ISOF (5 page)

Emerging from the room, Ben stood nervously in the corridor as Pinchkin examined his wash and brush-up efforts. After a quick head to toe move of her head she gave a brief nod.

‘You'll do,' she said giving the air a sniff. ‘And you smell a lot better too, almost.' Gently patting his collar straight and, brushing her hand across his hair, she gave him a smile. ‘Come on,' she said, setting off along the dimly lit corridor without waiting for Ben to reply.

Ben did his best to keep up as Pinchkin scurried along. The corridor was partially lit by spluttering candles placed in small recesses in the wall, which almost illuminated the roughly hewn wooden doors set into the walls at regular intervals. Each door appeared to have a square metal plate set in the middle, most of which were rusty and looked as if they hadn't been used for centuries. ‘Little wonder,' muttered Ben to himself, ‘if all the cells are as dark as the one I was in, it's a waste of time trying to see what's in there. Better off using your nose!'

Lost in his thoughts, Ben hadn't noticed Pinchkin urgently waving her hand behind her back. Ignorant of the signal to stop, Ben collided with the matronly figure. Pinchkin emitted a high-pitched grunt while Ben was left spluttering and spitting out bits of woollen cloak. Just as he was picking out the last fibre particles from his mouth, he suddenly felt himself squashed against the roughly hewn wall of the corridor.

‘Gerroff,' he moaned, using his hands to push against the smothering figure of Pinchkin.

‘What's this all about?' demanded a voice, which sounded vaguely like a chainsaw. Pinchkin jabbed Ben hard in the ribs with her elbow. Unable to make a sound, as more woollen cloak seemed to invade his mouth, Ben quietly rubbed his bruised ribs.

‘There's nothing here that you need to worry about,' intoned Pinchkin, with a voice that seemed to drip honey.

‘Nothing?' asked the chainsaw voice dreamily.

‘No, nothing whatsoever,' repeated PInchkin sweetly. ‘Why don't you go about your rounds as if nothing mattered and everything is just as it should be,' she suggested.

The voice sighed dreamily, muttering something that Ben couldn't hear clearly. He felt Pinchkin lift her hand.

‘Off you go,' instructed Pinchkin firmly. ‘Be about your business.'

Ben could just discern the sound of somebody shuffling along the corridor accompanied by a scraping noise, like something being dragged. Squirming his head free of Pinchkin's cloak, he was able to see the dark outline of a figure retreating around the corner of the corridor, all the time making a discordant, rasping humming sound and dragging what looked suspiciously like a spear behind it. After a few moments, Pinchkin moved forward to release Ben from his temporary confinement against the wall. Turning around, she placed a finger against her lips in warning. With a quick jerk of her head, she beckoned Ben to follow along the corridor.

After walking a few paces, Pinchkin looked up and down the corridor. When she was confident that there were no other beings around, she took Ben by the shoulders.

‘Pay attention,' she said firmly. ‘This isn't some game you're playing now!'

Ben looked at her stern face, puzzled both by her comment and how she'd dealt with the creature he assumed was a guard.

‘How did you,' he began, pointing back along the corridor. ‘And how did you know…?'

Pinchkin placed a finger against his lips. ‘Quiet, now, she smiled. ‘Some things will only become clear over time, and others,' she shook her head. ‘May never become clear at all.'

Ben, his finger still pointing along the corridor, frowned. ‘But that thing you did with the creature, I've seen that done before.'

Pinchkin examined Ben's face. ‘How?' she asked. ‘Where have you seen mind massaging before?'

‘I don't know about the mind massage stuff,' explained Ben. ‘But making creatures think what you want them to think, that was in
Star Wars
.'

‘
Star Wars
?' replied Pinchkin, totally bewildered.

‘Yeah,' grinned Ben. ‘I've got them all on DVD, including the prequels.'

‘DV what?' asked PInchkin. She shook her head. ‘Don't bother trying to explain,' she said. ‘We haven't time, come along.'

