Spring (33 page)

‘You do,’ said Brief, ‘and we know you do. It’s just that you have forgotten you know them. They’ll come back to you when you need them as they did when you were faced by the Fyrd shadows. Few could have survived them as long as you did without the use of a stave such as mine. Of course, you have your own waiting for you . . . but that is something you must find and win for yourself when the time is right.

‘Now, what exactly did the Peace-Weaver say when you met her? In my own encounters she usually warns me the world, as we know it, is coming to an end through mortal folly, and that there’s nothing we can do about it but pick up the pieces and reassemble them in a better way.’

Jack nodded his agreement with that account. ‘She warned me to watch over Katherine, and then said you might come, soon. She did not say why.’ He paused. ‘She also said you were witnesses to the car crash.’

‘We were,’ said Brief, ‘thanks to Stort’s special sense of such things. We decided that the accident gave us an opportunity to let other people think you were dead, and thus give you time to recover and grow into your natural size, so we put it about that you had been killed. Fortunately, there was only one surviving Fyrd who realized the significance of what has happened – Igor Brunte, of whom more later. Your ‘death’ suited his needs and, in fact, for many years he himself believed you
were
dead, so that was all right.’

Jack’s questions were piling up but he decided to continue just listening.

Brief continued. ‘Only when you were summoned to Woolstone by Clare Shore did the news reach him that you were alive after all. Since then matters have moved fast – and faster still since Clare Shore died. Now the whole of the Hyddenworld knows that a giant has survived into adulthood, and there is excitement and trepidation.’

‘About what?’

‘Things
happen
when giants are about, and most folk think it’s no coincidence that your arrival coincides with the imminent end of the present Peace-Weaver’s reign. She has served mortals for the best part of fifteen hundred years, and our records show that’s longer than most. Of course everyone knows that this Peace-Weaver is Imbolc, and tradition has it that she will only depart when her sister the Shield Maiden discovers the lost part of the Sphere which Beornamund never recovered, which represents Spring.’

‘I don’t see where Katherine comes into all this. All I want to do is to find her and get her back to the world we know, and then . . . well . . . you know . . .’

‘Then what, Jack?’

Jack shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t actually know what. He knew only he wanted to be with Katherine and that he was worried about her, because he . . .

I miss her
, he told himself. But he wasn’t going to tell anyone else that fact, maybe not even Katherine herself.

‘Things aren’t as simple as they seem, Jack,’ said Brief. ‘Unfortunately. Hydden, like humans, have a habit of making things complicated. Who do you think sent the Fyrd to capture Katherine and why?’

Jack said he had no idea.

‘It was Brunte, the Fyrd I mentioned earlier, and he was acting without the knowledge of his superiors. His plan is – and it’s working – to abduct Mistress Katherine so that you will follow. It’s both of you he wants. He thinks, as do I, that Katherine is the Shield Maiden, whether she knows it yet or not, and together with you her first task will be to find the missing Spring gem.’

‘So Katherine’ said Jack, ‘is both bait and something more, and I’m merely a way of him getting what he wants.’

‘Yes. But, unfortunately for you, there’s a good few folk in the Hyddenworld who want you to come into their lives for an entirely different reason. As I said before, they think you’re going lead them against the Fyrd.’

‘Me?!’

‘You,’ said Pike.

‘Who thinks this?’ said Jack, genuinely astonished. The rest he could almost believe, but the idea of him leading people he had never met against an enemy he barely understood seemed just ridiculous.

‘I do, for one,’ said Pike. ‘And most of the honest citizens of Brum think the same. It’s not going to happen for a few years yet, though we’re working on it, but it’ll help push things forward if you show your face in the city, even for a few days.’

Jack thought for a bit and then said indignantly, ‘So, Brunte wants me in Brum so he can grab me, and you want me there to drum up support for a revolution. What about the needs of Katherine and me, then?’

Brief smiled. ‘You want to be in Brum and find Katherine, so you and she can fulfil your quest to find the Spring gem.’

‘No,’ said Jack. ‘I want to be there so she and I can leave together as quickly as possible! Oh, and also to find out what we can about Arthur Foale, who went missing about three months ago.’

‘Never heard of him,’ said Brief, rather too quickly. ‘Not ever.’

‘Me neither,’ said Pike, averting his gaze.

Jack studied their faces, decided they were useless at telling untruths.

‘You help me find Arthur Foale and get him home, and I might then help you with your revolution. By the way, when’s it starting? Have you fixed a date?’

He was joking but Brief took him seriously.

‘Yes, we have. But, as Pike said, you won’t be needed at the beginning, except that it’ll help if we make your existence known to a few people who will matter for a few years. Remember, these things take time to get going.’

‘So when does this supposed revolution begin?

Pike and Brief exchanged glances again.

‘Tell him,’ said Pike, ‘and he might begin to take this more seriously.’

‘The opening move will be made very soon,’ replied Brief matter-of-factly, ‘which is why this is not the safest of times for Katherine herself to be in Brum. All hell is about to break loose in that city.’

A spatter of rain fell out of the dull sky.

Pike muttered, ‘And things will be worse still if it rains. We need to go.’

They left Jack to finish eating while they struck camp, packing everything in their portersacs and removing all evidence they had been there. They doused the fire with water before refilling the ash pit – with soil. As a final touch it was all re-covered with leaves.

‘Best way to find a recent fire like this is by the scent,’ observed Pike. ‘You’ve a lot to learn if you’re going to get through the next few days in one piece, so you might as well start right away.’

