Iconium

A vivid flash of lightning erupted, followed by an instantaneous explosion as the tortoise-machine hauled itself up on to the avenue and opened fire on Billet.

‘Oh no!’ said the master. ‘If the studio’s been hit we’re really in trouble.’ Everyone ran to Billet and raced upstairs. The lightning bolt had blown in one of the windows and wrecked the place. He swore under his breath. ‘This is simply terrible. Every pot of colour’s been smashed. I was counting on having sufficient materials with which to create something to confront that abomination out there.’

‘You mean paint something?’ said Wren.

‘Something that would come alive in the Mirrorscape, like your other creations,’ added Mel. ‘But surely that would take time?’

‘Too long, perhaps. But it was our only hope,’ said Ambrosius Blenk. ‘Now, without any materials ….’ He shrugged.

‘So now what do we do?’ said Ludo.

‘Might I suggest we ponder that while we are on the move?’ said Lucas Flink.

‘Of course. Quite right. Swivel, a chair for my friend – if you can find one intact.’ The master navigated the debris and took up a speaking-tube. ‘Billet, I think you should put some distance between us and that infernal contraption out there.’

The lightning gun spat again and everyone staggered to maintain their footing as Billet lurched under the impact.

‘Surely there must be something we can use among all this,’ suggested Lucas Flink.

‘Ludo, did you bring any more pigment?’ said Mel.

The master turned to Ludo. ‘You have some pigment, Cleef?’

Ludo shifted uncomfortably. ‘It’s all gone.’

‘Pity. There must be something we can use. Everyone turn out your pockets on to the table. Let’s see what we’ve got between us.’ From his own capacious pockets the master produced a small notebook, a pencil stub, a two-headed silver piece, a threaded conker, two biscuits and a jay’s feather.

Swivel, Farris and Bathor had nothing (figments rarely do) but Lucas Flink found a pair of spectacles with one lens missing, a piece of coloured glass, a dried seahorse and a diary two hundred and seven years out of date.

From Wren’s pocket came a seashell, a pine cone, a pressed poppy, a selection of small cogs and gears and a pendant watch with cracked glass on a silver chain. On its tiny face was a double portrait of her parents.

Ludo’s haul amounted to a few scraps of crumpled paper, a half-eaten sugared almond covered in fluff, a split pebble with a fossil inside and a small purse embroidered with his family’s coat of arms. From the clunk it made on the tabletop it evidently contained a sum of money.

All the while, Mel became increasingly anxious. Everyone will know I’m a thief now.

‘What do you have, Womper?’ said the master.

Dreading what Wren and Ludo would think of him, Mel laid his bodkin and the little box on the table.

The master picked the box up. ‘What’s this?’

‘It’s … a box. Just a box.’

‘A rather beautiful one it seems. What’s in it?’ The master held it to his ear and rattled it gently.

Mel shook his head. ‘Nothing really.’

The master tried to open it. ‘It’s locked. Let’s see if I can prise it open with the bodkin.’

They have to know sooner or later. ‘No need. It opens like this.’ Mel pressed both ends at once and the lid sprang open. Inside, glowing with its own colour-shifting iridescence, was the strange powder.

The master gasped. ‘It’s not possible! Lucas, is this what I think it is?’

Lucas Flink gazed at the shifting colours. ‘Where did you get this, young man?’

I found it. It was given to me. I won it. I’m looking after it for a friend. All of these thoughts raced through Mel’s mind. What he said was, ‘I kind of stole it.’ And, anticipating the next question, ‘From the High-Bailiff.’

The two old masters looked at each other. Then they burst out laughing.

What’s so funny? thought Mel.

Wren and Ludo stared at each other, equally confused.

The old men’s laughter was the kind that would have carried on for ages if it had not been interrupted by a flash and another lightning strike nearby.

‘So that’s what “Melkin Womper, apprentice and thief ” meant in that challenge,’ said Wren.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Mel. ‘I didn’t mean to be a thief.’

