The Magic Lands (40 page)

"You don't have to make fun of
me," snapped Tom and Lisa stopped and turned back, her expression
very serious, gazing deep into his eyes.

"I promise I would never do
that."

They continued to walk in
silence now, Tom brooding over her laughter, convinced it had been
aimed at him and no less happy about it for all her promises.

How do I know who to trust? How
can I know?

"That's the place," Lisa said
suddenly, halting and pointing upward, her face bathed in a soft
blue glow.

Tom peered up at a white
building that had miraculously loomed before them out of a mass of
grey, shining brighter than any other and although it was not great
in width, it seemed to rise distant into the darkness above,
piercing the night sky.

"A tower," Tom said
obviously.

"
Angel
Tower," Lisa corrected him.

"What's it for?" he queried,
turning from the tall building to look at her.

The girl seemed to think this
over for a time before she answered. "For climbing," she said at
length.

A TEST OF CHARACTER

"What are you?" Jack questioned
Mo abruptly, afraid to ask, but not able to hold back the doubts
about his friend that grew within, his need for answers greater
than his fear of what he might hear.

"I am whatever you think I am,"
the badger said evenly.

Jack shook his head a little
angrily. "That's no answer."

"What answer do you wish?"
queried Mo. "Does it matter so much what I look like? Would it make
a difference to your opinion of my character? Tell me, Jack, what
is it you need to know about me?"

Hesitating, Jack considered how
best to continue. "Everything is a trick here," he said fiercely,
"nothing stays true. Everyone lies! Even you've lied to me all
along. You're not what I thought you were. How do I know that
everything else you've told me isn't just more lies?"

Mo turned his head away. "So
you still think me akin to the Beast?"

"No," Jack answered steadily,
"but I just wish you would be more honest with me."

The badger glanced back
at him and then drew closer. "Everything I do is what I believe is
for the best. Perhaps sometimes, I am wrong. There are things that
I know that guide my actions, but there are also things I
cannot
know. We should not demand to
know all, for to learn before your time can place you into the
hands of our enemies. They thrive on half-truths and
misconception." Jack was at a loss. He didn't understand and that
was all there was to it. Mo was just another mystery in a world of
many. "You will have to be patient, " his friend added. "What
answers there are, doubtless you will find them before the
end."

Although it did not comfort
him, Jack felt that this was right. One day he would come to know
the truth that lay beneath the trickery and lies. But till then, he
was just a boy who had somehow stumbled upon an alien world, a land
without rules. Magic held dominion here. Magic and dreams.

Jack wondered what, when again
he slept, he would find waiting for him in that other place that
had taken on substance and now seemed to undermine his sense of
reality. Maybe Tom would be there, dreaming too.

But when do mere dreams become
nightmare? And what if, once there, there was no way to return?

The two walked on. Badger and
boy.

"Here, try using this to
support yourself," Dr. Redhand bade Tom, handing him a wooden
crutch.

"So you think I'll be able to
walk now?" Tom said, experimentally putting his injured leg over
the side of the bed and fitting the crutch under his left arm.

"It will be sore and a little
stiff for a few more days, but walking will aid your recovery." The
doctor watched him closely as Tom prepared to stand. "You must tell
me how you came to be infected with such a strange poison, Vincent.
I’m fascinated by its unusual properties. It has kept me up to all
hours studying it. You mentioned something about a wolf?"

Tom hesitated. He knew he could
find himself in an awkward corner, if he wasn't careful. "I...I
don't really remember," he stammered, pretending to have difficulty
with the crutch so that he didn't have to look at the man.
"Something attacked me."

Dr. Redhand gave him a bemused
look, shaking his head slowly. "Assaulted in Seraphim? That really
is most uncommon."

"It's all very hazy," Tom
mumbled, feigning confusion.

