‘The agreement was made between us and the village. They’re from beyond the village, and I know the Covenant extends to not hunting anyone in the outside world too, but they came to where we live not the other way around, so maybe we can eat them,’ said Daisy.
‘That’s a technicality and you know it,’ Mirabelle snarled.
Daisy shrugged and it took all of Mirabelle’s strength not to leap across the table and shake her.
‘I can’t even remember what human flesh tastes like,’ said Eliza.
As if on cue Gideon gave a tiny belch.
Mirabelle turned towards Enoch.
‘We need to help them,’ she said.
‘And we all need to agree on the best way to deal with this intrusion from the outside world,’ said Enoch, rocking back in his chair in exasperation. ‘Where is Odd?’ he shouted.
‘We don’t need Odd,’ said Mirabelle.
‘My dear Mirabelle, as senior member of the Family—’
Mirabelle hopped off her chair. ‘You’re not the most senior – Piglet is the oldest. And they should be welcomed by us. Strangers or not.’
Enoch gave a sardonic smile. ‘As you know, Piglet is little better than a child when it comes to matters of governance.’
‘Governance!’ Mirabelle snorted.
‘What’s governance?’ Dotty whispered to Daisy. Daisy shrugged.
Enoch was struggling now, his face a mass of tics and twitches. ‘Mirabelle,’ he growled.
‘No one is eating anybody,’ said Mirabelle, her chest so constricted with fury it felt as if she might never breathe again.
‘In fairness, Mirabelle, you’re not able to eat anybody,’ said Daisy.
This time it was Enoch’s turn to slam the table. ‘Where is Odd?’
Bertram pointed towards the ceiling.
All eyes looked upwards as a black swirl grew just inches beneath the ceiling, and the portal opened. A small figure fell through it and landed with a crash on the table.
Odd stood up and dusted himself off. He picked up a bright red fez, which he’d dropped in his fall, and placed it back on his head. He frowned and pointed to his right, then his left.
‘I think I need to reassess my entry points,’ he said.
Enoch glowered at him.
Odd looked at everybody. ‘What are we all here for?’
‘We have guests,’ said Mirabelle.
‘Uninvited guests,’ said Enoch, giving Mirabelle a haughty look.
‘Guests we can’t eat,’ said Bertram, jigging up and down in his chair.
‘A young boy and a young girl came through the Glamour,’ said Eliza.
‘That’s impossible,’ said Odd.
‘So we thought,’ sighed Enoch.
‘Apparently there’s a tear in it,’ said Eliza.
Dotty and Daisy clutched each other and whimpered. Uncle Bertram started sucking his thumb. Enoch closed his eyes and looked pained.
‘A tear?’ said Odd. ‘That’s not good. I’ve never heard of anything like that happening before. Can it be repaired?’
‘Yes,’ said Enoch. ‘Although it might take some time.’
‘That means anyone can get in, doesn’t it?’ Dotty whined.
There was a moment of silence as they all considered this. Eliza shifted uneasily in her chair, and Bertram, without looking at her, reached out and held her hand. Enoch looked troubled. Mirabelle caught his eye and immediately he straightened up in an effort to mask his concern. He cleared his throat.
‘We will deal with the problem, and with our visitors,’ he said.
‘I see,’ said Odd. ‘So we repair the damage to the Glamour and send our uninvited guests on their merry way?’
‘The boy is sick, Odd,’ said Mirabelle. ‘They have no one else.’
She gave him a pleading look. Odd looked at her sympathetically and nodded. He walked across the table towards Enoch. Enoch looked at him with suspicion, then Odd sighed, took the fez off and laid it on Enoch’s head. Enoch blinked in disbelief. Mirabelle thought she might explode with delight. Gideon had clambered up into her lap and he looked at Enoch, his eye shining with wonder.
‘A gift for you, Uncle,’ said Odd. ‘An act of generosity. Perhaps you can see your way to a generous gesture of your own.’
Enoch looked at Mirabelle as she clamped a hand to her mouth and tried not to laugh. He glared up at Odd, then ripped the fez off his head.
