Josh and the Magic Vial (28 page)

Mrs. Epp watched and waited. “Can you tell me a little more?” she asked at last.

“If I could only reach him with my thoughts, Mum, I think I could bring him back.”

“Reach him with your thoughts?”

“Yeah. If we try and put ourselves in the place where Josh has gone, maybe we can help him get home again.”

Mrs. Epp stiffened. “We?” she thought. “The placed where Josh has gone?”

“Who is we?” she asked.

“Me and Ian,” Millie said defiantly.

Mrs. Epp calmed herself, breathing deeply. “Talk it through,” she thought. “Don't react.”

“How are you going to reach Josh, honey?”

For a moment Millie looked as though she would rather be someplace else — anyplace else. Then she met her mother's glance. “I think we need to reach out with our minds — sort of like praying,” she explained.

“And just where is it you think Josh has gone?” Mrs. Epp demanded, surprised at her own alarm and anger.

“I don't know!” Millie pleaded. “But he needs us — and I need to help. I have to or I'll go crazy!”

“It sounds like you're talking about some sort of trance, Millie, like — what's it called? — astral voyaging.”

Millie clammed up.

Mrs. Epp stiffened. She wouldn't have been at all surprised if a trap door suddenly opened beneath her chair and sent her tumbling into space. She wanted to grab hold of Millie and warn her. “Don't fool around with that sort of stuff! Be careful around that boy Ian Lytle.” Millie watched her pleadingly. Sensible Millie; do-it-your-own-way Millie; Millie, who seemed more grown up than the grown-ups.

“You haven't said no, Mum” Millie tested.

“I'm not saying yes, either,” she warned. But Mrs. Epp knew that was exactly what she was saying. She knew Millie wasn't telling her everything, that her daughter was still being secretive. But what would be worse: hating herself for letting her daughter try or having Millie hate her for saying no?

“Thanks Mum,” Millie said quietly . . . “For not saying ‘no'.”

The tension drained out of them. “Honey,” Mrs. Epp said taking her daughter's hand. “You're incredible. Have I ever told you that?”

“Oh, not often,” Millie teased. “Just two or three times a day for the last twelve years.”

They laughed, but Mrs. Epp was afraid. If anything happened to Millie, she would blame herself.

51

T
he creature that had introduced himself as Quiggle pattered along the passageway in the footsteps of Lord Vortigen. “Marvelous speech, sir!” he enthused. “A real barn-burner, as they say.”

“Thank you Quigs. Now would you be so kind as to shut up,” Vortigen repaid the compliment.

A few of the minions nearby sniggered.

“Oh yes sir,” Quiggle responded. “I know you must be preoccupied with great matters of state while the rest of us can only think of our beastly bellies. Why, a word from me might obliterate a thought that could topple an empire or crown a new king.”

“Quite right Quiggle.”

“You need to be protected from chatterboxes . . . ”

“Shut up, damn you!” Vortigen growled.

Chastened, the valet turned to Josh. “He has to think all the time, you know. Think, think, think. I swear, it gives me a headache. I wouldn't trade places with him for all the titanium in Ardu.”

“Huh?” Josh said.

“Oh! Goodness me! I've been here so long, I've forgotten how to speak to newcomers. I shall have to take a refresher course in Outworld communications — ‘all the titanium in Ardu' is equivalent to ‘all the tea in China'.” He paused, thinking over what he'd just said, then ran to catch up with Josh. “Of course, you can't drink titanium,” he corrected. “I just mean the sayings imply the same thing.”

“I understood,” Josh said politely.

He liked Quiggle, but found it hard not to laugh at him with the others.

“Outworld? Is that what you call the earth?” he asked.

“It's what we call your part of the planet, yes.”

“Then is this place called Inworld?”

“Well, now, I've never heard it referred to that way, but if there is an Outworld I suppose what's inside it — in Syde, you see — must be the Inworld. That makes perfect sense your Soon-to-be-Highness, and once you have mounted the Double Throne, I suppose you could make a pronouncement to that effect.”

Vortigen sighed and ground his teeth.

“Yes, I suppose I could,” Josh agreed.

