Drome was cold. Not the sort of cold that comes from opening the front door on a winter's evening to put out the milk bottles, but a deep, icy chill that reached deep into the marrow of his bones. His cycling outfit made only the feeblest attempt to shield him from the strong wind of his aerial journey. He'd read somewhere that his outfit's artificial fibres helped cool the body, dissipating the heat built up by cycling. Not at all what he wanted right now. At an altitude of a thousand feet rushing through clawing, freezing air, he really could have done with something a little more substantial.
As the hours had passed, the ground below his dangling feet had changed from rolling green hills and shallow, fertile valleys - dotted here and there with towns and villages - to an empty plain that ended at the sandy shores of a grey, heaving sea. It was during this part of his flight, passing over the white-capped, dull waves, that he started to feel the cold. By the time he reached another shore whose foam-lashed black rocks protruded from the sea like rotting teeth from grey gums, he was shivering uncontrollably. The land grew steeper and ever more jagged until it became a range of snow-topped mountains.
The wind had long ago ceased knifing through his cycling gear. Now it sucked at his being, leaching the last vestiges of warmth from his soul.
He felt like an airborne icicle, an impression that wasn't helped when he flew into a slate-coloured cloud and was pelted with sharp, stinging snow flakes.
The cloud obscured most of his view, but from time to time he caught glimpses below of mountains growing ever steeper and craggier, their summits drawing closer and closer to his feet. Part of his mind was appalled that he wasn't worried he would collide with one of the grim, forbidding peaks. But he was past that stage. All he wanted was an end to his suffering.
Or so he thought.
It was when the cloud cleared suddenly and he found himself in bright sunlight with a double peaked mountain looming directly before him. Reality reasserted itself and he realised he still had the capacity to worry. His heart lifted for a second when it looked like he was going to pass between the peaks unscathed. But he was slowly losing altitude and his concern rapidly turned to horror.
He was too low. The gap between the peaks was filled with a shoulder of snow and he was heading right for it.
The thought that he was about to be smashed into a million pieces crept glacially into his chilled mind, and with a feeble cry he braced himself for the impact. The slope swept towards him: ice, snow and rock blurred in furious confusion. With a dull thump, he hit just below the crest of the shoulder. Powder snow exploded outward from the opposite side and Drome burst through along with it, careened out of control down the slope for a few moments, then jolted back into the air.
Dazed and confused, he clawed the snow from his eyes, mouth and nostrils and his horror jolted up a notch. A vast, craggy mountainside loomed a quarter of a mile away straight in front of him. Black and large, it heaved up from its smaller siblings like an ancient Norse troll.
He dipped suddenly into a cloud, only to break clear a few seconds later, revealing the mountain's flank approaching at dizzying speed. He made feeble waving motions with his numb limbs and forced open his frozen jaw to scream. All he could manage was a strangled "Aaawk!" as he plunged under a massive rocky overhang.
To his surprise, he didn't crash into the side of the mountain but found himself hurtling down a long, straight cave. The uneven walls snapped past, then slowed as he decelerated until he was moving no faster than walking pace. His frozen toes bumped into the floor and the force that had carried him vanished. He skidded a few feet, then, like a melting snowman, he sank into a crumpled heap.
The last thing he saw before he passed into blessed unconsciousness was what looked like an enormous brown wombat bouncing towards him on stubby legs.
******
Once more Drome awoke to a world of aches and pains. His entire body felt like an overused punchbag, and it was with some reluctance that he forced open his eyes. His vision swam in and out of focus, but he saw that he was in a room with walls of stone and a heavy door.
And he was warm. Deliciously warm.
He raised his head and instantly regretted it. The room spun, and he dropped his head back. It hit something soft. A pillow? He smiled.
He didn't mind when the pillow moved and a hairy hand reached over from behind his cycle helmet and patted him on the chest.
Oddly comforted, he slid back into sleep.
******
Voices drifted into Drome's mist-filled head.
"It's waking up," said a voice from somewhere near his feet.
"Ugh. Don't go near it. It's probably diseased," said another.
"Don't be dramatic. Hollow sorts out things like that."
"Mostly."
"I grant you there are a few exceptions, but they're extremely rare."
"I'm only saying we should be careful. Hem."
Drome recognised the voices. They were the one he had heard in his mind when he had been in the grip of the force that flown him through the air. He tried to slip back into the mist, but reality has a nasty habit of intruding, and sleep fled.
"Hulger doesn't seem to mind," said the first voice. "Look at him holding on to the alien like it's one of his revolting offspring."
