It sounded more like a question than a statement.
"The shadow that came for you wasn't a Herder; it wanted to ensure that your journey wasn't interrupted."
"Where is the captain now?"
"I don't know where he is. But I know he will be back. The shadow told me that the captain would be back soon and that ..." There was a hesitation. "I don't recall any more."
"Help me get out of here," pleaded Margie.
"There is no way out. Roberts made sure of it."
"You do know. I know you do," insisted Margie. "The water that touches you touches me, remember. You know what you have to do."
"I can't. What you're asking me to do will make Roberts angry." The voice was beginning to sound strained."You don't know what he's like. He will take it out on others. It will cause more misery that you could ever know."
"But you're already putting more than just me in danger."
"It's not me," cried the ship, "it's him. It's Captain Roberts. It's him who controls everything."
"But he's not here!"
"It doesn't matter. He will return."
"Please," begged Margie. "If I ever make it home I will make sure that everyone hears your story. I promise."
For the longest time there was nothing but silence. The voice that had never been heard had nothing more to say. Filled with sadness Margie pulled herself through the small window into the cabin where she found Grandma Doyle and Black Adam floating lifelessly.
Margie grabbed them and pulled them near. "Breathe," she whispered silently, hugging them both tightly. "Breathe!" She wished they'd never joined her on her journey across the Sea of Sorrow and longed to tell them how sorry she was. She didn't blame the boat. She was as much a victim as Margie was. She would still share her story if she ever made it home. In the meantime, with no idea how long it would be before Roberts returned; or what fate would befall them once he did; or if the Shadow Herders would come for them all before then, Margie closed her eyes.
The second her eyes shut, the boat shuddered then surged upwards to the surface,
leaping out of the water like a gargantuan whale before splashing back down. The boat landed first followed quickly by Black Adam, Grandma Doyle and Margie who crashed to the floor in a crumpled wet heap, writhing and gasping for air like freshly caught fish.
The rest of the journey remained uneventful. They huddled together in shocked and stunned silence on the deck watching the cruel, schizophrenic sky transform into a beautiful shade of blue.
A short time later; battered, bruised and thoroughly exhausted by their journey on board the ghost ship, Grandma Doyle and Black Adam could only watch helplessly as Captain Roberts - a gibbering shell of his former self - rowed Margie on the final leg of her epic journey.
Darkest of All Places
The second Margie stepped foot on the island, she was swathed in a dense blanket of fog. Unable to see anything and shivering violently she stumbled forwards hoping desperately that she wasn't walking into some kind of ambush. In her mind's eye she was inside a huge mouth and at any moment the teeth would snap down like a huge Venus fly trap. She was terrified of what she couldn't see; of what was hiding in the mist; watching and waiting. What sustained her was the thought of Spider Beast waiting for her at the Emporium. It was all the incentive she needed. She would do this for him and she would do if for The Giant. She
would
. And she would find his twins for him too.
At last, after wandering aimlessly for an hour or so, the mist cleared momentarily and there in front of her was a large iron doorway crisscrossed with hefty rusted chains and padlocks. It was still enveloped in fog but she could see that daubed sloppily in red paint across the gate was the word DARKNESS.
Was this really it? Had she finally arrived? She couldn't even summon up the energy to feel happy. She didn't know how she felt. She barely even knew who she was anymore. Cold, wet and exhausted she shuffled forward and banged heavily on the door. At once the chains fell off with a deafening clatter, slithering down like giant serpents before disappearing into the fog. Then the door crumbled like ash and instantly Margie was blasted by an icy wind that whipped her face and sucked the breath from her very lungs. Her wet clothes, or what was left of them, instantly froze to her skin and her lips glistened with tiny ice crystals.
Protecting her eyes from the blizzard that was attacking her, Margie could see nothing but an endless wasteland of snow and ice.
Margie stood shivering for a long time, the cold air snapping at her naked limbs like half-starved hyenas. With no obvious landmarks in sight, she had no idea which way to go. There wasn't even a doorway anymore. It was gone. Blown away in the wind. Just like the optimistic determination she'd felt moments earlier. Unable to move any further, she toppled over, her body frozen. Covered in a fine layer of frost, she tried to recall the story of an aborigine she'd read about in the Emporium. She'd been amazed that he could sleep naked -
naked! -
in near freezing conditions and not feel the cold. She tried hard to remember how he did it; what his secret was, but her brain kept on stalling.
She was fading fast and not just because of the sub zero temperatures. The Big Invisible was taking its toll. It was draining her of all energy. As its strength grew, so Margie's diminished.
