67.
The leeries came. They came from all directions. They came from every tunnel, towards each other. And where they went, they brought a wall of light. It filled the tunnel from floor to ceiling, perfectly dividing the darkness behind them from the darkness before them. Of course, the shadows returned as they passed. That is how dark and light works.
But there was one shadow…one shadow that hid on the edge of light. And that shadow, darker than black, like an empty hole, could not abide the light. It could not simply disappear and then reappear as the light past.
Too late, it discovered the net closing in on it. There was no way past the leeries, their wall of light too impenetrable. And they were coming together from all directions, tightening the net, leaving the shadow domain smaller and smaller.
The leeries lit the tunnels as bright as day, and the shadow had nowhere left to run.
68.
The thugs were trembling.
"Afraid of the light, are you?" the children jeered at them, waving their own lights in their direction.
"Douse them," groaned the more coherent of the two, "Douse them."
"Oh, it isn't the light they're afraid of," Mary Poppins said, with a knowing smile. "It's what the light creates."
"What do you mean?" demanded Annabel, and then, when she didn't answer, she repeated the question to her father and aunt. "What did she mean?"
"I suppose she means they're afraid of the shadows," Jane answered, slightly distracted. And then the leeries came and the room filled with light.
Not completely, of course. For when light comes, there are shadows. And Mary Poppins smiled, and she walked up to a sewer wall and she admired her shadow, swinging her umbrella as she went.
Her shadow swung its umbrella as well. At least, it swung something. It was contorted, as shadows often are, so it didn't exactly look like Mary Poppins. In fact, the umbrella almost looked like a cane. And somehow, Mary Poppins's dress looked like trousers instead. And her hat, which was small and fashionable, looked a bit like a top hat.
And then, somehow, the shadow wasn't her shadow at all, it was a man. The man was almost impossible to make out properly, but they could all see him, not flat against the wall like a shadow but standing out like a normal person, except he was still all in shadow. It was like he was managing to stand in the exact same position where Mary Poppins's shadow was cast, leaving him in darkness when all around him was light.
"Mr. Void," said Mary Poppins, tilting her head as though to greet him.
"Miss Poppins," answered the man in a deep, angry voice.
"Null," squawked a voice from the vicinity of Mary Poppins's umbrella.
"Sss," hissed a voice from the vicinity of the man's cane, the speaker not even deigning to state the other's name.
"I take it this is all your doing?" Mary demanded primly.
"Of course not," answered Mr. Void. "We would never touch one of yours."
"Yes," she said, with an impatient tone, "Just as I would never touch one of yours. But this is your doing. You used your…friends…to come after mine."
"We have no friends. That is your weakness."
"Yes, my friends are my weakness. And I'll gladly take that weakness over yours."
"We have no weakness!"
"Your not-friends hate you so much that they prefer to sit in utter darkness, where they know you can never find them, rather than keep your company. When we came into the tunnel, you knew of course. Were you able to warn them as they sat in the dark?
"Sss," hissed the shadow figure.
"And now you are going to face the consequences. For what you did to Jack, to the Banks. And as for William…"
"Hardly even needed me, that one," said Mr. Void. "But he came to me, all the same. You should have seen the glorious bloodbath he was imagining. Murdering children in front of their parent. And what he wanted to do to the sister…glorious. The hate was already there. I just needed to take away his fear. And now he's mine, and your lamplighter is dead, or as good as…"
"Not, actually," murmured an unexpected voice. Then, "'lo Mary, always nice to see you. Ow."
"Stay down, Jack," Mary Poppins answered without turning away from Mr. Void, somehow sounding fond and exasperated at the same time.
"…mkay." And the half-awake Jack stopped trying to sit up and lay still again, though his eyes remained opened, albeit blinking quite a lot.
"Annabel," said Mary Poppins, still without taking her eyes off of the shadow man. "Why is light always stronger than shadows?"
Startled to be suddenly picked out to answer a question, the young girl nonetheless found the answer waiting on the tip of her tongue, much more readily than the last time Mary Poppins had put that question to her: "Light can exist without shadows. Shadows can't exist without light."
"Very true," said Mary Poppins.
"You can't hurt me," Mr. Void said, sounding just the slightest bit nervous. "We balance each other. You can't have you without me."
