A Place Beyond The Map (23 page)

“Do you see?” asked Crimson.

“It’s…different,” he said, still comparing this one leaf to the others.

“Indeed,” Periwinkle said, joining the other two just in front of the door-within-the-door. “It’s the one leaf, the one spot, on this whole death trap of a door that is not covered by a spell or the vine’s own poison. That,” he finished dramatically, “is how you will get in. You need only to give it a little push.

Without thinking, Phinnegan lifted his hand and was just about to press the leaf when it occurred to him that this all seemed rather odd. And quite convenient.

“What’s the hold-up, mate? You must hurry. Press the leaf,” Periwinkle urged, turning his head this way and that, checking the three hallways that led to the spot where they stood.

“I was only wondering how it is that this door is here, in a castle of giants. Why would they need such a small door?”

“Ah, a very good question, that,” Periwinkle said, gesturing to the door before he continued. “It comes to mind that the giants had a servant once, long ago. Some three or four hundred years ago I guess it was. Little guy, Jack was his name I believe. Waited on them hand and foot too.”

“Jack?” Phinnegan asked, the name drawing his interest. “Was he a Faë?”

“No, no, of course not. No Faë would allow himself to be caught by these stupid brutes. No, he was a human, like you. He’s the reason you’re even going to be able to do this. Jack was here when they placed all of the spells and other things that guard this castle, which is why none of them will harm humans. Couldn’t allow their little servant to be blown to bits while he was cleaning the floors, now could they? That’s why they never allow a human to enter, not that many try.”

“What happened to him? Phinnegan asked quietly.

“Oh, he died some time back. Pretty old for your kind, but the magic in this world will only stretch your short lives so much.”

“How did they catch him?”

“Ah, now there’s a story. Silly boy couldn’t keep his hands off Penny. She was the reason he was caught.”

“Penny. It was a girl, then?”

“Not at all,” Periwinkle said with a laugh. “A goose! The devil! Do you believe it? Enslaved for a lifetime over a bloody goose! We Faë have had a laugh or two over that for the past few hundred years.”

“You can’t be serious…” Phinnegan whispered. “Jack, of Jack and the Beanstalk?”

“What? No, nothing like that. Smith was the name I believe.”

“Smythe,” Crimson interjected.

“Ah! Quite,” Periwinkle said with a nod. “Jack Smythe. The damndest thing was he supposedly kept mumbling about cows and beans and his poor old mum.” Periwinkle shook his head. “A bit addled in the head I’d say. Here now, what’s the matter? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not quite,” Phinnegan mumbled.
Unbelievable.

“Ah, well. You couldn’t have known him, long dead before you were born I would guess. Anyway, stop stalling and get on with it. Sunset cannot be that far off. You best hurry or this is all for naught!

Sunset
.
The castle will be locked. We’ll be trapped.
Phinnegan had nearly forgotten. He licked his lips and reached towards the leaf that was the same yet different, pausing with his fingertip poised a mere inch away. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“All I must do is push this leaf?”

“Aye,” Periwinkle said with a nod that Phinnegan could barely glimpse from the corner of his eye. “Once you do, you’ll be on the inside.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes,” Crimson chimed in.

“Then what?”

“Then, why, then you go in there and take the bloody stone!” Periwinkle snapped. “We’ve been over it enough.”

Phinnegan turned to look at the purple-haired Faë.

“So it’s that easy, is it?”

“More or less,” Periwinkle said, shrugging his shoulders, indifferent yet apologetic. “There
could
be an obstacle or two, but nothing you can’t handle.”

“Obstacles?” Phinnegan said with a sharp look at Crimson. “What sorts of obstacles?”

The red-haired Faë, to his credit, had the conscience to at least look embarrassed as he spoke.

“Well, we don’t even know that there will be an obstacle. Not for sure anyway. But-“

“But
what
?”

“Calm down, calm down,” Periwinkle interjected. “Don’t let him frighten you. There
may
, and I stress
may
, be some type of guardian in the chamber. But I can’t imagine that he is still active.”

“A guardian?” Phinnegan hissed, a bit too loudly. He glared at Crimson who sought to shush him with his own hiss, but nonetheless lowered his voice to a whisper.

“What kind of guardian? Neither of you said anything about a guardian. A giant? A troll? This is a terrible plan. I’m not doing it.”

“Hey now, let’s be reasonable,” Periwinkle chided. “We’ve done quite a job to get you in here and-“

“Quick!” Crimson whispered sharply. “Someone’s coming!” Behind the three, a large shadow crept along the wall, growing longer by the second.

“No time to waste, mate.” Before Phinnegan could step away, Periwinkle had grasped his arm, shoving it so that his outstretched hand moved towards the leaf.

“No! Wait! What about the-“

But he never finished, for it was too late. His voice failed him and his finger impressed the leaf that was the same yet different. There was a sound like the gears of a giant clock working furiously. Phinnegan felt a familiar tug just behind his navel and then, without ever seeing the door open, he was standing on the other side, the door closed behind him.

