The City of Dreaming Books (64 page)

I was still so dismayed by recent developments that it took me a while to grasp the truth: the giant was reading. I should have been quicker on the uptake: the pyramidal studs on the pages were a form of Braille and he was deciphering it by touch. He was probably consulting some bizarre scientific manual for advice on which dangerous insects to pit against each other next.

At length, having emitted another booming bass note that made every jar in the room vibrate, he replaced the book and went over to a mysterious apparatus mounted on the wall between two bookshelves. It was an intricate system of gold tubing fitted with numerous valves and controls.

Using some of his trunks simultaneously, he manipulated several gold stopcocks and handwheels. There was a loud bubbling and gurgling from inside the pipes. Then, quite suddenly and to my utter amazement, the ghostly music of Shadowhall Castle rang out.

It was only now that I noticed some inconspicuous triangular apertures in the walls just above the bookcases. They were the source not only of the music, but also of an audible current of air that quickly dispersed the giant’s stench and at last made breathing less unpleasant.

Fresh air . . . So that was Shadowhall’s secret! The entire building was a ventilation system installed by a primeval race of huge scientists and designed to channel the air of the catacombs into the nether regions where they lived. The weird music was probably just a side effect of the controlled airflow, but the giant seemed to enjoy it, for he joined in with a series of high-pitched whistles and his monstrous body swayed in time to the melody.

He went over to a shelf and removed a jar with an insect rampaging around inside it, then undulated over to me and deposited the jar beside my own. Inserting one of his trunks in our glass prisons, he sniffed us in turn, first the insect, then me. To judge by his ensuing fanfares, he found the scent of my dinosaur sweat delightful in the extreme. It wasn’t hard to guess what he had in mind: I and the creature in the adjacent jar had been selected to fight the next duel.

That creature, dear readers, probably an outcast from the nethermost regions of the underworld, was without doubt the most repulsive and disgusting thing I had ever set eyes on. Imagine a full-grown pig from which the skin has just been flayed to reveal its raw flesh and sinews. Supporting this torso were five milk-white, unarticulated tubes equipped with suckers. Dozens of black, faceted eyes were distributed all over its body, together with the same number of beaklike feeding orifices. Most unreal of all, however, was the fact that its suckers enabled it to walk up the jar’s glass sides like a fly. What would this monster do to me? The white spider’s ghastly fate would doubtless seem positively merciful in comparison.

All at once there was a distant sound that made even the giant stop short. It came from outside the room, and I was probably the only living creature present in whom it aroused hope instead of trepidation: it was the sigh of the Shadow King.

The giant turned away, drew himself up to his full height and trumpeted with annoyance. At length, after seeming to deliberate for a moment, he started to whistle cheerfully and shut off the music and airflow by spinning the handwheels on his ventilation system. Then he swiftly undulated out of the laboratory. He had probably decided to capture the Shadow King for his menagerie before staging some more gladiatorial contests.

Peculiar noises were issuing from the jars - all expressive of relief, no doubt, that the evil giant had gone. At least that granted me a brief respite in which to assess my chances of escaping.

My assessment didn’t take long, however. I could see absolutely no possibility of escaping from my glass container unaided, dear readers. The repulsive creature in the adjacent jar was regarding me greedily with its numerous eyes as it squelched round the glass sides on sucker-equipped feet. Had it not been for the grille over the mouth of its jar, it would by now have climbed across into mine and set to work on me.

‘Hey!’ said a voice above me. ‘Up here.’

I looked up. Homuncolossus was abseiling down from a shelf overhead. He straddled the mouth of my jar and peered in.

‘So
there
you are,’ he said reproachfully. ‘In trouble again, eh?’

Before I could remonstrate with him, he lowered the rope.

‘Tie that round your waist,’ he whispered, ‘and leave the rest to me.’

I did as I was bidden. Vigorously and with no sign of effort, Homuncolossus hauled me out as if I were no heavier than a sack of feathers. Then he lowered me down the outside of the jar, slid down after me and landed safely on both feet.

‘Right,’ he said, ‘let’s tidy up in here.’

Going to the jar containing the frightful insect, he threw his weight against it and pushed it off the shelf with surprising ease. It hit the floor with a loud crash and disintegrated. I hurried to the edge of the shelf and peered down. The horrific creature was climbing out of the shattered remains unscathed.

‘Are you mad?’ I cried. ‘Don’t you realise how dangerous these creatures are?’

‘Of course,’ said Homuncolossus, and proceeded to push the next jar off the shelf. It landed with a crash that sounded as if a whole glass factory had fallen from the sky and a huge, fat black snake came wriggling out of the debris.

‘The giant will hear you!’ I protested.

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Homuncolossus, launching a third jar into space. Another crash, and a Crystalloscorpion was now at liberty. I could hear the giant whistling angrily in the distance.

Homuncolossus had picked up a huge gold pin and was levering away at the next jar. Like a skittle, it toppled sideways on to its neighbour and knocked that over too. They rolled off the shelf together and shattered on the floor. I didn’t look to see what evil creatures had regained their freedom this time.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ I hissed. ‘How are we ever going to get out of here?’

