The boys went outside and Lanthorne locked the back door and put the key in his pocket. Edwin rearranged Mandoline’s blankets so that very little of her face was exposed to the biting chill of the night air. He was terrified she would turn to ice in his arms.
With Lanthorne carrying the light and leading the way, they headed for the stable. Edwin always knew they would never manage to roll out the hansomme and set it up for a journey. The attitude of the nagge confirmed this. As soon as they opened the stable door, there was an outburst of noise from the animal, an irritable What are you doing disturbing my sleep, and if you think I’m going out at this time of night you must be mad kind of noise.
“It almost sounded as if it said, ‘Bugger off,’” said Edwin.
“It did.”
The boys left the stable.
“Don’t bother to shut the door,” said Edwin. “Why should we be the only ones who die of cold?”
Mandoline’s grizzling went up several levels and she pushed the blanket away from her face.
“Please try to be on my side, just this once,” Edwin begged her. And then it began to snow, which meant he had to bury her even further in the blankets.
It wasn’t the soft, brilliant white snow that we long for at Christmas and which rarely gets its timing right. That kind would have been pretty, even though it put paid to any hope of escape. This snow fell in giant, discoloured flakes, more like the ash from chimneys or a volcano. It was numbingly cold and melted into dirty streaks on Edwin’s face. Simply standing there not knowing what to do put Mandoline in danger. He wasn’t sure how long he could carry her. He hadn’t eaten properly for days and his legs were feeling decidedly wobbly.
“Where can we go?” Edwin asked wretchedly. “We can’t walk all the way back to Landarn.”
Lanthorne’s face didn’t exactly brighten up, but he had an idea. “Let’s knock on doors in the village and ask for help. Perhaps not everyone is like Auntie Necra.”
“Perhaps they’re worse.”
“Perhaps they all hate her.”
“Perhaps they’re all having Special Menu parties at this moment. Anyway, it’s late at night and nobody’s going to be pleased if we start banging on their door and waking them up.”
Edwin looked down at Mandoline’s nose, the only part of her visible in the cocoon of blankets. This was the most difficult decision he had ever had to make. Their actual lives depended on it. “Give us a clue,” he asked his sister. A small hand emerged.
“You see, she pointed!” shouted Lanthorne.
“She could just be letting me know she’s very cross.”
“Believe me, Edwin. She pointed towards the village. We might be welcomed with open arms.”
“I suppose we might. All right. But if they turn nasty… I don’t know.”
“Follow me,” said Lanthorne.
“We have to be very quick, before Mandoline’s covered in a snow drift.”
Even when you are as desperate as Edwin was, you still can’t move quickly while holding a baby. They stumbled down the path in a jerky way that brought a lot of complaints from Mandoline. Although they had a lanthorne, Edwin twice lost his footing and thought his sister was going to fly out of his arms.
Once in the main street, they rushed to the first house and looked for the front door. As Lanthorne was about to knock, Edwin growled, “Don’t!”
Lanthorne’s hand remained poised in front of the door and then flopped to his side. “I can smell it too,” he said. A recognizable stink, faint but certain, was escaping around the edges of the door.
“It’s hopeless,” Edwin said. “They’re all at it.” He gave Mandoline a little shake, to make sure she was still alive. Her piercing cry brought a stir of movement in the house and the boys ran off.
“Look,” said Lanthorne. “There’s a bright light up the hill. It’s like a star. Nobody I know in Landarn would shine a light like that in their window.”
“Why are they doing it?”
“It’s a message. It’s saying I’m not like everyone else in Morting. That’s where we should go.”
Edwin had to admit that the window, if it was a window, must be so bright for a reason. “It was hidden by bushes, at first,” he said. “Now I can’t stop looking at it.”
“I think this is where Mandoline was really pointing,” Lanthorne said. “Babies always know.”
“It looks quite high up. Can you take us there?”
“I’ll find the quickest way,” said Lanthorne. “Come on.”
