Mirrorscape Page 11

  Ludo cried out in pain. ‘Mel, I think that barbed trunk thing must have been poisoned. I feel cold.’

  The Mistakes had heard Ludo’s cry. They were coming towards them. Ludo’s colour was beginning to leave him. He and his clothing were slowly turning grey.

  ‘I can’t go on any further, Mel. I’m sorry.’

  Mel shot a worried glance towards the Mistakes.

  ‘Don’t leave me here.’

  ‘Don’t worry; I’m not going to leave you. The way back’s got to be around here somewhere. Come on, Ludo. Ludo …?’

  Ludo did not answer.

  Mel heaved his semiconscious friend on to his shoulder and stumbled on, away from their pursuers. He began to fight hard for breath. The mist started to thicken and clot in front of him. The clots began to resolve themselves into trees. How could that be? The world we drew had only the single tree. A sparse wood opened up around him as he hastened along. Their drawing had taken on a life of its own.

  Mel stopped for a moment and lowered his friend to the ground. He eased Ludo’s wounded arm from his doublet and tore his shirt, revealing the gash. With revulsion he saw that it was crawling with tiny grey worms. The maggots were eating Ludo’s flesh and, as they ate, more colour drained from him. Mel tore Ludo’s hose and saw the same thing on his leg. With a rising sense of disgust, he picked as many as he could off the wounds but for every one that he picked off another took its place.

  He looked about him desperately. Which way, which way? If only I could see a landmark. All he saw were the Mistakes. He heaved his friend back up on to his shoulder and staggered on, but after only a short way had to rest again.

  Thin, icy tendrils snaked towards them along the sketchy ground, like shabby skeins of gossamer. Beyond them Mel saw nothing but grey indistinct shapes dissolving into the fog. Only the few trees nearby had any substance and even those were changing themselves as he watched. They were now more like giant, many-fingered hands. Here and there the grey bark fell away like rotting flesh to reveal not bare wood but sinew and bone.

  Mel regretted drawing the grass so casually. He had thought it would be so much quicker than drawing in every single blade. How could I have been so stupid? He should have realised they might need a landmark or two, to give a sense of direction in this world.

  Then, very faintly and at the limit of his hearing, he heard a familiar tune. It was the sound of the carillon in the clock. It was coming from behind him, from where they had been. He must have been walking away from it all this time. Where the grass had become thicker, where it had seemed as thick as rope, must be near the front of the drawing. That’s why it did not break like the house and tree. They had pressed harder with their pencils to make it seem darker and nearer the foreground of the drawing.

  ‘We’re near to the picture plane and the wall of mist, Ludo,’ said Mel.

  With great effort he heaved Ludo up on to his shoulder again and half-ran, half-staggered in the direction of the music. The bells became louder, the undergrowth thicker. Just as he thought he could carry Ludo no further before his lungs would burst and his legs collapse under him, he saw it. The wall of mist shimmered and undulated gently, silver against the dead grey of the landscape.

  ‘Nearly there, Ludo. Just a little further.’

  Then, out of the fog they stepped, barring the way. The three Mistakes stood in a line in front of the wall, awaiting their prey.

  The Uninvited Guest

  Mel lowered Ludo to the ground. The chiming of the bells continued from beyond the wall and the creatures cocked their heads as they listened to the first music ever heard in their world. Mel reached into his doublet and withdrew his bodkin, though he doubted that it would be of any real use against the three towering monsters. He knew instinctively that this was not a problem that could be solved with cold steel. It was a problem for an artist’s hand and mind.

  No sooner had Mel formed these thoughts, than the Mistakes seemed to grow less formidable. They’re only mistakes. I just need to correct them. But how?

  ‘Hey! Errors! Botched Jobs! Blunders! Here I am! Come and get me!’ He darted to the side and led them away from Ludo.