"I have no intention of hurting you," answered Mary Poppins. And she reached deep into the pocket of her dress, deeper than a pocket should go, and she pulled out light.
It was as though she held a star in her hand, or a small sun. The light was dazzling. It was too bright to look at, too bright to see with. It was the exact opposite of darkness and just as impossible for the human eye to use. All eyes slammed shut, arms thrown over faces. So no one saw exactly what happened to the Mr. Void and Null. There was no scream, not even a whimper. But when Mary Poppins slid the light back into her pocket, and everyone could blink the afterglow from their eyes, the shadow man was gone.
There were still shadows. Wherever there is light, there will be shadows. But they seemed to be just the ordinary sort. Mary Poppins's shadow had her dress and her umbrella and her hat once more. It wasn't a monster. It was just dark.
69.
Ellen was just beginning to suspect that something might have gone horrible wrong. Being a sensible adult, she denied this possibility, thought up twenty different reasons that were perfectly mundane for the Banks family's absence, and decided to be angry rather than worried. Angry at those…those children making her worry over nothing. Even Michael; that man might as well be a boy for all the sense he had. All day long they left her alone, without a call, without any sort of message, without anything to do but make meals for nobody and sit and wait.
The anger was just on the edge of turning into real worry, when the phone did ring.
"What do you mean you're with the doctor? At this hour? Who's ill? Is it Georgie? Does he need me to bring Gillie? Or do you mean…are you in hospital? Oh, tell me it wasn't one of those horrible automobile accidents you hear about! I told those children not to go walking all alone! I told them! Going on about Jack, thinking the end of the world had come! I…well of course I'm listening, get on with telling me about it."
This was followed by a silence on Ellen's part while she was told about it, or at least, the most important parts that could be conveyed briefly over the phone. Namely that Jack was injured after all (how was glossed over) and Michael too, though not badly (he said, there were shouts of disagreement in the background), and the children were fine. And so was Jane, who she didn't even know she needed to worry about, and Mary Poppins, who was somehow there again.
"Well, where do you need me to go?" Ellen demanded once she had come to understand, if nothing else, that there were broken bones and stitches and fevers involved. She was sure they must be in hospital. Only the answer that came was 'nowhere' because they were coming to her, and they hoped she might make sure the guest bedroom was ready because Jack would be staying there, for some time likely, and there might be quite a few more guests and perhaps she could do something about supper?
"Supper!" she cried. "Two missed meals and now you want a feast for a hundred!" The answer that it was more like fifty did not soothe her, but the promise that they really were mostly fine did, and the promise that she'd get the full story soon.
"But, are you sure you shouldn't be in hospital? I thought you said there was a broken arm?"
They were sure. It seemed Mary Poppins knew a doctor who was quite good at stiches and broken bones, and they really, really wanted to go home.
Ellen emptied out the pantry. Then she went to see about the bedroom.
70.
Deep in the dark beneath the streets of London, there is a small hole in a sewer wall. If one were small enough to squeeze through, one would find a cozy sort of house. There was a larder to store food, and an out of the way corner for a toilet, and several bedrooms containing a lovely sort of nest, made soft and warm, where quite a large family could nestle together in a comfortable jumble.
Into this house crept a rat.
Unlike most houses, this was not unwelcome, particularly because this was his home. Another rat greeted him, and then another, and then half a dozen children, and then several more. These were his wife and children and brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and father, of course, because rats like large families.
"Your tail!" was the first topic of conversation once greetings were done with.
"Lost in good cause," was the answer, "In defense of one of Mary Poppins's lights."
"A story! A story!" the children cried excitedly. "Tell us about Mary Poppins again. Did you really help her? Did you see her?"
"Why didn't you tell us she was visiting," some of his older relations grumbled.
The story was shared, and marveled over, and the poor tail was inspected and soothed, and the rat's bravery commended. The wife was proud, but couldn't help but show her horror at her husband's near escape with a sound scolding. It finished with, "And what do you mean your name is now 'Eek'? What kind of name is that, for a rat?"
71.
Mary Poppins stood in the sewers.
The Banks family and Jack had left, along with most of the leeries to escort them.
"You are coming with us, aren't you?" the children had asked.
"You're welcome to stay at our house," Michael had added.
"I will be along in time for supper," Mary Poppins had answered, but made no promises about after. Nor did she say what she intended to do in the meantime.
