Soulgatherer, Chapter 3 of 6

Soulgatherer, Chapter 3

Chapter 3, In the Feverlands

Rachael followed Allayard back through the crowded city streets in a daze, and sat at her desk for the better part of an hour without really accomplishing much apart from moving things around. She wanted to leave early, but she also wanted to buy crystals from Allayard, so she had to wait until he was ready to leave, which seemed to take forever. Finally, just as her head was starting to clear a little and she was creating the outline of her report for the day, he walked into her periphery and gave a surreptitious little wave. She put down her pen, went to the log book, picked up another pen, signed out, and followed him out of the building.
“Rough day, huh?” he said, hands in his pockets. “Where do you want to do this?”
“My place?”
And so she found herself with Allayard in her apartment at the end of the work day, sitting with her in her cramped little apartment around her little dining room table, sharing steaming cups of tea.
“Today was intense, right,” Rachael asked, as Allayard pulled a small wooden chest, just small enough to be grasped one-handed, out of his carry satchel.
“It was...” he blew on the lock of the chest until it clicked open, “... quite unpleasant.”
“That poor woman,” Rachael said, looking into the chest as Allayard opened it and put it on top of the table. It was about three quarters full of pink shards of crystal.
“Not to mention all of the other families that were affected,” said Allayard. “Allegedly.”
“Right,” said Rachael. The crystals glowed hypnotically. “We’ll have to investigate that, of course. See if the magical signature from the workshop can be traced to the incidents claimed by their customers.”
“How many were you after,” Allayard asked. “Another fiver?”
“Let’s go for ten this time,” Rachael said. “Save you a trip.”
“Ten it is,” said Allayard, laying them out on the table. They sang to her in beautiful anticipation. She gave him his money, enough to buy a week’s worth of food.
She took a black felt satchel from a drawer and placed nine of the crystals in it, then took the tenth crystal to her kitchen, which was two feet away from her dining room kitchen table. She placed the crystal on her chopping board, took a small hammer and pick from another drawer, and placed the tip of the pick on the side of the crystal. Then she tapped the handle of the pick with the hammer, gently at first and then a little harder once she was certain of how hard the crystal was and how much force she needed. When she saw the crystal start to glow, she quickly put the hammer and pick down and took the pearl out of her pocket. She placed it on the aperture that she had just created in the crystal. At first only the crystal was glowing with an inner light and the pearl was a dull white, but after a few moments the pearl began to pulse in time with the crystal. After the crystal stopped glowing, Rachael took the pearl away, and it was now a rosy pink color. Good for days and days! Good for so long that she wouldn’t even have to think about it the whole next time she used it. That was good. That was comforting. To know that your whole session could be uninterrupted. Not a care in the world. Yes.
“Would you like to partake?” she asked, not because she particularly wanted to share or be nice, but because she wanted to start now, she was ready now, she had waited long enough and it had been a long day, and she didn’t want to be rude and just kick him out or go into the Pink without offering. He might not come back.
“Sure,” he said.
With a supreme act of will, she handed him the pearl to use first. He inclined his head and took it from her. He held the pearl between his thumb and first two fingers, and snapped his fingers against it. The pearl flared pink, briefly lighting up the room before returning to a regular pulse. Allayard brought his fingers halfway to his head and lowered his head down to meet where his fingers stopped. His face was still, eyes looking down at the table. One moment, two, then he straightened up and passed the pearl, nodding his head.
“It’s a good connection,” he said. His fingers were warm as she took the pearl from him. She placed it on her forehead. The world went pink. She closed her eyes and let her head loll back on her neck. Feelings dissolving. Self dissolving in the shifting patterns of pink on pink. Softness. Floating. Eventually, when she started feeling too empty, she dropped the hand holding the pearl to her lap. She realized that her mouth was open. She looked at Allayard fuzzily and closed her mouth. It made a soft snap.
“Hmmm,” she said. “Much stronger than when you gave it to me the other day.”
“That was a beginner dose,” he said. “Didn’t want to start you off on a full charge.”
“Smart,” she said, and giggled. “You must be an expert. I guess you do this a lot.”
“Something I picked up at uni,” he said. “A lot of the students do it. And some of the teachers, for that matter.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re working with us, Allayard. I’m glad that I’m working with you. I’m going to be a good partner for you. I think I’m going to be able to survive working at this place because of you.”
