***
So came another day, otherwise uneventful. He found time to play on the computer, but had to resist the temptation of searching the Web for references about ley-lines, tulpas, and the like; his mother had a means of finding out what people looked at on the Internet, and she would probably end up asking him questions that he couldn’t answer. Anyway, he could always explore some other time, when the fallout from his adventure had dispersed. In the meantime, he occupied himself with one of the stock images that had come with the computer’s photo editing software. It was a picture of some Chinese ribbon-dancers, caught in mid-leap against a background of neon dragons and carnival floats. As per his habit, he altered the picture very slightly and very subtly, so that no-one would immediately notice that some of the dancers had tiny birds on their shoulders, or that the ribbons, frozen in a blurry twirl, had a silvery brightness that did not fit comfortably with the way the light played upon the rest of the scene.
***
In the night that followed, he did the same as the night before; he rose, pulled on his dressing gown, took his gourd and went over to the window, where he watched, waited and thought. It was half-past one in the morning. Outside, the dark had been made darker by low, sodium tinted clouds; there was no moonshine, nor wispy starlight. The landscape was a black silhouette of rooftops and chimneys; apart from the odd insomniac light, it was featureless.
Not a good night to watch for silfs, then; the inkiness beyond could conceal anything, no matter how unusual. Remembering that he was a dreamshader, he called out with his mind, just to see what would occur; but after a good minute’s worth of hard concentration, it was clear that there were no errant silfs at large tonight. And with no silfs, there was not likely to be any atulphi around to pursue them, either. Unless, of course, Lilac Zhenrei should happen to be out there, searching for her friend.
He took his gaze towards the area in which Wandringham wood lay, though he was unable to see much of the wood itself, as the larger part of it was obscured by the intervening buildings. Being the place where she had first met him, it was entirely feasible that it would be exactly where she would go if she wanted to see him again. And yet he felt that tonight, she most probably wasn’t there. He didn’t know why, but he was sure that someone like Lilac would do more than simply hang around and wait for him to appear. It didn't matter that she might not know where he lived; some sign or signal would suffice, perhaps a burst from her blunderbuss, a flash in the night sky. So no - she was not there. Not at the moment, in any case.
He let his gaze fall from the woods, then, and concentrated on his gourd instead, bringing both hands to it and giving himself over to the lustrous spectacle of his first great dream. He was tired of the questions now; all he had done, in later days, was ask and brood and want. He wanted to find out if Vespinner truly had said his surname; he wanted to know what had happened to his father. He wanted to learn more of what he had read in that book yesterday, to traverse the Internet with the aim of finding out if Niamago really was such a great secret; he wanted to find other atulphi, those still earthbound, and silfs with which to test himself as a dreamshader. He wanted to find Stacey Wilds again - she of the imaginary dog - but he didn’t know if she had moved house or not. He wanted to find out if Mark Lemmon’s little brother wasn’t yet so old that he had forgotten his friend, Mr. Gloamy. He wanted to know how he might cope with seeing this invisible population of the world, day after day, and cope, too, with not telling his mother about it; he wanted and wanted and wanted and ...
And now he wanted a rest from it all. Some respite. Not answers - because answers, as he already knew, would only lead to more questions. No, he just wanted something to think about that wasn’t to do with Niamago, Lilac, or being a dreamshader. Something ordinary. Something wholly and completely earthbound.
He let go of the gourd; it wasn’t helping. Wonderful as it was, it was too closely related to his adventure to leave him thinking of much else. Neither did it help to hear, just seconds later, a noise in Maddie’s room. It reminded him (as had a similar noise a couple of nights before) of the silf ... and also the place where he had found his gourd, the derelict house where he had listened as something snuffled outside.
He stretched, yawned, and took hold of the gourd. “Enough,” he said, as the dream returned. He dropped the object into the pocket of his dressing gown and closed the curtains. He would have gone back to bed sooner, but he decided to linger awhile instead, to see if he could make some sense of what he was hearing next door.
Yes, it was definitely a snuffle; not the swishing sound of the silf - nothing like it in fact - but something that gave the impression of scraping, or sniffing with a rasp. Was it an animal? A rat? Probably not; it was much more likely to be the work of a breeze, riffling at his sister’s books and sketching papers. Not a rat, not a mouse; just a draught, blowing in through the open window.
And then he realised that his mother had been keeping all the windows closed at night - a peace-of-mind measure, made in the wake of his supposed sleepwalk. So what, exactly, was causing that sound?
He sat on the edge of his bed and listened harder. In truth, he was beginning to feel a little alarmed. But then it came to him: Maddie was starting to feel unwell. His mother had implied as much in the previous days. She was coming down with what her brother had just gotten over, so it was only to be expected that she might fidget loudly in her bed, with her sleep disturbed by fever.
Except - except Benjamin hadn’t really been ill. He had been poisoned, and poison, he knew, was not contagious. So what was it?
It sounded as though it was low to the ground; there seemed to be some sense of a pawing, or clawing, at the carpet. But it was more than that; there was an idea of something scraping against a skirting board, muffled and sluggish. It brought to mind an injured animal, trying desperately to escape to some place other than where it had been so hurt. It brought to mind something living.
