Mirrorscape (10 page)

‘That's the first part done,' said Mel. ‘What have you got for us to make the picture with?'

‘These are all I could nab.' Ludo held up a bunch of pencils apologetically.

‘They're no good,' said Mel. ‘The master's landscape, and the one where I was kidnapped, were both coloured. And as real as here and now – realer.'

‘Mel's right,' said Wren.

‘But paintings are usually made for other people to look at. They
have
to be detailed. If the picture was just for us, then we'd know what colour everything was supposed to be. Like, if we drew some grass, then we'd know it was green, or that the sky was blue. Wouldn't we? That way it wouldn't matter that it wasn't as perfect as the master's. It's only us that are ever going to see it.'

‘Then why did the master make his picture in colour?' asked Wren. ‘I bet he's the only one that's ever going to see it.'

‘There's no way we could get enough paint and
canvas and stuff to make a picture like that. Everyone would know it's missing,' said Ludo. ‘And we'd need an easel and everything. Anyway, it's only a test. It's just to find out if it works – which it won't.'

‘All right, but let's keep it simple. Just a basic landscape. Ludo, you start that side and Wren the other. I'll begin in the middle. We'll make it up as we go along.'

They had only been drawing for a minute before Mel and Ludo stopped.

‘That's really good, Wren,' said Ludo. ‘You weren't lying when you said you could draw.'

‘I think it's unfair there're no girl apprentices,' said Mel. ‘You're far better than Groot.'

‘And prettier too.' She fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Now, get a move on or we'll never finish.'

By the time the light began to fade, they had not made much progress.

‘Look, tomorrow's Sunday and we don't have to work,' said Ludo.

‘
You
don't have to work,' corrected Wren. ‘The kitchen will still be busy.'

‘Yeah, but Mel and I can carry on with the drawing
first thing and you can join us when you get the chance. We should have it finished by the afternoon.'

By the time Wren was able to free herself from her duties the next day, the picture, such as it was, was complete. ‘I don't think much of that,' she said critically.

What she saw was a crude landscape in shades of grey. In the foreground was a stunted tree standing amid hastily scribbled grass. The middle and background were smudged and vague, with just the merest suggestion of hills and valleys. A roughly drawn building occupied one of the hilltops. The sky was an all-over uniform grey and there were odd blotches where they had inexpertly rubbed out mistakes.

‘It's not very good, is it?' said Mel. ‘Perhaps we should begin again?'

‘It'll do. It's not as if it's going to work, after all,' said Ludo.

‘I don't know, Ludo.' Mel looked concerned.

‘You're being a perfectionist. Just think of it as a working drawing. Are you staying to watch, Wren?'

‘I can't. I've got a mountain of pots and dishes to wash up. Good luck. And, if it works ….'

‘No chance of that.'

‘… be careful. Promise?'

‘What do we do now?' asked Ludo after she had gone.

‘We copy the master.' Mel sounded unsure. He held his sketch of the symbol up in front of him. ‘Here goes.'

‘Wait! If you do that you might go into the picture but I'll be left standing here on my own,' complained Ludo.

‘I thought you said it wasn't going to work.'

‘It won't. But just in case it does.'

‘Why don't we link arms? That way we'll both go.'

‘I've got an idea.' Ludo unpinned the drawing from the wall and, with a couple of dabs of glue, stuck it to the translucent clock face. They could see the symbol underneath the drawing clearly silhouetted against the daylight. ‘That's more like it.'

‘
Brilliant!
Right, here goes. Take my arm.' They looked at each other, and each took a deep breath. Then, hesitantly, Mel traced the design in the air in front of him.

The Ill-Conceived World

Nothing happened.

‘What did I tell you?' said Ludo.

‘Maybe I wasn't trying hard enough. Let's do it again.' Mel screwed his eyes tight shut, willing it to happen. He traced the design in the air.
Come on, come on, come on, come on
. He opened his eyes.

They were still inside the clock.

‘It's never going to work. We're wasting our time.'

‘It's got to. I
saw
it work. There's something I'm not doing right. Think back, which hand did the master use?'

‘His right!' said Ludo confidently. ‘No, his left. At least I
think
it was his left.'

‘No. It was his right hand. The one nearest to us. Then what?'

‘Then he … I can't remember. Why don't you try starting at the top? Make a kind of spiral, like a whirlpool. Whirlpools suck things into them, don't they?
And look, some of the lines are drawn on top of the others. That means that the bits underneath were made first, before the other bits were laid on top.'

It took a bit of working out but soon Mel had it. He glanced up at the clock face. Its back-to-front hands indicated that it was midday. Behind them, the works began whirring as they prepared to chime. ‘All right. Clockwise or anticlockwise?'

‘How should I know? Oh,
clockwise
!'

The boys took another deep breath as Mel traced the motif once more. This time the drawing shimmered and seemed to rotate, just like a whirlpool. The world around them – the real world of the clock and the mansion – grew indistinct and distant. They felt a sensation like pins and needles all over as they were drawn forward. Everything seemed to blur for a moment. When they regained focus, they stood, side by side, inside their own, newly created world.

