‘Yes. He hit me and then pushed me through the gate. The Chief Mancer gave me your book to help me find you, but Viper wouldn’t let me use it. And he threw it out after me so that no one else could use it,’ Crafty said, handing it over.
The girl turned the book over and over in her hands as if it was some oddity that she’d never seen before.
‘But I was thinking – the piece of paper with your notes on it isn’t here. If Ginger Bob still has that, it would be just as good as the book for finding you …’ he began, but trailed off as the girl reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the piece of paper. She held it towards him, shrugged and then stuffed it back in.
There was nothing to be said. That was their last hope gone.
They sat in silence for a while, then the girl spoke. ‘This used to be a sea marsh. Then the geographical aberration began. It was small at first, just a bubbling muddy hole – but it started to grow, and then there were the first sightings of the bog beast.’
Crafty bristled. ‘I know who you’re talking about, and she’s not a beast. Her name is Bertha – she’s my friend and she means no harm. I was trapped in the Shole, sheltering in the cellar of my house for almost a year. I was alone for weeks at a time. She kept me company. She kept me sane. I owe her a lot.’
Then he told an astonished Crompton-Smythe how Bertha had been sacrificed by her tribe, and how the Shole had brought her back to life – and also how Viper was telling people that Bertha had attacked them.
The mud was calm now, but for the ripples caused by the breeze. Even the bubbles had ceased. They both stared at it in silence.
‘I was the one who scratched his face,’ Crompton-Smythe told Crafty. ‘Believe me, he deserved it.’
‘What did he do?’
She scowled. ‘Let’s just say that our working relationship was less than cordial. We had a disagreement, and then he became so violent that I scratched his face. I only acted in self-defence. But he was stronger than me. He pushed me through the gate and told me he was leaving me in the Shole to die.’ Her voice was shaking with rage.
Crafty nodded sympathetically. ‘He wouldn’t have dared do that if he’d known who you really were. The Chief Mancer told us all about you – that you’re a boffin.’
She nodded and angrily thrust her book into the same pocket as the piece of paper. ‘It was important that the Chief Mancer was the only one who knew. That way I could get on with my work without people asking a lot of stupid questions or trying to interfere. My research is very important – I wanted to avoid any distractions. And I was interested to see what it was like to be a gate grub. Well, now I know … It’s dangerous and miserable.’
‘It is,’ Crafty agreed. ‘You’ve seen why grubs don’t live long. We don’t get any proper training and we are given no weapons to defend ourselves with. The only way we learn anything is by asking “stupid questions” when we get a chance. Having a gate mancer like Viper makes it ten times worse – did you know that we’re not the first grubs he’s tried to kill? He sliced three with the guillotine, and two others were abandoned in the Shole. I tried complaining about him to the Chief Mancer but I got nowhere. I was thrown into a stinking dungeon for my pains.’
Crompton-Smythe grimaced. ‘Mr Wainwright has a good heart,’ she said, ‘but he’s a real stickler for the rules, and won’t accept that his colleagues don’t always maintain the same high standards as he does. But if we get back to the castle, I’ll put him right about that odious Mr Vipton, you can be sure of that.’
Crafty smiled at her. ‘Thank you. Things here may not be completely hopeless, you know. They may well try to find you and the Bog Queen. That means coming here,’ he said, gesturing at the bog, which was starting to bubble again.
‘It depends on what that sly Vipton tells the Chief Mancer,’ the girl said. ‘He might say he saw both our bodies and that we’re definitely dead, killed by the so-called beast from the bog. Then they might well feel that it’s too dangerous to come here again. That boy you call Lucky is the only gate grub they have at the moment. Until someone else passes the test they might not want to risk using him.’
‘Why are there so few?’ Crafty asked, surprised by this news.
