The week passed quickly for both parties involved, far too quickly for it to be natural. Berlitz took the rest of his spare gella and hired two moderately strong horses for transportation and to carry the equipment, particularly good equipment as well, as the old professor had had enough gella left to get a hold of some pretty good tools of the archaeological trade. He had also hired a more qualified drifter to accompany him and his other three wards, who had not been expensive but had not been cheap either. The night before the day of departure he had gotten everything ready to leave and Catherine had tried to help him as well, although she couldn't really do much more than carry the lighter equipment over to its spot by the horses. The older drifter had been informed to come to the Crossfire Inn at eight in the morning, and the others knew to come there as well, because that was when the original arrangements had been made.
Clive had spent the most of the week in fiery-hearted impatience and anticipation, play fighting with Andrew as often as possible, and if that option was not available, he spent a lot of time running around the southern part of Little Twister in order to get rid of all his excess energy, which was usually diverted into his hobby of thieving, but he had decided to take a brief hiatus from that until the heat between himself and Berkley had died down a little. So this legitimate job was a lucky break for him, something to do until he could pick up on his thieving again. He would show Berlitz that he wasn't just some ordinary little boy, he was more than that, much more. He was Missanga, the Black Shuck leader.
Now Andrew, his blunt mind and short memory caused him to totally forget about the excavation altogether and he spent the week just as he always did, whittling away the hours by fighting Clive and playing around like a kid should, sometimes spending his evenings helping to clean up and taking away scraps from a few of the more rowdy taverns for his dinner. Clive reminded him the day before they were meant to leave, expecting Andrew to panic and back out of the operation, but all he did was smile and nod, saying; "Okie doke." He then tied a string around his finger so he wouldn't forget again.
Exactly one week after the arranged date for the three children to visit the Looking Glass was made, Andrew, Clive and Ravendor were loitering around outside of the Crossfire Inn, waiting for Berlitz and Catherine to arrive. Manna was sitting down on the steps of the building's verandah, Lucy at her feet. Clive had dressed a little more preparedly for the upcoming event, wearing a dusty and moth-eaten poncho over his other thin and raggedy clothing, and he had even bought himself a small pair of shoes with the little extra money he had found lying around his room, nothing special, but they were stout enough to be worn. In fact, Manna had even chided him to brush his hair properly, and he had tied it back as well, so it wouldn't get in the way. Clive was pacing impatiently outside of the inn, his little hands in his pockets. He had never done legitimate work for anybody before, and he hoped it wouldn't be too hard.
The store next to the inn was a small and cozy little hobby shop, complete with little trinkets and gizmos sitting neatly in the wide and clear glass window out the front. Ravendor was standing outside of the window with both his hands pressed up against the glass, looking intently at the merchandise within. The stuff there was incredibly expensive and outside the price range of just about any child in the township, but it still didn't deter at least ten children every day from standing outside of the store and staring, wishing that it was like Christmas and they could take whatever they wanted. Ravendor wasn't dressed any differently except for the fact that he was carrying with him a medical supply bag that was partially empty, because medicine was hard to get and they would probably need extra space to bring back all the loot they would be searching for.
Andrew was leaning against the rail of the verandah, absently chewing on his thumbnail in a slightly worried manner. It was only a step upwards from thumb sucking, but Andrew was a big boy now, and big boys didn't suck their thumbs like babies, did they? Nail chewing was good enough for him, and it made him a little more relaxed than he probably would have been. He always felt slightly nervous every time he had had to leave town, even if it was for only a very small journey to a nearby ruin. This was a good opportunity for him to take, and he wanted the money being offered behind it, but still, it didn't stop him from being nervous. Andrew was just wearing jeans, a ripped brown shirt, and boots, the perfect example of a redneck country bumpkin.
Lucy lifted her shaggy head and let out a wide canine yawn, prompting Manna to lean over and pat the large animal on the head, wondering when Berlitz and his daughter would appear. She would have to watch out for that girl while her father was away, but Manna thought that it couldn't be too difficult, as long as she wasn't any more rambunctious than the kiddies back home. Looking over to Clive, Manna could see that the little boy was going to wear out his new shoes prematurely from his apprehensive pacing, on his face written a look of jumpy concentration. Andrew seemed to have a similar look on his face, and Ravendor seemed to be immune to the anxiety, setting his mind on something else.
"You know what happened? Do you really want to know what happened? The Spirit of Saint Louis came out last month," The dark-haired boy whined, "But they want one thousand gella for one. One thousand gella!" He hung his head in shame as Clive stopped pacing and approached him from behind, standing by his older brother's side. "I could never possibly afford that." Ravendor removed his hands from the store window in defeat. "Not in a million billion years. I will be an old man by then, how unfair."
"Why do you care so much about stuff like that?" Clive asked him, folding his arms across his small front and slightly cocking his head to one side. "They cost a lot, and they're not food, you can't eat it, an' if you play with it, it'll probably break in a week or two. Waste of money, so why?" He smiled. "I'd rather have a bear or something, even if, well, you know, they're for babies and stuff."
"Because I want one, isn't that reason enough?" Ravendor replied simply, turning to his younger brother. He opened his mouth to say something extra, but fell quiet when they both heard the quiet squeaking of rusty hinges nearby, the front door of the Crossfire swinging open with a mild grating sound. Berlitz stepped through after a moment, the short man burdened down with a backpack that looked to be obviously too heavy for him. He stepped out of the threshold and dumped the large bag on the wooden surface of the verandah, startling Lucy a little who had almost slipped into a small doze. Little Catherine followed him with a spring in her step, standing next to, but a little behind her father's side.
The old man watched the three boys assemble at the foot of the verandah's staircase, like a trinity of little soldiers. Manna didn't stand up, but she pulled Lucy out of the way, turning around a little to look at the old professor. Berlitz took note of their presence. "I see, right on time." He said, "That's very good indeed. How is everybody? Are you all well?" Clive, Ravendor and Andrew all nodded in unison, then they returned to staring at the ground, uniformly answering the question without really heeding what it was. They were just trying to be polite. "Excellent. Chins up, lads, this isn't a funeral we are going to, well, at least I hope it is not. Do not look so strict, I refuse to lead a death march into the wilderness." Berlitz laughed at this, but it seemed like he was the only one who got the joke.
