The Book of Lost Things

  One lies in truth, one’s truth is lies. David knew that one. He’d encountered it somewhere before, probably in a story. Oh, he had it! One could tell only lies, and the other could tell only the truth. So you could ask one troll which bridge to follow, but he—or she, as David wasn’t entirely sure if the trolls were male or female—might not be telling the truth. There was a solution to it as well, except that David couldn’t remember it. What was it?

  The light faded entirely at last, and a great howling arose from the forest. It sounded very close.

  “We have to cross,” said the Woodsman. “The wolves have found our trail.”

  “We can’t cross until we’ve chosen a bridge,” explained David. “I don’t think those trolls will let us pass unless we do, and if we try to force our way through and choose the wrong one—”

  “Then we won’t have to worry about the wolves,” the Woodsman said, finishing the sentence for him.

  “There’s a solution,” said David. “I know there is. I just have to remember how it goes.”

  They heard a thrashing in the woods. The wolves were drawing ever nearer.

  “One question,” muttered David.

  The Woodsman hefted his ax in his right hand and with his left drew his knife. He was facing the line of trees, ready to take on whatever emerged from the woods.

  “Got it!” said David. “I think,” he added, softly.

  He approached the troll on the left. It was slightly taller than the other, and smelled slightly better, which wasn’t saying much.

  David took a deep breath. “If I asked the other troll to point to the right bridge, which bridge would it choose?” he asked.

  There was silence. The troll knit its brow, causing some of the sores upon its face to ooze unpleasantly. David didn’t know how recently the bridge had been constructed, or how many other travelers had passed this way, but he got the feeling the troll had never been asked that question before. Finally, the troll seemed to give up trying to understand David’s logic and pointed to its left.

  “It’s the one on the right,” said David to the Woodsman.

  “How can you be sure?” he asked.

  “Because if the troll I asked is the liar, then the other troll is the truth teller. The truth teller would point to the correct bridge, but the liar would lie about it, so if the truthful one would have pointed to the bridge on the right, then the liar would lie about it and tell me that it was the one on the left.

  “But if the troll I asked has to tell the truth, then the other is the liar, and he would point to the wrong bridge. Either way, the one on the left is the false bridge.”

  Despite the approach of the wolves, the presence of the bewildered trolls, and the shrieking of the harpies, David couldn’t help but grin with pleasure. He’d remembered the riddle and recalled the solution. It was like the Woodsman had said: someone was trying to create a story and David was a part of it, but the story was itself made up of other stories. David had read about trolls and harpies, and lots of old stories had woodsmen in them. Even talking animals, like the wolves, cropped up in them.

  “Come on,” said David to the Woodsman. He approached the bridge on the right, and the troll standing before it stepped to one side to allow David to pass. David put a foot on the first of the boards and held on tight to the ropes. Now that his life depended on his choice, he felt a little less certain of himself, and the sight of the harpies gliding just beneath his feet made him even more anxious. Still, he had chosen, and there was no going back. He took a second step, then another, always keeping a grip on the rope supports and trying not to look down. He was making good progress when he realized that the Woodsman was not following. David stopped on the bridge and looked back.

  The forest was alive with wolf eyes. David could see them shining in the torchlight. Now they were moving, emerging from the shadows, advancing slowly on the Woodsman, the more primitive ones leading, the others, the Loups, staying back, waiting for their lesser brothers and sisters to overpower the armed man before they approached. The trolls had vanished, clearly realizing that there was little point in discussing riddles with wild animals.

  “No!” cried David. “Come on! You can make it.”

  But the Woodsman did not move. Instead, he called out to David. “Go now, and go quickly. I will hold them off for as long as I can. When you get to the other side, cut the ropes. Do you hear me? Cut the ropes!”

  David shook his head. “No,” he repeated. He was crying. “You have to come with me. I need you to come with me.”

  And then, almost as one, the wolves pounced.