"Well, whatever it was, it most
certainly was not a creature native to these parts. There are very
few animals, save us humans, who inhabit this area and all are
quite harmless. And surely it wouldn't have been one of our
citizens. No, I can’t believe that. Even so, we’ll have to pay a
visit on the Magistrate and let him know what’s happened."

"Haven't you told anyone about
me then?" Tom wanted to know.

"A few discreet friends, yes.
But I thought it best to wait until you were on your feet again,
literally!, before I exposed you to the curiosity of our good
people." Tom didn't say anymore, feeling that he had got in deep
enough already and was content to let the matter drop. "Come then,
let's get you up," Dr. Redhand said briskly. "Put your trousers on
first," he added, lending Tom assistance where needed before
helping the boy to manoeuvre himself into a standing position.

Tom didn't experience any pain,
but his leg felt very odd and he was grateful for the support of
the crutch; without it he suspected he would simply fall flat on
his face.

"It will take some time to get
used to it," Dr. Redhand told him cheerfully, stepping away so that
Tom was on his own. Tottering slightly, he made his way toward the
door, the doctor walking alongside of him. "That's the way, you can
do it!" the man encouraged, moving quickly ahead and opening the
door to reveal another much larger room beyond.

"Is this your house?" Tom asked
as he passed into what he took to be a study, large bookcases
taking up most of the wall space, an immense desk littered with
more books and papers standing before a tall window.

"Indeed!" the doctor said,
smiling proudly, "this is my humble abode, and yours too until
you’re well again."

The room, Tom noted, was rather
untidy, mirroring the man's desk, papers strewn here and there,
several empty bottles laying haphazardly about a big armchair set
close to a hearth.

"Excuse the mess," Dr. Redhand
muttered, a little shamefaced as he followed Tom's gaze. "I’ve been
preoccupied with my studies."

"I've seen my bedroom in a
worse state," Tom admitted with a small smile.

"Then we are comrades!" the man
boomed, chuckling. "Now let me show you our fair city." With this,
he went to what Tom guessed was the front door and opened it, and
lurching after him to stand in the doorway Tom looked out onto a
scene that seemed vaguely familiar to him. Great buildings of grey
stone dominated a wide street and in the light of day, the stone
pavement gleamed.

I've been
here before.
But though Tom felt this to be true, his
memory refused to tell him when or how.

"Are you all right, Vincent?"
Dr. Redhand enquired, sensing the boy's puzzlement.

"Yes, I'm fine," Tom said, but
as he walked out into the street, several passers-by glancing at
him before nodding a greeting to his companion, he wondered if he
were dreaming again.

Of course, that's it. I've been
here in a dream!

But the exact details of that
dream evaded him. Perhaps in time he would remember.

Dr. Redhand led him off along a
side street to the left of the house and he noticed many men, women
and children along the way, most of whom gave him curious glances
as they passed, although none seemed hostile. Everyone appeared to
know the doctor and to hold him in high regard, and they offered
warm welcomes when they met him.

"Before we make that visit to
the magistrate," Dr. Redhand suggested amiably, "I would like you
to meet some friends of mine. And whilst there, Vincent my friend,
we may even partake of some refreshment."

Tom just went where he was
told, saying little.

Presently, they came to a much
wider thoroughfare that led into a large courtyard, where several
tables and chairs with brightly coloured canopies were set out, the
groups of men and women seated there conversing and drinking in
equal measure.

A party of three elderly men
spied their approach and called out a friendly greeting. "Red, you
old reprobate!" cried one of them as they drew nearer.

"Drunk again, Pat?" responded
Dr. Redhand, halting at the table.

"Our natural state!" affirmed
one of the others, smiling.

"And who might this be?" said
the third, taking several gulps from a silver tankard. "Your young
house-guest, I suppose."

