by Robin Jarvis
Then, in the midst of this clamouring battle, a trumpeting bellow boomed in the forest. It was filled with anguish and distress and went echoing up into the wooded hills and across the rolling fields far away.
The effect on the attacking skins was astonishing. They fell back immediately. Uttering bewildered groans and whines, they scrambled through the broken door and rushed across the lawn.
Lee was lying on the ground; a corpse dressed as an old woman in a shawl had thrown him down and the second hound had leaped on to his chest to bite away his face. But, the moment that dreadful noise came blaring into the cottage, the dog whimpered and its lumpy tail flicked between its legs as it slunk away. The one still biting down on his arm let out a piteous whine and fled, leaving several teeth embedded in the chain.
“Dora…” the old woman moaned fretfully, dropping the knitting needles that were about to be plunged into Lee’s windpipe, as she shambled to the door. “Dora….”
The same name was on many other withered lips. Even the knight hissed it as the armour went clanking out of the cottage.
What was going on?
The attack was over; only Lee and the guards were left inside.
Lee turned to them. They were cut and battered, but still alive and couldn’t believe it. Posh emerged from the slaughterhouse, clutching the knight’s abandoned sword. They stared at one another in confusion. Sporty closed his eyes and offered up a prayer of thanks as he rubbed his bruised throat. Baby looked searchingly at Lee for an answer.
“Don’t ‘woot’ or wet your frillies too soon,” the boy warned. “No way this is ended. You better stay on point.”
Rising, he winced and swore under his breath. His leg was bitten and bleeding. He hobbled over to one of the windows and stared out.
The goblin’s dead servants were moving away, over the lawn – towards the steps leading to the forest path. The guards exchanged wary glances and hurried to the doorway. Why had those terrors left so abruptly? It made no sense – and what had made that terrible din? It was the same fearful beast they had heard earlier, the one that had driven them to this place. Were the corpse slaves frightened of it too?
Lee was just as much in the dark. Peering through the glass, he saw them congregate at the bottom of the mossy steps, where they waited, swaying from side to side, groaning and wailing.
Then something began descending. The thronging cadavers parted and Lee saw her. He saw Dora and his mouth went dry.
She threw back her frightful head and let out another bone-shivering bellow. The three Koreans trembled and felt faint. If Spencer had been there, he could have explained all about Dora. But even Spencer’s knowledge, informed by descriptions in the book, would not have prepared him for the full horror of Nimbelsewskin’s greatest achievement.
She was the goblin’s magnificent protector, his bulwark against all enemies. In life she had been the daughter of the blacksmith in Mooncot. Even then she had been a giant of a girl, with a hulking frame and the strength of three men. Everyone in the village was proud of her and treated the hefty girl with the utmost respect, but no boy courted her and they baulked at the very idea. One fateful, heartbreaking day, she overheard the one she was sweet on declare he would rather kiss Dung-Breathed Billy full on the lips than peck the back of her ogre-like hand.
The cruel words smote deep into her tender heart. So, at first light the next morning, she set off in search of Malinda, to beg for a love philtre or a magick glamour that would make her beautiful. But Dora soon lost her way in the great forest of Hunter’s Chase and the mazes of enchantment that Nimbelsewskin had woven between the trees turned her broad feet this way – towards his cottage. It had taken all of his servants to overpower her and the result was his most splendid triumph.
What he created from her empty husk was truly monstrous. He poured his blackest, most heinous arts into every stage of her construction and, when he was done, he skipped around her, clapping his hands, overjoyed at his accomplishment.
During the tanning process, Nimbelsewskin had taken great pains to stretch and pull and tease and cajole the scraped and salted hide. So, when it was all stitched together and overstuffed with straw, the Dora slave was larger than she had been when she was alive. She was too large to hang from the oak during the day with the rest. Her place, when she was not roaming the forest with her murderer and creator, was outside the cottage, standing like a sentinel before the door that was too small to let her pass.
