The Wonderground

38 - The Red Castle

It was hot.

He had avoided using the Twopenny Line on the Wonderground. Too many prying eyes. People would recognise him. Instead, he had travelled north to the Tavern, where he had bought transport. Of a fashion. She was called Dolly, although she did not seem to answer to it. She had only cost him sixty qizils on account of a short leg. So far, the other three had not been much use either. Khorasans were built for fast movement over desert terrain. It would have been quicker if he had carried Dolly on his back instead. His bottom would have been less sore.

It was so hot.

He was losing faith in The Tavern landlord's directions to the Red Castle. He squinted against the extreme sun and gazed at the endless golden-yellow carpet that stretched away in every direction. He had kept the Tall Man's Watchtower on his left. Why was he not there yet?

He shaded his eyes and strained to see again. Sand blew into his eyes, up his nostrils and into his mouth. He tasted grit as it scraped against his teeth. He licked his salty lips and tried to spit. His mouth was drier than the long empty water pouch that hung limply around Dolly's neck, slapping uselessly against her mane as she hobbled onwards. There was no sign of the castle. Or any signs to guide him to the castle.

The khorasan made a gargling moan and her breathing was short and rapid. The man scrambled down to unburden her of his weight and felt shooting pains in both knees as he landed. He was getting too old for this. He laughed at his own sad joke and tried to remember the times before everything hurt or ached.

Dolly collapsed at his feet with a defeated grunt.

"Good idea," he whispered, too exhausted to carry on by himself. His vision was blurring and the sand started to spin around his scorched feet. As he slumped onto the belly of the beast, he was convinced he could see four more khorasans approaching from the East. Probably a trick of the heat. He blinked twice and tasted vomit in the back of his mouth just before he lost consciousness.

***

The ground floor living quarters in the East wing of the Red Castle were opulent and reserved for those closest to the Desert kingdom monarchy. The hulking, sweaty, underpaid and underworked castle guard laboured along the dark corridor. He had bad news and was attempting to delay informing the General. He reached an iron-plated door and rapped three times with the heel of his hand. Hearing no reply, he tentatively opened the door and poked his face through the gap.

"Forgive the interruption," whispered the guard as a charred vulture leg sailed across the chamber and struck him between the eyes.

"I am trying to eat my dinner, Gado!" screamed a voice from behind a curtain.

"Many apologies Razarac," simpered Gado, wiping thick brown juice from his forehead with the back of his hand and sucking the gravy from his fingers.

"I assume that the interruption means bad news," barked the voice. The curtain fluttered and the striking figure of Razarac appeared, his long curly hair tied behind his back. He adjusted a crimson facemask across his nose and wiped his hands on his muscular chest.

The guard cowered before the fearsome image of General Razarac, right hand man to the Red Prince Salinja. "It is Lilacbeard, he is defeated," admitted Gado. He could not see the General's expression through the mask but knew that the news would not be well received.

Razarac stood perfectly still and cracked each knuckle, one after the other as he reflected on the news. "He will head for Sunken Tooth," said the General eventually. "His sister..."

Gado stood by the door unmoving.

"Was there something else?" asked Razarac.

"We found an old man," said Gado nervously, "beyond the West Wall. His khorasan was dead and he was not long for this world. He claims to have been journeying to the castle to speak with His Imperial Majesty," explained the guard.