Drome opened his eyes and looked down the length of his body. There was the end of a brown, hairy, rolled-up rug draped across his midriff. It felt pleasant and warm. Below the rug he saw he was still dressed in his cycling gear, but the bright colours were looking a shade muted under the layers of dirt.
Past his feet were two creatures, one of whom had a body that resembled a twig insect on steroids. Its head was like an anaemic, tufted parsnip with a pair of large eyes. It was about seven feet tall and had four bony arms that were folded across its chest in a rather complicated looking arrangement. The other creature was two-thirds the first's height, with two short spindly legs and two arms protruding from a pear-shaped body. Its blue-grey head bulged up from the body without the benefit of a neck, blending into a broad face with three eyes - the central one larger than the other two - no nose and a wide, down-turned mouth. Both creatures were dressed in gaudy embroidered gowns and the shorter of the two wore a tall, black, round-topped hat that bent forward like a banana. It also carried a slender, black rod which it pointed at Drome.
His experience with Voormama's staff made Drome very wary of that rod. His insides congealed.
"Hulger, get our hostage the food and drink you've prepared," said the short creature with the tall hat. "It would be too bad if it went and died on us."
Drome looked around to see who the alien was talking to. He was in a medium-sized room with walls of stone. A stout wooden door was half open, and seemed to open into a corridor of similar stone walls. He couldn't see anyone else in the room besides the two strange creatures by his feet.
Abruptly, his bed shifted. He managed to utter a faint squeak before he found himself lying on a cold stone floor and looking up at a large, shambling wombat-like thing that was making its way to the door.
Drome sat up stiffly and painfully. The over-sized wombat - apparently called Hulger - stopped in the doorway and watched him with brown, soulful eyes.
"Go on, hurry up!" said the four-armed creature. Hulger slunk out of the door. "Now, can you, ah, understand what I'm saying?" This last was addressed to Drome, each syllable pronounced carefully.
Drome nodded.
"What's it doing?" said tall-hat.
"I think it was some sort of signal. Hem. Of course you wouldn't know about that sort of thing, seeing as you garflungs can't move your heads independently of your bodies," said four-arms.
"For your information, I do know about non-verbal communication," said tall-hat with a hint of peevishness. "But you can't be sure it's communicating with head movements. It might wobble its head around all the time." It glared at the tall, four-armed being. "In any case, we know it understands us because we've already talked to it." Four-arms looked blank. "We installed a mindlearn in its head," continued tall-hat in a deliberately slow voice. "We spoke to it before we levitated it. Remember?" Four-arms still looked blank. Tall-hat sighed. "With the 'demi-god from junk stunt'."
Comprehension dawned in four-arms' eyes, but it snorted and steered the topic back to the nodding of heads. "Of course it was communicating with its head. It only moved it after I spoke. It must mean it understands us. If wobbling its head means something, it's hardly going to do it if it doesn't understand. Hem. Therefore, it must mean 'yes'."
"Oh, for Bluter's sake! We've already established it can understand us before it even moved its stupid head. But you can't assume that particular head movement meant 'yes'. Maybe it does that every time someone speaks to it."
Drome's head ached, and he leaned back against the wall. He kept his eyes on the tastelessly dressed aliens and said, "I can understand what you're saying. I've understood everything you've said since I spoke to you in Amblesby."
"Amblesby?" said tall-hat ("I told you nodding its head meant 'yes'," muttered four-arms). "I seem to recall you mentioned that name before."
"It's my village. The place you kidnapped me from." Drome's fear turned to anger. "The place I want you to return me to. I've been through absolute hell what with being taken against my will, flown, dropped, beaten up and very nearly killed and half frozen to death! I demand you release me at once."
"You're not in a position to demand anything," said tall-hat. "You are our prisoner. Our hostage. And we are the ones making demands, not you."
"If I may interject at this point and make it perfectly clear," said four-arms. "You were, in fact, brought here, yes, as a captive of sorts, in order to facilitate our, um, undertaking, and not, as such, as a non-captive. Hem."
"Well, I'm glad you cleared that up," said tall-hat after a short pause.
Given it was so much taller than its comrade, four-arms tended to look down its nose at tall-hat most of the time, but that remark caused it to put a lot more effort into the job. "I think it's important that it understands unambiguously and in no uncertain terms what its position is," it said. "We don't enjoy the role of jailers, but we have to do what is necessary." It turned back to Drome. "Not that we, technically, are your jailers, hem. That role is being filled by Hulger, the voiceless, hairy person who has gone to fetch your food. I suppose we, that is Lord Ranthar" - it indicated tall-hat with a languorous wave of one arm- "and I, Lord Lungwil, are more, ah, custodians of sorts."
