Un Lun Dun (30 page)

62

Into the Trees

Deeba stepped into a realm of rustling hush, and warmth, and green light. The door closed behind her. She gaped.

“Oh my gosh,” she said.

To either side were walls in bright wallpaper, and some way ahead she could just see stairs leading up on the left, and a corridor on the right. It was hard to make out the details of the inside of the house, because everywhere around them, filling it, were plants.

The carpet and the floorboards were rucked with lichen, moss, ferns, and undergrowth. Ivy clotted the walls. The corridor was full of trees. They were old, gnarled things that twisted around themselves to fit into the cramped space. Vines hung from them, and from the ceiling, and trembled as little animals and birds scampered up them.

Deeba could only just see through trees and bushes to where thick brambles and creepers plaited through the banisters. She could hear the call of birds, the whisper of leaves, wood knocking gently against wood, and somewhere, the gurgle of running water.

Light shone greenly through leaves from a bulb Deeba glimpsed hanging from the ceiling.

“We should get going,” the book said. “It isn’t that long till dusk.”

What happens at dusk?
Deeba thought. She didn’t say anything. They were all too busy dragging themselves through the thickets.

The utterlings were making the most of their new freedom, roaming and foraging as the little group made their way. Diss snuffled enthusiastically and rooted around in the tangles and thickets and leaf mold, emerging from piles of old vegetation wearing temporary hats of compost. Bling leapt from tree to tree with ostentatious springs and backflips. If they strayed more than a few feet from their cautiously progressing companions, Cauldron would click his little fingers and beckon them back.

Having the forest wedged into the house seemed to have done something to the space. The walls’ dimensions didn’t work quite as they should. Deeba felt as if she couldn’t see as far as she should be able to, and as if shadows sometimes fell in odd directions. It took them a long time to reach the base of the stairs, and Deeba didn’t think it was just that the plants were so thick they impeded their progress—although they were.

She was quickly exhausted. She ducked under branches, climbed over others, held them gingerly in front of her and let Bling and Diss and the others pass, so the thorns wouldn’t spring back and whack them. Sometimes, when they were confronted by a particularly tangled thicket, Deeba saw Hemi roll up his sleeve or trouser leg, strain his half-ghostly muscles, and pull his flesh right through the blockage.

It was warm. The leaves were rubbery and thick. Deeba gripped a vine, and a tree frog crawled over her fingers, making her jump. Strictly speaking, she thought, this place was a cross between a forest and a jungle.

“This is a jorest,” she said to Hemi.

“Yeah,” he said. “No, it’s a fungle.” They grinned.

She hopped over a rotted stump jutting from the carpet and wiped sweat from her face. Mr. Cavea leaned against the stair’s bottom rail, the bird in his cage-head staring at her. Through a gap in the forest canopy, Deeba saw the lightbulb, the air around it dusted with midges.

“Which way do we go?” said Hemi.

“My chapter about the featherkey isn’t clear,” the book said. “We could go right. That’s probably the kitchen at the end of the hall. Or we could go up the stairs.”

Mr. Cavea whistled.

“He’s right,” the book said. “We don’t want to go the wrong way. There are predators in here. This isn’t a safe place.”

Cavea whistled.

“Are you sure?” the book said.

“What?” said Deeba.

“He says he’ll find out where Claviger is. Cavea’s the only one who can ask the locals. And he can get about quicker than us. And probably stay out of trouble easier.”

“Can he?” said Deeba doubtfully, eyeing him.

“We should camp,” the book said. “It’s late. We can’t keep going all night.”

He was right. Deeba needed to stop.

The caged bird sang.

“He has nocturnal cousins he can ask,” the book said. “And he’s too polite to say so, but he thinks he’ll be safer if he
doesn’t
spend the night with us. Isn’t that so, Cavea?”

Deeba had never seen a little bird look sheepish before.

They decided it would be too risky to sleep in the open corridor, so they fought through tangles of stalks and leaves to a door nearby. They shoved it open past the resistance of months of plant life, and entered the living room.

