Mirrorscape Read online

  When the fane came in sight, he saw that there was a magnificent carriage waiting on the sward outside. Unlike Dirk Tot’s, this one was a vivid scarlet, ornamented with fine carving and gold leaf. It positively throbbed with colour. It occurred to Mel that he had seen more colour in the last few weeks than in his entire life. Four huge, black horses with hairy fetlocks looked at the boy. Pale sweat streaked their flanks and froth hung around their mouths as if they had been driven hard. Hitched to the back of the carriage was a trailer with what looked like a large, domed bird cage resting on it, easily big enough to hold a man. Hanging from the thick bars were stout chains and manacles. Mel walked towards the fane, wondering who Fa Theum’s visitor might be.

  As he reached the door, it struck him that the village boys were not around. No one was. He would have expected the villagers to be irresistibly attracted by such a spectacle. Even the birds had stopped singing. It was as if everything had fled.

  Mel hesitated for a moment and then pushed open the door.

  ‘Ah, and this must be the artist.’

  There were three of them, the one who had spoken, and two other armed and powerful-looking men, who held Fa Theum between them in the small vestibule. The old priest stood in a pool of his own vomit. He was bleeding heavily from a deep scalp wound, his left eye so swollen that it was completely closed up. The lower half of his face was encrusted with blood and snot and he held his right hand at an odd angle.

  His captors were dressed in long, scarlet robes that brushed the floor, with a large, black eye emblazoned on the breast. They wore many jewelled rings in rows over their red gloves. All had faces painted with white make-up and straight, jet-black hair that hung to their shoulders. This was shaved in a strange tonsure so that the front of their scalp and everything in front of their ears, including their eyebrows, was completely bald. Their leader was taller than the others and cadaverously thin. He had reptilian, grey eyes with irises so pale they were only a shade or two darker than the surrounding whites. They were deep-set above a tiny, upturned nose. The man held a long, multi-coloured staff with an ornate, gilded boss on top. He sneered at Mel, revealing uneven, yellow teeth.

  ‘So these are your masterpieces,’ he said, with an expansive, sweeping gesture towards the drawings decorating the vestibule.

  Too frightened to speak, Mel nodded.

  ‘I thought as much. Seize him!’

  One of the other men grasped Mel roughly by his arms. His new drawing fell to the floor and was trampled underfoot.

  ‘Leave the boy alone,’ Fa Theum managed to croak.

  ‘Keep quiet until I tell you that you can speak! Unless you want another beating,’ said the leader, jabbing his staff in the priest’s ribs. The old man gave a gasp of pain. ‘And you,’ he said, stooping so that he was eye to eye with Mel, ‘tell me who gave you permission for this exhibition.’

  His fetid breath made Mel wince.

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with the boy. It was my idea,’ rasped Fa Theum.

  ‘I told you to keep quiet!’ he bellowed, showering Mel with beads of foul-smelling spittle. Then, to Mel, ‘Well? What’s the matter? Forgotten how to speak?’

  ‘Can’t you see he’s terrified?’ said the priest, fighting back his own pain.

  The man grabbed Mel’s hair so hard that a clump was torn out.

  Mel screamed.

  ‘Do you know how many laws you’ve broken with your pathetic little exhibition here? Do you realise how much trouble you’re in?’

  ‘Stop hurting me,’ screamed Mel. ‘Stop it!’

  ‘So you can speak, after all. Well, now that you’ve found your voice, answer me. Or would you like another hairdo?’

  ‘Mel, say nothing,’ came Fa Theum’s voice.

  ‘I’ll not tell you again, skeg-breath.’ Turning to his henchman holding the priest, he said, ‘If he interrupts me again, hurt him. Hurt him badly.’

  ‘Leave him alone!’ said Mel through gritted teeth.

  Yanking his hair even harder, his interrogator said, ‘Don’t try and tell me what to do, Smell. That is your name, isn’t it?’ He wrinkled his nose as if smelling something nasty. ‘You have no rights in this matter. None at all. You, Smell, and this disgusting old man, are mine. I will do with you exactly as I please.’

  ‘Don’t hurt the b-’ the priest’s protest was cut short by a backhanded blow across the face.

