“Well, I slept like a log,” Erica said as she stretched and swung her legs out of Sarah's bed. “How was the death trap, by the way?”
“It was great, you should definitely swap back.”
“Oh, I will, Sarah, dear. Just as soon as you unbolt the murder-spring from underneath my bed and drag it back down to the workshop. And after we melt it down and make something much safer out of it, like a nice sword.” She threw her dressing gown over her third favourite pair of pyjamas and put her hand under the bed to retrieve her slippers. “Mine now,” Sarah said as she flopped past her sister. “They come with the bed.”
“Your face comes with the bed,” Erica shouted as her sister rounded the corner. It was very early in the morning, and she thought it very reasonable to not expect biting wit from someone until at least early afternoon.
***
“I don't want you to think you're being forced to go. It's likely going to be very dangerous. Mr. Rasmus and Mr. Tirren are going to be there, so I know it won't be like last time, but I'd still prefer you not to come with us. If it is somehow father, he can come back with us. You don't need to be there.” Sarah looked at her and said nothing. “I'll put that down as a maybe, then.” Erica knew if Sarah wanted to come, she would. In fact, it would be far safer for her to be there with them, than to wander off by herself again. She had to give her the chance, that's what big sisters were supposed to do. She'd never actually met another big sister, but it at least seemed like that’s what they were supposed to do, in theory. “Where's the cereal,” she asked, checking the cupboard. Sarah opened her mouth and pointed at the wheat-y disaster zone that was the last of the cornflakes. “They do not come with the bed, don't even say it.” Sarah made a mental note to say it and filed it away for later. “Listen, I'm going to check in with Mr. Rasmus, see if he has everything ready for tonight,” Erica said as she made her way upstairs to get ready. “Is it too much to ask that you don't get yourself killed before I come back?”
“Yes, just a bit.”
“Okay, but do it quietly and stay out of the bloody workshop.”
***
The swelling on Erica's legs had gone down slightly and the scratches had started to scab over as nicely as anything could scab over, which definitely wasn't nice, so she removed the padding and slipped on a comfortable old pair of work trousers. They hurt a little, but she expected she'd live with it. In an unusual act of fastidiousness, Sarah had brought Erica's boots back into the house and given them something that came dangerously close to a clean and set them neatly in the corner by the dresser. Perhaps she was coming down with something. She slipped them on and gave each toecap and quick rub on the back of her trouser legs for good measure. She slid her dress over a plain white shirt and clipped on her least-hated tool belt and looked in the mirror. “You look like you've been dug up and hit with the shovel, my dear girl. It's on now, so it'll have to do,” she said to herself as she ran a brush through her hair.
It was a little frosty that morning, but it looked as if the sun was threatening to do its job for once, so she had somewhat high hopes of it being a little warmer than it was a couple of days ago. That said, she was still looking forward to seeing what outdoor wear Mr. Rasmus could scrounge up. Everything about Mayflight was idyllic, except for the weather, which seldom understood the general aesthetic that the town was going for. That was never really much of a concern for the Huberts, so they never felt the need to stock up on warm clothing. During Winter, their days were spent flitting from one house to the other, from one roaring fire to the next. They never actually spent a great amount of time outside, and they weren't ones to complain about it. As for the rest of the villagers, anyone that worked outside would make sure they did everything they needed during the warmer months, or they'd simply close for the season, like with Mr. Tirren's forge. He much preferred baking bread anyway, and he'd exhausted the demand for his supply of metalwork. This meant that his Summer months were still mostly spent making bread, with the occasional bit of repair going around to keep his arm in.
Harry stood outside and hopped from one foot to the other, partly to resist the cold, but mostly, she suspected, due to his almost complete inability to do something quite as boring as stand perfectly still. Occasionally he'd sidle towards the door, then quickly back again, almost willing himself to knock this early in the morning. She headed downstairs and picked up the toy gun on the way out. She'd left it standing by the front door so she wouldn't forget or make the mistake of leaving it in the workshop, where things just tended to disappear forever. She opened the front door and held both the gun and a small pouch out in front of her. “I reckon you've a better use in mind for this than I do.” Harry gave her a hug, then delightedly accepted the gift. Even if you were to be generous, Erica couldn't be described as tall, but Harry still managed to only come up to her waist.
He was still young, much younger than Sarah, and he hadn't started to take much after his father yet, at least not in regard to his size. In every other respect, he was Bosco Tirren to a tee; he was kind and childish and silly and quite wonderful, and very much everything she had wanted her own father to be. Harry opened the pouch and produced the wibbly-wobbly glasses from in amongst the many rubber balls Erica had gathered. They were easy enough to make, and she quite expected at least one of the Tirrens to have fired them all into the river by the end of next week. Next week, she thought, that's getting a bit ahead of yourself.
