CHAPTER SIXTEEN

After a further day of rest, Trick’s adventuring party finally took to the road. There was only one flaw in the chieftain’s suggestion of travelling at night. Great though this was for evading the attentions of Boneshaker’s scouts, Trick found the darkness overwhelming. This was nothing like night back home. He couldn’t go anywhere in London without light pollution illuminating his way. The Wildlands had no such man-made glow in the midnight sky.

With the moon hidden by clouds, their progress was stumbling and slow, dependent upon guesswork. None of the four had any local knowledge. All they knew was that they needed to follow the rocky passages along the side of the river, and eventually they would arrive at the shanty port of Mudflatt.

‘Tin-head lost,’ chuckled Mungo from the back of the party, as Toki led them through the night.

‘Cease your buzzing, Bluebottle, lest I swat you,’ replied the Viking as he picked a path through a narrow ravine, leading the way. ‘You forget, I sailed to the edge of the world, navigating by the stars in the most storm-tossed seas!’

This only made the Celt laugh louder. ‘Tin-head funny. Tin-head lost!’

There was no reply from the Viking. Instead he forged on, squeezing between the walls of rock as they descended deeper through the corridor of stone. Trick could hear the sound of the river nearby, a distant roar that hinted that they might indeed be heading in the right direction.

‘Are they always like this?’ whispered Kazumi as she walked behind Trick.

‘Sadly, yes. They swing between annoying and infuriating. It’s never dull.’

Their chatter was interrupted by the cursing of Toki as he stubbed his foot against a rock.

‘Whassat?’ asked Mungo from the rear. ‘Tin-head need Mungo’s help?’

‘Shut your trap, Dungbreath,’ replied Toki, struggling to regain his composure. ‘I’m merely suggesting we stop for a moment to take water. We’ve been marching for hours.’

He wasn’t wrong. Trick could feel the ache in his legs and welcomed the chance to find a rock to perch on. Toki craned his neck, searching the sky for stars. Trick didn’t have the heart to point out that whatever stars were up there were unlikely to correlate with those back home on Earth. Who knew what kind of constellations twinkled overhead?

Kazumi passed her waterskin to him. Trick gratefully accepted it and took a measured swig. Then she was climbing up the jagged incline to a ledge overhead. She looked up and down the ravine, scouring the darkness for signs of movement. The Japanese woman was a tough cookie, humourless and hard as teak. The two had sparred back at the wildmen’s village for long, arduous hours. The muscles in Trick’s arms still hummed from exertion and the pounding she’d given him with the blunt end of her naginata. Still, he felt he was getting the hang of the bamboo staff. If he could master such a weapon, perhaps they’d stop asking him to take up a blade.

He passed the skin back to Toki and leaned back against the rock, closing his eyes for a moment and thinking of home. Dad, in particular. Usually when he thought of his old man it was with annoyance. Not now. He missed him, especially his smile. Things weren’t so bad at home after all. Only now did Trick realize how good life had truly been.

He hoped he’d get the chance to return to that poky flat in north London and repair their damaged relationship. Or at the very least wake up from his nightmare. Perhaps he hadn’t dashed into the British Museum after all. Maybe he’d missed the double-decker bus when he leapt from the rooftops, and this was all some wild coma-induced hallucination. That was what happened in films, right?

Trick was snapped back to the present by a tickling sensation on the back of his right hand. He looked down to where it rested, spying something crawling across it. Although it was very dark, the bug cast a green glow as it wriggled and squirmed against his skin. Trick smiled, rolling it into the palm of his other hand and lifting it to his face for closer inspection. It was the insect’s abdomen that was bioluminescent, just like glow-worms back home. Only this was bigger than anything he’d seen in England. It was about three centimetres long – a real whopper.

‘Whassat?’ asked Mungo, peering round Toki to get a look.

‘Some kind of glow bug or firefly. Cool, isn’t it?’

The Celt smacked his lips. ‘Mungo eats bugs.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ said Trick, shielding the insect from the Celt. He wondered if his dad was remembering to feed Shelob, his pet tarantula, in his absence. He hoped so. Insects wigged out plenty of people, but not Trick. And they appeared to make Mungo’s stomach growl.

