Crik (61 page)

Grinning, Jack told the time by the sun. ‘Only a few hours left until sunset. When’s Igneous leaving?’

‘An hour,’ said Inara. ‘I can ride in his wagon. The sound of all those ticking clocks will drive me nuts, but it beats crawling home.’

‘You’ll be safe there,’ said Jack. ‘The Red Sisters don’t know where you live.’

‘They won’t dare leave the Wold,’ said Inara. ‘Let them rot behind their Hedge Wall.’

‘What about Huckney?’ asked Bill. ‘He’s behind that wall too.’

‘His Talent keeps him safe.’

‘Perhaps, but he’s still a prisoner. Krimble told you that they destroyed Herm because Huckney helped us. Nothing will stop them doing the same to Gold Tail.’

‘I have enough problems,’ said Jack, rubbing his forehead in agitation. ‘My mother is comatose; I don’t know if she’ll wake up. The village is still mourning for those the Myrms killed. We can’t ask them to storm the Wold for one man. No matter how much we want to free Huckney, we are powerless to help him. At least for now,’ he said, forestalling any more arguments. ‘Things may be different in the future. He’s my friend as well.’

‘Jack’s right,’ said Inara. ‘Although none of us likes the idea of leaving him, we have our own pieces to pick up. Your grandmother needs you Bill; and Jack’s mother will want to see him when she wakes.’

Tears burned Jack’s eyes. ‘Come on, let’s go back. We’ll help you pack your things. Liza gave you so many dresses; it’ll take two chests to take them all.’

‘She likes her frills,’ said Inara, making a wry face.

His shadow walked with them as they stepped into the deserted road, at least twenty feet long. Not even Yang’s black swathe could fill in the void left by the villagers who had abandoned Crik. Although a few men remained, busy tearing down the blackened beams that had supported the roofs of their homes, most of the village remained empty. No one spoke. The home Jack and Bill had travelled back to no longer existed. Charcoal littered the pavement amongst broken stone, and scattered fences. Across the street, the Hulme house leaned to the left. Its gutted interior showed through the gaping hole left by the front wall’s collapse. Rubble clogged the scorched garden like pimples on a bearded face. Husks, not homes, framed the road. No wonder people distrusted Grandma Poulis, her house was the only one untouched by the carnage that had swept through the village. Looking down the street, Jack saw the shelled ruin of his own home. As Bill had said, he observed a furrowed line cut from the tree across his lawn. Truth told there was no lawn anymore; a few sparse clumps of grass still stood, but traffic from the tree had left his mother’s pride in bald ruin.

‘Will one of you help me with this,’ said Bill, wrestling with the wheelbarrow. Dust rose from the bricks like smoke. The sound of his complaint scared three blackbirds from cover. Jack had time to wonder before their dark wings bore the birds away, whether they had once belonged to the flock that had attacked him at the command of the Birdman.

‘Where are you taking the stone?’

Bill indicated a pile of rubble behind a burnt tree. Rustic gold leaves still clung to the branches, having miraculously survived the inferno that had engulfed the trunk. White marble slabs baked in the sun.

‘Is there anyone in the village who knows how to use that stone?’ asked Inara, eyeing the mound with scepticism. ‘It’s one thing getting the stone here from the quarry, but another to cut stone and shape it. Has someone got a Talent to bend stone to their will?’

‘Kresta always repaired any damage to our homes. He knows what he’s doing,’ said Bill, pushing the squeaking barrow once more. ‘His Talent has something to do with water, doesn’t it Yin?’

‘Can’t remember,’ said Jack, preoccupied with thoughts of Inara’s imminent departure.

Bill carried on undeterred. ‘Anytime a flood damaged the bridge over the Tristle, Kresta made it good as new in a hurry. Without that bridge the farmers would have no way of bringing their crops to market.’

Still not convinced, Inara waved at the devastation. ‘Is one man going to rebuild the entire village?’

‘Of course not.’ Bill was now blowing hard from the pushing his load. ‘He tells everyone else what to do. Jack is part of the grave detail, helping to fill in the graves. I help with getting the stone from the tree to here. Kresta and his gang are the builders. He’ll get Crik Village back on its feet.’