Past a copse of twisted trees there was a sofa and several chairs in front of a television, burrowed through by voles and little digging beasts, and wound around with leaves. The TV was on, with the sound turned down. Through the ivy that crisscrossed its screen, it lit the clearing with the colors of a game show.

The travelers swept the little hollow free of stones and sticks, and made camp. They were just in time. Twilight came, and one by one, the lights in the house went out. The noises of the forest changed. A new chorus of night-things began.

“Are you really going to go looking now?” Deeba said. Mr. Cavea nodded his cage.

She watched him in the television’s colors. Mr. Cavea reached up and opened the door to his birdcage-head. The bird twittered.

“He’ll be back by morning,” the book said. “He says to keep his money fresh.”

“I have to admit he’s earning it,” Deeba said.

The bird hopped onto the threshold of the cage and gripped it with its little claws, then took off. The instant it flew out, Cavea’s human body froze, swaying slightly on locked legs.

The bird fluttered away, through loops of vine and under the dark shadows of trees, through the doorway, out of sight. As it went, it sang.

When no one was looking, Deeba gave Mr. Cavea’s leg an experimental prod. It was warm and fleshy—it felt like a leg. But it didn’t move or respond. Cavea’s vehicle just stood, the door to its cage open in its hand.

63

The Source of the River

Deeba woke several times to growls from nocturnal predators, but every time Hemi or whichever utterling was on watch duty would reassure her and go back to quietly chatting with the book or, in the mute utterlings’ case, listening to its murmurs. When she woke to the weak first light from the room’s bulb she realized that they had let her sleep through.

“Why didn’t you get me up?” she said to Hemi crossly. He didn’t answer, but looked away in embarrassment.

Cavea’s body still stood as it had when the bird left. Deeba flicked a snail from its trouser leg as they breakfasted.

After more than an hour, the bird that was Cavea shot into the clearing. It circled them several times, adding its voice to the incessant backdrop of birdsong, then flew to the cage.

Its feet closed on the metal rim, and the human body jerked. The bird entered the cage, and Mr. Cavea stood up straight, stretched all his human limbs, and closed the cage door. The bird sung lengthily.

“Thought so,” said the book. “Where else would you expect a high-flying bird like Claviger to go? Upstairs.”

It was a long and difficult climb. Each step was thick with vegetation, and the travelers had to negotiate a brook that descended the length of the stairs.

They rested on the little mezzanine where the staircase changed direction. Mr. Cavea was at the front, carrying the book, his explorer’s suit becoming more and more filthy. The bird sang at them to hurry, and Deeba and Hemi and the utterlings did their best to obey. The three utterlings helped each other, clambering silently over each other’s bodies in a constant chain of themselves.

“I wish I could do that,” Deeba said. Hemi raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh shut
up,
” she roared. “Not with
you.
” At the top of the stairs they stopped again. Through the thick leaf-cover they could see doorways on either side of the hall, and at its very end a window. Only a little daylight could struggle through the leaves that covered it and reach them.

Three times they had to move fast. A sinuous green creeper emerged quietly from under a nearby door and wrapped around Hemi’s leg. It tightened and, shaking its leaves, hauled him towards the doorway, which opened onto darkness. He fell and gripped the roots around him. It was only his phantom heritage that saved him. Hemi strained, and Deeba saw the vine tighten on his trousers as the flesh beneath went semi-incorporeal. With a grunt of effort, Hemi dragged his half-ghost limb out of the thing’s grip, leaving it with only a torn patch of his trousers in its trendril.

From the next door came a horrible slobbering roar, and a long, vicious-looking claw curled around the frame. Hemi and Deeba pulled the door closed on it as fast as they could, and heard a screeching and a bulky wet body slamming against it on the inside.

Little raccoony-skunky things watched them as they panted. Deeba stopped to examine fat berries in the thickets over her head, only to scream in disgust as the thumb-sized nuggets squirmed and she realized they were not fruit but leeches. “Run!” she shouted as the revolting sluglike things stretched their pliable bodies towards them.

