If you hold on to Ravi, you hold on to me as well, said the dark-self voice.
His name is Ravi, and he sent me a card. He might still be real. His name is Ravi.
The office was far away. She was back in the prison cell. Faint images of Dr. Bhat were still echoing through the world, like smoke on a breeze.
His name is Ravi. He might still be real. His name is Ravi.
“Lucy, who was he?” said the fading voice of the psychiatrist.
His name is Ravi, thought Lucy. The cell walls solidified like ice crystallising on a window, and she was back in jail.
This sliding between worlds was getting annoying.
As soon as she felt she was getting to grips with one of them, she slid into another.
The cell she was in was small and dank. Mildew infested the walls and pervaded the air with thick ropes of scent. The cell was hacked out of the rock. Fungus sprouted to life from the nooks and crannies, holding onto existence in even this dark and clammy world. The wrought iron cell bars stabbed straight into the living rock, piercing deep into the granite.
Lucy could just see, beyond the bars, a guard mining for nose gold as he swung back on a rickety chair. He was turned away from her, but she thought that this was one of the men who arrested her earlier. The younger one, the one with the bad acne and the greasy hands who smelled of bacon and hiccupped when he’d caught her.
If she were back in the other world, then that would mean Conscience should have returned. She needed to talk to him, to get him to help in trying to figure out what was happening. She didn’t like the sound of syphilis with an extra side order of delusions. She had to know what was real and what was not, otherwise she could be dying at the hospital.
The coercion spell in her chest carried out a panicked beat. It didn’t like the confinement. It scrabbled at her breastbone like a bird locked in a cage. On with the quest—to the Falls of Wanda—no time—no time—we’re late—we’re late—we’re late.
Conscience, she tried to communicate with him and heard the echo streak around in her head. No reply. That was very odd. He’d always been there before. Normally, he was there to greet her as soon as she arrived back in this body. She tried again, Conscience!
Busy at the moment, came the reply.
He sounded like he was in a fight.
Ouch! Get off you devil. Get back, get back or I’ll…I’ll…I’ll wallop you with this chair.
Hey, what’s going on up there?
Nothing I can’t handle, he said. Get back, get out of the darn lift. Ah, there—safe.
Are you all right? What’s going on?
Deck 7 is what’s going on, he wheezed. You’re not telling me things. You have secrets, and I now know why you can’t solve the riddle that the box set you. The answer is locked away on Deck 7, and I think that is also where you’re hiding this Ravi person.
Ravi? What’s this got to do with Ravi? What is Deck 7?
Ah! Conscience snapped, so you admit it. You do know someone called Ravi.
Well, yes.
And you’ve been hiding him on Deck 7, he said.
Conscience, she thought slowly, so he wouldn’t get confused in his fervour, what is Deck 7?
Deck 7, is where you’ve been hiding things from me, he said, as if that explained everything.
No, that is what I’m apparently doing with Deck 7. What is it?
Ummm, it’s a deck, he said, very slowly. You know, a deck, like the deck on a ship. It’s between Deck 6 and Deck 8.
A ship? What are you talking about? What ship?
The ship in your head. It’s my interface with you. Didn’t I tell you?
No. All you said was you had a new interface. You didn’t say anything about a ship in my head. So, there’s a deck that you can’t get to?
Yes, Deck 7. It doesn’t appear in the databanks, and I can’t get to it in the turbo lift. I found some stairs that led to it, but they’re guarded.
Guarded? Guarded by whom, by what?
Lucy was alarmed. What was Conscience gibbering about?
It’s guarded by you, by versions of you. Whenever I go near it, Miss Shame kicks my shins and asks me what I think I’m doing. Miss Neglect blocks me off. Miss Despair starts bawling at me and Miss Lust, for some reason, keeps poking me with a spear. You know what this means, don’t you?
Lucy was baffled.
It means, he sighed, that you are hiding things from me. I don’t have all the data, so I can’t help you. Who is Ravi?
Ravi is not important right now, she thought at Conscience.
She wasn’t going to give Ravi up; he was her secret, and she wanted to keep him that way. It wasn’t any of Conscience’s business. She felt him huff in her head.
Conscience, when I was in the hospital world, the doctor there said I had syphilis and delusions. What do I know about it?
I’ll check the databanks. Humm, you don’t seem to know very much. As you said, biology was never your strongest subject. All you know is that it’s an STD—a sexually transmitted disease.
They think I have a…a… she took a deep, mental breath, a sexually transmitted disease?
Yes. Is that a problem?
I’ll say. I’ve never had…ummm… I’ve never been with a… For flip’s sake, I’m thirteen!
Oh, I see, he said, as the argument’s weight hit him like an avalanche.
There was a long pause as they both digested the information.
I guess that means the hospital can’t be real, she thought, after several seconds.
Why do you think that?
I’ve never had…had… I’ve not done that, so I can’t have an STD. If the doctor says I have, then that reality must be a lie.
Alternatively, they might be mistaken.
He seemed pretty sure of it. Besides, he was a psychologist. The hospital doctors already left my body in his care. They must think I have syphilis too.
So, perhaps whatever test result they got was wrong? Conscience asked.