"You idiot!" screeched the recently named Ranthar. "Now you've told it our names! You should never give information to prisoners! We're supposed to be getting information from it!"
"Oh, you always think you know best, Ranthar. Really. You make me cross. What possible harm can come from this pathetic being knowing our names?"
"Knowing our names gives it power! And if Zharvak gets hold of this 'pathetic being' he'll wring our names from it and then where will we be?"
"You fret too much, Ranthar. Zharvak spends all his time eating and drinking. He has no idea what we're up to."
Drome felt his anger hitch a notch higher. "I don't care about your stupid names," he yelled. "I want to know what's going on. Why have you brought me here? How did Amblesby get to your planet?"
"Do you really not know how you got here? To Hollow?" said Lungwil. "Which, by the way, hem, is not a planet as such." It cast a sideways glance at Ranthar.
Ranthar's middle eye narrowed. "Hmmm. That's a bit worrying. It doesn't seem particularly well informed for a creature making use of interstitial travel. Perhaps it's only of a low rank in its society. It certainly doesn't look very important. Never mind, I'm sure it will be persuaded to part with its IT knowledge."
"What do you mean, it's not a planet?" asked Drome.
"Oh, you poor fool," said Lungwil. "Haven't you noticed the sky? The sun? The lack of horizon?"
"Stop!" screeched Ranthar. "What are you doing? Stop telling it things!"
"For Bluter's sake, telling it the truth about where it is won't cause any harm. Hem."
"How are we going to find out what it knows if you keep filling its head with things? This creature and its kind could be dangerous and the less it knows, the better." Ranthar's three eyes glared at Lungwil. "Well, apart from the things it knows already, of course. Those things will furnish us with the information we need to... well, you know."
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," said Lungwil. "How can we hope it knows as little as possible if we want to get lots of information from it? It really doesn't make sense."
"Forget it! Forget it! You just keep quiet and let me do the talking," said Ranthar.
The door opened and Hulger shambled into the room carrying a tray bearing a cup and bowl.
"Put it on the floor next to the, ah" - Lungwil looked at Drome - "What do you call yourself?"
"Drome," said Drome.
"Next to the drome," continued Lungwil.
"Drome's my name, not what I am," said Drome. "I'm a human."
"There, you see?" said Lungwil to Ranthar. "You think you're so superior, yet I have already elicited some information from the, ah, human. Information that we did not know. Yes. Hem. Even though I have told it a few trivial things myself, I have learned important things from it. It is called Drome, and it is a human."
"Oh very good," said Ranthar. "In the time it's taken Hulger to go all the way to the kitchens and fetch this... this human's food you've managed to establish what it calls itself and its species. Zharvak would have had that information - and more - before it had even finished waking up and opened its eyes."
"Who's Zharvak?" asked Drome.
"Zharvak is the most despicable, hateful being you are ever likely to meet," said Ranthar.
"Now you're telling it things," said Lungwil. "Notice that I did not say anything. Hem."
"Shut up! For the life of Bluter, can't you see I'm trying to set the mood," exploded Ranthar. He glared at Lungwil, who looked back blankly.
"Intimidation," said Ranthar sotto voce from the corner of his mouth.
"What?" said Lungwil.
Ranthar launched into another scathing verbal attack on Lungwil. Drome was distracted by Hulger, who had sunk into a heap next to him and was gently pushing the tray of food towards him. Feeling too nervous to eat, Drome ignored the gesture. Hulger pushed the tray an inch closer. Drome ignored him. With a sudden lunge, Hulger wrapped an arm around Drome, grabbed the bowl with his other arm and tried to tip the contents down Drome's throat.
"Hulger! Put it down," shouted Ranthar. Hulger dropped Drome and gave a loud sniff.
Drome scrambled as far away from the woolly creature as he could. It was all getting a bit too much. "Leave me alone!" he said.
"Look what you've done," said Lungwil. "You've upset it just as we were getting somewhere."
"Stop calling me it," said Drome. "I'm a person! A man!"
"Eh?" said Lungwil. "You mean your species has genders? You use sex to procreate? How disgusting."
"There you go telling it things again!" screeched Ranthar.
"I haven't told it anything this time," said Lungwil.
"Yes, you have! You've just told it that we garflungs and you sleamarians do not have genders!"
"No, I didn't! Hem! All I said was-"
"I don't care!" said Drome. "Stop bickering! I think it's about time you gave me an explanation, like why I'm here and what you intend to do with me."
Ranthar turned around and folded its skinny arms. "I give up. It still doesn't realise its position. We ask the questions."
