Maddigan's Fantasia (15 page)

Maddie came charging across to Garland.

‘Come on,’ she said, ‘you don’t have to stay. You come with me.’

Garland took a breath. ‘I’m not going,’ she said. ‘I’m staying here. You’re doing what Yves tells you to do, but I’m staying with the deserted ones. Boomer’s helping Goneril, and I can too. I’m the true-born Maddigan. You’re only a married one.’

Maddie looked furious.

‘Well, why do you do everything Yves says?’ Garland cried quickly. ‘Anyone can tell he’s more interested in saving himself and Lilith than he is in saving the Fantasia.’

‘None of this is fair, Garland. Yves listens to me. And right now, I haven’t got time to argue,’ said Maddie. ‘Yves is a good man and I don’t care what you say – he’s keen on saving the Fantasia, too. Why wouldn’t he be? He makes his living being a Fantasia man.’

‘Old Gabrielle would never split the Fantasia in two.’ Garland was almost weeping. ‘She’d never desert Fantasia people just because they were sick.’

‘We’re not deserting them,’ said Maddie. ‘We’re just putting the sick ones at a bit of a distance so that the rest of us don’t catch the plague. And I
am
a true Maddigan too, even if I wasn’t born one. Listen! Old Gabrielle once said, “The Fantasia must move on”. So it must, and we must move with it. And we must earn our way … and we must entertain this battered old world. There’s places out there that struggle to survive and we
help
them survive by bringing a bit of wonder and laughter into their lives. They need that wonder. They need to laugh. All this fuss you’re making is because you think I don’t miss your
father. Well I do. Every moment when I stand still and look around me I miss him dreadfully. And every moment when I’m working (which is most moments) I feel him there, standing beside me, cheering me on. He was a Maddigan and he would
want
me to keep things going – so keeping those things going is my way of keeping part of him alive.’ She looked left, looked right, turned and looked behind her. ‘Garland! I just can’t stand around arguing about this. Get into the van and we’ll be off.’

‘Boomer’s staying. Timon and Eden are staying …’ Garland said, suddenly torn. ‘Tell them to come too.’

‘The little one in Goneril’s wagon is their sister,’ Maddie said. ‘They’ve got the right to stay. But you haven’t.’

So the Fantasia splintered. Timon and Eden watched wagons trail off into the distance … and then, just as they were about to turn away, Timon grabbed Eden’s arm.

‘There!’ he exclaimed. ‘Look there!’

Someone had dissolved out of the last van … or perhaps had merely leapt through its back door. It was hard to say, but someone was certainly running back towards them.

‘It’s her,’ said Eden. ‘She’s coming back to us. Why?’

‘She must think it’s the right thing to do,’ Timon said. ‘She’s running fast. We’ll be able to ask her soon.’

‘She likes you,’ said Eden, and there was a faint note of mischief in his voice.

‘That’s all right!’ said Timon. ‘She likes you too.’

‘You know what I mean. She likes you and you like her,’ said Eden nudging his brother in a way that made Timon grin in a silly shy fashion.

And ten minutes later, Garland, her red hair flaring out around her, her bow across her shoulder, a sheath of arrows at her belt, came cantering up to them, panting and triumphant.

‘Maddie will be really angry with me,’ she said. ‘She’ll be absolutely furious. And I would have gone with them – but back there a bit I had a vision. You aren’t the only ones to live strange magical lives. I had a vision of – well, that’s my secret. Anyhow I think it meant me to stay here and try to find something.’

The rain had stopped. The clouds were disappearing. However the mud remained. Eden sat at the front of Goneril’s van, idly studying the maps which Goneril had tucked under a box on a ledge just inside the door, while beyond him Goneril bent over the restless Jewel, who was whimpering and
struggling
against the blankets. And on beyond in two other bunks lay Tane and old Shell, quite still, though their hoarse breathing made it sound as if they were working hard. At the very back of the van Goneril had made a bed on the floor for Nye, and Boomer was filling Nye’s water bottle.

‘You should sit outside,’ Goneril told Eden sternly. ‘You too, Boomer!’ She straightened. ‘Oh dear,’ she said.