I don’t think so. I think, in that reality, they really thought I had it. Anyway, I thought you were all for the idea of the hospital not being not real? Don’t you need this world to be the correct one? Otherwise you don’t exist?
Can I get this straight? There are three possible explanations for what’s going on. One: there is a controlling author. Two: this is a syphilis induced delusion. Three: this is just plain old reality?
Lucy sighed. It doesn’t make a lot of sense does it? How can I tell which is real?
Her eyes drifted up to the ceiling of the cell. Dirty cream stalactites of limestone hung from there, like teeth in the jaws of a giant dragon. A giant dragon of total confusion which threatened to swallow Lucy whole.
I’ve been thinking, Conscience said. Whatever reality is true doesn’t necessarily affect your course of action. All the answers to this riddle you’ve set yourself are the same, up to a point. All the paths lead to the Falls of Wanda. If this world is real, then you have to go to the falls to heal it. If this world is made up by an author, then he wants you to go to the falls, and you should probably do what he says. If you’re mad in an asylum, then you want to go to the falls, for some reason. The answer is: go to the falls. Only there will the paths diverge, and you can tell what is real.
Lucy paused, for a moment.
That seems to make sense, she thought. Anyway, the first part of any plan is to get out of this cell, and get back to Talbot. Any ideas on how to do that?
None what so ever.
She looked around her grotty oubliette. There was nothing in it at all. The cell was just a carved crack in the rock with iron bars slung across its entrance. The guard snored loudly on his chair, but the keys, hanging from his belt, were too far away for her to reach. There was nothing she could use as a poking device either. No broom handle or anything of the kind, just bare rock and mushrooms and a little curtain about two feet tall stuck on the back wall.
Hey! Was that there before? asked Conscience.
<
br /> She approached it very gently as if it might bite. The curtain was a plush velvety red, swinging slowly, as if a slight breeze blew at it.
Very curious, said Conscience.
Lucy sighed. She knew what she would find behind the curtain. She was getting to know all the hallmarks of a literary allusion when she saw one. She snatched back the tiny curtain to reveal a small door, no bigger than two feet tall. It was perfectly door shaped, completely incongruous and very ornate, like a door in a grand Georgian manor. It appeared to be just stuck onto the cave’s back wall.
She got down on her hands and knees and examined it. She could see behind parts of it where the door didn’t quite fit onto the rock’s rough surface. A small, grey slug made a beeline from one side to the other. It didn’t make any sense. Where had the thing come from?
Looks like magic to me.
The more magic there is in this world the less likely it is to be real, huffed Lucy. All I need is a bottle that says, “drink me” and I’ll know exactly what’s going on.
Hey look, said Conscience, the door is opening.
The door creaked open and a small sliver of light caressed the toes of her shoes. She plucked up her courage and looked through the tiny opening.
Chapter 18 The Forge
Brush and sticks and fire bricks,
that’s what little fires are made of.
From the “Woodcraft Rhyme” of the Fauns,
Year After Ice, Unknown
“Talbot?” Lucy asked.
The faun’s glowing, red-apple, face beamed at her from the other side of the tiny door. He raised a single finger to his lips and pointed towards the sleeping guard.
“It’s a jail break,” he whispered, beckoning her through.
She noticed the magic drain from her, like sand from an hourglass, as she clambered through. The Cheshire Cat believed that the magic was drying up in the land, and now she knew it was true. The door sucked and pulled on the surrounding reality like a black hole. She sensed it nibble at the coercion spell in her chest; it even bit at Conscience.
Argh! That hurts. Get through, Lucy, get through.
She pulled the rest of her body through the two-foot door and felt the draining sensation cease. Dying summer light hit her eyes. She was outside.
Talbot, on his haunches, snapped the door shut and pulled it from the rock it was propped against. He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows at her.
“I told you magic was neat, didn’t I?” said the faun, as a smile creased his face. “I’m sorry it took so long, but I had to find someone who’d sell me a magic door. The thieving merchant would only sell me a one use door, and he charged an absolute fortune for it. I’m afraid we don’t have half as much to eat for our journey now.”
The fool, the utter fool. Was he apologising? He’d just rescued her from certain torture and imprisonment at the hands of the Dimn. He had done it effortlessly, by thinking a way round the problem, and they were now out of the city. He’d advanced the quest all on his own. She got up and did the only thing she could think to do.
Don’t do it, warned Conscience, but he was too late.
Lucy went straight up to the faun and gave him the biggest bear hug she’d ever given anyone.
He stiffened in her grip, as if he were uncomfortable, and then he relaxed, slowly sliding into the hug.
You had to do it, didn’t you?
“Thank you, Talbot,” she said.
“What for?” he replied.
“For coming to get me. For rescuing me. For always being there when I need you and always having a solution.”
He blushed. It was hard to tell on his ruddy face, but he was definitely blushing.
“Aww, come on. I don’t always have the answer. I’m just a desert faun. All I do is scare crows and ravens away. Fauns aren’t clever. We’re…we’re nothing.”
She pulled the faun’s face towards hers and kissed his cheek.