The friends looked at each other.

‘
Scrot!
' exclaimed Ludo. ‘It
does
work!'

‘That tingling feeling,' said Mel. ‘It was the same as I felt before.'

They looked behind them. There, close by, rose the undulating wall of mist that Mel remembered seeing.

‘That must be the surface of the drawing,' said Mel.

‘The master calls it the “picture plane”,' replied Ludo.

‘It's the way back to the real world.' Mel touched it but it felt strangely resistant.

They turned again to gaze at their world. Everything looked particularly sketchy and unfinished and very, very grey.

‘It doesn't look very, you know,
real
,' said Mel.

‘Maybe if we imagine the colours that'll help. I'll try with the grass.' Ludo narrowed his eyes and dramatically pointed at the grass like a stage magician. ‘Alacaboozle.'

‘
Alacaboozle?
' Mel stifled a giggle.

The grass remained grey.

‘I felt I had to say
something
. Maybe it needs the two of us. Come on, Mel, both together now. Imagine it's green.'

The boys concentrated and slowly the grass took on a definite greenish tinge, like a grey sponge sucking up coloured water.

‘Did we do that?' Mel was astonished.

‘You're not the only one with ideas,' said Ludo.

‘Just imagine if we could do that in the real world. We could put the Fifth Mystery out of business. Now let's try the sky.'

The sky became bluer but the grass lost some of its previous greenness. ‘And the tree,' urged Ludo.

Soon they had coloured their world.

‘Doesn't it look a bit washed-out to you?' asked Mel.

‘It's difficult to keep the colours there,' complained Ludo as the colour started to fade. Beneath everything, the rough texture of the pencil drawing showed through.

‘It works while we're concentrating, but as soon as we think of something else the colours start to fade again. It's as if we can only imagine a certain amount between us. It's not enough to spread over the whole world.'

‘You've proved your point. It works. Now, how do we get back?'

‘But we've only just arrived. No one's ever been here before. We're the very first people in this world.'
Mel folded his sketch of the symbol and tucked it inside his doublet.

‘I don't know ….'

‘Come on, Ludo. Just imagine what Wren will say when we tell her.'

They approached their tree. Mel reached up to grab a leaf but it turned to dust in his hand, leaving a dirty green smear that rapidly turned grey like powdered graphite. Disappointed, he wiped it clean on his sleeve. ‘Come on, Ludo, let's go and visit the house.'

But walking was hard work. Their scribbled grass was more like a low-lying vine that snagged their feet and tugged at their ankles. The house did not appear to be getting any nearer. But they did reach it and they found that, rather than being full-sized, it was tiny and barely reached up to their knees. It was no bigger than when they first saw it.

‘That's
really
odd,' said Mel.

‘It's the same size as it was in the drawing. Perhaps if we knew more about the laws of perspective, things would behave like they do in the real world. It's not much of a house either, you can't get inside.' The
doorway and windows were simply hollows in the surface. He kicked it and the tiny house crumbled like a sandcastle into grey dust.

‘Where to now, Explorer?' asked Ludo.

‘I think you're right. There's nothing much to see here. Let's go back.'

‘But which way?'

The wall of mist had vanished. Everything looked the same in all directions except for the tree, which had not diminished in size at all even though they had walked away from it. Their eyes told them that it had grown enormously.

‘That way,' said Mel, pointing to it. ‘The way out's right next to the tree.'

But it was not. Their eyes told them the tree shrank as they approached it, but, in fact, it remained the same size.

‘What's going on, Mel?'

‘I don't know. I think it's because we drew it big, in the foreground, to make it seem closer.'

‘Or maybe this world's got laws all of its own.'

When they reached the tree the landscape still
looked exactly the same in all directions. There was no sign of the mist wall anywhere.

‘I just don't understand any of this,' said Mel. He leant against the tree and fell on to his back as it crumbled to dust, just like the house. There was no landmark left in their world.

‘What now?' asked Ludo.

Mel picked himself up and dusted his clothes. ‘I don't know. The way out has got to be around here somewhere. Maybe the wall of mist is only visible from a certain angle.'

‘What's that? Something's moving out there.' Ludo was pointing into the distance, or what passed for the distance in their topsy-turvy world. An amorphous shape was thickening and solidifying. ‘It looks like one of your mistakes that you rubbed out.'

‘It could be one of yours. You made as many as I did.'

As the shape came towards them it began to assume a form. A smudge near the bottom began to grow legs: three of them. The centre flowed and solidified into what looked like a skeletal rib cage. Scrawny, finger-like
wings unfurled from behind and spread wide. For the moment the top could not decide what it wanted to be and hovered as an indistinct blur before it resolved into a cloud of buzzing flies. Then, two eyes formed within the cloud as sinister dark slits.

‘Run!' shouted Mel.