18
Nearly Nollig
As they followed a zigzag path up the hill, the light continued to shine. All the while, the tainted snow fell relentlessly on them. Edwin was afraid it might be poisonous, and he slowed them down by stopping to brush Mandoline’s blankets free of it. He knew that a scattering of flakes had reached her face. He was also concerned by her silence. If she was getting too cold to complain, that was a worrying sign.
“Prickly bush!” Lanthorne warned.
Edwin avoided it, slipped and fell backwards into another clump of sharp twigs. Several painful jabs told him that some of them had penetrated his coat and anorak.
“These thorns are everywhere,” he said. “Can’t you find a way through?”
Lanthorne was doing his best. Their tiny light revealed so little of their surroundings and they were constantly being caught out by the treacherous ground underfoot. He waved the lanthorne in arcs as wide as his diminutive arms could manage. “There’s a wall of them,” he said. “Wherever I take a step, I meet one. They’re not meant to let people through.”
“That’s it then,” said Edwin. “I hope whoever’s shining that light is enjoying themselves. They’re not different from the other people here. They’re the worst of all. They wanted us to follow the light and get torn to bits by all these thorns. It being night-time and snowing probably makes it even funnier for them.”
The little arcs of light continued flitting around the thorn bushes as Lanthorne tried to find a way through. Edwin could hear him muttering under his breath with increasing desperation.
“I can’t go on or back or round,” Edwin said. “I’m really, really tired. I’ve never had to carry something for so long.”
The arcs of light were becoming frantic and Edwin could feel the strength in his legs and arms draining away, as if hopelessness had turned on a tap.
Suddenly Lanthorne called out, “Over here! Edwin, over here!”
Edwin wanted to respond, but his feet wouldn’t move. A voice in his head was starting to say You’ve done all you can. Time to give up and get it over with. He could feel his knees sagging.
Then a lanthorne was held very close to his face, and he was being nudged forward.
“I think I’ve found a way in.”
Edwin rallied. These were magic words, and he tightened his hold on Mandoline. Lanthorne had found a hidden gap behind one of the bushes, which turned out not to be a tricksy dead-end. There was a path that led to the front door of a small cottage which actually seemed to be painted a greyish yellow.
When they reached the front door, Edwin said, “No time to check. You bang on the door and we’ll both shout.”
There was no response to their noise at first, then from inside the house came a sound which was unexpected and which gave them heart. Someone was singing—a gentle, crooning sound that persisted despite their banging. It grew louder, as if the singer were determined to take no notice of them.
Edwin moved along the front of the cottage to the downstairs window they had seen lit up from the main street. A bright lanthorne had been placed between the curtain and the glass. He knocked sharply.
“Please let us in. I’ve got a baby.” He hoped they didn’t think he meant that he had brought something for them to eat, in the way that his parents took offerings of wine or chocolates when they were invited out to dinner. “It’s a live baby.” That wasn’t any clearer.
The heavy curtain was moved aside a fraction, en
ough for the person inside to weigh up the boy standing outside, but not enough for the boy outside to see who had peeped at him.
Edwin returned to the front door where, all this time, Lanthorne had been shouting and banging for all he was worth.
The door opened and a voice said, “You’d better come in.”
They needed no second invitation.
It wasn’t exactly warm in the cramped hallway, but Edwin could tell at once that he was in a different kind of house altogether. The background smell was different for a start, almost sweet with a hint of the drainy smell he had noticed in Lanthorne’s home. There wasn’t a trace of Special Menu. He sniffed very hard to be sure of this.
The relief of getting out of the snow was so great, Edwin felt his legs buckle and he plonked himself down on the single chair, uninvited. He peeled away the wet outer layers of Mandoline’s blankets.
Two large candles set on shelves around the bare hallway gave Edwin a clear view of who had invited them in. She was old and grey and her hair had the usual I’ve just been given an electric shock look, but her expression was kind and her smile revealed a set of teeth that were severely off-white rather than grey. There were even hints of colour in her clothes, blue in her skirt and red in her blouse. The main colour was still grey, but the hints of brightness were exactly what Edwin needed.