  “Run!” shouted the Woodsman, as his ax swung and his knife flashed. David saw a fine spray of blood fountain into the air as the first wolf died, and then they were all around the Woodsman, snapping and biting, some trying to find a way past him to pursue the boy. With one last look over his shoulder, David ran. He was still not quite halfway across the bridge, and it swung sickeningly with each movement that he made. The pounding of his feet echoed through the gorge. Soon, it was joined by the sound of paws on wood. David looked to his left and saw that three of his pursuers had taken the other bridge in the hope of cutting him off on the far side, for they could not find a way around the Woodsman, who was guarding the first bridge. The creatures were gaining ground quickly. One of them, a Loup bringing up the rear, wore the remains of a white dress, and droplets of gold dangled from its ears. Saliva dripped from its jaws as it ran, and it licked at it with its tongue.

  “Run,” it said, in a voice that was almost girlish, “for all the good that it will do you.” It snapped at the air. “You’ll taste just as good on the other side.”

  David’s arms ached from holding on to the ropes, and the swaying of the bridge made him feel dizzy. The wolves were already almost level with him. He would never make it to the other side before they did.

  And then some of the slats on the false bridge collapsed, and the lead wolf plunged through the hole. David heard the whistling of a harpoon, and the wolf was speared through its belly and yanked toward the trolls in the canyon wall.

  The other wolf stopped in its tracks so suddenly that the female Loup almost knocked it over from behind. A great hole, six or seven feet wide at least, now gaped where their brother had fallen. More harpoons shot through the air, for the trolls were no longer prepared to wait for their prey to fall. The wolves had set foot on the wrong bridge and in doing so had doomed themselves. Another barbed blade found its mark, and the second wolf was pulled through the gaps in the ropes, writhing in torment upon the steel as it died. Now only the Loup remained. It tensed its body and leaped across the gap in the bridge, landing safely on the other side. It slid for a moment, then recovered itself before it rose on its hind legs and, now out of range of the trolls’ weapons, howled in triumph, even as a shadow descended upon it.

  The harpy was larger than any of the others that David had seen, taller and stronger and more ancient than the rest. It hit the Loup with enough force to send it toppling over the support ropes, and only the firm grasp of the harpy’s claws, which had buried themselves deep in the Loup’s flesh as they struck, prevented it from tumbling to its death. The Loup’s paws flailed and its jaws snapped at empty space as it tried to bite the harpy, but the fight was already lost. As David watched in horror, a second harpy joined the first, sinking its claws into the Loup’s neck. The two monstrous females pulled in opposite directions, their wings beating rapidly, and the Loup was torn in two.

  The Woodsman was still trying to hold back the pack, but he was fighting a losing battle. David saw him slash and cut again and again at what seemed like a moving wall of fur and fangs, until finally he fell, and the wolves descended upon him.

  “No!” cried David, and although he was overcome by rage and sadness, he somehow found it in himself to begin running again, even as he saw two Loups leap over the Woodsman’s body to lead a pair of wolves onto the bridge. He could hear their paws rattling the struts, and the weight
of their bodies made the bridge sway. David reached the far side of the chasm, drew his sword, and faced the approaching animals. They were now more than halfway across, and closing fast. The four support ropes of the bridge were fixed to a pair of thick poles set deep into the stone beneath David’s feet. David took his sword and swung at the first of the ropes, cutting about halfway through. He struck again, and the rope shot away, causing the bridge to topple suddenly to the right and sending the two wolves into the canyon. David heard the harpies cry with delight, and the beating of their wings grew louder.

  There were still two Loups on the bridge, and they had somehow managed to hook their limber paws around the remaining support rope. Now, standing on their two hind legs, and keeping to the ropes on the left, they were continuing to close on David. He brought his sword down on the second rope and heard the Loups bay in alarm. The bridge shook, and strands unraveled beneath his blade. He laid the sword edge on the rope, looked to the Loups, then raised his arms and slashed with all the force that he could muster. The rope broke, and now there was nothing for the Loups to hold on to and only the wooden slats of the bridge beneath their feet. With loud yelps, they fell.