They walked along in silence. The gloom of the corridor seemed to go on forever, only broken occasionally by spluttering firebrands held to the wall by rusting chains. As he stumbled along, the rough floor seemed intent on bruising Ben's feet as he struggled to keep up with Pinchkin.

In between the firebrands, the roof and walls streamed with water, causing small pools to form in the uneven surface of the floor. Every now and again, the monotonous stone sagged inwards to reveal a crude, rough-hewn door. Each door boasted a tiny steel shutter set at eye-level and a simple lock keeping inquisitive strangers from satisfying their curiosity.

Pinchkin still strode confidently ahead. Ben was amazed at the speed with which her feet carried her across the floor. She didn't hesitate at junctions in the corridor or seem to be affected by the lack of light. At yet another junction, Ben managed to tug Pinchkin's cloak.

‘Are we there yet?' he gasped, his ribs beginning to ache with both the effort of keeping apace with Pinchkin and the rough handling he'd had taking him to the cell, even though he couldn't remember a thing about that. Pinchkin paused briefly and gave him a patient smile.

‘Almost,' she said reassuringly. She ruffled his hair. ‘But don't you be too eager to get there,' cautioned Pinchkin. ‘Because once there you will need to be elsewhere, and then,' she said solemnly, ‘you'll eventually arrive where you first started.' Again Pinchkin didn't wait for Ben to comment but hurried forward into the consuming gloom.

Ben felt totally confused. He couldn't pretend he understood anything that was happening to him or what was being said. He ran to catch up with her fast disappearing figure.

‘Are all these cells occupied?' he asked breathlessly.

Pinchkin's face clouded over.

‘Unfortunately, yes. Although no-one knows for certain who's in the cells and how long they have been there.' She continued to walk but pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders. ‘Ever since the Jaresh took control of the High and Low Territories, people have disappeared. It's got to the point where you dare not go out at night. Heaven alone knows what could happen to some poor unfortunate being. You hear such terrible tales.' Pinchkin turned and wagged a finger at Ben. ‘And there's always that Thrumble in the background, a nasty piece of work that one, you mark my words.'

Ben sensed that he'd just heard something important but couldn't quite make out what it was.

‘I'm sorry,' he said apologetically. ‘But I think I've lost the plot somewhere.'

Pinchkin brushed some hair from her face that had escaped the attention of her hood. ‘Never you mind my dear. You won't understand any of this at the moment. Best just leave it at that and let things unfold naturally. Come along,' she encouraged. ‘Let's not keep Lord Tolc waiting any longer.'

‘But I don't understand. What's going on? Why am I down here in this dimly lit stink and just who is Lord Tolc?'

Pinchkin turned and put her hands on Ben's shoulders.

‘Now listen, young man. What you don't know, you can't worry about. And believe me,' she continued. ‘There's enough to be fretting about I can tell you.'

Ben shook himself free from her grip.

‘Then why am
I
here?' he asked angrily. ‘And', he pointed back towards the cell they'd recently left. ‘What's all this about me being late?'

‘It's always why this and why that with you youngsters.' replied Pinchkin coolly. Without warning, she dug deep into her pocket and extracted a handful of what looked like seeds. Crushing them with her hand, Pinchkin held the small pile of seeds under Ben's nose. ‘What do you see?' she asked.

Images floated in front of Ben's face as the scent from the crushed seeds escaped. He could see and smell the forest, the damp grass, and the scent of unknown flowers. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a rushing stream and the occasional call of a bird soaring high above. Pinchkin squeezed his nose.

‘Ow!' winced Ben. ‘What was that for?'

‘You were almost asleep boy. Now, there's a point.' She mused. ‘What's your name?'

‘It's Ben,' he replied, rubbing his nose.

‘Well Ben, what you've just experienced may soon be a memory, a thing of nostalgia.'

Ben recalled the images.

‘But that's impossible. There were loads of trees and plants and things. It'd take forever to forget that.'

Pinchkin sniffed.

‘I wish that were the case. But the speed the Cutters work at, it's a wonder there's any forest left at all,'

‘Cutters?' asked Ben.