“Holy crap,” Lee whispered to himself. “Game truly over.”
The thing that stepped down on to the lawn was almost twice his height. It was wider than a bull and the arms were stout as pigs. The face was a masterpiece of vileness: a coarse, uneven jigsaw of tough, leathery patches, with a wide slit for a mouth and iron pot lids for eyes. The flattened nose was spread to one side and hanks of dark hair hung in tattered clumps about the solid, packed neck. A simple smock of calico covered the bovine frame and Nimbelsewskin had snickered and cackled with mocking glee when he embroidered a floral border along the edge and added fussy bows of pale lemon ribbon down the front. What a sublime finishing touch of irony, that something so feminine should clothe something so repugnant. He never tired of admiring his handiwork and chuckled foully to himself, praising his own consummate artistry.
But today Dora had discovered the goblin’s bullet-riddled body, back there on the path, and was carrying it home. In those massive arms, Nimbelsewskin looked like a limp rag doll that had been emptied of stuffing.
When the other dead servants saw what had happened to their master, they shrieked and screamed, crowding round him, pawing and lamenting. Dora let loose one more ear-splitting howl, then bent her loathsome head down and began quaking, gulping out jarring bass sobs, until the shambling skin of the old woman spoke into one of her stretched ears and pointed an accusing finger at the cottage.
Dora’s deranged sobs ended and the iron eyes glowered at the splintered door, where the North Koreans were standing, their faces graven with fear.
“End of,” Lee said with flat finality.
He backed away from the window and the guards retreated from the door. They stared around helplessly. They were trapped in here, with nowhere to hide and no time to cut a way out of the back of the other room.
A rumbling snarl vibrated across the lawn.
Dora laid the body of Nimbelsewkin gently on the grass. Then she reared up, screeched in vengeful fury and charged.
Inside, Lee and the others felt the pounding of those elephantine feet.
Suddenly chaos and destruction erupted. The front of the dwelling was ripped right off and sent crashing into the flower beds. Dora exploded into the cottage with the unstoppable violence of a hurricane, pushing the rafters out of the way and toppling the chimneys. A fist, like a boulder with fingers, snatched up Baby. He was dashed against the fireplace then catapulted outside where the other servants pounced on him and tore him to pieces.
Dora’s awful face swung round as the others ducked and darted aside. Diving behind the stems of the toadstools, they pulled the quilts from the walls and threw them over her head as they tried to dash and swerve past her.
Dora dragged the hangings from her eyes and uprooted one of the toadstools. There was an almighty rending of wood as the roof was ripped away with it and she sent them crashing over her shoulder, cutting off any escape. The golden leaves of the oak tree rustled overhead and the branches creaked as a strong wind came gusting over the forest. The circular walls of the now lidless cottage shook and a feral growl emanated from deep within Dora’s throat as she spun round and toppled the two remaining toadstools.
Posh gave a fierce war cry and took a flying leap off the sewing chair. Brandishing the sword over his head, he brought it down on Dora’s neck and chopped a notch in her thick hide. Dora screeched at him. Grabbing the weapon, she ripped it from his hands and bent it like a blade of grass in her fingers. Then she hurled him through the air. The pile of bones broke his fall, as well a
s his arm, and the stacked ribs, tibias, femurs and loose vertebrae collapsed on top of him.
Sporty ran to help. Dora’s fist lashed out, delivering a horrific, skull-crushing punch. Sporty smashed through the back wall and was already dead by the time he smacked against the oak tree.
Dora rounded on Lee and both of those horrible hands came reaching.
Lee bared his teeth and gripped his knives for one final rumble. “Sorry, baby,” he shouted above the rising gale as he thought of Charm. “Ain’t gonna be with you after all.”