"The shadowman is dead…isn't he?" Annabel had wanted to know as her aunt led her and the children away. "The light killed him…didn't it?"
"I do not go around killing people," Mary Poppins had answered with a sniff. "The idea!" And that was all she would say on the matter. Then the children were gone, and Jack was carried out (and it was worrying how little he'd protested being carried) and a leerie named Bill had helped Michael along (he insisted he was absolutely fine, then had almost fallen over when he tried to stand up. It turned out that shallow cut had bled quite a lot). Jane had looked like she wanted to help both men, but sensibly turned her attention to the children and keeping them in line and their spirits up.
And now it was Mary Poppins, and about ten strong, angry men, facing the three villains who thought it a good idea to hurt her friends. Wilkins had been dragged out of his cell to join the other two. The thugs just glared a lot, but Wilkins looked almost ready to faint as he looked back and forth between the furious faces. He avoided looking at Mary Poppins completely. The leeries made him afraid but she made him feel small, and inadequate, and ashamed. It was Wilkins who finally broke the silence.
"What are you going to do to us?"
"What exactly did Mr. Void promise you, William?" demanded Mary Poppins. Somehow, that voice didn't just demand answers; it insisted they had better be good answers. Or else.
"He said I could hurt the Banks," Wilkins answered towards her feet. "He told me hurting some lamplighter named Jack would do that. And…and he promised no reprisals. From the police."
There was a short silence. Wilkins didn't dare lift his head to see what any of them thought of that. He wondered what they were going to do to him. Would they beat him, break his arm, lock him in the dark?
"You have a choice, William," announced Mary Poppins. "You can go to the police, you can admit to all you've done, and you can face the consequences."
Wilkins shuddered.
"Or…" said Mary Poppins, and Wilkins glanced up, clinging to that 'or'. "Or…you can go home."
The lamplighters protested, but she silenced them with just a look. Wilkins was so surprised that he finally looked her in the eyes again. She seemed to actually mean it.
"What do you mean?" he demanded. "I suppose then they'll come around and give me my comeuppance?" The man to Mary Poppins's left grinned and cracked his knuckles.
"I mean nothing of the kind," answered Mary Poppins. "I say exactly what I mean. You can go to the police and face what you have done…or you can hide and fall into the shadows. The choice is yours."
"What do you mean, fall into the shadows?" Wilkins demanded.
"You see your two…companions. That is the choice they made, a long time ago. It's not an easy path, and escaping that path, once started, is nearly impossible. Actions have consequences, William. You are an adult, and you knew you were doing wrong, but you have a way out. Accept the consequences, and your contract is voided…or don't, and you remain Mr. Void's."
"Hey," said the bald thug, speaking for the first time, "But he's gone. You killed him."
"Me?" demanded Mary Poppins severely, "Killed? Preposterous."
"Then…where is he?"
"Lost…for the moment. Your choice, William." And to Wilkins shock, his binds were actually cut, and his electric lantern was returned, and when he flipped the switch it shone brighter than ever.
He left the sewers and crawled back above under a streetlight and the whole way waited for hands to grab him from behind and pull him back, but they never came. And as he dusted himself off, a light shone back upon him.
"Hey," said a voice, "What's this then? What are you up to?" And there actually was a police officer standing there. In fact, it was the same one who had been told to 'keep an eye on things'. And Wilkins had a choice to make.
He was not a brave man.
"Kidnapping, er, hurting someone and…and…I suppose attempted murder."
He was not at all a brave man. There was no way he was going back into the shadows alone.
72.
"Not badly injured!" was Ellen's way of greeting the master of the house home again. Michael supposed they must all look a fright. His cut had been cleaned, of course, and stitched and bandaged, but Jane had been quick to tell him he was still as white as a sheet. It didn't help that he'd declined the offer of a borrowed shirt, and his own was rather bloody and torn.
Jack looked even worse in proper light. The dark smudges covering his bare skin definitely weren't shadows, nor dirt, and aside from a broken arm (made worse from all the jostling, though the doctor had commended the use of the scarf), it turned out he also had cracked ribs, was dangerously dehydrated, and the doctor had been very concerned about the location of some of the bruising. Not to mention the climbing fever.
After that whispered conference between Michael, Jane, and the doctor (they were trying to not let the children hear; the leeries were keeping them distracted), Jane had to ask, "Shouldn't he be in hospital?"