Jack doubted that. Fewer men each day returned from the Scorn Scar. Kresta began with twenty men, only the seven men across the way helped him today. Tomorrow he may have less. A week from now and Kresta may be the only man who cares about restoring the village. Was life in the Scorn Scar so appealing? Even the men who worked the graveyard with him hurried back through the tree once their work was complete. To him the place felt haunted. Mr Gasthem had ordered the well clear of the dead birds. Bucketfuls of small-feathered bodies pulled up from the drinking water had not stopped anyone from dipping their cups.

Upending the wheelbarrow, Bill dumped his stones onto the bigger pile under the tree. Discarding his shovel Jack walked with them to the only intact house in the village. Stopping, he regarded them both. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here,’ he said. His voice sounded as thin as a dying breath. Standing in the sun, the windows facing them felt ominous, as though death waited inside. Every time he walked through the house to his mother, he wished to see her open her eyes, to smile and greet him. However, each time the fear that she would never open her eyes grew more insistent. The idea that his mother had passed away since this morning crystallised into a certain dread.

‘Why?’ asked Bill. ‘Gran promised to bake cakes for us for when we got home.’

Unsure what to say, Jack shrugged. ‘I won’t drift off.’ He pointed to the stoop. ‘I’ll wait for you there.’

‘Is everything alright?’ Inara looked concerned.

‘Sure. You don’t need me to pick through the dresses.’

‘I guess not,’ she replied. ‘We won’t be long. Now don’t move from this stoop. I haven’t got much time, and I can’t go hunting you down if you wander off.’

Promising that he would not, Jack took a seat in the shade. When his friends entered the house, he picked up an old blue ball Wolf had chewed and tossed it to Yang. Playing catch with his shadow took his mind off his premonition that something had happened in the Poulis house. Yang kept changing the direction of his throw, one going high, the other fast and low. Before long, Jack was sweating.

‘No matter who leaves, I’ll always have you with me,’ he told Yang. His shadow dropped the blue ball. It drummed on the stoop with a hollow patter.

From time to time, he heard voices inside, and Grandma Poulis - after chasing Black out the house - brought him out a current cake and a lemon slice. He gulped the cakes down, and paid little heed to the talk. Distracted he almost missed the ticking of many clocks as a red and blue wagon rolled down to the crossroad. Igneous, perched on a small black seat, guided two white ponies to the rosebush and stopped the wagon.

‘Right on time,’ said Jack.

Sunlight caught the thin man’s round spectacles, turning them gold like two new pennies. ‘With all these timepieces, I have no excuse to be late.’ He first indicated a watch on his wrist, and then a myriad of old clocks set within his wagon. Sand trickled from an hourglass above him.

‘Your clocks may be wrong.’

‘Ha,’ said the man looking offended. ‘I have a Sythson and Wu timepiece on my wrist.’ He held aloft a watch with a soft leather strap. A small brass triangle extended from its face. ‘This Sythson and Wu is older than you lad. Having carried it for years, I can assure you I always know the exact time. I set these timepieces,’ he indicated the collection behind his back, ‘twice a day. Now, listen.’ Holding up a finger as scrawny as a bird’s foot, he demanded silence. ‘Do you hear?’

‘All I hear is ticking.’

‘Ah, but the ticking is together. In precisely eight minutes, every timepiece will chime a symphonic demonstration of the accuracy of my wares. Are you looking for a clock?’ His head twitched, surveying the wrecked village. ‘Time changes everything. In time, this place will be as it once was, or better. Only time will tell. Then you’ll be happy to have a clock’

Remembering Miss Mistletoe strung up on the Hanging Tree, Jack disagreed. Nothing will be the same ever again. ‘I don’t have a home.’

‘Did you know, this is the oldest village in the woods,’ said the clock seller, ignoring Jack’s words. ‘I sold my first timepiece here.’ Pausing, he looked at the Poulis house. ‘A fine freestanding Candre house clock; a wonderful design. It had the most delightful motif.’ A large clock with clouds painted on its face sat in the Poulis downstairs passage. Grandma Poulis polished it each day without fail. ‘Ever since that first sale I’ve always made time to come back here.’

Igneous looked ready to continue when the front door crashed open. Bill hefted a large suitcase with bright straps through the doorway. ‘Help me Yin,’ he cried. ‘Inara decided she liked all the dresses.’