“I’m Nanna Bowle,” said the old woman. “I’m sorry I took so long answering. I thought you were the neighbours. They hate to see a Nollig lanthorne in the window or hear Nollig songs. That’s why I sang them when you knocked. Now come inside properly. I’ve got a bit of a fire in the main room. It’s a good thing I like to stay up late. Whatever were you thinking of, bringing a tiny baby out on a night like this?”
As they were led into the main room of the cottage, a room with four more candles and a number of half-comfortable chairs set around a thin brown square of carpet, Edwin said, “My name’s Edwin and we’re escaping from Lanthorne’s Auntie Necra. She wants to turn my baby sister into a cannibal. Please help us.”
“That Necra and her nasty Old Ways,” said Nanna Bowle. “I hope you gave her a serious piece of your mind before you left her house.”
“Better than that,” said Lanthorne. “My snarghe was skinning her toes.”
“A boy with a snarghe. There’s a turn-up,” said Nanna Bowle. “Now, you two sit down here and get the benefit of the fire. The first thing to do is make this baby comfortable.”
Edwin adjusted Mandoline on his lap, so that he could take the tin of powdered milk and the bottle from his pockets.
“I’ll add a few herbs to her milk to help her sleep.”
“No!” Edwin said sharply. “My mother wouldn’t like that.”
He was the only person Mandoline could trust and he wasn’t going to be tricked by an old grey lady into having his sister filled with strange herbs. For all he knew, they were designed to make her tender for Nanna Bowle’s Nollig dinner.
“If you insist, dear. My, you do have a bright little face.” She stretched out her hands to take Mandoline, but Edwin shook his head.
“There’s no need for you to come too, dear,” said Nanna Bowle. “I believe it’s going to be a little messy.”
“I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
Nanna Bowle nodded and she and Edwin went into the kitchen where there was another small fire. Mandoline was cleaned, changed and fed, with Edwin looking on and wishing he didn’t feel obliged to do so. His sister was as messy and smelly as he had been warned. She seemed grateful for the attention and didn’t cry, until Edwin tried to amuse her with her squeaky mouse.
Nanna Bowle showed Edwin the herbs. They smelt as if they could only do you good, but he didn’t see any point in taking chances and his response was still a firm no.
“If you’ve got some herbs for an itchy back, though, I wouldn’t mind having them,” he said. “I’ve been pricked by the thorns outside your house. They’re not poisonous, are they?”
“Not exactly. But they can cause unsightly lumps. They’re the best thing in the world for keeping annoying neighbours away. You should have told me straight away that they’d got you.”
She took a pot of black grease from a shelf.
“Rub this where they’ve pricked you. Do it now and as soon as you get up in the morning, and then every day for as long as you need. The unsightly lumps only last a week or two in any case. Now, when I’ve tucked this baby up, we can think about some food for you boys. You’ll also have to meet my grandson. He’s sorting out his animal at the moment.”
A nest was made for Mandoline in a basket lined with the softest blankets Edwin had come across in Lanthorne’s world. She fell asleep as soon as she was laid in them, and Edwin could have cried with relief.
“We’ll leave her in peace on the table, if that’s allowable,” said Nanna Bowle, “while I get the food. Go and sit with Lanthorne in the other room.”
“I’m a Shiner, you know,” Edwin told her. “I’m not from here and I can’t eat ripe food.”
“Can’t eat, won’t eat. It’s all the same. I understand exactly who you are and where you’ve come from. Now you go and join your friend, and put some of that ointment on your back before you’re dancing up and down with itches. And for Nollig’s sake, take those wet coats off and dry them in front of the fire.”
With surprising firmness, she pushed Edwin out of the kitchen. He found Lanthorne sitting well away from the fire in the main room and looking thoughtful.
“Let’s dry our coats,” Edwin said. “Mine’s sopping.”
“What if we have to leave again very suddenly?” Lanthorne asked.
“I’m not going anywhere till I’ve rubbed some of this stuff on my back. It’s worse than itching powder.” Edwin took off his coat and anorak and asked Lanthorne to hold his shirt up while he smeared handfuls of Nanna Bowle’s grease over most of his back. The itching subsided very quickly.
