Bindings (7 page)

“They're all…they're all dead,” Tim said.

“Are they?” the man asked. “How can you say a creature is dead when it can't be proved that it ever lived?”

Tim whirled and glared at the horrible man. “Why did you do this to them?” he demanded.

The man wasn't fazed at all. In fact, he seemed to enjoy Tim's outburst. “Ahh, how refreshing,” he said. “An eager student. I am going to enjoy you, child. It is such a pleasure to cleanse young minds of the taint of credulity. But as for your question, I've already answered it. I am engaged in simplifying the world. In time, you will comprehend the—”

“Shut up!” Tim cried, cutting off the man's words. “Just shut up!”

“Pardon?” Tim heard a sharp edge in the man's voice, but he didn't care. He just wanted the man to stop speaking for a minute. He needed to think.

Tim slowly turned to face his hideous adversary. “I've changed my mind,” he announced, “about your game.”

The man brought his face a mere few inches from Tim. “You've agreed to the game, little man.” Tim could hear threat in every syllable. “You cannot decline to play now.”

“I'm not backing out,” Tim told him. “I just want to change the terms of the bet.”

The man straightened back up and crossed his arms, waiting. He looked suspicious.
Fine. Let him worry for a change.

“I don't want you tell me my father's name after I've beaten you,” Tim said, mustering all his courage and bluster. “It's
your
name I want to know.”
And once I have it
, Tim thought,
I shall destroy you
.

“Ah, such fire. Anger becomes you, child.” The man cocked his head to one side. “I can be generous. If you can indeed beat me at my game, you shall have
both
names! Mine and your father's. You will have earned them, I'm sure. I've become quite adept at hide and seek, you see.”

The man smiled, and Tim had to look away
from that grotesque mouth.

The man turned and headed toward a heavy double door. He gripped the handles, then glanced back over his shoulder at Tim. “I will be with you presently. If you need me for anything I will be in the conservatory, playing my flute.”

The man stepped through the doorway, and the doors slowly swung shut.

Tim sank to the bottom step of the sweeping stairway. He buried his face in his hands, finally allowing himself to feel all the fear that had been building since the creature first appeared.

“Oh man,” he moaned. “What have I done?”

 

Tamlin circled over Faerie. He saw another dead place. Another legend swallowed up by the wasteland.
Is this Arraune, where the lake women wove water and sighs into blue-green silk? Or is this Tellis, where lost hopes paced the streets, begging strangers to take them in? I cannot tell. Something has eaten the heart of this place. The life of it is gone.

In his sad, wearisome journey, Tamlin could see that the lands were wearing away everywhere. Fading.
Faerie is less than a ghost of what she was when her gates were first opened to me
, he observed.

Tamlin thought back to the time before he had become an inhabitant of Faerie. It was so long
ago, centuries. He had not been more than twenty summers old but he had already stolen droves of cattle from neighbors not of his clan. He had murdered a distant cousin who had made light of his sister's chastity. His kinsmen sang of his courage.
A knight, they reckoned me
, he thought
. But I was a coward. I know that now.

Tamlin continued his flight, but now he saw only his past, not the withering land below him.
I believed in nothing and in no one. Myself, least of all. I was a raw and arrogant whelp, and I might have grown into a cur. But I was given a glimpse of mystery. A mystery as precious as life itself. Faerie.

Tamlin recalled meeting Titania that fateful night in the moonlight. Why she had entered his world he still did not know. But once she did, his life was changed forever. For it was she who had brought him here. To Faerie. And while he had been a prisoner, it was only in later years that he became a reluctant one. And even then, while he strained against Titania's whims and tempers, Faerie herself had always rewarded him.

The twilight land dared me to have faith in my own madness,
he acknowledged.
To embrace what I had hidden from myself all my wretched and cautious life: the world around me and the world within me. The land taught me to live. To laugh. And, yes, even to love.

Now the Summerland was dead. It had been strangled and sucked dry.
This wasteland spills from the soul of Faerie's murderer
. Tamlin was determined to find the evil source of such devastation. And then?
Whoever makes this cruel magic can consume dreams easily enough, it seems. We'll see how he fares against one whose dreams vanished long ago.

One thought comforted Tamlin, as he flew in low circles searching for his enemy.
At least I did not bring the boy into this hell, to face this battle. How surprising to have Amadan to thank for anything, but I do have to thank him for this. If the insidious flitling had not interrupted me, I would have brought the boy here, and that I would regret now. Barren of dreams his world might be, but at least he is safe now.

W
HAT KIND OF LOON WOULD
build a house like this?
Tim had just come to another dead end, another hallway that led to nowhere. Just a blank wall. He turned around and found his way back to the main passageway. The soft, embroidered carpet under his feet and the rows of chandeliers overhead did nothing to disguise the fact that this house was a trap. Plain and simple.

