Whatever Happened to Cinderella’s Slipper?, Page 4

  ‘Faster Bess, faster!’

  I spur Bess on to a last, stupendous sprint; and Apsara and her horse follow too.

  The crack is closing once more. It’s narrowing, shrinking.

  We rush into what is now a ridiculously narrow entrance: but it doesn't open up immediately into a cave.

  We’re still hurtling down a narrow corridor running down the inside of the mountain.

  And the crack is continuing to close and narrow.

  *

  Chapter 10

  ‘Stay!’ I shout back towards Cer, Ber and Us as Apsara and I hurtle into the ever-narrowing crack.

  I don't want to risk them being caught up in this rapidly closing corridor. It might run too deep, entrapping even them.

  I can only hope they’ve obeyed me: I didn’t have time to look back to check that they had stayed outside, as I’d commanded.

  I urge Bess on to an even greater pace, realising that Apsara and her mount, being behind us, are in even more danger than we are; for the corridor behind me is naturally closing in even faster than it is around me.

  How long does this swiftly shrinking crack in the mountain go on for?

  Does it even open up into a cavern?

  We’re plunged into darkness as the entrance nosily creaks to a close behind us. But the corridor itself continues to squeeze in upon us, now forcing me to pull my feet in closer to Bess’s sides.

  My sword scrapes with clangs and clunks upon the relentlessly approaching wall. I have to duck low in my saddle to prevent my hat from being squeezed clear of my head.

  I’m on the point of giving up all hope that we’re going survive this hellish pit when, at last, I catch sight of what could be the oily yellow light of lamps.

  ‘Almost there!’ I scream back toward Apsara, hoping she’s keeping up with me and hasn’t already succumbed to the tighter squeezing of the corridor behind me.

  The dim lantern light is so far off it isn't strong enough to illuminate the point where the corridor at last becomes the cavern. It’s so dark here, it’s more to do with an abrupt sense of all-pervading airiness rather than any visual clues that signify that we’re safe, that we’re reaching the end of the tightly narrowing passageway.

  As the crack completely seals up behind us with a final rumble, we all tumble chaotically to the floor in a tangle of exhausted, flailing legs. Like me, Apsara is thrown from her saddle as her drained mount crumples to the ground.

  Thankfully, most of the more damaging energy of her fall is absorbed by the loose, tumbling roll she’s quite naturally thrown into. Even so, she ends up more or less alongside me in a crumpled, groaning heap.

  ‘Remind me,’ she grumbles, ‘why did I think it was such a good idea to leave the safety of that coach?’

  ‘Remind me,’ I painfully grumble back, ‘why I didn’t force you to get straight back on it?’

  The light of the lanterns is getting stronger; no, one of the lanterns is drawing closer.

  What seems in the semi-darkness to be an incredibly tall, ridiculously broad man is holding the lanterns.

  Something is slinking alongside him; something growling threateningly, something hissing.

  Apsara and I rise to our feet as these hybrid creatures unhurriedly approach and gather about us.

  But these aren’t little foxes.

  Neither do they appear to be friendly, going by their irate scowls, their snarling.

  What I now realise is a tiger has bared iron teeth.

  Alongside him, a large snake is rising up, baring its fangs, readying itself to strike.

  As for the man carrying the lantern, he’s actually a looming gorilla; and, with what seems to be nothing more than a simple shake of his free hand, a long-bladed sword effortlessly slips into his palm.

  *

 

  Our horses have clambered back to their feet, but we won’t be able to remount in time to get away from these ferocious – and no doubt incredibly swift moving – hybrids of metal, wood and animal.

  ‘We don't want to kill them,’ Apsara whispers to me. ‘Remember, they might once have been innocent men, like the foxes.’

  ‘We don't want to kill them?’ I hiss back in astonishment, nervously clenching the handle of the sword I’d hurriedly unsheathed. ‘It’s a gorilla with a sword, Apsara! I’m just hoping he thinks we’re two innocent little girls who don’t deserve to die!’

