by Robin Jarvis
Pulling more hay beneath him, Henry sighed. “Least that boar hides in the wood and don’t make a clackety clackety riot all day and night.”
In the yard, Adam was lifting a reluctant Suet over the piggery fence. “Go back in there,” he ordered. “I’ve got to go to sleep and you don’t want to come with me into the loft, do you?”
The piglet danced excitedly so that the boy knew there was nothing the wooden mechanical wanted more.
“All right,” he submitted. “If I don’t say yes then you’ll only start squealing. To think, it wasn’t a week ago when you didn’t even like me picking you up.” Snorting with bliss, Suet jumped into his arms, the little snout pumping furiously.
Before crossing the yard, Adam raised his eyes to the distant shape of the hawk flying far above. A crooked smile played across his face. Poor Henry – he really had a flair for getting himself into trouble.
Beyond the hawk’s fervent fluttering, through the clear panes of the firmament, the bright stars shone cold and fierce. It was a spectacle that Adam never tired of seeing. Above the horizon, the nearest floating isle was a remote black crag. Saxmundham was many times larger than Malmes-Wutton but there was such a gulf between the two uplifted lands that it appeared small enough to fit snugly inside his pocket.
Viewing it through half closed eyes, Adam held up Suet and played games with the beguiling perspective.
“Suet the Great!” he pronounced, lining the piglet up with the faraway island. “Monstrous enemy from the Outer Darkness, come to trample and destroy. All Englandia quakes at his approach. Spare us, oh colossal fiend!”
The mechanical snuffled gently while paddling the empty air with its trotters.
Adam laughed. “Come on, you terror,” he said, “time to sleep. But don’t start grunting O Mistress Mine or Henry will go berserk.”
Suet made no sound. He was still looking up at the glittering heavens. The little snout stopped moving and the lower jaw dropped open slowly.
“What’s the matter?” Adam asked.
The piglet gave a fearful grunt.
Adam glanced up once more. Something was moving. Out there in the eternal void, one of the celestial lights was travelling across the sky with astonishing speed.
“A night boat?” the boy murmured doubtfully.
It was still too distant to be certain, but he had never known anything move so rapidly, nor make an approach from that desolate direction. A vague recollection of Master Dritchly telling him of how, in the old world, stars would fall from the sky surfaced in the back of his mind, but since the Uplifting of the lands no one had ever witnessed such an occurrence.
“Besides,” he breathed, “that thing’s whirligigging about like a scorched and drunken bee.”
Across the stark heavens the mysterious object came blazing, swerving and spinning in all directions, growing larger with every passing moment. Intense flashes of light flared and spangled around its surface, scribing a bright, wavering path through the darkness. Haloes of dazzling colour rippled in its twisting wake and, watching this wondrous display, the apprentice began to grow fearful. “It’s headed this way,” he spluttered.
Though it tumbled erratically, the object was plunging directly towards the isle of Malmes-Wutton.
Suet hid his wooden face, but Adam could not wrench his eyes from the awful vision. The silence of the surrounding night made the spectacle even more sinister and vivid. An anxious knot tightened in his stomach, yet he was powerless to do anything other than witness the fireball speeding faster, careering ever more wildly.
The bursts of light were blinding now and Wutton Old Place leaped beneath their bleaching glare. There was no time for panic, no time to raise an alarm. All Adam could do was blink in the crackling light and hold grimly on to Suet.
Then it hit.
The island of Malmes-Wutton shuddered hideously as the fiery missile cannoned into the firmament and Adam was hurled off his feet.
At once there was an explosion of glass and sound. Shattered panes bombarded the outlying trees and the estate was flooded with flame as immense sheets came whooshing in. Fiery torrents boiled above the woodland and the noise screamed and roared in the boy’s ears.
A violent gale whipped into existence and the breath was snatched from Adam’s mouth. The inferno which seethed around the ruptured sky was sucked out into the cold night, its lurid fires immediately quenched in the void.
