Unwritten Books 1 - Unwritten Girl (13 page)

“They’re not here now,” said Peter.

“When they see their error, they will come back to this tunnel with all speed.” Puck craned his neck to see around the mountain.

“So, let’s get out of here,” said Peter. “Which way?”

“Perhaps that path is going our way.” Puck pointed to a crossing ahead of them. The road clung to the side of the mountain, spiralling out of view.

“No cover,” said Peter.

“Then keep one eye on the sky.”

Peter and Rosemary puffed up the slope. The ledge narrowed, until all that was left was the roadway. The mountain was a sheer wall on their left and a sheer drop on their right.

As Rosemary limped along, Peter cast glances at her arm, still black from the Sea of Ink. Finally, he said, “Rosemary, is your arm okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“How heavy was that grapple?”

“Heavy,” said Rosemary.

“Didn’t it hurt?”

“What do you think?”

“But you’re okay now?”

“Yes, Peter, I’m okay. What are you getting at?”

Puck raised one pointed eyebrow.

“That thing would have broken my arm,” said Peter. “But you’re okay?”

“Yes, Peter, I’m fine,” she snapped. Then she winced and stumbled. “Ow!”

He looked down. “You’re barefoot!”

“I’m wearing stockings.”

“Like that makes a difference.”

“Do you think those high-heeled shoes that went with this dress would help any? Anyway, I left them on the train.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You have shoes in your pockets?”

“Puck,” Peter turned to him. “Could you change into a horse? Give us a ride?”

Puck snorted. “On these rocks? Would you ride a mountain goat?” He pointed. “Perhaps we can find shoes there.”

“I’m fine,” said Rosemary. She looked up. “Find shoes where?”

Ahead of them, the ledge widened. On it was a tall and narrow house. On top of a roof like a witch’s hat a lightning rod waited for something to strike. The house was built right to the sheer drop.

Rosemary swallowed. “Guys, I’m fine.”

“You can’t walk around like this,” said Peter, taking her hand. “Come on!”

In the shadow of the tall house amongst the barren rocks there was a little square of green. By the gate of this garden, an old man puttered around. Peter, Puck, and Rosemary walked up to him. “Excuse me, sir,” said Peter. “Do you have any —”

The old man looked up and fixed Peter with eyes like planets. Peter froze.

The man was tall and thin, wearing flannel pants, a white shirt, and a waistcoat, all of which looked too formal for gardening. His hair was silver, and combed precisely. He ran his thumbs beneath his suspenders.

“What were you going to say, my boy, hmm?” said the old man, his voice crisp. “Shoes, was it? Shoes for young Rosemary Watson?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Peter. He swallowed. “She hasn’t got any.”

“Really,” said Rosemary. “I’m okay.”

The old man beamed at her. “Nonsense! I would be remiss if I didn’t look, my dear. I would be even more remiss if I didn’t offer you my hospitality.” He opened the gate. “Come in, come in! I’ve made you all some
refreshments.” He grabbed Peter’s and Rosemary’s hands and pulled them onto the lawn.

The cool grass felt wonderful to Rosemary’s aching feet and she staggered at the rush of relief. She gazed longingly at a lawn chair beside a table that held a pitcher of lemonade and then shook herself, as though from a dream.

“Ooh, lemonade!” Peter started forward, but Rosemary grabbed his arm. She looked up at the old man. “How did you know I’d be coming?”

“It is my job to know these things. After all, I am the Professor.”

“Professor what?” asked Peter.

“Oh, I’m much too busy to deal with names,” said the Professor. Then he paused. “But I seem to recall my surname starts with the letter M. You may call me Professor Em, if you wish.”

“What do you do, here, Professor Em?” asked Rosemary.

“Well, I’m afraid I control the forces of evil.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Peter said, “Well, at least you’re honest about it.”

“It is who I am,” said the Professor. “And as for how I knew of your imminent arrival, let me show you something.”

He beckoned Rosemary around the house, with the others following, and pointed to the wall. A bank of screens covered the expanse of brick. Some of the
scenes she recognized, having passed through them, seemingly ages ago. At the base of the screen, a long console held keyboards, displays, and printouts.

“This is my control centre,” said Professor Em. “My eyes and ears, the centre of my web, and all that.” Something caught his attention and he turned to the screen. After a moment staring, he smiled, pressed a button, and spoke into an intercom. “Prince Valiant is heading down the path to the swamp. Cue the crocodiles!”