He smiled, laughed softly. She knew that she was acting like an idiot, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “You’re on the Pink, just like me, but you don’t seem to be affected at all. You must be pretty strong,” she said.
“Well, I...” he said.
“What happened to your last partner?” she asked. Where had that question come from?
Allayard looked at her with lowered eyelids, finally registering some kind of response beyond wry amusement.
“I heard there was some trouble with her,” Rachael went on.
“Yeah,” he said. “She left the company.”
“Why?”
“You’d have to ask Ribbenstock. Some kind of company policy she wasn’t comfortable with.”
“But you were her partner. Didn’t you talk about it afterward? Or during? I don’t know. Don’t partners talk?”
“It seemed to be something personal with her. Something she wasn’t comfortable talking about. And then when she left, it was very sudden. The company wanted to shield anyone still working here as quickly as possible from her, to avoid contaminating us with her discontent, I suppose. I didn’t even realize she had made her mind up, actually. She was here one day and then just didn’t show up for work the next.”
“I can relate,” Rachael said. “This job… it wears at you. We basically ruin people’s lives so that a handful of people can become a little richer.”
“What’s the alternative? Most folk can’t afford to deal with a major disaster.”
“The king could provide insurance for everyone. Just like he does for the roads, and the guards… the guards walking along the roads…”
“Then he would have to raise taxes, and we would all pay more anyway.”
The logic of his statement tangled up with the thoughts in her head. Coherent argument was becoming difficult. “I’d like you to leave now,” she said. “I’m very tired.”
He looked at her and smiled. “Sure,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”
After he was gone, she laid her face against the dining room table where she still sat. Images of a woman with a creature growing out of her flesh danced in Rachael’s mind, but far away, covered in layers of pink cloud. Rachael slept.
***
McDurgle was nursing a mug of wine at the Badger’s Hole, the tavern of choice for much of the Ravendish faculty. It was close to the campus but a little too pricey and stuffy for most of the students. News of his “academic leave” was slowly filtering through the school. Some teachers who presumably hadn’t yet heard would come into the tavern with a wave and a smile or polite nod, maybe pass a casual greeting. But as the days went by, more and more were stopping at the door, eyes widening or narrowing, before going inside, and if they stopped to talk, it was much more of the fishing for gossip variety. That was ok. He was doing some fishing of his own.
Sitting a few tables away from McDurgle was Dr Terrence Calthor, head of the Applied Thaumic Research department. He was drinking with a mix of wizards, city merchants and noblemen. They had pushed two tables together to accommodate their group. Calthor was commonly found in such diverse company. His department worked directly with the kingdom on developing its energy infrastructure. He worked closely with members of the court in shaping policies and construction decisions. He didn’t teach. His department consisted mostly of other professors and doctors, with a few postgraduate students assisting. Certainly no undergraduates, let alone primary or secondary students. In fact, he was a rather difficult man to make an appointment with. Which made it especially interesting that he was the last person Dalton Goodwill had visited before going to his lecture with McDurgle and turning into a giant spider.
McDurgle drained his mug, stood and went to Calthor’s table, standing beside the senior wizard. There were three or four concurrent conversations, all boisterous, and it took a few moments for the group energy to wind down and for a critical mass of eyes to turn upon him, but soon enough he had their attention, just by his silent presence beside them.
“Bill,” said Calthor, holding out his hand, “well met. I haven’t seen you about the campus of late, though our offices are but a short walk apart. Have you been well?”
“I think you know how I’ve been, Terrence,” McDurgle said, shaking the proffered hand. Calthor’s shake was firm and vigorous, the handshake of a man of action.
“I can assure you I do not,” said Calthor. “I don’t lay awake at night hoping to plan surprise meetings with you, as you apparently do with me.” The men around the table laughed heartily at this jab.
“You have meetings with my students,” McDurgle said. “So I would assume that you also have some idea at least about their teacher. Can I borrow you for a moment to have a quick word?”
Calthor’s lips compressed into a thin line. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said to the table. “A scholar must be ever available to his brothers.” He pushed back his chair and stood. McDurgle looked around. The tavern was busy. The table he had recently left was already occupied by new customers. He gestured to a side exit and they left the building to go out into an alley which, while just as crowded as inside, was at least crowded with people who probably didn’t know them or want to eavesdrop on them. It was about as much privacy as you could hope for when you were in public.