‘What’s wrong?’ Eden asked, looking at her with a deepening alarm. ‘Is Jewel worse?’

‘No – she’s no worse, but I don’t feel so well myself,’ Goneril said, sounding very tired. ‘Only to be expected, but … anyhow you young ones get outside. Breathe in a bit of fresh air. Get as much of it as you can.’

Eden was the last to leave the van. He climbed down the steps, one of Bannister’s maps folded in under his arm, then looked around for the others. Boomer, Timon and Garland had moved a short distance away, and were standing, staring out towards a distant rise. Something was moving on the bare flank, golden with tussock … a distant caterpillar was crawling across it.

‘There they go,’ said Timon. He nudged Garland. ‘You should have gone with them. I mean – really you should have!’

‘There was something about my vision,’ said Garland. ‘It seemed to be showing me something I should watch out for and I felt that this was the place I should start my watching from.’

‘Well,
I’ve
got something to show you,’ said Eden. His teeth were chattering a little as he spoke.

Timon looked at him in sudden alarm. ‘You!’ he said. ‘You’ve got it too.’

‘Yes,’ said Eden. ‘But I want to show you this, it’s utterly, utterly important … I think.’ His voice trailed away doubtfully.

‘Well, go on! Tell us,’ said Timon. ‘Quickly!’

Eden took the map from under his arm and began unfolding it.

‘Remember Goneril talking about something called Pokka’s theory … some cure that could be found in this part of the country?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Garland. ‘Have you found it written on that map, or something?’

Eden sighed and shivered again. He took a deep breath. The paper rattled in time with his shivering as he held the map out. ‘I was looking at this map,’ he said. ‘See? Not very far from here there’s a place called
Apothecary’s Nidus
.’ I don’t know what a
Nidus
is but – Pokka’s Theory – Apothecary! It sort of matches up, doesn’t it? Echoes! And an apothecary is a sort of doctor – right?’

‘Hold it still,’ said Timon gently. He took the map from this brother’s trembling fingers. ‘Where are we now?’

Garland peered at the map. ‘There, I suppose,’ she said, pointing. ‘There’s a crossroads there and the river runs beside the road. But what’s a Nidus?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Eden again. ‘I’ll leave it to you to work out. But I have to sit down … I have to …’

Timon took his arm. ‘Let’s get you inside again,’ he said, and he helped his brother back towards Goneril’s van leaving
Garland staring at the map. She had never seen it before – maps were always the business of the mapmaster – but she had a curious feeling of recognizing something. It was as if somewhere, somehow, someone had already shown her this particular map and pointed out to her the Apothecary’s Nidus. At the same time she knew she had never really seen it before.

Timon came back, frowning and screwing up his face.

‘Not good!’ he said. ‘Nidus. I think it means something like a nest – a place of beginning.’

‘You think you know everything,’ said Boomer.

‘Back in my own time … I mean on ahead in my own time … I read a lot of old books,’ said Timon.

‘No arguing,’ said Garland. ‘Let’s go. Because an apothecary was a sort of doctor, right? And we need a cure. I don’t mean we’re going to find one, but now there’s this name on the map and the vision I told you about. They might not mean anything. But then they might.’

‘It looks as if there must have been a fire going when they drew this map,’ Timon said. ‘Or fires. Look. That’s supposed to be smoke, isn’t it? Smoke here. Smoke there!’ He hesitated, twisting the map around. Then he pointed ahead. ‘Over there!’

‘There
is
smoke there,’ said Boomer uncertainly. There was certainly a pale haze smudging part of the land on the other side of the road.

‘That’s not smoke. It’s mist,’ Garland. ‘It dips down a bit over there so it might be boggy.’

‘It’s not boggy,’ argued Boomer. ‘There are rocks poking out everywhere.’

‘It might be boggy between the rocks,’ Garland argued back.

‘No fires in sight anyway,’ cried Timon. ‘Let’s go!’

So they leapt across the road, Timon bounding like some sort of golden-headed deer, while Boomer came stumping along at Garland’s elbow. They jogged across an open patch of
grass and weeds, and suddenly they came on an unexpectedly deep crease in the land. They dipped down into it and wound between the rocks, looking like ghosts to one another in that filmy air. And as Garland walked along she had an odd feeling. A curious warmth was coming in through the soles of her boots and creeping up her legs.