‘I know that,’ said Wren. ‘Anyway, I bet Adolfus Spute stole it himself.’

‘Is someone going to tell us what it is?’ said Ludo.

‘It’s our salvation. That’s what it is! Eh, Lucas?’

‘Young man, what we have here is iconium.’ There was a boyish sparkle in Lucas Flink’s old eyes. ‘I have only ever seen it once before – more than two hundred years ago – and never such a large quantity as this.’

‘It’s unbelievably valuable,’ said the master. ‘Why, with what’s in this box you could buy as many Pleasures as you wished and still have money left over.’

‘Just think of the devilry we could cause with that.’ Farris nudged Bathor and their eyes twinkled.

‘Many, many years ago,’ continued Lucas Flink, ‘when I was no older than you youngsters are now, a meteor fell from the sky near the western shore of Kig. A fragment was retrieved by the Fifth Mystery and it was found to contain this extraordinary pigment. A little more was extracted, but unfortunately the impact of the meteorite made the substrata of the island unstable. It was already fragile, due to the extent of the mining. It triggered a number of earthquakes, which caused great fissures to open up. The meteor was swallowed by one of these and was lost.’

‘Then the iconium that had been extracted from the meteor also vanished; no one knows where. It’s never been seen since.’ The master tapped the box and watched the play of the shifting iridescence.

‘But how did the High-Bailiff get his hands on it?’ asked Wren.

‘That’s a good question, young lady,’ said the master.

‘There doesn’t seem to be very much of it,’ said Ludo.

‘“Much” is a relative term, Cleef. “Much” is probably all there is in the world.’

‘Yeah, but how’s it going to help us?’ asked Ludo. ‘There’s nowhere round here where we can sell it.’

‘Sell it?’ said Lucas Flink. ‘We must use it. Iconium has almost miraculous properties. It can – ’

‘Make pictures all by itself?’ said Mel.

‘Just so, young man. This apprentice of yours, Ambrosius, has a rare head on his shoulders. Is he as nimble with his hands as he is with his mind?’

‘Indeed he is, Lucas. I expect great things from Womper. That is, if we ever manage to get back to Nem.’ The master smiled at Mel. ‘I myself have never seen iconium. It is reputed to be highly fugitive. Is that so, Lucas?’

‘Yes. It is the most powerful and the most fugitive of pigments. Whatever is created with the iconium lasts but a short time – minutes, no more.’

‘So, Womper, what are we to do with this serendipitous substance?’ asked the master.

‘Well, we could make our own creations to destroy the tortoise-machine. Using iconium they’d be done in no time.’

Ambrosius Blenk looked at Lucas Flink and they both smiled. ‘That’s exactly what we would do. Come on, to work – all of you.’

‘We’ve stopped moving,’ said Wren.

Ludo pointed. ‘No wonder. Look out the window.’

Beneath them, and curving away to either side, was an enormous chasm. It had sheer cliffs and was perhaps a mile wide and just as deep. Even though it was full daylight, the sky above the far rim was darkest night seeded with brilliant stars. Deep below, at the bottom of this natural barrier, flowed a glowing river of molten lava.

‘Ah, we’ve reached my moat,’ said Lucas Flink. ‘I created it to surround my valley and keep unwelcome guests out. Now it rather looks as if it’s keeping us in.’

‘How do we cross it?’ asked the master.

‘There’s a causeway. Unfortunately, it’s behind us, on the far side of the valley. This is regrettable, to say the least, for just over there is my latest addition to the Mirrorscape, “The Empire of Sleep”, the painting I gave to you recently, Ambrosius.’

‘The one in your studio,’ said Mel.

‘The very same,’ said the master.

Lucas Flink pointed to the far side of the chasm. ‘On the other side of the moat is the way back to your mansion.’

‘Well, maybe Billet can hold the monster off for long enough.’ The master clapped his hands. ‘Come on, time’s against us. To work!’ He carefully removed several blank sheets of paper from his sketchbook and handed them round. ‘We must take turns with this pencil stub. And be quick. Just lightning sketches.’

