A couple of floor tiles buckled upward. A heavy gray vapor started to pour out.
“It must be somewhere at the end of a passage,” said Ludmilla. “Come on.”
Arthur looked down at the mists coiling around his feet.
“I wonder how you can do that?” he said. “It’s amazingly difficult to get stuff that does that. We tried it, you know, to make our crypt more…more cryptic, but it just smokes up the place and sets fire to the curtains—”
“Come on, Arthur. We are going.”
“You don’t think we’ve done too much damage, do you? Perhaps we should leave a note—”
“Yeah, I could write something on the wall if you like,” said Reg.
He picked up a struggling worker trolley by its handle and, with some satisfaction, smashed it against a pillar until its wheels dropped off.
Windle watched the Fresh Start Club head up the nearest passage, pushing a bargain assortment of wizardry.
“Well, well, well,” he said. “As simple as that. That’s all we had to do. Hardly any drama at all.”
He went to move forward, and stopped.
Pink tubes were forcing their way through the floor and were already coiled tightly around his legs.
More floor tiles leapt into the air. The stairways shattered, revealing the dark, serrated and above all living tissue that had powered them. The walls pulsed and caved inward, the marble cracking to reveal purple and pinkness underneath.
Of course, thought a tiny calm part of Windle’s mind, none of this is really real. Buildings aren’t really alive. It’s just a metaphor, only at the moment metaphors are like candles in a firework factory.
That being said, what sort of creature is the Queen? Like a queen bee, except she’s also the hive. Like a caddis fly, which builds, if I’m not mistaken, a shell out of bits of stone and things, to camouflage itself. Or like a nautilus, which adds onto its shell as it gets bigger. And very much, to judge by the way the floors are ripping up, like a very angry starfish.
I wonder how cities would defend themselves against this sort of thing? Creatures generally evolve some sort of defense against predators. Poisons and stings and spikes and things.
Here and now, that’s probably me. Spiky old Windle Poons.
At least I can try to see to it that the others get out all right. Let’s make my presence felt…
He reached down, grabbed a double handful of pulsating tubes, and heaved.
The Queen’s screech of rage was heard all the way to the University.
The storm clouds sped toward the hill. They piled up in a towering mass, very fast. Lightning flashed, somewhere in the core.
THERE’S TOO MUCH LIFE AROUND, said Death. NOT THAT I’M ONE TO COMPLAIN. WHERE’S THE CHILD?
“I put her to bed. She’s sleeping now. Just ordinary sleep.”
Lightning struck on the hill, like a thunderbolt. It was followed by a clanking, grinding noise, somewhere in the middle distance.
Death sighed.
AH. MORE DRAMA.
He walked around the barn, so that he could command a good view of the dark fields. Miss Flitworth followed very closely on his heels, using him as a shield against whatever terrors were out there.
A blue glo
w crackled behind a distant hedge. It was moving.
“What is it?”