‘At one time there was a fully operational team, with over a dozen grubs. But we Fey form a very small proportion of the county population. Most families won’t allow their children to do such dangerous work, so the gate mancers are having to recruit orphans or children from families made desperate through poverty. There’s even talk that the Duke might sign a declaration making it mandatory for Fey children to serve as gate grubs. I know that doesn’t seem fair, but things are desperate. We’re talking about survival here – it’s us against the Shole.’
On that depressing note they lapsed into silence. Night was approaching and they both knew that their chances of surviving it were slim.
Then, to Crafty’s horror, there were noises coming from further up the slope within the darkness of the trees. He’d expected the first warnings of an attack to be the howls and cries of predatory aberrations.
He was wrong. This was worse. The sound was so creepy that it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and his hands start to shake.
Crafty could hear a slithering and sliding noise as, hidden by darkness, things began to emerge from the trees above them.
They jumped to their feet.
‘There’s something up there,’ Crompton-Smythe said, her voice shaking. ‘Whatever they are, there are a lot of them and they’re moving down the slope towards us.’
Yes, that was obvious, Crafty thought, and wondered whether she’d ever spent any time in the Shole, even though she’d researched it thoroughly and written a book about it. If she’d never actually experienced it, she might be even more scared than he was.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, trying to be reassuring. ‘It’s probably just the breeze.’
‘Don’t be stupid!’ she spat, back to her old charming self.
Crafty didn’t reply. He knew she’d snapped at him because she was afraid. He was afraid too.
The slithering noises were getting louder. Now there was something directly above them, and to either side. Crafty had been going to suggest making a run for it along the edge of the bog, but now it was too late. It seemed that any escape routes had already been cut off.
Crompton-Smythe slowly shifted position. In the dark of the Shole she was just a silhouette, but Crafty felt her reach into her left-hand coat pocket.
‘We might as well find out how bad things really are,’ she said. ‘Besides, those things won’t like a bright light.’
With that, she tossed something high into the air. There was a flash of intense light, which immediately dimmed to a steady glow. It was a floating orb, and it bathed the surrounding area in white light as bright as that of the Daylight World. What was it? Crafty had never seen anything like it.
Whatever it was, it showed them the threat they faced. He’d expected to see a horde of hungry aberrations advancing on them.
He was wrong.
There was only one creature – but it was truly monstrous.
At first glance, it looked as if five fat white snakes were slithering towards them down the hill. But, looking up, Crafty saw that they were all joined together. They were more like long necks protruding from the large, shapeless white mass of the body; they were what the Chief Mancer would no doubt have called ‘appendages’. But whereas necks were usually on top of a body, these were flat on the ground, and each was supported by hundreds of legs. They looked like monstrous millipedes.
At that moment Crafty wished for a giant guillotine to come scything down. He would have used it to chop off those appendages one by one.
Each of these five appendages ended in an elongated head with wide jaws and the three rows of slanted teeth that Crafty had already seen in carnivores in the Shole. The bulbous eyes were pink and without lids, like an albino’s – and clearly very sensitive to light. All fiv
e mouths were uttering cries of pain, the heads twitching away from the glowing orb that hovered above Crompton-Smythe.
‘It won’t last long,’ she said, ‘and I only have one left.’
Already the heads were no longer screaming as loudly. The light was beginning to fade.
All at once Crafty heard a sound from the bog. The girl must have heard it too, because despite the threat from above she turned towards it a moment after him.
About six feet from the edge, something was emerging from the bubbling surface. It looked like a pointed stick – but then Crafty saw that it was a short blade, and that a hand was gripping the hilt. As the blade rose higher, first a slender forearm then an elbow was revealed.
It was like something from a story he’d once read – a legend from the distant past. But instead of a shining sword glittering in the moonlight, this was a muddy dagger grasped by an even muddier arm. Then a head burst out of the bog like a demented toadstool, and the big green eyes of the aberration opened very wide.
‘What on earth is that?’ shrieked Crompton-Smythe, clearly alarmed by what she saw as another threat.
‘It’s Bertha!’ yelled an overjoyed Crafty. ‘It’s the Bog Queen!’
