Authors: K. Jewell
'It would seem that the fates are on our side, although the last thing we would ever want to do is be indebted to them. They have a way of changing their allegiance so when we least expect it.' Elli felt Rufus place his heavy hand on her shoulder and guide her towards the stairs; from the corner of her eye she saw Alpha Sawyre squeezing her St Christophe tightly between her long fingers.
'She knows,' Elli whispered as they climbed the stairs, and he nodded mutely, his hand t
ightly clenching the old oak ba
nister that creaked beneath his grip. 'What's wrong?' she asked, watching a look of pain dart across his features and settle on his brow.
'They went for a weakness,' he said finally, shifting his weight to his other leg. 'Our weakness. People we care about.' His voice was stiff and afraid. 'I'm just thinking, who else here do we care about that we haven't protected?'' Her eyes opened wide and she saw his shoulders sag, his grip tight and unrelenting. She nodded and smiled sadly, patting him on the arm.
'We've been told to go to the basement Rufus,' she said gently. 'Get your things and come with me.'
Elli knocked on the door of the room before pulling the hatch across, the heavy sketchbook balanced tightly under her arm. At the same time Rufus pulled the taller hatch across, and
they
both peered through to see George lying on the made bed engrossed in a book. Without looking up he waved and continued reading, and stayed that way even when the heavy door was pushed open and two sets of feet appeared inside. Rufus cleared his throat and George finally looked up, an open smile softening his features and strands of hair falling into his eyes.
'Just catching up on my reading,' he said, seeing the large bags at their feet and the serious expressions on their faces. His gaze moved down to the large black sketchbook and his smile faltered, abject panic replacing it. 'How did you...' he asked, swallowing loudly. 'That's mine, it's private,' he muttered, as a cherry blush caressed his neck and moved up towards his ears.
'It's alright George,' said Elli, her voice soothing and calm and she walked towards him and sat on the edge of his bed. 'Just talk to me. You see I found this sketch, which incidentally is very good, and I want you to tell me about it, that's all.' She opened the book to the picture of the girl which she recognised as her. George looked up at Rufus but saw that he'd get no help there, his tall strong body as immobile as rock.
'It's you,' spluttered George, 'from memory. I like drawing, I've done some others there,' he said, pointing towards the old desk at t
he back of the room. 'Oh look,
you can't fake this,' he said gesturing towards his reddening neck with a look of resignation.
'I know,' she whispered, glancing at Rufus who walked over and slumped down next to him.
'How... cosy,' said George, looking across at Rufus. 'Not quite the way I'd pictured it but still. It is real you know,' he said, flicking through the sketchbook. 'All of it. And you can leave me in here if you want but I'd rather help you. I've got nothing to go back for anyhow.' Elli and Rufus exchanged glances while Rufus pulled some liquorice bark out of his pocket and offered it around before gnawing on it thoughtfully.
'Do you think Lord Lansdown still trusts you?' he asked gruffly, his face contorting as he chewed.
'I suppose so,' said George, slithers of soft bark jutting between his lips. 'Why?'
Max heard the clanking and jarring of metal and greasy footsteps before he could see them, a rhythmic drumbeat that echoed around hills and great trees, through cobbled roads and winding streams. A pulse, a vibrating hum, a warning. Max looked up at the sky, the heavy grey clouds threatening to belch cold rain down from the heavens. He stood at the top of the high wall and looked down at his army, his friends and his family.
Alpha
Sawyre
stood at his side despite repeated pleading, cajoling and half-hearted ordering, and her resolution was firm and true. He held her hand and squeezed it tightly, the sound of cheering and well-organised diversionary entertainment carrying on the wind far behind them. In the distance he made out movement, creatures that seeped over the valley beyond and moved inevitably toward
s them, churning everything in
their path into unctuous black mud. He placed his hand on his chest and felt for his St Christophe, squeezing it softly between his fingers.
They came as the first heavy raindrops spattered to the ground, pulling themselves out of shadows and over tall walls. Legs dangled and backs arched, and teeth were bared as all moved together as one, a single body with blistered hands and murderous intent. They moved through the street, bolder now with clubs and spears jutting outwards. A single old cat watched them glide towards the house and hissed at them, her fur on end. A muddy twisted face hissed back at her from the belly of the monster, its sharp knife glinting as he raised it. The cat hissed again and ran, disappearing over high walls and ledges. Every head turned slowly around, eyes darting and all listening in the moving mass of limbs.
'Hello,' said a jovial, friendly and very loud voice. 'Lovely to see you all. I was just wondering when you'd all arrive. I get so terribly bored I'm afraid.' The voice carried through the street, and widened eyes darted back and forth searching for a glimpse of the disembodied noise. Swords were held high and all movement stopped apart from creaking necks and furtive glances. 'Deary me, thugs are so much more nervous nowadays than they used to be. I remember when a gang, well I say gang, perhaps a troupe really, came my way in the Summer of, now what year was it...?' The cheerful voice went on as rusty swords and dented clubs were tentatively jabbed into the empty air.
The passageway was dark and malodorous with fizzing lights that lit up the small figure moving through them. Finally a small boat lay in the dark green water, and he brushed aside grasping spider webs and foraging roots to reach it, jumping in after removing a particularly truculent hairy spider from his shoulder. The boat swept through
the narrow canal slowly at first, speeding up quickly as tired hands grasped and pulled at the oars moving through the unforgiving water. On and on it went, dipping beneath bulging foundations and alongside festering sewers, in places where shadows replaced light and deep black darkness replaced shadows. The figure moved and muttered, carried along through the bowels of the earth until he finally slept.
