The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,37
gasped. “No way. They wouldn’t kill anyone.”
“Yeah, well, they did,” Zac said. “You think I stuffed my own body in that cupboard?”
Angelo shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t reply.
“So let me get this straight,” said Herya. “In order to avoid going to Hell, you agreed to go to Hell?”
“Pretty much,” confirmed Zac. “Also, if the book’s as dangerous as they say it is, someone has to get it back, right? And I’ve got a better chance than most.”
He got up and walked over to the wooden hoop in the centre of the room. He passed his arm through the space in the middle. Nothing happened. “How long before it starts up again, do you think?”
“No idea,” replied Herya. “What time is it now?”
Zac looked at his watch. “Just turned a hundred and nine, apparently,” he said, then he crossed to the furthest pillar from the others and slumped down with his back against it.
The numbers on the watch flicked over to a hundred and ten.
It was going to be a very long night.
AC WAS NOT wrong. Once the Nether Lands had darkened, the night had passed like slow treacle, the hours – or whatever the numbers on the watch represented – oozing lazily towards the dawn.
When the watch reached the high six hundreds, it reset to zero. The moment the display ticked over to four, green sparkles had illuminated the centre of the wooden hoop. The sparkles began to spin like a giant Catherine wheel until the entire hoop was alive with a shimmering jade glow.
The three of them stood together watching the swirling light, expecting the rat-creature to step through at any moment. It was a different figure who emerged in the end, though. An old woman with a cheerful cardigan and silvery-blue hair stepped from the portal, supporting herself on a walking stick. When she saw Zac and the others she screamed with fright.
“Ooh, you near scared the life out of me,” she said, once she had regained her composure. She looked them up and down. “Who are you?”
“Three travellers, oh dweller of the Nether Lands,” began Herya, but the woman quickly shushed her.
“We don’t bother with all that these days, dearie,” she said. “Too much effort. It’s all much more relaxed now. Where you headed?”
The Valkyrie looked a little put out, as if she’d wasted months rehearsing a speech she wasn’t getting a chance to deliver. Which, as it happens, was precisely what she had done.
“The Greek underworld,” she said. “Also known as—”
“Yes, yes, Hades, Asphodel Meadows, I know the one.” She waggled her crooked fingers in the vague direction of the portal. Nothing appeared to happen. “There you go, then. That’s you,” she announced.
Zac eyed the green circle suspiciously. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure, dearie,” said the old woman. “I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. Look.”
She raised her walking stick and pushed the end of it into the glow of the portal. A moment later, she pulled it back. An egg-shaped green blob was clinging to the end of the stick, gnawing furiously on the wood with its jagged teeth.
As the blob came through the portal, it stopped chewing. It raised its eyes and stared at the old woman. The old woman stared back. Slowly, she popped the stick back through the portal and gave it a flick. When it came back through, the green thing was gone.
“Let’s try that once more,” she said, then she waggled her fingers again. This time, the light dimmed briefly, then brightened again. “That should be it now,” she said, smiling sheepishly. “What can I say? It’s still early.”
“Herya, why don’t you take the lead?” Zac suggested. “You know your way around better than we do.”
“What?” mumbled the Valkyrie. “I mean, yes. Of course. Plus I’m the best fighter, so it’s safest if I go first, so I can protect you from... things.”
“That’s good of you,” said Zac.
Herya stepped up to the swirling vortex. She glanced back at the old woman, who nodded encouragingly. Then, with just the briefest moment’s hesitation, she stepped through the portal and vanished.
“I’ll go next,” said Angelo, bouncing excitedly from foot to foot.
“Wait!” yelped the woman. She had a pair of spectacles on a string round her neck. She pulled them on and looked Angelo up and down. “Whatever happened to your clothes, dearie? You’ll catch your death.”
With a bit of effort she wrestled off her brightly coloured cardigan. It had a rainbow knitted into it, and a picture of a