‘Wait for me!’
He stumbled towards the lights, but they were always ahead of him. When he slowed, they slowed, and when he speeded up, so too did the lights. ‘They’re teasing me,’ he laughed
suddenly. He felt quite light-headed. The tarry smell that had accosted his nose and throat ever since he had arrived in Degringolade was stronger here. He lunged for a light that danced just feet
away, lost his footing and began to half roll, half slide downhill, coming to an abrupt and painful halt against some sort of rock. Winded, he lay for a moment before turning on to his stomach and
reaching for his manuslantern, which was lying nearby. But when he held it up his stomach twisted with terror. He was lying not on rough gravel, but on a shingle of blackened bones.
Human
bones.
Panicking and desperate to get away from the smell and the agonized wailing, Vincent scrambled to his feet. Racked by a fit of coughing he began gasping for air. But no matter how hard he tried,
he couldn’t fill his lungs. Then a gap opened up in the mist and instantly he knew where he had come. He was nowhere near Degringolade; he was on the shore of the Tar Pit. And there, out on
its dark bubbling surface, he saw the source of the howling, the horde of swaying Lurids that bayed ceaselessly at the diminishing moon. A sob of fear caught in his throat. There were hundreds of
them!
The Lurids sensed his presence and raced towards the shore. Vincent staggered backwards, his limbs heavy and difficult to move, the sticky tar pulling at his boots, and his disbelieving eyes
were mesmerized by the ululating mob. His head was spinning, his lungs were contracting and his own moans of terror mingled with those of the advancing Lurids. In an instant of clarity he
remembered his gas mask. But it was too late. If he could just get up the slope, away from the noxious lake. But now he was surrounded by tall shapes. People? No, pillars of some sort. He stumbled
on, straight into the path of a dark shadow with huge eyes and a long snout. A Degringoladian devil!
Vincent tried to call out, but his voice failed him. He could only croak as he sank to his knees on the sharp bones. The devil creature leaned down and he could see the abject terror on his own
face reflected in its glassy eyes. He could hear its heavy breathing, like frothing water. He tried to lift his arms to defend himself, but they wouldn’t work.
‘Stop fighting me, you fool,’ said a muffled voice, ‘and put on your mask.’
Vincent stood in front of the Kryptos fire warming his hands. His lungs still burned slightly when he inhaled but gradually his breathing was improving. Another dose of
Antikamnial had taken the edge off his throbbing hand, but nothing could take away the crippling feeling of foolishness.
‘You’re lucky I came looking for you,’ said Folly lightly. ‘You wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Did you not think to put on your gas mask? And even luckier you
could still walk. I couldn’t have dragged you back here.’
‘I was doing OK until the compass stopped working,’ he said defensively.
‘Compasses don’t work near the Tar Pit. The whole place is full of impedimentium, a magnetic ore; it affects the needle.’
‘If it hadn’t been for those blue lanterns then.’
‘Corpse candles, they’re called. The Puca spirits carry them to lead you astray, just for the fun of it. You should never follow them.’
‘Puca?’ began Vincent, but when he saw the expression on Folly’s face he didn’t dare to challenge her. Besides, he really wasn’t so sure of himself right now. Maybe
there was something to all this superstition after all.
Folly continued coolly. ‘Anyway, I have something for you.’ She held out a tangled mass of metal and leather.
‘A present?’ Vincent was noticeably taken aback, but his initial look of confusion was quickly replaced by one of recognition and he managed a laugh. ‘The artificial arm from
the Caveat
He stumbled towards the lights, but they were always ahead of him. When he slowed, they slowed, and when he speeded up, so too did the lights. ‘They’re teasing me,’ he laughed
suddenly. He felt quite light-headed. The tarry smell that had accosted his nose and throat ever since he had arrived in Degringolade was stronger here. He lunged for a light that danced just feet
away, lost his footing and began to half roll, half slide downhill, coming to an abrupt and painful halt against some sort of rock. Winded, he lay for a moment before turning on to his stomach and
reaching for his manuslantern, which was lying nearby. But when he held it up his stomach twisted with terror. He was lying not on rough gravel, but on a shingle of blackened bones.
Human
bones.
Panicking and desperate to get away from the smell and the agonized wailing, Vincent scrambled to his feet. Racked by a fit of coughing he began gasping for air. But no matter how hard he tried,
he couldn’t fill his lungs. Then a gap opened up in the mist and instantly he knew where he had come. He was nowhere near Degringolade; he was on the shore of the Tar Pit. And there, out on
its dark bubbling surface, he saw the source of the howling, the horde of swaying Lurids that bayed ceaselessly at the diminishing moon. A sob of fear caught in his throat. There were hundreds of
them!
The Lurids sensed his presence and raced towards the shore. Vincent staggered backwards, his limbs heavy and difficult to move, the sticky tar pulling at his boots, and his disbelieving eyes
were mesmerized by the ululating mob. His head was spinning, his lungs were contracting and his own moans of terror mingled with those of the advancing Lurids. In an instant of clarity he
remembered his gas mask. But it was too late. If he could just get up the slope, away from the noxious lake. But now he was surrounded by tall shapes. People? No, pillars of some sort. He stumbled
on, straight into the path of a dark shadow with huge eyes and a long snout. A Degringoladian devil!
Vincent tried to call out, but his voice failed him. He could only croak as he sank to his knees on the sharp bones. The devil creature leaned down and he could see the abject terror on his own
face reflected in its glassy eyes. He could hear its heavy breathing, like frothing water. He tried to lift his arms to defend himself, but they wouldn’t work.
‘Stop fighting me, you fool,’ said a muffled voice, ‘and put on your mask.’
Vincent stood in front of the Kryptos fire warming his hands. His lungs still burned slightly when he inhaled but gradually his breathing was improving. Another dose of
Antikamnial had taken the edge off his throbbing hand, but nothing could take away the crippling feeling of foolishness.
‘You’re lucky I came looking for you,’ said Folly lightly. ‘You wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Did you not think to put on your gas mask? And even luckier you
could still walk. I couldn’t have dragged you back here.’
‘I was doing OK until the compass stopped working,’ he said defensively.
‘Compasses don’t work near the Tar Pit. The whole place is full of impedimentium, a magnetic ore; it affects the needle.’
‘If it hadn’t been for those blue lanterns then.’
‘Corpse candles, they’re called. The Puca spirits carry them to lead you astray, just for the fun of it. You should never follow them.’
‘Puca?’ began Vincent, but when he saw the expression on Folly’s face he didn’t dare to challenge her. Besides, he really wasn’t so sure of himself right now. Maybe
there was something to all this superstition after all.
Folly continued coolly. ‘Anyway, I have something for you.’ She held out a tangled mass of metal and leather.
‘A present?’ Vincent was noticeably taken aback, but his initial look of confusion was quickly replaced by one of recognition and he managed a laugh. ‘The artificial arm from
the Caveat
Similar Books