Homuncolossus paid no attention. He was looking at the shelves across the room from us, apparently well pleased with what was happening over there. Encouraged by his vandalism, the jars’ inmates had begun to racket around, leaping or flying at the glass sides in an attempt to knock their prisons over as Homuncolossus had done. A few of them succeeded, with the result that another three or four jars fell to the floor and smashed.

The room was now filled with venomous hisses, menacing clatters and the whirring of wings. A red insect not unlike a monstrous grasshopper was zooming round the room, buzzing aggressively.

The infuriated giant reappeared in the doorway, his many trunks sniffing in a feverish manner. Then his membranes began to pulsate violently, filling the air with his noxious, stupefying scent.

‘Now we’re done for!’ I cried. ‘We’ll pass out!’

‘Wait,’ said Homuncolossus. ‘This I must see.’

The giant squelched to the middle of the room, whistling and trumpeting hysterically. As if in response to a secret word of command, the liberated creatures promptly fell on him. The frightful insect clambered up his body on sucker-feet and hacked away at him with its numerous beaks, the flying grasshopper transfixed him with its long sting, the Crystalloscorpion sank its pincers into his grey flesh.

The giant defended himself as best he could. He gave vent to a long-drawn-out, ear-splitting bass note as his violently throbbing membranes diffused the stupefying vapour, but the frenzied creatures were undeterred; they continued to attack him from all sides and by all available means. The black snake seized one of his trunks in a stranglehold while a monstrous rat tugged at another with its sharp teeth. The giant staggered into a bookcase and clung to it for support, only to send more jars crashing to the floor. More flying insects of horrific appearance - iridescent wings and bright green stings - arose from the debris.

The giant emitted a last, despairing, almost pathetic whistle as he slowly sank to the floor.

His stupefying vapour had drifted over to us by now, and I was struggling to remain conscious.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Homuncolossus. Gripping me by my cloak, he steered me over to a hole in the wall behind the shelves and pushed me through it.

‘This passage leads out of the cellar,’ he said. ‘We’ve seen enough.’

For once, we were of the same opinion.

‘W
ell,’ said Homuncolossus, ‘you’ve had an experience. Now write it down.’

We were back in the dining hall at Shadowhall Castle, having completed our strenuous ascent from the cellar.

‘Eh?’ I said.

‘Not this minute,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow. Sit down tomorrow and write about it. If that isn’t a good story, what is?’

‘I will,’ I promised. ‘By the way, did you know that Shadowhall Castle is really a ventilation system?’

He gave me a long look.

‘You’ve learnt a lot already,’ he said at length.

‘No, no, I’m not making it up. Shadowhall is an ancient ventilation system. The giants used it to feed air into the lower reaches of the catacombs. That’s the whole secret.’

‘Of course.’ He smiled. ‘I envy your wealth of imagination. You must definitely include that in your story. It’s really good.’

The next day, when I awoke feeling rested but aching all over, I promptly got down to writing an account of my recent experience.

I seated myself at a table with pencil and paper, and debated how to start.

Where to begin? With the Shadow King’s disappearance? But first I would have to describe him, and that was a pretty tall order - it would take time. Mightn’t it be better to begin by explaining how I’d landed myself in such a situation? Yes, except that then I would have to go back a long way - back to Dancelot’s death, in fact. That would make a whole book, not a short story.

Hm. In that case, how about a quick impression, a brilliant little study in horror? Should I start at the moment when I awoke to find myself a prisoner? ‘
I woke up at the bottom of a jar.
’ That was an excellent opening - no one could fail to want to read on!

Good. Next, a detailed description of those gigantic insects. That was unadulterated horror. Very well, I told myself, get on with it!

But before I could do so my heart began to race and my paw trembled violently. How close I had come to death! How recent my terrible ordeal seemed and how vivid and disturbing the images it conjured up! The giant’s stench still clung to my clothes and his curious music still rang in my ears. I broke out in a sweat at the very thought of him.

No words seemed adequate to describe the horrors I had experienced. How was I to capture all the dreadful emanations of such a colossal being? How to paint a word picture of a scene as monstrous as that of the giant succumbing to the onslaught of those terrible creatures? Did I want to relive it all again? No! The pencil snapped between my fingers.

‘Writer’s block, eh?’ said Homuncolossus.

I looked round. He was standing just behind me.

‘How long have you been there?’ I asked.

‘Not long. You’re finding it all too much for such a little piece of paper, is that it?’

‘Now that I come to write the story down, I’m even more frightened than I was in that jar. I just don’t understand it. I was supposed to experience something so as to be able to write about it, but now . . .’

‘Writers are there to write, not experience things. If you want to experience things, become a pirate or a Bookhunter. If you want to write, write. If you can’t find the makings of a story inside yourself, you won’t find them anywhere.’

‘Really? You tell me that
now
? Why didn’t you tell me yesterday? We could have spared ourselves that trip to the cellar.’

‘I needed your help. I’d been wanting to clear out the cellar for ages. I couldn’t have done it without your assistance.’

‘My
assistance
? You used me as bait, that’s all. You might have warned me.’