We drew back because the little creatures were moving forward, tightening by considerable degrees the circle they had formed around us. They were jabbering and grunting, and a pair of them poked us with their little blades.
“Oi!” I cried out. “You can keep those ruddy things to yourselves.”
The creatures drew even closer.
I took a sudden step forward. This obviously surprised them, and as a group they jumped back. The one who had spoken before grunted again to his fellows. He was taller than the others and seemed to possess an air of authority. I turned my attention to him and said, “Can you speak my language? Can you speak Wugish?”
And I received another shock. One so great I thought my heart had stopped.
Slowly walking toward us was, well, he looked like us, meaning like a Wugmort from Wormwood. He had all the applicable parts and he had no grass growing on those parts.
“Cor blimey,” muttered Delph, who obviously had also seen him.
The male stopped right outside the circle of creatures, who had respectfully parted to allow him to pass.
I said, “Are you a Wug?”
The male stopped barely five feet from me. He was tall and had on a green cloak and I could see pointed shoes poking out from under the hem. He was elderly; his hair was white, as was his beard. His face was lined and remarkably pale; in fact, it competed with his hair for which was whiter. Then it occurred to me that if he lived down here, the burn of the sun would never touch him.
“Not anymore,” he answered in a high-pitched voice. “I left long ago.” He looked at the creature that had grunted before, and started speaking to him in a fast, guttural speech that was impossible to follow.
Again, my mind was seized with dire thoughts. Was this bloke inhabited by the Outliers? Or was he an Outlier himself? Back in Wormwood we had been told of these fiendish Outlier creatures that supposedly lived in the Quag. We had been warned they wanted to invade Wormwood and kill us all. And it had terrified all Wugmorts because we had heard these creatures could look just like us and could even inhabit the minds of Wugmorts and make them do their bidding.
The male pointed to his right and said, “This way, if you please.”
My heart in my throat, we headed in that direction and the creatures followed.
We passed from the large, tall cave to a small tunnel, which was nevertheless well lighted with torches on the wall.
When we entered a high, broad room of stone, the male stopped so abruptly I almost walked into him. He motioned Delph and me past him and into the cavernous room. Harry Two obediently followed.
When I looked around, the breath seized in my lungs.
There were little niches in all the walls that rose up as high as I could see. And in each of those niches was a—
Skull.
It was as if hundreds of sightless eyes were staring at us.
I looked over at Delph and found him gazing upward too. Poor Harry Two started to whine. The entire space reeked of death.
The male turned to look at me. “Do you know what they are?”
I nodded, my stomach churning. Had he brought us here because our bones would soon be joining these? “Wug skulls,” I said fearfully.
“Look more closely,” he said with a sweep of his hand.
I stared more fixedly at the skull closest to me and then at numerous others. I looked back at the male.
“These aren’t Wugs.”
He said, “They are creatures of the Quag who seek to harm us.”
I crept closer to another skull on a lower niche. It was undoubtedly a frek. I recognized the jawbone and the long fangs. Next to it was an amaroc. I had seen a skull of one of those at Delph’s place in Wormwood.
I looked back at the male. “Did you kill them all?”
He chortled. “Not personally, no.”
“How, then?” I asked.
The male looked me up and down. “Who exactly are you?”
“My name is Vega. This is Delph. The canine is Harry Two. We’re from Wormwood.” He said nothing to this. “Have you been here long?” I asked.
“Longer than your tally of sessions.”
“You have retained your Wug speech nicely,” I observed.
“Indeed,” he said, staring at me.
“What do you call this place?” I asked.
He looked around. “The Kingdom of Cataphile of course.”
Delph said, “What’s a c-cat-cata-whatsis? And who’s the bloody king?”
“A cataphile is a collector and keeper of bones. And as you can see, we fit that criterion rather fine. As for the king, here I am. At your service.”
He gave a sweeping bow to us.
“You’re the king?” I asked incredulously.
“King Thorne,” he answered with a dignified air.
I said, “How do you go from being a Wugmort to being a king here?”
He spread his hands. “Well, I largely fell in a hole, as did you.” He took on a dreamy expression. “There is much to be said for falling in a hole. It opens up a world of possibilities.” He paused. “ ’Tis a humble, darkened kingdom, but ’tis my own. And thus makes it right and just and plenty, and, most notably, my home.”
Delph and I exchanged nervous glances. I was beginning to think this bloke was more than a bit barmy. “And what are they?” I said in a small voice, with a glance at the creatures with grass growing on them.
“They are ekos. That is the Wug translation anyway. They are the highest form of life down here. Except for me of course.”
“I know there are other creatures dwelling on the surface of the Quag. But you mean there are other forms of life down here?”
“Oh, yes. The Quag has an abundance of life of all kinds. But come. We will give you refreshment and a place to sleep.” He turned.
I stood there openmouthed. Refreshments and a place to sleep? The Kingdom of Cataphile? I had imagined the Quag to be many things, but not this. It was turning out to be, well, quite civilized. But then again, I was still very much on my guard.
“We ought to be going, Vega Jane,” muttered Delph.
The king whirled around and looked at me with a face as though I had just told him I was a garm in disguise.
“Jane? That is your full name? Vega Jane?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“And are you related to Virgil Jane?”
“He was my grandfather. Did you know him?”
“Yes indeed. Is he well?”
“No. He suffered an Event.” I now knew this to be untrue, but I had no reason to share that with him.
“An Event? Well, well. And Virgil too, of all Wugs.”
He turned to one of the little ekos and grunted a few times. Several of them raced off. He turned back to us. “As for leaving this night, I’m afraid that is impossible. The Quag is a dangerous place even at light. At night you will not survive. Now, are you hungry?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but headed off at a good clip, passing through another opening in the stone.
We hurriedly followed, with the remaining ekos right at our heels.
I drew close to Delph and began to whisper. “I don’t like this bloke. He looks like a Wug, but how can he be?”
“Right,” Delph hissed back. “We woulda heard if a Wug left for the Quag. Like with Herms.”
“He might be an Outlier.”
He shot me a glance. “Thought there was no such thing.”
“Who knows for certain, Delph? I was prepared for freks, garms and amarocs, not a Wug who has his own bloody kingdom of ekos with grass growing on them. None of this was in the book of the Quag that I found at Quentin Herms’s cottage.”