Puddlebrain

Chapter Twenty Three

"Hey-ho-me-daddio," she said jauntily.

Win, lose or die screaming, this was it. There was no point in worrying. Yes, she had said that not very long ago at all and was still dawdling, but now she was saying it again. Action was meant to speak louder than words and, at that moment, their actions were mute. They were standing at the back of the class, hoping they wouldn't be picked out for the show and tell they'd neglected to bring. Their actions were staring at the floor, avoiding eye contact lest they draw attention to their inactivity.

"Come on, Billy."

Puddlebrain stepped beneath the cloak of branches. Billy went with her. It was like being suddenly immersed in water. Sounds were muffled and distant. There was a pressure on the chest and a feeling of wading against a strong current that wanted nothing more than to wash you back the way you'd come! They fought against it, digging their heels into the earth to try and gain traction.

It was hard to believe that mere trees could exert such a force. In fact, these sensations could quite easily have been simply in their heads, dread dragging them down, but it didn't matter. The result was the same. Puddlebrain and Billy were moving as if in slow motion. It would have been easier to walk through thick treacle. As they moved forward, they also seemed to be moving slower as if the treacle was getting thicker. They could hear cracks and pops from far away and could see the branches unhurriedly claw down towards them. But they couldn't give up! Billy was sweating from the strain and Puddlebrain was tiring quickly. She imagined herself stuck there – too tired to either go on or turn back, held forever in the forest's web, a fly caught fast and waiting for whatever passed for a spider in the Grimace to come calling.

Then they were through. Both fell forward, released from whatever had held them. Billy was panting, his tunic stained with sweat. Puddlebrain stood trembling, one hand to her forehead and the other against the bark of an oak, then she fainted, collapsing in a heap across the gnarled roots. Billy rushed to her side.

He wasn't a doctor. He knew nothing about giving first, or even tenth aid. Gnomes, by their very nature, were not disposed to helping others. He had never so much as put a plaster on the cut finger of a child. They fended for themselves from a very early age – it was meant to be character building. As such, he had no idea whatsoever of how to help the witch. He could only cradle her head in his lap and wait. Puddlebrain's breathing was shallow, her face pale. He ignored the feelings of self contempt at actually caring. It wasn't gnomish. Well, he would just have to pick and choose the aspects of his race that he wanted to adopt. No one was here to judge except he, himself – and he wasn't going to tell anyone.

Billy looked around nervously. He was expecting silence in the forest. At first he thought silence would have been terrifying, but now he thought it would be quite nice. Whistles, twits, creaks and groans echoed around him, taunting him. The sounds snatched at his ears like rats at a corpse. The Grimace was hungry and Billy was food. He could see outside, beyond the trees into the Field. It was like looking through fog. Little Whimsy was shrouded, it seemed, in a mist that shifted and blurred. He knew the mist was only the edge of the woods and didn't extend to the town. It was a sort of barrier, one they should have heeded. He would have very much liked to still be on the other side.

Why was he kneeling here? Why was he holding the unconscious head of a witch? Why had he even entered the forest? He was always telling himself, and anyone within earshot, that he was a gnome! Gnomes didn't just do that! It was, he thought, a good job he was an exile. If word got back to Templemead of his distinctly un-gnomish behaviour, he'd most definitely be kicked out. But he couldn't leave her. She needed him, and that was something alien to a gnome. Gnomes needed no one and no one needed them. Except Puddlebrain. And her sisters. And the rest of Little Whimsy. It was awakening disturbing sensations within Billy – disturbing in that he quite liked them. He couldn't go. He wasn't even sure if the Grimace would let him leave.

So he knelt there, Puddlebrain's head in his lap, the twilight of the woods descending past dusk into night. The noises quietened to a whisper, something that only served to increase their sinister feel. The trees seemed to lean in closer, waiting for Billy's attention to wander or for him to fall asleep so they could pounce. He had tried patting Puddlebrain's cheeks to rouse her. It didn't work. Shaking her was futile too. She was barely breathing and the gnome had to keep putting his ear to her mouth to make sure she was still alive.

"Come on witch!" he hissed. "Wake up!"

But nothing worked. After a while he drifted off to sleep. It happened before he'd realised. Had he been given a chance, he would have fought to stay awake. He would have slapped himself to stop his eyelids becoming heavy. He would have bitten his tongue to stop the yawning and stretching he didn't know he was doing. Was it the forest's doing? Were the trees deliberately making that soft, rhythmic swishing sound to lull him into a slumber? Or was it the energy and excitement of the day taking its toll? Either way, Billy was soon snoring softly. Normally gnomes snored like erupting volcanoes, the sound was often loud enough to wake neighbours in the next street, but here it seemed even his snoring was afraid to make too much noise.