  Somehow, Apsara has managed to arm herself with her letter opener.

  Great; a fat lot of good she’s going to be in this fight. Unless the gorilla’s just come to tell us he’s having trouble opening his mail.

  I could try and figure out why Apsara just happened to have the letter opener on her, but I’ve got other, more important things on my mind at the moment.

  Like how to take on an armed gorilla, an iron toothed tiger, and a gigantic cobra. The latter might even be actually venomous, knowing my luck.

  ‘Their weak spots are their cogs,’ Apsara says, whispering to me yet again. ‘Jam something in there, and it stops the clockwork.’

  Staring more intently at the animals before us, I realise that she has a point; even in the dim glow of the lantern, the metal gears glitter like so many jewels, sections of their workings revealed where there hasn’t been enough fur or flesh to completely cover them.

  The tiger’s become a little bored with their steady approach. With a prolonged snarling, he rushes forwards, leaping up into the air towards me.

  Instead of obeying my instinct to step back in retreat from the tiger’s attack, I step forward and crouch slightly, deliberately bringing myself under the beast’s more exposed and vulnerable body. In this case, the tiger’s belly is even more open to the elements than its generally more fur covered top or flanks. I swing my sword up into the whirling cogs, forcefully jamming the blade home even as I swing aside to avoid the tiger’s falling body.

  The abruptly motionless tiger drops off to my side, landing on the hard ground with the dull thud of heavy sinew and the clank of machinery.

  I can’t withdraw my sword without letting the tiger spring back into life, unless I’ve damaged the cogs enough to ensure they remain immovable.

  Carelessly throwing his lantern aside – such that it shatters on thankfully incombustible rocky ground, the spreading oil bursting into a yellow fire that lights up the whole scene in an eerie, jaundiced glow – the gorilla throws himself upon me, his sheer bulk enough to send me almost uncontrollably reeling back.

  I retain enough control, however, to ensure I whirl aside as he brings his blade curling down towards me. Its tip strikes nothing but impenetrable rock, breaking off in a flurry of sparks.

  The shattering of the gorilla’s sword delays his assault long enough for me to regain my feet and withdraw from my belt two of the longest daggers, ones I’ve diligently practised with to use against the most expert of swordsmen. So when the gorilla strikes out at me yet again with a fiercely curving down stroke of his sword, I bring my blades together, catching his blade in their crossing point.

  The force of his blow is so powerful, however, that I’m forced back onto my knees once more. And, unlike when I’m facing any normal swordsman, I can’t summon the necessary strength to force his blade up and away from me.

  Worse still, I hear the slithering of the cobra as it passes by me in the shadows lying beyond the smashed lantern’s flickering flames.

  I fear a strike of venomous fangs, the monstrous serpent launching itself at me from out of the darkness.

  I sigh with relief as the cobra passes me completely by; then almost weep in fear and frustration when I realise its heading directly towards Apsara.

  The little girl’s white dress flashes yellow in the oily light, making her an easily seen target.

  The cobra glides like a lightning crack streaking across the ground. It strikes; and Apsara falls back in horror as the serpent gleefully closes its massive jaw around her tiny body, the fangs sinking in towards her chest.

 
*

  Chapter 11

  The gorilla’s strength is unimaginable.

  Bit by bit – especially now that he’s gabbed the sword’s hilt with both hands – he’s applying ever-greater pressure, forcing his blade closer and closer towards my head, despite my best efforts to hold it at bay.

  Thankfully, he’s still thinking like a human rather than a beast. A real gorilla would instinctively realise he only has to swat me with his free hand, the force of the blow alone probably being enough to kill me.

  As it is, his human intellect has persuaded him that the sword is the best means of killing me.

  He grins maliciously as he puts even more pressure to bear upon me.

  Instead of continuing with my attempts to resist this irresistible force, I suddenly twist my arms down and to one side, while at the same time slipping my body off in the opposite direction.

  With the abrupt removal of any resistance to the downward pressure he’s exerting, the gorilla topples forward slightly, enough to make him stumble and lose his footing.