Benjamin silently berated himself: again, it was just his overactive imagination. He had heard the noise before, and no harm had come of it. Besides, his mother would probably go in and check the room anyway. So there was nothing to worry about.
Nothing at all.
But then again, he knew he would not find sleep easily if that noise was going to continue. And so far, it had shown no sign of abating. So he lifted himself up, tightened the belt of his dressing down, and crept out of his room and onto the landing, where he found Maddie’s door to be slightly ajar. He was nervous, but only by virtue of being alone in the dark. He did not seriously believe that there could be anything strange in Maddie’s room, because two strange occurrences in there within a week were, he felt, seriously stretching the boundaries of chance. No, it was probably just something ordinary; a cooling radiator, perhaps, or a roving toy that she had forgotten to switch off. Certainly not another silf, nor anything even remotely as fantastic. Just something plain and everyday, but with the added glamour of being noticed by someone who had discovered that things were not as plain and everyday as most people believed.
Quietly pushing the door aside, he went in. Immediately the noise stopped, and he didn’t like it; it gave the impression that there was a furtive intelligence behind the sound. He looked around the room, but found nothing untoward; taking a few cautious steps further inside, he saw that his sister - or what he could make out of her in the murk - was asleep, though it appeared, from the way that her bedclothes were all bunched up, that she had been fidgeting quite a lot. So maybe it was her; maybe she hadn’t been sleeping very well for some reason, and had been loud in her restlessness.
She was okay, though. The only sound now in the room was that of her breaths, deep and serene. He turned, and was about to depart - when those other sounds started up again.
He whipped round, his gaze instantly falling to the place where the noises were coming from. And from that place, under his sister’s bed, a shape tumbled out on to the floor.
Benjamin gasped.
The shape, almost indiscernible in the dark, looked to be a small bundle of clothes; and yet it was moving. He stepped back, his eyes fixed rigidly on the sight. The bundle pulsed, like a creature taking air; a tendril of some kind, or a loose sleeve, sprung out from it, flopping onto the carpet. And then, like a knot unfolding, a hand appeared at the end of the sleeve, large and thin-fingered, pale in the dark. There seemed to be a pattern of light and shadow about the thing; a hint of what might be found on the back of a snake. And as it expanded - and it was expanding, Benjamin could see it - it hissed, a chorus-call of insensate aggression that the boy, terror-struck, recognised immediately.
It was Leopold. The warpclown.
And it had been under his sister’s bed.
He took another step back, and then another, until his back nudged against the half-open door. He would have dashed out, then, and screamed for his mother and stepfather - but something stopped him. They won’t see it, he thought, his hopes giving way to the witless pessimism of panic. They won’t know what to do. They won’t be able to help.
The hand groped grotesquely at the floor, crablike and blind. Another tendril extruded from the pile, seeming to reach for his sister’s bed.
Stifling a yell, Benjamin ran over and kicked the thing. Hard. He was barefooted, and it felt like striking a dense pile of laundry. The shape rolled flabbily away from Maddie’s bed, hissing wildly, and stopped halfway between the bed and the window. The act had made it furious; it was larger now, and coiling angrily, like some huge, overgrown grub. Two further extrusions began to unfurl from the main mass; it was developing legs.
There was no time for a decisive course of action; it was growing too fast, and if he didn’t act soon, the creature would be fully formed, and ready to strike back. At the moment, there was a weakness about it that needed to be exploited; it was the only advantage the boy had. If he did nothing, then he would have to face the horror when its maniacal, thrashing strength was at the utmost - and this time, there would be no Lilac to defend him.
Not daring to jump it, Benjamin ran round the creature, heading towards the window. Tearing the curtains apart, he found his suspicions confirmed: the window was indeed closed. But was it locked? Perhaps - but there was no time to worry about it. He gripped the handle, released the latch and - much to his relief - found that his mother had not locked it. He offered a silent word of thanks, and pushed the window open. But it opened only about an inch and a half outward; any more than that, and it would not move.
The boy gave a small cry of frustration; she had locked it! And there was no time to find the key, because it was probably in his mother’s room, and even if he should be lucky enough to find it, the monster behind him would already be fully formed, and at its most lethal. Maddie would be alone - unless he could carry her out of here. And then they’d have to escape. But was there enough time to convince his parents of the danger they were in? Enough time to convince them that his terror, his urgency, was not down to some simple nightmare? Of course there wasn't - there wasn't enough time at all!
For one moment - just one little moment - Benjamin managed to push away his terror and think clearly. And it was enough: he realised that it was only the action of the security lock on the window frame that prevented it from being fully open; and it was a lock that did not require a key. It was just a hinged button, and it only needed to be pressed in; he found it, hammered at it - and then the window swung wide, leaving a gap that he could only pray was big enough for what he needed of it.