"Actually," the doctor had answered, "I think he'd recover much more easily at home. And there's less risk of further infection. Now, what he needs most is rest and quiet. Take him home. Send for me if his fever rises, or he complains of sudden pain. Otherwise, I'll stop by to check on him in the morning."
So now they were home, and even the uninjured ones looked a fright after their walk through the sewers and all they had seen there. There were only five leeries with them by that point, the majority having run off to tell their friends what had happened, but five, along with Michael and Jane and Jack and the children still made quite a crowd.
Ellen never did get the full story, though all three of the children tried to tell it to her at once. She told them everyone had better eat that supper she'd gone to all the effort of putting together. Again
"Yes, do sit down," agreed a prim voice. "Baths after, and then it is high time you were all in bed."
No one saw Mary Poppins arrive, but somehow she was there, just as they were moving to sit at the table.
73.
Wilkins left the sewer and the leeries watched him go and they cracked their knuckles and they frowned and the muttered to themselves.
"And what about them?" one of them finally asked, jerking his thumb towards the two thugs.
"Do we get a choice too?" demanded the bald one with a smirk.
"It's a slippery slope," Mary Poppins warned, not to the thugs, but to the leeries. "Be careful how you go about it, or you'll fall into the dark after them."
"That's okay," said one of the leeries, "My chum explained it to me. Natural consequences, right? You hurt Jack, and hurt is what you get. Now…try to kill Jack, well, that's one big natural consequence coming up."
"Hey," said the thug, for the first time starting to get worried. "You ain't going to let 'em hurt us, are you?"
"Let them?" asked Mary Poppins, sounding surprised. "Who am I to stand in their way?"
"You're Good," mumbled the other, the concussed one who was still a bit out of it, but with it enough to recognize they were in trouble. "Good don't go 'round hurting people."
"Good? Whoever told you I'm 'Good'? I'm practically perfect in every way." Then she leaned closer, as though to impart a secret. "This is where 'practically' comes in."
Sometimes, there were choices to be made. And sometimes, the choices had already been made, a long time ago.
74.
Jack lay in a soft bed, covered by warm covers, with a soft, warm hand lying over his and a soft giraffe tucked in on his other side. The room was dark, but not pitch black. A streetlight shone in through the window, the moon was particularly bright, and a cracked door let in light from the hallway. With all this light, he could clearly see Jane, slumped in her chair and fast asleep, one hand covering his and the other dangling at her side. She looked beautiful in the moonlight.
He was still a little thirsty, but not desperately so, certainly not enough to wake Jane. He was sore, too, and his body couldn't quite seem to decide whether it was hot or cold but kept changing its mind. So he couldn't call himself comfortable, but he might call himself content.
Mary Poppins came in, stepping carefully over the young leerie curled up with a blanket on the floor, and Jack smiled for her. She frowned sternly in response.
"You should be asleep," she announced sharply, though low enough that no one woke up. Then she pulled a bottle from her nightgown's pocket, poured out a spoonful, and, without even a 'drink this', thrust it into Jack's mouth. It tasted sweet and sharp at the same time and he blinked at her. There followed a long moment of words they didn't say to each other. In the end, it was Mary Poppins who broke the silence.
"You should have called for me, Jack," Mary said, and she sounded almost sad now, and Jack blinked again, suddenly finding it quite hard to keep his eyes open.
"Couldn't," he murmured, finally allowing them to close. "They wanted you." Then, so mumbled it was almost incoherent, "Didn't know Michael'd get hurt."
"That was not on you," Mary Poppins answered. Jack cracked an eye open to look at her.
"Not on you either," he said. And then his eyes closed again, and this time he was asleep, properly and deeply and without nightmares or dreams.
75.
"Where were you? Late by two whole months!"
"Actually, I was right on time. As always."
"And there was a strange foreigner who prowled around our house the whole time!"
"Good of him. Did you leave the nightlights on?"
"They wouldn't turn off! Not even when we unplugged them!"
Later, when a child asked in kinder tones where she had been, she gave slightly more of an answer, though it still left the child confused.
"I stayed until the lamps were lit again. Though if you ask me, he could have used another month of resting."
And that was all the answer they ever got. Mary Poppins never explains.
The End.