“I think you’re pretty much perfect,” she said, and she meant it. She was just so happy not to be in prison anymore.
Conscience was right. At the moment it didn’t matter what the nature of reality was. It was either one or the other, and all the options led to the same place—The Falls of Wanda. That was where she had to get to. On to the Falls of Wanda. On with the quest. Through the forest, over the plain, up the stream—always to the falls.
Conscience bristled in her head.
Eww, you kissed the goat. I am so disgusted with you right now.
Shut up, she thought at him.
“Where are we?” she asked. Talbot stared, glassy eyed, for a moment; then, he shook his head vigorously as if to clear the cobwebs out of it, coughed for dramatic effect, and said, “We’re a few miles from Marsh, just beyond the mountains. There are a few hours of daylight left. We should probably get a move on.”
~
I don’t like this, said Conscience, sometime later.
The day passed. Light turned to darkness as the pair plodded onwards, until Talbot gave the call to halt.
He barely said a word to Lucy in all the time they’d walked together. She thought he was probably still upset with her for burning down his favourite pub. He had strode on ahead, forging a path through the thick tangle of briar and brambles.
Then again, they never had long chats whilst walking, but this time it felt different. He was almost avoiding looking at her. She could see him glancing at her, and then he’d snap his head back and continue. She thought he must be incredibly angry, to be acting in such a way.
The faun chose a natural coppice for their resting place. The bright beech trees stood in a sentinel ring around their chosen site. There was one fallen tree near the clearing’s centre, but its hulk was almost rotted to oblivion. Already, there were new saplings striving for to break through the canopy. Talbot cut them down and made a fire.
He’d asked Lucy to go and get some underbrush to help start the fire, and she’d headed out into the darkening woods as a warm summer evening breeze began to whispered.
Thick clouds of char black ravens called and clawed overhead as the dark seeped in around her, like syrup.
I don’t like this one little bit, said Conscience.
What don’t you like? she asked, trying to make as little noise as possible in the darkness.
The dark. The fact the faun’s not here. I don’t like it. It’s creepy. Someone is playing with the story again. We’ve been separated from the person who’s supposed to protect you, and we’re in a dark wood. Mark my words, there will be a monster around here somewhere.
A monster? She froze and scanned the darkening woods around her. The only sound was the eerie wind whispering through the trees.
Yes, you know, big slobbery thing. This is some sort of test for you, I can feel it in my bones.
You don’t have any bones. Anyway, there’s no such thing as monsters, she thought with confidence.
There’s no such thing as monsters, sneered Conscience. There’s no such thing as magic either, but we seem to be doing fine with that don’t we?
Lucy crashed further into the forest. She had never been the silent type when it came to walking, and forest trekking seemed to throw an awful lot of twigs under her feet.
I admit I don’t understand why the magic is working, but as you said, it’s probably just some physics I don’t currently know about. However, monsters don’t exist.
She bent down to collect some twigs and fine leaves and something howled in the darkness.
It was a long gurgle of a howl, filled with sputum and phlegm, like someone shouting with a cold, a foul gurgling mixture of olive oil and custard. It was deep, large and awfully near.
Lucy stood stock still; her back straightened as the inner most parts of her brain, the parts that had belonged to some rodent ancestor long ago, took over. The hairs all over her body stood straight out. Her eyes roved the black, looking for the thing, as her muscles tensed ready to run.
I told you. I told you there was a monster
, wailed Conscience.
It’s…it’s probably just a wolf, she thought, but she didn’t believe it.
It’s not a wolf, he said. It’s a thing. You know it’s a thing. Wolves don’t gurgle when they howl.
Don’t be such a coward, she berated him, but she could feel the tension rise around her.
She had never been afraid of the dark, but this was a different type of darkness. This was the kind that had teeth, the tearing kind.
Tears and tears, tears and tears, but which was which? She shook her head to clear it of the awful riddle.
The shadows closed in around her, like fetid sheets in a boarding house. The darkness up until now had been the safe kind. That was the dark that all children have to face alone in their bedrooms. The blackness that was banished by turning on the light. This new darkness was different; it would chase you. It would swallow the light whole, in one gulp, not pausing for a moment in its pursuit.
There was no light in the forest, no switch or electric hum. She didn’t think that a light would make much difference to the howling thing, the thing that lived in the darkness. It would, in all probability, just attract it. She needed something to take her mind away from the gnawing dread eating at her like frostbite. She couldn’t move, her feet were cement blocks. The riddle! Of course, the riddle would serve as a distraction. She tried to bring it to her mind.
“All of us are little creatures. All of us have different features,” she chanted the words like a mantra.
The noise of breaking twigs to her left let her know that the beast was closing in.
“One of us you find in… You’ll find in,” she stuttered to a halt. What was the next line? She couldn’t remember.
Lucy, it’s getting closer. Can we run now?
“One of us you’ll find in… Flip-it! What’s the next line?”
It doesn’t matter. Just run!
“It does matter!” she shouted. “I have to know the answer. What’s the next line?”
Lucy, the thing is coming for us. Run!
But, she couldn’t run. That was the point.
Ravens and Writing Desks: A Metaphysical Fantasy Page 21
