Chapter Three
Elijah and Muppy had a very disturbed sleep, the massive four poster bed he’d found seemed to have a life of its own, every time he or Muppy moved the bed complained, not verbally, but seemed to grunt, and the mattress bounced up, as if giving them a little reproach for disturbing it. He went to find Worlyn and found him bending over the fire poking something in a frying pan. The aromas made him feel slightly sick; he hated the smell of cooking flesh. Muppy was sniffing the air
Worlyn looked up, ‘Sleep well?’
Elijah noticed the bruise had gone. ‘Not particularly, the bed kept,’ it seemed stupid to say prodding me.
‘Waking you up?’
‘Yes.’
‘I never sleep in that four poster, I think it’s possessed with the spirit of a long dead wizard, one defeated in the Centuria, I think his conqueror, trapped his spirit in the mattress, and he hates being disturbed.’ Worlyn smiled and Elijah noticed that he had no false teeth, had they escaped again? ‘Just cooking breakfast, a treat for you, some nice crispy pigmoor trotters, dragon’s liver (thanks to Bearbert for them), floomore beans in a nice tomito sauce, fried gargoyle eggs, and black toast with pigmoor fat.’ Worlyn shovelled all the food onto a large oval plate, stood and placed it on a table. ‘Help yourself, I’m just going to put in my teeth, I keep them under lock and key, ever since that curse they keep trying to escape. That ratbag Zanatos, hoping I’d starve to death.’
Elijah suddenly realised how hungry he was, but stopped as he looked at the enormous plate, the floomore beans were swimming in the tomito sauce, not that the sauce was watery, the beans were swimming, undulating through the sauce, propelling themselves by fins, fins! And what were those sickly green things with scales, that seemed to have black smoke coming out of them, and why were the eggs a dark grey with a fluorescent orange yoke? He watched Worlyn unlock a stout wooden box and take out a full set of yellowing teeth that were chattering, and quickly force them into his mouth.
‘They stop trying to run away when I put them in,’ he smiled, showing a full pearly white set, and sat down.
This surprised Elijah, yellow one second and he put them in and now they’re brilliant white. More magic, must be.
Then Elijah was sure he saw the pigmoor trotters move, trying to crawl off the plate, no, couldn’t be. Worlyn picked up two mini tridents, sort of big forks with three tines, one in each hand and speared both the trotters. Muppy was sitting patiently, hoping for some food.
‘You’re not eating,’ Worlyn said, holding the two trotters and pointing one at Elijah, then biting into one trotter with his caught teeth, the other trotter jerked in his hand and tried to scratch him. He smacked it hard down on the table, making Elijah jump, and the trotter became still. Worlyn swallowed. ‘Try some of that dragon’s liver, finest south of Suberia, but I must warn you, it’s hot.’
Elijah shook his head, looking alternatively at Worlyn and the trotter. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not hungry.’ Those trotters were still alive, impossible.
‘Not used to such fine food? What about the gargoyle eggs?’ Worlyn dropped one trotter back onto the plate.
Elijah was sure it wriggled.
Worlyn picked up a knife, lifted one of the gargoyle eggs with his knife and placed it on top of a dragon’s liver; it began bubbling, moving as if it had a life of its own. He picked up the pigmoor trotter and stared at it intently. ‘Nevermind, what do you usually eat?’ said Worlyn, taking another huge bite, grimacing, looking at it then throwing it over his shoulder.
The trotter flew, hit the floor and bounced, Muppy pounced, it was nearly as big as her head, caught it and began growling and shaking it ferociously.
Elijah watched her for some moments as she held the trotter down and began tearing at the flesh. ‘I didn’t eat at Dragoylia Castle.’ Then turned his attention back to Worlyn.
Worlyn skewered the smoking green scaly thing with the gargoyle egg on top and shovelled the whole lot into his mouth, green and fluorescent orange juices ran down his chin into his beard, staining it with both colours; his face went very red. He chewed and chewed and chewed. ‘Phew,’ he blew four steam rings and took a large gulp of water, ‘that was a particularly hot one. If you didn’t eat at Dragoylia, what did you eat?’
‘Berries, fruits, roots from the land.’