‘Yes, Cutters,' she said, her lips a taught line of anger. ‘They're a group of mercenaries from the north of the land. They've destroyed their own land by building great towers and creating scars across the earth to travel along. Once the Jaresh heard of their ability to transform nature, those Cutters were brought down here before you could say apple-pie and custard.'

Ben could almost taste the words trickling down his throat.

‘And they've begun to build towers and things?' he asked.

‘Dear me no,' exclaimed Pinchkin. ‘It's not towers that the Jaresh want, it's Pugwort.'

Before Ben could ask another question, the gloom gave way to an eye-searing brightness as the corridor opened out on to an extremely large room. From a ceiling that blurred with distance, hung a series of small metal chains with a spinning ball of light at each end. Ben closed his eyes at the fierceness of the light, but even with them closed he could still see the flashes of lightening erupting inside of his head. Gradually, opening his eyes, he could see two lines of ornately carved pillars straight in front of him. Huddled around each pillar were little groups of people, each much smaller than Ben and wearing an assortment of brightly coloured clothing that reminded him of a medieval fair.

The room looked like an oversized railway station ticket office that he remembered seeing in the films his mother liked to watch. There were no seats anywhere apart from small stools that sat beneath the large noticeboards that adorned the walls. Occasionally, a figure from one of the pillars would break away from the rest of the group, scurry across the room to the noticeboards, hop onto the stool, reach inside their coat and take out what looked like a ticket. With little nods of their head from the ticket to the notice-board, the figures would check their tickets against the details on the boards, make a clucking sound with their tongues and then scurry back to their separate groups, each apparently updating their friends on the lack of change since their last visit.

As he continued to watch the various scenes evolving around him, Ben became aware of a number of small, white creatures that suddenly appeared carrying little leather satchels. The creatures barely paused in their movement before disappearing in a blur and reappearing several columns away. Oblivious to Ben's stares, each creature would stretch its neck to see above the numerous huddles of people and then, when it seemed to have identified its target, would take a card out of its satchel, hand it over to the person it had just startled and then disappear again. He watched the creatures perform the same process several times before one suddenly materialised straight in front of him. Looking at Ben directly in the face, the creature made a small snuffling noise. A card suddenly flashed before Ben's eyes accompanied by an odd clicking sound. Staring at the card, Ben saw that it bore a number stamped on one side. While he stared the clicking turned into an irritating whine. Ben felt a tap on his shoulder.

‘Quickly,' hissed Pinchkin. ‘Take the card before we get noticed.'

As soon as he took hold of the card the whining stopped and the creature vanished in a flurry of fur. Glancing at the card, Ben saw a large ‘62' printed on it but nothing else, no explanation or information about what he should do with the card. He looked up at Pinchkin.

‘What,' he began, holding the card towards her.

‘Our appointment number,' she explained in hushed tones. ‘And they're called
Goferats
, and very efficient messengers they are too, although it doesn't pay to keep them waiting,' she continued, anticipating Ben's next question.

Keeping close to Pinchkin, Ben followed her slow stroll around the room. Every now and then they would pass close to one of the little huddles of people by the tall pillars. As they approached, Ben could hear high-pitched, squeaky voices that would become quieter the closer that he and Pinchkin got to the group. When they were within touching distance, all eyes within the group would turn inquisitively towards Ben, give him a quick look up and down and then return to their conversation.

Eventually, Ben and Pinchkin's ambles brought them to the far end of the room. Immediately before them stood a large desk flanked on either side by two odd looking creatures. Their skin reflected whatever light managed to travel far enough to reach a shimmering surface. They were each dressed in a long leather tunic, which ended where a pair of black boots began and a sort of fish tail spread out behind them. The head of each creature seemed gnarled and indistinct, as if somebody had spent a long time designing the body and then become impatient when it came to completing the head. Each creature's fin-like arms were folded around a metal spear. As Ben looked closely, he could see that each creature wore a small necklace from which dangled little pieces of white rock.

A voice reverberated around the room, startling Ben.

‘Number forty-seven. Room three.'

A figure detached itself from one of the small groups and headed towards a door in the far corner of the room.