Dangerous Ideals: Hollow, #2

Hollow – book two

Dangerous Ideals

Kent Silverhill

Visit Kent Silverhill’s website for info about Hollow and Kent’s other books.

You’ll find a wealth of detail about things like the characters in the books, the types of magic, and the different species in Hollow. There are also articles about how Hollow’s weird sun works, a map of Skarnelm and more.

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CHAPTER ONE

The Hunt

DROME’S MIND WAS dragged from sleep like a reluctant cat on its way to the vet. Still half awake, his nostrils twitched, then his eyes sprang open when his nasal passages registered the smell of smoke. His first horrified thought was he was back on the burning ship, but then he remembered the jolly boat and the sea and...

Neve!

He pushed himself into a sitting position. His fingers sank into soft sand as they took his weight.

It was night, and he was on a beach. The evenshine from the other side of Hollow spread a soft light over the sea. A small fire burned nearby. Next to it, several sticks had been pushed into the sand and his cycling clothes hung from them, stirring in the gentle breeze. His cycle helmet lay on the sand below them.

Did you have a nice nap? said a voice behind him. It had the unmistakable tones of a certain female skeleton.

Drome twisted his head around. Neve stood behind him. She was dressed in her own clothes again. He glanced back at his cycling gear, then down at himself. He was naked.

You’re safe! I was so worried about you, he said. He put his hands over his man bits and kept his back towards her.

I see. So worried that you fell asleep rather than look for me?

I nearly drowned! And I then I passed out. Er... How did you survive?

Lucky for you I don’t injure easily. I also don’t drown.

Oh. Yes, I remember... Um... Thanks for the fire.

"At least I look out for other people."

There wasn’t anything Drome felt he could say that wouldn’t result in another withering response, so he just shuffled his buttocks closer to the fire. Could you pass me my clothes, please?

They’re not dry.

I don’t care. I want to put them on.

You’re closer to them than I am. Get them yourself.

Drome huffed and stood up. Stop watching me.

Oh, for goodness’ sake. How do you think your clothes came off in the first place?

He hadn’t thought about that. It doesn’t matter. I still would like a little privacy, please.

Neve snorted and turned around. It’s not like you have anything worth hiding.

Drome ignored her and pulled on his damp clothes. It was good to be back in his cycling gear. As he fastened his helmet strap, the clasp caught painfully in his stubble, but he was happy to be wearing the plastic bowl on his head again.

Feeling whole, he surveyed their surroundings. The clouds had cleared away; the sea was a lot calmer; the beach - as best he could see in the half-light - was deserted and stretched away into the distance; and on the landward side, a line of trees and bushes swayed in the wind.

He sighed. He and Neve were safe on dry land. Nobody was trying to kill him, and they even had a fire.

Sorry if I sounded ungrateful. Thanks for drying my clothes, he said.

Dont’ mention it. It wasn’t hard to make the fire. There’s plenty of driftwood on the beach.

I was wondering about that. How did you light it?

I used a flint and striker, of course. What a weird question.

I thought... Well, I didn’t know you had a flint. I thought you’d used magic to light the fire. Like Voormama would have.

Magic? I thought kynbar used sympanometry.

I don’t know what that is, said Drome. All I know is Voormama had a stick he shot fire from.

That sounds like sympanometry to me.

I still don’t know what sympowhatsit is.

Sympanometry. Did his stick have a shape made of twigs or something at one end?

I think so.

There you are then. The twigs would have made a sympanetic shape which generated the fire. It isn’t magic, it’s science.

Well, it looked like magic to me.

Simple people think things they don’t understand are magic. You should try opening your mind.

Drome’s eyebrows shot up. I’ve done nothing else since coming here. I’ve learnt loads of new stuff. It isn’t easy being snatched from your own world and dumped into a crazy new one.

Neve didn’t reply. She put a few more sticks on the fire then said, In the morning we’ll head inland and hopefully find a road. Maybe even meet someone who can point us towards New Bristol.

New Bristol. It sounds so ordinary. I wish I was back home.

Look, I don’t like to dash your hopes, but you aren’t going to see Earth again.

I’m sure there’s a chance we can get back. Ranthar and Lungwil certainly think so, and they seem to know more about it than anyone else.

When you say ‘we’ I assume you mean you and your Amblesby friends. I’m not leaving Hollow.

But… I thought you would want to go to Earth. It’s where you came from.

No, I was born here. My place is in Hollow, said Neve. Why would I want to go to a planet I’ve only ever heard of in stories?

Didn’t you say your parents were from Earth?

No. My great-grandparents were from Earth.

Drome finished lacing his shoes and then sat down near the fire. I should have remembered. You’re only helping me because you want to get rich and get the rest of your body back.

Exactly. That’s right. Neve turned around. I’m going to get some more firewood. She stalked off into the darkness.