‘This path seems sort of
hot
doesn’t it?’ she complained,
lifting
her feet higher than was quite usual. ‘And doesn’t it
smell
funny?’

‘But you did say this was the way to go,’ said Boomer. He was bending over and feeling the ground. He looked up, with an expression both incredulous and frightened.

‘Hey, you’re right,’ he said. ‘This ground
is
hot.’ Then he yelled, ‘Look! Over there. It
is
smoking. That mud there! It’s – it’s boiling.’

And as he said this there was a furious hissing and a huge wild sigh. A fountain of steam burst from the ground almost at their feet, and they raced away wildly.

‘This way! This way! There’s a track here!’ Garland shouted … but a moment later, fountains of steam and hot water seemed to burst up around them again, smudging the path ahead and
making
it difficult to be sure of any direction. Boiling mud and water began to rise up between the rocks. Beating at the steam as if it were some kind of curtain she might push aside Garland was aware of Timon at her shoulder.

‘Boomer? Boomer?’ she called, jumping up onto a rock and standing, safe for the moment, above that dangerous tide.

Boomer’s voice came back to her from somewhere in the steam.

‘I’m here. Where are you?’

‘Stop! Stop!’ Garland cried even though she had stopped already. ‘Where is he? He isn’t with us. Hey, Boomer, can you hear me? Follow my voice.’

There was a silence.

‘I can’t,’ said Boomer.

‘Why not?’ Garland called again. ‘You can hear me, can’t you?’

‘I can see something you can’t see,’ he replied in a quavering voice.

At that moment a mocking breeze pushed in at them from nowhere. The steam around them bowed and curtseyed and shifted as if it were the curtain in a wild theatre. And there, the solitary actor on a savage stage, stood Boomer on an island in the middle of a small sea of boiling water and mud. The sulphurous smell in the air around them grew stronger and stronger.

‘How are we going to get you over here?’ asked Timon.

‘I was wondering that,’ Boomer replied.

Rags of steam were now blowing away and dissolving around them. The eruption such as it was seemed to be over. And now they could see that they were, each of them, marooned on rocks in a sea of simmering mud. And staring out across the mud Garland saw something else.

‘Look!’ she called, and even Boomer briefly forgot his
danger
as he stared in the direction in which she was pointing. There on a distant hillside they could see trees and among the trees the roof of house, And over there beyond the mud, just where the grasses took over again, she could make out the broken remains of a track, leading towards that distant hill.

‘Yeah, right! But how do we get onto that track?’ asked Boomer shrinking back as the mud bubbled and spat at him. Garland looked at Timon and saw that he, too, was looking unsure of himself.

‘Is it often like this?’ he asked.

‘Not often, but there are places that are famous for being sort of volcanic,’ Garland said. ‘Listen! In your time do they still play pekapeka?’

‘What?’ Timon asked, wrinkling his forehead.

‘Pekapeka!’ You can’t. It’s too dangerous!’ Boomer yelled.

‘It’s dangerous to stay where we are,’ Garland said. ‘We’ve got to try. And we’ve got to be very careful. It goes like this,’ she told Timon. Then she leapt from the safety of her rock to another rough stony surface sticking out above the mud a little to her left. She leapt again to yet another rock and then to another. It wobbled madly. Garland couldn’t help crying out in fear, flinging out her arms as she wobbled along with the rock below her. The mud steamed and seemed to lap up the rock trying to cover her shoes. But she got her balance again and leapt onwards, rock to rock, rock to rock until she reached the path. Turning, she saw Timon close behind her. Boomer hesitated.

‘I don’t want to,’ he said.

‘It’s just a game,’ Garland told him. ‘Well, imagine it is. Imagine it’s just a game.’

‘I hate imagining,’ whined Boomer. ‘You know that.’

‘But we have to check out Pokka’s Theory,’ Garland said. ‘We have to save the sick ones back there. There’s no one here to save us, so we have to save ourselves. Look! There’s a good rock quite close to you. Turn around carefully though.’