Jack got up and circled around, until the place where the fire had been lit was upwind of him. He sniffed and quickly picked up the scent.

‘A natural pupil,’ said Brief approvingly.

Jack had finished his meal, second helping and all, when the other two, ready now to move, joined him to finish off the warm mead.

‘So where’s Mister Stort?’ Jack inquired.

‘He’s gone on ahead to meet Mister Barklice, a hyddener of very great renown whose help we’ll need.’

‘He’ll help us to find Katherine?’ said Jack, hopefully.

‘Something like that,’ replied Pike rather evasively.

Jack looked at him but decided this was not the best time to ask more questions.

There came an angry shout from where they had left the four Fyrd tied up.

Pike headed over to the top of the embankment, stave at the ready. He studied the situation for a moment and came back.

‘They are still secure but getting restive. It’s now just a matter of time before more Fyrd arrive, so we need to leave. Our job is done here.’

Then they had a final clear-up, pulled on their portersacs and were gone.

A
s Jack began his journey to Brum, Katherine ended hers inside the wagon of a freight train.

She was woken by the squeal of wheels on steel as the wagon passed over some points, jolted a few times and came to an abrupt halt.

Streik and the others heaved at one of the doors and slid it open sufficiently for them to drop to the track below. Meyor Feld made Katherine follow them and they held her fast until he too joined them.

Katherine stood on the track looking around as the train shunted forward and then pulled back the way it had come and disappeared from sight.

It was only mid-afternoon but the light was already dull, the air heavy with rain. The rail track lay deep between towering dirty yellow brick walls which rose so high she had to strain right back to glimpse a sliver of the sky between them. The clouds were dark and angry, the air heavy and thundery. Rain was on the way.

Two hundred yards ahead of them was another cliff-face of a brick wall containing an arched steel gate. It was chained up.

Cutting across to one side, also high above, was a segment of a road bridge where street lights were already on, their distant light reflected in the rails by which she stood. In the other direction, the one the train had taken, a footbridge crossed between the walls of the deep cutting they were in. It was busy with humans going back and forth, many holding umbrellas. There was the sound of trains, the drumming of pedestrians’ feet, and, more distantly, an intermingling of the sound of a busy city. Close-to, the continuous rain poured down about them until they went to stand by one of the walls to gain shelter. From underfoot came the sound of drains filling with rushing water.

‘Where are we?’ Katherine asked.

Feld pointed at the gate and its arch.

‘That’s the East Gate into Brum.’

One of the Fyrd began pushing her towards it.

Her sense of isolation and danger increased and a feeling of panic overtook her.

She realized that what they were approaching was one of the basal brick arches rising from the track level to support offices, warehouses and somewhere a roadway along which she could hear but not see the traffic moving. She looked back at the people on the footbridge and felt a nearly overpowering urge to run in their direction, even though they were many tens of feet above her head.

Feld read her mind.

He said, ‘They can’t see you and they can’t hear you, because they have lost the habit of looking. We learned that many decades ago. Humans are almost blind to everything but that which directly concerns them.’

Katherine tried to work out how far away the footbridge was.

Streik moved forward to stop her but Feld shook his head.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘Let her try! The sooner she realizes there’s no escape the better.’

She thought he was bluffing and ran from them, shouting and waving her arms to attract the attention of the people on the bridge above.

‘Down here! I’m here. Here! I’m Katherine Shore! Can’t you see me! Down
here
!’

No one above looked down her way, no one even paused in their hurry to get wherever they were going. She continued until she was hoarse and weak with shouting and something in her began to give up.

Feld watched her with sympathy, the others with impatience. Streik went over, took her arm and led her back to them. She did not resist.

‘Trust me,’ said Feld, ‘they can’t hear you and they can’t see you, and even if they began to do so they would not believe their own senses. They would dismiss you as a creature of the night, or a shadow, or some inanimate object. Humans see only what they want to see, expect to see or believe they can see. To all the rest they are blind. So please stop making a fool of yourself and come with us.’

The gate itself was massive, a good example of late-nineteenth-century ironwork. But it was poorly maintained, its rust having broken through the old paintwork and one of the hinges having loosened sufficiently for that part of the gate to tilt forward dangerously.

A notice was attached to it which read NO ENTRY TO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL.
Danger of Deep Water
.

A second sign, in yellow on black, said HIGH VOLTAGE with a lightning-bolt symbol.

Two shadowy forms peered through the bars from the other side of the gate. They pointed at Katherine, whispered to each other doubtfully, but at Feld’s command opened the gate sufficiently for the party to slip through, one by one.

‘Welcome to Brum, brothers, welcome sister,’ they said, their mouths opening into smiles of yellowed, rotting teeth and breath that stank of sewers. ‘Yer all most welc’m.’

A
t that same hour of that same day Master Bedwyn Stort, Assistant-in-Ordinary to Brief, Master Scrivener of Brum, was holding forth to an audience of one on the subject of the Devil’s Quoits, a half-forgotten henge in Oxfordshire.

‘The records show they tried to destroy this place,’ he said with all the excitement of an academic field researcher passionate about his work, ‘but fortunately, as we can clearly see, they did not quite succeed.’

‘Who did?’ asked Barklice, his companion and audience of the moment.

‘Who did what?’ asked Stort, his mind rather ahead of his words.

‘Who did not succeed? Who tried to destroy the Quoits?’