  David stared over at the far side of the chasm. The Woodsman was gone. There was a trail of blood on the ground where he had been dragged into the forest by the wolves. Now only their leader, the dandy Leroi, remained. He stood upright in his red trousers and his white shirt, staring at David with undisguised hatred. He raised his head and howled for the lost members of his pack, but he did not leave. Instead, he continued to watch David until the boy at last left the bridge and disappeared over a small rise, crying softly for the Woodsman who had saved his life.

  XIII

  Of Dwarfs and Their Sometimes

  Irascible Nature

  DAVID WAS ON a raised white road, paved with gravel and stones. It was not straight but wound according to the obstacles it encountered: a small stream here, a rocky outcrop there. A ditch ran along each side, and from there an area of weed and grass led to the tree line. The trees were smaller and more scattered than in the forest he had recently left, and he could see the outlines of small, rocky hills rising beyond them. He was suddenly very tired. Now that the chase was over, all of his energy was gone. He wanted very badly just to fall asleep, but he was afraid to do so out in the open, or to remain too close to the chasm. He needed to find shelter. The wolves would not forgive him for what had happened at the bridges. They would find another way to cross, and then they would seek out his trail once again. Instinctively, he raised his eyes to the sky, but he could see no birds following his path from above, no traitorous ravens waiting to reveal his presence to the hunters at his back.

  To give himself some energy, he ate a little bread from his bag and drank deeply from his water. It made him feel better for a moment, but the sight of the bag and the carefully packed food reminded him of the Woodsman. His eyes grew teary again, but he refused to allow himself the luxury of crying. He got to his feet, put his pack on his shoulder, and almost fell over a dwarf who had just climbed up on the road from the low ditch on the left.

  “Mind where you’re going,” said the dwarf. He was about three feet tall and wore a blue tunic, black trousers, and black boots that came up to his knees. There was a long blue hat on his head, at the end of which was a little bell that no longer made any sound. His face and hands were grubby with dirt, and he carried a pickax over one shoulder. His nose was quite red, and he had a short white beard. The beard appeared to have pieces of food trapped in it.

  “Sorry,” said David.

  “So you should be.”

  “I didn’t see you.”

  “Oh, and what’s that supposed to mean?” said the dwarf. He waved his pick threateningly. “Are you sizeist? Are you saying I’m small?”

  “Well, you are small,” said David. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he added hurriedly. “I’m small too, compared to some people.”

  But the dwarf was no longer listening and had commenced shouting at a column of squat figures heading for the road.

  “Oy, comrades!” said the dwarf. “Bloke over here says I’m small.”

  “Bloody cheek!” said a voice.

  “Hold him till we get there, comrade,” said another, who then appeared to reconsider. “Hang on, how big is he?”

  The dwarf examined David. “Not very big,” he said. “Dwarf and a half. Dwarf and two-thirds at most.”

  “Right, we’ll ’ave him” came the reply.

  Suddenly, it seemed as if David was surrounded by short, unhappy men muttering about “rights” and “liberties” and having enough of “this sort of thing.” They were all filthy, and they all wore hats with broken bells. One of them kicked David in the shin.

  “Ow!” said David. “That hurt.”

  “Now you know how our feelings, er, feel,” said the first dwarf.

  A small, grubby hand tugged at David’s pack. Another tried to steal his sword. A third appeared to be poking him in his soft places just for the fun of it.

  “That’s enough!” shouted David. “Stop it!”

  He swung his pack wildly and was rather pleased to feel it connect with a pair of dwarfs, who immediately fell into the ditch and rolled around theatrically for some time.

  “What did you do that for?” asked the first dwarf. He looked quite shocked.