The scribble-grass caught Ludo's ankle and he fell headlong. Mel helped him to his feet. The creature was getting nearer or, if not, it was certainly getting bigger. The buzzing of the flies grew louder and the creature loped towards them with its awkward gait, like a one-legged man on a pair of crutches.

Mel looked desperately around the nondescript landscape. It looked somehow thicker in one direction and the pair set off that way, hoping it was the wall.

But it was another mistake.

This hastily erased error was transforming itself into a second nightmare creature with long legs supporting a hard carapace. Antennae, as slender as whips, sprouted from the top in place of eyes, and two mantis-like arms hung down in front.

‘Come on, Ludo. This way.' The boys changed direction yet again.

The scribble-grass grew bigger and thicker, as thick as rope, slowing the boys further. Ludo stumbled again. Mel made a grab for his friend and the two overbalanced and tumbled down through the oversized undergrowth, which parted and then closed over their heads to form a kind of imperfect, interwoven roof. They lay there breathlessly on their backs and watched as the two Mistakes stalked backwards and forwards above their heads.

‘Now where are we?'

‘Who cares,' said Ludo. ‘We're safe from your Mistakes for a bit.'

‘More like yours. Come on. We can't stay here. Those things will find us in a minute.'

They got to their feet and found themselves in a maze of low tunnels beneath the undergrowth. Under their feet was flat, dirty-white ground that Mel associated with the surface of the paper. He looked up and saw that a third Mistake had joined the other two. It was like a huge spider with a long, barbed trunk, which it
stabbed down through the undergrowth at them. The boys ran down one of the tunnels as the Mistakes followed the sound of their footsteps.

‘This way,' said Mel as he branched off to the left.

‘Mel,
help
!' Ludo had caught his ankle in a loop of undergrowth projecting from the tunnel wall.

As Mel turned back to help him, the barbed trunk shot through the canopy, tearing Ludo's sleeve and grazing his arm. Before Mel could reach his friend, it flashed down again, wounding Ludo in the leg. Mel drew his bodkin and slashed at the trunk as he freed Ludo with his other hand and dragged him away. The trunk, spraying arcs of grey blood, continued to stab at the space where they had been and was soon joined by the multi-jointed arms and the thrashing antennae of the second Mistake probing cruelly down into the tunnel.

‘Can you walk?'

Ludo tried to stand but fell as his leg collapsed under him. ‘I guess not.'

‘Here, grab hold of me.' Mel helped his friend to his feet. ‘Use this.' He hacked off a length of undergrowth to use as a stick.

‘Why's this so solid when the house and tree turned to dust?'

‘Good question. Perhaps we were pressing harder when we drew it.'

Ludo looked around. ‘What now?'

‘Let's keep moving.' They set off slowly down another tunnel. Mel glanced behind and saw the thin trail of Ludo's blood quickly turn grey as it soaked into the ground. As they moved through the tunnels Ludo became weaker.

‘This is no good,' said Mel. ‘We could be going round and round in circles down here. We need to get back to the surface.' He eased his friend to the ground and began snapping off pieces of the undergrowth until he had created a hole big enough for them to escape through. Cautiously, he raised his head and peered out. Some distance off, he had no way of telling how far, he saw two of the Mistakes stabbing and probing the undergrowth where they imagined their prey might still be. The third Mistake, the one with the long legs, was prowling in a circle around them.

Mel looked about. ‘The going seems easier away
from the Mistakes.' He ducked back down and helped Ludo through the hole. The two made their way as fast as they could, Ludo leaning heavily on Mel. The size of the undergrowth grew less until it was like the previous low-lying vine. The going was easier but not easy, and a soupy grey-white mist began to rise from the ground.

Ludo cried out in pain. ‘Mel, I think that barbed trunk thing must have been poisoned. I feel cold.'

The Mistakes had heard Ludo's cry. They were coming towards them. Ludo's colour was beginning to leave him. He and his clothing were slowly turning grey.

‘I can't go on any further, Mel. I'm sorry.'

Mel shot a worried glance towards the Mistakes.

‘Don't leave me here.'

‘Don't worry; I'm not going to leave you. The way back's got to be around here somewhere. Come on, Ludo. Ludo …?'

Ludo did not answer.

Mel heaved his semiconscious friend on to his shoulder and stumbled on, away from their pursuers. He began to fight hard for breath. The mist started to
thicken and clot in front of him. The clots began to resolve themselves into trees.
How could that be? The world we drew had only the single tree
. A sparse wood opened up around him as he hastened along. Their drawing had taken on a life of its own.

Mel stopped for a moment and lowered his friend to the ground. He eased Ludo's wounded arm from his doublet and tore his shirt, revealing the gash. With revulsion he saw that it was crawling with tiny grey worms. The maggots were eating Ludo's flesh and, as they ate, more colour drained from him. Mel tore Ludo's hose and saw the same thing on his leg. With a rising sense of disgust, he picked as many as he could off the wounds but for every one that he picked off another took its place.