For hours, Margie lay paralysed, her skin almost as pale as the snow that surrounded her. She'd long since drifted off; bathing in the warm summer rays of a golden sun in a field full of daffodils. Nearby, a squirrel scratched at the soil. At first it seemed to be looking for something. But very quickly the squirrel become agitated; its digging became louder. Angrier. The sun disappeared behind a cloud and the air grew quickly cold. And then Margie's eyes snapped open. In the freezing cold, she could hear the same scratching sound only this time it was coming from beneath her head. Still unable to move, her stomach twisted with fear. What
was
that? She didn't have long to wait for an answer because the ground opened up and swallowed her whole.
Down she fell for what seemed like a mile, her arms flailing, until she landed with a hideous thud. And there she lay still and silent, exhausted and frozen, unable to believe that she was still intact. The light was bright and burned her snow-damaged eyes. She rubbed them feverishly but this did nothing but intensify the pain. Eventually she could just about make out that she was lying at the base of a deep crevasse, the sides of which were so narrow they'd slowed her descent down until she'd neared the bottom. She felt a glimmer of hope, especially when she saw that the crevasse extended as far as the eye could see either side. She instantly made the decision that once she had gathered some strength she would make her way along the narrow gully. Right now though, barely able to see and still frozen solid she closed her stinging eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep.
When she woke up, she was no longer frozen but her body felt every bit as battered and bruised as it was. She sat up slowly, her eyes still adjusting to the light and tried to get her head around the events of the last few days
.
Her frostbitten lips burned and as she tentatively touched them her thoughts quickly turned to Archie.
Had he been thinking about Nyabinghi at the moment his lips had touched hers? She couldn't allow herself to think too much about it. He had already broken his promise to accompany her across the Sea of Sorrow. She had a whole new battle ahead of her now. She had no idea what she would do next. She knew nothing about the world in which she found herself. Had only vague memories of the world which she had left behind. And absolutely no notion of the world in which she was heading.
As she pondered her next move she thought she heard something. A cold wave of fear rippled down her spine. It was the same scratching noise she had heard in the snow. And it seemed to be coming from somewhere close. Margie pulled herself up and pressed her back tightly against the crevasse wall.
"Who's there?"
There was no reply, only the sound of scratching and scraping on the ice.
She called out again: "Who's there?"
Margie thought she could hear something other than the scratching. A muffled sound. Shouting perhaps. Or moaning. And then something in the ice caught her eye. What
was
that? She moved closer, her eyes flickering and blinking until they finally came into focus ...
Shocked at what she saw, Margie shrieked and threw herself backwards, landing in a heap on the floor.
Now she could see that the ice surrounding her was filled with bodies. Contorted bodies of men and women with anguished faces; their tired, terrified and tortured eyes all boring into Margie's, pleading for help. Hundreds of bodies of all shapes and sizes hung suspended in the ice, as though thrown into a lake that instantly froze capturing their moment of death in a gruesome three dimensional snapshot. Only these people weren't dead. The pain in their eyes was very much alive and the scratching was a futile bid to escape their torturous prison.
Margie scrambled to her feet in a bid to make a run for it. But before she could take even take one step, a hand broke through the ice wall behind her and grabbed her by the neck. Margie writhed in pain, her feet barely touching the ground. She dug her nails into the hand but the hand, which belonged to an angry looking business man, squeezed relentlessly until Margie blacked out.
The Menagerie
When Margie woke up, she found herself lying on a cold damp floor. The smell of urine soaked straw, rotting meat and faeces burning the inside of her nostrils like sal volatile. What was left of her tattered clothes had been replaced by a large, bristled animal-skin coat. Margie slowly, tentatively sat up and looked around. What she saw took her breath away.
She was in a vast stone room. An exquisitely vaulted ceiling towered above her and every inch of the walls was richly decorated with statues, sculptures and carvings. It would, thought Margie, have been beautiful were it not for the foul stench that assaulted her olfactory sense.
As Margie's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed that set back into the walls were thousands of small recesses that had been fashioned into cages of all sizes. The cages were dark, but Margie could just make out an assortment of unusual looking creatures contained within them.
"Welcome," said a quiet, raspy voice. "I do hope the ice people weren't botherin' you none. I just thought you might like to see some of your handiwork."
Margie scrambled to her feet, her eyes darting all around her. "Who's there?" she cried out.
An elderly gentleman with a wide smile and a well worn cowboy hat, stepped out from behind one of the pillars.
"We've been expecting y'all," he said, raising an eyebrow at what he saw.
"Really?" said Margie, not sure whether to feel excited or afraid.
The man stepped forward and observed Margie as one might examine cattle. "You're somewhat of a disappointment, it has to be said. We were expecting something quite different. Something a little bigger. Dare I say scarier?"
Margie could see now that the man had crooked, discoloured teeth and dirty overgrown fingernails. An ordinary looking man, this clearly wasn't the person she was looking for in the Darkest of All Places.