  “You were kicking me.”

  “Was not.”

  “Were so too. And someone tried to steal my bag.”

  “Did not.”

  “Oh, this is just ridiculous,” said David. “You did and you know it.”

  The dwarf lowered his head and kicked idly at the road, sending a little puff of white dust into the air. “Oh, all right then,” it said. “Maybe I did. Sorry.”

  “That’s all right,” said David.

  He reached down and helped the dwarfs raise their two fellows from the ditch. Nobody was badly hurt. In fact, now that it was all over, the dwarfs seemed rather to have enjoyed the whole encounter.

  “Reminder of the Great Struggle, that was,” said one. “Right, comrade?”

  “Absolutely, comrade,” replied another. “The workers must resist oppression at every turn.”

  “Um, but I wasn’t really oppressing you,” David said.

  “But you could have, if you’d wanted to,” said the first dwarf. “Right?”

  He looked up at David quite pathetically. David could tell that he really, really would have liked someone to try unsuccessfully to oppress him.

  “Well, if you say so,” said David, just to make the dwarf happy.

  “Hurrah!” shouted the dwarf. “We have resisted the threat of oppression. The workers will not be shackled!”

  “Hurrah!” shouted the other dwarfs in unison. “We have nothing to lose but our chains.”

  “But you don’t have any chains,” said David.

  “They’re metaphorical chains,” explained the first dwarf. He nodded once, as if he had just said something very profound.

  “Riiight,” said David. He wasn’t certain what a metaphorical chain was, exactly. In fact, David wasn’t entirely sure what the dwarfs were talking about at all. Still, there were seven of them altogether, which seemed about right.

  “Do you have names?” asked David.

  “Names?” said the first dwarf. “Names? Course we have names. I”—he gave a little, self-important cough—“am Comrade Brother Number One. These are Comrade Brothers Numbers Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, and Eight.”

  “What happened to Seven?” asked David.

  There was an embarrassed silence.

  “We don’t talk about Former Comrade Brother Number Seven,” said Comrade Brother Number One, eventually. “He has been officially excised from the Party’s records.”

  “He went to work for his mum,” explained Comrade Brother Number Three, helpfully.

  “A capitalist!” spit Brother Number One.

  “A baker,” Brother Number
Three corrected him.

  He stood on his tiptoes and whispered to David. “We’re not allowed to talk to him now. We can’t even eat his mum’s buns, not even the day-old ones that she sells for half price.”

  “I heard that,” said Brother Number One. “We can make our own buns,” he added huffily. “Don’t need buns made by a class traitor.”

  “No we can’t,” said Brother Number Three. “They’re always hard, and then she complains.”

  Instantly, the dwarfs’ relative good humor disappeared. They picked up their tools and prepared to leave.

  “Got to be on our way,” said Brother Number One. “Pleasure to have met you, comrade. Er, you are a comrade, aren’t you?”

  “I suppose so,” said David. He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to risk getting into another fight with the dwarfs. “Can I still eat buns if I’m a comrade?”

  “As long as they’re not baked by Former Comrade Brother Number Seven—”

  “Or his mum,” added Brother Number Three sarcastically.

  “—you can eat anything you like,” concluded Brother Number One, as he raised a finger of warning to Brother Number Three.

  The dwarfs started marching back down the ditch on the other side of the road, following a rough trail that led into the trees.

  “Excuse me,” said David. “I don’t suppose I could stay with you for the night, could I? I’m lost, and very tired.”

  Comrade Brother Number One paused.

  “She won’t like it,” said Brother Number Four.

  “Then again,” said Brother Number Two, “she’s always complaining that she has nobody to talk to. Might put her in a good mood to see a new face.”

  “A good mood,” said Brother Number One wistfully, as though it was a wonderful flavor of ice cream that he’d tasted a long, long time ago. “Right you are, comrade,” he said to David. “Come with us. We’ll see you straight.”