The Magic Lands (56 page)

Jack opened his eyes again and
looked around. He was sitting on a cobbled street. A few feet to
his left sat Tom, dazed but apparently unhurt. Further away, the
longboat languished, battered and torn as if it had been beset by a
tremendous storm, its bow broken, splintered wood everywhere. There
was no sign of either Mo or Dredger.

"Where are we?" Tom asked,
rubbing at his leg and surveying their surroundings.

"At the bottom of the sea,"
Jack answered, still groggy. He fingered his scalp and found that a
large bump had risen there, just above his left ear but he
discovered no blood, so he

hoped it wasn’t too
serious.

"I wouldn't be surprised if
you've got concussion," Tom said, testing his leg before standing
up. "I've already injured this leg once," he added, gingerly
putting his weight onto it.

"You didn't tell me."

"No time," answered Tom
shortly, taking a few tentative steps along the street and coming
slowly back.

"Where do you think the others
are?" Jack asked, looking up at his friend.

Tom appeared grim-faced. "It
seems the Wolf doesn't want us all together anymore."

It was still dark where they
had found themselves, but at least the darkness appeared genuine, a
night sky peeping down between drab buildings that surrounded them.
They were in a courtyard of some kind and a grey mist, less dense
than the one they had recently endured, wafted over them.

"Are you all right?" enquired
Tom, standing over Jack who still sat on the ground, nursing his
aching head.

"I think so, yes," Jack
returned and Tom put out a hand to help him to his feet. "So it's
just you and me again then?" he added when he was standing,
brushing himself off with deliberate care, trying to make light of
their predicament and not to think of how close he had come to
dying.

"It looks that way," confirmed
Tom, his tone resolute and the two boys began to walk, not knowing
which direction to go in, or where it was they were heading, only
conscious that they had to go somewhere.

Cautiously, they made their way
out of the square and along a narrow alley, their footsteps echoing
on the cobbled stone.

"It appears we are alone,"
concluded Dredger wryly, throwing an amused glance at his
companion.

Mo looked bleakly back at him.
"This is a dark game," he spat, "I feared the Wolf would separate
us, but I had hoped at least one of us would have been able to
remain with the boys. Now they too are alone."

Dredger nodded. "So they will
have to fend for themselves. As for us, I counsel that we do the
same."

When their craft had suddenly
tipped over, plummeting into an unknown pit of blackness that had
inexplicably materialised before them, every one of them had been
pitched forward, not even the great agility of Dredger enabling him
to prevent himself being thrown from the boat. Both he and Mo could
recall a sensation of falling, but it had been a slow descent, as
if controlled. And when they had finally made contact with solid
land again they had found themselves, still under the cover of
darkness, on what appeared to be a beach, stark rocks above them, a
lusty tide reaching almost to where they stood. Neither man had
suffered any injury and both had quickly made a thorough search of
the area, although Mo suspected the two boys would not be so easily
found. For it was clear the rocks were part of a cliff-face that
leaned gradually away from them, curving around the coastline in a
gradual arc, the stretch of sand they stood upon no more than two
hundred yards long.

They began to climb, scaling
the craggy rocks with care, their boots occasionally slipping on
seaweed, small pools secreted between the outcrops providing secure
homes for crabs and urchins. It was arduous work, but gradually and
with the perseverance of their kind they managed to reach a point
on the rock-face where it was not quite so sheer and there they
discovered a rough pathway, which led up to the top of the
cliff.

"There," called Dredger, who
had taken the lead, gesturing at something high above them, and
when Mo peered upward, he could just make out a shape, tall and
dark, elevated a little way over the escarpment.

It was a lighthouse, mantled in
darkness and a gloom hung about it, enveloping the structure with
foreboding. Its grey walls seemed shadowy and insubstantial and
both men found themselves wondering why its light should be
extinguished. Could the place be abandoned? Or was it merely some
fabrication devised by the Beast, a trap awaiting their
arrival?