“Can I ask what the devil is going on?” Calthor asked once McDurgle had chosen a spot and turned to face him. “Student? What are you talking about?”
“Three days ago,” McDurgle said. “You must have heard about the students who died.”
“I heard there had been some kind of accident. I’m afraid I have been quite busy and didn’t have time to look into the matter very closely.”
“Is that so? People dying just a short walk away from you, as you say, and it doesn't move you to any kind of curiosity?”
“My job is life and death. No disrespect to you, professor. All tasks are essential to the smooth running of an armada, from the provisioners to the shipwrights, the lowliest sailors up to the admiral himself. I know that without your steadfast work, we will not have the future generations of wizards to keep our fleet sailing strongly forth. But my job is more... immediately pressing, shall we say? Like a captain engaged in a naval battle.”
What the fuck is he on about? McDurgle wondered. “Ok,” he said, “your job is important. You’re a busy man, and so on. So let me tell you what happened. My student was cursed and a monster came out of him, causing him to die immediately. Then that monster killed several other of my students before I could kill it. I traced the initial student’s movements back to before he came to my lecture. The last room he was in was your office. I would like to know why.”
Calthor looked at him. “Are you investigating this incident?” he asked.
“Not officially. But I want to know what happened to one of my boys, obviously.”
“In fact, what are your official duties right now? As I said, I haven’t seen you on campus lately.”
“I’m on leave.”
“Your suggestion or theirs?”
“Mutual.”
“So theirs.”
“Just until the matter has been sorted out.”
“It would seem to me, then,” Calthor said, “that I should not be talking to you at the present time. I’ll have a word with Forthswallis, see if there’s anything I can do to help him with the investigation. If there is anything pertinent that you need to know, I’m certain that he will share it with you. When he calls you back to work.”
“Can we just forget about official channels for a second and talk man to man? Just tell me why the boy went to see you.”
“Even if I did know, why should I tell you? He wasn’t your kin, was he? I assume you were just one of several of his teachers. What’s it to you?”
“He was... special. A special boy.”
“Oh, fancied him, did you?” Calthor leered. “Teacher’s pet? Was he shining your apple?”
“You disgusting smear of pond slime, tell me what the hellfire is going on or I’ll tell everyone about your involvement.”
“Involvement with what, professor? And honestly, who would even listen to you? I’d be cross with you for threatening me but it’s all really quite pathetic. Just take care, old man. It would be a shame for your academic leave to be extended any longer than it needs to be.”
McDurgle stood in the alley, buffeted lightly by the press of people going by, as he watched Calthor saunter back into the tavern. Insufferable pile of piss, he thought. He pulled a stasis bag out of his pocket. It looked like a regular black velvet bag, but anything placed in the bag would maintain its thaumic state for several hours at least. Then he carefully pulled off the glove of his right hand, the one that had shaken Calthor’s ungloved hand, and placed the glove in the bag. Then he went home, which was his quarters in Ravendish University. For now.
His living space was small, dominated by looming bookshelves and usually cozy, but as he entered it now he couldn’t help feeling a touch of claustrophobia, as though he were entering a prison, or a dangerous room with only one exit. The bookshelves were stuffed with books of course, but also candle stands and various wizardly bric a brac, such as the inevitable skull, and a stuffed raven which he kept as a warning to his pet, a currently living raven.
Now was the time to act, while Calthor was socializing. McDurgle gathered various items from drawers and benches and placed them on the floor. He pulled his worn rug and threw it into the corner. He placed his glove on the floor. He drew a circle around the glove with chalk. Then he took a vial of powdered mandrake root and sprinkled it on top of the circle. He placed four small amethysts around the circle, then drew a mandala that crisscrossed the circle, connecting all four points, but creating a space in the middle where lay the gloves. He sat down in front of the diagram he had drawn.
He spoke the words of summoning before he had time to reconsider, and the net was cast. There was a reaching feeling, pulling from his mind, from his soul, that part of him that existed on the magical plane, into the glove, and through... through the spaces, through dimensions unseen, through the plane from which he drew his energy and committed his miracles, to the origin of those fingerprints on the glove, the life force that connected those prints to a living being, where that force existed on that same magical plane.
He slowed as he drew near. Calthor’s thaumic essence loomed large and solid, like the size of a large boulder if one were to describe it visually. Not active, but compact and seemingly impenetrable. McDurgle wanted to penetrate, however. If he examined that structure carefully, he would be sure to find a crack, a hole, some way in. After all, Calthor was a man of the world, making connections with all types of people. He wasn’t the type to seal himself off from the world and develop his defences in bitter isolation.