Clive looked up and smiled warily. Although Berlitz wasn't an enemy, he was still wasn't high up on Clive's 'Bestest Best Buddies That Can Be Trusted List' just yet. "You already know me, right? Alrighty." He waved a hand in Andrew's direction, on his left. "This is Andrew, we'se call 'im Mongo for short. His interests include sleepin' and eatin' candy. He's not too smart 'tho." He repeated the same gesture to Ravendor, on his right. "An' this is Ravendor, but his name's too long and weird so's we just call him Swanky. He also likes sleepin' and readin' stuff. We are…" Clive cleared his throat and shouted this next part out loud, startling Lucy from her nap. "The Black Shuck Gang!"
"Well, I am Berlitz Erdesparen, and this is my daughter, Catherine Erdesparen. You can all called me Professor, because I didn't spent six years of my life studying archaeology just to be called 'Mister', let me tell you." Berlitz admitted with a hearty chuckle, gesturing for the three children, along with Manna, to come inside. "Come on. We have plenty of time before we leave. Let's have some early morning tea and scones, and if you are too young for tea I can get you some milk instead."
The three boys seemed to brighten and liven up at this promise of food. "Really?" They all said at exactly the same time.
Berlitz nodded. "Indeed. You all look quite underfed anyway."
"Yay!"
He was very nearly knocked over by the hasty progression inside.
xxx
The children of the Black Shuck gang ate like a small army. It wasn't surprising, as a free meal was something that only happened once every blue moon, so it made perfect sense that they'd milk an opportunity to its fullest potential. The three boys, two girls and one adult were ringed around Berlitz's coffee table, sitting cross-legged like they were attending some kind of cultural ceremony. Andrew and Clive were eating like they had been starved for a week and had forgotten what food tasted like, the younger one seeming to have hollow legs in the way that he was cramming food into his face. It was a wonder that he hadn't choked. Andrew found that his biscuits tasted better when he dunked them inhis milk, but a few of them broke off halfway and turned his drink all mushy. The large and inquisitive boy was now adding more in to make some kind of chunky looking porridge, then he drunk it down with a happy and goofy grin on his face.
Ravendor was starving as well but decided not to succumb to desire, retaining his manners and just drinking his tea quietly in the corner. It was a huge inner battle for him, because Clive had made it a habit of his to steal Ravendor's food as often as he possibly could. He hadn't eaten well in about three days or so, he reckoned. Catherine was sitting next to him and colouring in her little colouring book, filling in a picture of a butterfly in the grass. She was remarkably good at keeping her crayon within the lines. Manna was on the opposite side of Catherine, looking down at the table quietly. She wasn't hungry. Lucy was wandering around outside and whining, as the Crossfire Inn had a strict 'no pets' policy to uphold. She wanted to be inside, wherever Clive was.
Berlitz was secretly amazed at how much food a group of small kids could eat at once. He reminded himself that they were all growing children, and probably malnourished ones at that, but still, it was something to see. He drunk his tea while waiting for the others to finish, thinking about the task at hand. The other drifter he had hired was downstairs in the stables making last minute preparations, and two strong horses with two people mounted on each of them, carrying supplies as well, it should be enough for them to handle. Berlitz continued to feel unease whenever he thought about all the worst case scenarios that could happen while they were in the Looking Glass, especially involving the children, but he had already sown the seeds, he might as well reap while he still had the chance. He expected that the two boys were looking forward not only to the pay, but to the adventure itself as well.
Two boys… Oh dear oh dear…
He hadn't counted wrong. Berlitz had done a lot of thinking about this. His conscience was already against him regarding bringing children into a dangerous environment, but it basically screamed at him when he thought about the little green-haired boy, Clive, three years younger than the other two bigger and stronger boys. He was only a few years out of babyhood, how could Berlitz possibly endanger such a life as that? At least the older boys, Andrew and Ravendor, they had matured enough to start learning a proper trade, Berlitz himself had begun working when he was only one year older, even if it no longer had any bearing on his profession today. But that was besides the point. Clive was too young to be a drifter just yet.
Which was why he wasn't going to let Clive go. He hoped that the boy would be able tounderstand.
Catherine crammed a scone into Ravendor's mouth when the boy opened it to say something relevant to their mission, but found himself choking and coughing on a baked good instead. Catherine started to laugh and clap her hands in delight. Andrew spilt chunky milk all over his front when Ravendor elbowed him in the side during the midst of his choking attack, the large boy wiping off the mushy chunks of biscuits from his ripped up old shirt. Manna started to help him clean up. Clive was too busy eating to give a damn.
Children… Thank the Guardians I only have one…
Berlitz stood up once he finished his tea, taking care because he had a bit of a bad back. Five eager faces looked up at him expectantly. It was somewhat creepy, in a cute way. The mess they had made didn't matter, housekeeping would take care of that while they were out working. The professor cleared his throat, remembering to dumb his speech down a little so that the children could understand. "You all understand that we will be going to the Looking Glass, correct? Nobody has forgotten?" A round of nods. They all understood. "Very well. The Looking Glass is a very large ruin where you can easily get lost. I do not want any of you children to go anywhere unless you are with an adult. We will be looking for relics and analyzing the ruins themselves. I will show a few of you how to work some of the more basic equipment. If you can read then I also want you to take notes."
Ravendor raised his hand. "I volunteer!" He said.
"Can I beat up the bad guys?" Andrew chimed in as well.
"In verity, there won't be any monsters in the ruins, young lad, so there would be nobody for you to beat up." Berlitz answered. "And yes, if you can write, then an extra scribe would be most helpful. As for the girls, I would like you to stay around here and amuse yourselves for the time being, but please don't stray too far from this inn. In fact, yes, don't leave this inn at all, alright?"