‘Perhaps,’ he hissed.
Odd bowed then made a circle in the air to his left with his little finger. A portal opened.
‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go upstairs.’
Odd entered the portal and it winked out of existence. A second later there was a clattering sound as something hit the floor of the room directly above them. All eyes looked towards the ceiling, and there was a muffled ‘Ouch.’
Eliza tutted and shook her head. ‘He needs to learn to use the stairs.’
Enoch looked at Mirabelle. ‘A week and no more,’ he said.
Mirabelle nodded, her lips clamped together tightly to stifle her glee. She squeezed Gideon to her and he hugged her back.
Mirabelle and the others left Enoch and Eliza to discuss the matter of the Glamour. Mirabelle thought Enoch looked particularly troubled, but she presumed he would figure out a way of fixing it. There were ways she knew nothing about, magic she had heard whispers of that could be worked to fix it. Of that she was certain. Bertram was worried that the flowers might go wandering into the outside world. Enoch reminded him that, like them, the flowers were bound by the Covenant and their own promise to protect the path.
It was near dinnertime, so Mirabelle made her way to the back of the house, to the larder, and opened its once-green door, now peeling paint and grey with age.
Mirabelle walked in and was greeted by the smell of raw meat. Four slabs of ribs hung from hooks in the ceiling. Mirabelle chose the smallest one, then she wheeled a hand cart out from the corner, unhooked the slab and plonked it onto the cart.
‘Mirabelle.’
Odd was standing in the doorway, holding a coconut.
‘A coconut,’ he said, smiling as he held it up for her to see.
‘I can see that, Odd. Why do you have a coconut?’
Odd deposited it on a shelf. ‘Uncle Bertram asked me for something interesting to test his palate.’
‘You’ve been away a lot recently,’ said Mirabelle. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Oh, you know,’ he shrugged, ‘here, there and everywhere.’
Mirabelle smiled at him. She couldn’t help herself. There was something amusing about the studied seriousness of Odd’s face that contrasted so sharply with his boyish appearance. But, most of all, Mirabelle was delighted to see him. Of all the inhabitants of the house, Mirabelle’s bond with Odd was the strongest, though Piglet was a very close second in her affections.
As if on cue, there was a low, mournful howl in the distance.
‘He’s hungry,’ said Odd.
‘Isn’t he always?’ sighed Mirabelle.
She pulled the cart out of the larder, and it trundled and squeaked all the way along the hallway while Odd fell into step with her.
‘Morocco,’ said Odd suddenly.
‘What’s that?’ said Mirabelle.
‘I was in Morocco, and Tunisia, and a place that might have been Greenland, somewhere by the Russian steppes, and an island,’ said Odd, counting the places off on his fingers.
‘Sounds lovely,’ said Mirabelle.
‘Oh, and Gateshead,’ said Odd.
‘Why Gateshead?’ Mirabelle whispered.
Odd just shrugged. He reached into his pocket and took out a smooth black arrowhead.
‘I found this.’ He rummaged again. ‘And this,’ he said, taking out a lump of something yellowish and grey.
‘What is it?’ Mirabelle asked.
‘Soap,’ Odd said brightly.
‘You go around collecting soap now?’ said Mirabelle.
‘Onl
y old soap,’ said Odd.
‘I see,’ said Mirabelle, smiling and shaking her head.
‘I don’t think I’ve anything else of interest,’ he said, doing another rummage. He took his hand out of his pocket and there was a delicate gold chain in his palm. ‘How did that get in there?’ he muttered. He frowned as he put it back in his pocket.
They walked in silence for a moment, then Odd said, ‘Do you think we should eat the visitors?’
She knew he was only teasing, but Mirabelle gave him a pained look.
‘I mean surely it’s a valid question,’ said Odd.
‘Do you want to eat them?’
Odd chuckled. ‘Not particularly.’
‘On principle?’
‘Oh, but of course,’ said Odd.
Mirabelle smiled.
Odd seemed to consider something for a moment. ‘I mean, we have vowed never to eat them, and, in truth, having spent some time among them during my many travels, I do rather feel a certain sort of benevolence towards them.’
