Fallen (6 page)

My feet touched the ground, and I realized
these things had not come up, but the water had gone down around
us. Tom planted his feet just before I did and walked toward me,
sloshing through chest-high water. As the water level slipped down
further, it revealed an entirely different set of clothes on the
boy. He appeared in finery greater than any I had seen in London.
His hand shot up from the water carrying another fancy silk hat,
only this one was spotless and of the finest quality.

Tom reached onto the surface of the falling
water and peeled a portion of it up in the shape of an oval pane
before me. The water cast a perfect reflection showing me a mirror
image of myself in similar attire to what Tom was wearing. I looked
down as the water revealed my person. Indeed, fine garments had
replaced the filthy clothes I had been wearing before. What’s more,
the clothes were as dry as a bone left in the sun. The water soon
leeched away completely from everything around us as though it had
never been there at all.

We were standing in the midst of a lush
garden shadowed by tall multicolored trees, dense green shrubbery
and a large fountain gushing rainbow colored water from a statue of
a Pan flutist. The clock tower leaned at an odd angle, as though it
had been poured from some weird mold rather than built straight up
brick by brick. The entire landscape seemed queer to me though at
the same time immensely beautiful—certainly better than the scenery
we had left back in London on Fleet Street.

Tom started to walk down a cobblestone path
through the trees. I stopped him with further questions.

“I still don’t understand all of this,” I
said. “How were we able to escape the hanging like that?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Brody, do
you have to
understand
everything? Can’t you just accept
things as they are?”

His answer threw me off for a moment. Of
course, I had been thrilled not to actually be hanged, but that
feeling simply couldn’t answer my growing curiosity.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Tom. I am
very happy to be alive. But I can’t help wanting answers. After
all, this is so unbelievable!”

Tom smiled at me, placing his hand on my
shoulder. “I can’t give away secrets so easily, Brody. After all,
you aren’t one of us. Sinister will tell you what you need to know.
Maybe he’ll even take you in rather than killing you.”

A lump gathered in my throat. “He might kill
me?”

Tom dismissed my anxiety. “Ah, I wouldn’t
worry about that…I saved you from the rope didn’t I? That means you
owe me a life. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you before you got
the chance to repay my generosity.”

He started down the cobbled path again
waving me to follow. I looked around me at the surreal scene: the
awkward buildings, strange animals and the radiant foliage. I had
no idea how I’d been brought here and certainly knew no way out
except for Tom’s guidance. I didn’t know what might lie ahead, but
one thing was certain. The nameless angel’s prophesy had been right
so far. I hadn’t died like I had expected. So, I set one foot in
front of the other and started after Tom.

We came upon a gate set in a stone wall that
stood nearly ten feet high. Tom had to direct my attention as my
eyes wandered over everything I could take in. If I had been asked
to envision paradise, this may have come close. Still, a feeling
nagged at my mind that all was not right. I couldn’t place my
finger on it, though simply the fact I was walking in another
dimension should have been enough to console me.

The gate stood taller than either of us,
made of intricately crafted wrought iron with an Egyptian scarab
placed at the top. I puzzled over the design as Tom stepped toward
the latch. The gate somehow sensed us there and opened itself away
from us. I looked at Tom for reassurance, even though it certainly
wasn’t surprising to me. Oddities had become the norm since meeting
this boy.

I followed Tom through the gate which shut
behind us. On the other side, the tall stone wall stretched in
either direction all the way to the horizon. I hadn’t remembered it
appearing so from the other side, but dismissed it. The region
beyond the wall resembled a barren wasteland.

Dry packed earth stretched out before us,
dusted by minute pebbles. I turned in order to get a last look at
the lush garden where we had come from, but the gate had
disappeared, leaving only the solid wall.

“What happened to the gate and the garden?”
I asked. “Must we go this way? It’s so desolate.”

“Perhaps we’ll visit the garden another
time…it’s mine you know. I designed it—a little getaway from the
city when I feel like it. I always enter Faerie by my own
door.”