"Okay Daddy." Catherine agreed cutely. "But can we still go out and play on the porch? Please?"
"As long as you are not by yourself, Cathy. Stay with the older kids. You understand?" She nodded her acknowledgement. Berlitz ticked something off the chart in his mind and moved on. "We will be travelling there on horseback. It should take about an hour to get there, and excavation and a minimal analysis should take up the greater part of the day. We will pack up and leave an hour before sundown and be back here by the time the sun sets. I will give you your pay, and if I am pleased with your work, I may contact you again."
"Sir, will your approval of our work stem from overall progress during the excavation, or will it be determined by our own individual efforts?" Ravendor asked innocently.
Clive started to giggle. "Swanky says funny words sometimes!" He declared.
"Oh, individually, of course. It would be unfair to you if our mission turned up utterly fruitless. But, even if we do not find anything in there, as long as we search the place out, Mr. Iscariot, our sponsor, should be pleased."
The green-haired boy stopped giggling suddenly and became dead serious. The change was so sudden it was nearly frightening. "You mean Iscarryot as in big cheese Alex Ander Iscarryot?" He questioned gravely.
"That's Alexander Iscariot, Clive." Ravendor corrected tonelessly.
"That's what I said!" Clive replied loudly, raising a tiny fist. "We're really workin' for him? Old man, don't you know that he owns this town?" He thought about this for a few seconds. "…Cool! You know what this means, guys? An order from Iscarryot means that it's an order from the whole town as well! So, whatever we do reflects on the big cheeses as well. This like… whoa… like we're on a mission from God or somethin'!" Clive swelled with pride at the thought. He had never been part of something so important before.
"Nothing that elaborate, lad." Berlitz said, trying to calm the boy down with his words. "Just a simple excavation. But simplicity does not rule out danger, so everybody that is going must be careful. I know I am repeating myself, but I cannot stress this fact enough." He paused, letting his words sink in. "If everyone is full, then I would like to head on downstairs to the stables now. Horatio must be waiting for us."
"Horatio…?" Clive repeated, wondering who that was.
xxx
Horatio turned out to be a young drifter somewhere in his mid-twenties, tall, unshaven and evenly built with dirty fair hair and a bit of an unwashed feeling around him, like his appearance took a backseat to his job and reputation. Of course, with a good wash or two he would have turned into quite a presentable gentleman, but his voice was rough and blunt, just like a Little Twister native should be. He was dressed in proper drifter garb and was saddling up one of the horses when Berlitz entered the stables with the younger ones, making him pauseand look over the odd little congregation. Confusion eventually led onwards into amenity and he laughed affably, letting go of the horse's saddle on it's back.
"Hot damn! When you said you was gonna bring along a kindergarten I thought you was joking! Are you gonna be teaching a history class or something today? Aw, look at the little tykes, they're barely outta their diapers yet! Won't a real adventure make them cry?"
Berlitz was about to say something, but Clive cut him off. "Hey, who are you callin' a kindergarten, old man?! We're a buncha bona fide thieves and cutthroats, you'se got that? Jus' cause we're little don't mean that we're not tough! Half 'o us would cut yer throat as soon as look at yer! Ain't you never seen a gang before?" Ravendor put his hand on Clive's shoulder and the younger boy immediately calmed down. Clive just hated being called a kid.
The old professor cleared his throat and the drifter laughed again. "Little or not, that young'un sure is a fiery one! Sounds like he'd have real potential in a few years or so." He adjusted the straps on the horse carefully, kneeling to get at the buckles under the horse's belly. "These are some real good rides. You said you got them from some old crazy farmer, Professor? He must've been crazy to part with beasts like these ones."
"We are only renting them, Horatio." Berlitz told him.
Horatio stood back up. "Yeah, I know. I hope the kids know how to ride them properly. Now, lookie here." He patted the one he had been fussing over. "This one, her name is Pudding." Then he jerked his thumb over to the other horse, already perfectly ready to go. "And that little beauty over there, her name is Muffin. Odd names, the owner must have been a few traps short of a dungeon. But that's okay, they're still nice and healthy. Hey kids, come over and look."
Pudding and Muffin were two fairly young mares that Berlitz had hired for the day for a fairly low price, and they had the good natured calm of animals that seemed to make them much older than their real age, the perfect pair for Berlitz and his team of excavators. Pudding was completely jet black except for a small splodge of white on her forehead, but she was still a little small for her age, while Muffin was larger and was a light nut-brown colour, with an ebony black mane. They were munching contentedly on hay, and Manna let out a delighted squeal and rushed over to one of them, reaching up to pat the horse's plump side. Catherine went with her and soon both of the girls were patting the horses and giggling, like old friends.
Ravendor was eyeing the darker horse suspiciously. "They don't bite, do they, mister…?"
"Horatio. Horatio Homebush. That's my name, don't wear it out." The fair drifter said cheerfully. "These horses are only little young'uns themselves. They only just turned two years old, according to their crazy owner. I think they're good girls, they won't bite. Have you had any lessons?"
"Yes, but I don't remember them very well. I was too little."
"That's okay, the adults won't let you fall off. I reckon we can fit two per horse, that should work well enough. Professor!" Horatio turned to Berlitz. "Fully laden and double mounted, you won't be able to get much more outta these ladies other than a trot or a slow canter. Galloping is out of the question, unless you want to lose half your load and your other passenger. Is that still okay?"
"We are in no rush, Horatio. That will be fine." Smiled the older man.
"Wait a second." Said Clive, still standing near the doorway of the stables. Something about this setup was bothering him. If they had two horses, and each horse could hold two people, and if Berlitz, Horatio, Ravendor and Andrew went, like they were supposed to, where would he be sitting? The numbers didn't match up. In fact, it didn't look like there was any room left. Clive suddenly felt odd, like little cold fingers were poking around on the inside of his stomach. "…Which horse do I get to ride on?" He asked in a small voice, cloaking his uncertainty with an innocent question.