‘Lightning sketches. Very good, Ambrosius. But you can’t expect us to work in all this mess.’

‘Of course not, Lucas. We’ll repair to the library. Swivel, why don’t you tidy up?’

‘Farris, Bathor, lend him a hand,’ said Lucas Flink.

‘Do we have to?’ said Farris.

‘Why can’t we do a bit more devilry?’ said Bathor.

Lucas Flink sighed and rolled his eyes.

Once in the library, everyone in turn made a quick sketch. By the time it was Mel’s turn the pencil stub was almost too small to handle.

‘Now, let’s see what you’ve come up with,’ said the master. ‘Lucas, that’s classic.’ The monster he had conceived was indeed horrible, with massive, hairy arms and razor-sharp horns that extended in front to form a deadly crescent.

‘Yours too, Ambrosius.’ Lucas Flink stood there, admiring the master’s sketch. ‘It’s a giant Pyrexian vampire-orchid, a natural predator of tortoises, if I’m not mistaken. Let’s create both. I’d love to see them in action.’

‘Is that wise with so little iconium? What have the others created? Fine work, Cleef. What exactly is it?’

‘I call it a forceposaur, master. See, it uses its long, pointed jaws to force open the tortoise-monster’s shell and expose its soft body inside.’

‘Very imaginative, Cleef.’ Turning to Wren, the master said, ‘I had no idea you could also draw, young lady. This sketch is not unlike the dragon that adorns my clock.’

‘Yes, master. I designed it.’

‘You did? Remarkable. Are you related to Thomas Delf, the clockmaker?’

‘He’s my father.’

‘Indeed.’ The master looked hard at Wren. ‘Now, what does this dragon of yours do?’

‘The usual dragon trick. It breathes fire. But this one bores into the shell with its corkscrew snout and injects the fire. The monster cooks from the inside out.’

The master was delighted. ‘Any one of these inventions would be the equal of that old humpback.’ Ambrosius Blenk placed them on the table with the others. ‘Now, what have you come up with, Womper?’

Mel’s sketch depicted a bridge. He explained how it was going to work.

‘That’s great, Mel,’ said Wren.

‘I wish I’d thought of it.’

‘It doesn’t matter who thought of it, Cleef. We now have a way out of our dilemma.’

‘Two birds with one stone, eh, Ambrosius?’ said Lucas Flink.

‘I think we’re all agreed that this solution is the best. Lucas, as you’re the only one here who has experience of the iconium, perhaps you would like to realise young Womper’s sketch while we all watch and learn?’

Swivel had salvaged a battered canvas, an easel, some brushes, a palette and a selection of oils from the wreck of the studio. Farris and Bathor helped him to set them up near the window.

Lucas Flink explained. ‘To use the iconium one simply mixes it with two media: oil and imagination.’ He selected a large brush, prepared some iconium and began to apply it to the canvas in broad strokes. As he worked, he could not suppress a broad grin. The first marks he applied initially looked like nothing more than multi-coloured smears but as they watched, the blurry stains organised themselves, swirling about the surface of the canvas until they came to rest as a perfect representation of the view through the window.

Wren and Ludo gasped out loud. Even Mel, who had seen the power of the iconium before, felt a great surge of excitement as the image swam into place. Ambrosius Blenk seemed outwardly detached but his hand was trembling.

Farris nudged Bathor. ‘If we had some of that ….’

‘Enough of that, you two!’ warned Lucas Flink.

As the first marks of Mel’s design began to appear, Wren called out, ‘Look at this!’

Through the window they saw the painting becoming real as the first faint outlines of Mel’s bridge appeared in the air, soaring out towards the middle of the chasm. As Lucas Flink continued, they saw the outlines fill in and the great bridge begin to take shape. Impossibly tall piers rose from the depths of the moat to support the wide spans. Along its length, colourful towers and graceful arches sprang into existence, interspersed with tall statues. Banners fluttered from pinnacles and the surface of the roadway was patterned with bright mosaics featuring giant serpents that intertwined with each other. The entire bridge looked, and indeed was, magical.