And so, McDurgle probed. He extended his awareness, what he thought of as the fingers on his astral hands, onto the Calthor essence, and tried to feel around for something amenable to the application of pressure. Solid... solid... wait. This part here felt a bit softer. Yielding? He pushed harder, and his “hand” went into it. He visualized grabbing a handful of psychic defense, snapping it off and pulling it out, but his hand was stuck. He realized then that he hadn’t found a hole or a weak point, he had found the psychic equivalent of quicksand, and his spirit was being pulled into it. Or perhaps the Calthor essence was growing on him, travelling up his arm.
He took a breath without any lungs, calmed himself, and concentrated to move his body on the physical realm. It was like trying to control a horse by shouting commands at it from another room.
He watched from a point near the ceiling as his body reached onto a bench and pulled a bowl and pestle towards itself. His fingers fumbled against the pestle, picked it up. He swung the pestle at the bowl but missed it completely. The Calthor quicksand spread up his arm and over his shoulder.
He could be obliterated right now. He was exposed, vulnerable. He had to ignore the urge to run. Now, out in the open, seconds from destruction, he had to focus and take control.
The Calthor essence was enveloping him, but that meant it was also connected to him, much stronger than a mere fingerprint on a glove. Instead of fighting, he braced himself and let the essence pour onto him, then pivoted, spun around, and ran his own spirit along that channel, into the gap in the bouldery defense. He needed to cut this line before it consumed his mind, but not before he got what he came for, or it was all for nothing.
The boy. There! A split second was all he had. Image, ideas, impressions. For a white hot instant it was all there before him, crystalline, and then he had to shut it all down, the connection, the insight, and he went with it, down into oblivion, the vibrations of Calthor’s countermeasures shaking him to the core, breaking his mind to powder, burning him up, ashes blowing away in the maelstrom.
***
The cellar stank of animal, sharp blood and heavy musk.The innkeeper and the man guarding the door, who had gruffly and briefly introduced themselves as Tarn and Rodbit, respectively, were standing in a cellar with Lizel, in the pool of light cast by the lamp held by Rodbit. The pool did not extend far. The cellar must have been pitch black before they entered the room. They moved forward, and the fringes of the lamplight moved with them to spill against the far wall. Huddled on the floor was a young woman, dressed in rags of ripped dress and old sacks.
Lizel moved forward and crouched down beside the woman. First impressions: chain coiled beside her, connecting a manacle on her bloody wrist to an iron ring in the wall. Wild eyes in a wild face, pupils contracted. Feet scuffing at the floor, trying to push her away although her back was hard up against the wall. Sacks and barrels lurked at the edges of the shadows. With the four of them, there was little room to move. The air was foul.
“Leave me alone,” the girl said. Her voice was high but raspy and rough. “Just leave me here to die. The tide is rising in me again, I feel it. Please just leave me here in the feverlands.”
Lizel touched her forehead. It was indeed burning with fever. “Do you know me, child?” she said.
The girl looked at her briefly and then whipped her head from side to side, as if the act of concentration were painful. “I don’t know you. I don’t know myself. There are no names here. I have forgotten the names of my mother and father. I have forgotten the name of the babe that I ate.”
Lizel heard the door open, retreating footsteps. Tarn, unable to bear witness to his daughter’s awful testimony.
“I can help you, child,” Lizel said. “I can give you peace. Do you want that?”
“Kill me.”
“Probably. Maybe not.”
“Kill me!”
Rodbit lowered his mouth to her ear and said “When she was taken, the others tried it. Hacked at... the creature. Pierced its body. Half severed its head. It grew back together. Saw it with me own eyes.”
Lizel nodded. “I can deal with that.”
“The light is almost gone from the world,” the girl cried out in a strong voice. “I can feel it! Get away from me. Get away!”
Lizel quickly pulled off her gloves and tucked them in her belt. She would need full sensitivity to deal with this. She took out her seashell pendant and started rubbing at it vigorously. The girl’s skin was changing color.
Ah, woman. Magic woman. The voice appeared in her head. It was Copper. Something bad coming. Bad thing from before. Untie me from this table.
