Mirrorscape (25 page)

Billet shook with the impact of another lightning bolt. The smell of burning invaded the library.

‘Time we were off,' said Wren.

‘Lucas, you'll have to complete it as we advance.' Taking up a speaking-tube, the master said, ‘Over the bridge, Billet. No dilly-dallying. Next stop home.' Then to the youngsters, ‘Come with me. I know where there's a better view to witness the fun. You angels had better stay and help your master.'

He crossed to the far corner of the library and swung open a section of bookcase that concealed a narrow staircase just wide enough for them to squeeze
up. Beyond a small door at the top was a large attic. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they made out the rafters of Billet's sloping roof, with narrow shafts of daylight piercing the slats and damaged thatch. The attic itself was covered in a thin film of dust, and cobwebs hung everywhere.

‘Help me with this,' said the master as he dragged a large trunk across the floor. He climbed on it and opened a trapdoor in the roof. Bright light flooded in. ‘Come up here and watch the second part of Womper's plan. You won't want to miss this.'

Mel, Ludo and Wren mounted the trunk and, side by side with the master, they all looked back along the bridge as Billet strode onwards.

‘
Duck!
' Mel's warning was just in time as a searing lightning bolt detonated right above their heads. ‘That was close.'

Ears ringing, they raised their heads again to admire the rapidly forming bridge.

‘It's … it's
incredible
!' said Mel. He had merely suggested the towers that flanked it in his sketch, but Lucas Flink had elaborated these into fantastic pieces
of architecture complete with tracery, statues and gargoyles.

‘You must feel very proud, Womper,' said the master.

‘I'd feel better if it wasn't for that.'

Close behind came the tortoise-monster, stalking after them on its spider legs. They could hear the whine of the lightning gun recharging.

‘Master, it's gaining on us!' exclaimed Ludo.

‘Calm down, Cleef. I'm sure Lucas has made provision for such a likelihood.'

As the pursuing monster reached the first arch, the row of stone gargoyles that sat atop it came alive and sprang on to the monstrous contraption. Several squeezed into the lightning-gun port and began attacking the occupants. Others clambered up the tall tower, breaking off anything that protruded from the monster with their powerful arms.

‘Look at the statues,' said Wren.

The stone figures that lined the bridge, agile as monkeys, had begun to scale the long legs of the machine.

‘Now it's the mosaic,' said Ludo, jumping up and
down. ‘Look!' The pattern of snakes reared up from the surface of the roadway and began to entangle the machine's many legs. Soon they had stopped it dead in its tracks. ‘Looks like chucking-out time.'

As they watched, they saw red-robed figures being flung from the machine by the gargoyles and statues.

‘Oh dear,' said the master. ‘The iconium is much more fugitive than I expected.'

‘The bridge is fading away behind us,' observed Mel. ‘I hope Billet gets a move on.'

As the bridge paled and vanished beneath the tortoise-monster it toppled into the chasm. As it fell, the top of the tower opened and a flock of birds flew out. Hanging from them by thin ropes were two figures – one very tall, the other very short – being carried away.

‘Who's the birdie now?' said Ludo.

‘Birdie?' said Mel. ‘Oh, I see what you mean.'

‘Rats deserting a sinking tortoise, eh, Mel?' said Wren.

‘Yeah, scum always floats.'

‘
Ahem!
'

‘Yes, Swivel?' The master turned from the action.

‘Master, when you have a moment. Master Flink has encountered a slight technical problem. He would be grateful for a word with you.'

The master led his butler and the friends back down to the library.

‘Swivel tells me that you've hit a snag, Lucas. Anything I can do to help?'

‘A snag? Yes. I'm afraid that I've run out of iconium. I know I should have eked it out but I rather got carried away and used too much and now ….' Lucas Flink showed them his almost empty palette, ‘… there's not enough left to get us to the far side of the chasm.'

Child's Play

‘A simple causeway might have been the prudent option, Lucas,' chided the master.

‘Yes. I'm sorry. But I felt inspired by the lad's sketch, truly inspired, and this iconium is fantastic to work with. If I had more I could – '

‘But you don't have more, old friend. The question is, what do we do now?'

‘How about stilts for Billet?' said Wren. ‘There might be enough iconium left.'

‘Mile-high stilts?' said the master. ‘To walk in molten lava? A trifle impractical, I think.'

‘What about a tightrope? That wouldn't need much either,' suggested Ludo.

‘Billet is many admirable things; but a funambulist he is not. In any event, I don't think the tightrope's yet been made that could bear Billet's weight.'

‘A safety net then,' persisted Ludo. ‘At least we'd still be alive.'

‘That might save us for a while,' observed Wren,
‘but it wouldn't last for long. Is there enough left for a flock of birds? They worked for the High-Bailiff and the dwarf.'

‘We would need a flock each, and a simply enormous flock for Billet. I don't think that's an option,' said the master sadly.

‘Excuse me, Master Flink,' said Mel hesitantly, ‘but I was in one of your paintings, the one with the bladder-demons ….'