Lungwil looked at Ranthar's stiff back, shot a glance at Hulger who appeared to be sulking on the other side of the cell, then looked back to Drome. "Actually, it's quite simple," it said. "We have abducted you for three reasons. One, because we need a hostage to ensure your people's cooperation; two, so that we could, ah, interrogate you and find out all you know about IT and the way your, ah, people are likely to react to... well.. events, hem; and three, to.. ah, that is..." Lungwil stumbled to a halt. "What was the third thing, Ranthar?" he asked.
A faint hiss came from Ranthar's tightly clenched jaw and it rocked from side to side in short, abrupt movements, like an over-wound clockwork toy. With a sound like air escaping from the pinched neck of a balloon it said, "Why not tell our prisoner everything? Why not invite it to join us?"
"That wouldn't really work, would it?" said Lungwil, nonplussed. "It wouldn't be our prisoner then. And how would we explain a new member in the court to Zharvak?"
"I was being facetious, you fool! Of course we aren't going to invite it to join us." Ranthar turned back around.
"Then why did you mention it?"
"Because... Oh, I'm not going to say. It will only start you off again."
"I wouldn't join you anyway," said Drome. "You're a pair of idiots."
"Oh idiots, are we?" said Ranthar. Its centre eye grew larger while the two outside ones fluttered in agitation. Drome could see right into its mouth which appeared to be devoid of teeth but had an alarmingly serrated tongue. "I'll show you. Yes, I certainly will." It stepped towards the door. "Come Lungwil, seeing as this human wants to play difficult, we'll have to be more forceful with our questioning. Hulger, prepare the interrogation chamber." It straightened its hat and strutted out the door, followed by Lungwil.
Hulger regarded Drome with an unreadable look before he too left the room. The door clanged shut and there was the sound of bolts rasping home.
Drome waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps, then, as is required of all unjustly incarcerated prisoners, he sprang to the door to try to open it. The handle had been removed and there was nowhere to grip on the wooden surface. He banged on the door in the faint hope the bolts holding it shut would spring open. It didn't budge, not even a hair's width. He gave it a stinging slap and hurt his hand.
There was a small window high on the wall opposite the door, but he couldn't reach it. The light seeping through it was grey and cold, which matched the cheerless white light that found its way past the cobwebs covering a translucent panel set in the ceiling. There was no chair, no bed, not even a pallet of straw, just the four dirty stone walls and the even dirtier hard stone floor. A grille set in one corner of the floor exuded a smell that put him off any investigation of it.
He sank down and leaned against the wall. He couldn't put his head right back because his cycle helmet got in the way. He considered taking it off, but somehow he felt safer wearing it. He tried to push down the flap of plastic torn by Heyglmama's club, but it sprang back up again.
What were they going to do with him? Why did they want to question him about IT? He hadn't seen any computers since he'd arrived, but that didn't mean they didn't have any, he supposed. If he was honest, he didn't know as much about computers as he pretended to. He probably shouldn't have mentioned he was an IT technician. Maybe they would have abducted someone else if he'd kept quiet.
His belly rumbled and his eye wandered over to the tray Hulger had brought in. He shuffled on his backside over to it and looked inside the wooden bowl. It held an unappetising looking yellow jelly spotted with little brown lumps.
It's probably poisoned, he thought, but his stomach rumbled again. He lifted the bowl to his mouth and took a cautious sip. It tasted surprisingly good and before he knew he was gulping the contents noisily. Something fibrous slipped onto his tongue. He chewed it briefly, and when it didn't break up, spat it out. It was a tightly folded wad of paper.
******
On the level below the one where the human was being held, in a dank windowless room ten paces square, Hulger went methodically from device to device, checking the dials and strut switches. Brown and black cables spilt like entrails from three wooden cabinets containing frameworks of complex geometric shapes. Each framework was about two metres high and dense with intricate patterns of interlaced rods and struts. In the centre of the floor, surrounded by a web of cables, was a single uncomfortable-looking chair.
Despite his large body, Hulger moved easily and his fingers flew nimbly over the frameworks, testing and tweaking the major sympanetic junctions. He smoothed the shaggy fur on the nape of his neck, then tugged the leather straps on the chair's arms and legs, to make sure he'd fixed each one firmly in place. There had been a variety of chairs in the storage chamber next to the interrogation room, but he'd chosen this one because it was sturdy and had looked about the right size and shape for the odd, colourfully dressed human the two courtiers had abducted.
He stood back and looked at his handiwork, then left the room. A few moments later he returned with a small, pink cushion which he placed on the chair.