Copper–man.
‘Whatever you do, don’t cross the bridge if there’s any hint of fog in the middle of it,’ said Copper–man. ‘Even if you’re in a hurry, take the longer route. Trust me, Wil, you’ll regret it if you don’t.’
Wil didn’t ask him why. Old Copper–man Carlisle wasn’t one for giving long explanations. Wil nodded and left him to his map making. Copper–man was really into his maps and had hundreds of them rolled up and stacked on the shelves in his study. He wore a gadget on his head when he was working on fine details. It was a huge magnifying glass with a light attached that made his eyes seem enormous when he looked up from his desk.
Wil knew all about the bridge. It had only just been built. The last time he was in Dublin they hadn’t even started building it, but he’d seen a drawing of it on Copper–man’s secret map. Copper–man showed him the map every time Wil visited him in Dublin but he’d never let him touch it. He’d almost panic if Wil dared to point to any reference, insisting that the paper was ancient and too fragile even though Copper–man handled it himself.
Wil couldn’t persuade Copper–man to change his double standards. He wouldn’t listen and never changed his mind or opinion on anything. He was far too stubborn, but at least Wil knew where he stood with him. Copper–man was a distant relative, an old man whose past, according to Wil’s father, was quite extraordinary, that’s if you got him to divulge any of his exploits. Wil had never got any further than the few sketchy stories about his life in Dublin as a scientist and map maker extraordinaire, whatever that was. To Wil, a map was a map, but to Copper–man it was something special, a path to somewhere that existed beyond the imagination.
With the bolstering thought that something grim would happen if he dared to cross the bridge, Wil decided to scope the city, getting a feel for the streets and the vibe. There was a lot of energy in Dublin. That’s what always struck him every time he visited — the vibrant energy and a sense of adventure. Wil lived in London with his father and this was the third summer he’d spent in Dublin with Copper–man. His father was an archaeologist and summer was his busiest time. This year he was off abroad to some far flung location, and that’s why Wil was here again. Not that he minded. Copper–man was the ideal relative to stay with if you just wanted to hang out and explore the city on your own.
As he walked away from the house something flew past him, missing him by a whisker. He wasn’t sure what it was — a crow perhaps. He shuddered and cast a glance back at the house. Copper–man lived in a peculiar old house in the heart of Dublin. It was tall and narrow and was tucked away in an ancient cobbled street within the shadow of a huge gothic cathedral.
Wil hurried on across one of the marketplace squares and down towards the river. The river cut through the busy city centre, and he could see the new bridge in the distance. In the bright sunlight there was no hint of fog, and he doubted there would be, not on a day like this.
He shielded his eyes from the sunshine to get a better look. There were numerous bridges crossing the river, most of them used for traffic, but this was an iron footbridge for pedestrians only. And there was something very unusual about it. It looked old even though it was brand new, and seemed to belong to a bygone era. The wrought iron railings curved upwards to the sky giving it a gothic appearance, very dark and weathered. The bridge had wide arches that spanned across the river like the outstretched wings of a giant bat. He’d never seen a bridge like this before. No wonder Copper–man had been so interested in it.
For the next few hours Wil trekked through the shops browsing for computer games and books, and with the spare money he had he bought artists’ paints and sketching paper. He was quite good at drawing.
Although he was having fun, Copper–man’s warning kept rewinding in his mind. ‘Whatever you do, don’t cross the bridge if there’s any hint of fog in the middle of it. Even if you’re in a hurry, take the longer route. Trust me, Wil, you’ll regret it if you don’t.’ He shivered at the thought of it, even though he wasn’t easily freaked out, and hoped one day to become an adventurous archaeologist like his father.
By late afternoon he started to make his way back to Copper–man’s house on the other side of the river, but the day darkened suddenly, as if someone had blotted out the sun with thick grey clouds.