Berlitz cleared his throat again, patting his chest a little to get his lungs and vocal chords working properly. This was going to be a hard thing for him to say. "Lad…" He began, "You will not be going. You are going to stay here and play with Catherine and the other girl like a good boy. You are just too young right now, Clive. Maybe in a year or two, I will be happy to let you help me, but as you are…" His sentence trailed off when he noticed the hurt look on Clive's face. The old professor hastily scrambled to construct a new one again. "Your two friends are really all the help that I will need. I thank you for bringing them to me, truly, but I do not want you to be in any danger. Please remain here."
Ravendor sighed a little, lightly scratching his cheek. "I was sort of expecting something like that, Clive. I really should have told you-"
"It's not fair!"
The hurt look that Clive was displaying quickly turned into one of anger. His face turned red and he balled his little hands up into fists, getting ready for a tantrum. Ravendor immediately went quiet. "It's not fair! It's not fair! I waited for ages for something like this! Why does everyone think I'm not good enough?! I am! I'm not a little kid!" His voice was beginning to crack a little with held back tears. "D'you think a little kid would be wanted by the county po-lice?! Would a baby spend a night in a jail cell?!" Clive glanced up. It looked like he was going to start crying at any minute. "I'm not a little kid!"
His pride is badly damaged. I really cannot blame him for his outburst…
"I understand that, Clive." Berlitz said softly. "But you still cannot go. If you are as grown up as you say you are, then you must accept my authority on this matter. No. And that is final."
As soon as Clive heard the word 'no', it was like somebody had pulled the plug on his mind and all the anger in his head had just drained away down the plug hole, making him dreadfully conscious of the tears welling behind his eyes. 'No' was the word that Clive used on Lucy whenever he had had enough. Was Clive really on the same status to Berlitz as what a dog was to him? Was he nothing more than a dog?
Yeah, a flea-bitten dog from the streets. That was what he was. He had been rescued from the pound, but Berlitz was going to dump him back on the streets again because he was the runt of the litter. Clive blinked a couple of times, clearing his tear-blurred vision. His look of anger and rage had boiled down to simple surprised confusion, his thin little arms dropping to his sides. His voice was dazed, not all there.
"…Okay, old man. Sorry fer troublin' ya. Go and find a lotta treasure, 'kay? See ya later Swanks, Mongo. I'm goin' home…"
The stable doors were wide open. He could see the main street from there. Good, Clive wanted to leave. The little raggedy boy turned to go, not even looking back. Ravendor battled something inside him and bit his lip in apprehension. "Clive, wait!" He called, "Maybe we can trade places-"
"Forget it. I'm outta here." Came the reply, and then the boy was gone.
xxx
Before it had been discarded, the blank and dented can that Clive was kicking down the street had used to contain tomato soup, but all it did now was provide an upset six year old with a cheap form of entertainment. It rolled to a halt on the path, stayed there for a few moments, and then was kicked further ahead into the dusty road, where Clive was too downhearted to retrieve it again. He had hated being referred to as a little kid, especially by older grown ups who should have had the wisdom to leave him alone. He didn't become the leader of a gang without at least having some kind of use about him, even if that use was contained in his small and outwardly frail body. Clive looked at his tiny little hand, small even for his own age and clenched it tightly, feeling his nails biting into the thin skin of his palm.
The thing he had hated the most about what Berlitz had said was that Clive was not only little, but that they wouldn't need him anyway. He had been rejected. Clive hated that word and the meaning that was behind it. Rejecting his offer of help was no better than rejecting himself as a person, and rejection was the very same thing that had caused him to live on the streets in the first place. If Andrew could give help, and if Ravendor could give help as well, then why not he? Clive had played in nearly all of the ruins there anyway, so it wasn't even dangerous. Was the old man afraid of a guilt trip if he accidentally died there, which was impossible? Clive thought that he should not have been punished for Berlitz's own failings, because that was justunfair.
"It's not fair!" He cried out in a tantrum-like outburst, stamping one foot on the ground and not caring who saw him do it.
"Missangah! Wait!" Came a shout from behind him, prompting the little boy to turn around from the cry. It sounded urgently important. Clive's face was still a little red from indignation, but Manna's face was even redder than that as she ran up to him, dragging little Catherine with one hand. Compared to Manna who was bigger, darker and older than her, Catherine appeared to be like a fragile porcelain doll. She was fine, while Manna had to take a few seconds to get her wind back, all puffed out.
"What?" Clive said defensively. "You come to laugh at me, Manna?"
Manna decided to ignore Clive's reproachful look. She knew he was just feeling upset. "Missangah, don't feel so bad about Mr. Pigeon Mahn not wantin' yer help. Ah don't reckon it were yer own fault or failings. Ah reckon…" She lifted the hand that was holding onto Catherine's hand. "It were because yer the same age as his daughter, Sanga. He's gonna treat you laike he treats her, wheather ya laike it or not. Girly here agrees with me, right?"
Catherine nodded. "Daddy does that a lot. It's his way."
"Yer not gonna run away from him, are you, Missangah?" Manna asked him innocently, hiding the double meaning of her sentence. Clive's blue eyes seemed to ice over at this remark and he stood as tall as he could, furious that one of his own teammates could accuse him of running away. How could Manna think that? Didn't she see how badly he wanted to go? The dark-skinned girl smiled knowingly. "Ah seen it, Sangah. You wanna know more about the pigeon mahn, as much as you can. Ah'm not stupid, ya know. You're bein' the stupid one, runnin' away like this."
"I'm not stupid!" Clive cried out. "I wanna go! I should go! But they won't let me…" The loudness of his voice dropped one or two octaves when he finally gave in to what he knew was true. "They don't need me there. The old man said so. He picked Mongo and Swanky, but he doesn't need me at all. I'm much better than they are. 'Wish I could prove it…"
"If ya really wanna prove it," Manna said with that strange, yet somehow wise smile on her young face, "Then why are you walkin' back home? You're going the wrong way, Missangah. They way yer 'sposed to be goin' is back the way you came. You won't accomplish nuthin' if ya go back to yer room and mope about, an' about the pigeon man, you'll prolly nevah see 'im again. You really want that to happen?"
