The day was long and heavy, and the children were hungry. They had left the wrecked balloon far behind them now, walking through the night and the following morning.
Now it was mid-afternoon, and the landscape around them was sere and unwelcoming. Paper-thin, dry leaves crackled underfoot, the remains of trees long dead. The dusty wind caught in their throats, and made their eyes water.
Still they kept on walking, saying nothing, but all thinking of what lay before them.
The sun was beginning to sink behind them when they saw a towered palace in front of them, dwarfed by the Cloud, on the edge of which the palace seemed to stand. It was made of pure white stone and was so caught by the light of the sinking sun that it seemed to burn with an unconsuming fire.
"What is it?" said Graham, squinting against the brightness of the shining stone.
"It looks like some sort of temple, or palace," said Colin.
"Look how it's shining," Gwen said. "It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen."
"Perhaps it isn't there," said Graham. "Perhaps it's some sort of mirage."
"Don't be daft," said Colin. "It's real all right."
"Should we go there?" said Gwen.
"I suppose we've got to," her brother replied. "Personally I've never been so thirsty."
"Nor me," said Graham. "Anyway, maybe whoever lives there knows the way to the Darkest Places? Come on."
They walked on towards it. As they approached the Palace, the splendour of its towers and pillars became clearer. They could see the twisted golden spires, which erupted from each tower, and they began to pick out the windows, all shapes and sizes, reflecting the sun and gleaming like jewels.
Night was closing in, and torches had been lit within the palace, flaring through the stained-glass windows with blood-reds and rich yellows, blues as changing as the sky, vivid greens, purples and violets.
The children stood before the palace on Desolation's edge and wondered at its beauty, as many travellers had done before, from the time that an ancient and unknown King had built it. They were lucky, being able to see it, for they were the last travellers to witness its many miracles.
There was no sound from within the Palace. The gates were open and unguarded.
"We might as well go in," said Graham.
"There's no use in waiting for an invitation." Colin agreed.
"Suppose there's nobody here," said Gwen suddenly. "I mean, maybe it's deserted."
"It's certainly quiet," said Graham.
"Still the torches are lit," Colin said.
"Well maybe they all left in a hurry. Like the Marie Celeste!"
"Sometimes," said Colin, beginning to lose his nerve, "I could do without your comments."
"Sorry."
Colin slipped through the gates, followed closely by the other two. They found themselves in a deserted courtyard in the middle of which stood a fountain made of white marble like the rest of the Palace, from which the water had long-since ceased to cascade. Several white doves sat in a dead tree and watched them with pink eyes.
"Which way?" asked Gwen. There were endless arches leading into pillared shadows.
"Straight ahead," said Colin determinedly.
They passed under the arch into a sort of corridor, lit by flickering torches, which made their shadows leap and flit grotesquely on the walls. "Hey, all the walls are painted," said Graham.
"They're frescos," said Colin.
"Eh?"
"Paintings on walls are called frescoes."
"Oh."
The frescoes were very beautiful. In them, the artists had painted graceful and happy people dancing and hunting and feasting.
"There are mosaics on the floor," said Gwen. "Hundreds of little stones. And there are jewels in the people's eyes. And jewels for stars."
They passed under another soaring arch, and another. Each time the hallway grew larger, the paintings more magnificent, the shadows more grotesque. But there were no people to be seen anywhere.
"There are doors at the end. Look!"
Graham's voice echoed eerily in the empty space. Then, from behind the great golden doors at the end of the hallway, set with jewels and tiny mirrors, and beaten into intricate patterns, there came the murmuring sound of a crowd.
"People!" whispered Gwen.
"People! People! People!" the walls echoed.
"Shall we go in?" said Graham.
"Well we haven't come this far to turn back again."
Between them, Colin and Graham just managed to push one of the huge doors open wide enough for the three of them to enter.
Inside, it was gloomy and oppressive, and the crowd filled the vast chamber. The atmosphere was like that of a theatre before a play begins; filled with excitement and a sort of awe. The children pushed through the crowd to get a better view of what was going on. The people were all dressed finely, but were painted like dolls, with china-white faces, and rouged cheeks. Even the men wore make-up, so that they looked rather like pathetic clowns.
"These aren't the happy people in the paintings," said Gwen.
"Maybe they were," said Colin. "A long time ago."
"What are they doing here?"
"How should I know? They all look as if they're all waiting for something to happen."
"Maybe it's a play," suggested Gwen.
"Oh for goodness sake," said her brother, "in a few days, perhaps even hours, this place is going to be destroyed by the Cloud. Who in their right minds would be watching a play?"
"Perhaps they're arranging a mass evacuation," said Graham. "Perhaps –"
"Look!" hissed Graham. "Something is going to happen."
At the far end of the chamber, a large number of brilliant, firework-like flares had been lit. The light was dazzling.
The murmuring died away, and an expectant hush fell. Into the light thrown by the flames walked the figure of a boy. He looked about the same age as Graham, and he was dressed from hand to foot in white, with a high collar set with red and green jewels rising behind his dark hair. His skin was the color of the moon.
As soon as he appeared, the crowd went mad with excitement. They screamed and yelled and stamped their feet, many of them weeping openly, making their dolls faces run with tears. Then the boy half-spoke, half-sang, but the crowds meant nothing to the children. The crowd did not cease their screaming when he sang, but redoubled it when the song came to an end.
"What's so special about him?" said Graham.
"He'll never make the charts, whoever he is," said Colin.
The boy sang again. The song was the same, but the crowd reacted with wilder singings and more impassioned screeches. People were fainting to right and left, and nobody bothered to pick them up. Gwen tried to help up a woman who collapsed near her, but it was impossible. The crowd was surging forward so much that she could not get to the woman.
Then it was over. The flames began to splutter and go out. The boy in white retreated into the darkness, his moon-pale features sparkling with sweat. The audience subsided, exhausted, and began to make their way out of the chamber by various doors, shaking their heads as if they could hardly believe what they had seen; men, women and even children with tears streaming down their faces.
Colin, Gwen and Graham followed the flood of people out of the chamber.
"What now?" asked Gwen.
"I don't know," Colin murmured, looking at the floor.
"What's wrong, Col?" asked graham.
"Leave me alone."
"What's wrong?"
Colin looked up. There were tears in his eyes.
"I don't know why," he said, "but when he sang, I wanted to cry like the rest of them. It's stupid."
"Do you think they know about the Cloud?" said Graham. "I mean, if they don't, hadn't we better tell them?"
"Oh, they know all right," said Colin. "But they don't care."
"How do you know?"
"It's in their faces. A sort of resignation. And that boy, he was telling them that it would all be all right again," Colin said.
"But I couldn't understand a word he was saying."
"Neither could I. But it was about the people in the paintings, I know. And the men with jewels for eyes."
Gwen and Graham looked at Colin, confused. It was unlike him to be so dreamy. Usually he laughed at that kind of thing, said that it was rubbish.
The people had drifted away into the shadows between the pillars to drink wine from delicate goblets.
"Shall we speak to them?" said Gwen. "We can try," said Colin.
But it was as if the children were ghosts, and the people could not see or hear them. Though they tried, nobody would listen, or answer their questions.
"They're all mad," concluded Graham after half a dozen fruitless attempts. "Or brainwashed."
"What shall we do? Just take some food and drink and leave?" said Gwen.
"No," said Colin quietly. "What then?"
"Which way leads to the place where we saw the boy?"
"That way, I think, but -"
"Come on, then. Perhaps he can explain all this to us. Before I leave here I want to know who they were –"
"Who who were?" said Graham.
"The people with jewels for eyes," Colin replied, and ran off down the pillared hallway.