered around the room. Something broke the silence.

  ‘Why on earth can’t they make these frames bigger? It feels so undignified crawling through such ludicrously small spaces,’ complained the squealing voice bitterly.

  A hairy, slipperless foot braced itself on the sideboard as a rather large posterior wiggled its way through the frame backwards. Toby stared open mouthed. He felt like he wanted to laugh, although more out of relief than amusement as the bum got stuck in the frame. He stuck his hand over his mouth. Then a full-grown man walked in front of Toby. His sudden appearance threw Toby off guard. Instinctively he dug his heels into the ground and defensively pushed himself backwards on the stool.

  ‘Steady on, old boy,’ said an elderly sounding voice. A hand clamped down on Toby’s shoulder. He froze.

  Toby didn’t dare look up. Despite the clumsiness and very human whining of someone trying to crawl backwards through the frame on the wall his fears came racing back. He imagined the hand was connected to fierce red eyes and fangs with a mouth big enough to eat Toby in one gulp.

  ‘It’s dashed inconvenient, I’d say. I can’t bend my legs that much anymore. It’s the arthritis – it really plays up in the cold weather. Why have we got ice, anyway? It’s the beginning of July – it’s so unreasonable.’

  The voice at the other end of the wiggling bum continued to verbally dribble as if he was vying for an Olympic gold medal in whinging. He would have certainly given Arty a run for his money.

  ‘Oh, Algernon do be quiet, can’t you see? We have a guest,’ said the hand on Toby�
��s shoulder.

  Several figures turned to face Toby including the wiggling bum who had managed to exit the frame in ungainly fashion and was now sitting on the sideboard puffing and panting. Toby plucked up the courage to look up at the owner of the hand. A grey-bearded face beamed back at him.

  ‘Good morning,’ said the beard brightly.

  Toby stared back at the beard, slowly releasing a grimace he hoped would look like a smile as the hand on his shoulder relaxed and gently guided him to a standing position.

  ‘Welcome, Toby,’ said the beard kindly.

  Ten people were watching. Some were smiling although the wiggling bum, Algernon, was grimacing and rubbing his knees. Most of them had beards – big, bushy affairs that covered the whole of the face although two had neatly trimmed moustaches with the ends curled up in coils and small goatees that made them resemble French musketeers. Four of those present didn’t have facial hair – they were women, or at least that was what Toby believed: one draconian with her dark skin and sharp hazel eyes; another was definitely elven with milky white skin and piercing ice-blue eyes, whereas the last two appeared very human.

  The rest of the group (the bardies) were a mixed bag of races. Some looked distinctly human with faces that could have read the BBC news. Another was definitely elven with the same milky skin and piercing ice-blue eyes although the beard looked quite peculiar, as if it had been painted on for a theatrical play. One was a dwarf – his squat stature, bulky arms, and oversized head with ginger hair gave that away. Algernon looked very trollies with his pustular skin and bulging waistline. It was no wonder he had struggled to get through the frame on the wall.

  They all bowed to Toby as if he was a king or someone very important. He didn’t know what to say. He instinctively bowed back. No one said a word. The beard behind Toby spoke.

  ‘My name is Magnus and it is an honour to meet you.’ He held his hand out in obvious friendship. Toby grasped it willingly. He was still in shock and was glad of anything that suggested a warm welcome. Magnus released Toby’s hand and held his arms out. Chairs appeared from thin air. Toby sat down on the squeaky stool. He tried not to move but couldn’t help it. It was the nervous energy.

  Magnus’s lips curled up in the corners with humour. He turned to the nearest frame and coughed. A small creature nimbly stepped through. It was slim with a smiley face, a disproportionally large nose, and was exceedingly ugly. Its hair was wispy and carefree and sticking in all directions. It was bright, sky blue. Toby nearly didn’t recognise him, he had so few clothes on. It was Ratchet and he had a can of oil in his hand.

  ‘Hello, Mr Toby. Thank you for helping me with my record this morning.’ Ratchet beamed, one eye watching Toby whilst the other examined the stool. Magnus coughed again.

  Ratchet squirted some oil underneath the seat, and gave it a squeak-free spin. He smiled with deep satisfaction.

  ‘See you soon,’ whispered Ratchet. He climbed back onto the sideboard and disappeared through one of the frames.

  Toby sat back down. Seeing Ratchet was a great relief. The stool was blissfully silent too. So was the rest of the room. Everyone continued to stare at him expectantly. Toby had the feeling he was the one who had invited everyone else and they were all waiting for him to speak. It made him feel very uncomfortable.

  ‘Uhm, where is Mr Kapoor?’ asked Toby nervously.

  ‘Mr Kapoor doesn’t work from here,’ grunted Algernon, still nursing his knee.

  ‘I think you will find he works from the office below here. You must have walked straight past his door,’ said Magnus more helpfully.

  ‘But I didn’t see his door. There was no door,’ said a determined Toby.

  ‘You will find it on your return and, don’t worry, you will be on time for Mr Kapoor,’ said Magnus, who gave Toby the impression that further questions on that subject, were unnecessary. Toby wasn’t convinced.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Time will wait for you,’ Magnus reminded him assertively. ‘Now, I’m sure you have some other questions for us.’ His tone was clear, almost instructive.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Toby.

  ‘We are the Esmeril Council.’ Magnus smiled as if that was supposed to mean something.