He stopped and looked around and was surprised to see fog lurking in the centre of the metal footbridge, obscuring the figures walking across it. He could see them start to cross, become vague outlines, like grey ghosts in the middle of the bridge, and then emerge back to full colour on the opposite side. Nothing bad happened to any of them, so he decided to risk it. What harm would it do? It was the shortest way back and it looked like it was going to pour with rain any second.
So there he was, standing at the edge of the bridge, looking down at the water. The river was the colour of strong tea, the undercurrents churning and swirling just below the surface. There were no reflections on the water. No reflexions anywhere. All around him he could see the city — a strange mix of modern architecture and remnants of medieval times, like the cathedrals with gargoyles perched on the edge of spirals so high they disappeared into the low–lying clouds.
He was just about to set foot on the bridge when he saw something, a shadow, a winged silhouette, taller than him, and he was quite a tall and gangly thirteen–year–old. The shadow was there and gone again in an instant. He blinked. Was his imagination working overtime? Had Copper–man’s warning made him see things? He looked again, and hesitated, not because of the warning, or the fog, but because of the chill that cut through him like a dagger. Something was wrong. He could sense it.
The long route was looking good. So what if he’d be late for tea. Copper–man wasn’t a clock watcher. You could turn up when your dinner was cold and he’d not be fussed, which was one of his assets. You weren’t accountable for your time or where you went, as long as you didn’t mess with his things.
Wil began to head along the river walkway which would add about ten minutes to his journey. No big deal. Then he saw a man, very tall, his face hidden by the high collar of his long dark coat. He was looking down as he walked, as if deep in thought, almost melancholy, and at first Wil was sure the man hadn’t seen him. Then he looked up and eyes the likes of which Wil had never seen before stared straight at him. Worse, he looked at him with knowing. He looked like he knew exactly who Wil was and where he was going and why he wasn’t using the bridge with the fog. He felt very wary of the man, so he turned back. There was a different route he could take, and so he took it, but then he saw another man, similar to the first, only rougher looking.
Even though Wil was in the centre of the city, with people nearby and cars and everything, he panicked. He could feel his heart start to race and he had the overwhelming urge to get out of there, but where to go? That was the dilemma. Three routes. Two barred by these strange men and the third . . . well . . . he could see others walking through the fog unharmed, so he decided to go for it. If he ran he’d be through the fog and over the bridge in no time and away from these creeps.
So he ran. He was fast, not brilliant, but fast enough and he gathered speed as he approached the fog which seemed to start as if someone had painted it into the scenery. It didn’t fade at the edges. It was there and then it wasn’t. He took a deep breath, his heart beating faster, getting into a full sprint and then . . .
He hit the fog and felt the force of it grab hold of him and drag him into its depths like something out of a nightmare. He couldn’t fight it, couldn’t breathe. He managed to glance over his shoulder. The two men were chasing him, running towards the fog, and then he got spun in all directions and flung into the river. He felt like he was going to drown. He was quite a good swimmer, but this . . .
He was loosing his strength when a hand reached out and someone shouted, ‘Wil, grab hold of my hand. Come on, Wil, hurry up. You can do it boy!’
It was Copper–man. Why he was in the water and managed to rescue him was a bit of a blur, but what happened next was burned into his memory forever . . .
Wil should’ve been soaked from falling into the river but he wasn’t. He was totally dry, though extremely cold and shivering as he sat on the cobblestones and watched Copper–man hurriedly packing a rucksack. His face was etched with worry and Wil had never known him look so worn yet somehow physically stronger.
‘It’ll be all right, Wil,’ he said, barely pausing from his urgent packing. ‘Just hold steady and gather your strength and your senses.’
Wil’s senses felt as though they’d drifted and were slowly returning as he looked around.
Chimneys and smoke — that’s what he first noticed about the city. It looked like Dublin, and he guessed it was, just not quite as he knew it. The sky was overcast with huge grey clouds that seemed to press the breath right out of the day. The clouds were low and threatening, as if dusk had already claimed the remainder of the sunshine and turned it into a grim twilight.