  Swinging up and around, I plunge both of the long blades of my daggers into his exposed flank, hoping I don’t strike any hard fame beneath the fur, hoping instead that at least one of them will find a gap and sink deeply into its workings.

  One blade clangs heavily against a solid strut of the gorilla’s frame.

  But the other thankfully deeply penetrates, finding little resistance until it at last becomes embedded in the whirring machinery, seizing it up and bringing the beast to an immediate halt.

  The eyes still watch me, still glare angrily. The gorilla of flesh and blood is still alive, still aware; it’s just the general workings of this hybrid beast that have come to a halt. The body as a whole is frozen in mid action, as he had attempted to retrieve his unstable footing and raise his blade against me once more.

  I’m tempted to push this unbalanced, petrified beast toppling to the floor; it would take only the merest jab of a finger, despite his immense size. And yet the pitiful glow of his eyes dissuades me.

  Besides – there’s still the serpent to kill.

  The serpent who’s already killed poor little Apsara.

  In a flowing move, I reach for two more daggers, whirling around to look towards where I’d last seen the slinking coils of the cobra coiling across the floor.

  The coils are still there yet, strangely, they’re motionless, silent.

  ‘Your father’s men taught you well,’ Apsara says with a satisfied grin, taking in the stilled gorilla and tiger with an admiring nod of approval.

  ‘Apsara!’

  I’m so relieved that she’s safe, I almost rush forward to take her up in my arms.

  But that would be crazy.

  It would just be a sign of weakness.

  Looking more closely at the unmoving serpent, I see that its jaw is still wide open, frozen in mid strike. The cogs revealed deep within its throat have been stilled with the firm imbedding of the letter opener.

  Wow; how lucky must she be to have managed that?

  ‘My training was the best ther–’

  I stop, noticing that Apsara is staring at my hand.

  She’s seen that my finger has grown back.

  ‘Oh, yeah: there is that, too,’ I say.

  *

  Chapter 12

  ‘Do you want to explain how your finger’s returned?’

  ‘Wait, didn’t I see a fang going into your chest?’

  We speak at one and the same time, both requiring answers to questions that are puzzling us.

  Before either of us can attempt an answer, however, there’s a heavy clumping of metallic hooves behind us.

  Whirling around, we expect to be confronted by many more of these horrendous machines, perhaps under the leadership of the bronze horse.

  But the only creature standing relatively close to us is the mechanical horse. Many other beasts have gathered together behind him, yet they’re making no move to approach, let alone attack us.

  ‘Why have you invaded our home?’ the horse demands. ‘Why have you killed our friends?’

  ‘We haven’t killed them; only disabled them, I hope,’ I say apologetically, recognising that we are indeed invaders of his realm.

  ‘We can release them,’ Apsara confidently declares, ‘on condition that you command them that they mustn’t endanger us.’

  The horse nods his acceptance of these conditions; and as he steps towards us, he gives a shrug of his bronze plates, such that they glitter in the last of the lantern’s scattered yellow flames.

  And in an instant, he turns into something far more recognisable as a man.

  *

  As the man entertains us at his splendidly elegant dining table, I can’t help but notice that the flow of his movement is nowhere near as smoothly graceful as it was when he was the horse.

  It is this identity of a man that seems the more unnatural form for him.

  Like the other creatures here, he is constructed from an ingenious mingling of clockwork and metal with ligament and skin.

  The creatures who had resisted us have retired to other parts of this immense, innumerably tunnelled cavern, for only the tiger required repairs once Apsara and I had withdrawn our blades. Apsara had returned her letter opener to her bag, yet seemed to me to briefly scramble around in the bag as if searching for something else.

  Thankfully, the food being served to us is the same as we would eat within our own world, with only the nature of the servants and our host striking any odd note. Those serving the food are, surprisingly, more fluid in their movements than their master, though these creatures are more simian like than human, or only semi-beast, walking upright on curiously bent hind legs. The dull glow of their eyes, however, seem pained, pleading, and is pitiful to witness.

