And why were things spinning?
Was it just him spinning? Or was it everything?
And what was everything?
He poked around his rattled braincells. There had to be some answers in there somewhere. Especially about the screaming person. Maybe something that would turn the screaming off.
“Idiot clown!”
Who said that? A woman’s voice.
Distorted. Echoey.
It wasn’t her who was screaming, though. The screamer was a guy. Maybe. It was kind of hard to tell, but male was the impression he got. Though the scream was rather high pitched.
But no, there was only one female personage in the van.
Wait? Van?
He realized his fingers were gripping something. Realized he had fingers.
Familiar. It had a name.
Tip of his tongue. Couldn’t quite catch it though. Hard to think. It was like someone had stuck an electric fence in his mouth.
Hmmm.
“Clown! Spit it out!” the woman shouted.
She was a little shrill. She normally had a voice that commanded obedience.
Oh, she did? When was that?
“I cannot reach him my lady!”
Who was that? Male. Heroic sounding. Though with a slight edge of desperation.
“Kill him! Stab him!” the woman shouted, “Use that thing for something useful!”
Well, now. That sounded just plan antisocial.
Especially if she was talking about him. Which he suspected she was.
“My sword cannot be drawn here,” the man said, “The ancient pact…”
“Oh, come on,” the woman said, “That’s a bunch of b–”
“Oy, I’s gets its.”
Another voice. Rough sounding.
Movement. Near him. Wherever he was.
“No! Don’t touch him!” the woman said, “He’s charged!”
Oh dear. That sounded bad. Was it him? Was he charged? And if he was, what was he charged with? Did he also have the right to remain silent? Which would be fine, because he didn’t seem to have the ability to talk at the moment.
“Oy, justs a littles taps,” the rough sounding voice said.
“I want to go home,” yet another voice said. Male again. This voice seemed even more familiar. And seemed to bring up feelings of guilt, too. What was he guilty of?
A voice echoed from the depths of his addled mind…what aren’t you guilty of?
Oh dear. That didn’t sound good at all. Was he some sort of bad person? Was he running from something?
“No!” the woman shouted, “If you touch him, the casting will be broken. You might be killed. He must stop it himself.”
“Why did you tell me to kill him?” the first male said, “You didn’t say I might be killed.”
“I didn’t say you would,” the woman said.
“You didn’t say I wouldn’t,” the man said, “Are you trying to bring me to an end, my lady?”
“The key wouldn’t have affected you,” the woman said, “You’re a Paladin. Even if you are a rather small one.”
“I am not small,” the man, who was apparently a Paladin, said. Whatever that was.
“So you say,” the woman said.
“My brothers are just large.”
“Maybe they’re normal sized and you’re small,” the woman said.
A clatter of something behind him. Metal on metal.
“Oh, really? Are you really wanting to go there, my lady?” the man said, “Do you really want to talk about family?”
“Don’t you dare,” the woman said.
“How about we talk about your sisters, Emerald and Citrine?”
“You shut up you stupid clod!”
There was something familiar about the way their argued. Something tiring, too.
“What’s ifs I’s pokes hims withs a sticks?” the rough sounding voice said.
Poking with sticks didn’t sound very nice. Was there some way to avoid that? What had the woman said? Spit it out?
Maybe that had to do something with the buzzing in his mouth, like he was trying to swallow a live electric eel.
“Crimminy, shut up already, Larry,” the third male said.
Larry?
Larry.
Larry.
Hilario spat the amulet out. It bounced off his belly and clanked down to the van’s floor.
Everything slammed into focus.
The steering wheel he clenched his fingers on. The van around him. Larry’s ghostly wailing in the seat beside him. The Sapphire Witch and Odom the Paladin bickering in the back. The rotten cabbage stench of Roger the ogre. Who poked him with a rolled up umbrella. Detective Marco who sat in the corner glaring at everyone while he sucked his thumb. Queezleyan the six-tailed rat demon snoring away in the footwell occupied by Larry Sparrow’s insubstantial feet.
And beyond the windshield…blackness, streaked with red light.
Red light that blossomed into an all consuming bloody glow.
The van lurched forward. The suspension crunched as the van dropped to the ground.
Hilario stomped the brake. Wrenched the wheel to the left.
Barely avoided hitting the huge oak tree in the middle of the wide, stoney pathway.
The van skidded and shuddered to a stop. Fragrant smoke filled the air as ogres ran to and fro with torches in their thick knuckled hands.
They seemed to be setting fire to the thick forest around them.
And the forest appeared to be fighting back.
53
Larry wasn’t screaming any more.
The whole van had gone silent. Fragrant wood smoke seeped inside.
Well, silent except for Queezleyan’s snores. The six-tailed rat demon still lay curled up in the footwell, with Larry’s ghostly feet passing through him.
Even the Sapphire Witch and Odom the Paladin had stopped their endless bickering.
The van’s suspension creaked as both of them moved forward.
“This can’t be Lord Igdibon’s realm,” the Sapphire Witch said.
She shoved Roger the ogre aside and reached for the amulet. Her leather and spice scent were a welcome change from Roger’s rotten cabbage stench.
But her reach wasn’t welcome.
He put his floppy shoed right foot on the amulet and kicked it over to his left. He trapped the nasty bauble under his shoe.
“Give it to me, clown,” she said.
Roger the ogre clambered over the back of the passenger seat.
“Oys, I’s recognizes those blokeses,” he said, “Theyes Lord Igdibon’s all rights.”
The Sapphire Witch drew in a