“Then you will reconsider, sir?”

“Reconsider what?”

“Your refusal to mount the Double Throne,” Quiggle explained.

Josh stared at the pale lanky figure, who stumbled along beside him. How could he take offence? This minion spoke from the heart without fear or embellishment. The others mistook him for a bumbling coward because they didn't understand Quiggle's gentle brand of determination. He knew kids at Mount Pleasant School just like Quiggle. Josh vowed that if he did laugh at the valet it would be the kind of laughter permitted between friends.

The entourage swept into another hall, this one not as large as the Great Hall but still bigger than almost anything you'd see on earth. Josh gawped at the splendour. Tables glittered with silver and crystal — row after row of them, all set at right angles to a head table, elevated on a dais. Minions poured into the hall, a tide rushing into a dry lagoon, filling the space with their babble, the scrape of chairs and the clatter of cutlery. Vortigen and his highest lieutenants filed onto the platform behind the head table and took their places. Immediately an army of servants burdened with heaping trays stormed the room from a series of doors that must have led to a kitchen.

“As pure spirits, we do not have to eat, of course,” Vortigen was saying, “but feasting is a pleasure my minions like to indulge, and I've acquired the habit myself. I suppose it makes Syde feel more like home to them.”

Quiggle, standing in attendance behind Vortigen's chair, coughed loudly.

Vortigen twisted round to stare at him. “You would do well to stay quite invisible, Quiggle,” his chief warned. “Do you understand?”

“Oh yes, your most eminent Eminence,” the valet bowed. “I would not want to do anything that might put our young master off his appetite. After all, the way to a boy's heart is through his stomach, as they say — although in this instance, the boy's stomach is in a different world! Ha, ha.”

“You are on the brink of ruin,” Vortigen threatened. “One more word and you shall find yourself in a place where you'll wish you had bit your tongue.”

Despite this dire warning, Quiggle did open his mouth as if to speak, and for a flickering, anger — even outrage — clouded the valet's face. But Vortigen paralyzed him with a fierce glance.

“Absolute silence, Quiggle, or my wrath shall be upon you,” Vortigen warned.

“Now Josh,” he said. “You are about to partake of the finest fruits Tilth has to offer. Enjoy! You will find the food here superior to anything in Outworld.”

Josh stared at the silver platter before him. Vegetables, fruit, meat — the meal had been artfully arranged. But he could not eat. Partaking of Syde's bounty would have been a betrayal. He would rather have subsisted on the hospital food that awaited him in Outworld than share in the gourmet delights of Syde.

“Eat!” Vortigen encouraged. “There is nothing to be gained by starving yourself. You will find a thousand other ways to snub your host in the coming days. There's no need to deny yourself this pleasure.”

Was that an invitation, or a challenge? Josh couldn't say. But he continued his fast even though the food did smell delicious. Its aroma enticed him. He'd never smelled anything so good. Vortigen smiled slyly. Suddenly Josh's appetite intensified. Hunger gnawed at his stomach and the scent of Syde's delicacies actually stung in his nostrils and throat. He imagined what it must be like for a starving child to walk by the kitchen of a rich household. All around him the hall resounded with the sounds of eating, yet there he was, turning up his nose like a spoiled brat. No one paid any attention to him. Not a single person was watching to see if he'd take a bite of the forbidden food. And his hunger
was
unbearable!

“I can try a morsel at least,” Josh said.

He forked a stick of what looked like asparagus and examined it carefully. Then he snipped the tip off with his teeth, a particle no bigger than a fingernail.

If you've ever mistakenly downed a lump of horseradish not knowing what it was, you will appreciate a little what happened next. The flavour from Josh's nibble expanded with the searing force of a bomb. His taste buds blazed. More than that, every nerve in his body tingled, inflamed by the flavour of paradise.

Josh gasped.

“Does it please you, My Lord?”

A gentleman to his left who had been surreptitiously watching Josh's reaction smiled.

“I-i-it” Josh could not speak.

“Drink this,” the man handed him a goblet. “It will quell the overwhelming taste.”

Josh hesitated a fraction of a second then snatched the glass and gulped down half its contents.