‘Why didn’t you eat?’ Worlyn spooned up some floomore beans, but one bean leapt and hit him in the eye. ‘Ouch, hate it when they do that, should have given them another half hour,’ and shovelled the beans into his mouth.
‘I was always given the slop from the evening feast, bits of fat that the guests had spat out, mixed with vomit, drink, bones and pipe ash.’
‘Hmm, doesn’t sound very appetising.’ Worlyn was examining the other pigmoor trotter. ‘So, your diet has been mostly vegetarian?’
‘Completely vegetarian, except for bread, Bessie the bread-maker always saves me a small load and a meat pie for Muppy.’
‘Have you ever eaten meat?’ Worlyn sniffed the trotter, and then placed it over to his right, sliding it off the mini trident. Before Elijah could blink, Twinkle had swooped down from her shelf, and Elijah could do aught but stare, she was constantly changing colours, from red to blue to yellow. She grasped the trotter with her little sharp talons and was trying to carry it off. However, seeing as the trotter was bigger than her, and was flapping her leathery wings as fast as she could, she wasn’t making any progress. Worlyn reached over, lifted the trotter from underneath and helped Twinkle on her way. Twinkle went up into the air, nearly reaching her shelf, but fell, the trotter weighing her down, her wings flapped faster, and slowly she rose, until with a great effort she landed on her shelf and instantly collapsed, breathing out four pairs of smoke rings.
Worlyn smiled proudly, ‘You’ve got to admire her haven’t you?’ He turned back to his plate and shovelled another spoonful of floomore beans into his mouth, chewing, then looking at Twinkle, then at Elijah, and smiling, then back to Twinkle, then back to Elijah. ‘What was I saying? Oh I know, have you ever eaten meat?’
Elijah watched Twinkle slowly recover, stand, hop onto the trotter and gingerly began tearing little strips of flesh away. ‘I’ve tried it.’ And again turned his attention back to Worlyn.
‘And?’ Worlyn speared another dragon’s liver, but this one seemed to be pulsating, ‘Hmm, should have given this another hour,’ and shoved it into his mouth, again his face went red and little rings of steam came out of his nostrils. ‘Go on,’ he croaked, seemingly losing his voice, and taking large gulps of water.
Elijah shook his head; he was in a madhouse. ‘I didn’t like it.’ He watched as Muppy tore strips of flesh from the trotter, then looked up to Twinkle who was also tearing into the flesh of the trotter, and Worlyn who was onto his third goblet.
‘Why?’ Cough, clearing his throat, more water.
‘I don’t see why an animal has to die to provide food.’
‘Elijah,’ Worlyn’s voice was weak, cough, cough, ‘people do eat meat.’ More coughing, more water.
‘Yes, that’s their choice.’
‘Oh well,’ his voice regained some of its depth, ‘if you go to that cupboard on the top shelf you’ll find some fruit. Delicious, but I think I’ll save the rest for my tea.’ Cough, cough, more water.
‘Worlyn.’
‘Yes,’ cough, cough.
‘How do I get out of here?’
‘Oh yes,’ cough, cough, deep breaths, loudly clearing his throat, bringing up a great globule of dark green phlegm and spitting it into the fire, where it hissed loudly and caused a great mushroom cloud of steam, ‘that’s better.’
Elijah felt sick. Muppy had finished her trotter and was attempting to crunch the bone, but wasn’t having much luck. He looked up at Twinkle and was surprised to see she’d finished off all the meat and was biting into the bone, and was cracking it, and licking out the marrow. Elijah was amazed, how could her little jaws get round that big bone?
‘You came in through the b
lue lake,’ he stood, ‘but there is a tunnel which leads into the cave, then you have to go out through the hole at the back of the waterfall and up about ten thousand stairs. Now where is the tunnel?’ He looked left, right, behind him, back to front, right. ‘Ah yes, this way.’
Muppy, her stomach full, gave up on the pigmoor bones, jumped up onto Worlyn’s bed, curled into a ball and was almost instantly asleep.
