1
Jack suddenly realized that, although he was still running, he was running on thin air, like a cartoon character who has time for one surprised double-take before plunging two thousand feet straight down. But it wasn't two thousand feet. He had time - just - to realize that the ground wasn't there anymore, and then he dropped four or five feet, still running. He wobbled and might have remained upright, but then Richard came piling into him and they both went tumbling.
'Look out, Jack!' Richard was screaming - he was apparently not interested in taking his own advice, because his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. 'Look out for the wolf! Look out for Mr. Dufrey! Look out - '
'Stop it, Richard!' These breathless screams frightened him more than anything else had done. Richard sounded mad, absolutely mad. 'Stop it, we're all right! They're gone!'
'Look out for Etheridge! Look out for the bugs! Look out, Jack!'
'Richard, they're gone! Look around you, for Jason's sake!' Jack hadn't had a chance to do this himself, but he knew they had made it - the air was still and sweet, the night perfectly silent except for a slim breeze that was blessedly warm.
'Look out, Jack! Look out, Jack! Look out, look out - '
Like a bad echo inside his head, he heard a memory of the dog-boys outside Nelson House chorusing Way-gup, way-gup, way-gup! Pleeze, pleeze, pleeze!
'Look out, Jack!' Richard wailed. His face was slammed into the earth and he looked like an overenthusiastic Moslem determined to get in good with Allah. 'LOOK OUT! THE WOLF! PREFECTS! THE HEADMASTER! LOOK O - '
Panicked by the idea that Richard actually had gone crazy, Jack yanked his friend's head up by the back of his collar and slapped his face.
Richard's words were cut cleanly off. He gaped at Jack, and Jack saw the shape of his own hand rising on Richard's pale cheek, a dim red tattoo. His shame was replaced by an urgent curiosity to know just where they were. There was light; otherwise he wouldn't have been able to see that mark.
A partial answer to the question came from inside him - it was certain and unquestionable . . . at least, as far as it went.
The Outposts, Jack-O. You're in the Outposts now.
But before he could spend any time mulling that over, he had to try to get Richard shipshape.
'Are you all right, Richie?'
He was looking at Jack with numb, hurt surprise. 'You hit me, Jack.'
'I slapped you. That's what you're supposed to do with hysterical people.'
'I wasn't hysterical! I've never been hysterical in my l - ' Richard broke off and jumped to his feet, looking around wildly. 'The wolf! We have to look out for the wolf, Jack! If we can get over the fence he won't be able to get us!'
He would have gone sprinting off into the darkness right then, making for a cyclone fence which was now in another world, if Jack hadn't grabbed him and held him back.
'The wolf is gone, Richard.'
'Huh?'
'We made it.'
'What are you talking about - '
'The Territories, Richard! We're in the Territories! We flipped over!' And you almost pulled my damn arm out of its socket, you unbeliever, Jack thought, rubbing his throbbing shoulder. The next time I try to haul someone across, I'm going to find myself a real little kid, one who still believes in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.
'That's ridiculous,' Richard said slowly. 'There's no such thing as the Territories, Jack.'
'If there isn't,' Jack said grimly, 'then how come that great big white wolf isn't biting your ass? Or your own damn headmaster?'
Richard looked at Jack, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. He looked around, this time with a bit more attention (at least Jack hoped so). Jack did the same, enjoying the warmth and the clarity of the air as he did so. Morgan and his crowd of snake-pit crazies might come bursting through at any second, but for now it was impossible not to luxuriate in the pure animal joy of being back here again.