All debris was snatched up by the clawing squall. Soil, straw, leaves, the raging wind seized everything and, at the top of the vaulted firmament, Henry’s garish hawk was torn from the air.
Thrashing her painted tin wings, Quicksilver was swept away on the filthy whirlwind and dragged down to where the horrendous collision had occurred. Through the broken leads of the sky the bird was expelled, flung into the Outer Darkness upon a fount of rubble and dirt. Wheeling helplessly yet still flailing madly, Quicksilver shot into the great cold.
Within the steeple of the village church the bell began a desultory tolling as the windstorm increased in might. Every door and window of the manor slammed and in the stable workshops, the lighter tools and pieces of equipment were caught up in the tempest as howling forces blasted through the entrance.
Scrambling from the loft, Henry and Jack stumbled out into the swirling chaos which thundered through the yard. Adam was crouched by the piggery fence, battling to breathe while flying grit and stones stung and cut his face. Fighting their way through the maelstrom, the other apprentices strove to reach him. It was impossible to see anything; the thin air was choked with surging dust, but they blundered on, guided only by Suet’s piercing squeals.
And then, abruptly, the shrill tumult died as suddenly as it began. A hail of gravel and muck rattled down and, with aching lungs, the boys dared to lift their faces.
There was not enough air to speak so Adam pointed across the dirt-covered lawn to the woods.
Jack and Henry could not believe it.
In the starlit dark, suspended ten foot above the trees, a great shape, twice the size of a house had smashed through the firmament. There it was, a huge, incongruous enigma jutting from the vaulted heavens – irrevocably gripped in the new panes which had slotted in around it to seal the sudden breach.
Frightened shouts accompanied by frantic hammering reluctantly drew the apprentices’ attention away from the weird object now wedged and set into their sky. Lord Richard and his household were desperately trying to leave the manor house but the doors would not budge.
Gasping in the sparse atmosphere, Adam and the others hurried to the main entrance but before they could reach it there came a deep rumbling from the red-bricked building’s foundations, followed by a tremendous hiss high above. Out of the manor’s tall chimneys there steamed a funnel of white vapour which rushed swiftly upwards, dispersing in a vast cloud as it hit the underside of the firmament.
A cool draught fanned the apprentices’ grubby faces when waves of sweet, fresh air swept over them and they gulped it down gladly.
With a bang, the large oak door of the manor unexpectedly swung open and Lord Richard fell out, startled and spluttering.
“What in Hades’ name has befallen us?” he demanded, staring at the debris which carpeted everything around him. “I was shaken clear out of my bed. What manner of evil visitation is this? Where has this foul rubbidge come from?”
Still panting and filling their lungs, the boys looked at one another, then in one movement turned and pointed at the unknown thing that had smashed into their sky.
Lord Richard choked back a yelp of shock and staggered forward.
“By the beard of Harry the Eight!” he exclaimed. “What can it be? How came that fearful, giant device there?”
“I reckon its a secret Spanish war engine,” Henry declared darkly. “Or a French one. It’s a wonder it didn’t blast us to pieces – must be packed to busting with exploding powder.”
Concerned murmurs went rippling through the household but Lord Richa
rd did not give the boy’s dire suspicions any credence and told everybody to remain calm. Henry pouted indignantly; now that the irritation of Quicksilver’s clattering had been removed and forgotten, he was quite his former self again.
“We must investigate this perplexing riddle,” Lord Richard announced. “Fetch torches and lanterns – we shall go at once.”
“I’m not going into them woods to look up at that nasty great thing,” Mistress Dritchly protested. “Not whilst that boar’s still skulking there.”
Lord Richard assured her that she could stay behind.
“Well I’m going!” said Anne Sowerby, the usually lazy kitchen maid.
“I do not think we have aught to fear from Old Scratch this night,” Richard Wutton added. “Besides, here come folk from the village. A formidable band such as we shall form will not be pestered by one mad pig.”
