Erebos (14 page)

He took a piece of paper and wrote the title on it: The Identification of Amino Acids by the Use of Thin Layer Chromatography.

There, he'd made a start. Now he needed an introduction. Really though, working this way wasn't worth it. If he was going to write, he may as well, do it properly. Take lots of time, preferably tomorrow, after breakfast. Then there would be no scorpions crawling through his brain, and his anger at Colin would have blown over.

Nick took one last look at his book, then he turned on the computer. Clicked over to Emily's page on deviantART, out of habit. Nothing new though. Disappointment flared up in him briefly; then he had an idea. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? He opened Google and typed ‘Erebos' in the search bar. There'd have to be a page for the company that had developed it, a forum, maybe even updates to download. Tips, cheats, the whole lot.

Nick found a Wikipedia entry at the top of the search results. There you go, the game was famous. He clicked on the link and read.

In Greek mythology Erebos
is the God of darkness and shadow, and its embodiment. According to the poet Hesiod he was created from Chaos at the same time as Gaia, Nyx, Tartaros and Eros. According to Hesiod, first there was Chaos (the gaping, hollow space) out of which the lightless darkness of the deep, Erebos, sprang. From the union of Nyx and Erebos sprang not only sleep and dreams but the evils of the world: doom, old age, death, discord, anger, misery and denial, Nemesis, the Moirai and the Hesperides, which appear here as threatening aspects of the moon goddess, but also joy, friendship (Philotes) and pity. According to later legends, Erebos was part of the underworld. It was the place that the dead had to pass through immediately after their death. Erebos was also often used as a synonym for Hades, the Greek god of the underworld.

Nick read through the text twice, and clicked it shut again. That might be fascinating if you were interested in Greek gods, but it was of no value to him. Not a tip in sight.

He kept looking. Just links to Greek mythology, and a few to a death metal band. It was the very last entry on the page that drew a subdued whoop of triumph from Nick: It said ‘Erebos, the game.' Nothing else. Nick clicked expectantly on the link. It took a moment before the page loaded. Red writing on a black background:

‘Not a good idea, Sarius.'

Why not, he was tempted to ask for a second, then the enormity of the situation dawned on him, and he closed the window, closed the browser as if he wanted to lock someone out. That wasn't real, he had imagined it. It wasn't possible, the internet itself couldn't talk to him. Perhaps he should call the page up again – he must have made a mistake. It was bound to be —

His phone rang, and Nick's heart nearly stood still. Perhaps he shouldn't have closed the page? He read ‘Jamie' on the lit-up display and breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Hi! Did I interrupt something? You sound so rushed.'

‘No. It's fine.'

‘Good. Listen, do you feel like going for a bike ride into the country tomorrow? We haven't done that for ages, and the weather is supposed to be good.'

Nick needed a moment to think up a suitable excuse.

‘That's a great idea, but I'm working on my Chemistry assignment. I've absolutely got to produce something decent, and I don't want to take any chances.'

‘Oh.' Jamie sounded disappointed. ‘You know what? I'll help you. Come over tomorrow and we'll do some research on the internet. Then you're bound to be done quickly!'

Shit.

‘We'll see. But I can probably concentrate better by myself. And that's . . . kind of, uh, important.'

Nick squeezed his eyes shut. God that sounded fake. And stupid as well. There was astonished silence at the other end of the line. Nick could hear the telly squawking in the background.

‘Are you serious?' Jamie asked after an unusually long pause. ‘That's not what you used to say. After all, we . . . Oh!' Jamie burst out laughing. ‘Nick, my boy, why didn't you tell me right away? You've got a date, and you're worried that Uncle Jamie won't stop teasing you if you admit it.'

‘Rubbish.'

‘Oh come on, it's fine. Have fun, and tell me every little detail on Monday. By next weekend I'll finally make a move on Darleen, too, then maybe the four of us can go out somewhere?'

‘Darleen?' Nick asked, interested despite himself.

‘Yes, the cute blonde from school orchestra. A year below us, plays the clarinet and wears her skirt really short. Darleen. Ring a bell?'

‘Sort of. Listen, I have to go. Mum's calling me.' The lie came readily to Nick since the clock on his computer said 8:55. He'd be able to start the game again soon.

The room is bare, and only has a tiny window that doesn't open. The bed makes creaking noises every time Sarius moves – he's afraid it's going to collapse any minute and the innkeeper will put it on his bill.

He's pleased to find that his stamina and health are everything he could hope for. The rest did him good. It's only when he moves towards the door that he notices he's not alone in the room. A gnome, the same dirty white colour as the walls, is sitting on a small stool, his arms around his drawn-up knees.

‘Hey ho, Sarius!' he screeches, and grins. ‘I have news for you. From the messenger. I am the messenger's messenger, so to speak.'

Sarius looks down at his visitor, whose crooked-nosed face is almost glowing with friendliness. Nevertheless Sarius doesn't have a good feeling about this.

‘My master is not edified by your curiosity,' the gnome begins. ‘I believe you know what I'm talking about. Naturally he understands that you want to know more about Erebos, but he doesn't appreciate the fact that you have been making inquiries behind his back.'

He pokes around between his teeth with a long fingernail, finds something greenish, and examines it exhaustively.