  The Mistakes began to move slowly towards him. Then the spider-creature, its hairy body glistening, lunged at him with its venomous trunk. Mel tried to sidestep it, but snagged his foot in the undergrowth and fell. He felt the whoosh in his hair as the barbed weapon shot over his head. He quickly rolled over and stabbed at its long legs with his dagger, but missed. Then, from where the first creature’s head should have been, a swarm of flies flew towards him, temporarily blinding him and inflicting cruel bites. Mel swiped wildly at the attacking flies but his bodkin was useless. It was like trying to cut smoke. He reached back with his free hand and touched something powdery. The remains of the tree. He grabbed a handful of the graphite dust and flung it at his attackers. It made a great arc in the air that hung there suspended, as if it had stuck to a sheet of invisible glass. The long-legged Mistake rushed at him, but as it touched the dust its legs became entangled and then fused together. It toppled down and landed with a great crash, shattering into powder and sending up a great, grey cloud of dust.

  Mel rolled towards the cloud and, as he did so, the flies moved with him. As they reached the cloud, its mass added to theirs and they began to coagulate and form a single, large accretion like pools of quicksilver flowing together, too heavy to take wing. Mel rose and jumped on it with both feet and it exploded in another cloud of dust that slowly drifted to the ground. The bulk of the Mistake, now deprived of its head, also crumbled away.

  The final Mistake advanced towards him on its eight, hairy legs, swinging its barbed trunk before it like a swordsman entering a melee. Mel kicked a pile of dust into the path of the approaching creature. Its trunk scythed through the cloud, shredding it into streaks. As it swung back, the streaks attached themselves to the trunk and transformed into hissing snakes. They opened their many mouths wide, revealing sharp fangs. I’ve just made it ten times worse! He backed away but the undergrowth snagged his feet yet again and he toppled backwards. If only the scribble-grass was as friable as the other artefacts of this world.

  That’s it! He grabbed and tore up handfuls of the undergrowth as he scrambled away from the Mistake. When he had an armful he flung it at the creature like a retiarius gladiator tossing his net. As it flew, the grass spread and flattened in the air into a shaggy pancake, enveloping the creature and pulling it to the ground. The creature screamed and then, like the other Mistakes, exploded into a cloud of dark grey dust.

  Mel dashed back to Ludo. His friend felt cold and lifeless. ‘Ludo, speak to me.’ The familiar musical carillon continued through the barrier. ‘Come on, we’re going home.’ He lifted his friend in his arms and walked towards the wall of mist, but as he neared it he felt resistance. For an instant the dreadful prospect of being trapped there forever flitted through Mel’s mind. He laid Ludo back down, withdrew his sketch from his doublet and unfolded it. Making sure he was touching his friend, he traced the design in the air. He expected to feel the tingling feeling and to be drawn back into the real world but nothing happened. Think, he told himself. He recalled how they had got there and imagined the drawing stuck up on the clock face, illuminated from behind by the great face with its back-to-front numerals. That’s it! The symbol would be reversed. He traced the design anticlockwise in the air. Then came the spinning, the tingling, and they were back, collapsing on the floor of the clock.

  The carillon reached its crescendo and ceased. The animated figures completed their motions and returned to their resting places. The door to the clock opened and Wren ducked in, clutching two apples.

  ‘Mel! Ludo! Whatever’s happened?’

  ‘Help me.’ Mel eased Ludo’s doublet from him, exposing his wounded arm, which writhed with the tiny worms. He began plucking them out of the gash.

  Wren knelt beside him. ‘What’re those? How did this happen? I only left you a moment ago.’

>   ‘We’ve been in the picture.’

  ‘But you can’t have been ….’

  ‘We were, the symbol worked. Ludo was attacked. He’s dying. Help me.’

  They quickly picked the worms off Ludo’s arm and leg, squashing them with their hands into mush. They were brightly coloured inside.

  ‘Yuk! They must have been drinking Ludo’s colour,’ said Mel.

  ‘It’s beginning to come back,’ said Wren.

  As each worm was removed, a little more colour seeped back into the boy. Soon Ludo’s wounds were free of them.

  ‘What happened to you in there, Mel?’ asked Wren.

  Mel caught sight of himself reflected in a shiny brass counterweight. The graphite dust covered him from head to foot. His blue eyes stared back at him – the only colour on his black body. ‘It’s a long story.’

  Ludo moaned.

  ‘He’s coming round!’