“So it’s a door and not actually
Faerie?”

He smiled. “Faerie can be many
things—anything really. But don’t be deceived, Brody. It is always
dangerous for those who don’t belong here.”

A distant rumble of thunder resounded. A
dark thundercloud was approaching from the horizon. I felt the lump
returning to my throat.

Tom stretched his right hand toward the
storm cell in the distance. “What you’ve seen isn’t really Faerie
at all. It’s a dark and glorious place.”

“Are there many of your kind there?” I
asked.

“Fae, Brody—we are the Fae and there are
many of us, though not as many as should be. Perhaps we shall take
in a Faerie ball sometime. But for now, I’m taking you through
several doors. Sinister is waiting, after all, and we mustn’t keep
him impatient.” He waved his hand toward the horizon.

The storm cloud in the distance surrendered
to Tom’s will and zoomed across the sky toward us. I noticed also
that the ground rolled beneath my feet despite the fact that we
were standing perfectly still. The entire scene raced past as the
storm clouds rolled in above us and a mist flowed in over our
feet.

Trees dashed toward us, as well, before Tom
lowered his hand again, satisfied. As the scene slowed and stopped,
we found ourselves standing inside an old forest. The trees groaned
and swayed slightly as if restless. There was no wind
whatsoever.

Tom began walking among them. I followed.
White vapor boiled around my feet. A thick muscular arm knocked me
to the ground. Tom went on the defensive as a gray streak shot
toward him. Tom called to the forest for help. A thick bough swung
down from a nearby tree and scooped up what appeared to be a man
covered in gray mud. He howled out his indignation, but I couldn’t
understand a word of his garbled language.

My heart pounded in my chest as Tom reached
out his hand to help me up.

“What in the world was that?” I shouted.

“Oh, just one of the mud people.”

“They’re made out of mud?”

I dusted off my clothing.

Tom started to laugh as he looked up at the
struggling mud person. “Actually, in a way they are. Don’t worry.
It’s just a stray. The more we get, the easier it becomes to lose
track of some.”

I stared inquisitively at the mud person in
the tree branches. “They come from somewhere else?”

Tom grinned as though he’d just given away
something. “I told you, we mustn’t keep Mr. Sinister waiting,
Brody.” He lifted his hand and the mist came up around us like a
cloak. In a moment, I saw nothing but the mist. When it dissipated,
we were no longer in the forest.

Lord Charles Winston pursued his quarry with
a discerning eye. At age sixty-seven he had a great deal of
experience in this regard and tapped his chin thoughtfully before
acting.

“There you are,” he muttered, fingers
recoiling.

Descending upon his prey he said, “I’ll have
you.”

Lord Winston plucked the leather bound case
from his custom made pipe rack. With care he undid the latch and
opened it, revealing a pipe rare of beauty and costly to
afford.

“Ah, the meerschaum lion,” he cooed as he
retrieved the exquisitely carved pipe from its case. “You are
perhaps my favorite of all.”

The white mineral held the regal form of a
lion’s head with the mane sweeping back along the stem. Lord
Winston had had it specially made in order to compliment his
collection with a piece bearing the lion from his family’s crest.
The stem had been fashioned from ivory to compliment the white lion
and had been kept long after the style of churchwardens.

Examining the contents of his dozen or so
tobacco jars, Lord Winston settled upon a recent Turkish blend that
carried a hint of mint. He opened the clear glass jar and took a
pinch between his thumb and forefinger before replacing the
lid.

“Charles! Where are you?”

Lord Winston jumped at the sudden intrusion,
scattering tobacco across the front of his new smoking jacket.

“Confound that woman,” he muttered. “Always
when I’m enjoying my leisure time! Always.”

“Charles?” she called again from the floor
above where she had her private bedchamber.

“I’m in my smoking room, of course!” he
shouted back, though he was certain she wouldn’t hear. Lady Winston
had not been able to hear well for quite some time.

“What is it, Amanda?” he shouted again.

A maid appeared in the archway leading into
the den.

“Alice, go and see what she wants,” he
said.

