John Connolly - The Infernals aka Hell's Bells

“Rest more,” said Old Ram. “You’ll need your energy. Old Ram will take you to someone who may be able to help you, but first we must wait.”

“Why must we wait?”

“It’s too dangerous to travel now. Later, it will be safer.”

Samuel stood, and Boswell stood too.

“I think Boswell and I should leave,” he said. “We’ve stayed here long enough.”

“No, no,” said Old Ram. “Please, sit. Old Ram has things to tell you, important things. You must listen.”

But Samuel was already leading Boswell to the door, although he did not turn his back on Old Ram. Old Ram scrambled upright, and in the light of the fire his eyes took on a red glow.

“You must stay!” he said. “Old Ram must rise again!”

Thunder roared in the skies above, and lightning flashed, as though the fighting souls had heard Old Ram’s cry, but Samuel thought that he discerned another sound hidden beneath the great tumult: a grinding, moaning noise like a mighty engine in motion.

Suddenly, Old Ram moved. He grabbed his staff and swung it at Samuel, barely missing the boy’s head.

“Nobody leaves!” shouted Old Ram. “Nobody leaves until the Dark Lady arrives!”

He made as if to swing the staff again, but instead spun it in his hooves and used it to trip Samuel, who fell heavily to the floor. Boswell snapped and barked, but now Old Ram was standing above them, the staff held high, ready to bring it down on Samuel’s skull.

And then the staff was snatched from Old Ram’s hooves and disappeared through the hole in the roof, drawn upward by a snakelike length of wood. The hut began to collapse: stones tumbled down from the ceiling, and fissures appeared in the walls. Black roots and branches thrust their way through, winding themselves around Old Ram’s body and neck and legs. The door exploded inward, and Samuel saw the face of the Great Oak grinning and leering in the gap.

“Old Ram,” said the tree, “I warned you. We were tormented enough without you adding to our misery. Now we will add to yours instead.”

Old Ram struggled in its grasp, but the ancient tree was too strong for him. More stones dislodged themselves, and an opening appeared close to where Samuel lay. As quickly as he could, he held Boswell under his left arm and pushed himself through the hole. Outside, he got to his feet and ran until he came to a boulder which was big enough for him to hide behind. Only then did he risk a look back at the house.

The Great Oak towered above the scattered stones of Old Ram’s dwelling, its branches swinging wildly, its roots twisting and curling. Old Ram was held high above the ground, his frightened face close to the Great Oak’s features. The Great Oak was laughing at him, and taunting him. Behind it, the contorted trees swayed and cried as the Great Oak took its prize and returned to the forest, and the fire in the ruins turned to ash and went out for the last time.

NOT FOR THE FIRST time, Mr. Merryweather’s Dwarfs and the forces of law and order were having a disagreement.

“You can’t arrest us,” said Jolly.

“I beg to differ,” said Sergeant Rowan. “I can, and I have.”

“But someone’s nicked our van. It hardly seems fair to arrest us when somewhere out there is a criminal driving a stolen van.”

“But there are four criminals right here,” said Sergeant Rowan. “A dwarf in the hand is worth two in a van, or words to that effect.”

“Er, Sarge,” said Constable Peel.

“Not now, Constable. I’m enjoying my moment of triumph.”

“It’s important, Sarge.”

“So is this.”

“No, really important.”

Sergeant Rowan, still keeping a firm grip on Jolly’s collar, turned to Constable Peel and said, “All right, then, what is-”

He stopped talking. He looked around.

“Constable, where’s our car?” he said.

“That’s just it, Sarge. It’s gone. Someone’s nicked it.”

Sergeant Rowan returned his attention to the dwarfs, who all held up their hands in gestures of innocence that, for the first time ever, they actually meant.

“Wasn’t us,” said Angry.

“Serves you right,” said Jolly. “I told you there was a thief about.”

“Nobody saw anything?” said Sergeant Rowan.

“We was too busy being arrested, Sarge,” said Dozy. “Our rights was being infringed.”

“Nojidell,” said Mumbles.

“Absolutely,” said Angry. “You have no jurisdiction in Hell. The minute you felt our collars, it was assault. We’re going to sue.”

Sergeant Rowan raised a fist in a manner suggesting that, if he was going to be sued for something, he planned to make the most of it and add charges of inflicting serious bodily harm to a dwarf to his list of offenses.

“Calm down, calm down,” said Jolly. “This isn’t helping anyone. Look, we all want the same thing here, right? We want to find our vehicles, and get home.”

Dozy’s face suddenly assumed an expression of grave loss. “The booze!” he said.

“What?” said Constable Peel.

“The last of the Spiggit’s: it was in the van. It’s gone. Oh, the humanity!”

Dozy fell to his knees and started to sob, moving Constable Peel sufficiently to pat him on the back and offer him a paper tissue.

“There, there,” he said. “It was probably for the best. Makes you mad, that stuff. And blind.”

Dozy began to pull himself together. Constable Peel helped him to his feet. Together, they listened to “(How Much Is) That Doggie in the Window?” being played badly on what sounded like bicycle bells.

“I think all of that beer is making me hear things too, Constable,” said Dozy.

“No, I can hear it as well, and I’ve never touched a drop of Spiggit’s,” said Constable Peel.

“We can all hear it,” said Sergeant Rowan, as an ice-cream van appeared from around the back of a nearby dune and pulled up alongside them. Seated on its roof was a plastic mannequin wearing a peaked cap and holding a plastic ice-cream cone while grinning manically. Red writing on his cap announced him as “Mr. Happy Whip.”

The driver of the van rolled down his window. He wore very thick glasses, which made him look like an owl in a white coat.

“Hello!” he said. “Which way is the sea?”

“What?” said Angry.

“The sea: where is it?” The driver squinted at Angry. “Hey, son, fancy an ice cream? Just a pound. Two pounds with sprinkles.”

Angry, who was about to thump the driver for mistaking him for a child, found a more immediate outlet for his rage.

“Two pounds with sprinkles? You’re having a laugh. What are you sprinkling them with, gold dust?”

“Top-quality chocolate, son. Only the best.”

“Listen, I expect to bathe in chocolate if I’m paying an extra pound for it. And stop calling me ‘son.’ I’m a dwarf.”

“Right you are, son. Anyway, which way is the sea, there’s a good lad.”

Angry looked back at his comrade. “I’ll ’ave him,” he said. “I mean it. He calls me ‘lad’ or ‘son’ again, and I’ll sprinkle him, I swear.”

The remaining three dwarfs, and Constable Peel and Sergeant Rowan, gathered around the van.

“I’ll have a choc ice, please,” said Constable Peel.

“Now is not the time, Constable,” said Sergeant Rowan. “Sir, you would be-?”

“I’m Dan,” said the driver. “Dan, Dan the Ice-Cream Man, actually. Changed my name legally when I bought the van. Thought it might be good publicity.”

“Right, Mr. Dan. Do you have any idea where you are?”

“On a beach.”

“No, not quite. It’s not a beach.”

“Oh, I thought the tide had gone out,” said Dan.