Lucas Flink's old eyes lit up. ‘You know, young man, I think you might have it.' His brush searched the entire surface of the palette and collected what little iconium there was left. With it, he painted as large a disc as he could in the air over the rapidly fading bridge. He trailed the brush and with the last vestiges of the wondrous paint flicked in a fine line with the point. ‘That's it. It's all gone now.'

Before their eyes, the mark transformed itself into a spherical balloon and the fine line into a dangling rope.

‘
Ahem!
If you'll permit me?' Swivel nodded towards the open window where a stout, hooked line had
appeared. He extended a concertina-like arm and attached the line firmly to the window frame. The shadow cast above them by the large balloon dimmed the room.

‘I hope for all our sakes your idea works, Womper,' said the master.

From the window, they saw the last of the bridge become dimmer and dimmer and dimmer until it faded away altogether.

Then Billet started falling.

‘
Scrot!
' wailed Ludo. ‘It's not working.'

‘Language, Cleef!' scolded the master.

‘The balloon's giving us
some
buoyancy,' said Mel, ‘but the trouble is, we're too heavy. Why don't we throw anything we don't need out the window?'

‘Yes, Womper. Everyone jettison all the useless stuff. Start with the studio.'

The friends cast debris from the attack out of the damaged studio window while the angels threw a similar amount of weighty items from the kitchen. Swivel emptied the house of all his cleaning materials, which lightened it considerably. Everyone rushed back to the library.

‘Our rate of descent has slowed but we're still falling,' said the master. ‘Now for the furniture. We don't have much time. Soon the balloon will begin to fade.'

By the time the last of the furniture had been thrown into the chasm, they hung stationary in the air but altogether too near the lava for comfort – especially Billet's. He yelped in pain from his toasting feet.

‘It's no good. There're just too many of us in here,' said Lucas Flink. ‘Some of us will have to leave.'

‘
Leave!
' said Ludo. ‘You can't throw us out.' The friends looked at their master, the alarm evident on their young faces.

‘He means us,' said a delighted Farris. ‘Come on, Bathor.'

‘
Yahoo!
' they shouted as they leapt from the window.

With their tattered wings spread wide, the angels soared in wide spirals on the powerful thermal currents rising off the lava. Immediately, Billet began to rise.

‘Great,' said Ludo. ‘All we've done is increase the distance we'll have to fall. We're still no nearer the far side.'

‘Womper, you seem to be the one with all the bright
ideas,' said the master. ‘If you've got another one tucked away, now's the time to produce it.'

‘Only this.' Mel picked up a jar of turpentine from beside the easel and dashed it against the canvas. The image of the balloon smeared and began to run down the canvas in tear-like streaks.

‘What're you doing?' cried Lucas Flink. ‘That's all that's holding us up.' Then, after a moment, ‘We're falling!'

‘No time to explain.' Mel rushed at the canvas and, with both hands, began to stir the loosened iconium into a great spiral. Round and round flew his hands, and as they did so a roaring noise swelled and entered the library. The room grew dramatically darker.

‘What's happening?' shouted Ludo. He put his hands to his ears as the air pressure dropped dramatically.

Wren rushed to the window. ‘Look, everyone!'

As they all peered out, they saw the air continue to darken and a towering tornado materialise around them. Then it seized Billet in its powerful vortex. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, they revolved in the
irresistible current. It drove Billet towards the far wall of the chasm and then back the way they had come and then forwards again. But, as its speed increased, it began to exert a lifting force. Billet spun helplessly in the overpowering spiral and everyone in the library was hurled around like blobs of paint flicked from the end of a brush. Books flew about like missiles.

As Mel dragged himself to his feet and fought his way back to the easel, a hefty volume caught him a glancing blow on his forehead. Clinging on to the easel with one hand, he kept working the spiral with his other. He could feel the iconium drying. The whirlwind would only last as long as he could keep the pigment in motion.

Wren struggled to the window and saw the rapidly approaching wall of the chasm. ‘
Mel!
'

Mel saw it too and redoubled his efforts. Then, just as it seemed they would all be smashed against the wall, the tornado lifted them the last few feet and they were over the solid ground of the far side. The iconium finally dried beneath Mel's fingers and faded. The wind outside dropped suddenly. So did Billet.

‘Me feet. Me skegging feet!' he shouted as he landed with a bump.

‘Womper, you've saved us,' said the master. ‘Who would have thought that we'd be rescued by a spot of finger painting? Call Farris and Bathor back in. The way home is clear, if I'm not mistaken.'

But the master was mistaken.

A hot breeze caused the candles to flicker as the brocade drape that formed the tent flap to the Lord-High-Master's pavilion was drawn aside. Through the flap could be briefly glimpsed the red desert of Lucas Flink's “The Empire of Sleep”. Lord Brool's secretary, Skim, entered and bowed his emaciated frame low before his grotesquely fat master.

‘We have found Groot Smert, my Lord. He was in the House of Mysteries, drunk as a boiled owl, celebrating the demise of Blenk's Fegish apprentice. We have sobered him up and he is being put to work straight away as you ordered. He has the Mystery's finest bestiary to work from. All he now needs is the pigment. I'll stay with him to ensure he uses it wisely.' The
secretary glanced at a casket standing open on a table beside his master's chair. It was so full of iconium the lid would not shut. ‘And the High-Bailiff and his assistant have just arrived. They crave an audience.'

