burning sheaves of wheat, the upturned, firelit faces of countless people watching half in wonder, half in fear. Smithers had seen all of it, all but one, last, inexplicable horror: the witch seemed to shimmer behind the curtain of heat, to fade and then grow distinct again, until staring down at him, ringed by fire, sat Leta, bound and helpless.
Escargot leaped. He hadn’t thought about leaping; he simply leaped, grabbing hold of an iron-shod cartwheel and clambering up toward the fire. The heat staggered him. Someone grabbed his foot from below, and he looked back and kicked the man in the face. He jerked loose and pulled himself onto the underside of the cornucopia itself, reaching into the gathering flame. Yanking himself forward and grappling for a foothold, he hauled himself up until he got an elbow over the edge, inches away from one of the front legs of the chair. Above him dangled a leg –Leta’s leg. He reached for it, shouting incoherently into the flames, grabbing an ankle. He lurched upward to get a better grip and felt himself grasped from behind. The wizened, bespectacled face of the shopkeeper puppet looked into his own, and from behind it came a disembodied voice that shouted, ‘Give off!’ then ‘Let go, will you!’
It was someone inside, yelling at him. Escargot held onto the ankle. If they hauled him off they’d haul her too. The lot of them would smash into the street, but that was better than letting Leta incinerate. ‘Pull!’ he shouted into the puppet’s face, and then he felt himself falling, carrying with him a single, smouldering shoe.
He landed on a mass of flailing people, and for a moment he lay trapped beneath the torso of the puppet. He could hear the dwarf inside cursing him and pounding on the wall of his temporary prison. The cornucopia burned above him. In the wild glow it was impossible to say what sat in the chair, but it seemed, just as two chair legs slumped into the burning mass of debris, that there was nothing at all in the chair but an almost transparent, leathery bag of wind encircled by a halo of flame. Then the ropes that had bound the witch fell slack and the chair was empty.
Escargot was suddenly free of the puppet. He leaped up, hoping that in the general melee he wouldn’t be recognized, but he found himself peering into the down-bent face of the goblin puppet, its hair by now burnt to a frazzle. It reached for his neck with hands that seemed to be constructed of wired-together human bones, and in the split second that it took for him to shake off this new horror and run, he saw, peering out at him through the thing’s open mouth, the grinning face of Uncle Helstrom.
Escargot shouted. A man beside him clutched at his arm. Escargot turned and swung at the man’s face with a fury born of sudden terror, then ducked through the straddled legs of the puppet and ran. He heard cries of pursuit and the pounding of feet as he was swallowed by the blessed fog, rebounding off people who loomed suddenly up before him. He had no idea where he was going – only that he had no intention of stopping until he got there.
The square gave out onto a broad thoroughfare and a thinner crowd, most of the people having pressed along farther to watch the burning. Running, Escargot could see, was attracting attention. It was better, to be subtle, to slow down and become a part of the crowd again, rather than a hunted man who flew in the face of it. He was winded anyhow. He could circle back around and rejoin the crowd at the square – no one there had the foggiest notion who he was; no one but the dwarf, anyway. But it was late, and he was in no mood for further revelry, so in the end he decided to hunt down his man with the gyroscopes and fetch his bags, then set out in search of a doorway in which to spend the rest of the night.
Twice as he walked he heard the sound of hurrying feet. He ducked into the safety of a dark alley the first time; then, five mintues later, he was
Escargot leaped. He hadn’t thought about leaping; he simply leaped, grabbing hold of an iron-shod cartwheel and clambering up toward the fire. The heat staggered him. Someone grabbed his foot from below, and he looked back and kicked the man in the face. He jerked loose and pulled himself onto the underside of the cornucopia itself, reaching into the gathering flame. Yanking himself forward and grappling for a foothold, he hauled himself up until he got an elbow over the edge, inches away from one of the front legs of the chair. Above him dangled a leg –Leta’s leg. He reached for it, shouting incoherently into the flames, grabbing an ankle. He lurched upward to get a better grip and felt himself grasped from behind. The wizened, bespectacled face of the shopkeeper puppet looked into his own, and from behind it came a disembodied voice that shouted, ‘Give off!’ then ‘Let go, will you!’
It was someone inside, yelling at him. Escargot held onto the ankle. If they hauled him off they’d haul her too. The lot of them would smash into the street, but that was better than letting Leta incinerate. ‘Pull!’ he shouted into the puppet’s face, and then he felt himself falling, carrying with him a single, smouldering shoe.
He landed on a mass of flailing people, and for a moment he lay trapped beneath the torso of the puppet. He could hear the dwarf inside cursing him and pounding on the wall of his temporary prison. The cornucopia burned above him. In the wild glow it was impossible to say what sat in the chair, but it seemed, just as two chair legs slumped into the burning mass of debris, that there was nothing at all in the chair but an almost transparent, leathery bag of wind encircled by a halo of flame. Then the ropes that had bound the witch fell slack and the chair was empty.
Escargot was suddenly free of the puppet. He leaped up, hoping that in the general melee he wouldn’t be recognized, but he found himself peering into the down-bent face of the goblin puppet, its hair by now burnt to a frazzle. It reached for his neck with hands that seemed to be constructed of wired-together human bones, and in the split second that it took for him to shake off this new horror and run, he saw, peering out at him through the thing’s open mouth, the grinning face of Uncle Helstrom.
Escargot shouted. A man beside him clutched at his arm. Escargot turned and swung at the man’s face with a fury born of sudden terror, then ducked through the straddled legs of the puppet and ran. He heard cries of pursuit and the pounding of feet as he was swallowed by the blessed fog, rebounding off people who loomed suddenly up before him. He had no idea where he was going – only that he had no intention of stopping until he got there.
The square gave out onto a broad thoroughfare and a thinner crowd, most of the people having pressed along farther to watch the burning. Running, Escargot could see, was attracting attention. It was better, to be subtle, to slow down and become a part of the crowd again, rather than a hunted man who flew in the face of it. He was winded anyhow. He could circle back around and rejoin the crowd at the square – no one there had the foggiest notion who he was; no one but the dwarf, anyway. But it was late, and he was in no mood for further revelry, so in the end he decided to hunt down his man with the gyroscopes and fetch his bags, then set out in search of a doorway in which to spend the rest of the night.
Twice as he walked he heard the sound of hurrying feet. He ducked into the safety of a dark alley the first time; then, five mintues later, he was
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