  ‘He’s so cold,’ said Wren, rubbing his hand. She rolled his doublet and placed it beneath his head for a pillow.

  Mel took off his own and placed it over his stricken friend.

  Ludo opened his eyes. Suddenly coming to himself, he tried to sit up. His eyes shot about him in panic. ‘Mel, Wren, what …?’

  ‘It’s OK, Ludo. You’re safe now. We’re back home,’ said Mel.

  Ludo forced himself up on his elbows. ‘I’ve just had the strangest dream.’ He looked up and saw the drawing hanging on the clock face. ‘Except, it wasn’t a dream, was it? Look, Mel, the drawing’s changed.’

  In place of their ill-conceived world there was a misty landscape dotted with the vague forms of stunted trees and, in the foreground, several large piles of grey dust.

  ‘And what’s all this mess? It’s like the studio floor.’

  ‘Nothing, Ludo,’ said Mel. ‘Just take it easy.’

  ‘This is all crazy,’ said Wren. ‘There’s not enough time for anything to have happened. As soon as I got halfway down the stairs I remembered I’d forgotten to give you these apples. I came back at once and found you like this.’

  Mel looked up at the clock. Sure enough, it was barely past midday. ‘But we’ve been gone ages. Time must be different inside the picture.’

  ‘You’ll have to tell me later. I’ve got to get back to the kitchen before I’m missed.’ With a last, concerned look at Ludo, she left.

  Mel inspected Ludo’s wounds again. Now that they were free of the maggots they were healing visibly. ‘It’s like magic.’

  ‘I’m all right, Mel,’ said Ludo, standing up, although Mel could see that he was badly shaken.

  Mel pulled down the drawing and tore it into many pieces. ‘That’s somewhere we won’t ever be going back to.’

  As the two boys left the clock, neither noticed a tiny worm hidden under the machinery. After the door had closed behind them, it crawled out of its hiding place and began to eat the coloured remains of its kin. Then, its hunger unsatisfied, it slithered through a crack in the floorboards and on through the mansion.

  The night was stifling. Even though the dormitory windows were open wide, no air seemed to circulate. Mel lay on his back staring at the ceiling, feeling small rivulets of perspiration tickle his body like crawling centipedes. Shadows painted sinister shapes on the ceiling. One shadow seemed to change into the silhouette of a tall man accompanied by a dwarf. Mel found that he could not move. He thought he heard sinister laughter. From the corner of his eye he saw a hand appear over the sill of the open window and then a man haul himself into the dormitory. Another followed him and then another until a dozen or more stood there in the dim light. They were all dressed in grey robes and were obviously members of a Mystery he had yet to encounter. Two were carrying a long, rolled bundle. They formed a semicircle around his bed. The bundle was unrolled, revealing a huge, colour-eating maggot. The shadows above him solidified and the dreadful, grey face of the High-Bailiff leant close. Mel could smell his vile breath.

  ‘Smell, you thief. It’s mine. Your colour’s mine. All the colour in the world’s mine. You stole it and now I shall have it back,’ he hissed.

  Mumchance’s shadow beckoned to the others and the maggot was brought forward towards Mel’s face. Nearer and nearer it came. Mel struggled to rise but only managed a few feeble movements as it was brought closer, its drooling, colour-sucking mouthparts pursed as if for a kiss. Mel struggled harder against his paralysis.

  ‘Mel, wake up! Wake up.’

  Someone was shaking him. Mel slowly surfaced from his nightmare and blinked. ‘Ludo? What time is it?’

  ‘It’s dawn. Mel, come and look at this. I think we’re in deep trouble.’

  The Vermiraptor

  Mel climbed out of bed, pulling on some clean clothes, and followed Ludo to the window. They looked down into the courtyard. Even in the thin light of early dawn, they could see that the far corner beneath the clock tower had lost its colour.

  ‘It looks just like – ’

  ‘Our drawing,’ said Mel. ‘There’s something moving down there. Come on.’

  Downstairs, the full extent of the damage was evident. Many of the flowering trees and low box hedges were completely grey. Some of the marble statues near to them had lost their delicate pale pinks and blues and a small gilded fountain looked as though it were fashioned from dull and lifeless metal. The ground writhed with a carpet of slimy, grey creatures.