They were quiet again for a moment, and then Mirabelle felt a rushing sensation, a sense of rightness.
‘We should help them,’ she said.
Odd pursed his lips and looked thoughtful.
‘We should, Odd. They’re not from the village, but that doesn’t mean we turn people away. Family or not, they deserve our help.’
Odd nodded.
They continued along the hallway with only the sound of the rumbling wheels and the squeaking of the cart punctuating the silence.
‘How is Enoch?’ asked Odd after a while.
‘Enoch is Enoch,’ sighed Mirabelle.
‘And you’ve been out and about,’ he said.
‘I have.’
‘Seen anything interesting?’
‘The outside of the house. The inside of the main wall. The garden.’
‘And you haven’t been tempted to go further afield?’
‘I’m not like you, Odd. I don’t have a special talent like yours that has to be indulged just because Enoch says it would be unnecessarily cruel to limit it. The rules actually apply to me.’
‘I see you didn’t answer my question,’ he sighed.
‘I’m not allowed to go further afield.’
‘Again, not an answer to the actual question I asked.’
They arrived at the long wide corridor lit by two dim yellow lights. Piglet’s deep moans floated down the passageway towards them. They reached the iron door moments later. It towered above them, twenty feet by twenty feet. It was decorated with various monstrous figures. Tentacled, horned, many-winged, several-eyed. All twisted and turning in a maelstrom of claws and teeth. Jagged runes were scratched in the spaces between the monstrous figures. No one really knew who had created the door. No one knew how old it truly was. But everyone knew its importance. Sometimes Mirabelle just liked to stand and look at it and try to take all the images in, as if attempting to interpret an ancient language.
She pointed at it. ‘I like to think this is a story of sorts. All these pictures.’
Odd tilted his head and looked at the door. ‘So you’ve mentioned before. Perhaps it is.’
Mirabelle whispered to herself. ‘But what the story is I can’t really say.’
She squinted at the images again. There was a particular figure that she always felt compelled to look at, though she hated it. Amidst all the teeth and claws was what looked like a bony creature with its flesh sloughing off, right at the centre of the chaos. It had a long face and empty eyes, and it seemed to be howling as it held smaller creatures in its claws. Its mouth was jammed with dozens of long sharp teeth. It looked as if it were bringing the smaller creatures towards its shrieking mouth. It was strange. It was the only image on the door that never failed to make Mirabelle’s skin crawl.
She pointed at the creature. ‘I wonder what that is. It looks horrible.’
‘Indeed it does,’ said Odd, looking both repulsed and thoughtful.
Mirabelle laid her hand gently on the cold metal.
‘Piglet?’ she whispered.
There was a sudden pounding from behind the door as something heavy drummed the earth, getting closer and closer. It was followed by an almighty clang and a deafening roar as the door shuddered.
Mirabelle smiled. ‘Piglet.’
She turned towards the cart, ignoring the howling and snuffling that came from behind the door, and spotted Odd motioning with his hand. A black hole started to open in the air beside him.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Mirabelle, a little exasperated.
‘I don’t know,’ said Odd casually.
‘Will you be gone long?’
Odd stepped into the dark portal, turned round to her and shrugged. Both he and the portal winked out of existence.
Mirabelle groaned in frustration. Behind her, the door vibrated as Piglet hurled himself against it, claws scraping the other side, howling and bellowing.
Mirabelle tipped the meat out of the cart and towards the panel at the bottom of the door. She turned the keys sticking out at both ends and flipped the panel down. Immediately there came a horrendous snuffling at the gap, and the frantic expulsion of Piglet’s hot, short, almost panicked breaths.
Mirabelle rolled the meat onto the panel, then flipped it back into place and locked it. She sat down and leaned against the door, listening to Piglet’s loud whimpers of pleasure, the smacking of lips, teeth tearing meat, splintering ribs.
‘How are you, Piglet?’
There was a response, like a dismissive groan, as Piglet concentrated on his meal. The snuffling and gobbling recommenced.