Boomer took a deep breath turned, leapt and landed … then leapt and landed again. Suddenly he seemed to be almost enjoying his game of pekapeka. He flung his arms up … flung them wide.

‘Ahhhhhhh!’ he shouted, leaping a last leap and landing safely on the track beside them.

Wild bush advanced
to meet them. They followed the track towards it, then pushed through leafy branches which bent obediently before them, then closed up after them.

‘Perhaps that house is actually up in the trees,' said Garland, guessing as she scrambled. ‘If
nidus
does mean
nest
that is. Nests are mostly in trees. Of course kingfishers nest in little tunnels in banks …'

She stopped.

‘Go on!' said Boomer, pushing impatiently at her back. ‘What is it? Let me see.' Garland moved on through the branches and Boomer followed. Then the three of them stood in a row, staring at what was in front of them … the house … the ruined house.

At last Timon slowly walked forward. ‘Well, here it is. I suppose,' he said, sounding rather uncertain. ‘At least it isn't up a tree.'

‘There are a lot of ruined houses,' said Garland, afraid to hope that they had actually found what they were looking for, but Timon half-turned towards her, pointing out a faded notice hanging down across the porch. The words were largely undecipherable but if your head already had possible words in it, you could make out the word ‘Nidus' cut into the crumbling wood.

‘Come on,' said Timon. ‘I mean we've got this far so let's go.' And they cautiously climbed the rotting front steps (shifting uneasily under their weight) and crossed the porch leaving footprints behind them. Garland pushed the front door and the whole door immediately tumbled inward.

‘We'll have to be careful,' said Boomer. ‘This whole place could fall in on us.'

‘Clever of you to notice,' said Timon. ‘Bright boy! Big brain.'

Trying to make themselves weigh as little as possible they edged, one by one, into the room beyond the door and stared around incredulously. The walls, still standing, were set with shelf upon shelf, and the shelves were crowded with bottles, jars, tins and crumbling boxes, all labelled. There was one shelf that had collapsed and underneath it lay a pile of books. Timon moved carefully to stare down at the tattered pages while Garland studied the tins and bottles and boxes.

‘These books,' called Timon wonderingly. ‘I think they had these – well, I think they had that green-covered one anyway – in the library back in Solis … the Solis of
my
time that is. It was in a glass case. No one was allowed to touch it. It was rare and precious.'

‘Someone wise must have lived here,' Boomer said, staring at the decaying books spread across the floor.

‘Yes! The apothecary,' said Garland, her eyes running along the shelves searching, searching for that blue bottle that had shone like a star in the silver girl's hand. ‘But he's gone.'

‘I don't think so!' said Timon in a peculiar voice. ‘Actually he's still here.'

There was something about the way he spoke that made Garland pause and forget her search. She turned back towards Timon trying to see what he was seeing.

It was not hard. He was staring at a cot pushed against the
wall and there lying on it, spread out, at ease with the world, was a human skeleton.

‘He won't be able to actually
tell
us,' whispered Boomer. ‘Unless … hey! What's he pointing at?'

It did seem that the finger bones were pointing from the yellow sheet on which they lay towards a little door across the room from them.

‘Let's try,' said Timon. ‘After all we've got to begin
somewhere
. What exactly are we looking for?'

‘I don't exactly know,' confessed Garland, crossing the floor gingerly.

‘Oh great!' said Timon, following her.

‘Something blue!' said Garland.

‘Oh great!' said Boomer like Timon's echo.

They pushed the little door open and crowded very carefully into the room beyond … a room lined with shelves … lined with shelves crowded with jars, small corked pottery containers and hundreds of bottles. They stood there, huddled together like eerie watchers waiting for some ghostly Fantasia performance to begin.

‘We'll start looking,' said Timon. ‘It won't take long … only about year if we work quickly.'

But Garland ignored him. Something was shining out at her like a single, unwinking eye set among those jars and bottles. There was a crack into the wall behind one bottle and a thin dagger of light was thrusting through and shining into the room through glass – bright blue glass.

‘There it is!' she cried in wonder and triumph. ‘That's the medicine we must take. I know it is.'