CHAPTER 17

Jack

The chamber on the other side was round, the ceiling rising away from the walls toward the center of a hollow semi-sphere. There were no windows, save for a circle of glass at the apex of the dome. The air smelled faintly of sulfur. Phinnegan spotted several iron stands spaced around the perimeter of the chamber, each bearing a bronze disc filled with a burning substance, and he guessed the source of the sulfur smell.

The floor of the chamber was a white marble, something Phinnegan had never seen before in his entire life. Pillars of solid marble, trimmed in gold, were spaced throughout the chamber; not for support for they did not reach the ceiling, but for decoration, a display of opulence. Just a few steps from the door where he had entered, a two-inch band of slate stained black formed a ring around the entire chamber. Inside this ring lay the white marble, while outside a common stone spanned the few feet between the band and the walls.

Phinnegan, however, ignored the opulence around him. In the center of this room there was something that drew his attention. A single object, a flat-white sphere, rested upon a shortened stump of a pillar in the center of the room.

The stone had the look of a pearl, but without the common iridescent luster, flat where it should be glossy, and white all over with no hints of pink or green. From where he stood, the stone appeared to be only a hair smaller than his own fist, but it was larger in his mind, for it was more than just a stone - it was home.

The thought of being a thief did not cross his mind, nor did his hesitancies about magic, obstacles and guardians. Just so, he hesitated only a moment before running toward the stone.

“Hello? Who’s there?” The voice was loud, forceful, almost as if it came from inside Phinnegan’s own head.

“Speak!” the voice commanded, booming in Phinnegan’s mind. He covered his ears, but to little avail. The voice truly was
inside
his head. “The price for intrusion is death! Speak!”

“Please,” Phinnegan cried out. “Please,” he said again, this time more softly. His hands remained tight about his ears and he slid to his knees.

“I…I-,” he began, but the voice interrupted.

“Jack? Is that you? Where are you? Did you come in through the main door? That wasn’t very smart of you, Jack. You know that door is forbidden now, even to you. Why didn’t you come in the side? It is you, isn’t it Jack? Why, of course it must be. I can sense that you are human and what other human would be here? None at all. Come now, Jack, speak up. Where are you? You know I cannot see.”

As the questions sprang from the voice in his mind, Phinnegan’s eyes grew wide. Was this the guardian that Periwinkle and Crimson had alluded may still be here? It obviously knew this room, speaking of front and side doors. And this Jack the voice referred to, could it be the same Jack that Periwinkle said had been caught by the giants all those years ago?
The
Jack, that Phinnegan reasoned could only be the same Jack spoken of in the story his mother had told him more than a time or two when he was but a small lad. These presented interesting possibilities, for the guardian could sense he was human, but could not see.

“Y-yes,” Phinnegan began, clearing his throat and pushing himself to his feet. “It’s me, Jack.”

“Ah, Jack! How good it is for you to come and visit me. I get so few visitors.” A pause ensued and Phinnegan began to respond, but the voice continued.

“It has been quite some time you know, or at least, it has seemed that way to me. But I do have a dreadful time with, well,
time
. It seems as though it was only yesterday that you were here, but I can sense that this chamber has been void of the living for a long time. How long has it been, Jack?”

“Ummm…months? A few years, perhaps?” Phinnegan could only guess at a believable answer. He was not yet sure what abilities this voice had. It could not see him, yet it seemed to have quite the knack for sensing the truth.

“Years it must be,” the voice said in a sad, yet satisfied tone. “But years?” it questioned more sharply, and Phinnegan thought the voice sounded hurt. “Why so long, Jack? Do you no longer consider poor Howard your friend?”

“No, I mean, yes of course you are my friend D-Howard. I’ve only been…umm…sick. Yes, sick.”

“Why, Jack,” the voice said in alarm. “Someone should have told me you had taken ill. It must have been terrible, being sick for years. You humans are so fragile, I sometimes forget. Here, let me have a look at you.”

In an instant, a bright orb of light suddenly appeared in front of Phinnegan. At least, it began as a single orb, then it was two, then three, then four, six, ten and then hundreds, all tumbling and swirling as one cloud of magnificent lights, now connected by wisps of hazy multi-colored smoke, and then lines of lightening. The cloud was eerily silent, for it appeared as though it should pop, crackle and hiss like a ball of fire or boom like lightening across the sky. The cloud transformed itself before Phinnegan’s eyes into all manner of spheres, both lighted and dark, with no apparent pattern to their movement, save that perhaps they danced to an unheard tune. Just as the cloud drew near, it reformed itself into a single orb, not unlike an eye, a sphere of three or four layers floating lazily in front of him in a cloud of swirling tendrils.

“Hmmm. Yes, I do sense that there are some disturbances within you. If I did not know better, and I believe I do, I would say that you seem…afraid. Surely you are not afraid of Howard?”

“N-no, of course not…Howard. I’m still a bit under the weather, that’s all. From being sick.”

“Harumph. You humans are very odd. Very odd indeed.”

The cloud of now seven orbs floated in front of Phinnegan for several moments, giving him the distinct impression that the cloud was weighing his words, gauging their veracity. He wondered if the cloud could sense his own overwhelming feelings of dishonesty. The cloud turned from green to blue and then back again before settling back into a single orb.