He eagerly ran forward, splashing through the bog towards her. He was immediately knee-deep in mud, but Bertha held the dagger firmly out to him, and he took it gratefully.
But before he could even thank her, she sank back into the bog and was lost from sight. Crafty turned and floundered his way back to solid ground.
The girl was staring at him with wild eyes, her expression halfway between a grin and a grimace. But there was no time to explain: the light from the orb was almost gone now, and those five murderous jaws were slithering towards them once again.
Crafty pointed upwards. ‘Throw up the last of those orbs, and then we’ll run that way!’ he said, pointing to their left, where just one fat slithery ‘neck’ lay between them and escape.
Crompton-Smythe reached into her pocket and tossed another of the orbs high into the air. Again there was the dazzling flash, and then the steady white glare that halted the creature in its tracks and made its five long necks shrink away again, screaming as if in agony.
Gripping the muddy dagger in his right hand, Crafty ran straight towards the writhing neck on his left. The head was averted from the white light and it didn’t see the danger until it was too late.
Crafty buried the dagger up to the hilt in its left eye. The eyeball burst like a boil, and the snake-like neck reared up into the air, almost tugging the dagger out of his grasp. Somehow he held on. The neck was twisting and convulsing – its hundreds of legs writhing as it did so.
He yanked the dagger free, then they ducked beneath the neck and ran.
They stopped at the western edge of the wood, and sat with their backs to the broad trunk of an oak tree, shoulders touching. Given her rudeness, this was nearer than Crafty really wanted to be to Miss Crompton-Smythe, but she’d chosen to sit close to him, and there were probably hundreds of aberrations out there who wanted to eat them. They had to stick together.
‘Maybe we should try to climb a tree,’ she suggested. ‘That could be relatively safe.’
‘It could be, but there might be things that can climb better than us,’ Crafty pointed out.
‘Actually you’re right. There are,’ she replied. ‘There’s a sort of squirrel with four arms, but it doesn’t eat nuts; it eats other creatures – though not straight away. It tears strips of flesh off its victims, then hangs these out on a branch to dry. It doesn’t like blood – just the meat. The good news is that there aren’t that many of them.’
Crafty wasn’t sure anything counted as ‘good news’ out here, and said so. ‘We might get unlucky and climb the wrong tree.’
‘True. Well, if we survive the night, we could try heading for the Daylight World,’ she suggested. ‘I reckon the castle is about three miles north of here – we might make it.’
Crafty nodded. He had travelled the same route with his father when he’d finally left his cellar. He’d been hooded at the time, but he thought he’d probably remember the way from before, when his village was a part of the Daylight World. Maybe they really could get out alive.
‘Have you spent much time in the Shole?’ Crafty asked the girl.
‘I’ve visited it more times than I care to remember,’ she told him, in such a matter-of-fact way that he immediately changed his opinion of her. It seemed that she wasn’t someone who’d simply carried out research from a distance, trawling through the evidence of people who’d actually risked their lives.
‘You know a lot about the Shole, don’t you? I wish I knew more,’ Crafty said wistfully.
‘Knowledge is what I do, Crafty. I’m a boffin, and my speciality is aberrations – especially new ones like the Bog Queen. Now that I’ve seen her, Bertha will be my priority. I’d like to find out as much about her as possible.’
Crafty nodded. ‘The Chief Mancer told us that you also invented the material covering the sedan chair.’
Crompton-Smythe actually smiled. ‘I know a bit about you too. Mr Wainwright gave me your details – you and Proudfoot. He said that your father is a courier who’s currently missing, and he told me about you sheltering in the cellar. I understand that your house is close to the bog. Wouldn’t we be safer in that cellar?’
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Crafty. ‘My father used elements of courier craft, a type of Fey magic, to protect us. He installed silver-alloy steps, but the three candles he brought for me burned out – their protective magic is gone. I don’t think it would be safe any longer. Something dangerous might have moved in since I left.’
