Page 9 of The Neverfear

‘I have good news for you,’ said Astor Morax. ‘News you will like.’

Carla waited, unmoving. Very little that this man had told her was worth liking.

‘I have found the man you’ve been looking for. I have found Fidens Nighthand.’

The Impressive Pain Of Fendthorn

Christopher woke late. His first impression was that his limbs had been stolen in the night and replaced with rusty metal. His whole body ached.

But his second thought was of a bone-deep, bass-note thrill: of the unicorn and the behemoth, and the green-gold light that had flooded him. It had been blurred and staticky and unclear. And he had been sick, yes. But that feeling of light – he longed more than anything to experience that again.

There was a hercinia bird on the windowsill. He jumped out of bed, wincing, and looked it in its eyes. He tried to summon up the flash of light.

The bird cawed scornfully and took off.

Irian was alone at the breakfast table reading a book when Christopher came down. He stole a look at the title: The Care and Feeding of Behemoths by G.T. Readyrun.

He grinned at her. ‘Morning.’ The book was opened to the contents page. He leaned over her shoulder and read:

Chapter One: Behemoths Through History: A Story of Rampages Past and Present.

Chapter Two: A Behemoth’s Favourite Food: Human Hair, Human Skin, Salmon.

Chapter Three: How to Treat a Wounded Behemoth.

Irian gestured at the book. ‘You were right about the behemoth being injured. It’s septic. I need to put mistflower ointment on it, but every time I go near the gate of the walled garden it charges at me. I found this in the library, but it isn’t that helpful.’

He turned to the third chapter, ‘How to Treat a Wounded Behemoth’. It was very short: Do not attempt to treat a wounded behemoth. It will eat you.

‘At least it’s to the point,’ he said. ‘No waffling.’

She smiled. ‘Tell me, Christopher – what happened last night? I know the creatures have always sought you out. But this was different.’

Christopher tried to describe it – the green-gold invisible light, the surge of the creature’s emotions and thoughts and images that came barraging at him.

‘An invisible light?’

‘I know it sounds mad. I know other people can’t see it – but it’s as clear as my own hand. I see it glowing. I feel it with my eyes.’

‘That seems perfectly reasonable to me. There is more than one way to see.’

‘Have you ever heard of this happening before – the flash, the light?’

Irian shook her head. ‘It must be extraordinarily rare, Christopher. I think I might have read about it, but years ago.’ She drove both knuckles into her temples, thinking. ‘A man. A green-gold thread.’ She shook her head. ‘No. I’ll talk to the harpy. She might know.’

Just then there were thundering footsteps and the door burst open. It hit the wall so hard that the doorknob wedged itself into the plaster. Fidens Nighthand stood beaming in the doorway, Ratwin on his shoulder. ‘There you both are!’ he cried. ‘Superb!’ There was perhaps a flicker of awkwardness as his eyes met Irian’s.

‘Nighthand, my love,’ said Irian. ‘I wonder if you should open doors less like you’re going to war with the woodwork?’

‘Nonsense. Doors are made for slamming. Come, both of you. We’re locking the island and we need you.’

‘What do you mean, locking the island?’ said Christopher.

‘You shall seeses,’ said Ratwin. ‘To the greenhousings.’

As Christopher left the room, he heard Ratwin hiss sibilantly into Nighthand’s ear.

‘Yous was going to proposal her! Why don’t you do it now?’