Drome stared into the flames. Bloody stupid world. And bloody Neve. Always getting him into trouble.

That isn’t fair. It isn’t Neve’s fault she wants her body back.

He put his forehead on his knees and wrapped his arms around his legs. He was just about to rock back and forth when a hand grabbed the front of his helmet and pulled back his head. Something cold and sharp pricked his throat. He froze.

There is a good lad, said a gravelly voice behind him. Do not move and do not say a word. When I saw you I thought to myself, ‘Who is that in a uniform sitting all alone by a fire on the beach?’. So tell me: who are you and what are you doing here?

Drome kept silent.

What is the matter, son? The point of the knife pressed a little harder and quite painfully into Drome’s neck. Cat got your tongue?

You said not to say a word, said Drome between clenched lips, as though speaking in a ventriloquist’s falsetto would somehow bypass the man’s threat.

Trying to be clever, are you?

No, squeaked Drome.

Then answer my question or I will carve a slot right through your throat.

Please don’t hurt me.

Do as I say and I might let you go.

I’m human.

I can see that, dickhead. I will make it even simpler. Are you a Revenue man?

No. I was shipwrecked and washed ashore.

You are sure you are not from the Revenue?

Yes! I’m sure!

The pressure suddenly left Drome’s neck, and he fell forward onto his hands. He coughed, rubbed his throat where the knife blade had nicked him, and turned to look behind him.

His attacker was human. A man. He was unshaven with long, black, greasy hair; deep-set eyes and brown teeth. He looked like he’d spent a very long time in his stained grey trousers, tattered boots and torn, dirty green coat.

Who are you? said Drome.

I am the one who did not kill you, said the man. Of course I may change my mind if I find out you are from the Revenue after all. That is all you need to know.

No one likes the bloody Revenue, said Drome, remembering how the Duggae’s captain had reacted when Neve had told it they were being chased by the same in Skarnelm.

That is correct, said the man. He waved his knife in Drome’s face. I am keeping this handy in case you forget.

Forget what? That I’m still not anything to do with the Revenue? snapped Drome. He flared his nostrils but didn’t dare move.

The man grunted. I can be forgiven for thinking that. You are wearing a uniform after all. Unflattering as it is.

It’s not a uniform. It’s my cycling gear. And you can keep your opinions to yourself, thank you very much.

I will say whatever I damn well like, said the man. He glared at Drome, then added, Is it a sailor’s uniform? Were you on board that burning ship? He nodded in the sea’s direction.

Yes.

What cargo was she carrying?

I don’t know.

Now you are being evasive. The man leaned forward and raised his knife closer to Drome’s face.

Neve hurtled out of the darkness behind the man. Alerted by Drome’s expression, the man began to turn around just as a heavy branch swung through the air and hit him on the side of the head. He dropped like a bag of rocks and his knife fell from his hand. Neve picked it up.

Found a new friend? she said.

Thanks, said Drome. He isn’t very friendly.

Who is he?

I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. He was asking what cargo the Slasher Queen carried.

Oh, I see. A ne’er-do-well who saw an opportunity for some scavenging.

The man groaned and rolled onto his back. His eyes fluttered open, and with another groan, he sat up. His grubby fingers gently explored the side of his head. Ouch! It hurts, he said. What did you do that for?

I seem to recall you had a knife to my companion’s throat, said Neve.

I did not mean anything by it. Anyway, he looks like a soldier. One cannot be too careful in these parts.

Where exactly are these parts? said Neve. When the man gave her a sullen look and pressed his lips together, she raised her stick.

He lifted his arm defensively. All right! All right! You have come ashore in the Mattins Zone. Dangerous parts like I said.

Neve lowered the stick. She shot a glance at Drome. The Mattins Zone…

The man lowered his arm and stared at Neve. Why are you covered up? What is wrong with you? Are you sick?

None of your business, said Neve. How far are we from New Bristol?

Three or four days. Could be I am heading there myself. I might let you accompany me.

You can bugger off, said Drome. We’re not going anywhere with you. Only a few moments ago you were threatening me with a knife.

A misunderstanding, said the man. We are friends now.

Drome puffed in disbelief. Friends? How can you think that? It’s been all knives and sticks so far. Not what I would call a good basis for friendship.

I am prepared to forgive you, said the man.

Neve tapped her stick against her leg. It made a sound like two pipes being knocked together. All right, you can travel with us, she said a little unexpectedly.

But we have no idea who he is! He threatened to kill me! said Drome.

Sir, as your companion points out, said the man to Neve. I have been remiss in not introducing myself. My name is Oswald Spoon, a seeker of fortune.

More like bloody misfortune, said Drome. "We can’t trust him. Look at him for God’s sake."

Come now, um, Peter, said Neve to Drome. You shouldn’t joke like that. It might offend our new companion.

