“
The light that had first revealed the women was brightening all around them. In a few seconds they would be gone. But before the sisters were eroded by the brightness, Diamanda reached out and touched Candy’s arm.
“
“You do?”
“
Then her fingers drew back from Candy’s arm, and the three women vanished into the flux of light.
As they disappeared, Candy caught a glimpse of the door slammer: Abraham Hollow, the Keeper of the Time Out of Time. He was no more than ten yards away, standing on the threshold of a door that he had just closed, and staring down at something at his feet. He was dressed in voluminous scarlet robes, and his thin face was possessed of that smoothness and translucence that sometimes comes with extreme old age. He wore tiny round black-lensed spectacles, which concealed his eyes, and had a matted mop of white hair on his head.
“There you are, Tattle,” he said, addressing a large piebald Abaratian rat, which had appeared from between his feet. With great effort Hollow bent down and offered the sleeve of his robe to the rat. The animal instantly scampered up the sleeve and ran along Hollow’s stooped shoulder to his ear, as though whispering into it. Indeed, perhaps the rat was doing just that, because the old man then muttered to himself:
“An interloper, eh? I should maybe summon the brothers…”
He opened the door behind him and called back through it.
“Tempus! Julius!”
She did exactly that, racing off into the darkness, and silently cursing the three sisters for heading off without taking her with them.
“
Candy glanced back over her shoulder. The door at which Hollow and Tattle stood had been flung wide, as had the door behind it, and the door behind that door. And through them came the Fugit Brothers.
Candy had been warned, of course, about the dangers of the Twenty-Fifth. She’d been told how all the people who’d ventured here over the years had either disappeared, or been driven mad. One glimpse of the Fugit Brothers and she understood why. They had the faces of clowns: white skin, gaping mouths and pop eyes. But that was the least of it. What was truly distressing was the fact that their features—their eyes, their mouths, their noses, their ears, and even the three little tufts of red hair they sported, were moving around their faces like the hands of crazy clocks. Despite the fact that their mouths were on the move, they still spoke:
“
She didn’t wait to hear any more of their chatter. She fled into the darkness, which enveloped her completely. She could see no sign of a way out in any direction: no door, no window. Not so much as a sliver of light from the outside world.
There was nothing to be lost from yelling for help, she thought. After all, these clock-faced clowns knew where she was. So she called to Malingo, in the vain hope that he would hear her.
“Malingo? I’m over here!” (Wherever
She got an answer, but it wasn’t the one she wanted. It was an echo of what she’d just yelled, but the walls it had bounced off of had rearranged the words, and made nonsense of them.
“You can if me. Yell back here, hear? I’m over Malingo.”
Even the
As the words died away, she heard two soft voices, horribly close.
“
They sounded as though they were two or three yards away. She didn’t wait for them to get any nearer. She headed off into the darkness again, not caring where she went, just determined not to allow the Fugit Brothers to catch up with her.
She couldn’t run forever, she knew. It was only a matter of time before the clowns on her heels caught up with her. And then what? Well, they’d already laid out their options. Even if she escaped their clutches, the echoes, and the memory of her pursuers’ circling faces, would take their toll. Whatever wonders she had witnessed here would be erased by insanity.
No! She couldn’t let that happen. She ran on blindly, determined she was not going to be numbered among those who’d escaped the Twenty-Fifth too crazy to tell their tale.
32. Monsoon
The exhausted survivors of the sinking
Unfortunately there was no medication for Mischief and his brothers, who were still in very poor condition. Though their wounds had stopped bleeding, there was no sign of consciousness returning. All Geneva, Tom, the Captain and Tria could do was to work together to build a small shelter out of branches and leaves, and lay the brothers in it, away from the heat of the midafternoon sun.