It took Clive a few good seconds for Clive to process and respond to what Manna had just said. He was still wallowing in his own rejection, although his anger had managed to fade away. Clive's young voice wasa monotone. "Huh. I get it now. But still…"He muttered into his chest, looking at the ground. "There's nuthin' I can do about it anymore. They've probably already left."
"Uh-uh! Wrong again! They all went indoors ta pick up their maps fer the journey." Manna said with great relish. "Ya still have a chance to show 'em yer stuff, little guy." Clive slowly looked up, taking a few steps away from her and backing up a little bit, trying to make up his mind. So they hadn't left yet. What should he do then, go back and beg Berlitz to let him go? That would defeat the entire point of going, to prove to Berlitz that he was more than what he outwardly appeared to be. He couldn't do that. He did want to go, he was going to go, but not to Berlitz's knowledge. That would just make him look like a whiny little kid who had to ask twice and complain a little bit more to get what he wanted. A small smile unknowingly crossed Clive's face.
There had to be some way to hop onto the bandwagon without any of the others knowing. Well, Clive swallowed hard, he'd just have to find a way when he'd get there. He ran back the way he had came, giving a brief grateful nod to Manna and Catherine when he passed them. The young Baskar girl waved as she watched him go. "Good luck!" She called, pleased.
"Does he always do whatever you want him to, Manna?" Catherine asked curiously, cocking her head slightly when she turned to the older girl.
Manna nodded and smiled brightly. "Yup! All the boys in mah little group, Ah've trained 'em all! That's what you gotta do in laife, Girly, ta get ya own way. It's some free advice." She let go of Catherine's hand and pointed back to the headquarters of the Black Shucks. It wasn't that far away and she could see the patched rooftops from there. "Now come on, Catherine. Ah'll introduce ya to the rest 'o the gang. You'll laike 'em."
They left, chatting all the while.
xxx
Clive entered the stables though the window instead of the main entranceway, even though the door had been left invitingly ajar. He figured he'd have less of a chance being caught this way, and liked the idea of stealth infiltration. He knew that this particular window had been stuck one third open for as far back as he could remember, and with a little contortionist expertise coupled with his already thin and wispy nature, Clive easily slid himself inside. Pudding and Muffin shuffled uneasily when they watched the human come in all by himself, wondering in their own horsy way what was going on. They had already been half laden for the impending journey, strapped up, saddled and nearly ready to go.
His foot caught on the window frame when he slipped half his body into the room. He wasn't used to moving around wearing shoes and had forgotten about how stiff this made his feet now. To prevent himself from accidentally twisting his ankle even before his adventure had begun, Clive let his entire body go limp and he was stuck there, dangling above the straw covered floor. He extended his arms and pressed the palms of his hands against the floor, adding pressure and a fraction of his body weight to his wrists so he could move his legs around without fear of losing balance and falling onto his face. Gently, he turned his ankle and his foot to the right by about ninety degrees, so the toe of his foot was no longer caught on the glass and upper frame of the window. He pulled it inside, along with his other, less bothersome leg. Clive was standing upside down now, so he threw his body weight forward and righted himself with an acrobat's flair, holding his arms out with a cheerful grin.
"I should join the circus, don't you think so, both you horsies?" He said to Pudding and Muffin as he turned to them, dusting off his pants. One of them whinnied in response, so Clive walked over to her and patted her softly on the nose. Clive thought that the horse's hair felt like silk, or at least, what he expected silk to feel like. Somebody had brushed her down expertly, he reckoned. This horse had a very large saddlebag slung over both her sides, equally laden with goods as to stabilize strain on each of the horse's sides. It would have made her more comfortable even if she was only carrying half of the load, as it wouldn't be pulling her down to one side. Clive patted the mare on the neck comfortingly and moved to one of the saddlebags, curious as to what was within.
The ceiling creaked a bit over Clive's head and he heard severely muffled voices through the thick wooden boards, too faint for him to tell what they were saying, or even to distinguish the voices. They were close by, though, and if they saw him, then his goose was indeed cooked, no matter what Manna had chosen to say. But whatever they were talking about, the conversation would not last forever, and Clive had to hide himself as quickly and as stealthily as possible. He opened the large saddlebag, fiddling with the tied leather cords that made up the strap, seeking what was inside it for answers.
It was mostly filled up with very large excavation tools, picks and shovels and such. They were long, thick and looking to be made for people far stronger than who was actually partaking in the mission. Berlitz was probably a little to inexperienced in practical archaeology to notice this, but Clive had found out this problem as soon as he had seen it. The little boy measured the length and depth of the saddlebag with his hands, making a rough estimation. It seemed big enough and wide enough to contain him, and Clive knew deeply in his little heart that he would be far more useful than what some old picks and shovels ever could have been.
Clive had a hell of a time trying to remove the heavy instruments without making a large racket as a result. Firstly, he had to pull them up one by one, and secondly, the weight of the tools were not equal on both ends so he had a few close shaves when the heavy ends of the items nearly swung down onto his foot when he grasped their middles with both hands, the muscles in his thin arms straining from the pressure. Clive knew that he only had to remove enough stuff as to equal his own weight, so he took out two medium sized shovels and one large pick, putting them in a pile next to Pudding's bale of hay. They couldn't remain there, he had to place them somewhere inconspicuous so that they would not be found for a while, or at least for the rest of the day.
A few full burlap sacks stuff with oats proved to be Clive's answer. They were hardly noticeable and in the corner of the stable, probably only used when it was time for the horses to eat. One at a time, Clive wedged the stolen tools between two of the sacks and looked them over for any unwanted protrusions in case that gave him away. He didn't see any from the angle he was looking at and was satisfied with his work, patting the sacks down for luck.