"Indeed, it is," the doctor
confirmed. "Let me introduce you to my three good and true
comrades, Vincent!" He gestured toward the nearest of the men, a
wizened looking, white-haired individual, whom Tom thought seemed a
little worse for wear. "This is Pat Straub, an old fool but a
wonderful companion and an honest man!" Tom nodded politely at the
old man, who gave him a wide grin in return. "And this," Dr.
Redhand continued, placing a hand on the shoulder of a slightly
younger man, whose dark hair and beard gave him a rather sinister
look, "is Bill McGoohan, a fine story teller and an even better
drinker!"

"Good day to you," voiced the
man, winking at Tom.

Feeling just a little bit
uneasy, Tom acknowledged him in return.

"And finally, my old school
chum and fellow part-time philosopher, Pete Blatty."

"Hello there, young man," said
a thin-faced man with greying hair, the youngest of the three by
Tom's estimation. "You say his name is Vincent, Red? Nice name,
very distinguished!"

The others chuckled, each
taking frequent mouthfuls of their beverages.

"Draw up a seat," Pat Straub
bid them, "there's plenty to go around!"

For the next hour or so, Tom
sat and listened to the banter between the four friends, and
although they drank a great deal-Tom declining an offer of some
kind of ale to much gentle derision-they never appeared to be less
than lucid and articulate, their topics of conversation always
interesting and intelligent. One such exchange concerned something
they referred to as Angel Tower, and this immediately sparked some
half-remembered memory in Tom's mind and made him sit up and take
especial notice.

"Those were the days, Bill,"
Pete Blatty had said, "when we believed that you could have
communion with the angels themselves."

"Yes," concurred the other man,
"sometimes I wake up in the morning and feel determined to climb
that damn tower, just to find out the truth once and for all, but
then I find myself back here, drinking again! And my resolve is
lost for another day."

"You'd never get inside
anyway," Dr. Redhand interceded, "the magistrate has vowed to keep
it locked up for good. People just don't believe in that kind of
thing anymore."

"More's the pity," said Pat
Straub and a silence had settled between them that lasted for
several minutes, the recess used for contemplation and numerous
refills of their tankards.

By the time Tom and the doctor
left the three men, he had come to rather like them and when they
all proposed that they met up again the following day, he was the
first to voice his agreement.

"You liked my friends then,
Vincent?" Dr. Redhand said as they walked beneath a stone archway
and along a narrow side-street.

Tom smiled, feeling far more
comfortable in both body and spirit. "Yes," he answered, "but why
do you all have to drink so much?"

The man laughed at this. "Do
you disapprove?" Tom looked at the doctor with a glum, unamused
expression that said that indeed he did. "You obviously have a bad
impression of drinking men," Dr. Redhand said, still smiling, "and
I would concede that sometimes that is justified. But let me assure
you, Vincent, in our particular case, it is only a pastime, nothing
more. It merely serves as a focal point for our gatherings, so that
we can debate, philosophise and of course, most importantly, swap a
few jokes!"

They continued on along
spotlessly clean walkways, grey walls hemming them in, until Dr.
Redhand came to a halt in front of a large building, which although
very similar to most of the others in the city, had an even more
sombre, bleak look about it. "This is the Administration Centre,"
the doctor informed the boy, climbing some steps, Tom trailing
behind a little. Two towering iron doors appeared extremely
uninviting to him, the idea of a visit to the magistrate an
unsettling prospect.

"Can you manage?" the man
asked, and with a sullen nod Tom made his way up the stairs.
"Well," Dr. Redhand said, pushing one of the huge doors inward,
"time for you to meet our magistrate. I believe he has a number of
questions he would like to ask you."

"Walk on my little one, walk
on,

to where the world is
changing,

and now feel the road
a'turning

toward that for which you’re
yearning,

walk on my little one, walk
on."

Mo sang as they travelled west
through a field of high, swaying grass, a wind about them.

"What's that you're singing?"
Jack questioned, intrigued by the lilting tune, although the words
conjured in him a vague disquiet and foreboding.

"Just an old melody," the
badger told him, "a travelling song as we walk the forest
paths."