  ‘You have no idea who I am, have you, Smell? Not the faintest idea.’ He touched the emblem on his breast. ‘Have you ever heard of the Mysteries? Of course you have. Even out here in Feg, this stinking backwater. Well, I am the High-Bailiff of the Fifth Mystery. And as far as you and this old man are concerned, I am the Fifth Mystery. And it is me, and no one else, who says what goes and does not go, where pictures are concerned. Not that I’d grace such ugly scribbles with so noble a title as pictures.’ He prodded Mel’s dropped landscape with the toe of his boot before grinding it underfoot as if it were a verminous insect.

  Mel was scared that at any moment he would wet himself. His scalp hurt terribly where his hair had been yanked out and his arms, held from behind, had gone numb. What had he done wrong?

  At that moment there came a shrill whistle from within the fane.

  ‘Ah, we’re ready. Bring them both inside,’ announced the High-Bailiff. ‘Now we’ll get some answers. Soon you’ll both be eager to talk.’

  The men dragged their prisoners into the main body of the fane. The pews had been hastily pushed aside except for two, placed close together to form a kind of bed, that occupied the centre of the space. Fa Theum was roughly thrown down on to this on his back and his hands and feet were tied to the legs.

  ‘Are we ready, Mumchance?’ asked the High-Bailiff.

  In answer, a dwarf, dressed in the same scarlet robes, took a silver whistle attached to a chain around his neck and blew a note. He then selected a couple of evil-looking instruments from a small decorated chest and approached the helpless priest. Fa Theum’s blood-stained cassock was ripped open, baring his pale and skinny torso.

  There came a noise from the doorway. ‘Mel, Fa, what’s going on?’ said Willem, come to search for his truant son. He was followed closely by Mabin. They looked with horror at the scene.

  ‘Ah, an audience. There’s nothing I like more than an audience,’ said the High-Bailiff. ‘Are you the parents of Smell here? The resemblance is uncanny. There’s something of the festering cesspit about both of you. A family trait, I’ll warrant.’

  ‘Let go of them. You have no right.’ There was a tremor in Willem’s voice.

  ‘No right? On the contrary. I have every right. It’s you who have no right. The only one who has less right than you is Smell here.’ He jerked Mel’s head hard.

  Mabin stifled a sob.

  ‘W … What are you going to do?’ Willem had difficulty saying the words.

  ‘What am I going to do? I am going to watch my little man here create his own work of art. Then ….’ He placed a long, gloved finger to his pallid face and rolled his eyes in a showy gesture. ‘… Mmm, let me think. What shall I do? Shall I have this pair of miscreants nailed to a tree and whipped and let it go at that? No, that would hardly fit a crime as serious as the theft of a Pleasure. Shall I hang them? No, not that either. Leniency was never my strong point. I know!’ He held up his finger, pretending he had just had a brainwave. ‘I’ll send them to the mines! That’s what I’ll do. The old man won’t last long, not in his present state, but Smell here,’ he jerked Mel’s head up by his chin, ‘might last for years before the Coloured Death takes him. Who knows, he might even last long enough to pay for this stolen Pleasure. Not that it will matter to him. Not after a spell on Kig. Maybe I’ll take you as well. And your woman. Make it a family affair. There’s always room for more in the mines. The more the merrier, I say.’

  Willem hugged his wife even closer. ‘All the boy did was to pin up a few of his pictures.’

  ‘All the boy did was to steal a Pleasure. And whose
Pleasure did he steal?’

  ‘Ambrosius Blenk’s Pleasure,’ came a deep voice. ‘Let the boy go.’

  Escape

  ‘Dirk Tot,’ said the High-Bailiff, recognising the voice and turning to regard the newcomer. ‘I was wondering when you would turn up.’

  ‘Adolfus Spute, you have no jurisdiction over these two. Release them at once.’ Dirk Tot strode into the fane. He seemed even larger and more imposing than Mel remembered.

  Adolfus Spute stood his ground. ‘I represent the Fifth Mystery here and these … these vermin have stolen one of our Pleasures. They must be made to pay. Even the great Ambrosius Blenk must pay for his Pleasures. That’s the law.’

