us?”
“Yes, that would be a largely correct assumption.”
“She said this place was safe!”
“It is,” Eustace said cheerily. “But I hardly think it’s an appropriate place for us to continue talking now that anything could feasibly happen. What say we wake her up and get out of here?”
“Yes,” Marcus agreed, “that sounds like an idea I could get behind.”
“Go on then, important man. Go wake her up.”
“What? Why me?”
“Because,” Eustace said with a wicked grin, “I’ve had to do it before. Good luck! I’ll be right here, not being murdered.”
“Great,” Marcus said, and turned to walk over to where the Master’s swing stood, only to find it was now in a completely different direction and quite a bit further away.
“You know how space and time blend in a dream, Mr. Important? That’s another thing that gets passed over into the Mirrorline. Most of the control we exhibit over it is entirely mental, y’see.”
“Great,” Marcus said again, trudging his way over to the Master. As he got closer, four huge, grotesque, half-rotted figures in purple robes appeared in the sky above him, and started barking and screeching incomprehensible orders down at him, before turning on each other in a display of colour and shape that far surpassed the hyperactive clouds from earlier.
“Now those,” came Eustace’s voice from behind him, “look suspiciously like our very own dear council, or rather, how they would look envisioned through the sleep-deprived mind of someone who has the dubious honour of dealing with them every day. Interesting what we can learn through dreams, isn’t it?”
Marcus ignored him. He reached the Master, who had spilt her coffee all over herself in dropping off to sleep. Tentatively, he reached out, and touched her on the shoulder. Nothing happened.
“And now,” Eustace continued, “they seem to have dissolved into some sort of pastiche of Portruss itself, slowly melting apart. Bits are dripping on me, Mr. Important. Do hurry up.”
Marcus shook the Master a few times. She murmured softly to herself, and somehow managed to throw the remnants of her coffee down Marcus’s trousers.
“Oh, now this is interesting. Erm, Marcus..”
Marcus snapped his head back around in Eustace’s direction, suddenly worried by how for the first time the old man had sounded less than entirely confident. As he span, the air suddenly filled with hideous, screeching laughter that blocked out anything else the old scholar might have said. Marcus looked around, frantically searching for the source of the arcane chortling, and found it in the silhouetted shape that was descending from the convoluted mess of the sky. Man-shaped, yet with dimensions far surpassing that of the average human, this striking figure was robed in dark flames that were blown out spasmodically by the sudden piercing winds that had struck up, and all seemed to be blowing inwards towards this vision, circling it upon arrival with whiplash intensity. The figure emanated a sense of menace and distress that dwarfed anything Marcus had felt from his staff, and he stood there rooted in terror against the protestations of his hind brain, sure that Death had caught up with him.
But no – this figure already had a staff of its own, a long, knobbly thing quite unlike Death’s smooth scythe. Also, though the head was little more than blackest shadow, it was un-hooded, and framed by a shock of long hair flashing about in the wind. And there was the laugh.. it hit notes of bitterness, madness and evil despair that seemed quite unlike any sound Death would make. It was unmistakeably human. Marcus thought he might have laughed that laugh once before.
“Marcus,” came Eustace’s voice, now somewhere beside him, “I really do think we should be leaving now.”
“What the hell is that?” Marcus yelled back, loudly into a sudden silence as the laughter abruptly cut off. Turning back to look at the dark vision, he was
“Yes, that would be a largely correct assumption.”
“She said this place was safe!”
“It is,” Eustace said cheerily. “But I hardly think it’s an appropriate place for us to continue talking now that anything could feasibly happen. What say we wake her up and get out of here?”
“Yes,” Marcus agreed, “that sounds like an idea I could get behind.”
“Go on then, important man. Go wake her up.”
“What? Why me?”
“Because,” Eustace said with a wicked grin, “I’ve had to do it before. Good luck! I’ll be right here, not being murdered.”
“Great,” Marcus said, and turned to walk over to where the Master’s swing stood, only to find it was now in a completely different direction and quite a bit further away.
“You know how space and time blend in a dream, Mr. Important? That’s another thing that gets passed over into the Mirrorline. Most of the control we exhibit over it is entirely mental, y’see.”
“Great,” Marcus said again, trudging his way over to the Master. As he got closer, four huge, grotesque, half-rotted figures in purple robes appeared in the sky above him, and started barking and screeching incomprehensible orders down at him, before turning on each other in a display of colour and shape that far surpassed the hyperactive clouds from earlier.
“Now those,” came Eustace’s voice from behind him, “look suspiciously like our very own dear council, or rather, how they would look envisioned through the sleep-deprived mind of someone who has the dubious honour of dealing with them every day. Interesting what we can learn through dreams, isn’t it?”
Marcus ignored him. He reached the Master, who had spilt her coffee all over herself in dropping off to sleep. Tentatively, he reached out, and touched her on the shoulder. Nothing happened.
“And now,” Eustace continued, “they seem to have dissolved into some sort of pastiche of Portruss itself, slowly melting apart. Bits are dripping on me, Mr. Important. Do hurry up.”
Marcus shook the Master a few times. She murmured softly to herself, and somehow managed to throw the remnants of her coffee down Marcus’s trousers.
“Oh, now this is interesting. Erm, Marcus..”
Marcus snapped his head back around in Eustace’s direction, suddenly worried by how for the first time the old man had sounded less than entirely confident. As he span, the air suddenly filled with hideous, screeching laughter that blocked out anything else the old scholar might have said. Marcus looked around, frantically searching for the source of the arcane chortling, and found it in the silhouetted shape that was descending from the convoluted mess of the sky. Man-shaped, yet with dimensions far surpassing that of the average human, this striking figure was robed in dark flames that were blown out spasmodically by the sudden piercing winds that had struck up, and all seemed to be blowing inwards towards this vision, circling it upon arrival with whiplash intensity. The figure emanated a sense of menace and distress that dwarfed anything Marcus had felt from his staff, and he stood there rooted in terror against the protestations of his hind brain, sure that Death had caught up with him.
But no – this figure already had a staff of its own, a long, knobbly thing quite unlike Death’s smooth scythe. Also, though the head was little more than blackest shadow, it was un-hooded, and framed by a shock of long hair flashing about in the wind. And there was the laugh.. it hit notes of bitterness, madness and evil despair that seemed quite unlike any sound Death would make. It was unmistakeably human. Marcus thought he might have laughed that laugh once before.
“Marcus,” came Eustace’s voice, now somewhere beside him, “I really do think we should be leaving now.”
“What the hell is that?” Marcus yelled back, loudly into a sudden silence as the laughter abruptly cut off. Turning back to look at the dark vision, he was
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