The warpclown, still furled, still squirming, still hissing, was now about the size of his little sister herself. The boy went over to it, grabbed hold of what he could and, keeping his nerves as steady as possible, hoisted the thing aloft. It was heavier than it looked, and he had to struggle, but the adrenaline surge of strength left him more than capable: he hauled the thing up and, holding it to his chest, he stumbled towards the open window. The unfolding monster was greasy in his grasp, like an oil-soaked heap of rags; it stank, too, of bad breath and rubber. He felt it fight against his clutches, felt the spiralling limbs whip against his head and arms. Refusing to look at it - because that would only add to his revulsion - he concentrated solely on the fact that the thing would not have to be in his grasp for long; if the window was wide enough, he could push the monster out, and then Maddie would be safe. After that, he didn’t know - and didn’t care - what happened afterwards.
He plumped the foul shape onto the sill, and pushed as hard as he could. It was not easy; it was like trying to shove a quilt into a shoebox. He punched at it, but to no avail; its hands - because now there were two - were gripped to the frame, the body puffing out against the confines of the opening, trapping it in place. Benjamin gave a yell and shoved at it with his shoulder; it budged, but only a little. He pounded at it, elbowed it, pushed, pushed, pushed ... and finally, the monster gave way.
Deliberately.
The monster slipped through, and Benjamin, carried by the momentum of his last shove, nearly slipped through with it. But nearly was not enough; the creature, falling backwards, grabbed hold of the boy’s arms, overbalancing him. Benjamin shrieked; he heard Maddie awaken with a cry. His feet left the floor, his upper body fell forwards; and before he could wonder how he might save himself, he was plummeting, along with his hellish adversary, towards the tenebrous ground below.
28
Fortunately, he did not land hard; the creature, plunging ahead, cushioned the impact. He had no time to feel relieved, however, as he needed to escape, and fast. At that very moment, he was elbow-deep in the creature’s ragged mass; a moment later, and he might be within its grasp.
He pushed himself up and sprinted away as quickly as he could, aware - at the outset - of a jarring pain in his left knee. Unlike the rest of his body, it must have been unprotected when he and the clown collided with the cold, tough slabs of the patio, but he refused to let it stop him. He scrambled onto the lawn, and kept running until a jolt of pain caused the leg to buckle, forcing him to stop. He had not gotten far; perhaps only three or four strides. Sobbing, he crumpled to the grass, clutching at his aching knee. Don’t be broken, he thought, fearing the worst. Please, don't be broken.
Behind him, the hissing had evolved into a drawn-out, guttural snarl. Reflexively, Benjamin looked back, to see the mass almost upright, supported precariously by its two spindly, malformed legs. It was shaking itself from side to side, in a kind of frenzy, the arms flailing like those of an empty jumper. Already, it was twice his size, and growing yet still; the boy had no doubt that, within seconds, it would be back to its original shape, long and spiderish and as furiously agile as when he had first encountered it. There was nothing else to do, then, but get away - and get away as soon as possible.
But then he noticed the light go on in Maddie’s room and realised that he was not the only one in danger here. If nothing else, he had to be sure that it was only he himself that the creature wanted, and not his family. So he forced himself to wait, in the desperate hope that he would know what to do when the creature’s intentions became clear.
Stay away, Maddie, he whispered, wishing he had the courage to shout it. Stay away from the window. Don’t let it see you.
He pressed into the flesh surrounding his kneecap, then released. Pressed again, and released. It still hurt. Once more, he cajoled it into being well. It was fruitless, but it was better than thinking that he was going to die.
Still keeping his gaze upon the clown, he watched as a pale, egg-like form pressed itself out from the space between the threshing arms. And suddenly, it all seemed to spring open like a trap: the arms became fuller, the body less amorphous, the legs longer and more substantial, all in one go. The pale, egg-like shape rolled upwards, revealing the two dark smudges and a bulbous extrusion that could only be the nose. Underneath, a fist of teeth could be faintly seen, surrounded by a garish splay of mouth. In the dimness of the night, everything appeared black and white, though the monster was no less grotesq
ue for it: Benjamin knew all the features of this abomination; to him, the shadow occluded nothing.
With its head fully emerged, the clown glared at him through the darkness. Benjamin could see no more of the eyes than a glint, but the rictus mouth of the thing, coupled with a drawn-out, deepening growl, was enough to tell him of the malevolence there. It had not yet reached its full height; it was doubled over, standing on all fours, and would have seemed motionless if it had not been for the visible tremor in its limbs. At first, the boy thought it might be because the thing was bunching its muscles, readying for a strike, but then he spied a certain misty phosphorescence about it, similar to that which had emerged from Strifer Dyne’s wounds. The thing was injured - and then he remembered: Lilac had shot at it, blasted it out of the sky just before they had sailed for the Amar Imaga; but she had not killed it. Left it damaged, certainly - but not dead. Still alive, she had said, in the aftermath of that terrible confrontation. Still alive, alas.
The phosphorescence seemed to be concentrated around the creature’s left side, but Benjamin couldn’t see the source itself, the injury. It was there, though, somewhere. A rupture, a rip, a tear in the ugly fabric of the thing; as long as it hurt, he didn’t care.
But it might make it angrier, he thought, recalling something he had heard once - something about dangerous animals being at their most dangerous when they are harmed. And suddenly, he did care.
What if it’s dying, and knows it doesn’t have anything to lose anymore?