“We can drape our coats over the backs of these chairs,” he said. The fire was so half-hearted he imagined it would take at least a fortnight for them to dry. Lanthorne was still looking very thoughtful.
“What’s the matter?” Edwin asked him.
“I know the lady’s helped Mandoline and we’re out of the snow, but why isn’t she more surprised that you’re a Shiner? She doesn’t meet them every day.”
Edwin had no chance to reply, because Nanna Bowle appeared in the doorway carrying a tray. “Will apples and a bit of bread and cheese do?” she asked. “Don’t worry,” she looked at Lanthorne, “yours is lovely and ripe. I’ve warmed up two cups of tea. It’s nice and fresh. I only made it two days ago.”
Edwin took his food and sat as near to the fire as he could, trying not to see what was on Lanthorne’s plate. He hadn’t eaten properly for days. He was ravenous, and here he was with the same barely edible selection staring up at him. He turned to Nanna Bowle.
“I was wondering… I don’t like to be rude,” he said. “But whenever I’ve been given anything to eat here, it’s always apples and bread and cheese.”
“It’s an invalid’s meal,” Nanna Bowle told him. “When we’re a bit peaky and our stomachs can’t take proper food, we’re given the unripe things I’ve just given you. They’re completely tasteless, but they settle the system.”
Edwin gazed down at his plate. He tried hard to look grateful.
“It’s just… Do you have an egg or baked beans?”
“You’re very welcome to an egg, dear. I collected the eggs in June, so they’re not completely ripe.”
“That was six months ago.”
“Eighteen months. It was June last year, now I come to think of it.”
Edwin decided to make the most of his bread and cheese.
They had hardly begun their meal when there was the sound of a door being slammed shut and an outburst of crying from Mandoline, who was showing her annoyance at being woken up.
“That grandson of mine,” said Nanna Bowle. “He can’t do anythin
g gently! You’ll meet him in a minute. That’ll be nice. I’ll get the baby back to sleep, and then you can tell us your side of the story.” She left the room.
“Do you think her grandson’s our age, Edwin? We could make friends with him.”
Edwin had no intention of staying around to find playmates for Mandoline and himself. He shrugged and concentrated on checking his piece of bread for signs of mould. Your side of the story, she had said. How could there be anybody else’s side?
“They both looked exhausted,” Nanna Bowle was saying as she re-entered the room.
“Serves them right,” replied a gruff voice behind her.
Nanna Bowle and her grandson surveyed their guests.
“I’ve caught up with you at last.” The grandson’s yellow-blotched face was all too familiar to Edwin and Lanthorne. It was Trunke.
Edwin’s jaw sagged, and what was left of his meal slid onto the floor. Lanthorne jumped up and ran to stand beside him.
Trunke looked very “out of countenance”, as Edwin’s great-grandmother used to say. A baleful glare from his sunken eyes took in both boys and let them know he held a grudge against them. Lanthorne half hid behind Edwin while Nanna Bowle gave a little, knowing nod.
For Edwin, it was a rerun of the emotions of betrayal he had experienced several times already in his search for his sister. “Mandoline!” he shouted, and rushed out of the room. It had suddenly occurred to him that the sound they’d heard might be that of the door closing after Auntie Necra left with his sister, while he was being craftily kept out of the way.
He returned a minute or two later to find that no one had moved an inch.
“She’s still asleep on the table,” he said.
“As we all knew she would be,” said Nanna Bowle. “Why don’t we all sit down? There are things we need to talk about.”
“You knew who we were all the time,” Edwin said, as soon as he had sat down.
“That’s right, dear, but I thought if you saw Trunke as soon as you walked in, you’d be off into the snow again with that baby, like a jiggle after worms. So I told him to wait outside for a while, till I’d got you settled down. You do know that Trunke waited for days in that horrible inne until he could find another hansomme? He paid for it with his own money and drove all the way out to Morting to find you. How many other people would do that?”
The Dead World of Lanthorne Ghules Page 17
