The Book Man, Chapter 85 (Revised)

85 THE ELEVENTH HOUR

He did not see how they would fit up the stairs, but when they reached the three archways the hellhound turned sharply toward the right arch, its claws skidding on the stone floor. Christian could barely see. After a moment he felt the hellhound stop and leap straight upward. One great leap, and then they seemed to be flying through the air, so quickly Christian swung back and bumped into the hellhound’s chin and chest. Ahead he could hear, just over the rush of their flight, the flapping of massive wings.

They burst out aboveground, and it was just after sunset—Christian’s first wild thought was that they must have been underground for more than a day, but he could not be sure because all time had run together in the darkness. The world was light and clear and loud, and the sight of the stars and moon and the faint red tinge on the horizon and the clang of tent poles and chains and cookware made him sick. More Fair-folk seemed to have joined the ringmasters’ troupes. In the sky, Christian saw the winged horse wheeling over the battle, surveying the field. It trumpeted. The dark creatures stopped fighting and launched into the sky to follow after it.

“Faster, faster!” he urged the hellhound. It too launched itself upward. Cold wind whipped the accountant’s face. He gripped the knife more tightly in his right hand and held his glasses onto his face with his left.

Then a shout went up from the gardens. People flooded onto the field—the remainder of the Fair-folk, wielding the same hodgepodge of weapons as their friends. A white figure emerged behind them, spread its wings, and sped upward toward Goblin, so bright it shone in the night sky.

“Neva!” Christian cried.

The angel flew upward until he was above the confusion of dark creatures and then closed his wings and dove down into the middle of it like a hawk. When he reappeared, he was falling with the horse clutched in his arms. But the horse gave one ringing neigh and flew upwards again, and when it did so something else was left trapped in Neva’s arms: a skeletal, humanoid body with a long lionish tail and an extra pair of bony arms sprouting from its ribs, leathery bat-like wings, eyes so brightly blue they could be seen from the ground as it fell—

The two figures crashed to the ground and struggled together in the grass.

“Put me down,” Christian told the hellhound. “Go back for Morrow and Tirion.”

The hellhound landed back on the ground with a thud. The people around it shrieked and somewhere nearby Liza shouted, “It’s got Christian!”

“No, don’t hurt him, I’ll explain later,” he yelled back. He sprinted toward the two winged figures in the grass. The hellhound thundered back the other way and vanished into the dirt.

The dark creatures were still in the sky, the Fair-folk still on the ground, all watching the fight between Neva and Goblin. All except Christian, who covered the distance much less quickly than he would have liked. The marshy ground sucked at his boots and pulled him down. He shook them loose and ran on barefoot.

Finally he slowed, only yards away from the scuffle. He could now see clearly the ugly face that had shadowed Morrow’s. The creature who owned it clawed at Neva’s back with his talons and sank his sharp teeth into his brother’s wrist. The angel grunted and tightened his grip on Goblin’s neck, ignoring the blood running down his own back.

Christian stood rooted to the spot. He was simultaneously horrified and mesmerized by the fight. Now that his moment had come, he felt queasy at the thought of ramming a knife into a living creature, even if it was the hideous creature that had caused so much strife and stabbed Tirion—

Neva caught sight of him in the midst of the struggle, caught sight of the knife hanging limp in his hand, and snarled, “What are you waiting for?”

“Christian, what are you doing?” Conrad called from behind him. He turned to see the Smithsons struggling together through the mud toward him, holding chains they had picked up in battle. An idea struck him.

“Give those to me,” he shouted, pointing at the chains. He shoved the knife into his pocket as he ran to meet them, took the chains from his bemused friends, and darted back toward the wrestling brothers.

“Look out,” he said to Neva. The angel rolled away. Before Goblin could get up, Christian wrapped the chains round and around him. Smoke roiled up from his greyish skin where the iron touched it.

“There,” Christian said.

Goblin twisted this way and that against his bonds but then gave up, grinding his teeth in pain and anger. Neva got to his feet and frowned at the accountant.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Finish him off.”

“No,” said Christian.

Neva’s frown deepened. “No?”

“No,” Christian repeated. “I’m sorry, but treating him horribly is what got us all in this mess in the first place. I realize he’s—he’s caused a lot of trouble, but don’t you see? It was because he was treated so poorly to begin with.”

“That’s no excuse—”

“No,” Christian said, wringing his hands, “no, I quite agree, and I’m not excusing his actions. But don’t you think—well, your actions can’t be much excused either.”