Dora lurched to catch him. At that same moment a blizzard of autumn leaves came slamming in. It was as if they were directed by some greater power. In a thickly twisting tempest they whirled about Dora’s immense bulk, blinding her and beating her back. The posts of the ruined cottage were plucked from the soil and Lee had to fling himself to the floor as the splintered walls tipped and tumbled across the lawn. A jag of lightning blasted the centre of the garden where the knight had been standing, leaving only a smoking pit. One of the dead maidens and the old woman had been standing close by and they burst into flames. The other servants of Nimbelsewskin shrieked in dismay and fled. The smaller animal skins were caught up by the sudden cyclone and went spinning over the forest, while the rest were driven into the trees.
Dora thrashed her arms and leaned into the hammering wind. It pushed and pummelled her out of the wreckage. Though her powerful legs strove against it, she was forced back and back, and baying howls were torn from her wide lips.
Lee watched her stumble away, arms flailing wildly. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the uncanny storm dropped. The swarm of leaves around Dora’s head fluttered to the ground and she tottered unsteadily. Her pot-lid eyes stared up at the night sky and she let out a lowing cry of fear and doubt.
Lee rolled over to see what had scared her. Something was floating down from the darkness above.
“Get you gone, abhorrent slab of walking skin!” a severe voice called out. “Too long have you plagued the Dawn Prince’s Kingdom. Your reign of horror is ended. The depraved enchantments that bind and compel you, and the rest of your filthy kind, will be undone.”
Dora wavered as the figure descended. Her slow, rudimentary wits groped at the meaning of that warning. She saw the long silver wand gleaming in the newcomer’s hand and heard a clap of thunder in the cloudless sky. A streak of lightning travelled across the stars and smote the oak tree. Suddenly the night was bright with flame as the remaining leaves burned furiously on the branches.
That was enough. Gibbering, she blundered away, pausing only to claim Nimbelsewskin’s body. With him clamped under one arm, she went crashing into the forest and was never seen again.
The figure with the wand alighted on the ground. He turned his pale, gaunt face towards Lee and his dark eyes glinted.
“You really do get yourself into the most foolish scrapes, Creeper,” the Holy Enchanter of Mooncaster greeted the boy.
Lee managed a grim, arrogant smile.
“What the hell kept you?” he demanded.
11
“OH, PLEASE,” THE ISMUS said sarcastically. “Don’t gush and go overboard with the gratitude. I get more than my fill of grovelling and scraping.”
Lee glared back at him. “Took your time getting here,” he said. “Thought you could always feel when I snuck on to your turf.”
“Snuck? Ha! My dear Creeper, you practically used a wrecking ball to cross over this time – and then all that gunfire. We could hear that in the Great Hall. Old Ramptana thought one of the spells he had left cooking had gone sour and hurried to his tower in a state of near apoplexy. He was in such a fright, the Lady Labella did fear for his safety on those uneven stairs.”
“Whatever. So where you been? How come you didn’t show till now?”
“Because of Jangler,” the Ismus retorted, and the glib, bantering tone had left his voice. “I haven’t forgotten what you did, that you removed him from both worlds as if he had never existed. I thought you deserved a little of what you might call ‘payback’. I trust it has been sufficiently testing and disagreeable.”
“That sick asswipe earned what was comin’,” Lee spat. “If I coulda made him suffer ten times over, I woulda done it with a sunny smile and my boot in his face.”
The Ismus regarded him for a moment, then approached – picking his way through the debris of the cottage. The glare of the fires overhead flared and shone in the broken glass and shattered fragments of glazed pottery and dented brassware.
“What a sorry shambles,” he declared, setting the sewing chair back on its legs. “I’ve been meaning to deal with this irksome goblin for some time. Neighbours can be such a nuisance. But you know how it is, always something else to attend to. He really was a busy little necrodancer. What a lot of grisly skin puppets he made. Dolls are so ‘other’, aren’t they? It was rather an impressive collection and it seems almost a shame to destroy the rotten fruits of his labours, but I’ll dispatch Captain Swazzle and his fellow warders tomorrow to hunt those frightmares down. The Punchinellos will enjoy that. Be a jolly outing for them.”
