The Peacock Cloak

close as could be to everything else: close enough to whisper and rustle and murmur, close enough to touch…
    She looked at the button. She nodded. She turned away.
    Peter clutched her hand so tightly that it hurt.

    Several more times they heard the thud-thud-thud of a helicopter passing overhead, and saw the Agency searchlights sweeping officiously through the mushroom-like trees, leaching the colour from leaves and trunks.
    The children just hid until they passed, surrounded by the whispering and rustling and murmuring of the caramel forest.
    Cassie had no desire to be plucked up into the empty sky.

    In the early dawn they came to a castle beside a pool. It was very small, only about Peter’s height in fact, and in the dim grey light it looked like a little smooth stalagmite that had grown there for some reason beside the water. But one side of it was open, and they could see the intricate little chambers inside it, with their amber whirls and coils that enclosed even smaller chambers, and yet-tinier whorls…
    When they tired of looking at it, the children gathered the spongy vegetation that grew around the castle and made themselves a secret nest nearby, well hidden from the sky. Then they found some savoury chicken fruit to have for their supper and a couple of toffee apples for afters.
    “Now wash your face and clean your teeth in the water, Peter,” Cassie said when they’d finished. “And then let’s get you settled down.”
    She stroked his head and told him a story, while the sun rose in the sky, turning as it climbed from a syrupy rosehip red to pale lemon.
    “I’ll look after you, my little bruv,” she whispered to Peter’s already sleeping face. “I’ll always look after you.”

    Three goblins arrived. One by one they caressed the little amber castle, and bent down to stare into its interior. Then they settled on their haunches on the bank of the pond, without even a glance at the two children.
    “Won’t find your way back now,” said the voices in Cassie’s head.
    “Not if I can help it,” muttered Cassie contentedly, stretching out in her improvised bed.

    Crack!
    There was a gunshot, followed by human voices and barking dogs.
    Peter lurched into wakefulness with a whimper.
    Crack!
    One of the goblins dived into the pool.
    Crack! A man ran to the bank and fired into the water.
    “Is all right now, darlings. We take you back to your Ma!” growled another man’s voice, right next to the children in a thick Luto accent. “Goblins won’t scare you no more.”
    Sitting up, Cassie and Peter clung together. The whispering and murmuring of the caramel forest was suddenly far away.
    “And maybe this time Agency go listen eh?” grumbled a third man, helping Cassie and Peter to their feet. “Maybe this time they go understand why goblins is bad.”
    The air was full of smoke. These weren’t pulse weapons that these men were carrying. They were proper old-fashioned guns, blasting out deadly balls of hot, hard matter.
    Dogs came sniffling and snuffling, first round the children, and then, rather more interestedly, round some smooth greyish stuff that was strewn over the ground nearby.
    Cassie gazed at it, uncomprehendingly.
    “Don’t worry about nothing,” said the leader of the search party. (It was one of dozens spread out across the forest, linked by radio to the Agency helicopters overhead). “Is only crazy ideas these goblins put in your head. That’s all. Only crazy ideas. They’ll went away soon enough.”
    He ruffled Peter’s hair kindly, and gave Cassie a friendly wink. She stared at him. The other men were breaking up the castle with their gun butts.
    One of the dogs took an experimental mouthful of the grey stuff, then sneezed and spat it out. It was goblin flesh, smooth all the way through, like the flesh of mushrooms.

Greenland

    I was afraid once, Dr Brennan, thank you for asking, muchas gracias, but now I feel pretty much at peace. What I’ve finally managed to get through my head is that I’m not in the world, and never have been. This little box here where my life will end –and where your life will end too if what you say is true – it’s barely a place at all, is it? It’s barely separate from the emptiness beyond. So why be afraid of that small final step?
    You can almost hear the gossamer whispers of the stars in here, can’t you? You can almost feel the pulling and tugging of the invisible threads that keep the huge wheel of the galaxy turning,