  ‘You’re the dragon riders,’ blurted Toby, but Magnus ignored the statement. He just stared and smiled instead. Toby suddenly got the feeling Magnus wasn’t being very helpful at all. He was starting to feel a little jittery, annoyed even.

  ‘I feel like I’m meant to be here,’ said Toby, unguarded. As soon as he said it he felt stupid. He cringed.

  ‘That’s good. You are listening to your heart, not your head. That’s very good indeed,’ said Magnus appreciatively. Nearly everyone in the room nodded in approval, all except Algernon who was still nursing a sore knee.

  ‘Err, thank you, I think,’ said Toby.

  ‘Is there anything else you would like to ask?’ said Magnus. Toby shook his head. After Magnus had apparently ignored the dragon rider statement he didn’t feel comfortable asking again. The Esmeril Council weren’t saying anything, just staring at him as if he were some prize exhibit behind a glass cage. His head started to feel thick and clumsy as if it was full of mushy peas – a thick, green, splodge mess. Toby was quite incapable of thinking straight with green goo for a brain. All he could feel was an increased sense of annoyance.

  ‘How is the professor?’ asked Magnus.

  ‘You know my uncle?’ said Toby hopefully. The annoyance disappeared in a flash.

  ‘I have met him,’ said Magnus cryptically. He waited for Toby to continue. There it was again. It was as if Magnus was dangling carrots in front of Toby’s eyes. Toby was feeling like he’d had enough.

  ‘He’s missing,’ said Toby, in a harder voice than he had intended. He immediately softened his tone. ‘He can’t be found.’

  ‘Can’t be or won’t be found?’

  That almost felt like a jibe. Magnus was making fun of him, concluded Toby. In fact, he’d had enough as annoyance turned to anger. He got up from his seat rather too quickly. The squeak-free stool was shoved backwards. It slammed against the sideboard, just missing the dwarf.

  ‘I want to go now,’ said Toby hurriedly.

  ‘As you wish,’ said Magnus, smiling.

  Toby had expected a fight or something similar. He hoped the door was unlocked. It was. Without looking back he swung the door open and almost ran down the stairs, two steps at a time. The spiral stairwell opened out and Toby saw a door he didn’t remember seeing on the way up.

  ‘You’re late,’ barked a voice, as Toby was about to jump another two steps.

  Toby turned around to see Mr Kapoor standing smartly in front of a very neat, wooden-framed doorway.

  The upper spiral staircase and the Esmeril Council had disappeared.

  4 - Mr Kapoor's Gift

  Mr Kapoor smiled rigidly as if he had chapped lips. ‘You’re late,’ he repeated, gesturing towards a seat by the large oak desk. Toby was spot on time, as promised by Magnus, but Mr Kapoor seemed to feel the need to impress his authority. Unpleasant people tended to do that in Toby’s experience.

  Toby nodded absent-mindedly as he touched the wall where the spiral stairs had been. He could feel nothing – it almost felt like a dream. Mr Kapoor grasped Toby’s shoulder with a firm hand and steered him towards the seat impatiently. There was a large panoramic window behind it but there was no time for niceties. Mr Kapoor dived straight into business.

  ‘I heard about your misadventure into the mer-kingdom, and the pixie gold too. Some say that was a very bold gesture. Others would not!’ His tone was spiteful. ‘In future, if you find yourself in such a dilemma you talk to me first. Your choices could have far-reaching implications for this village and you are too young to make such important decisions. Leave those for the adults. Do you understand?

  ‘It is my responsibility to ensure the security of this village remains intact and if you are off creating political enemies then it makes life very
difficult indeed, least of all for me. I have also heard the new mer-king has put a price on your head. So I suggest you do not go paddling in the sea.’

  Toby sat heavily in the leather lounge chair. It felt as if it was full of barbs, just like Mr Kapoor’s voice. He shifted uneasily, reached for his collar and tugged it away from his sweaty neck. The heat in the room was almost unbearable as the open fire blazed away behind him. Toby squirmed in his seat.

  Mr Kapoor switched his tone of voice, momentarily leaving the anger behind. There was apparently a more pressing matter to deal with.

  ‘I am to receive some very special guests soon. Do you know what I’m talking about?’ quizzed Mr Kapoor. He stared at Toby.

  Toby remained stoic on the outside but whimpered inwardly. He had heard the rumours around the village but didn’t need gossip to confirm what he had already discovered for himself, something that had been revealed through very graphic nightmares. Almost every night for the last ten days Toby had woken up ballistically, drawing deep, sharp breaths. He would stare with glazed eyes as three colourful dragons flew across the ceiling of his bedroom. The first time he saw them Toby yelped, whilst Arty had just groaned in his sleep and rolled over with an exaggerated snort and a fart. Each time Toby had automatically reached out to the dragons, projecting rays of colour from his hands, which suspended them in the corner of the room. For a brief second they would hover in the bedroom air before diving straight at him and disappearing in a hail of ivory white fangs and dragon flame.

  ‘I think so. They’ve been talking about dragons – in the village that is. Is it true?’ said Toby, trying to sound innocent.

  ‘We have three dragons arriving,’ announced Mr Kapoor.

  ‘Oh, uhm, that’s really cool, ’cause I’ve never seen a dragon before. I’ve read about them in loads of books though. Are they mean?’ he said lamely. He hoped he sounded like an excited yet naïve thirteen-year-old boy.