“I wanted nothing more than to love my brother—” Neva began in tones of outrage, but Goblin surprised them both by muttering, “Did not.”

Neva glared at him. “You killed our mother.”

“It was an accident,” Goblin said. “Please, brother, believe me. You know how I loved her.”

“Please,” Christian said, holding up his hands to hush them. “You can have it out later. But you’re not the only ones involved, so perhaps you ought to be quiet for a moment.”

The dark creatures had landed on the ground several yards away to watch the proceedings in eerie silence. The Fair-folk slogged through the marsh and stood on the other side with their tent poles, chains, and cookware raised as if half-expecting the battle to continue. Christian wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers.

“Look,” he said, raising his voice as much as he could so the others could hear. “These creatures aren’t evil—”

“They’ve just killed half our lot,” shouted a man whom Christian recognized as the log-splitter from the Sunforest.

“You’ve just killed half of theirs as well,” he retorted. “Just listen to me for a moment. I can’t deny that—well, we’ve all just been fighting and it does look like we’re cut out to be enemies, but—but think about it. If you’d never seen a hellhound before and one came across your path, would you let it go on its way?”

“Of course not,” the man said. Behind him Christian caught sight of Minerva, standing in the midst of the crowd with the cast-iron skillet in her hand. Her face was flushed, her tunic spattered with the plum-colored blood of imps, her curls tumbling loose over her shoulders. Narodnaya was beside her, far bloodier and ferociously happy with the fact, but each smiled at him in her own way as she met his eyes. He gazed at them for a minute, and when he spoke again he ignored all the others.

“Exactly,” he said. “Of course not! But what had a hellhound ever done to you? You’d run away from it, or try to kill it, or swing something iron at it just because it’s big and scary. I don’t know about you, but if people were always trying to kill me because of how I looked, I think after a while I’d probably start killing them back. Let me tell you: I’ve made friends with one of the spiders, and one of the hellhounds too, and all it took was a few kind words. Look.”

Feeling only a little bit nervous now, he approached the mass of dark creatures standing silently opposite him. The hags and furies and werewolves leered at him. The wound in his hip throbbed at the sight of an imp, but he focused on a winged horse not much bigger than the circus-ponies. It plodded out to meet him, shied a little as he raised a hand to its nose.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he told it. “I just want to show them you’re not all bad.”

If you’re not all bad, he thought with a shiver as he remembered the tidal wave of bad memories the night-mare belowground had given him, but he was not half as scared as he had been when he first met his hellhound. The creatures had, at least, stopped to listen, perhaps surprised by his act of mercy toward their leader.

The horse’s nostrils flared. Then it put its muzzle in his hand.

“There, you see?” he said to it happily. The other dark creatures crowded around him, nickering and whimpering to be petted. Behind him there was a sound of people moving forward and he saw the Fair-folk rushing toward him with their weapons raised. He pushed his way out of the crowd of creatures and held his hands up.

“No,” he said, “no, they’re not hurting me. They just want some kindness. Come and see.”

The Fair-folk remained stationery, looking at him as if he was crazy. Neva, standing beside his chained brother, had a deep groove in his smooth brow.

Minerva made her way through the crowd and joined Christian beside the horse. Without hesitation she put a hand on its neck, and on the neck of the hellhound beside her. The horse nuzzled her cheek and she laughed. The other Fair-folk came forward as well, all at once as if they would lose their nerve if they did not. They cautiously went up to the creatures they had been fighting not long before, to touch them and speak to them. The creatures were wary as well and backed away from those who did not drop their tent poles and cookware, but they relaxed under the kind words and soft touches.

Then a grizzled voice that sent a shiver down Christian’s spine called out, “That’s all well and good for the dumb animals. Big softies, they are—you’ve found them out!”

The speaker pushed his way through the ground. He was a man, more or less, but his body was covered in thick, matted hair, and canine teeth jutted from his mouth, which was covered in blood.

“The rest of us, though—” He looked around at his fellows, the other werewolves, the imps, the hags and furies, all of whom seemed disgusted with the turn of events.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he shouted. “Didn’t I say they’d go soft on us? Sure, fighting for land, fighting for power—until the moment someone says a kind word to ‘em! If you want power, and land, and an endless supply of man-flesh to munch on, then follow me!”

Christian’s hip throbbed. The hags and furies shrieked, the imps bared their teeth and leapt forward, and the werewolves howled in a way that made the circus-animals respond with angry roars.

The battle was on again.