‘That’s nice to hear,’ said Mirabelle. She usually gave Piglet a moment as he ate, but today she felt a strange pressure in her chest, and the words were out before she knew she’d said them.
‘We have visitors, Piglet. They’re human, and they’re not from the village, but I think they need our help. The boy has old scars on his back and the girl looks like . . . She looks small and fragile, as if . . .’
Mirabelle faltered. She felt a strange mixture of sorrow and anger when she thought about Jem and her brother.
‘They just need our help, I think. Enoch doesn’t like them because they’re not from here, but surely you can’t turn people away if they come looking for help?’
Piglet’s chewing seemed to become quieter, more contemplative. Mirabelle imagined he was listening to her. She would often come here and sit and talk to Piglet for hours on end. She knew he couldn’t speak, but there was something comforting in the way he seemed to listen. ‘Sympathetic’, that was the word Eliza liked to use when describing Piglet – although Enoch would sneer at this. Mirabelle sided with Eliza. Piglet didn’t judge anyone. Piglet had no axe to grind. Piglet was never mean to anybody.
Piglet is dangerous.
Uncle Enoch’s words rang in her ears. She knew Enoch meant well, and that he was only protecting everybody, but somehow Mirabelle knew that Piglet was decent at heart.
There was a rippling, bubbling belch from behind the door, and Mirabelle laughed. Piglet started to pant, and Mirabelle could hear him moving away from the door.
She stood up. She felt the runes and figures that stood out in relief upon the door’s surface. There was no sound from Piglet now. It was as if he’d suddenly winked out of existence too. She leaned her forehead against the coolness of the metal and closed her eyes and whispered.
‘Piglet?’
She strained to hear, thinking that maybe there’d been a sound, like sand swirling in a sea breeze. Mirabelle smiled.
‘Thank you for listening, Piglet. Thanks for always listening. We’ll talk again soon.’
Was that a low, distant moan she heard? Like a whale humming deep in the ocean at night. Mirabelle took a step back from the door. Once again her eye was drawn to the carvings and the image of the creature at the centre of a frenzy of monsters. Sometimes she was convinced it was moving, but that was obviously a trick of the light.
&nbs
p; She turned and wheeled the trolley back towards the larder, resisting the strange urge to look back over her shoulder at the door.
Piglet
Piglet revolves in blackness.
He likes it here. He likes listening to Mirabelle’s voice, soft and warm and flowing gently into that dark like a glittering rainbow. Mirabelle is like a light as fierce as the light of stars, and when she goes he misses her, but he knows she will be back, just as he knows many things without being able to put words to them.
Sometimes Piglet feels like the moon, vast and shining. Other times, he is like a speck of dust in the dark. Lost. Alone. But he is never afraid.
Ever.
Piglet has never known fear. He has known hunger, he has known curiosity, but when it comes to fear he has only ever known the fear of others. ‘Piglet is dangerous,’ they whisper to each other, and Piglet doesn’t understand the words, but he smells the fear; he can almost taste it. Fear tastes funny. Not like meat.
Piglet likes meat. He likes it most when it’s warm. It’s always tastiest when it’s alive.
Piglet listens now.
Piglet is always listening.
He hears every voice in the house, and because he hears them he is never truly alone here in the dark.
Tonight he has heard something different.
The two new hearts Mirabelle told him about are thrumming on the air.
Piglet holds his breath. He listens hard. Piglet likes to know things. He knows more than most, having been here since . . . Well, since what seems like forever.
The two hearts are not like the ones he is used to. Piglet listens for a while and wonders what this means. Then he remembers he is hungry. So very hungry.
Piglet is always hungry.
He groans and rolls over in the blackness, trying to ignore the rumbling in his belly. He sharpens his teeth and claws. He yearns to be about in the world outside. Out where the meat is, where the blood flows. Warm and sweet and delicious. And because Piglet doesn’t belong to the past, the present or the future, because he is beyond time, he sees things others cannot see, knows things others cannot know. And now he knows one thing above all for certain.
Piglet knows that very soon he will be free.
The Monsters of Rookhaven Page 4