No offence taken, said Spoon, but he gave Drome a dirty look.

Drome swallowed the retort he was about to make and grimaced instead. Yeah. Really glad to have you with us.

We meet at an opportune time, said Neve. We were only just saying how useful it would be to know exactly where we are. We were washed ashore some hours ago when our ship was wrecked upon the rocks. My name is Neve, er, Knife, lately first mate on the, um, Dasher Queen, This is Peter Platter the, um… the…

Safety officer, said Drome quickly. I was the Health and Safety Officer on board the ship.

Pleased to make your acquaintance, said Spoon. He squinted at Drome suspiciously. I do not believe I have ever heard of a Health and Safety Officer. Are you a medical man?

Drome realised he had only a vague idea what a Health and Safety Officer actually did. Wasn’t it something to do with telling people not to climb ladders unless they were properly trained? Also, there was something about banning party balloons in offices in case one burst and someone got a bit of the balloon rubber in their eye. Or was it because people might have a heart attack while taking all those deep breaths to blow up the balloons? Then there was making sure employees sat properly at their desks to avoid injuries… and ordering people not to use fire extinguishers to prop open fire doors. That was all very well in an office, but what would a Health and Safety Officer do on a ship? Tell the sailors not to climb the rigging in case they fell off? Maybe tell them to wear protective clothing… That was it!

We make sure people stay safe and healthy, said Drome. Like wearing helmets and things when they’re doing dangerous stuff.

Helmets? People wear helmets when they go into battle. I am sure they do not need to be told to do so.

Not only battle, said Drome. What if they’re… um… building a house?

Building a house? On board a ship? What nonsense.

Not on board a ship obviously, but if they’re building a house on land someone might drop a brick on their head.

Why would anyone do that? Are they fighting? In my experience house builders cooperate rather than fight.

It doesn’t matter, said Neve. Dro-, um. Peter is not very good at his job, but he tries hard. What’s important is that we’re in the Mattins Zone and we need to get to New Bristol.

What’s the Mattins Zone? said Drome.

Spoon frowned at him. You do not know much, do you?

He’s not from around here, said Neve. She hesitated, then leaned towards Spoon. And he’s a bit simple, she added in a low voice. Before Drome could say anything, she gave his arm a warning squeeze. I’ll tell Peter about the Mattins Zone while you gather some more firewood.

Spoon grunted in reluctant agreement and wandered over to the trees at the edge of the beach. Neve waited until he began picking up sticks before she started talking.

I know he’s not trustworthy, but we need him. He knows where we are. We don’t.

Drome folded his arms. You said I was simple!

Yes, well… It was the easiest way of keeping him from getting suspicious. Besides which, I do sometimes wonder about you.

Oh, thanks very much.

Spoon moved about, adding to his armload of sticks, all the while casting glances at the two people by the fire.

Anyway, I suppose I’d better tell you about the Mattins Zone…

That would be nice, yes. Drome tried to inject ice into his tone, but Neve didn’t seem to notice.

The Progs created zones for the more exotic or dangerous beings they brought to Hollow. No one knows how zones work, but the creatures that live in them can’t leave them. As long as a zone doesn’t have a poisonous atmosphere or weird gravity or whatever, then other beings can enter and leave it, though. I’ve heard the Mattins zone is beautiful. It’s supposed to be especially pretty in the mornings… and that’s also when it’s the most dangerous. The beings that live in it are… well, from what I know of Earth’s folklore, you might think they look like fairies or angels. No-one knows much about them except they are exquisite and graceful and they’re evil. They kill because they enjoy it. They are usually only around in the mornings, so mostly it’s safe to travel through their zone at night, though some say it’s safe in the afternoons too.

What do these fairy-angel things do in the afternoons? Stop for high tea? said Drome.

They might as well. Like I said, no one knows. People think it’s a religious thing, like morning prayers. But they have morning hunts.

So, these, er, Mattins people… If they kill in the mornings, shouldn’t we be looking for somewhere to hide before it gets light?

"There isn’t any point in hiding. They will find us. The only way to survive is to keep moving."

If you’re thinking of not hiding because you think I’ll give the game away, then don’t.

It’s not about you. There’s no point in hiding because the Mattins will find us whatever we do. They can sniff us out. And I don’t mean by body odour… It is as if they can smell thoughts or something. They hunt every morning, killing animals usually, but they love nothing more than hunting other intelligent species. One sniff of a mind that can think beyond eating grass and they’ll be onto us quicker than you can blink.

Spoon came back and dropped the sticks onto the ground. I did not get much. We should not stay here long. Every mile we cover before dawn is a mile closer to safety.

I’m ready to go now, said Drome. I’m nearly dry and all this talk of dawn is making me nervous. I’d rather be moving than sitting here on the beach.

