The World House (35 page)

  The morning lamps shone on a bruised and bleeding face, the paintings having vented their frustration throughout the night. After nearly forty hours of unconsciousness, Chester came to life, spasming on the carpet, his limbs refusing to work after long hours of dysfunction. The pain had gone from his head and in that it was not alone: pretty much everything had gone from Chester's head. He finally got to his feet and stumbled towards the end of the corridor, his fingers tracing the solid door in front of him. He was a vacuum, empty of everything but motor movement, but, as the door fizzed beneath his fingers, he knew that there was something incredibly powerful on the other side. Something that waited for him. He tried to speak, tried to remember the words for things. After a few slurred noises, his mouth and tongue remembered the sound of a question.

  "Who am I?" he whispered, as a surge of dizziness forced him to the floor.

  "Open this door," said a gentle voice from inside the room, "and I'll tell you."

 
 
 

Alan was put in mind of a fairground ride as the
In
trepid
tugged on the ropes that held it fast to the bathroom roof. "I hope they hold," he said, staring up at the holes in the plaster where the harpoons were embedded.

  "They won't," said Barnabas as he stumbled past, "we'll die an agonising death any minute, just you watch."

  "Hold fast!" Hawkins shouted, clipping Ryan around the ear as the boy ran past giggling. "Stand still, damn you! The less we do to put strain on the ropes the better."

  Below them, the water continued to swirl, coursing its way towards the distant plughole and beyond.

  "Do you think we could ride the current?" Alan asked.

  "For a certain distance perhaps," answered Hawkins, "but I wouldn't fancy our chances once we were on top of the sinkhole, would you?"

  "Our best bet is to wait for the water to drain," Maggie suggested, "then drop down and make the rest of the journey on foot."

  "You're no fun," moaned Ryan. "The first chance of a laugh we've had in months and you want to sit it out."

  "We should lighten our load, Cap'n," Jonah suggested.

  "Aye," Hawkins agreed. "We need to do everything we can to ensure that the ropes hold until the water level drops." He untied the remaining lifeboat and let it fall to the water below, where it shot off like an speedboat. "Maggie, start packing a few essentials. Ryan, give her a hand." He turned to Alan. "You go and get Sophie, she must be fair panicking by now." Alan dashed off, leaving Hawkins barking further orders at Jonah and Barnabas to ditch what they could above deck. The captain was in his element now, the adrenalin flowing and a crew to protect.

  It was hard to walk, because the ship was swinging from side to side and knocking him against the walls as he ran down the stairs shouting for Sophie. She was sitting in her room, utterly calm. "The sea is angry," she said casually.

  "Indeed it is," he agreed, "but not with us. We need to be careful though – we're going to get off the ship now and walk the rest of the way. I think I might have found us a way home."

  "That is good," she said, standing up and walking out of the room as if there was nothing alarming about any of it. Alan couldn't help but smile.

  The water level continued to drop, and Hawkins directed everyone to the rear of the ship. "Once the water is low enough we're going to tip up," he warned. "The front will rise towards the roof as the whole lot sinks backwards. If you haven't got a steady grip at that point you'll be going overboard."

  They lashed themselves to the stern, using the railing to hold them as the prow of the boat rose vertical. On their backs they strapped the knapsacks that Maggie had prepared, hoping they would survive long enough to use their contents.

  "And to think I put some faith into you!" Barnabas shouted at Alan. "Should have know you'd kill us all soon enough."

  "Shut up!" said Hawkins. "We were going nowhere fast. Alan was right, we need to get off the
Intrepid
and take our chances."

  "I'll remind you of that when we're lying crushed to a pulp beneath her."

  The ship continued to tilt, the crew pressed back against the inside of the railing. The ropes creaked as the full weight was brought to bear on them, and showers of plaster dropped like hailstones.

  "We need to be ready," said Hawkins, "as soon as the water drops to about ten feet we jump. It should still be enough to cushion our fall and hopefully the drag will pull us under the boat and clear before it crashes on top of us."