Still holding the pendant in one hand, Lizel put both hands on the girl’s head, one to each side of her face. The girl’s eyes were changing color now. The pupils, which had returned to normal after adjusting to the light, were shrinking again. No. They were elongating. Her skin was turning green and rough under Lizel’s fingers.
People are screaming, the rabbit said in her mind. His stench filling the air. He’s looking for you. If he finds me, he’ll hurt me to find you. Come, woman, come.
Distractions. Can’t let herself be distracted now with the spell already begun. Earliest lessons of her magical education: absolute concentration once the spell has begun, or the consequences could be untold. The girl’s face was changing shape now, mouth extending, new sharp teeth sprouting. She delved into the girl’s essence, found the other that was intertwined there, felt it sliding over her, pushing her down and away. Lizel found herself gripping a snout now, long and leathery. She pushed at the creature’s corruption on the spiritual plane, trying to force it back. It started retreating, slowly, so slowly, as she strained against it, but she was stronger. She felt the snout retreating, human color coming back into the face.
I think he’s gone, Copper said. Oh, thank the great Spirit, the smell is moving away from here.
There was a slamming from the top of the stairs. “Lock this door and hold it fast,” Lizel said through gritted teeth, never taking her eyes from the girl’s, which were shifting between blue and reptilian yellow.
“You expect me to lock us in here with her turning like that?” Rodbit said, his voice quavering and fearful for such a big strong gruff man. Everyone is tough until they see a girl transform into a werelizard.
“Just do as I say,” Lizel said. Sweat popped onto her brow. The girl’s face was almost back to normal, but a tail suddenly whipped around from behind her back and struck Lizel in the face, knocking her off balance and back onto the floor on her behind.
“Fuck that,” said Rodbit, opening the door. He left the lamp on a hook close to the ceiling before heading up the stairs.
“No!” Lizel said, and there was an almost instant answering scream from Rodbit. Lizel turned just in time to see his bloody corpse thrown back into the room before it hit her and knocked her off balance again and face first onto the dirt floor.
Now it was the girl who screamed. Lizel put her hands on Rodbit’s chest, already turning red from the blood pouring out of the hole in his throat, and pushed herself up to see the girl writhing on the floor. Human and reptile forms were warring for presence on this plane of existence. Snouts, tails, leathery skin would burst out of her body, only to be sucked back in and replaced by human parts, or grotesque amalgams of the two, as if she were a human and animal stew being whisked around in a pot, different pieces whirling briefly to the surface.
“You tricked me, woman.” There was a heavy creaking on the stairs. Lizel scrambled over to the girl, held her arm/front leg down, cast a brief spell, and scrambled away. Her manacle burst off just as the manticore padded into the cellar. “Hello,” he said. “What have we here?”
The girl was a human girl no longer, but a crocodile, ten paces long. And she was pissed. She leaped at the lion with shocking speed, long jaws snapping at the disturbingly human face. The manticore leaned back on his hindlegs and lashed out reflexively with the front, claws raking against the crocodile’s tough leathery skin. The crocodile twisted sinuously, baleful eyes looking for an opening. She bit at his flank, teeth not quite able to find purchase in that tough, broad hide.
The manticore danced to the side, shockingly light and nimble for someone weighing hundreds of pounds, and slammed a heavy paw down on the crocodile’s back, pinning her in place. The crocodile twisted and turned widely as the manticore lowered his face to her neck. His mouth wasn’t as protruding as a lion’s, but his teeth were as sharp, and he bit at the crocodile’s neck. The crocodile lurched convulsively and managed to shake loose. Lizel could see deep gauges in the crocodile’s neck that were already seeping blood.
The manticore and the crocodile struggled together, vying for purchase, smashing the wooden supports of the cellar to splinters with the force of their bodies. The crocodile was fighting ferociously, but was clearly being overpowered by the manticore. This was not the environment for a crocodile to win a fight.
Lizel rubbed at her seashell again and took a breath as tiredness washed over her. She forced her awareness into the spiritual plane, a difficult task when there are giant hellspawn fighting right in front of you, and sent it down under the ground of the cellar. Down, down. There. Water. She mingled her essence with that of the water, spoke to it, coaxed it, forced it back up, up, through the thick stone and earth.
She looked down with the part of her mind that was still in the cellar. Nothing. Nothing. Then, the floor had a bit of a gleam to it. She also saw the crocodile spring at the manticore, pushing him against a wall before he batted her away and pounced on her again. How brave she was. Or was it just blind animal rage?
