XXV. The Vortex
His eyes were made of broken mirrors, and his face of gouged stone. He had a mane of splinters, and limbs of timber. He had shattered slates for teeth, and rusty screws for fingernails, and a cloak of rotted drapes that scarcely hid the darkness of his heart from sight.
“So, thief—” he said, ignoring Rictus’s pitiful struggles, “you see me as the man was. Or rather, as a copy of that man. Is it what you expected?”
“Yes,” Harvey said. “It’s exactly what I expected.”
“Oh?”
“You’re dirt and muck and bits and pieces,” Harvey said. “You’re nothing!”
“Nothing, am I?” said Hood. “Nothing? Ha! I’ll show you, thief! I’ll show you what I am.”
“Let me kill him for you,” Rictus managed to gasp. “You needn’t bother! I’ll do it!”
“You brought him here,” Hood said, turning his splintered eyes on his servant. “You’re to blame!”
“He’s just a boy. I can deal with him. Just let me do it! Let me—”
Before Rictus could finish Hood took hold of his servant’s head, and with one short motion simply twisted it off. A yellowish cloud of foul-smelling air rose from the severed neck, and Rictus—the last of Hood’s abominable quartet—perished in an instant. Hood let the head go from his hand. It flew up into the air like an unknotted balloon, giving off a farting sputter as it looped the loop and finally fell, emptied, to the ground.
Hood casually dropped the body, which had summarily shrunk to nothing, and turned his mirrored gaze back upon Harvey.
“Now, thief,” he said. “YOU WILL SEE POWER!”
His mane of splinters stood on end, as though every one of them was ready to pierce Harvey’s heart. His mouth grew wide as a tunnel, and a blast of sour, icy air rose from his belly.
“Come closer,” he roared, opening his arms.
The rags that clung there billowed, and spread like the wings of some ancient vampire; a vampire that had dined on the blood of pterodactyl and tyrannosaur.
“Come!” he said again. “Or must I come for you?”
Harvey didn’t waste his breath with a reply. He’d need every gasp he had if he was to outpace this horror. Not even certain what direction he was taking, he turned on his heels and ran, as another blast of soul-freezing air struck him. The ground was treacherous; slippery and strewn with rubble. He fell within six strides, and glanced back to see Hood descending upon him with a vengeful shriek. He hauled himself to his feet—Hood’s rusted nails missing him by a whistling inch—and had taken three stumbling strides from Hood’s shadow when he heard Lulu calling his name.
He veered in the direction of her voice, but Hood caught the collar of his jacket.
“Got you, little thief.” he roared, dragging Harvey back into his splintery embrace.
Before Hood could catch better hold, however, Harvey threw back his arms and pitched himself forward. Off came the jacket, and he made a third dash for freedom, his eyes fixed on Lulu, who was beckoning him toward her.
She was standing on the edge of the lake, he realized, perched inches from the spinning waters. Surely she didn’t imagine they could escape into the lake? The vortex would tear them limb from limb.
“We can’t “he yelled to Lulu.
“We must!” she called back. “It’s the only way!”
He was within three strides of her now. He could see her bare feet slithering and sliding on the slimy rock as she fought to keep her balance. He reached out for her, determined to snatch her from her perch before she fell, but her eyes weren’t on him. They were on the monster at his back.
“Lulu!” he yelled to her. “Don’t look!”
But her gaze was fixed upon Hood, her mouth agape, and Harvey couldn’t help but glance back to see what fascinated her so.
Hood’s pursuit had thrown his coat of rags into disarray, and there was something between its folds, he saw, darker than any night sky or lightless cellar. What was it? The essence of his magic, perhaps, guarding his loveless heart?
“Do you give up?” Hood said, driving Harvey back onto the rocks beside Lulu. “Surely you would not choose the vortex over me?”
“Go…” Harvey murmured to Lulu, his gaze still fixed on the mystery beneath Hood’s coat.
He felt her hand grasp his for a moment. “It’s the only way,” she said. Then her fingers were gone, and he was standing on the rocks alone.
“If you choose the flood you will die horribly,” Hood was saying. “It will spin you apart. Whereas I—” He extended an inviting hand to Harvey, stepping up onto the rock as he did so. “I offer you an easy death, rocked to sleep on a bed of illusions.” He made a smile, and it was the foulest sight Harvey had ever seen. “Choose,” he said.
Out of the corner of his eye Harvey glimpsed Lulu. She had not fled, as he’d thought; she’d simply gone to find a weapon. And she had one: a piece of timber dragged out of the rubble. It would be precious little use against Hood’s enormity, Harvey knew, but he was glad not to be alone in these last moments.
He looked up at Hood’s face:
“Maybe I should sleep—” he said.
The Vampire King smiled. “Wise little thief,” he replied, opening his arms to invite the boy into his shadow.
Harvey took a step over the rock toward Hood, raising his hand as he did so. His face was reflected in the shattered mirrors of the vampire’s eyes: two thieves in one head.
“Sleep,” said Hood.
But Harvey had no intention of sleeping yet. Before Hood could stop him, he grabbed hold of the creature’s coat and pulled. The scraps came away with a wet tearing sound, and Hood let out a howl of rage as he was uncovered.
There was no great enchantment at his heart. In fact, there was no heart at all. There was only a void— neither cold nor hot, living nor dead—made not of mystery but of nothingness. The illusionist’s illusion.
Furious at this revelation, Hood let out another roar of rage, and reached down to reclaim the rags of his coat from the thief’s hands. Harvey took a quick step backward, however, avoiding the fingers by a whisker. Hood came raging after him, his soles squealing on the rock, leaving Harvey with no choice but to retreat another step, until he had nowhere to go but the flood.
Again, Hood snatched at the filched rags, and would have had both coat and thief in one fatal grasp had Lulu not run at him from behind, swinging the timber like a baseball bat. She struck the back of Hood’s knee so hard her weapon shattered, the impact pitching her to the ground.
The blow was not without effect, however. It threw Hood off balance, and he flailed wildly, the thunder of the vortex shaking the rock on which he and Harvey perched and threatening to toss them both into the maelstrom. Even now, Hood was determined to claim his rags back from Harvey, and conceal the void in him.
“Give me my coat, thief!” he howled.
“It’s all yours!” Harvey yelled, and tossed the stolen rags toward the waters.
Hood lunged after them, and as he did so Harvey flung himself back toward solid ground. He heard Hood shriek behind him, and turned to see the Vampire King—the rags in his fist pitch headfirst into the frenzied waters.
The maned head surfaced a moment later, and Hood struck out for the bank, but strong as he was the vortex was stronger. It swept him away from the rocks, drawing him toward its center, where the waters were spiraling down into the earth.
In terror, he started to plead for assistance, his pitiful bargains only audible when the whirlpool carried him to the bank where Harvey and Lulu now stood.
“Thief!” he yelled. “Help me, and…I’ll give you…the world! For…ever…and ever…”
Then the ferocity of the waters began to rip at his makeshift body, tearing out his nails and rattling out his