  These servants had set the table even as the man had walked towards us, inviting us to eat with him, as he would relish news of the world lying beyond his own realm. We admitted that we weren’t wholly informed of all events taking place within the new queen’s domains, yet even I had to grudgingly admit that she appeared to be making efforts to improve the wellbeing of her people.

  The Man of bronze purported to be unaware of any realm fitting this description, saying that none he knew of nearby benefited from either a king or queen who used their power wisely, yet he still insisted we joined him for a ‘welcoming’ dinner.

  The plates and cutlery are amongst the finest I’ve seen, no doubt made by the master craftsman who has made these hybrid constructions of man, beast and machine. There are napkins, too, with individual napkin rings; one of metal for me, of wood for Apsara, and one of a yellowy glass for the Man of Bronze. As soon as the napkin is pulled from the glass ring, however, the ring shrinks to a size more suitable for wearing upon a finger. Even so, the Man of Bronze places his ring by his plate, as Apsara and I do with ours.

  Whereas we eat hungrily, appreciating this opportunity to eat well, he only picks at his own food. Perhaps, as he’s constructed mainly of machine parts, he doesn’t need regular food in any great quantities.

  ‘I can’t fail to notice,’ he says at last, with tones of pride, ‘how you admire my creations.’

  ‘But we heard that you take people,’ Apsara says sniffily, ‘and it is these poor people you transform into your “creations”.’

  I had thought of challenging him on this myself, of course, as I hadn’t forgotten what the two foxes had told us: and yet I’d also had the good sense to remain mute on the subject, as there was little we could do about it at the moment.

  Far from being insulted by Apsara’s accusation, however, the Man of Bronze is thankfully merely amused.

  ‘Ah, so that’s what they’re claiming now, is it?’ he chuckles good-naturedly. ‘Yet the truth is, my dear, that I am as much their creation as they are of my own previously limited abilities.’

  ‘But…to take people…’ Apsara continues with her fruitless protest, ‘and transform them into…creatures?’ r />
  ‘Ah, but if you have heard complaints, my dear – which I can only presume you have? – then this is because they no longer fully remember their previous lives; recalling for the most part, as we all do, only the happier sections of our lives, and wilfully forgetting its worst aspects. In this way, they reassure themselves that they were once morally upstanding citizens – rather than outcasts and thieves – or healthy people with a lifetime of joy lying ahead of them – as opposed to the reality of ill health and an early death.’

  ‘But is this preferable to dying?’ I ask, recognising at last that I’m being ridiculously complacent to the suffering of these people, as if awestruck by my strange surroundings.

  ‘Indeed it is,’ the Man of Bronze insists, splaying his arms wide to draw attention to his own hybrid form. ‘For look at me: in this way, I too am still alive, whereas otherwise I would be undoubtedly dead. You see, I was once nothing but a maker of toys; ingenious ones, if I say so myself, that worked through clockwork, granting my creations a semblance of life. Envious of what they presumed must be my wealth – for I rarely sold my creations, being unable to part with my greatest treasures – a gang of thieves broke into my shop one night, viciously torturing me with my own tools in the vain hope that I would reveal where my “treasure” was hidden: when, of course, it was on plain sight all around them.

  ‘They left me for dead upon the floor of my own workshop, intending to return the following night, when they would rip apart even more of my shop and my treasures in their search for riches they could never hope to find.

  ‘In the darkness of my workshop, I heard first a whirring of gears quietly coming to life, and then the hesitant approach of my children. Those that could kneelt by me, weeping. Even they could see that my flesh, my sinews – even my innards – had been torn and shredded beyond use. I was no longer a man, but merely something you would more regularly expect to see upon a butcher’s slab, with barely anything keeping me alive.

  ‘I don’t know who it was amongst them who had the idea; but in a moment, they were dismantling a horse of bronze I had been working upon yet had not had time to complete. These pieces my children cleverly built around me, retaining the parts of me they could save, discarding those beyond hope; granting me a new body, with new muscles of clockwork, and flesh and bones of bronze and wood.