She almost bounded across the floor and immediately the whole room began shaking.

‘Easy! Easy!' yelled Timon as Garland snatched up the blue jar.

‘But how do you know?' asked Boomer, looking at the
dilapidated
shelves and the jars and bottles elbowing each other across them. ‘How do you know which one is the right one?'

‘I keep telling you,' said Garland. ‘I was shown it. I was shown it in a –' She broke off; she could not tell Boomer about the silver girl. ‘– in that sort of dream I had.'

‘What's it got in it?' asked Boomer, and Garland looked down at it, frowning.

‘There's a label on the jar,' she said. ‘It's hard to read, but I'll ask Goneril. She can read old writing and she'll have some idea about what to do. Come on. Come quickly! Let's pekapeka our way home! This is the cure.'

‘What will I do?' Goneril was thinking. ‘What happens if I get ill too?' Her head was spinning a little. She laid a cool cloth on the perspiring forehead of little Jewel. ‘Don't cry,' she said wearily and uselessly. ‘No more crying. I'm getting too old for crying. Too old for any of this.'

And then, suddenly, just as she was thinking about how old and weak she was … just as she was sure that she could not keep going … the door of the wagon burst open. Suddenly they were bearing down on her … looming over her … those two strange men. Those enemies who had been trailing after the Fantasia, following Timon and Eden.

‘Get out!' she screamed, but she already knew they would take no notice of her.

‘Do as we ask you, if you want to live,' said Maska in his grating voice, but Ozul held up his hand. He moved forward a few steps, leaving Maska guarding the doorway.

‘We don't want trouble,' he said, sounding kind and reasonable, holding out his hands palm upward. ‘We just want what is rightfully ours. Our – our wards. The children. Our dear children.' But in spite of his affectionate words spoken
in that reasonable voice Goneril's expression did not change. He was an enemy and she knew it. ‘We want
her
,' Ozul said, pointing at Jewel. ‘And
him
,' he added, looking down at Eden. Then he bent over Eden and lifted the silver medallion from Eden's sweating chest. ‘And
that
!' he said.

Eden stared back at Ozul. Then he closed his eyes.

The van began to tremble a little. Then it began to shake. The kitchen shelves began to rattle. It began to rock wildly, and everything it held began to tumble. Pillows fell to the floor, a narrow cupboard burst open and plates and cups … knives and forks … shot out as if they were anxious to escape from their shelves and boxes. Goneril toppled sideways into an empty bunk. Ozul dropped the silver medallion, holding out his hands sideways and trying desperately to keep his balance.

‘What's happening?' cried Goneril. ‘Oh lord! What's
happening
?'

The wagon rocked even more violently. Jewel started to scream. Goneril reached over to Jewel's bunk and pulled Jewel over beside her, struggling to wrap her in quilts, trying hard, even in that incoherent moment, to keep her safe … safe from the tumult. And particularly safe from Maska – Maska who, for some reason, seemed ominous and more than ominous … who seemed inhuman. For all that, the sudden rocking of the van took him by surprise, and both Maska and Ozul crashed, first to one side and then to another. Somewhere at the back of the van old Shell moaned and Tane woke up out of his
fever-dream
, shouting wildly. And then, slowly, as if it were giving a dignified if noisy curtsey, the whole van toppled sideways too. Maska staggered, then sprawled against the driver's seat. The van hesitated, rocked back up again, straightening though tottering, and then fell once more, but this time with a feeling of final surrender. Maska and Ozul were rolled
backwards
, breaking through the narrow door behind them.
Though badly splintered, though suffering the impact of Maska smashing through it, the door slammed shut. As Goneril – head spinning – looked up, she saw the key turn in the lock.

‘Those men,' she gasped, looking at Eden. ‘That door won't keep them out. Not now!'

‘They might hesitate,' said Eden, panting like a dog, sweat seeping from his forehead, past his eyes and running down past his nose. ‘They might wait to see what happens next. And while they're thinking for a moment the others might come racing back to rescue us.'