Taking one end of the large case Jack helped Bill to the wagon. His body, already aching from the day’s labour, screamed at this new exertion. It was so heavy he suspected Inara hid a body, not clothes, inside.

‘Put it in the back lads,’ said Igneous, not offering to help.

Together they loaded the case into the tightly packed interior. All the while, a pendulum shaped like a crescent moon jabbed Jack in the shoulder. The sound of all the clocks threatened to split his head open before he and Bill backed out of the wagon.

‘Inara’s saying goodbye to my grandparents, she won’t be long.’

‘Time is of the essence lad.’

‘Where’s Oslen? Isn’t he travelling with you?’ asked Bill.

Jack had forgotten about the hunter.

‘Afraid of getting soot on his fine blue cloak, he decided to meet me at the Hanging Tree.’ Neighing, the ponies pulled at the harness. ‘Hey, calm down,’ Igneous cried pulling back on the leather straps twisted over his fists.

‘Black, to me,’ said Bill. Smelling the small horses brought the large wolf slavering from the cover of the same bushes that had once hid the Hatchling.

‘That’s the biggest beast I’ve ever laid eyes on,’ cried Igneous. In a flash, he retrieved a staff from his wagon. ‘The smell of all the bodies must have brought him down from the woods. Don’t move lads; by his look I say the dinner bell is clanging in his head loud and clear.’

Laughing, Bill ran up to Black and gave the wolf a big hug.

Dumbfounded, the merchant dropped his staff. ‘Well, I never,’ he exclaimed. ‘Is he your pet?’

‘No,’ Bill answered, ruffling Black’s fur. ‘No wolf is a pet. This is our friend. He won’t harm you.’

‘Not unless you hurt Inara,’ said Jack, levelling his gaze at the old man. ‘Black knows your scent and will catch and eat you if you harm her.’

Thin lips parted as Igneous cackled. ‘A poor meal I’d make. My old bones will make fine toothpicks, but that’s their only worth. Sheila and Neb,’ he nodded at the nervous ponies, ‘would make up for my lack of meat.’ He winked. ‘I have no doubt you speak truly lad, but I have nothing to fear. Selling clocks is all I do, and do not intend to harm the young lass. The way she tells it, she has been away from her parents for long enough.’

‘Hello Igneous,’ cried Grandpa Poulis. The old man stepped from the porch holding Inara in his arms. ‘The boys keeping you company?’

‘They were just warning me to watch my step on the road.’

‘Woods are dangerous, as you know,’ agreed Bill’s grandfather. ‘It’s a good thing you are here. Inara is keen to get going. Says you will take her to Silvertree River, where she lives.’

‘A poorly named river,’ confided the merchant. ‘The trees have pink blossoms, not silver branches. I once set up a stall at a fair, where the kids couldn’t get enough of balls of sugar. They ran hither and thither wagging their sticks of pink clouds over their heads.’ Laughing, the clock seller wiped at his watering eyes. ‘Perhaps I should rename the river Candyfloss River. It would avoid disappointing those seeking silver trees.’

Jack, having enough of silver trees, approached Inara. ‘I will visit when I can,’ he promised.

Lifting her dark eyes, Inara regarded him sombrely. ‘We don’t live worlds apart; I will expect your visit before year’s end. You too Bill,’ she lifted her voice. ‘Without you I would not be going home. It took longer than expected, but you kept your promise to see me back to my parents.’ Leaning forward, she kissed Jack’s cheek, making him blush. ‘Thank you. Take care of him Yang.’ The shadow standing at Jack’s shoulder puffed out his chest.

A sob threatened to escape Jack’s aching chest. Why was he so upset, she was going home, not heading into danger. He would see her again, and soon.

‘Bill,’ said Inara, ‘bring Black over.’

The great wolf strode across to where Grandpa Poulis lowered Inara to the ground. She wore a light green dress, which hid her mangled legs. Mud dirtied the laced hem. Wrapping her arms around Black’s neck, she wept. ‘Oh Black,’ she cried. ‘What can I say to you? I relied on you most of all. Soon Bill will take you into the woods, and you too will go back home.’ The wolf’s blue eyes did not waver from the girl. When Inara released her hold, the wolf stepped back and then stopped. Stretching his neck Black licked tears from her cheeks.

‘I didn’t make him do that,’ said Bill, incredulous. ‘He did that by himself!’