The Truth of Things Unseen

Alley

Fen crouched in the muck, trying not to touch the spongy filth that coated everything. Her feet were wet. Gwynn’s cloak was torn up the back and soggy around the bottom.

It had been the most thoroughly awful few days. She remembered falling forever, then everything had sort of - splintered, like all the world had come apart and her with it, and then she had been here, all alone, in this perfectly dreadful town made of slimy brick where everyone was so much more unpleasant than anyone had any right to be.

It had been two days since she had last eaten. The cheese was a distant memory, left in her pack back at the wall. She had managed to snatch a bit of bread from a table one time. Men had chased after her, but she had been fast.

She had found a cosy, narrow place between two houses to sleep in the first two nights, but then soldiers with pikes had tried to hook her out and she’d only just managed to get away. Now she was here in this — alley — she supposed it was. There were no windows and only one bricked-up door. It did not look like anyone ever came down this way, and this was good, she supposed.

It was sticky, though, like old vegetables that have turned to fluid. She found a pile of black rags and got in amongst it and waited for the night.

The cold was like a fist. Misty vapours tried to slip under her clothes like dead fingers. She tugged Gwynn’s cloak tighter around herself.

Far above, in a ragged rectangle of sky, a fair moon navigated the misty clouds like a wandering dove traversing icebergs. For a moment, she imagined the wind wrapping around her, lifting her soaring upwards into the clear free air, but her weight pinned her down. She was like a rock at the bottom of a well, a bug at the bottom of a yawning grave.

“I am Fentallion, Miradel of Erin, daughter of the Lady Llaneth and the Macineurney,” she said to herself, trying to feel through the heat of the words to the certainty of who she was. But she did not feel it. She felt very small and alone.

A bloody scream echoed between the darkened buildings. It was a sound half-human, half-animal. A feral sound. She imagined a blended creature hunting through a forest of brick.

Raggedy wolves come knock knock knocking…

Three male voices drew nearer. Untamed voices. The flickering light from their torch flung grotesque shadows up against the wall.

She pressed herself into the corner, looked for some way to cover her brightness. There was nothing here but muck and rags, and the rags were full of holes, she doubted they would do the job. There was nothing for it. She scooped a lump of muck from the alley floor, and rubbed it over her face, her hands, every bit of bright pale skin that showed.

It oozed between her fingers. It smelt of old attics where the rain had got in.

She took an extra handful and mashed it into her hair, feeling the weight of it squishing the strands down against her scalp. The alley became dark, and she could no longer see the walls, but still the flickering glow of the torch built at the alley mouth.

Please don’t let them look. Please don’t let them see. Bulky shapes stopped at the alley entrance. They almost blocked it. They shoved each other, and one of them almost fell over.

Fen shrank back into pooled shadows, pressing herself into a shallow alcove. She gathered the rags up in front of her. The pile was pitifully small. Her eyes were wide in the darkness.

Still bright!. My eyes, they will see my eyes!

She squinted, covering them with her hand, peeping between fingers.

I am a rock, I am a stone, there is no Fentallion here.

There were three of them standing in the alley mouth, illuminated by the flickering orange light.

One was tall, thin and angular. He carried the torch. The shadows he cast were like a spider’s limbs against the bricks. The second was huge and broad. He had a simple face covered in scars. His nose was tiny and pressed up into his skull. His ears, equally little, were low on his head, almost at his neck. It was as though parts of him hadn’t grown since he was a baby.

The third man was smaller than the other two. He wore a tall black hat and his hair stuck out from beneath it in wild sooty tufts. In his hand, he held the leash of some kind of an animal. The creature’s fur was matted, and it made high-pitched quavering sounds as it snuffled at the ground.

Fen shrank down behind a heap of rags and watched the creature. It was hunting for something. Hunting for her?

The smaller man holding the leash raised one hand for silence. “Hush yerselves lads, Bessie’s found something. Greyling was right. There’s one down here for sure. We’ll dine well tonight, lads.” He fondled the back of the creature’s neck. “Oh, you are doing well tonight, my pretty. Smell it out, my love. Sniff the blood right out of it.” His eyes and teeth shone yellow in the torchlight.

Fen kept very still in the deep shadows, trying to disappear into the rough wall behind her. The foul little animal led the trio into the alley, towards her. There was something strange about it, the long sinuous back, the oddly jointed forelegs. The flat snout, the round head. It was human! A creature with the body of an enormous rat and a human face and human hands, stalking her. Not a wolf, a rat, with yellow nails and square human teeth!