The last part of his operation proved to be the easiest, and he was done in a matter of moments. He had seen a million different drifters mount a million different horses and he knew how itshould be done, he put his foot in the stirrup and held onto the saddle tightly to swing his body over and onto it, only just succeeding because he was small for his age. Clive felt lucky that he hadn't needed a box to stand on, as that would have been noticed right away. It did feel quite awkward to sit on a horse by himself for the first time, and Pudding's body was big and round and made Clive feel like he was sitting on top of a wide wine barrel. He thought it must get really frightening on a horse when that horse was running through the plains as fast as it possibly could. Clive imagined what it must have felt like to fall off something moving that fast and then understood why only big, strong and fearless people decided to become drifters.
Not wanting to dwell on that thought any longer, Clive opened the flap of the saddlebag and allowed himself to tumble in and curl up in the cramped and dark area inside, the bag big enough to conceal him and still offer him a little comfort. It smelt like horses, leatherand mould but Clive didn't care. He was on his way to his very first adventure! The thought itself made him want to jump for joy. Remembering something important, Clive reached his hands out of the bag and blindly tried to retie the straps on the front of the saddlebag, unable to see what he was doing. If he poked his head out now, it would impede the bag itself from closing properly, and even, worse, somebody might catch him in the middle of his ploy. Poking his tongue out in concentration, Clive tied the best knot he could do without seeing it and hoped that nobody would notice that the knot was differently done, or that, despite Clive's efforts, one side of Pudding was lighter than the other side.
"Gotta be quiet now…" He whispered to himself as he lay in his dark little compartment, trying not to move. He wondered what the Looking Glass wouldbe like, and he also wondered what treasures they would find there. Clive wondered if Berlitz and the others would be able to appreciate his help, and pertaining to that, he wondered if he could live up to the high standards he had set for himself.
Pondering over matters like these, Clive vaguely heard the door open and the sound of voices filled the room, but he blocked them out and pretended that he was a kid sized shovel, getting into character for the journey ahead. As such, he pretended not to see and to hear, and thathe couldn't smell or talk either. Clive was young and had not gotten much sleep the night before, too excited about his journey, so when the darkness had grown accustomed to his presence, he went with it, into the darkness of dreamless sleep.
Clive's journey began even without him knowing it, and so too did the beginning of his journey as a drifter, a migratory bird of the wastelands.
xxx
Oddly enough, Pudding's rapidly moving hooves and the rhythmic stretches and contractions of her powerful muscles did not awaken Clive from his borrowed slumber, no, it was a very gradual return to consciousness that awaited him, the sleep seeming to be shed from his body one thin layer at a time. It felt warm and somewhat snuggly in the bag now, as the light of the sun had heated it up amply as the horse had traveled under its gaze for quite some time. Clive didn't have any problems with lying still for just a little while longer, he could tell from the vibrations coming from the outside that they had not stopped moving yet, and any new movements from him would definitely give away his hidden location and he'd get in a whole mountain of trouble.
He could hear that people were talking on the outside, their voices muffled by the thick leather of the saddlebag. Clive was lying on his side with one arm folded under his head to act as a pillow, resting in a half fetal position. That arm had gone a little numb and he wanted to move it around and get blood circulating again, fulfilling the need by very carefully rolling over, being as slow as he possibly could, and folding his other arm down to fulfill the duty that the previous limb had been charged with. He yawned silently, wondering if they were nearly there yet. He was starting to get a little bored, and guessed that maybe an hour had passed since he had crawled into the bag and had fallen asleep.
Outside, the two horses were being guided by Horatio and Berlitz as they traversed through the calm green plains that surrounded Little Twister, saddled down with gear and double mounted, each with one extra rider. Andrew was clinging anxiously to Horatio and the older drifter was trying to ignorehis tight and slightly uncomfortable grip, hoping that they would be getting there soon so he could get this giant of a boy off his back. Andrew had always had a small fear of high places, and sitting on top of a sturdy mare as she cantered through the wilderness counted as one of his very dangerous high areas. He was very nearly perspiring with fear.
Berlitz and Ravendor were on the other horse, running parallel with the one that Horatio was guiding and also being the one that was carrying their hidden third passenger. The old archaeologist kept on getting the odd feeling that Pudding was favoring one side more than the other, as if she was straining one side of her body with a little extra weight. Ravendor had noticed this as well, but didn't have the knowledge to distinguish this as an unfavorable change of affairs. He didn't bear a fear of heights either, so had no problem with their method of transportation at all. It was a lot easier than walking on foot, easily cutting the length of their journey in half.
"Excuse me, sir." Ravendor said above the sounds of the rushing of air and the horse's clomping feet. "What exactly is the Looking Glass? Why are we being commissioned to evaluate it when it has obviously been there for such a long time with no problems, and furthermore, what will be Andrew's and my own purpose on this excavation in the first place? Why do you need our help?"
"From what I have gathered from the reports Mr. Iscariot has provided me with, I can only say that it is a ruin where religious practices were held a good few thousand years ago, even before proper Guardian worship was practiced. I believe it will be like some kind of empty church." Berlitz hypothesized, half to himself and half to the younger lad behind him. He did have a very crude map to work with as well, though the design of the ruin when seen through the structure of the map made the Looking Glass appear to be more like a maze than a proper church ever could have been. It only had one level, but that level was big enough to be very confusing to somebody who would idly wander through.
"They say that place is haunted." Horatio inputted, trying to be helpful. "I hear no one loots that joint because the last lot of treasure hunters came back to town as white as a ghost and whispering that they heard voices in that place, and that shadows had a life of their own and moved by themselves. Some of them heard buzzings, cries, even screams in their heads. And even more, they also said this…" He turned to look Berlitz squarely in the eye, the expression on his face almost a daring one. "They also said that there be magic in them ruins, the kind that'll drive a man completely and totally mad."
"Magic?" Andrew said with awe, his eyes widening. "Really?"
"Nah." Horatio disagreed. "I don't believe it. It's a load of malarkey if you take my opinion on it. I think a few drifters went inside, got lost for far too long and were too embarrassed to admit it, so they made up this whole 'magic' bullshit just to explain away their failure. That kind of thing happens all the time." He cleared his throat loudly and spat the excess phlegm out distastefully. "It's just the kind of thing that greenhorn wannabe drifters always do when their can't get over their own sorry selves. Both you kids get that, okay? Don't make excuses for failing if failing is what you really did."