“Crocodiles!” cried Rosemary.

The Professor smiled at her. “I can’t let him off easily. If he wants to rescue his fiancée from the quicksand, he’s got to go through the crocodiles.”

“His fiancée?” said Rosemary.

“Quicksand?” exclaimed Peter.

“You put his fiancée in quicksand?” said Rosemary.

“No, that was just bad luck,” said the Professor. “But I arranged for his so-called friend to lead him into the crocodiles’ path.”

Rosemary stared at him, appalled.

“So, I have been watching you, Miss Watson,” said the Professor. He tapped a screen that showed images of Rosemary at the beach before the Sea of Ink, at the bridge of the Black Knight, in the haunted house, and on the Magical Mystery Tour. “I knew you would come this way. I’ve met lots of heroes, you see. Speaking of which, are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich?”

Rosemary gave him a nervous glance. “No. Thank you.”

The Professor smiled. “Never break bread with the enemy, eh? I suppose that’s wise, but it’s hardly civilized. Why don’t you relax? Sit down. Talk with me. So few people do, and I appreciate the company.”

The Professor’s eyes were the colour of a pinstripe suit. Rosemary shivered. “No. W-we should be going.”

“You’ve hardly rested,” said the Professor. “You haven’t even sat down. I haven’t fetched new shoes. Come, have some lemonade. I made it myself.”

“No, thanks,” said Rosemary, backing away. “We really need to go, now.”

“I worry you, don’t I, Miss Watson?” said the Professor. “You think that I’ll lead you into the path of the crocodiles as you attempt to rescue your brother.”

“Well, wouldn’t you?” said Peter. “Of course,” said the Professor. “But it would be for your own good. The truth is, you need me. You both need me.”

Rosemary stopped. “I don’t need you!”

“Certainly you do. Where would you be without me?”

“A lot happier!” said Peter.

“Are you sure about that? Are you really sure? Imagine, for a moment, a world without villains. Would you remember Robin Hood without the Sheriff? Superman in a perfect world? Behind every great hero
is a great villain. Holmes had Moriarty. King Arthur had Morgaine. These legends would be nothing without their enemies.”

“We’re not talking about a book,” said Rosemary. “We’re talking about real life; we’re talking about my brother!”

“Then let us consider real life,” said the Professor. “Where would you be if not here, Miss Watson? Hiding in your study cubicle, I’d wager, reading your encyclopedias, running away from your books.”

“Stop it!” Peter pulled Rosemary behind him. “We’re leaving. You are not going to keep us here any longer.”

Professor Em straightened up. His tongue, forked like a snake’s, flicked out and tasted the air. “You’re right, my boy. I’ve kept you here long enough.”

There was a whine of engines, and out of the valley, three Zeppelins rose into view, taking their places in the sky. Their grapples dipped and weaved like dangling cobras.

“You tricked us!” Rosemary shouted.

The Professor shrugged. “My dear child, whatever did you expect?”

Rosemary could see the girl with the horn-rimmed glasses in the cockpit of one of the Zeppelins. The girl sneered at her.

“Ah, yes, there She is right now,” said Professor Em. “This was Her idea. She is very new to the villain
game, playing against type, in fact, but She has adapted. People do when they’re angry.”

The grapples lunged.

“Both of you, flee! I shall hold them off!” Puck picked up a stone the size of a soccer ball. He took three running steps and hurled it over his head. It sailed high and punched through the skin of the nearest Zeppelin. A hissing noise filled the air, and the Zeppelin sank out of view, its engines struggling and the cabin dropping ballast. Seconds later, there was a thump, and a fireball erupted skyward.

The other Zeppelins’ engines surged, and they floated higher. The grapples descended, jaws open, and struck at Puck, who dodged.

Peter and Rosemary ran for the road, but the Professor flung his arms wide. They turned into tentacles and wrapped around Rosemary’s and Peter’s bodies. He hauled them back, their feet dangling in the air.

“What was it you read off the idea tree?” he said, his tongue flicking across Rosemary’s cheek. “What if we could fly?”

“What if
rugs
could fly!” Rosemary cried, feet flailing. “Rugs!”

“Pity you don’t have rugs, then. Bye-bye!” Peter and Rosemary screamed as he tossed them over the edge.

The girl with the horn-rimmed glasses came sliding down one of the grapple cables. She jumped to the ground and joined Professor Em at the cliff edge.