“Yes, sir,” the younger woman said. “I’ll
see to her needs directly.”

Lord Winston brushed the tobacco from the
red velvet jacket, no longer paying any attention to either Alice
or his wife’s calls. He went back to the jar of Turkish mint,
removing another pinch and placing it quickly into the top of the
white lion’s head. He picked up a stopper from his pipe rack and
tamped the tobacco down.

There was no moon visible tonight. Lord
Winston had kept a fire going all afternoon against the damp. Half
a dozen gas lamps burned upon wall sconces. He picked up his
matches and sat in his favorite chair before the fire. Striking a
match to his pipe, he puffed several times drawing the flame into
the tobacco. He sank into his leather high-back, relaxing as
flavored smoke coiled about him like a python.

The sound of a serving tray spilling onto
the floor above his smoking room startled him. He heard footfalls
as though two people were wresting against one another.

“Will you two please be quiet!” Lord Winston
shouted to the ceiling.

The tussling stopped abruptly, satisfying
him.

“It’s getting so that a man can’t even enjoy
a good smoke anymore,” he muttered. Then he drew upon his pipe and
closed his eyes, attempting to relax again.

Lord Winston was not sure how long he had
dozed. Only a few minutes seemed to have passed as he enjoyed his
pipe and the warmth of the hearth. However, when he opened his eyes
he found both Amanda and Alice facing him from across the room. He
blinked only once as he straightened in his chair, but now they
were a mere few feet from him.

“What the devil?” he exclaimed, wondering if
his eyes might be playing tricks on him.

The two of them held warped vacant
expressions—unfeeling looks through darkened eyes. Lord Winston
attempted to stand, but he was held in place in his chair. He
looked down to find burlap mittens gripping him tightly. Upon
closer inspection, he realized that the leather upholstery had
actually transformed completely into burlap.

The chair came alive beneath him, standing
and hoisting him into the air with it. His feet dangled above the
carpet as the arms of the chair wrapped around his torso. He
attempted to scream, crying out for help from his wife and the
maid. But they only grinned at his predicament, and he saw in their
eyes that they were something other than human.

The mid-seam opened behind him and the
burlap monster’s arms pushed him inside. He heard the rattle of
chains and felt their tightening grip around his body. The aroma of
mint flavored tobacco smoke wafted around him as the seam closed
itself over him again.

The retreating fog revealed a sunlit alley,
dingy buildings and stained garments drying on wash-lines high
above. I stared, trying to get my bearings in the new environment.
I searched quickly for any of the amazing sights I had just seen.
The smell of urine and sweat helped me realize where I was.

“Have we come back to London?”

Tom gave me a funny look. “Of course. You
can’t live in a dream all the time, Brody.”

Tom’s clothing had returned to its former
disheveled state. I frowned when I realized my own accouterments
had faired no better. “Why did our clothing go back to the way it
was?”

“This is a different world,” he said. “It
doesn’t take much effort to make things any way you want in Faerie.
But in this physical world, it’s more difficult. I mean I could
whip us up some nice duds for sure, but you’d stick out like a sore
thumb…easier for the police to spot you. You wouldn’t want that
would you?”

I felt disappointed. “Of course not.”

“Good.”

A bird called from high above. I looked up
and saw a large raven diving through the lines of clothing swaying
in the light breeze. As it swooped down upon us, Tom raised his arm
as though he might shield himself from the creature. The bird
opened its wings to catch the wind then lit upon Tom’s arm.

The bird sat there, staring past Tom at me.
I felt uncomfortable under its gaze and wondered if it might
suddenly leap from his arm to peck my eyes out.

“Why is it staring at me?”

“What’s wrong, you ninny?” Tom chided.
“Afraid of a bird?”

I shook my head, though there was no
conviction to it.

The bird opened its beak and spoke. “You’re
late, you’re late.”

Tom found nothing unusual in this and
responded, “Of course, I’m late! You’d be late too if you’d been
pinched. The beak almost stretched our necks—not that you’d
care.”