"And so was I," she replied testily.
The old man continued his observations seemingly oblivious to Margie's irritation.
"You're nothing but a child."
"And you're nothing but an old man."
"Well," he said, eventually stepping back, "there's no doubt about it; you
are
the foundling. It's just a shame you've come empty handed." The man's unremitting, unchanging smile made Margie feel uneasy. "Never mind, we're in no hurry."
"Well, actually I am ..." replied Margie.
"Come, come now," interrupted the man, "that ain't no way to talk to an old man that saved you from those ice folks."
"I'm sorry. It's just I ..."
"I ... I ... I ..." he barked. "Is it
always
all about you? And what if I told you that I was the biggest toad in this pond?"
Margie opened and closed her mouth several times, but no words came out.
The old man stepped forward and held out his hand. "Let's start again little girl. Your name?"
"Margie," said Margie, shaking the old man's hand weakly.
"Margie, huh?" he said. "Well then Margie, you can call me Sam. I'm the caretaker round here."
"What
is
this place?" asked Margie.
"It's a museum," he replied, his wide eyes twinkling even more crazily than before. "Would you like me to show you round?"
"I'd love to, but I ..."
The old man's eyes flashed with anger. "But what?"
He didn't wait for an answer. Instead he pulled a retractable walking stick out of his pocket and walked briskly away from her. As he reached the first cage he turned and motioned for Margie to join him.
Margie hesitated. She wanted to finish her journey to the Darkest of All Places, rid herself of The Big Invisible then head back home. She wished she could just turn and walk away but there was something about the old man that frightened her. She couldn't put her finger on it. She tutted quietly and shuffled forward, the animal skin coat heavy on her shoulders.
For the next few hours, Margie was taken on a seemingly endless tour of the old man's museum. The cages stretched from floor to ceiling and from one end of the colossal room to the other. There were even cages dug into the ground, whilst others were suspended from the ceiling by long heavy chains.
All manner of hideous looking creatures filled them. There were those that resembled huge ugly birds with wide leathery wings. And those that looked like skeletons with glowing red eyes. Some looked like giant crows with the heads of men. And others looked like deep sea creatures with great bulbous eyes and razor sharp teeth. There were those that looked like decomposing corpses and those that looked like snakes and dragons and hideous bearded goats with horns and claws.
"Is that a Malignant?" said Margie spotting a familiar looking creature. A strange mixture of excitement and sorrow coursed through her.
"Well blow me," replied Sam, his crazy eyes wider by the minute. "It sure is. You're a dark little horse now ain't you."
"Why do you keep all these creatures?" said Margie.
"We're both collectors, you and me. You collect stories and I collect these," replied Sam matter-of-factly. "It gets mighty lonesome down here. These are my pets. They keep me company."
"They don't look like pets," said Margie. "They don't look very friendly at all."
"They're not meant to be nice. They're the worst of the worst; the darkest of all dark things," he continued. "Hellhounds, Hydras, Incubus, Jikininki ... you name it. Most of them could disembowel you with one bite."
"Nice," said Margie scratching her cheek.
"Look! Look at this one," shouted Sam excitedly. He pointed to a cage that contained a colossal, hump-back demon with a tiny featureless head except for one small mouth lined with small sharp teeth and three forked tongues. The creature's skin was raw and bleeding.
"It wasn't too happy when I borrowed its coat this morning. As mad as a ragin' hornet if truth be told. Took a while to rip it off too; put up quite a struggle, didn't you!"
As soon as Margie realised what Sam was telling her, she let out a scream of shock and attempted to rip the coat off her back. But it wouldn't budge. It was like it was part of her own flesh.
"Now, now you ungrateful little thing," glowered Sam.
A heavy shiver went down Margie's spine. She swallowed hard. "It's been really lovely meeting all your pets," she stammered, "but I really have to go; I'm looking for The Darkest of the Dark."
"Is that what they call me these days?" said Sam with a theatrical sigh. "I do hate what people say about me. I'm a nice guy. I don't feel things the way other folks do, that's all. Stuff makes me angry. Doesn't make me a bad person though."
"I'm sorry," said Margie shaking her head in disbelief, "are you
really
The Darkest of the Dark?"
A small troll-like creature reached one of its arms out of a nearby cage and tried to grab Margie's hand. Without missing a beat, Sam ripped its arm off and thrust it into his mouth. Margie's hands flew up to her mouth as she tried hard to hide her disgust. She couldn't bring herself to look at the screaming limbless creature.
"I am he," replied Sam, chewing the meat noisily. "Can I offer you anything to eat?"
"No ... no thank you," she replied, unable to mask the tremble in her voice.
All of a sudden, the meat fell out of Sam's mouth. He stared at something behind Margie with an expression of both fear and awe. Margie turned cautiously but could see nothing.