There were landmarks he recognised — the river that divided both sides of the city and the numerous bridges that crossed over it. He saw the tall buildings of banks and offices and historic domes that punctuated the skyline. But it wasn’t the same as he’d seen it before. It looked like a city where technology had run ahead but the industrial era with its smoky chimneys had kept pace with it. And there was a sea of black umbrellas on the other side of the river. It was umbrellas, wasn’t it?
‘Where are we?’ said Wil.
‘Poison–Wynd — and believe me, we do not want to be here.’
Poison–Wynd? He’d never heard of it. By his reckoning they were beside the quays that led to Dublin’s Temple Bar area and main shopping precincts. Poison–Wynd started as if it were the quays but quickly faded into a blur of smoky shadows and orange mist along a twisted cobbled street. The air smelled damp, a mix of metal, salt and moss. There were no people around and no noise of traffic, only the faint whir of what sounded like pistons and hissing steam.
Wil stood up and looked behind him. It was starting to rain, a fine misty rain, but he could see the bridge and the fog. From this distance the fog looked like the wings of a huge bat, or winged creature whose outline stretched across the bridge like an archway.
‘We’ve just come through the Dark Arches,’ said Copper–man.
It was then that the fear hit him. Wil heard his own voice sound shrill as his instincts and senses clicked back into focus. ‘What’s the Dark Arches?’
Copper–man looked at him long and hard, not knowing how to explain what it was.
‘Tell me,’ said Wil.
Copper–man sighed heavily.
Wil listened breathlessly, his blood chilled with fear, as Copper–man said, ‘The Dark Arches is a gap, a portal. You couldn’t have entered it until the new bridge was built. The old bridge was destroyed after the last battle. The Dark Arches moth held the gap open long enough for the others — moths and people like you and me, to return to their own world. This happened a long time ago, a hundred years this summer to be exact. The Dark Arches moth spread his massive wings and used all his strength to hold the portal open. Even I made it back, not to their world but home to mine, thanks to his bravery. Hardly any moths were left behind; only a few didn’t make it. The Dark Arches moth was one of them. At the end, the pressure overcame him and he was gone in a flash, but the shadow of him, the imprint of where he stood until the last gasp, stretches across the river. He became the archway, the portal, between our world and theirs. It became known as the Dark Arches. It’s the only way in, and if you’re lucky, it’s the only way out.’
A moth? A Dark Arches portal? Things that happened a hundred years ago? Copper–man was old but he wasn’t that old. Wil wanted to shout that this was crazy but gut instinct kept him quiet, especially when he saw the black umbrellas, like shadowy figures, heading in their direction.
‘Can you run, Wil? Can you run fast?’ said Copper–man.
Wil hesitated. The question hadn’t quite sunk in because he was panicking about where he was, how he’d got there and what was going on.
‘We’ve got two choices. We can make a run for it, or hide and hope they don’t find us.’
Wil gulped. They?
He saw two shadowy figures urgently searching Poison–Wynd, presumably for them. He couldn’t see them clearly. They looked tall, the size of a man, broad shoulders tapering to a long black coat or cape. The strangest looking men he’d ever seen. He stared at Copper–man.
‘I’d run,’ Copper–man said bluntly.
Wil nodded.
‘Have you got enough stamina?’ said Copper–man. ‘You’ll need to keep up with me.’
Keep up with him? He was joking, right? But of course he didn’t really know Wil. Despite staying with him for a holiday every year since he was eight, they never knew each other very well. Copper–man didn’t lay down rules, except about touching his maps and not getting into trouble. Apart from that Wil was free to do what he wanted. Copper–man was always busy so they didn’t spend a lot of time together.
‘I’m a good runner,’ Wil whispered. ‘I can keep up with you.’