  ‘Oh, I quite agree. But, you see, Ambrosius Blenk has already paid for this Pleasure. This boy is one of Ambrosius Blenk’s apprentices. And everything that Ambrosius Blenk’s apprentices create belongs to Ambrosius Blenk. So, you see, this is actually my master’s exhibition. Arranged, with great kindness I might say, by the good Fa. You are here on a fool’s errand. Which seems fitting. Now let them go.’

  The High-Bailiff narrowed his pale eyes. His intense loathing of this man was obvious. Then he rounded on his men. ‘Why wasn’t I told this Pleasure belonged to Ambrosius Blenk?’ he bellowed. He kicked Mumchance in the ribs, sending him flying. ‘Which one of you scrotbrained, cretinous half-wits organised this excursion?’ he screamed. His men retreated backwards as he advanced on them.

  Willem went over and cut Fa Theum free. Mabin rushed to her son’s side and held him close.

  Mel was distraught. ‘It’s all my fault. It’s my pictures that brought those men here. I nearly killed Fa Theum.’

  ‘Hush, Mel, hush.’ His mother hugged him closer.

  ‘There’s not a moment to lose,’ Dirk Tot said to Mabin quietly. ‘Take Mel out to my carriage at once.’

  Mabin stared at the giant man, uncertain.

  ‘Now! Before it’s too late. If we don’t act at once all will be lost. Mel’s life depends on it. Willem, do you know of a place where the Fa will be safe for an hour or two?’

  Willem nodded.

  ‘Good. Take him there and have someone tend to his wounds.’ He looked towards the back of the fane where the furious High-Bailiff had cornered his men and was laying into them with his heavy staff.

  ‘Come, Mel, we must do as the gentleman says,’ said Mabin.

  Mel turned to look at Fa Theum as his father helped the old man to his feet. I shouldn’t be leaving at a time like this. Leaving everyone to take the blame for what I’ve done. Then he caught sight of the dwarf’s chest resting on a pew and shrugged free of his mother. ‘Wait, there’s something I need.’ He gazed in at the tools of torture. He needed a weapon to make him feel less vulnerable. But they all looked somehow inappropriate, too specialised for self-defence. Then he spied a bodkin. That’s the one.

  ‘Mel, hurry.’ His mother tugged at his sleeve.

  There came a pathetic whistle from the back of the fane and, as everyone turned towards it, Mel grasped the slim dagger, but it resisted. He tugged it hard and, as it came free, there was a soft metallic ping and a secret drawer inside the chest sprang open. Inside was a small decorated box. Without thinking, Mel grabbed that too and stuffed them both into his shirt.

  ‘Mel, come on,’ said his mother as she pulled him towards the door and out to Dirk Tot’s carriage, which stood alongside the scarlet carriage of the Fifth Mystery. A crowd of villagers had begun to gather.

  Behind them, Dirk Tot followed them from the fane. ‘Put Mel inside and make your goodbye quick,’ he said to Mabin.

  ‘Goodbye? But your outriders, surely they’ll protect us.’

  ‘I don’t have any outriders,’ confessed Dirk Tot. ‘There’s just me and my coachman.’

  ‘But you can’t snatch Mel away from us like this,’ said Mabin.

  ‘There’s no choice. Mel must come with me to Vlam. It’s the only way he can survive now. Say goodbye. As quickly as you can.’ He turned away and said something quietly to his coachman, before disappearing back into the fane.

  ‘Oh, Mel,’ said Mabin as she helped Mel into the carriage. She cradled her son’s face between her hands and then pressed her handkerchief to his torn scalp. ‘It shouldn’t have been like this.’

  ‘I’ll be all right, Mum,’ Mel said, sounding braver than he felt. He gazed at his mother standing there and noticed a grey hair among her blonde tresses. Why haven’t I ever noticed that before? He looked beyond her at the fane and the group of villagers, people he had known all his life. Now that I’m leaving everything looks different. ‘Mum, you know that – ’

  ‘No time. We must be gone,’ interrupted Dirk Tot as he joined Mel in the carriage, which dipped and groaned on its springs under his great weight. ‘You will probably want these,’ he said as he tossed the drawings from Mel’s exhibition on to the opposite seat. He then sat alongside Mel, with the damaged side of his face towards him.

  Mel’s artistic eye no longer seemed to be working and he only saw the monster he had first encountered.

  ‘Mabin, you and the villagers make yourselves scarce until those men leave. I’ll send word as soon as we’re safe in Vlam.’