As he stepped through the rubble, silhouetted by a flurry of burning leaves and glowing embers, he cast his eyes over the broken bric-a-brac, stooping to search for the scattered fire-iron knitting needles until he found the one made of gold.
“Nimbelsewskin’s wand,” he announced, twirling it in his hand. “Most careless of him to venture out without it and leave it lying around – very sloppy. I shall give it to Malinda; she simply hasn’t been herself since you stole hers. Sank into quite a depression, the poor old twinkler. A Fairy Godmother isn’t much without her magick wand, specially a retired one. I don’t suppose you brought hers back with you by any chance?”
He took Lee’s stony silence as a negative.
“No, I didn’t think you had. Not the most intelligent decision. That wand can only do damage in your world, serious damage. It really isn’t just a pretty stick, you know, in spite of what I may have told you.”
Lee’s brow lifted in pretend concern. “Oh, shame,” he said. “Why don’t you fetch it here yourself?” Then he laughed harshly. “Oh, yeah, I forgot – you can’t do that stuff, can you? There’s only me what can UPS from here to there and back again.”
The Ismus directed a look of wry amusement at him, then continued, holding up the golden knitting needle. “No matter, perhaps this will put a smile back on her…”
His words ended abruptly as a knife came singing through the air. Blazing with reflected flame from the crackling fires, it barely missed his head before stabbing deep into the ground some distance behind.
Unruffled, the Ismus turned. Lee did the same and was astonished to see one of the North Korean guards standing in a slew of bones, breathing hard and in obvious pain.
Through grinding teeth, Posh swore that he would not have missed if his arm had not been broken.
“How fortunate for me then,” the Ismus replied in perfect Korean. “But how very unlucky for you.”
He retrieved something else from the floor – one of the discarded AK-47s.
“Dear me,” he said. “Such a number of hazardous things left unattended around here.”
Posh made to run, then changed his mind. He was no coward; he was a soldier of the People’s Army. He would not show his back to the declared enemy of his nation. Not wanting to die unarmed, he took up one of the leg bones and stood his ground, proud and defiant.
“Wait!” Lee shouted to the Ismus. “You don’t need to do this. Let me take the guy back. He don’t belong here.”
“Take him back?” the Ismus repeated with a snorting laugh. “You still don’t fully understand, do you? Haven’t you worked it out yet? You can’t take him back. This time you bulldozed your way into the Dawn Prince’s Realm, and broke the bridge behind you. There’s no going back for you – ever.”
“Bull!” the boy said. “I’m the Castle Creeper. I can duck out whenever I want.”
“Yo
u could flit between your world and that of Dancing Jax, yes.”
“That’s what I just said.”
“Except this isn’t Dancing Jax, not any more.”
“Huh? What you sayin’?”
“You’ve barged your way into the furtherance I have written, the new text that shall expand and enrich that earlier work. Rules and laws are slightly different now, and so are many other things that you may, or may not, find amusing. Think of it as an upgrade. This is the land of Fighting Pax, and you’ve hacked your way in several days ahead of release. No one is supposed to have access to this yet and, as a result, I’m sorely afraid, there’s no returning for you. You’re locked in here – for good, as they say.”
Seeing the blank surprise on Lee’s face as this sank in, the Ismus chuckled.
The Korean chose that moment to rush at him, brandishing the leg bone and yelling at the top of his voice, praising the revered memory of Kim Il-sung. He knew what would happen and he ran to embrace it.
The automatic rifle pumped out death and the guard was cut down – an exultant expression on his face. The Ismus tossed the Kalashnikov away.
“The Punchinellos in the other place do adore those noisy toys,” he remarked mildly.
“You just wasted Posh Spice,” Lee muttered in a stunned monotone.