Elijah looked at Muppy, she raised her head slightly, her eyes heavy. ‘Stay,’ said Elijah and followed Worlyn out of the enormous room and into the dingy corridor, he wanted to tell him about Esme, about her kissing him, about her beauty, about the things she told him. But a little voice at the back of his mind forbade him, told him to keep his own council, Esme wanted him to forget their meetings, but how could he forget such beauty, he may as well forget how to breathe. He walked into Worlyn’s back, who had stopped suddenly and opened a door.
‘Oops, not that room, that door should be locked.’ Worlyn waved his hand and Elijah heard the lock click, and Worlyn continued.
Words that Worlyn told him floated back into his mind ‘Of course not, to look upon the true image of some of the gods would mean instant death or madness.’ Madness, yes, Esme was driving him mad, he could not forget her face, longed for her touch, yearned for her kiss. Is this what was happening, was he being driven mad by some cruel god? Perhaps it wasn’t Esme at all, perhaps it was some daemon torturing him, tormenting with fantastic images. ‘Worlyn.’
‘Yes Elijah, now is it this door?’ He stopped and looked the door up and down.
‘Can daemons, or demi-gods or witches or wizards impersonate the gods?’
‘No,’ Worlyn laughed, ‘by Twinkle’s twirly toes the gods would blast them into infinity, and beyond, and everyone knows that, no-one, no-body, no magical creature, no demi-god, not even another god, would impersonate another god. Oh no, the gods are very vain, if they choose to appear to anyone they would appear as themselves, and that person would die. If they so wished. The gods are very fickle Elijah.’
‘Or be driven to madness?’
‘Only if the god so chooses. Not this door.’ Worlyn carried on to the next door.
‘Has anyone ever seen the true image of a god and not died?’
‘Course, thousands of gods want humans to see their true image. Yet again, some gods love appearing as all kinds of animals, creatures, bunny rabbits, giant spiders. Bagarnack likes to appear as a giant spider, but also most times as himself. Bearbert once told me of a god that kept appearing as a giant cucumber with a hundred legs.’
Elijah was surprised, ‘A giant cucumber with a hundred legs?’
Worlyn nodded. ‘Bearbert said he was addled before he became a god, and when he achieved godhood, he went completely mad.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Don’t know, Bearbert doesn’t know, probably in some celestial salad somewhere.
Worlyn opened the door a little, and Elijah heard many loud snarls, ‘Shut up, shut up, get down, stop doing that, you’ll go blind.’ Worlyn shut the door quickly. ‘I forgot about that, I’ll have to remind Bearbert, it shouldn’t have been shut up for so long.’ He continued to the next door.
‘What was in that room?’ Elijah asked, looking back.
‘Tigerine, a big two headed tiger, Bearbert’s creation, but he hasn’t found a place for it in the order yet, nor told Esme, so he’s had to hide it here. Comes every now and again to feed it.’
‘The order, what’s the order.’
‘Everything that is created must fit into the natural order of things, the food chain, predator and prey. The only problem being is that tigerine has an uncontrollable appetite, two heads you see, it’ll eat anything smaller than itself, thereby upsetting the food chain, which would in turn upset many of the other gods, who would create animals that would eat the tigerine, and probably other things, thereby creating chaos. Now is this the door?’ Worlyn looked the door up and down, his lips making greater contortions than his fingers.
‘There is so much to learn, it is very confusing.’
‘Believe me Elijah, the more you learn the more confusing it becomes.’ Worlyn opened the door gingerly and peered through. ‘Ah yes, this is it, those steps lead back to the blue lake.’ He gave a big toothy smile and his teeth jumped out and tried to escape, he quickly caught them and jammed them back in. ‘Must remember not to grin so much, and get another set, these are rubbish. There was something else I had to do, what was it? Nevermind, off you go, see you later.’
Elijah watched Worlyn turn and walk back along the corridor. He peered up the steps, they seemed safe enough, but nothing was what it seemed down her. He put his hand over the threshold and quickly withdrew it, nothing. Then he tried his foot, and quickly withdrew it, again nothing. Okay, taking a deep breath, he stepped over and, nothing, he was fine, he smiled and began walking up the steps.
It took him a long time, and he was sweating by the time he reached the blue lake, but he was not aching as much as he normally did, and he spotted the eunicons, drinking from the blue lake. As one, they looked at him and he wondered if one of them was Esme. But they turned and cantered down one of the many side passageways.