"Yes sir." Both Andrew and Ravendor said simultaneously, at the same time. Secretly, Andrew was disappointed. He had always wanted to believe that magic was real, and that all the fantastic tales that had been written down into the storybooks read out to him had really happened. But when an adult said that magic was not real, then it was probably true. Adults were always right, that was one of the things that made them adults in the first place. Andrew sighed, agreeing with it while at the same time wishing to suspend that disbelief as well.
"…Sir?" Ravendor asked, addressing Berlitz. His voice sounded inquisitive but a little bit worried.
"What is it, lad?" The old archaeologist answered, feeling Pudding stagger a little when she accidentally trod on a stone the wrong way. They were climbing down a very small slope, and it was just the slightest bit dangerous now.
"Was it humans that made the Looking Glass? Or was it something else?"
"That is… a very good question." He said after a few moments of thought. "And it will be one of the questions we are going to try and answer once we get there. But there has only been a few sentient species of life forms that have lived on this planet so far, which will lower the selection considerably, I assure you. There were only the humans and the neosapient Elws who could have created such a thing that would last so long."
"That is not entirely true, sir." Ravendor protested calmly.
"Indeed? Then what do you think it could have been, lad?" Berlitz asked curiously.
"The demons could have made it too, sir. During the Great War."
Yes, well, that was also another possibility, Berlitz thought.
Nearby, Horatio and Andrew shuddered, experiencing a sudden cold chill.
xxx
When Clive came to again, he snapped to attention so suddenly that he sat up at once and grazed his nose and forehead on the inner surface of the saddlebag, the force of the impact causing him to yelp a little in pain and immediately lie back down again, rubbing at his nose and wondering what went wrong. He had been listening to the muffled illegible voices for a while, then he must have gotten bored with it and had nodded back off to sleep. But wherever he was now, the bag was no longer moving and so was he, and from the bottom of the bag he could feel the hard flatness of the ground, meaning that somebody had untied his carrying vessel and had left it lying on the ground. Was it really safe to come out yet, and where was he anyway?
He yanked and pulled at the knots he had made until they came undone, feeling lucky that nobody had checked his saddlebag while he had been sleeping. He lifted the flap only slightly, enough to get a very restricted view outside. He could see one of the horses grazing not too far away, tethered by the reins to an overshadowing tree. He was on the ground next to the rest of the luggage, and out of the very corner of his eye, he could see the outline of some kind of building a short distance away. It looked to be made of sandstone, and was rather old. Clive didn't hear or see anything more than this, so putting himself into fate's hands, he pushed the flap fully open and breathed inthe fresh air of success, a cool breeze ruffling his dark green hair.
There was indeed nobody else around. Clive felt privileged to experience this moment of triumph without any annoying hindrances. He was also supremely grateful when he stood up and stretched all the cramps out of his body that had built up from his time in the bag, especially in his legs and one numb shoulder. He'd wind up with pins and needles in it at any second now, he thought with a small grin. Clive yawned loudly and for a long time, enjoying the wide open spaces once more. He wandered around a little bit to get the blood circulating back into his legs, and patted the horses fondly for a while, looking at the ruin with a mixture of both anxiety and excitement.
Although large in comparison to Clive's own small body, the ruin was more like a large stairwell leading down into the ground, surroundedat nearly all sides by a big wall of stone. It reminded Clive a little of the underground train station they had at Westwood, and he wondered what it must be like in there, beneath the earth. Had Berlitz and the others already gone down there? Maybe he should follow them now? If he was going to prove to them exactly what he was, then he had better stop procrastinating and get going. One of the most cowardly things Clive could do at that point would be to get scared and run back home, and he honestly admitted to himself that for the briefest fraction of a second, that was what he wanted to do. It was all just so intimidating.But no, he had gotten this far, he wasn't going to stop now.
The steps were grainy and sandy coloured, brittle enough that if he were wearing sturdier shoes, he could have been able to erode away the surface of the steps by roughly scuffing his feet against the stone. The air down below felt colder and heavier than normal, and the little boy had to hop down each stair one at a time, because they were a bit too big for him to handle normally. Clive could see something that looked like glass at the bottom of the staircase, coloured a deep blue, but he was still too far away to be properly certain yet. It was also aweird factthat as he got further down, the darkness didn't seem to diminish his vision, in fact, it was not even getting any darker at all. Maybe the others had already set up some torches underground, Clive thought.
It took Clive a while to reach the bottom, his pace slow and meticulous. The staircase was easily a hundred and fiftymeters long and difficult to fathom, but when Clive overcame the final step and had reached the foot of the ruin, he let out a deep breath and felt proud of himself, sitting down on the step he had behind him. He heard an odd clinking sound when he feet touched the floor, the slight metal casing on the toe and heel of his new boots rapping against the floor. It didn't sound like he was on stone anymore. Clive looked down and ran the back of his hand against the floor, then rapped it with his knuckles. "Whoa…" He breathed, impressed.
The steps, and the walls around it had been made of brittle sandstone, hardly the perfect type of material to build a ruin that would last the tests of time. Given another millennia, the entrance would easily crumble away to dust. The inside, however, were made of one of the hardest and sturdiest materials around, glossy blue crystal that had been volcanically made in the past, large enough to carve an entire ruin out of one huge sample. The walls, the floor, and now the ceiling was made of the stuff, and the light streaming through the entrance and bouncing off the floor, into the ruins, was like an automatic light source, keeping the ancient place lit with a dim glow. Clive wasn't sure, but he also thought that the crystals themselves were generating their own blue glow, just too faint to be seen. Clive's mouth was hanging open with amazement. "Whoa…" He said again, repeating himself.
Oh wow… Oh, WOW! This entire place is a treasure! Look at it, it's all made of magic crystal! Holy cow! I mean, wow!