  "'Should'?" Jonah asked with a chuckle. "I like the sound of 'should'!"

  "Hopefully the sea has better things on its mind than trying to absorb us," Hawkins continued. "If not, we shouldn't be in it long enough to cause any damage. Just keep your mouths shut and your wits sharp." He looked down between his legs, judging the depth. "OK," he said, "on my command, one… two…"

  "Geronimo!" shouted Jonah, throwing himself off and into the water.

  "Blind bastard never could count," mumbled Barnabas.

  "Now!" cried Hawkins.

  Alan took Sophie's hand as the crew jumped into the rushing sea. He hit the water badly, winding himself, but kept a tight hold of Sophie's hand as the surge pulled them underneath the
Intrepid
. The shadow of the boat hung above them for a few seconds before the current dashed them away. After a short while, they began to slow down, the level dropping enough to let their weight counteract the swell. Alan grabbed a mouthful of air, holding up Sophie so that she could do the same. Eventually, they came to a stop, drenched and breathless. The
Intrepid
was a good distance behind them, hanging vertical from the ropes.

  "Wahey!" Ryan shouted, skidding past them in the shallow water, "how good was that? I mean seriously. Again! Again!"

  "That was not good," said Sophie, getting to her feet and looking down at her drenched clothes. "He is a Very Strange man."

  Alan couldn't help it – he lay on the tiles and roared with laughter.

  Sophie stared down at him, a frown on her face. "And sometimes you are a Very Strange man too," she said disapprovingly, which only made Alan laugh more.

  "Well," said Maggie, wringing the water out of her long hair, "not the most comfortable way to disembark but as we're all here to tell the tale it'll have to do."

  "Is this Portsmouth?" Jonah asked with a chuckle, getting unsteadily to his feet and readjusting his eyepatches.

  "No," Barnabas replied, "so for once things could be worse."

  "What about the ship?" asked Ryan.

  In the distance, the harpoons gave up trying to bear their load and the
Intrepid
toppled forwards, crashing to earth in a shower of splintered wood.

  "She's been better," Hawkins said, "like us all."

  Alan finally got his laughter under control, only too aware how Hawkins must be feeling to see his beloved ship destroyed. "I'm sorry," he said.

  "Don't worry," Hawkins replied, brushing water from his face and hoping it would cover the tears, "she was on borrowed time the minute we came here. She sailed well."

 

The crew followed the rivulets that trickled toward the distant plughole. The tiles were littered with dead fish gasping their last in the new environment. They stopped to observe one sorrowful beast, a large squid, its single eye rolling in confusion as its arms thrashed for the familiar.

  "If I had a gun I'd shoot it," commented Hawkins as the creature coughed a mouthful of liquid from its beak.

  Night fell and they were forced to camp. They unwrapped the plastic-bound bedrolls from their knapsacks and maintained a watch rota, unwilling to risk sleeping in the open without a little security.

  "The only threat at night was the water," said Maggie, using a hunk of bread to mop up some of the soup they had brought with them. "Alan seems to have knocked that problem on the head for us."

  "Aye," Ryan agreed, "all in all it'll be a boring old night, I reckon."

  "I can live with boring," Hawkins said, "in fact I can think of nothing I'd like more."

  Once it was completely dark, they took to their beds, a circle of lanterns affording a few feet of light coverage so that they could see if anything drew near. Alan took the first shift alongside Hawkins, a pairing that made him uncomfortable. During their trek he had lost all sense of joy or relief, becoming guiltier by the moment at the chaos his actions had caused. He had meant to find a path through this small world but had, instead, destroyed it. He could just about live with the fish – though not if he brought to mind the thrashing squid – but the sight of the
Intrepid
crew as they walked along, bereft of the vessel that had been their home for so long… that weighed heavily.

  "So," said Hawkins, breaking the silence that had sunk around them, "we find the plughole and then what? You think we can escape through it?"