‘He is, on the other hand, prepared to answer your questions. And guess what – he has his own questions to put to you too!'

Sarius watches in some disgust as his companion sticks the greenish lump back into his mouth and chews around on it.

‘What questions?'

‘Oh, easy ones. For example, does Nick Dunmore know someone by the name of Rashid Saleh?'

Sarius is taken aback. What's that got to do with anything? Then again, he can probably count himself lucky if all the messenger's questions are so easy.

‘Yes, Nick knows him.'

‘Good. Does Nick know what Rashid likes doing?'

That was easy.

‘He likes skateboarding, he listens to hip hop, and he's a Stephen King fan.'

The gnome nods his satisfaction, still chewing.

‘Nick is well informed. Does he perhaps also know what Rashid Saleh is afraid of?'

No. How would he know that? Although actually there is one thing he's noticed. Rashid is afraid of heights. One time the whole class had gone to the London Eye, the Ferris wheel right on the Thames, and Rashid went up as well, but he turned as white as a sheet. Nearly threw up afterwards.

‘He doesn't like heights. He avoids lookout towers and things like that.'

The gnome clicks his tongue. ‘That matches what we've already found out. Thanks, Sarius. My master will be inclined to forgive you your excessive thirst for knowledge. Now I will divulge something to you in turn.'

He leans forward and winks at Sarius confidingly. ‘You will find the list of competitors for the Arena fights in Atropos's Tavern. Give the old woman my regards.'

He hops off the stool, bows with exaggerated politeness, and leaves. Sarius puts on his helmet and hangs his shield on his back. It's only when he's on the way to the door that something occurs to him. The white gnome didn't answer any questions, and Sarius didn't even ask any.

The streets of the city are more than busy, despite the lateness of the hour. Sarius keeps to the wide thoroughfares and avoids dark side alleys that remind him of the passages in the labyrinth. Here, braziers on every corner colour the cream-rendered walls golden. Now and then Sarius meets other warriors; he knows a few of them. For example Sapujapu and LaCor. He'd like to know whether Drizzel, Blackspell and Lelant have found their way here. Presumably they have. They can't have taken that long to find the red river. But maybe they got dispatched by another horde of giant scorpions. He likes that idea.

It's a pity he didn't get the chance to ask the gnome the way to Atropos's Tavern; he hasn't spotted it on his walk down the main streets. He needs someone who can give him information. He soon finds out that the braziers don't compare with the campfires in the wilderness. They only provide lighting and don't allow conversation.

It only dawns on him that he could go into one of the numerous shops to the right and the left of the thoroughfare when he sees a dwarf who is struggling to open a heavy wooden door. ‘Butcher's Shop' is written in big letters on the wooden sign nailed above it.

A few minutes later Sarius walks into a junk shop. Its shelves are overflowing with curiosities. His gaze is caught by a vampire skull: its fangs have cotton reels skewered on them. He's in the right place. It must be possible to mount cotton reels on scorpion stingers as well.

A grey-bearded man shuffles out from the darkest corner of the shop.

‘Buying or selling?' he asks without a word of greeting.

‘Selling,' Sarius answers. He opens his inventory and places both the claws, the back plates and the stinger onto the counter. The anger boils up in him again. He could already be the owner of a wish crystal.

‘Ah. Critter bits,' the dealer declares. ‘You won't get much for them. Apart from the stinger, if it's still got poison on it.'

He examines the curved black spike with a magnifying glass.

‘How much will I get for that?' Sarius asks. ‘I'd be interested in a wish crystal, for example.'

The dealer looks up.

‘You can't buy wish crystals. Have to find 'em. Or get them as gifts. I'll give you three gold pieces for the stinger, another two for the rest.'

That doesn't sound like much. Tyrania got forty gold coins after the battle with the water women, Sarius recalls.

‘That's not enough,' he says, acting on a sudden inspiration. ‘I want ten gold pieces, or I'll take my stuff and leave.'

The dealer looks from the scorpion parts to Sarius and back again. ‘Six at the most.'

They agree on seven, and Sarius leaves the shop feeling elated at how well he's done. That feeling wears off immediately when he sees a scorpion stinger being offered for fifty-five gold pieces in a shop two doors down. And besides, he'd been so caught up in the bargaining that he forgot to ask the way to the tavern. Another shopkeeper – a shoemaker selling boots that repel poison, boots equipped with blades, and some that even throw lightning bolts – answers his questions readily.

Following his advice, he takes the third left turn, and finds himself facing a crooked door with its varnish cracking off. The sign above it shows open scissors, and underneath the lettering ‘The Final Cut'.

Inside it's almost darker than the night-time street. The small lanterns barely throw light onto the tables and the hands of those sitting at them. The faces remain hidden in the dark.

Sarius approaches the bar; the ancient woman behind it ignores him. She's tracing the lines in the wood with her crooked index finger, and muttering quietly to herself.

‘I would like to register for the Arena fights,' Sarius says.

The old woman looks up briefly, but doesn't answer.

‘Where will I find the list where I can register my name for the Arena fights?' he tries again. ‘You are Atropos, aren't you?'

At the mention of her name the old innkeeper seems to wake up.

‘Yes, I am. You will find the list in the cellar.'

She examines Sarius from top to toe. ‘Do you want to compete in the fights?'

‘Yes.'