  ‘But Mel has no food, no clothes, no money. How will he survive?’

  ‘Fear not. What he needs will be provided. Yan, drive on!’

  Mabin held on to Mel’s hand, running alongside the carriage until it was moving so fast that she had to let go. Leaning out of the window, Mel watched his father join her. He attempted to see the expression on his face, but they were already too far away. He wished he could have spoken with him. He saw his parents clutch each other, and his mother waved until they were lost. Soon, even the village of Kop vanished behind the trees.

  The Mysteries

  Mel had never experienced such a complicated flood of emotions. There he was hastening off in the finest transport he had ever seen with a rich and important man to begin a new life. But now that my dream’s come true, why do I feel so wretched?

  ‘Here, Mel, let me look at you,’ said Dirk Tot. ‘Are you hurt? I can see bruises and a nasty wound on your scalp. Any broken bones? You belong to the master now. He won’t want damaged goods.’

  Mel shook his head. He suddenly realised the danger he had been in and then, with a shock, the danger his parents and the whole village were still in. ‘Those men … what are they going to do? Mum and Dad, will they be all right?’

  ‘I don’t think that your parents – or anyone else – are in any immediate danger. If I know Adolfus Spute, as soon as he has vented his rage on his men he will be hot on our trail.’

  Mel looked alarmed.

  ‘But he won’t catch us. Not without these.’ He opened his good hand to reveal two greasy linchpins. ‘I had Yan remove them from the rear wheels of his carriage. I reckon he might get as far as ten miles before they finally fall off. The closest spares would be in Arpen and it would take a fast rider a day to make it there and back.’

  ‘I don’t understand any of this. Those men, what did they want?’

  Dirk Tot turned his good eye to look at Mel. ‘What do you know about the Mysteries?’

  ‘Everyone knows about the Mystery. It controls weaving. Dad says that if he had more money he wouldn’t have to make tabby. He could buy the Pleasure to weave fancy cloth.’

  ‘That’s just the First Mystery. The Mysteries do rather more than that. Long, long ago, when Nem was just beginning to become rich and prosperous, all trade was unregulated. Unscrupulous traders began to take advantage of their customers. Wine was watered, flour was bulked up with sawdust, and all manner of shoddy goods were passed off as genuine. The honest merchants and artisans of Nem decided that this could not be allowed to continue. So they banded together and formed the Mysteries. If you wished to trade or produce any kind of goods, anywhere in the realm, then you had to be a member of your particular Mystery. Your work was carefully inspected before you were admitted and at regular intervals thereafter. The Mys
teries only asked that their members pay a small tithe each year to cover the cost of seeking out the frauds and charlatans and policing the trade. Within a few years, the frauds had all but disappeared, the customers grew content and bought more and more goods from the members of the Mysteries.’

  ‘If the Mysteries are so good, why does everyone in Kop always moan about them? And I still don’t understand what this has to do with those men back there.’

  ‘Well, over the years, things went wrong. There will always be men who only think in terms of profit, never in terms of value. Men who have no interest in what they claim to represent. Eventually, such men came to dominate, and under their control the Mysteries became increasingly corrupt. The tithes they demanded became bigger and bigger. When this form of income no longer satisfied, they came up with the idea of Pleasures. The bigger Mysteries began to gobble up the smaller ones until, eventually, only a few remained.

  ‘Today they regulate all life in the realm beyond the bare necessities by their control of Pleasures.’

  ‘So if Heck the baker wants to bake a new kind of cake he has to buy a Pleasure?’ asked Mel.

  ‘That’s right. Or if a seamstress wishes to decorate a garment with a new kind of stitch, then she must buy that Pleasure.’

  ‘So how many Mysteries are there?’ Ever since he was small, Mel had always vaguely known that life in Kop was regulated by some shadowy authority far away.

  ‘There are five, and each controls one of the senses. The First Mystery has dominion over touch and it controls, among other things, the production of cloth and tailoring. The Second Mystery rules over the sense of smell, and thereby the production of such items as perfumes and cosmetics. The Third Mystery concerns itself with the sense of hearing, and so with regulating all entertainment in the land. The Fourth Mystery is concerned with the sense of taste and its power lies over agriculture and the production and supply of food and drink.’