‘Mungo hungry!’ bellowed the blue-woad warrior, striking his sword against the rock face and gurning wildly. The sound echoed up and down the ravine.

‘Keep it down, fool,’ said Kazumi from where she perched overhead, ‘or you’ll alert our enemies to our presence.’

Trick was staring at the bug, fascinated. By the light of its abdomen, he could see that all the hairs on the back of his hand were standing on end, as if charged by static. That wasn’t all. The fillings in his teeth seemed to ache as he brought the creature closer to his face, as if electrical fields were rolling off the insect. A blinding spark crackled suddenly from the bug’s abdomen, illuminating the immediate area. The insect lurched across his hand, gobbling up a big fat fly that had been electrocuted by the surprisingly large bolt of pure energy.

‘Man, that is overkill,’ Trick muttered.

‘Mungo blind!’ wailed the Celt as Toki pushed him away, preventing him from lurching into him. ‘Whassat?’

‘The bug. Lightning came out … of … its …’ Trick’s words trailed away as he suddenly realized where they were. The chittering noises in the darkness were an additional clue, as the inhabitants of the ravine were drawn to Mungo’s noisy shenanigans and the glow bug’s butt-flash. They came out of the fissures in the rock, up from the cracks in the ground, squirming out of the deep black shadows. The noises came from behind them, back the way they’d come, a rising din of hideous burbles.

‘Grub Gulch!’ said Trick, remembering Kalaban’s warning. ‘We’re in Grub Gulch! We need to move – now!’

He jumped up, grabbing Toki and throwing him forward through the ravine. The Viking didn’t object, dashing on with his sword held ahead of him defensively. That was the only way to go. Retreating would bring them face-to-face with the gulch’s inhabitants and they weren’t top of Trick’s sightseeing list.

Then Trick grabbed Mungo, and the warrior’s eyes widened in alarm as he was pulled along. The Celt struck his head on an overhanging rock, and landed on the floor with a thump. Trick heard the jingling clatter of coins as the money bag on Mungo’s hip burst with the impact. Trick saw a shape rise high behind Mungo, separating from the gulch wall, as he tried hopelessly to retrieve the spilled coins. Mungo looked up, stunned, as Trick held up his bug, hoping it might cast light over the situation. That did the job, and then some.

One after another, a horde of insect rumps began to hum into life, answering the call of their tiny brethren. And these were big bugs. The warriors seemed to be in a sea of lanterns, shimmering and growing in intensity; the hellish insects were almost a metre long. Mandibles clapped, legs tapped and gelatinous bodies bulged and rippled. And there, behind Mungo, was the mother of all monstrous bugs. Its huge body was bloated, lights flashing within an enormous egg sac that writhed with a million tiny pupae.

The Celt screamed and raised his sword, the metal gleaming.

‘No!’ yelled Trick, but it was too late.

Before he could strike the giant grub, a lightning bolt arced from the queen’s shuddering abdomen, connecting with the steel and sending sword and warrior ricocheting off the rocks like a snooker ball. He landed some distance away, white hair and beard smoking, eyes glazed over.

The insects rolled forward, a wave of hungry, yammering pincers and maws that sought out the warriors’ tasty flesh. As the mandibles snapped, Trick danced, bouncing off the walls of the ravine with sure-footed free-running skills. Fingers and feet found the rough rock, snatching purchase and saving his skin. With each jump he evaded the lightning bugs and their deadly mouths, sensing them snapping at his heels as he leapt through the air. The rocks suddenly crumbled in his grip, sending him tumbling to the gulch floor in a shower of dust. He looked up at the queen. A second bolt was charging in the monster’s body, ready to be launched at Trick.

It never came.

Kazumi leapt down from on high, the wooden shaft of her naginata gripped in both hands. The weapon’s metal blade carved a deep, bloody gash down the queen’s armoured thorax, sending her reeling backwards, stinking goo hissing from the wound like water from a burst pipe. She gave an awful, gut-curdling cry that almost made Trick vomit. He buckled, legs weak, as the mass of bugs surged forward to defend their mistress.

‘Run!’ roared Kazumi, pushing Trick on his way. The two ran blind, scooping up a stunned Mungo and catching up with Toki. Then they were sprinting, scrambling, fleeing the squirming, screeching melee of hideous bugs and grubs.