Along the road, the troop of worried villagers came hurrying. Several homes had been damaged by the shuddering impact and the ensuing wind had ripped many thatches from their roofs. All were agog to know what had caused this calamity, and after several minutes of intense discussion, Lord Richard led a large group towards the outlying woods.
The apprentices went with them, with Suet happily tagging along behind his master.
Neither Henry nor Adam had ventured into the trees which bordered the estate since they were eight years old and were both brimming with excitement at this midnight excursion.
“If that big boar comes charging,” Henry blustered, “I’ll give him such a wallop, then beat his snout with a burning torch. That’d tame the brute.”
Adam laughed at his friend’s vainglorious pledge but was too fascinated by their goal to make any answer.
Stomping through the mantle of dirt which had obliterated the lawn, the group had drawn close to the edge of the wood and the mysterious object loomed ever nearer. Holding every torch and lantern aloft in order to see the thing more clearly, the inhabitants of Malmes-Wutton progressed through the dense bracken which flourished beneath the oaks, their eyes trained upwards. Clashing emotions vied within them, hope and fear bubbling side by side. Just what was this foreign device and where did it come from?
Everyone was muttering in wishful whispers; each one had their own idea and was eager to give it an airing. Rumours and opinions leaped down the trail until one theory in particular began to be accepted by most of them.
“’Tis a signal from the Almighty,” they told themselves. “Now we’ll know why He raised the lands and brought us closer to Him.”
The remaining distance was covered very quickly, for the desire to know such answers consumed them all and presently they were hastening through the wood, the flames of their torches streaming after.
“Keep together!” Lord Richard called, growing concerned that some of the more elderly members of the party were falling behind. “Jack, Henry, Adam – go back and ensure they come to no mischief.”
The boys obeyed, but Henry was impatient to stand beneath that amazing sight and scolded the stragglers rudely. “Knees up, Mister Panyard!” he yelled. “Come on, your rusty nanny goat can do better.”
The two hundred and thirty-two-year-old Thomas Panyard shook a bony fist at the impudent boy but quickened his pace all the same.
Barging through the tangled undergrowth, Suet squeaked with delight. This was an excellent new game and, keeping close to Adam’s heels, the piglet revelled in this lush and unfamiliar environment.
“Put some effort into it,” Henry shouted, spurring on the last villager. “If you knew your leg was playing up, why did you bother coming at all, you hobble merchant? Keeping us waiting, you are.”
When they were finally herded in front of them, the boys heard cries of astonishment and wonder issuing from those ahead.
“No slacking!” Henry cried to the old folk in front. “If you don’t use that stick any faster, Mister Dumblewick, I’ll grab it off you and hit you with it!”
And then, suddenly, they caught up with the others and for several minutes no one could find any words to express what their eyes beheld.
“Go lick a witch …” was all Henry could whisper to himself.
They had reached the far rim of the wood. A little distance away, the immense stone buttresses of the firmament plunged down into the rock upon which the estate was founded. Here the leaded glass that formed the sky arched over the trees in a shallow curve, before sweeping up to the highest point directly above the manor house. The torchlight shone up into the branching gloom and every pair of eyes was wide with overwhelming disbelief.
There it was, hanging above the tallest oak, a huge, impossible outline which glowed in the warm glare of the flames. Its shape was that of an enormous blunt cone with curling trenches cut into its lustrous surface. Only a third of it had crashed through the glass panes; the vast remainder projected out beyond the protecting sky and into the empty night. A dense wreath of new leads marked the juncture, and so it was caught, locked completely in the vaulted ceiling like an insect snared in a metal web.
Lord Richard was one of the first to find his voice.
“From what is it made?” he murmured. “See how richly it throws back our lights! Is it polished steel, or a pearl from the most monstrous oyster of the deeps?”
“Can it be a missile?” Jack asked uncertainly, harking back to Henry’s ominous suggestion.