Harry skipped down the path and back towards his own front garden, turning halfway to smile and wave, but never stopping his dance in between. She closed the door behind her and started off towards Mr. Rasmus' house. When she arrived, Mr. Rasmus was fastening the last strap on an old burlap knapsack. Its many pouches and pockets seemed full to bursting, and what appeared to be an equally old bedroll was strapped to it.
“Camping, dear girl!”
“But we're not camping, surely?” It seemed to her like a ridiculous notion. She'd only been playing down the danger of the whole thing in her mind, because if she dwelled on it, she knew she'd have never gotten this far. But camping? The whole thing sounded bloody ludicrous.
“Not if we can help it, but even without the lights, the woods are a dangerous place at night. We don't know how far we'll need to travel, but if things go badly, we may need these supplies.”
“So, how goes your part of our endeavour Ms. Erica?”
“It's going well, Mr. Rasmus. As I said, the lantern is unfairly heavy, and it hasn't been without issue.”
“How so?” Rasmus double-checked his list.
“Well, most of the weight of the lantern comes from the battery, and doing anything with that is beyond me, so I've had to save weight wherever I could. And that meant losing most of the housing. It's much less protected against the elements, but I've made sure that the main components are at least waterproofed.”
“And what about transport?” Rasmus placed a tick at the bottom of the list, next to two more and neatly folded it. He placed it in his breast pocket and gave it a reassuring pat.
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“We've placed it in a small cart, which will hopefully work for most of the trip, but I expect we'll have to carry it at some point. If these things won't come out during the daytime, it would probably be a good idea to take the lantern into the woods now rather than in the dark. We can use the torches to reach it, get the most out of the battery.”
“A very good idea, but first on to more pressing matters. I have my own ideas, but what exactly do you intend to do when, or if, we find the lights again?”
“I don't think they're dangerous,” she said.
“Go on.”
“They were terrifying, yes, but they never hurt us. They could have hurt Sarah or worse, but they didn't. And they were fast, Mr. Rasmus. I don't think I could have outrun them even without being injured, and certainly not with Sarah. They followed us, of that I'm sure, but having thought about it, I'm not sure they chased us.”
“So we attempt to communicate with them, then?”
“Yes. And I want to ask you if you'd be willing to stay behind. Your help with this has been so important, but if this goes as badly as it could, and if I've been a complete idiot and misremembered everything, we could be in terrible, terrible danger. If we have to run, I'm so very afraid for your safety. You know your leg is getting worse, Mr. Rasmus.”
“And what about Sarah? Why are you bringing her?” he asked.
“You know what she's like, Mr. Rasmus. Asking her to stay behind isn't going to work. Her last trip didn't put her off like I hoped it would and-”
“-You're worried she'll be a nuisance and get herself hurt,” Rasmus finished, though he knew Erica herself would never have used the word nuisance.
“Yes, I'm afraid so.”
“Well, then, if you try to leave me behind, I promise you I will be such a nuisance,” he said with a smile. “Now be a dear and carry these packs up to the woods, my leg isn't too good these days. Thank you for reminding me.” She didn't know how exactly they were going to carry any of this equipment through the woods at any point of the day, quite frankly, but especially at night. It had taken her ten minutes to move the knapsacks from the house to the mouth of the woods, and that was less than a couple of hundred yards. Erica dropped off the last knapsack and crumpled unceremoniously to the ground, using it to prop up her exhausted form and give the impression to anyone watching that she was still borderline functional. Her muscles ached, her vision spun, and her stomach contemplated surrendering its contents. She closed her eyes.
***
“I have a question.” Erica awoke some time later to find Mr. Tirren knelt beside her, a puzzled look on his face.
“I was just resting my eyes, Mr. Tirren. Fire away.”
“Why are we carrying sacks full of rocks with us?”
“Rocks?” Erica asked, her tone filled with just a hint of really very bloody angry. Mr. Tirren opened the side pouches of each knapsack in turn and removed large rocks.
“Rocks!” he said, making no effort to be quiet. Rasmus put his teacup down and shut his book. “Oh dear,” he said and made his way to the front door. Erica came raging down his front path, billowing forth a steam of invectives and epithets that made Mr. Tirren alternate between giggling and wanting to cover his ears. He’d packed the rocks back into the knapsacks and was quite contentedly trundling along a pace behind Erica carrying all three.