I want to see if anything useful washed ashore from the wreck, said Neve. I’m sure Mr Spoon will be keen to do that too.

That I am, said Spoon. I propose we spend no more than half an hour searching. We need to travel light so do not pick up anything too heavy.

As partners, we need an agreement on how we’ll share the things we find, said Neve.

We will each carry as much as we can and split the profit when we reach New Bristol, said Spoon.

Equally?

Yes. Of course, said Spoon.

The shipwreck had turned the beach into a treasure trove as far as Spoon was concerned, and the bag Drome had fashioned to carry the flotsam dragged at his shoulder and chafed his side. He’d made it from a ragged strip of wet sailcloth and a piece of rope that went over his shoulder to form a sling.

It hadn’t been his idea to go trawling over a cold, damp beach in the dark, looking for things they could take with them to eat or sell later. In protest, he’d not picked anything up himself, but Neve had kept giving him things to carry. And as for that bloody Spoon, he’d found a mountain of stuff he wanted: wooden bowls, spoons, mugs, and tons of odd bits and pieces that had floated ashore. Naturally, it was him - Drome - who had ended up carrying most of it in the sling he’d been obliged to make.

The only thing he’d found which he thought would be of any use was a jacket with baggy short sleeves that looked like it might fit him and be reasonably warm once it dried.

Dawn wasn’t far off. A line of light was forming one side of the rod-shaped sun. It was amazing how he’d become used to the way the sun worked. He hardly wondered about it any longer.

Spoon glance around, his tongue moistening his lips as the night faded.

Drome didn’t trust the man an inch, except - he reckoned - when it came to preserving his own grubby hide. How much longer before we have to start worrying about the Mattins people?

It is hard to say, said Spoon. It is reckoned the Mattins only start hunting about an hour after it gets light, but I would not recommend we be complacent.

Complacent? I haven’t been complacent since I set foot in this bloody world! Everyone has been out to kill me from the moment I arrived. I’m about as complacent as a mouse in a cat’s mouth!

Neve and Spoon both looked at him oddly.

What’s a mouse? said Neve.

It doesn’t matter, said Drome. All I’m saying is we’re not on a picnic and I want us to get out of this alive. Please, can we walk as fast as we can.

Why are you talking about picnics? said Spoon.

It’s a figure of speech! said Drome. For heavens’s sake, stop acting like an idiot. And while you’re about it, why don’t you start speaking properly like everyone else.

Spoon frowned. I do not understand what you mean.

There you go again. A normal person would say ‘I don’t understand’

Ah, you are talking about contractions. They make for lazy speech. I keep my language unsullied.

You’ll find my foot contacting your unsullied arse in a minute.

And you should stop speaking. You sound ill-educated and coarse.

Me coarse? Have you taken a look at yourself? Your clothes are dirty, you’re unshaven, and you could seriously do with a bath.

Will you both shut up, said Neve. "Your bickering is getting right up my nose." She stalked stiff-backed on ahead, putting enough distance between them so she wouldn’t be able to hear the two men.

Drome scowled and pressed his lips together in a straight line. He shot a dark look at Spoon. Shouldn’t you go in front? She doesn’t know the way.

For now, she is going in the correct direction. I will intervene when necessary.

They were walking through an open stretch of grassland with the sea on their right and the edge of a forest a few hundred yards away on their left. It was quite pleasant as the morning chill faded. It felt weird to Drome that there were no sunrises like on Earth. Despite that, there was the feeling of freshness in the air. Drome’s spirits were lifting, and for the first time since being in Hollow, he relaxed. They were heading towards Amblesby and they had food they had foraged from the beach. His newly acquired jacket hung over his arm and was nearly dry. Things were generally looking up.

A faraway ululating cry behind them made Spoon’s head snap around.

Drome looked up. What was that?

Just a bird. Spoon glanced at Neve, who was about eighty yards ahead. He stopped and bent over, peering into the long grass which he parted with a short, stout stick he had picked up earlier.

A moment please, he said. I have dropped my knife.

I can’t say I’m sorry. That bloody knife was at my throat not too long ago.

Without it, we will not be safe. Please help me find it. It is close by. I heard it fall.

Drome bent down to look. You heard it fall? Surely-

The world lurched, and his knees thumped into the ground. His head span. His vision blurred.

Ha! Your pathetic helmet does not protect the base of your skull! said Spoon. He put his mouth next to Drome’s ear. Soon the Mattins will be here. It was not a bird you heard, but their hunting call. You, my friend, are the decoy I need to get safely through this zone. The woman and I will make our escape while the Mattins are tearing you to shreds. Thank you for your sacrifice.

Spoon pushed him, and Drome sprawled on his face in the grass. Nausea clutched at his gut. His head was like a block of concrete and unable to move, grass stalks pressed into his open mouth. Through the throbbing pain he heard the ululations of the Mattins again, much nearer this