I clear my throat. Nothing happens.
I clear it again. “My name is Basilton Pitch,” I call out loudly. “I’m here to ask you a question.”
One of the big rocky things starts to tremble. I hold the fire in its direction. And my wand.
The big rocky thing opens like a Transformer into a bigger rocky thing that seems to be wearing a giant oatmeal-coloured jumper.“You,”it rumbles in a voice like roadworks.
It’s a familiar rumble. I feel the walls closing in on me, and my mouth tastes like stale blood. (Blood’s thicker when it stales; it clots.)
“You,”the thing says.“You killed some of us.”
“Well, you kidnapped me,” I say. “Remember?”
“Didn’t kill you,”it says. There are more of the things now,ca-runching around me. I don’t see where they’re coming from, but there does seem to be less debris lying around. I try to make out their faces—everything about them is yellow-grey on yellow-grey. They’re like piles of wet cement.
“You were well on your way to killing me,” I say, “but that’s not why I’m here. I came to talk to you.”
I’m surrounded by them now. It’s like standing inside a stone circle.
“Don’t like talk,”one rattles out. It might be the one in the jumper again. Or it might be this one, right next to me, wearing an electric blanket, the plug dragging behind it on the ground.
“Too cold to talk,”another growls.“Time to rest.”
That’s right, I forgot. Numpties hibernate. I must have woken them. “You can rest,” I say. “I’ll leave you. Just tell me this one thing…”
They rumble to themselves.
“Who sent you after me?”
The numpties don’t answer. I feel like they’re moving closer to me, even though I can’t see it happening.
“Who sent you to take me?” I shout. I’m holding my wand in the air, my arm coiled back behind my shoulder. Maybe I should already be casting spells at this point, but killing them won’t bring me answers. And what if they fight back?
Are they already fighting back?
It suddenly feels like I’m squeezing between stone walls. They’re closing in on me, pinching around my left arm… around the fire in my hand…the fire.
“If you crush me,” I yell, “my fire will go out!”
The crunching stops; I think they’re standing still. They seem to settle in sloppy slabs around me, around my hand. How long do they think I can stand like this? (And why don’t they just move somewhere tropical?)
“Tell me,” I order. “Who sent you to take me?”
“Won’t say,”one of them answers. It’s like listening to rocks being broken into gravel.
“Why not?”
The wall behind me lurches closer.“Told us not to.”
I stand straighter. “Well, I’m telling you otherwise.”
“Kept us warm,”the biggest one says.
“You don’t look warm.”
“Kept us warm for a while,”it says.
“Told us not to talk,”grumbles another.