"What is it?" she asked. But The Darkest of the Dark remained frozen to the spot, studying whatever it was, his mouth gaping.
"It's here," he breathed excitedly. "The beast is here."
Once again, Margie spun around. "What beast?" she cried, bewildered. "Where is it? I don't see anything."
Sam took a couple of faltering steps towards Margie. "The Big Invisible. It's the most magnificent thing I have ever seen." His eyes were wide and manic, like a hungry animal that had locked onto its prey.
For the first time since she'd arrived in The Darkest of All Places Margie felt truly afraid. She could see something moving beneath the surface of Sam's skin; like something was writhing and churning inside his body. She watched him intently as he watched her, and wondered what it was that
he
could see inside of
her.
"I'm intrigued," he said, not moving his eyes from the spot behind Margie for even a second, "how someone as insignificant as you could create something so diabolically brilliant. I congratulate you on your achievement."
"Whatever it is," declared Margie. "I don't want it. You can have it. I just want to go home."
The Darkest of the Dark looked at Margie and laughed. "If only it was that simple. I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. Only one person could have achieved what you did in a lifetime. Why would I let
you
go?"
"I'm not the Collector, if that's what you think."
"Then tell me how a mere mortal would attract more than four billion souls to them, like flies to shit," he hissed.
Margie shook her head and frowned. "I really don't know what you mean."
"While you lived your mortal life, every person that died was drawn to you, weighted down by their Stories, unable to move on. Why would they come to you if you weren't the Collector?"
"I don't know," she cried.
"But you ignored them," he laughed. "You hated them. Think about it, Margie May Langley. Four billion dead people growing more and more frightened, angry and frustrated. Four billion." He started counting on his fingers and gave up after seven, grinning an
only joking
grin. "Their anger and your anger came together and created something bigger and better than all of you."
Margie recalled the voices that had hounded her. Thousands upon thousands of voices that gnawed at her brain every minute of every hour of every day. She remembered her battle to get through each and every day trying to ignore them; and losing fragments of sanity with every year that passed. Was it possible? Was it really possible that people were right about her?
"That beast you created; the monster you carry on your back is a monster of your own making," said The Darkest of All Things. "It's the love child between you and four billion extremely irate people."
"I didn't create anything. It's an illness, a virus."
"The Big Invisible is more than an illness," snapped The Darkest of All Things his eyes flashing angrily. "It's a beast unlike anything I have ever seen before."
A little bit of saliva frothed up in the corner of his mouth as he described The Big Invisible like a great black wolf. "Only it isn't made of flesh and blood," he said, "it's made of the darkest matter. It's like a black hole; so dense, so dark that nothing can escape. Never. Not even heat. Why do you think your back is so cold?"
"Ain't never seen anything like that in Limbuss before," he continued, still transfixed. "It's the work of a genius."
"If it's so powerful then why has it not consumed
me
?"
"Impossible, "he said, eating something that looked like a piece of kidney ... or a foot. "It's attached to you by the silver cord. The life cord. How do you think it can do the things it does in one place while you are in another; why sometimes you feel its presence and other times you don't. You and The Big Invisible are one. If I destroy you, then The Big Invisible is also destroyed."
"Do it," cried Margie angrily. "Just do it!"
"The problem is," said The Darkest of All Things dryly, "I don't particularly want to. Do you really think I would let anyone destroy the most magnificent thing that has ever existed? It's a marvel. It will be the centrepiece of my collection. I want it. It's just a shame that you come as part of the deal."
Margie sank down to the floor, her legs suddenly too weak to carry her weight. A tear dropped off the end of her nose. "What did you mean when you said you wanted me to see my handiwork?"
"Where do you think all the ice people came from? With no one to collect their stories, all those people were unable to move on and ended up in Limbuss instead. It was like a plague. A swarm of locusts. So many of them. I did Limbuss a favour by collecting some of them. Took me a while to figure out what to do with them all; they take up a lot of space."
"Are they part of your museum?" asked Margie.
The Darkest of All Things snorted.
"Why do you keep them here then?"
"Why not?" he replied, the smile still pinned to his face.
"Do you
have
to keep them imprisoned in the ice?" she asked, recalling the terror and pain she had witnessed.
"It keeps them fresh!"
A long silence followed and then The Darkest of All Things crouched down and muttered something quietly into Margie's ear: "My pets have to eat
something
."
"That's awful!" yelled Margie, pushing The Darkest of All Things away. "You're horrible! I hate you!"
"Is it? Is it really? Am I? Do you?" cried The Darkest of All Things derisively. "I really didn't know." Very quickly something caught his eye. He seemed very excited. "Look! Look at this one ... it's one of my favourites."