They agreed to stay where they were.
Crafty was disturbed by the talk of his father. He’d been trying not to think about him; after all, he had his own survival to worry about. Now he felt tears pricking behind his eyes.
If I survive this, Father, he swore, I promise I’ll do everything I can to find you.
Dawn took a long time to arrive; it was probably at least three hours after sunrise in the Daylight World. They took turns to sleep while the other stayed on guard, but the fear of what might be out there kept them on edge, and neither got much rest. Eventually the darkness gave way to twilight, and they set off north, heading for Lancaster.
They avoided the houses. Who knew what might be sleeping inside? Instead, they stayed out in the open as much as possible, so that, even in the gloom, they could see danger approaching: some aberrations were at large even during the day and they didn’t want to meet them. Mostly they walked in silence, side by side, listening for danger. After a while Crompton-Smythe suddenly spoke, surprising Crafty.
‘I told you that I didn’t like boys much,’ she said. ‘But I’m going to make an exception in your case. You can call me by my first name. It’s Leticia.’
Thanks to Ginger Bob, Crafty already knew this, but he certainly hadn’t expected her to volunteer the information herself.
‘Leticia’s a nice name,’ he offered.
She shook her head. ‘No it’s not. It sounds too formal. It’s the sort of name the Chief Mancer would have given his daughter, had some poor woman been daft enough to marry him in the first place. In fact, I’ve changed my mind. If I had any friends, they’d call me Lick,’ she said – almost shyly, Crafty thought. ‘You can use that.’
‘Lick?’ he said, trying it out. The sound brought a smile to his face.
‘What’s so funny?’ demanded the girl, suddenly scowling again.
‘Nothing! I like it. I’ll gladly call you Lick.’
‘It’s no worse than Lucky or Crafty,’ she said, still defensive.
‘Exactly!’ he agreed. ‘They’re all good names.’
‘They certainly are.’ She seemed mollified. ‘Viper is a good name too. It fits him perfectly – far better than Vipton. That’s what I’ll call him from now on. When I get back, he won’t have a job any more. Mr Wainwright always listens to what
I say. That Viper will end up in a dungeon if I have my way.’
She was frowning again, so Crafty tried to lighten the mood.
‘Do you mind if I ask why you call yourself Lick?’ he asked. ‘It’s not really a shortening of Leticia.’
She grinned at him. ‘Given time, there’s no problem I can’t lick. There’s no opponent I can’t lick at chess. My brain moves at a pretty fast lick. Eventually I’ll find a way to lick the Shole itself. I really believe that. There’s more – want me to go on?’
Crafty shook his head and grinned back at her. She was certainly full of herself, but why not? he thought. This was certainly no ordinary girl walking beside him. Yes, he could call her Lick!
He also remembered her saying, If I had any friends … Perhaps she was lonely? He could understand that.
The pair walked on in silence, and Crafty’s thoughts turned to Viper again. There was definitely a part of him that would have liked to drag Viper into the Shole and leave him there, as Lucky had suggested. But, realistically, Crafty knew that Lick’s solution was better – and legal too; he and Lucky wouldn’t get into trouble. Her account of what had happened would surely get Viper sacked – maybe even sent to jail.
First, however, they had to reach the Daylight World.
At last they found themselves on the main road that Crafty knew led to the northern edge of the Shole, and the canal beyond.
They probably had only about a mile to go when they saw the familiar blue circle of a gate directly ahead of them.
They grinned at each other – they were indeed being rescued! They could see Ginger Bob gazing out at them through the gate. Eagerly they ran towards it, and then Crafty stepped back politely to let Lick go first. She gave a little laugh, no doubt relieved to be safe, and scrambled through.
Crafty didn’t waste any time following her. He wanted to see Ginger Bob’s face when Lick told him the truth about Viper –
It happened so fast that Crafty had no chance of helping her, no chance of stopping what happened next.