Lord Brool spat some half-chewed sweetmeat on to the carpeted floor at the foot of one of the easels that supported two large paintings. He reached out and selected a candied snail from a dish on the table. He crunched it noisily and gave a flick of his scarlet-gloved hand as a signal to bring Adolfus Spute in.

Skim bowed again and left, taking the casket with him. Normally a rigidly controlled man, the thought of the inconceivable wealth represented by the shimmering pigment he cradled in his skinny arms induced a fit of hiccoughs. ‘The Lord-
hic-
Master will see you now.'

Adolfus Spute's stained and creased robe hung shapelessly from his tall frame. His white make-up was streaked and Mumchance looked no better.

‘
Spute!
' bellowed Lord Brool. ‘Don't just stand there; you're letting that confounded desert air into my pavilion.'

The High-Bailiff and his dwarf entered, but the
former's eyes were transfixed by the casket. ‘That's … that's ….'

‘Yes it is, isn't it? Amazing what one can find if one knows where to look.' In spite of the heat, Lord Brool was beginning to enjoy himself for the first time since entering the Mirrorscape. ‘You see, that piddling quantity of iconium you collected for me is no longer the only iconium that the Mystery possesses. Ever since I became Lord-High-Master I have had a team of my own miners searching Kig for the fallen meteorite. And, while you were away extracting that titbit from Floris, they found it. Not that I really expected you to return it to me. At least, not all of it.'

‘I don't understand ….'

‘Of course you don't, Spute, of course you don't. That is why you are merely the High-Bailiff and I am the Lord-High-Master. A little bird told me. Just as you have had your little songbird listening to the goings-on in the Blenk mansion, I have had my own little bird singing to me about the goings-on between you and your nephew. Some might go so far as to call it a conspiracy. He has been keeping me up to date with
all your scheming. Isn't that so, little bird?'

Groot's sidekick Bunt emerged from behind the drapes. With his layers of puppy fat, scarlet robes, white make-up and freshly shaved tonsure, he seemed a younger, reduced version of the older man. He stood grinning next to Lord Brool.

‘And my little bird made a copy of that symbol that your little bird took from the Fegish boy. Which is how I came to be here. I knew all along that you would bungle things – you always do. I thought that I should be here to make certain that events turn out for the good of the Fifth Mystery, that is to say, for
me
. I've known all along what you've been up to, Spute. Everyone conspires against me. Why should you be any different?'

‘Tweet, tweet,' said Bunt with a mocking smile.

Suddenly there were far too many birds in Adolfus Spute's world, as he realised he had been outmanoeuvred.

‘You know, I do believe you have outlived your usefulness, Spute. However, as a treat – a
final
treat – I think I will allow you to witness the little reception I
have arranged for Ambrosius Blenk. You've failed miserably to thwart his power and influence in the past. Now I'll show you how it should be done. It'll be child's play. Here, Bunt, help me up. The fun is just about to start.'

Billet hobbled on scorched feet over the brick-red sand of “The Empire of Sleep”, complaining volubly. The night sky above was overpopulated with stars that bathed the arid wilderness in a crepuscular light. All around, towering sandstone heads emerged from the desert floor as if they were the tops of giant statues buried up to their necks. Burning wicks protruded from the crowns of these heads, adding a flickering counterpoint to the starlight and casting puddles of dancing yellow light at their base. Other heads seemed to have burnt down like candles, their stony features distorted like melted wax.

The three youngsters lay curled up on the library floor, sleeping soundly. Exhaustion had overtaken them now that they were so close to home. Swivel dozed in the corner, leaning against a bookcase, while Farris and
Bathor were preening each others' wings, which were nearly whole once again. The old masters stood side by side at the window, gazing out admiringly over Lucas Flink's creation.

‘I wonder what the world would be like if there was more iconium available. If you could just think a picture into existence would there be any need of us artists, do you suppose?'

‘I'm sure there would, Ambrosius. Technique is always hard won but surely it's our imaginations that make us different.' They both ruminated on this for a while in silence. ‘That's odd.'

‘What is, old friend?'

‘
That
. That's not part of “The Empire of Sleep”.'

The master followed Lucas's pointing finger. Silhouetted against the distant wall of grey mist that marked their exit from the Mirrorscape and the portal back into the mansion, was a large, squat shape. He picked the omniscope up from the floor and steadied it against the window frame.

‘It's a
baby
. An enormous baby.'

At least that is what it looked like. But as they drew
closer he was not so sure. It certainly appeared to be a baby, and a rather ugly one at that, but its vast size suggested otherwise. It sat cross-legged on the sand, occasionally making jerky movements with its chubby limbs and looking from side to side. A thin trail of drool hung from its chin. Closer still, and they could see a large scarlet tent next to it, with many smaller ones off to one side. The black-eyed, red banner of the Fifth Mystery flew from the centre of this camp, and a group of men-at-arms moved through it, bearing flaming torches.