“Quick!” said the book. They staggered as fast as they could along the first-floor hallway, Hemi and Deeba hurrying the utterlings along, just in time to avoid a shower of the bloodsucking things. Behind them was a patter of plops as the leeches landed.

“We’ve actually got quite lucky,” the book said. Deeba and Hemi looked at it incredulously. “Given the number of things that live in this forest.”

Mr. Cavea sang.

“It’s not too much farther,” the book translated. “The other birds told him. All of them know where the parakeets and whatnot live. He’s had a look.”

Cavea pointed. Through gaps between low-hanging foliage Deeba saw a door at the end of the corridor.

“So…is it going to give us this feather?” Deeba said. “Can we just ask it?”

“Doubt it,” the book said.

“Why? Do you know it? Does it have a reputation?”

“It’s just that’s rarely how things work out with this sort of thing,” the book said. “It’s normally trickier than that. That’s why they’re
tasks.
”

Cavea’s bird trilled.

“We’d better have a backup plan, then,” the book translated. They stood silently for some moments.

“Bling, Diss,” Hemi said thoughtfully. “How well can you climb?”

When they pushed the door, it opened onto a tiny room full of greenery. It was little more than a cubicle. To one side, brimming with water, tiny lilies, and water snakes, was a sink, its taps coiled with the roots of plants. The ceiling was surprisingly high, and was thick with branches above a dangling bulb. It rustled with life.

In front of them, rising like a deserted little temple from the undergrowth, below a dangling mass of creepers, was the toilet. Clear water gurgled over the rim of its ceramic bowl, wound its way along the floor, under the door, down the corridor and the stairs.

“We’ve found the source of the river,” whispered the book.

Jutting from the wall of plant life, the square cistern was just visible. Among the hanging vines dangled its chain.

“Go on then Diss, Bling,” Hemi whispered.

“Just in case,” Deeba added. “Might not need you. But if you hear your names…” The utterlings nodded. They knew what to do.

They crept into the foliage on opposite sides of the tiny room and began to climb, Bling with its hooked claws, Diss with its six little paws. They stayed as hidden as possible under the leaves.

Deeba, Hemi, Cauldron, and Cavea stepped forward and stood in front of the forest toilet. Cavea hefted the book and sang, and hidden in the branches, scores of birds answered in harsher voices.

“He’s calling the keyfeather-bearer,” the book whispered. “Really giving it some flowery stuff. ‘You most honored bird of paradise, of whom it is written in the book,’ et cetera. The other birds are laughing.”

Cavea seemed to be having some sort of argument. His human body cupped its hands to either side of the cage, like a man shouting, and the bird sang loud. Its unseen cousins answered.

“And they look so sweet…” said the book in a shocked tone.

The avian bickering went on, and Cavea grew more and more agitated, until all of a sudden, scores of birds dropped out of the leaf-cover and surrounded them, perching on ledges and branches.

They were parrots, cockatiels, macaws, and cockatoos, ruffling their feathers and calling raucously from nasty-looking beaks. They all spoke at once in ugly voices, and Deeba had to put her hands over her ears.

“They’re telling Cavea to show proper respect in the Claviger’s court,” she could just hear the book say.

“Um, Cavea?” said Hemi, and pointed up.

A bird was perched on the rim of the toilet tank, watching them. It was a parrot, and it was huge. It cawed once, gratingly.

It was absolutely beautiful, a vivid patchwork of reds, blues, and yellows. As it shuffled on its feet and eyed the travelers, several of its smaller companions swept around it in a quick aerobatic dance.

“So where’s the…” Deeba started to ask. As she spoke, several of the birds raised crests on their necks and heads. Vivid colors swung upwards into temporary tiaras, in the center of each of which was a large, bright feather shaped like a key.

The one adorning the big parrot was huge.

“Never mind,” Deeba whispered.