And then, as if in answer to
their thoughts, with a luminous flash that lit up the pale sky with
a strange emerald glow, the lighthouse came alive, its beacon
bright, shining as a sentinel for all those who might pass its
way.

"We are expected?" remarked
Dredger, frowning his uncertainty.

"Indeed," retorted Mo, stepping
past the other man and continuing on, "but who is our host?"

It was like something out of
the Victorian era.

The few people they had passed,
some crouching in alleys, others drunkenly staggering toward home
or perhaps another tavern, were clothed in what the boys recognised
as period costume. But beyond this observation it was impossible to
tell anything more, for the mist was low and obscured their vision
and hid the buildings that girdled them in a coiling grey haze.

"I don't like this very much,"
Jack commented as they wandered through the murky streets. "It
doesn't feel safe."

"I won't argue with you there,"
admitted Tom, "but what can we do? We're lost as usual!"

Jack gave a dejected nod and
peered into the shifting gloom, his eyes restless as he tried to
look everywhere at once.

Somewhere ahead, heavy
footsteps rang out against the stone pavement, sending echoes
across the street and glancing apprehensively at his friend,
placing a hand to stop Jack from going on, Tom came to a halt. They
waited for whoever it was to emerge from the fog and both were
ready to run, if the situation demanded it, prepared for almost
anything to appear, but when it came, what they saw actually took
them by surprise.

A policeman, his boots thudding
rhythmically, cut through the mist and approached them, a stern
expression on his ruddy face. "Hello there," he addressed them,
nodding a greeting.

"Eh, hello officer," Tom
replied uneasily.

"And what might two young
gentleman such as yourselves be doing out and about at this time of
the evening, may I ask?"

Shifting his weight
uncomfortably beneath the man's scrutiny, Tom hesitated, not sure
how he should answer.

"We're lost," put in Jack,
coming to the rescue, presenting a worried countenance that was not
altogether feigned.

The policeman seemed to ponder
on this for a short time, eyeing each of them seriously, scratching
his chin with a thumb, but then he smiled, his eyes crinkling,
giving him a welcome friendly appearance. "Well, well," he said,
still rubbing at his chin, "that won't do, will it? We'll just have
to see what we can do about that. Now let me introduce myself. My
name is Constable Griffith."

"I'm Tom Lewis and my friend is
Jack Barton," Tom told the man, feeling that there could be no harm
in it and the Constable nodded solemnly to each of them.

"Have you seen two strangers?
Tall men, one fair, the other dark?" Jack ventured, chancing a
question.

Eyeing him sceptically,
Constable Griffith shook his head. "Friends of yours are they?"

"Yes," conceded Jack, wondering
if he had made a mistake in mentioning them at all. "They're
supposed to be looking after us."

"Hmm, well, they haven't made a
very good job of it, have they," returned the Constable sternly,
but his good-natured smile was quick to follow. "But I suppose we'd
better keep our eyes open for them as we go. And it mayhap that
I'll have a word with them myself when we come upon them, allowing
youngsters to roam the streets at night, what with everything that
has happened of late!"

"Thank you," said Tom, a little
doubtful as to the wisdom of giving Dredger a telling off, but at
the moment that was the least of his concerns. "Eh, where are we
going?" he asked cautiously and the policeman responded with a
chuckle, looking the two boys over with mock severity.

"Well, I'll have to see you get
home safe and sound, two well educated gentleman like yourselves.
It wouldn't do to let you wander these streets alone." Tom realised
that there was going to be some difficulty here, seeing as how they
didn't have a home to go to and he glanced across at Jack for help,
but his friend merely pulled a face, showing that he saw the
problem too, but couldn't think of a way out. "Come along then,"
said Constable Griffith, "look lively, and we'll have you home in
no time."

"No, really," Tom hedged, "it's
not far, you needn't worry."

But the Constable was not to be
put off. "Come on now, young gentlemen, that's not clever is it? I
wouldn't be doing my duty if I didn't see you home safe. You'll be
all right with me."