He continued, heading toward the tunnel that would take him outside, into the fresh air, into the green that he longed to see. Oh Worlyn’s underground home was interesting enough, containing many wondrous and magical things, but he wanted the light, the green, the sun warming his head and neck, the spongy feel of leaves, ferns, grasses and pine needles under his feet. He wanted to turn over a rotting log and watch the insects scurry into the dark and safety. Yes, to these insects he was a god, he had the power of life and death over them, but it was a power he never exercised, because they were part of the order. Oh he understood the order, he knew what the order was, he had lived and marvelled at the order. Each insect had a place, the woodlice that could reduce the mighty boak to compost, the other insects that lived upon the plentiful woodlice, then blowflies that could lay their eggs in the mightiest person on the planet and the maggots that would reduce that person to compost. The thought flashed into his mind, were there insects that fed upon dead gods? Insect gods. He shivered, if an insect could eat a god, what would it do to a person?
He found the hole leading to the outside and clambered in, crawling, pushing, and chivvying himself until he reached another set of long stone stairs. They seemed to go on and on, disappearing into the darkness. As he climbed the stairs began to spiral, sometimes into a tight spiral, sometimes large. It seemed never ending. How many times he had to stop he couldn’t count. His muscles were aching, his chest hurt, until, finally he reached the end, slid out, stood and looked around.
The sun was shinning brightly, there was hardly a cloud in the sky, everywhere was lush green, he sniffed, he could always tell the different scents, honeysuckle was his favourite, faint wafts of it came upon the soft breeze, but it was always better of an evening.
He flopped down on a little clearing of lush grass, took out his list and scanned the plants. Yes, he should have no trouble finding any of them. The first he knew was growing in a clump inside a little hollow hidden behind some rather vicious brambles not far from here; he forced himself to stand and began walking.
After ten minutes he stopped, he smelt rather than hearing them, the smell of plain eunicons, of leather, of steel, of bad breath cause by a mainly raw meat diet, of repugnant body odour, and he knew. Lord Zanatos and his fearsome rotrobbers, the sadistic Ollivon Creap, the Principle-Slave, and his equally sadistic cronies, and he could smell hash ropes, and dogs, the big fierce black hunting dogs of Lord Zanatos.
He ran in the opposite direction, back to the opening, but knew, if he could smell the dogs, they could certainly smell him, and now he could hear them, they were blocking his way back. He had to make the river, he had to get kilosteps down stream, then double back to the waterfall, in through the hole and safety with Worlyn. He knew what would happen to him, it would be whip
pings and the dungeons, perhaps even broken ankles. Lord Zanatos had sanctioned that as a way of controlling runaway slaves, there must have been at least a dozen cripples who hobbled around Dragoylia, quietly going about their duties, neither looking or speaking to anyone, broken both in mind and body. It wasn’t going to happen to him.
He continued to run, and again heard the dogs, and the sound spurred him, made his legs pound the earth harder, made himself run faster, but he was tiring, he couldn’t get his breath, his body was hurting, the weaknesses were coming back.
He stumbled and fell, gashed his head upon a tree root, and cried out, but tried to get back up, tried to run, tried to get away.
Then he was knocked off his feet by a rope net, caught and tangled, the harsh ropes burning into his hands and face, the ground unforgiving, his head banging upon stones, he was rolling and rolling, caught and trapped.
‘WE HAVE HIM MY LORD,’ Creap’s triumphant voice, ‘WE HAVE HIM.’
Sharp pains in his back, and he realised Creap was kicking him. Stone, think of stone.
‘MY LORD, MY LORD, THIS WAY.’
More pain, rope burns, fists hitting him, he was rolling, the ropes were tightening, he caught glimpses of faces, Creap’s, his cruel cronies, hardened warriors, and rotrobbers. More pain, more fists, the taste of blood, flashing bright yellow lights as more pain engulfed him.
‘STOP.’
He stopped rolling.
‘IDIOTS.’
He had glimpses of flashing red lights, of screams of pain, of hands releasing him.
‘I SAID TO CAPTURE HIM, NOT KILL HIM.’
More red lights, more screams, then nothing but blackness.