“Hey, you were supposed to capture them,” she said. “Why did you throw them off the edge?”

“All the better to crunch their bones to make my bread. Have you ever tried to put unbroken bones through a grinder? Dear, dear, it is a bother!”

Rosemary fell. The tumbling air deafened her, carrying her screams away. Her hair whipped her face, and the long fringe of her dress lashed her arms and legs. Peter fell beside her, grey and unreadable as a shadow.

Suddenly she saw something plummet towards her, huge as a shark. It swooped past and swung beneath her, spreading tremendous wings.

Rosemary struck the eagle’s back. It knocked the wind out of her. In her whirling vision, she saw Peter hit, and slide. She saw his pale hands pull out huge feathers. Then he fell again. “Puck!” she screamed.

“Hold fast!” the eagle cried. It folded its wings and dove after the falling boy. They passed Peter and swept under him. Rosemary dug her knees into Puck’s back and caught hold of Peter’s collar as he thudded and slid past. Peter grabbed desperately, plucking more feathers before steadying himself. He lay gasping. Rosemary held him.

His knuckles white, Peter looked back. “They’re following us!”

“What do they want?” shouted Rosemary.

“To bring things to a head,” said Puck. “They want to attack before you are ready. They are no longer interested in the story, only its climax.”

“What do we do?” yelled Rosemary. “Enough of challenges,” said Puck. “I shall take you to the centre of the Land of Fiction, quick as I can.”

He swooped close to the cliff face, turning a corner in the valley. The pursuing Zeppelin banked. “Where’s the other one?” shouted Rosemary.

Then they turned another corner and found the second Zeppelin waiting for them.

It hovered at the rim of the valley, its sides almost touching either wall. It towered over them, eclipsing the sun. The grapple struck towards them.

“Hold on!” Puck screeched. He swerved down and right. Rosemary yelled. The wall of the valley swept towards them. The grapple was just feet behind. They were in the middle of a gap between grapple and cliff, and the gap was narrowing by the second.

The grapple swung in. Puck put on a burst of speed. The grapple hit the cliff face, raising a spray of rock and dust.

Then Puck’s wing smashed against the cliff with a sickening crunch. Puck cried out and fell.

Rosemary and Peter clung for dear life against his back. The wind whistled in their ears. The ground rushed up to meet them.

“Look,” Peter yelled, pointing. “The tracks!”

Rosemary looked ahead. Before them, the train tracks ran along a narrow ledge before crossing the valley on a high bridge, plunging into a tunnel.

Behind them, the second Zeppelin rose above the rim of the valley and began a ponderous turn. The first sailed past.

“Puck, slow down!” Rosemary cried.

“I can’t!” Puck shouted. “My wing is broken!”

The ledge rushed towards them. Puck banked, his body shuddering. They were feet above the railway tracks, the gravel rushing past. “Jump!” he cried.

Peter grabbed Rosemary and rolled off Puck’s back. They hit the ledge hard, rolling over and over.

Puck topped out and fell, hitting the tracks and cartwheeling. A cloud of dust rose up around him. When it cleared, they saw the eagle lying on its back, still. All was silent save for the drone of the Zeppelins.

Puck shuddered back into his accustomed body as Peter and Rosemary rushed to him. He clutched his arm, which was bent in a direction it wasn’t supposed to go. His bright face was darkened with pain.

Rosemary knelt beside him, afraid to touch him. “Puck! Are you okay?”

He staggered to his feet. “No.”

The drone of the Zeppelins grew louder as they tracked along the valley, grapples gnashing at thin air.

“You must cross the bridge,” said Puck. “The quest leads there.”

“We’d never make it,” gasped Peter. “There’s no way. They’ll snatch us off the track!”

“I will make sure the path is clear,” said Puck. He clasped Rosemary’s shoulder with his good hand. “Brave Rosemary, you must go on.”

Rosemary looked up. “What? Puck, what do you mean?”

He gave her a sad smile. “I must leave you.”

“What? No! We can’t go on without you!” She clutched at him.

He pried her off and touched her cheek. “I can no longer be your guide. But you are the hero. You must go on.”

A shadow fell across them and they looked up. The Zeppelins were almost overhead.

Puck stepped back to the cliff edge. “Farewell.” Peter stood up. “What are you —”

Puck turned, took two staggering steps, and jumped off the edge.

Rosemary ran forward. “No!”