Before either Tom or Jack had a
chance to frame a reply, a hideous scream pierced the night,
seeming to come from somewhere close by, although the dense fog
made it impossible to see what might be the cause.

Throwing the boys an urgent
glance, the policeman uttered a curse and ran off in the general
direction of the sound. "Stay here," he ordered as he thumped away
across the street. Quickly he was swallowed up by the thickening
mist and Tom and Jack were left bewildered, staring into the
nothingness ahead of them, listening out for any noise that might
tell them what was happening.

"What's going on?" Tom asked
without expecting an answer.

Jack shrugged, the scream still
echoing inside his head. "Whatever it is, I don't fancy just
standing around here to wait and find out."

"I'm with you," Tom agreed and
quietly, inching their way through the fog, they headed as best
they could in the direction Constable Griffith had gone.

"Do you think the Wolf's behind
this?" whispered Jack, only able to make out outlines of dank
buildings, the high street lamps barely penetrating the haze.

"The Wolf is always there,"
concluded Tom, "at the heart of everything bad. Whatever we do,
wherever we go, it’s always with us."

They continued to creep ahead,
the chill fog solidifying and running down their faces like beads
of sweat; all was very still, only the sound of their footsteps on
the narrow path and an occasional scratching and rustling of
something nearby to be heard.

"Rats," Jack pointed out, as a
large brown creature scuttled by their feet and disappeared once
more, and the two boys edged past the place where it had last been
seen with the utmost care, as if they feared it would leap out at
them.

"Where could he have gone?"
questioned Tom.

"Who?" murmured Jack, still
watching the ground with an expression of distaste.

"Constable Griffith," said Tom
a little harshly. He tried to ignore the idea that had crept upon
him, that even now they might be surrounded by a horde of rats,
glassy eyes viewing them with hungry interest. But he couldn't
shake the image from his mind, even though he knew it was silly.
Rats didn't attack people. At least he didn't think that they did!
He made to say something more, to see if Jack could confirm or deny
this, but just then the mist thinned and appeared to open up before
them, and the horrible spectacle that was revealed stole his voice
and his thoughts away.

There, slumped against a wall
was a woman, her head cocked to one side as if questioning, long
dark hair trailing on the stone. At first glance it might have
seemed that she was merely sleeping, had it not been for the blood
that gushed easily from a terrible wound in her throat, and the
open, staring eyes that gazed right at them but were like dull
glass, lifeless and unseeing.

"Oh God!" Tom heard Jack gasp,
yet he could not turn his eyes away, not until an urgent tugging at
his sleeve finally broke the spell of horror that had been cast
upon him and he squeezed his eyes shut, a picture of the woman's
ashen face remaining in his mind. When he opened them again to look
at Jack, taking pains to avoid catching sight of the corpse, he saw
that the other boy was staring over to their left, away from the
dead woman, and by the expression on his friend's face, Tom knew
that more horror awaited him.

Barely twenty yards away from
where the murdered woman lay, another body was sprawled out upon
the cobbled pathway. A pool of black-red blood was creeping around
and under it, colouring the stone, marking it with death's stain,
and though the face of the figure could not be clearly seen, the
blue uniform, now soaked with his own blood, was evidence enough
that Constable Griffith had followed the poor woman to the grave.
There was only one other thing to be discovered. Where was the
murderer?

As this thought struck Tom with
all its implications, shocked and frightened as he was, he grabbed
Jack roughly and began to almost drag him back along the street,
returning the way they had come, but even as he did so, he was sure
that above the echoes of their own feet, anothers could be heard
somewhere behind them, gaining all the time.

Not daring to turn, both boys
began to run through the fog, blindly sprinting down back-alleys,
forced on by a terror that fed on the adrenaline of the chase. They
hardly cared where they were going, knowing only that they had to
get away, that they were running for their very lives, and when at
last they stumbled to a halt, unable to go on, Tom almost doubled
over with pain as he clutched at his side. They both stood panting,
their mutual glance enough to show that each believed that they had
made good their escape and that their pursuer had lost their
trail.