An ogre held the flag at the front of the Lord Lansdown's army, her long dreadlocks flowing behind her like billowing seaweed. Her small tusks were sharp and gleaming and her meaty arms held the pole tightly in her fists. Behind her sat Lord Lansdown, thinner now, his skin drawn tight over his bones like a new drum. His eyes were watchful and cautious, any traces of uncertainty that may have lingered in them once dead forever. His head was erect and proud, his chin raised and his tunic starched so severely that his neck loitered inside it. He sat astride a magnificent black stallion, its fur like silken tar and the same disdainful look upon its face as its master. Captain Briggs rode next to him swinging the heavy sock gently back and forth in his hand.
Lady Lansdown and Gerald rode behind them, the
ir white mares standing closer
together and the clip clop of the hooves disguising their words. She held onto the reins tightly, her skin like wet paper around the soft leather. Gerald rode on gaily, occasionally nuzzling into the bristly mane and drifting off to sleep still clutching the taut neck of his horse. A considerate observer might have noticed that she looked across at him at those times, or even that her frequent chastisements always ended with a furtive smile or a subtle wink. She looked behind her as the army trudged on behind them with teeth bared and eyes fixed on the prize ahead.
The figure awoke when the boat began to whine and creak towards the end of its journey as it bobbed towards a small ramp. Faint light seeped into the tunnel from ahead, and the smell of fresh decay and compacted earth perforated the air. Stepping out tentatively the figure moored the boat, stretching out creaking limbs before hurling a heavy carpet bag over his back. Two tunnels lay ahead, the first numbered
4
from a curling mildewed sign, the other labelled
33
. He paused and reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and reading it before screwing it back up. With a slight grimace he pressed on towards the tunnel number
33
, eyes narrowed and tread heavy.
Alpha Sawyre looked across at the rows of gendarme uniforms and smiled in spite of herself, knowing that this was the closest that many of them would ever get to being on the right side of the law. She'd heard a liberally-haired gorgadon explaining to an elderly dog-head female that this was simply a training exercise and nothing to worry about earlier, offering her a beautiful stone necklace as she went on her way. The stones were good, she had to admit, although nothing could match the lustre and effervescent
beauty of the one that Elli was wearing right now. She'd chosen to remain in her simple robes with her St Christophe around her neck, and as the fat raindrops spattered over their heads she looked up at the heavens and prayed that Elli was far away from danger.
She
raised
up her eyeglass and made out the army in the distance, shuddering when she saw the large cage being slowly pulled along by horses and ogres, the strain on their tortured movements obvious from her high vantage point. Max stood to h
er side, his Commanding Officer
uniform starched to within an inch of its life. His black labrador head was listening, watching, waiting. Beneath him a hundred pairs of eyes looked up at him, ready for his word.
They'd closed the last barrier now, and huge heavy metal gates separated them from the rest of Brayston, a thick inside-wall keeping the
inner sanctum safe for now. All
shared a look in the eyes.
Fear and pride and...belief
, thought Alpha Sawyre.
In him
.
Strange how faith can take such differing forms
. She pulled her robes tightly around her, the rain soaking through her fur onto her neck.
And here it comes
she
thought, as the sky blistered above them all.
The cellar door creaked and moaned as he hit it, relenting finally under the pressure of compacted muscle and a broom handle aimed at the lock. The tiles had been carefully replaced on the floor and earth-soaked footsteps had been crudely wiped away. He paused at the door, listening attentively for any sound to show that his whereabouts was known. He pulled a large wooden bat out of the bag and furtively glanced outside into a dark and tidy hallway, where fresh flowers stood invitingly in a tall glass
vase.
He stepped out and tentativel
y walked on, eyes darting frantically around as he grasped the handle tightly in his hands. After checking all of the rooms downstairs and swinging the bat around with abandon he trod up the narrow creaking stairs, his footsteps echoing from the tight walls no matter how gently he tried to step. He reached the bedroom and decided on a change of tack, kicking the door open and rushing in, the bat held aloft in front of him.
Josie was tied to a single seat in the middle of the room, a white cloth pushed into her mouth and her eyes wide and afraid. She thrashed about wildly, her body pinned and her voice silenced. The figure stood still, shocked and confused, and then ran ahead to her, the bat dangling at his side. An outstretched foot appeared simultaneously from behind the door and he was sent sprawling uselessly at her feet, a tumble of limbs, hair and curses.
'Rufus,' said a deep dark voice, kneeling to pick up t
he abandoned bat. 'About time t
o
o
. Let's have a little talk about your friend Elli.' The large husky dog-head stood over them both and tapped the bat in his enormous open palm as Rufus slowly disentangled his limbs and sat on the floor next to Josie.
'And you thought I was a rubbish boyfriend,' he muttered, as Josie rolled her eyes and looked down at him shaking her head. The husky dog-head stared at him with cold
eyes then threw the bat onto the floor by his side and meshed his fingers together, filling the room with a loud crack. His muscles bulged beneath his shirt like smuggled watermelons and his neck was thick and squat.
'Let's try that again,' he said quietly, controlled anger dripping from each syllable. 'And you can start with how you got past my men.'
Lord Lansdown stood behind his army watching, his arms crossed and his fingers tapping his arm.
The problem with warfare is that it's all so messy, flailing and screaming and general untidiness
. He looked up as
an enterprising ogre with a ladder was climbing up the wall rapidly, whilst above him a grinning gorgadon was emptying a bucket of very large spiders onto his head. Lord Lansdown shook his head as the ogre
leapt
into the air, pulling at spiders all over him and then realising too slowly that he was no longer holding onto anything and breaking his fall on a fat man below. Lord Lansdown heard the sniggering behind him and turned around, his eyes narrowed at the sight of Gerald covering his mouth whilst his eyes bulged and watered.
And what a filthy old man
, he thought, looking across at his wife as she smiled endearingly back at him through thin painted lips.
I very much doubt they'll be with us much longer.