corner of the underpass and think about … about how he died and be frightened. P’raps avoid using it altogether. So that’s why it’s here and that’s why there’s a bull. Right?’
‘Sure is,’ said Jonas calmly. ‘But sooner or later, people will forget and then the gate’ll vanish.’
Just as Jonas was about to dive off down the path beside number 27, a chunk-shaped boy with squashed-down hair hurried past them on his way home to lunch.
Nin stopped walking. Then started again. The boy hadn’t given her a second glance and a week ago she wouldn’t have cared a jot. She sighed. There was so much she could have done and hadn’t. Like taking the time to talk to Grandad back when he knew who she was. Like being nicer to Dunk the Chunk instead of snubbing him every time he spoke to her.
She glanced over her shoulder. To her surprise, he was glancing over his. Their eyes met for a single moment and she smiled at him. Dunk went vividly red and nearly fell over his feet. He turned his head away and hurried on.
‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing. Just … nothing. I remembered I never said thanks for listening.’ She shook her head. ‘Too late now. Hold on! Now we’re off the main road, give me those jeans.’
Jonas handed them over silently. They were loose on her and Nin had to roll them up, but they did just fine. The jacket – with the sleeves turned up – covered hertorn T-shirt nicely. At any rate, it would have to do, it wasn’t like she had much choice.
When they had left the dark hump of the underpass behind, Nin looked back. The hill-that-should-be-Dunforth-but-wasn’t rose in a sweep of green up to the clear sky. A soft breeze bore the scent of growing things and fresh water. There was nothing visible to suggest that murder had nearly been done here. Fortunately, there was no sign of Dandy Boneman either. Nin shivered at the memory.
As they travelled, she began to see that the rise and dip of the strange landscape before her matched the one she knew in the Widdern, like the distorted echo of a shape. The same but almost unrecognisably different. It came to her that if the gateways were links from one world to the next, then the two must lie together, the Long Land somehow overlaying the Widdern like a gauzy topcoat. Unseen, but just a step away.
Which meant that by now, they would be wandering across the high street. Buses would be hurtling along right where they were walking. And now they’d be sauntering through the brick walls of the supermarket. She grinned.
‘Shame you can’t create your own gateways wherever you want. You could be a super-thief. Locked doors, walls, alarms – no problem. Crown Jewels, here we come!’
Jonas laughed. ‘The security footage would make them sit up!’
A rustle in the bushes to their left caught Nin’s attention and she turned to see a fox slinking along in the undergrowth.
‘There was something odd about that fox,’ she told Jonas, trying to work out what it was.
‘Yep. Tell me, when in the Widdern did you last see a fox that red and with a brush brushier than an old bootlace? Look, the Long Land is not Alice’s Wonderland. You aren’t going to wake up and find it was all a dream, it’s as real as we are. Real enough to kill. But the things in it, well, they
are
kind of dream-like because they are the idea of things rather than the thing itself. So, the foxes are russet red, with thick bushy tails and sharp minds. Really sharp minds.’
Nin glanced back. The fox was watching them, its tongue lolling out and its head cocked on one side. It looked curious. When it caught Nin’s eye it flicked its ears nonchalantly and switched its gaze elsewhere.
‘They don’t … talk or anything?’
Jonas gave her a look. ‘Use that fluff that passes for a brain, please! This is not about stories come to life, right?’
‘OK,’ said Nin, humbly.
As they walked, Nin watched the woods. She saw tall trees and twisted ones, tiny flowers that glowed
‘Sure is,’ said Jonas calmly. ‘But sooner or later, people will forget and then the gate’ll vanish.’
Just as Jonas was about to dive off down the path beside number 27, a chunk-shaped boy with squashed-down hair hurried past them on his way home to lunch.
Nin stopped walking. Then started again. The boy hadn’t given her a second glance and a week ago she wouldn’t have cared a jot. She sighed. There was so much she could have done and hadn’t. Like taking the time to talk to Grandad back when he knew who she was. Like being nicer to Dunk the Chunk instead of snubbing him every time he spoke to her.
She glanced over her shoulder. To her surprise, he was glancing over his. Their eyes met for a single moment and she smiled at him. Dunk went vividly red and nearly fell over his feet. He turned his head away and hurried on.
‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing. Just … nothing. I remembered I never said thanks for listening.’ She shook her head. ‘Too late now. Hold on! Now we’re off the main road, give me those jeans.’
Jonas handed them over silently. They were loose on her and Nin had to roll them up, but they did just fine. The jacket – with the sleeves turned up – covered hertorn T-shirt nicely. At any rate, it would have to do, it wasn’t like she had much choice.
When they had left the dark hump of the underpass behind, Nin looked back. The hill-that-should-be-Dunforth-but-wasn’t rose in a sweep of green up to the clear sky. A soft breeze bore the scent of growing things and fresh water. There was nothing visible to suggest that murder had nearly been done here. Fortunately, there was no sign of Dandy Boneman either. Nin shivered at the memory.
As they travelled, she began to see that the rise and dip of the strange landscape before her matched the one she knew in the Widdern, like the distorted echo of a shape. The same but almost unrecognisably different. It came to her that if the gateways were links from one world to the next, then the two must lie together, the Long Land somehow overlaying the Widdern like a gauzy topcoat. Unseen, but just a step away.
Which meant that by now, they would be wandering across the high street. Buses would be hurtling along right where they were walking. And now they’d be sauntering through the brick walls of the supermarket. She grinned.
‘Shame you can’t create your own gateways wherever you want. You could be a super-thief. Locked doors, walls, alarms – no problem. Crown Jewels, here we come!’
Jonas laughed. ‘The security footage would make them sit up!’
A rustle in the bushes to their left caught Nin’s attention and she turned to see a fox slinking along in the undergrowth.
‘There was something odd about that fox,’ she told Jonas, trying to work out what it was.
‘Yep. Tell me, when in the Widdern did you last see a fox that red and with a brush brushier than an old bootlace? Look, the Long Land is not Alice’s Wonderland. You aren’t going to wake up and find it was all a dream, it’s as real as we are. Real enough to kill. But the things in it, well, they
are
kind of dream-like because they are the idea of things rather than the thing itself. So, the foxes are russet red, with thick bushy tails and sharp minds. Really sharp minds.’
Nin glanced back. The fox was watching them, its tongue lolling out and its head cocked on one side. It looked curious. When it caught Nin’s eye it flicked its ears nonchalantly and switched its gaze elsewhere.
‘They don’t … talk or anything?’
Jonas gave her a look. ‘Use that fluff that passes for a brain, please! This is not about stories come to life, right?’
‘OK,’ said Nin, humbly.
As they walked, Nin watched the woods. She saw tall trees and twisted ones, tiny flowers that glowed
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