“You get out here right now, you old sod!” Rasmus gave it a second, then opened his door – just in time to see Erica unpack a rock and hurl it through his front window. The small ornate vase behind it shattered and scattered water and flowers across the floor.
“Please, there's no need for that, Ms. Erica!” Rasmus protested.
“There's every bloody need, now tell me why, because I quite fancy trying for an upstairs window this time.”
Rasmus opened his door wider and beckoned them both inside. “I'm sorry. I wanted you to change your mind, and you wouldn't listen. Whether you want to hear it or not, you're exactly like your father. I begged him, begged him, to not go chasing them, chasing those things. And he did, and now he's gone. Why do you think I did it? I'm desperate.” He limped towards the kitchen table and poured himself a fresh cup of tea. “This was without wit or decency, but I thought I could at least get you to wait a few days longer by convincing you that you still weren't well enough. And you aren't, you just can't see it like we can. I'm scared for you.”
“And so am I,” Mr. Tirren said. “But it's not my place to stop her, or hurt her in the process.” A growl crept into his voice. “Take them back,” he demanded, throwing open the front door and stomping over to retrieve the knapsacks. “And do them properly or not at all.” Mr. Tirren collectively dropped all three on the porch. The boards groaned and cracked under their weight. “I'm sorry about the porch, Emmanuel, I'll repair it when I get back.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tirren,” Erica said. “For everything, but especially this. I'm sorry we're both causing so much trouble for everyone.”
“Are you sorry about the window?” he asked, not a hint of intention in his voice.
“No, not particularly. I don't think I am.”
“Me neither. Come on, let's get this lantern into the clearing.” He grabbed the wagon by the handle and slowly pulled it behind him. Erica knew that he didn't really need it. She also knew that he probably wouldn't notice if she clambered on the back, at least for a little while. He didn't.
***
Erica serenely watched the world sedately move from one end of her vision to the other as the cart gently rattled its way through the woods on its thick rubber wheels. It was actually quite nice out here, she thought. A little dull, sure, but nothing to do for a change. That would change soon, of course it would, she knew that, but future Erica would have to deal with that. Present Erica was going to have a nap, and future Erica could just naff off if she had a problem with it. The cart rumbled to an abrupt halt and she found herself jostled against the lantern, her ribs pressed against one of the pointier bits of the exposed frame. She startled awake and tumbled out of the cart. “I take it we're here, then,” she said with an unobstructed view of the sky.
“Listen.” Mr. Tirren tilted his head from one direction to the other. Erica got to her feet and sat down on the edge of the wagon, and was just about to ask what was going on when through the trees came a faint and eerily familiar sound – a whirring, crackling sound, starting almost imperceptibly and quickly rising to a high-pitched static. She could almost pick out something behind the noise, another sound entirely, but every time she could affix to it and focus long enough to hear something, it was almost like the overlaying sound would increase in intensity and frequency in response.
“I thought they only came out at night,” Erica shouted over the rising tide of white noise that filled her ears. The sound was becoming unbearable, she felt her gorge rise and her stomach once again threatened to push the button on her breakfast. Mr. Tirren sat on the ground, propped against the side of the wagon. He had his hands clamped to his ears, desperately trying to filter the sound that was assaulting his far more delicate ear drums. And then it stopped, and the woods were without sound. Not a tree bristled in the wind, not a bird chirped in the sky, not a stream bubbled or gurgled. Erica shook off the worst of her disorientation and crawled towards Mr. Tirren. She was on the ground, but she didn't remember falling. Mr. Tirren's eyes were bloodshot and he struggled to regain his balance. He could taste the iron tang of blood in his mouth. He’d bitten his tongue, but he likewise didn't remember doing it. He sat on the edge of the wagon, its rudimentary suspension sagged and protested under his weight. “Mr. Tirren, I think we have a problem.”
All around them, sections of the forest floor began to open at right-angles, props of wood keeping them open, giving view to tunnels below and the yellow lights that moved within the unnatural darkness of those confines. The lights pulsed in sequence, and a low-pitched beeping rose from out of the tunnels. She suspected this might have been the barely audible sound behind the static, but she wasn't sure of much right now. Mr. Tirren rubbed his ears and rose shakily to his feet. He removed a short-handled blacksmiths' hammer from his belt and held it aloft. From within the wall of static, he picked out the same sound that Erica had, but it wasn't just one sound, it was several that overlapped, each distinct in tone and intensity. He wasn't sure what they were, but he knew they were talking.