Copper–man dug into his rucksack. ‘Ditch your red t–shirt and put this on.’ He handed Wil a long sleeve top in shades of grey that was made from a fabric he’d never seen before. Parts of it seemed to shine like metal and yet it felt like cotton. The neckline was slanted and the whole styling had an almost ragged look to it.
Wil glanced further down Poison–Wynd. The rain was becoming heavier and the shadowy figures were getting nearer. Without hesitation, Wil wrenched his red t–shirt off and pulled the grey top on. It hung loose over the belt of his trousers. Copper–man took the red t–shirt and hid it in a gap in the blackened brickwork of the wall beside them. Then he put his hand across Wil’s chest and pushed him safely out of sight while he peered out.
‘Whatever happens, stay close, keep your eyes on me, and don’t look around you. It’ll become darker the further into the Wynd we go.’
Wil was going to ask how he’d see Copper–man in the dark, especially as he was wearing dull brown trousers and an equally dull shirt and waistcoat. He must’ve read Wil’s thoughts.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll be able to see me,’ said Copper–man. There was something in his tone that sounded like a warning with a promise.
Before Wil could ask him what was going on, Copper–man handed him a well worn notebook. ‘Put this in your pocket.’
‘What is it?’ Wil said, flicking through the pages. It was filled with strange drawings and lots of scribbled notes.
‘Information about the moths and other things you’ll come across here. Keep it safe. I’ll explain everything later.’
Wil stuffed it into his trouser pocket and fastened the pocket shut.
‘Get ready to run, Wil,’ Copper–man whispered. The muscles in his face were set like stone and the skin was drawn tight across his sharp cheekbones. ‘If we get separated, don’t tell them your name, and especially don’t tell them mine.’
Wil felt a chill cut through him.
‘Do you remember where the square is in Dublin? The one near the park, next to the shopping mall?’ said Copper–man.
‘Yes,’ Wil said nervously.
‘If you get lost, make your way there. Look for the metal sculpture at the front of the park — the metal tree. Everything looks a bit different here but basically it’s the same layout of the city.’
‘What will I do when I get there?’ said Wil.
‘Hide, and wait for me.’
‘Aren’t we going back the way we came, through the Dark Arches?’ said Wil.
‘No, not yet. We need to get help. The portal’s closed. We need the others to hold the gap open long enough for us to get back through the fog.’
A watch and chain dangled from Copper–man’s waistcoat. He tucked the shiny copper chain into the pocket and then cracked his knuckles. ‘Be strong, Wil, be brave. Remember, if anything happens, don’t tell them your name and definitely don’t mention mine.’
Wil went to say something, and then he heard voices muttering angrily. The sounds echoed down the wynd. There was no time for questions. He pushed his hair back from his forehead. His fringe was wet with the rain. The water kept dripping into his eyes and he needed to see clearly where he was running. He’d no intention of losing sight of Copper–man.
‘We can do this,’ Copper–man insisted, looking right at him so that Wil could see his own fearful reflection in the old man’s faded blue eyes.
And suddenly Wil felt better. He had a glimmer of hope. Copper–man had never lied to him, never told him everything was okay when it wasn’t. Wil had always thought he was harsh, almost cruel in his blunt way of speaking, but Copper–man had always been right. Although Wil sometimes resented his attitude, at least Copper–man had been honest. So if he said they could do this, Wil was prepared to believe him.
‘Get back,’ Copper–man whispered urgently, sweeping Wil behind him as he peered out at the shadows that were getting closer by the second. Wil saw the wiry old muscles in his back stretch as he took a deep breath. Wil sensed he was ready to run.
Copper–man glanced over his shoulder at Wil and nodded. And they were off! Running like lightning along the glistening wet cobbles. Copper–man was fast, very fast. Wil couldn’t believe it. He had to run like mad to keep up with him. How could Copper–man run so fast? Old men couldn’t run like this, could they, even if, like Copper–man, they liked to pull on a big woolly jumper and sprint along the river’s edge in all weathers?