Tim was reminded of another biology question. They had just had this on an exam from their unit on animal behavior. The question was: Not all carnivores are ______, but all _______ are carnivores. It had been his task to fill in the blanks and it had been easy. The answer was
predators
.

Predators don't just kill their prey and eat it,
Tim remembered
. That would be too easy
.
Predators enjoy tracking and stalking their meals. It's all a big game to the predator. A game. That was precisely
what this bloke had suggested.
And Tim believed without any doubt that this house was a predator's dream palace.

None of the doors had a lock to hide behind. No knives handy in the kitchen with which to defend oneself.
Not that I've found a kitchen. In fact
, Tim realized as he wandered the broad hallways, poking his head through archways,
this freak probably eats all his meals raw.

Tim found himself at the front door again. He scratched his head. The house was a maze, with rooms leading into halls back into rooms. They all twisted and opened out where you didn't expect them to. He wasn't even certain how he had ended up back where he had started. Tim stood with his hands on his hips, trying to get his bearings.

Off to his left, through the heavy double doors, Tim could hear the lilting sound of a flute. The creep hadn't been kidding. He really was a music lover. He didn't even sound half bad.
Phenomenal, considering all those teeth
. Tim wouldn't have picked a wind instrument for someone with a mouth like that.

In front of him, the room opened out into the sicko display area, filled with glass cases and pedestals and sad stuffed creatures. Tim tried not to look any of them in the eye. The ceiling was quite high in that area, and little balconies ran
along both sides.
The spiral staircase at the far end of the room must provide access to that mezzanine,
Tim figured.

To the right was the broad, sweeping marble staircase leading to the upper floors. Tim wished he had paid more attention outside to the layout of the house. He remembered turrets with windows in them, and—

Windows! He might be able to use that stone Tamlin had given him to smash through the glass and make an escape! So it might just land him back in the courtyard with the ever-growing wall, but he'd rather be outside than trapped in here.

Tim had already tried wishing himself out with the stone, but nothing had happened. The amulet didn't even look the same inside this horrible house. It had lost its luster and sheen and looked just like an ordinary rock. It was as if the mansion—or that man—had dulled the stone's magic.

But a rock is still a rock
. Tim dashed to the brocade drapes that blocked out the light. He yanked them aside.

His shoulders sagged. The windows were barred, and they had what looked like steel mesh built right into them.

“That was dumb,” Tim admonished himself. “This guy has been at this game for years—cen
turies even. Did you really think it would be as simple as that?”

Frustration flooded through him. He stalked away from the windows, his hands clenched in tight fists. As he walked through the archway he slammed his fist into the doorframe.

Crrreeeeaak.

Tim's eyes widened in surprise as he saw the wood paneling open in the wall beside the archway. He stared at his fist and then at the dark opening. A secret passageway.
And it looks too small for that creep to crawl into. Excellent!

Tim hoisted himself up into the little doorway and pulled the door shut behind him. Dust flew everywhere, and he coughed into his sleeve, trying to mask the sound. Now that he had found a place to hide, he didn't want to give it away just because of massive dust bunnies!

Tim's eyes adjusted to the dimness of the cramped space, and he saw that it was actually the start of a tunnel. It branched off in all different directions. He began to crawl, wanting to put distance between him and the opening.
Even if he couldn't fit comfortably in here
, Tim acknowledged,
that guy must know this secret passageway exists
.

Tim came to the first branch, and his heart sank. It opened right into the large main room. No secret door to protect him; the opening wasn't
even hidden behind a display case. Tim peered out exactly at the freak's eye level. If the man was standing anywhere in that room he'd see Tim right this minute. Tim snorted.
Yeah, this was a big secret.

Maybe somewhere deeper in
, he thought, crawling again. He arrived at a turn in the tunnel and found a flight of stairs. Here he could almost stand, so he took the steps in a low crouch. It twisted and turned so many times Tim had no idea if he was at the front or back of the house. It didn't matter where he was, as long as Toothy didn't find him.

He came to a landing and leaned against the wall, trying to get his bearings. “Ooops!” He fell backward through a doorway and landed hard on his backside. “Ow,” he complained. He sat back up and crossed his legs.
That wasn't even a wall
, he realized.
It was just canvas painted to look like it was. Sneaky.

There are all sorts of places for you to hide,
Tim observed as he began crawling again.
And all sorts of ways for someone to sneak up on you while you're hiding
.

Tim found a room that looked promising. It was filled with nooks and crannies and junk like trunks and mounds of fabric. He might be able to hide in a trunk or cover himself with one of the
drapes and pretend to be part of the furniture.

Tim crossed quickly to the trunk. He was reaching to open it when the back of his neck prickled. Something was wrong. He glanced behind him and gulped. A row of sharp knives stuck out of the wall behind him, the razor-sharp tips pointing straight out. Tim was in the direct line of fire.

He looked down at the trunk again. “I bet if I…” he murmured. On a hunch, he moved away from the trunk. He found a poker by the enormous fireplace. Gripping it, he lay on the floor as far away from the trunk as he could get and still reach it with the poker. He held the poker in two hands and lifted the trunk lid with it.