Billet shook with the impact of another lightning bolt. The smell of burning invaded the library.

‘Time we were off,’ said Wren.

‘Lucas, you’ll have to complete it as we advance.’ Taking up a speaking-tube, the master said, ‘Over the bridge, Billet. No dilly-dallying. Next stop home.’ Then to the youngsters, ‘Come with me. I know where there’s a better view to witness the fun. You angels had better stay and help your master.’

He crossed to the far corner of the library and swung open a section of bookcase that concealed a narrow staircase just wide enough for them to squeeze up. Beyond a small door at the top was a large attic. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they made out the rafters of Billet’s sloping roof, with narrow shafts of daylight piercing the slats and damaged thatch. The attic itself was covered in a thin film of dust, and cobwebs hung everywhere.

‘Help me with this,’ said the master as he dragged a large trunk across the floor. He climbed on it and opened a trapdoor in the roof. Bright light flooded in. ‘Come up here and watch the second part of Womper’s plan. You won’t want to miss this.’

Mel, Ludo and Wren mounted the trunk and, side by side with the master, they all looked back along the bridge as Billet strode onwards.

‘Duck!’ Mel’s warning was just in time as a searing lightning bolt detonated right above their heads. ‘That was close.’

Ears ringing, they raised their heads again to admire the rapidly forming bridge.

‘It’s … it’s incredible!’ said Mel. He had merely suggested the towers that flanked it in his sketch, but Lucas Flink had elaborated these into fantastic pieces of architecture complete with tracery, statues and gargoyles.

‘You must feel very proud, Womper,’ said the master.

‘I’d feel better if it wasn’t for that.’

Close behind came the tortoise-monster, stalking after them on its spider legs. They could hear the whine of the lightning gun recharging.

‘Master, it’s gaining on us!’ exclaimed Ludo.

‘Calm down, Cleef. I’m sure Lucas has made provision for such a likelihood.’

As the pursuing monster reached the first arch, the row of stone gargoyles that sat atop it came alive and sprang on to the monstrous contraption. Several squeezed into the lightning-gun port and began attacking the occupants. Others clambered up the tall tower, breaking off anything that protruded from the monster with their powerful arms.

‘Look at the statues,’ said Wren.

The stone figures that lined the bridge, agile as monkeys, had begun to scale the long legs of the machine.

‘Now it’s the mosaic,’ said Ludo, jumping up and down. ‘Look!’ The pattern of snakes reared up from the surface of the roadway and began to entangle the machine’s many legs. Soon they had stopped it dead in its tracks. ‘Looks like chucking-out time.’

As they watched, they saw red-robed figures being flung from the machine by the gargoyles and statues.

‘Oh dear,’ said the master. ‘The iconium is much more fugitive than I expected.’

‘The bridge is fading away behind us,’ observed Mel. ‘I hope Billet gets a move on.’

As the bridge paled and vanished beneath the tortoise-monster it toppled into the chasm. As it fell, the top of the tower opened and a flock of birds flew out. Hanging from them by thin ropes were two figures – one very tall, the other very short – being carried away.

‘Who’s the birdie now?’ said Ludo.

‘Birdie?’ said Mel. ‘Oh, I see what you mean.’

‘Rats deserting a sinking tortoise, eh, Mel?’ said Wren.

‘Yeah, scum always floats.’

‘Ahem!’

‘Yes, Swivel?’ The master turned from the action.

‘Master, when you have a moment. Master Flink has encountered a slight technical problem. He would be grateful for a word with you.’

The master led his butler and the friends back down to the library.

‘Swivel tells me that you’ve hit a snag, Lucas. Anything I can do to help?’

‘A snag? Yes. I’m afraid that I’ve run out of iconium. I know I should have eked it out but I rather got carried away and used too much and now ….’ Lucas Flink showed them his almost empty palette, ‘… there’s not enough left to get us to the far side of the chasm.’