The others must be further inside. I wonder if they think this is cool too? Um… I had better go find them and help. I bet the old geezer had a heart attack when he saw this! Mongo and Swanky'd try to take a wall home as a going away present too. Hee hee…
Clive wandered deeper inside, looking around all the while. He could catch the fuzzy and blurred mirror image of himself in the walls as he walked, and took delight in starting and stopping his pace at erratic intervals, watching his other self do the very same thing. He waved his arms around and the other one copied him. He jumped up and down and the other Clive followed suit. Clive giggled at this and kept on going, feeling a little less alone now that he had his mirror friend to keep him company.
He feet kept on echoing every time he tried to take a step, and he couldn't really help something like that unless he took his boots off, but the floor looked cold and he had paid a lot of gella to have something respectable to wear on his feet. It had been Manna's idea, true, but it had been his money, and he didn't want to lose such an investment so early in the game. Still, with all the noise he was making, he would give his position away. And that would suck, because he wanted his arrival to be a surprise. Clive stopped suddenly, his mirror friend stopping too. He had just had a very simplistic idea. Kneeling, Clive took his shoes off and slung the pair over his shoulder, holding onto them by the laces. Standing up, Clive felt that he was right, the floor was as cold as he had expected, making his toes curlup and shiver.
The tunnel Clive was in turned sharply to the right and the little boy refrained from following it anymore, hanging near the bend and out of sight to anyone on the other side of the curve. He could hear voices down the corridor, more specifically, the voices of children. Clive peeked around the corner for a few quick seconds, seeing that the other half of the equipment that had not been left outside was now set up in there, lamps and a small foldable table with many sheets of paper upon it, covered in writing. The lamps distorted the shadows of Andrew and Ravendor who were the only ones there, the other two adults must have gone even deeper into the ruins.
Andrew was setting up the remainder of the equipment almost mechanically, like he was trying to remember instructions that had been given to him earlier before. Ravendor was sitting on a foldable chair and was taking down some notes on what he had seen already regarding the ruins, and any other tidbits of information that he could think of. He had also, sneakily as it were, managed to duck out of any difficult physical labor that had presented itself to him. However, it looked like both of them were working very hard. Clive leant against his end of the tunnel, the cold crystal wall of the ruin spreading an icy chill through his back. The little boy sighed. "Gee… Maybe they don't need my help after all…" He murmured, wavering a little. Then, simple childlike logic took over.
I don't care! I'm the boss, I'm 'sposed to help anyway! There's no way they can leave me outta their fun, it's not fair!
Clive hastily crammed his shoes back onto his feet then jumped around the corner and into the full-view of the other two boys, putting his slight form between two different burning lanterns. He raised his arms up high and yelled; "HEY GUYS, I'M HERE!" While waving profusely, an eager grin on his face. Now, what Clive didn't know was that in the particular position he was in, between the two flames, hugely augmented his shadow and cast it over his own body, cloaking it like it wasn't even there at all. To a casual onlooker, Clive would have appeared about a hundred times scarier than what he already was, a big black shadow with no source.
Andrew looked up and panicked, dropping the unusual tool that he was holding, whereupon it broke in two on the hard crystal floor. The large boy's fingers were as stiff as sticks, but trembled like they were moving in anuneven breeze. Andrew's lightly tanned skin turned as white as a bed sheet and his eyes had widened into saucers,staring at Clive as if he was from another world. Clive cocked his head to one side and looked confused. "Hey Mongo, what's wrong?" He said, very puzzled.
The boy screamed and ran away, all the way down the unexplored corridor. Ravendor glanced up from his writing just in time to watch Andrew's rushed departure, glancing over his shoulder as the bigger boy disappeared into the deepening darkness. It was light inside the corridor, true, but simple human perception made it get darker and blurrier, further and further the pathway went. "Mongo! Where are you-" He began, then looked back at whatever had frightened the boy so badly, one eyebrow raised.
"Geez, what's up with him?" Clive asked as he stepped away from the flame's light, making his shadow shrink as he got closer to his older brother. He rubbed that back of his neck and smiled. "Hi Swanky. Found any treasure yet? Isn't this place great? Everything's made of shiny crystal!"
"You…" The dark-haired boy began.
"Yeah, it's me. Didn't expect to see me, right? But here I am, an' I'm raring to go find us some treasure!" Clive grinned.
"You…" Ravendor repeated.
"Ya don't have to say anythin'. I know you're glad to see-"
"You idiot! Oh Gods Clive, please tell me that you're not here right now…" Ravendor said half despairingly, closing his notebook and leaving it on the chair. He removed his glasses and glared at Clive with subdued anger. "Professor Berlitz was right, this place is far too dangerous for you to be here, and look what you've already done! You scared Mongo away!" He sighed. "It's not like we're playing around or anything, you know. We are working here…" Clive suddenly felt a little awkward, having the smallest feeling that Ravendor was indeed correct. The older boy didn't stop there, he continued his tirade. "I don't know how you got here, actually, you can tell me later, but right now we gotta go and find Mongo before he hurts himself, alright? I'll yell at you later."
"…Okay…" Clive murmured. "But how come I scared Mongo so badly? He usually don't get scared fer nothin'."
"Clive, take three steps backwards, turn around and look at your shadow." Ravendor instructed exasperatedly, folding his arms.
He did so without really thinking about it, stepping backwards without hesitation. So this was the Looking Glass, a ruin made of crystal that reflected one's own image. How come Berlitz and Horatio weren't around with his other two friends, and why did Ravendor seem so grumpy in such a place? Clive understood the other boy well and knew that he only got this upset early in the mornings or when he had a really, really bad headache. Come to think of it, Ravendor did look a little more pale and disgruntled than usual, and there was an odd little buzzing in the back of Clive's head when he took note of that, so deep down that he barely even knew it was there. What on Filgaia did that mean, and what made the crystal glow? Why? Clive just had to know.
But for now, he turned around and saw his own deep black shadow, then he screamed, lost his colour, and fainted dead away.