  "Yes," Alan admitted, "When I was in the water I could sense there was something beyond there, a way through. It's hard to put into words, it was an impression – a vivid one – but nothing more solid."

  "It'll do."

  There was another pause, then Hawkins smiled. "Stop worrying about the ship."

  "That obvious, am I?"

  "She was mine and I loved her but we were fools not to abandon her long ago. We were never going to be able to sail home. She was as much a prison as the rest of this place and though it saddens me to see her lost it's for the best. Next time you plan on doing something that threatens our lives so dramatically though, perhaps a little more warning might be in order?"

  Alan nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

  The silence that followed was more comfortable, each of them thinking his own thoughts as the lantern flickered. Their shift passed and Alan was grateful for a sleep from which he could remember no dreams.

 

Morning, and they rose to stiff backs and damp bedrolls, only too happy to be on the move again if only to stretch the muscles that had cramped during the night's sleep.

  Soon the plughole was in sight, a massive dark oval on the horizon that widened as they drew closer.

  "Hope there's no spiders in it!" joked Ryan, sticking his tongue out and menacing Barnabas.

  "You watch I don't just throw you in, lad," the grumpy sailor warned. "If anything could cheer me up it's that."

  Another half an hour saw them at the edge, the hole stretching out before them like the mouth of a volcano.

  "Now what?" someone asked.

  Hawkins squatted down, looking over the edge at the six-spoked wheel lying across the opening. "We could maybe tie a rope to the inner fitting," he suggested, "though we have no idea how deep it goes…" His voice faded away.

  "What?" asked Ryan, "don't tell me there really is a spider?"

  "No…" Hawkins voice had grown dreamy, as if his mind were elsewhere, "it's…" It seemed a struggle for him to get his words out. "There's something…" He flew back from the hole as a great force burst upwards in a spray of drain water.

  "I knew it!" shouted Barnabas, "here we go…"

  Everyone ignored him, spreading out and spinning around to see if they could spot whatever it was that had flown out of the plughole. Alan, for one, suspected he knew exactly what it was. "I've seen something like this before," he shouted, "in the gap between the jungle and the house…" The wraith sailed down, sending up a v-shape of water as it skimmed the ground aiming directly for Alan and Sophie. Alan grabbed Sophie's hand, dashing to one side in the hope they could avoid it. The wraith curved in the air, knocking them towards the plughole. Alan tried to get to his feet but the creature was upon them again, pushing them forcefully towards the hole. There was no grip on the wet tiles, and there was nothing he could do to stop them tumbling into the darkness and vanishing from sight.

 
 
 

"There's no point in resisting," the taller man says as his dumpy colleague vomits the renegade on to the floor. "You may be potent amongst these apes but you're just another glitch to us." The renegade looks around the room, assuming initially that they have returned him to his hotel: the simple bed, the table and chair, the open door of the en-suite bathroom, they are all familiar. There is something amiss though; he can sense it rather than see it, an oppressiveness that hugs everything, a sense of isolation.

  "You are not in their reality any more," the tall man explains, "we have made you one of your very own. I'm sure you will enjoy it just as much."

  The renegade gets to his feet and, despite the orders of his captors, makes for the door. He is only a couple of feet away when the heat sears his skin, forcing him back over the table and into a pained huddle on the floor.

  "Do listen," says the tall man, "there is no escape that way."

  "Where are we?" the renegade asks, looking at his pink, burned fingers.

  "In a little pocket reality we've built for you, a prison in fact, where you might be afforded the time to think over your actions."

  "A prison?"

  "Built from the subconscious of these animals you're so taken with. You exist as a notion, a concept, outside their reality but permanently linked to it. I confess their imaginations make an impressive power source. I begin to see why they might have been diverting… briefly, at least."

  And with that his captors vanish.

 
 
 

"So," said Miles, trying to get his head around things, "this is the bastard that attacked you?"

  Ashe's face fell, "I didn't…" He looked at Penelope. "Did I?"