Through the rain, the mist and the shadows they ran, never pausing, keeping the pace fast, urgent, stopping for nothing.
Concentrate! Concentrate! Wil told himself, forcing his legs to keep pounding on the cobbled street that was becoming darker by the second.
And then it happened . . .
Copper–man darted through a patch of murky orange fog that looked like it had fire behind it. But there was no fire, no light, only a strange coppery glow — and it wasn’t coming from the Poison–Wynd, the amber streetlamps that looked like they’d faded years ago, or the fog. Wil didn’t dare imagine where it was coming from. Copper–man wasn’t glowing in the dark, was he . . . was he?
Panic burned Wil’s throat. The muscles in his legs felt heavy and he started to slow down.
‘Come on!’ he heard Copper–man shout, his voice sounding farther away each time he urged Wil to keep up with him. ‘Run, Wil, run!’
Wil suddenly found the strength within him to keep going. As they made a sharp turn between two ancient looking shops he caught a glimpse of Copper–man’s profile. His cheekbones, the skin around his eyes and his forehead seemed to be made of shiny metal, like copper. How Wil kept going he didn’t know. Fear most likely. Three shadowy grey figures had appeared and were flying at speed along the wynd. Their coats, or whatever it was they were wearing, flapped behind them. Wil was running too fast to see them clearly but whoever they were, their faces were grey, hardened, and their eyes glowed like silver in the gloom.
Copper–man swerved through them as they sprinted on. Wil saw him check over his shoulder to see that he was still there.
‘Faster, Wil!’ Copper–man yelled as he increased his pace. ‘Follow me . . .’ His voice trailed off as he ran ahead towards a bank of trees whose branches were pared to the bone of their leaves.
They passed a sign that said: The Savage Wood. Large, rusted gates stood at the entrance to the wood.
The shadowy figures, like grey phantoms, swooped closer, narrowly missing them. Then Wil saw others, darker in colour, flying high in the sky, disappearing in and out of the thunderous black clouds.
Copper–man skidded to a halt, grabbed hold of Wil and pulled him aside. ‘Keep out of sight,’ he said, eyeing the darker shadows with undisguised fear. They hid underneath the branches of a tree. Their muted clothing acted as camouflage and they pressed their backs against the tree trunk to make themselves part of the wood. ‘Stay steady,’ Copper–man said, barely out of breath after their fast–paced sprint. Wil gasped for air and felt the adrenalin surging through his veins. This was the fastest he’d ever run before, but he couldn’t imagine how they’d outrun these creatures.
Copper–man’s worried eyes stared right at him and the shiny metallic tint of his skin glinted in the half light. Then they both looked up through the branches of the tree and watched the dark shadows circle overhead, while the grey phantoms flew around them.
‘Safer to stay where for are, for the moment,’ said Copper–man.
‘Who are they?’ Wil said, gazing up at the dark flyers.
‘The Alchymist moth, the Black Witches moths and the Dark Spectacle moth.’ The ominous tone of Copper–man’s voice made Wil shiver with terror at the thought of them, but then the moths suddenly flew back up into the clouds and vanished.
‘And the others, the greyer ones?’ Wil could see them clearer now and wished he couldn’t. It wasn’t coats or cloaks that they were wearing — it was their giant wings flapping in the cold, damp air. One of them whooshed right past them, dipping below the branches of the tree and then soared off again. Wil saw its glowing silver eyes stare straight at them. For one horrible moment Wil thought it was going to rip its claw–like hands right through him.
‘Moths. Grey Dagger, the Vapourer and Death’s Head Hawk–moth.’
Wil could hear his voice tremble as he said, ‘Are they going to kill us?’
Copper–man frowned deeply and gave Wil’s shoulder a firm, reassuring grip. ‘No, Wil,’ he said. ‘They’re the good guys.’