“When they catch you, they hold you still, my pretty,” said the rat man holding the leash. ”They hold you still and take little bites, so you’d better come out nicely.” His animal was tugging him along. It looked hungry.

The torch guttered and popped, and gobbets of burning pitch were flung out from it, tumbling like fireworks, splashing puddles of fire down amongst the stones. “Careful with that light, you idiot,” snarled the rat handler in a graveyard undertone. “’Old it steady so we can see the meat.”

The torch bearer sniggered and performed an exaggerated pirouette, flourishing the torch about his head, sending half human shadows leaping from the ground.

“See all these lovely shadows dancin’ in the night my darlin’. Dancin’ a nice jig just fer the little one ‘idin in the dark. Come out of the dark, my little one, and see all the shadows dancin’ just for yer, ever so nicely. It’s like a show at the carnival, just fer you, only fer today.”

The big goonish man clapped his hands like a delighted child and laughed, deep and slow. He wiped his little nose on his sleeve, leaving a silvery snail trail.

Rat Man ignored them both, stooped, and muttered darkly into his animal’s ear. “That’s right, my pretty one, sniff it out. Sniff em all out one by one. There’ll be meat aplenty for you tonight.”

The men moved further into the alley, and in that moment, Fen realised that there was no help coming. In a few seconds, the torchlight would betray her. She cast about, panic rising, searching for some escape, but there was none. The alley was a dead end. The walls were blank, without windows or doors. Her foot struck against something solid, and it skittered over the stones.

“Oh yes, we can hear it moving now, my pretty,” Rat Man murmured to his animal. His yellow eyes were keen and steady. “It knows we’re after it. It’s a clever one, this one. Take it slow, my darlin’. Nice and slow catches the meat. Alley gets narrow back ere, but you’ve got nice long arms, ‘aven’t you my pretty.”

The animal stalked forward, placing its hands carefully, human eyes intent. The skin sagged around its blotchy head, hanging in jowls around its fleshy red mouth.

Torch Man flourished the light about his head once more, pirouetting like a trapeze artist. The wind rushing through the flame roared like monsters.

A chunk of blazing pitch flew free. She watched it tumble, very slowly, as though time were slowing. The rat-human creature crawled one step back, one to the side. The blazing fragment arced through the dark, tracing a slow parabola, and splashed right onto the back of the animal.

It squealed in pain, frantic, trying to get its hand up behind itself. It fell on its face, thrashing, then turned and bit Rat Man right on the leg and hung there.

Rat Man began hopping about madly, trying to shake it loose. The two other men howled with laughter, watching their friend stumble from wall to wall, trying to shake the half-human creature loose.

Fen took her chance. She sprang from the shadows, ducked through the circle of torchlight between thick legs and hairy grasping arms, out the other side and into the night.

“There it is! Get it, you idiots!” yelled Rat Man, still hobbled by the squealing creature.

Fen was running fast now, knees high, chin up, sprinting out of the alley with two big men pounding behind her. She ran like a machine, the same way she had once run with Tam or with her brothers, fists pumping, lungs pulling air, leaning into all the corners. She saw a light, headed for it, and was suddenly surrounded by people.

Men lurched across a cobbled street, singing, shouting, pushing each other, falling over. Painted ladies wearing corsets and lace stood together in small groups. Drunks screamed and laughed and shouted and vomited. She slipped between uncaring legs, and the sound of pursuit faded. Safe for a moment, she trod carefully in her shoes, avoiding all the puddles.

Suddenly brave, she walked up to one of the pretty ladies and tugged at the hem of her lacy gown. The woman stooped to look her in the eye. “Why, whatever ‘ave we ‘ere? It’s a girl. Bit dirty, but nice bones you got there. I’ll bet you scrub up well, like a little peach!”

Fen was out of breath. The woman was still bending down.

”Please,” whispered Fen. “I am Fentallion, Miradel of Erin, thirdborn of the Lady Llaneth. There are men chasing me. I have gold if you will help me.”

“Gold you say?” Said the woman in the lacy gown, suddenly twice as concerned.

“My mother is house Erinthor. My father is the Macineurney. He will pay well for my safe return. There are men hunting me. Please will you hide me, just for an hour?”

“Mack-a-mack, you say?” said the woman. “Can’t say I know ‘im.”

“What you saying to that girl?” Called another one of the painted ladies.