“I know not what it is,” Lord Richard answered, “but consider the terrifying size of the cannon needed to fire such gargantuan shot. No no, we must construct a scaffold so that we may ascend to it for a closer examining.”
“Whatever it is,” Adam put in, “it’s beautiful.”
Sitting down in order to angle his head back sufficiently, Suet gazed at the extraordinary thing above, but his ichor-fuelled intelligence could not comprehend what he saw. Leaning against Adam, the piglet snuffled with bafflement and listened to what everyone was saying.
Speculation spouted from their lips. The initial wonderment had ebbed and although no one knew what the device was, the majority felt there was no doubt about whence it came. “Heaven!” they asserted, prompted by encouraging nods from the parson. “’Tis a token. On my oath, it can have travelled from no other place.”
“Aye, its origins can only be divine.”
At that moment the chatter ended, for a loud crack split the air like the firing of a musket. Above them, something was happening.
Fearfully, the people of Malmes-Wutton backed away into the surrounding trees as, in the side of that huge, unusual shape, a large opening suddenly slid into existence. Immediately a shower of crackling sparks came spilling out into the dark, raining down on to the trees below, fizzing and blazing through the branches.
“It is a weapon!” someone bawled. “It’s going to explode!”
Lord Richard tried to quell the rising panic but the terror was short-lived for, in that same instant, Adam cried out, “Look! Inside! Look!”
Through that new opening they could see a fiery interior. Whatever the object might prove to be it was burning furiously. Black smoke, lit lurid, coiled into the air.
A terrible bang blew a ball of angry flame against the leaded glass, but there, lumbering into view within that infernal entrance, a figure came lurching.
Silhouetted against the fires, with golden sparks gushing around it, the man-like form hesitated a moment as if stunned, then clutched at its arm.
“He’s injured,” Jack exclaimed.
Before the words were out of his mouth the legs of the stranger collapsed beneath him and he tumbled from the burning opening. Down he fell, snapping the oak’s branches and bouncing off the greater boughs. Like a stilled mechanical, his long limbs flopped about him as he crashed and splintered his way to the ground. Then, with a hideous thud, he hit the earth amid an avalanche of broken twigs and sputtering sparks.
The hearts of the onlooking crowd beat many times before the first of them was stirred into action. It was Adam who rushed forward, with S
uet close behind.
Beneath the oak tree, the crumpled body lay motionless as the fiery specks dripped down on to his flesh, smouldering into his skin.
“Help me!” the boy called to the others.
At once they hurried forward and the strongest of them dragged the stranger away from the scorching rain.
“Easy now,” Lord Richard declared. “Let’s have a look at him.”
Raising their torches, the villagers stared down at the battered and bleeding figure now lying prostrate at their feet. Astonished cries escaped from each of them.
The person they had rescued was not human.
PART TWO
CHAPTER 1
The Best Panacea
Richard Wutton stared at the unusual face. Although marred with burns and gashes, it was unlike anything he had ever seen.
“Is it a Spaniard?” asked Anne Sowerby. “Plum ugly fellers, aren’t they?”
Crouching over the body, Jack Flye held a small circle of polished brass over the unsightly mess where he assumed the nose might be and waited. The faintest film of condensation misted the metal and he looked urgently at Lord Richard. “There is life!” he exclaimed.
The Lord of Malmes-Wutton needed no further prompting. “Bring two sturdy branches,” he commanded. “We must make a litter to bear the stranger to the house.”
Several of his tenants wavered before doing as he instructed. “But what is it?” they asked in fearful wonder.
“A creature in pain,” their Lord answered tersely, “and that is all we need know for the time being. Our Christian duty is clearly to give what comfort we can to this poor soul. Now, do as I bid – or must I cut down the boughs myself?”
Abashed by his words, the wary villagers hastened to obey and it was not long before a rough stretcher was prepared. The motionless figure was lifted on to it with every gentleness. Taking a corner each, four robust men lifted the creature off the woodland floor and began the journey back to the manor house.