Bad to worse! The liquid, if indeed it was water, tasted sweeter than any drink Josh had ever tried. Instead of quenching his thirst, it made him want more, and more.

“Stop! Stop!” his benefactor cried. “You will burst unless you temper your delight.”

He clasped Josh's hand in his own and guided the cup back to the table. “Moderation, my friend,” the stranger cautioned. “The food and drink here is a thousand times more potent than what you are accustomed to in Outworld. You must imbibe slowly, building your capacity for pleasure over time.”

“But the others,” Josh gestured toward the crowded tables, where minions were gobbling down their food.

“They have become used to feasting,” his companion said, barely concealing a look of disgust. “They have developed a capacity for pleasure, which some call gluttony.”

“I see,” Josh said stiffly, suddenly aware that he did not know this man, and probably should not trust him.

Sensing Josh's suspicion, his new friend extended his hand. “I'm so sorry,” he introduced himself. “You don't even know me and here I am giving you advice. My name is Athelrod, and I have been appointed your tutor.”

“Tutor?”

“Yes,” Athelrod confirmed, still holding out his hand. “There is much for you to learn about the wonders of Syde.”

“I'm not staying here!” Josh shouted.

Athelrod dropped his hand into his lap and sighed. “Then you had best become an attentive pupil,” he said.

“Why should I, when I want nothing to do with this place?”

“Because you will never escape unless you learn all there is to learn about Syde. Do you know the dimensions of our realm? Its geography? Can you fly? Move stones with the power of thought? Appear in one place and leave another simply by willing it?”

The tutor waited for Josh's answer. “If you cannot do these things,” he continued, “how do you expect to escape? Are you going to walk to Outworld? Even if you could, you wouldn't know where to begin your trek. Take my advice: learn as much as you can as quickly as you can. There is no other hope for you.”

“You're trying to trick me,” Josh objected.

“Of course I am,” the other laughed. “But think on it. The trick is not of my making; it is fate, and you cannot avoid it.”

Josh wanted to deny Athelrod's cold logic, but truth is truth, whether it is uttered by a devil or a saint. If he was ever to escape, he had to embrace the powers Athelrod offered. He had to do exactly what Lord Vortigen wanted him to do!

“Is that settled, then?” Vortigen smirked.

Startled, Josh turned to him. The Lord of Syde had been watching all along. “It is,” Josh answered.

“Good, then let's get on with our meal, for after dessert we shall begin your training. We must have you ready for the Grand Procession.”

“Grand Procession?”

“Yes,” Vortigen smiled. “Tomorrow I shall introduce you to my subjects — to
our
subjects.”

Josh wanted to shout “No!” , but quelled the urge. What was the use? Yelling at Vortigen was like trying to knock down a fortress with a slingshot.

52

Y
ou sure you want to do this?” Ian said.

Millie nodded then they headed down Main Street from the Café Java. She held the
Book of
Syde
clutched to her chest inside its plastic shopping bag. It was heavy, its cargo of mystic lore and ancient spells seeking the centre of the earth. The Spell of Transmigration was among them, and the Spell of Imprisonment. To Millie it seemed she carried the fate of thousands in her arms.

“Endorathlil might not want to help us,” Ian warned.

“We won't know that until we ask, will we?” she answered tartly. He was right, though. Why would the old witch want to help them reach Josh? Millie ran through the probabilities once more: if Endorathlil had reverted to her old ways and regretted helping them in the first place, she would turn them away, or use the occasion to get back
The Book
; if she had truly given up magic, then she wouldn't be able to help them either, for it was magic they needed if they were going to reach Josh in Syde.

She was still mulling these depressing prospects when Ian grabbed her arm. “Trouble,” he muttered, inclining his head toward a rag-tag troop of boys on bicycles who were making their way up the sidewalk. He glanced over his shoulder, Millie's eyes following his. A second squad was closing in from the rear. “Conky's crew,” Ian muttered. “I think we're in for a fight.”

“But there's too many of them,” she cried.

“Got any better ideas,” he said grimly, pushing her behind him as the gang encircled them like a pack of hyenas.