But Goneril looked over at Tane and old Shell, rolled out of their covers. ‘I'll … I'll be back in a minute,' she promised them. ‘I'm not leaving you. But you know what wretches babies are!' Someone kicked at the locked door. Someone began to struggle through the hole in it, ignoring the splinters around the hole. Shivering, Goneril snatched Jewel out of her cocoon of quilts and made for the door at the back of the van … the one near Shell's feet. ‘Babies! More trouble – more trouble than they're worth!' she was shouting. But, as she shouted and struggled on, a hand fell on her. She looked up into Ozul's face.

‘I mean you no harm,' Ozul said, smiling falsely while Maska stood behind her. ‘Just give me the child. She is ours, not yours.' Goneril freed a trembling hand, and lifted it to deliver a vague, wild blow, but Maska moved in on her, seizing her collar and hoisting her up. Goneril held Jewel tightly and Maska held them both, dangling like dolls, kicking, swinging from side to side, Jewel screaming and Goneril croaking. Ozul pushed forward to peer down at Eden, shivering and
exhausted
. Around Eden's neck the chain of the medallion blinked briefly at Ozul.

‘I think you are ours!' said Ozul. ‘You and that Talisman you wear. I was set to find you, and I have.'

‘Gloat later,' grunted Maska. ‘Set up the device, and report back to the Master. We will soon be at his side once more.' He dropped Goneril, and stepped over her, leaving her lying on the ground with Jewel still in her arms. ‘Don't move,' he told her, ‘or it will be the worse for the child. And stop her crying or I will stop her myself.'

From the pack on his back Ozul was extracting a series of rods and little units which he fitted together rather like a child assembling a familiar toy. Once connected, the rods began to blink and tweet with a rich blue light and the same note
sounding
rapidly over and over again. Maska, meanwhile, had taken another power book from his pocket. He touched a button and it opened, stretched, and became twice its original size. He passed it to Ozul. The familiar greenish glow welled out of it, staining his face and chest with an unwholesome light. ‘Home!' Ozul said. ‘We're coming home. We have the Talisman. And we have the little child and the younger boy … the magician.'

A voice came struggling through.

‘You don't have Timon?'

Ozul hesitated.

‘Lord, do we need him?' he asked. ‘He has no powers.'

The light changed … became more livid. The strange voice came hissing and yowling out at him.

‘I will tell you who is important. It is not for you to try telling me. Timon is the most important and it is I who say so.' There was the sound of hands clapping a slow clap. ‘Do not bother me again until you have all three,' said the voice.

Ozul kneeled for a moment as if something serious had interrupted him. Slowly he turned his head, looking up at Maska. ‘The Nennog – the noble Nennog – wants the bigger boy too,' said Ozul. ‘He says he must have the bigger boy … he must have all three.' He peered into the green glow once more as the spitting snarling voice began again. And, listening,
Ozul's expression began to change. A curious look of resignation mixed with fury began to show itself, while the snarling voice kept on and on and on …

‘I hear voices,' said Maska suddenly. ‘They are coming back. Sign off. Sign off.'

‘Majesty,' Ozul said, bowing into the greenish glow. ‘We go to get the boy. We will bring him back to you. We go.' And he closed the power book, tapped it so that it shrank back to pocket size.

Goneril watched him with a sort of limp despair as he began to disconnect his rods.

‘Hurry! They are close,' said Maska. ‘I will go and welcome them.'

‘Don't kill them,' said Ozul. ‘Well, not Timon. The Nennog wants him. But you may kill the other two with pleasure.'

They had closed the Nidus door behind them leaving the apothocary alone once more. They had come down through the bush and along the track. Once again they approached that seething stream of mud and boiling water, staring at it with apprehension.

‘Home soon!' said Garland, preparing to jump from rock to rock once more.
Be tough!
she told herself.
Maddigans are famous for their toughness.

‘Don't let that medicine steam up,' said Boomer, watching her anxiously. ‘It might not work if it gets hot. Well, it might not work anyway.'

‘I was
shown
it,' Garland said obstinately.

Once again they began their dangerous progress from rock to rock, feeling the heat beat up against them fiercely,
determined
to overwhelm them. Garland imagined she could feel it building up under the ground gathering its powers and preparing to spring up around them.