  ‘It’s the worms. But it can’t be. Wren and I pulled them all off you and squashed them.’

  ‘What! You mean those things were on me?’

  ‘The ones that attacked you were tiny. These are huge. Some are as big as sausages.’

  ‘You must have big sausages in Feg. They’re more like the whole pig.’

  Now that the maggots were bigger their features were more defined. They were covered in fine hairs and trailed sticky mucus behind them. Beneath bulging, pale eyes their mouthparts had slug-lips like gaping wounds, and they made an ominous sucking sound as they fed.

  ‘They’re drinking the colour from everything.’

  ‘I think they’re multiplying.’

  ‘What’re we going to do? The servants will be up and about soon. It won’t be long before this is discovered.’

  Mel began stamping on the mucus-covered worms that were squirming about ankle-deep. They made a squelching noise underfoot and a satisfying splop when they burst and their coloured innards shot out.

  ‘This is revolting. I feel sick.’

  ‘You must help me, Ludo. No one must know about this. If they ever find we brought them here we’ll both be kicked out.’

  After a short while, both of the boys were skidding about on the slick, multi-coloured surface of the courtyard. Their boots were thick with the coloured residue of the squashed worms and their white hose were splashed with bright stains. But the maggots kept multiplying.

  The task seemed hopeless to Mel. ‘We need help. Go and find Wren.’

  By the time Ludo returned with Wren, the oversized maggots had increased visibly.

  ‘I thought a broom might help,’ said Wren.

  Ludo took it from her and began frantically brushing yet more worms from the trunks of the trees and from the statues. Wren hitched up her skirts and joined in the stamping but it was a lost cause.

  ‘We need more help,’ said Wren. ‘I’ll go and get the other servants and one of you go and wake up the ’prentices. Get off!’ She kicked one of the larger worms that had sucked her shoe, leaving a grey patch.

  ‘No, we can’t do that,’ said Ludo. ‘This is all our fault.’

  ‘We must do something,’ said Wren. ‘The mansion’s full of the master’s paintings. Just imagine what would happen if they get inside. And what if they escape into the city?’

  ‘Wren’s right. We’ll never wipe them out on our own,’ said Mel. ‘But no servants. I’ve got another idea. Wren, can you get the key to the passages?’

  ‘I’ve got it here.’

  ‘Will the master be in his studio this early?’
Mel asked her.

  ‘No, he never starts work until after his morning rounds.’

  ‘Good. Come on, you two.’

  The friends raced through the service passages to the master’s studio.

  Mel asked, ‘Where’s the bestiary you found the other day, Ludo?’

  Ludo rummaged around and soon found it. ‘Here it is. What’re you thinking?’

  ‘Perhaps we can find a creature in the bestiary that we could use to fight the maggots and we might find that same creature in one of the master’s paintings.’ Mel nodded towards the master’s canvas. ‘One of us could go and get it.’

  ‘Sounds like a pretty feeble plan to me,’ said Ludo.

  ‘I still think we should get help,’ said Wren.

  ‘But we can’t,’ said Ludo.

  ‘Do you have a better idea?’ said Mel.

  Ludo sighed. ‘OK, let’s try your idea.’

  The bestiary was a richly illuminated tome bound in worn, tan leather. It had reinforced metal corners and hinges and a heavy iron clasp holding it shut.

  ‘Where do we start?’ asked Wren. ‘There must be hundreds of pages.’

  There were hundreds of pages and each one featured several creatures painted in bright colours. The illustrations were obviously by many different hands and the older ones, near the beginning, were faded.

  As they turned the pages, the beasts depicted on the crinkled vellum became stranger and stranger. In the later half of the book the illustrations were fresher. Next to each was a handwritten inscription in sepia ink.

  ‘What’s that one?’ Mel pointed to a likely-looking brute. ‘It looks like it might eat worms for breakfast.’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s in some strange script,’ said Wren. ‘Can you read it, Ludo?’

  ‘No, I can’t. It looks like you should be able to read it but when you try it doesn’t make any sense. I’ll tell you what though; it’s the master’s handwriting.’