Thwick! Thwick! Thwick!

The knives flew across the room. Without Tim's body to stop them, they flung themselves into the tapestry hanging on the opposite wall.

The poker clattered to the floor. The trunk had been rigged. If Tim had opened it from the front, he'd be a pincushion right now. He could feel sweat bead up on his forehead. He had to be more careful—every single room could have a booby trap in it, a deadly one.

He pushed himself up to sit, then sank back onto his heels. “All kinds of rooms and halls and ups and downs that look like places you'd be
safe,” he muttered, “until you get inside them and you discover that they're traps.”

He felt exhausted. How could he possibly survive this game? What else lay out there waiting to impale him, suffocate him, or hold him prisoner until that man showed up? He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Don't think about that,” he told himself. “Staying alive. That's what you want to think about right now.”

He stood and crossed to the knives embedded in the tapestry to their hilts. Did he dare touch them? Try to use one as a weapon? For all he knew they were coated with poison. Deciding to risk it, he wrapped his fingers around the carved black handle of the knife in front of him and tugged.

The knife didn't budge. He tried again. The same thing happened. It was as if the knife were now stuck in hardened cement.

“Well, you're no help,” he told the wall of knives.
Keep playing the game
, Tim reminded himself.
If you concentrate on keeping yourself in one piece, everything else will take care of itself. At least
, he thought,
that's how it works in fairy tales.

Tim went back to trying to find a hiding place, or at least a way to keep himself one step ahead of his predatory host. He noticed that the flute playing had stopped. Tim wasn't certain if that was because he was now out of hearing range or
because the man had started hunting for him.

Fairy tales. Bloody fairy tales
. Tim hoisted himself up into a little recess in the wall. As he had expected, it led to another tunnel. This one was very dusty, as if it hadn't been traveled in some time. That struck Tim as a good sign.

Somehow the monsters never seem as real as the princes and princesses do
, Tim thought.
The ogres and the giants never seem to have a chance, really. Even the brave little tailors and clever orphan girls make mincemeat out of them. And live happily ever after. That's how they end, the stories.
Now that he was in a real-life fairy tale, complete with its own monster, he realized how unlikely those stories really were.

Probably because they're told by grown-ups. More lies.

Tim spotted daylight at the end of the tunnel he was in. Could it actually be an exit? Since there weren't footprints in the narrow passageway, and there were plenty of cobwebs, this could be a way out that the man had forgotten about. Tim picked up speed, banging his knees and bumping his head as he made his way to the end of the tunnel.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed. The tunnel opened out onto a narrow platform. If Tim had been moving any faster, he would have pitched right over the edge. It was a sheer drop of about thirty feet.

Tim peered down below him and into a courtyard of rubble and bones. On the top of a pile of skeletons lay a young girl—obviously a recent victim. She was still dressed in a beautiful flowing gown and had a tiara on her head. She looked like she might have been a princess—or had been playing dress up. Her body was twisted and broken. Tim couldn't tell if she had been killed by the horrible man or if she had plunged to her death from the very spot he was now in.

Tim was filled with horror and deep sadness for the little girl. He began to choke up.
Maybe she was clever and brave. Maybe she would have done all right, if she'd been in somebody's bedtime story. But she wasn't. And neither am I. So I need to hold myself together.

This is going from bad to worse to even worse than that
. Tim gritted his teeth. He was determined not to let this beastly man get the better of him. “I won't give up!” he declared. His voice echoed around the courtyard. “I just won't! I'll beat you for me, and for that little girl, and for this Land—whether it's Faerie or not!”

Tim tried to calm himself, backed up, and began searching for another place to hide.
Why would these tunnels be built so low?
Tim wondered.
Can Creepy Bloke even fit in here? I wonder if that guy does a lot of crawling around on his hands and
knees. I guess he's crazy enough for that.
His mind was rambling to distract him from the horrible sight of the girl.

Or maybe…
Tim stopped crawling. He froze with one hand off the floor, one knee raised.
Or maybe it's because he doesn't always go around standing up. Maybe he doesn't always have two legs. He could be some sort of animal, when he's at home.

Tim placed his knee and his hand on the floor. Every muscle ached from his awkward journey through the twists and turns of this bizarre mansion. He was still being pursued and he still had no place to hide.

A new thought occurred to Tim. Perhaps hiding wasn't really the way to go.
The other ones—the previous victims,
he reasoned,
it looks as if they all tried to hide and look where it got them.

But he had to do something. He couldn't just wait around to be turned into snack food. But what?

Tim crawled out of an archway into another long hallway with a marble floor and several closed doors.

He stood up and carefully tried the first door he came to. It was locked. Surprised, he tried the ornate door handle again. In all of his exploring he had yet to find a single door that had been locked. Until now.

Now that's interesting….