As the manticore forced the crocodile onto the floor and pinned her down, Lizel saw a puddle form around them. Slowly at first and then faster and faster, the water oozing out of the ground turned into a steady pour. The manticore, not noticing at first, was raking at the crocodile’s underbelly, leaving long red cuts. The crocodile roared, a sound not unlike a lion’s roar, painfully loud in the confined space but with a deep guttural vibration behind it. It was the sound of an animal that wants to kill but is being killed. The manticore lowered his face again to bite and rend, and looked up at Lizel and grinned hideously, snout and fangs red and glistening.
Lizel - most of her - was riding the main body of water that she had pulled from underground reservoirs, and she and it were almost back up to the surface. As she looked down at the floor, she was also looking up at where she felt the cellar to be, her awareness split in two. Closer... closer...
The water broke through the floor, sending chunks of rock and hard packed earth flying, much of it hitting Lizel in the face and bringing her back to unity. The water was rising quickly now. It was around her ankles. It was at her shins. It had almost completely covered the crocodile and was lapping at the face of the manticore, who looked up in shock.
“What did you do?” he said.
“Tricked you again,” she said, slumping against a barrel. “Sorry.”
The crocodile was moving again. The manticore was holding her down, but the water was starting to give her buoyancy, and she wriggled free. The water was up to Lizel’s waste. Manticore and crocodile tussled again, but the manticore was having trouble moving now. He strained to move through the heavy water. The crocodile bit down on his neck and Lizel could see him try to fight back and then realize that he needed all his legs for swimming now. He managed to shake free and turned towards the door as quickly as he could. The crocodile bit down on his back leg. The manticore roared in pain.
The water was almost up to Lizel’s chin now. The ceiling wasn’t much higher than her head, but she got on the barrel for the few extra inches. She delved once again back into the spirit plain, her head swimming. Rabbit’s corpse bobbed in front of her, jostled by the manticore, who was being pulled underwater by the crocodile, who was dragging the manticore backwards step by step, his leg in her mouth.
Lizel entered into the essence of the water once more. There was more, much more. Now that she had created the channel, it would continue to pour through until there was nothing left, possibly turning this whole village into a small lake. Now that the channel had been created, it was much more work to stop it, like stepping in front of a boulder rolling down a hill was harder than giving it the first push. She stepped in front of it. It slammed into her. She grappled with it, strained herself. Finally, she cut off the channel. There was a final wave that strained to get through, but when she held firm, she faintly felt it retreat back to where it came from. Lacking her direction, much of it would now dissipate into the surrounding soil. The harvest would be much better next year. Or maybe worse, she didn’t know shit about farming.
She came back to herself again. The water was at her lips. Some of it had gone in her mouth, and she spat it out quickly, having no desire to drink the water these creatures had been swimming in. Indeed, she saw that it was hazy with blood and dirt now. The crocodile’s powerful jaws were once again around the manticore’s neck. The crocodile’s long body was moving sinuously left and right in the water, seemingly in plated segments under her scaly skin. In counterpoint, the manticore was thrashing and twisting, the two of them performing a frantic aquatic ballet that could have been called beautiful. The crocodile braced herself against the floor and shook her head violently. The manticore started to jerk and go stiff, and blood gushed out of it in a cloud, and Lizel decided it was time to go. She swam towards the door, no longer having any extra energy to worry about what would happen if the crocodile abandoned her prey and moved onto the other living target. Lizel swam, and death was behind her, and her clothes were heavy and the room was cramped and stinking, and death was behind her and maybe she could find the energy to care a little any more and she tried to swim faster and she started to breath heavier and when she got to the door she had to go underwater and when she saw the stairs she grabbed at them and pulled herself up and scrambled up half a dozen firm dry steps before looking back.
Nothing.
She went back down the stairs, ducked under the water, swam back to the entrance and looked. The lamp had miraculously continued to burn throughout this whole ordeal, but its light did not penetrate far into the water. Lizel could make out three dim figures floating nearby. None of them seemed to be moving by itself. Did crocodiles move around when they were resting? Didn’t they stay motionless, waiting for prey? They didn’t float around in mid-water. Did they? Lizel knew almost as much about the animal as she did about crop yields.
She looked again. There was no crocodile. The body beside the manticore looked considerably smaller. Lizel swam over, took the girl’s hand, and took her back to the world.