“Shut it Sue,” she yelled back. “Just a little bit of business.” She bent over again, close to Fen’s face. “You best come with me then. Stay close, hold my hand. I know a place where no one’ll bother you. The name’s Meg, by the way. Fentlen, you said your name was?”

“Fentallion,” said Fen.

“Fentallion, like from the old stories about them three sisters that died, only the fourth sister went away with her gentleman friend and lived happily ever after.”

Fen stifled a sob. “Yes,” she said. “Like that, but not that.”

“Oh, medeerio, you’re crying, don’t fret. It all comes out in the wash.” Meg leaned down and passed Fen a lacy handkerchief. “I’ll be wanting that back mind. Good lace, that is. A gift from a special caller. This father of yours, is he a rich man?”

“Oh yes,” said Fen. “He sails the Belonisian archipelago, fighting Paesk and hunting for treasure.”

“He’s got gold, you say?”

“He’s got chests full of gold on his ship. Whole trunks.”

“We don’t see much gold around here now. The king keeps it all in a big pile.”

They walked on together. The lights became dimmer, and the sound of voices receded. The lanterns were hung further apart.

“Who is the king here, please?” She asked.

“Who is the king!” Meg hooted. “Who is the King? What a question! He’s the Prince of Leaves, king of nothing. Old Nasnarieth, very old now, but ‘e never seems to die. He don’t bother me. I pay my quarter, and his lot leave me alone. Fancy asking who is king.”

So this was Erin then. It’s never cold there, and everyone is happy. Another lie.

“So if your so rich, ‘ow come you’re covered all over in filth then?” Said Meg.

“It’s a disguise,” said Fen. “I hid myself.”

All was quiet now, apart from the clip clip clip of Meg’s heels on cobbles. There were no lanterns, and the streets were deserted.

Into the dark places, where nobody sees.

She ignored the thought and concentrated on keeping up with Meg.

“Your eyes sort of glow,” said Meg, stopping and gripping Fen’s face in one hand. “Did you know that? First thing I noticed about you. Dirty face but bright eyes. You can tell a person by their eyes, did you know that. That’s it. Keep looking at me for a minute. Don’t look over there.”

There was a cough from the shadows.

Fen glanced away and saw Rat Man grinning right at her. She tried to push herself away but Meg grabbed her hair, getting her fingers in it, close to the roots.

“Thanks, Meg, we’ll take it from ‘ere.” Rat Man flipped a silver coin at the painted lady. It tumbled through the air, flashing in the moonlight.

“My pleasure ‘arry”. Meg swung Fen round and locked her head tight under one arm. With the other, she snatched the coin out of the air and inspected it. Fen kicked her legs and tried to bite, but she could’t get a purchase.

“Special one ‘ere. Eyes are shining.”

“Careful, she’ll scratch you.”

“Oh, I know what I’m doing, Harry.”

There was a schick sound, and suddenly Meg was pressing the tip of a knife to Fen’s forehead, just above the eyes. Fen went limp, staring up at the grey metal.

“She’s feisty,” said Rat Man. “Greyling will be pleased with ‘er. Per’aps we’ll get a bonus for this ‘un.”

“Pop by later if yer do ‘Arry, I’ll ‘elp yer spend it.”

“Still carrying my lace, Meg?”

“Needs a wash now. You alright to get this one loaded?”

Rat Man directed his two colleagues. “Put her in lads. Don’t let her get away again.”

Together, they lifted her in the air. Their hands were on her, and their arms were around her, and she scratched at them and bit them and wished for her dagger. It was like the trapper in the woods. She imagined she smelled bacon. Her breath felt trapped in her chest. Then they lifted her and tossed her into the back of a cart that stood by the road nearby.

She scrambled to her feet, slatted walls around her, a roof above. She sprinted back towards the hatch. The door slammed in her face. She pounded on the bars, spitting. To bite them and to scratch all their eyes right out of their faces.

“Oi!” Rat Man yelled at her. “Keep that up, and you’ll feel the back of me ‘and!”

“Careful”, Spider put a restraining hand on his arm. “Greyling likes ‘em clean and unmarked.”

“Oh, I won’t mark ‘er, don’t you worry,” Rat Man’s voice was low and full of menace. “’E won’t even know. There’s places where you can hurt a person and it don’t show, not on the outside no how.”

He glared at Fen, and she shrank into the shadows at the end of the wooden box, making herself small. The three men walked around the front and the cart shook as it bumped over the cobblestones. Meg waved her handkerchief.