The Eye of Zoltar

Trouble with gravediggers

Llangurig’s cemetery was on the north side of the town. It was a dismal place, the grass patchy and the stones streak-stained by the rain. Even the fresh flowers on the graves looked tired, the clouds dark, the wind chill. Row upon row of headstones charted the history of Llangurig’s railway conflict from the very first death in 1862 to the most recent, only forty-seven minutes previously. That latest addition was already buried owing to a hyper-efficient funeral service that could have someone in the ground before they were even cold. Ten graves had been dug in readiness for the inevitable casualties that evening, and with eight thousand inhabitants, the occupants of the cemetery outnumbered the Llangurig living five to one, and it was twice the size of the town itself.

‘This is grim,’ said Perkins as we walked past the headstones, each commemorating a young man or woman’s life not lived.

‘The loss seems more when you see them laid out like this,’ I said.

‘It doesn’t make much sense,’ added Perkins as we walked along. ‘If Quizzler had died, wouldn’t Kevin have foreseen it?’

‘Kevin doesn’t see everything,’ I replied, ‘but I agree it’s annoying. We’ll find out what we can, grab the Princess and get out of town. Without any evidence about the Eye of Zoltar, we’re not going any farther.’

Perkins hailed a passing gravedigger. His clothes were worn but respectable, his hands looked as though they were made of leather, and his shovel had been worn shiny by constant use. The gravedigger introduced himself as something that sounded like ‘Dirk’, and Perkins explained who we were looking for.

‘Kin?’ asked Dirk, staring at the pair of us suspiciously.

‘A distant cousin,’ I said, ‘on my mother’s side.’

‘Ar,’ said the gravedigger, ‘follow I.’

The gravedigger led us past hundreds of headstones carved with a name, the date and a short epitaph in a typically railwayese style. They ranged from the direct ‘Ran out of steam’ or ‘Hit the buffers’ to the more poetic ‘Shunted to a quiet corner of the yard’ and ‘Withdrawn from service’.

We turned left at a crossroads and followed another avenue of headstones.

‘You must be kept busy,’ I said to the gravedigger.

‘Busier than a turkey neck-breaker at Christmas.’

‘Nice simile,’ said Perkins, ‘full of charm.’

‘Jus’ thar,’ said the gravedigger as he pointed at a simple cross marked ‘Quizzler’ and a six-year-old date.

‘Ever meet him?’ I asked.

‘Only once,’ chuckled the gravedigger, ‘but he was in no mood for talkin’.’

‘You know how he died?’

‘Some say it were the grass what killed him.’

I sighed. Gravediggers always spoke in dark riddles. As a student at gravedigger college you’d have to master the art of random quirky banter before they’d even let you touch a spade.

‘The grass?’ I asked.

‘Aye. Was all grass around here when he arrived, and he wasn’t brought here by the undertaker, and we didn’t dig his grave, neither.’

‘Then who did?’

‘He done dig it hisself. He done everythin’ hisself ’cept read the sermon. Delivered hisself he did, then dug his own grave.’

Perkins and I looked at one another.

‘So what you’re saying,’ I said slowly, ‘is that he walked in alive, dug his own grave and was then laid into it?’

‘Sort of,’ said the gravedigger, ‘only he didn’t walk in here, and wasn’t put into the grave. Came in fast he did and buried isself quicker than a sneeze. Heard him the other side of the yard.’

Perkins was becoming exasperated too.

‘If I give you some money,’ he said, speaking very slowly and firmly, ‘would you tell us what the blue blazes you’re talking about?’

The gravedigger wagged his finger and laughed again.

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘I’ve almost got this. He arrived in a hurry but not from the entrances, and buried himself in almost no time at all while making a loud noise?’

‘Aye,’ said the gravedigger, disappointed at our failure to understand him, ‘and you’ll get nothing further from me, not till you’ve learned some smarts.’

The gravedigger turned to walk away, but Perkins called after him.

‘Did you just … backfill over him after he landed?’

The gravedigger stopped, then turned slowly to face us. His eyes twinkled and he very purposefully looked upwards. I didn’t need to follow his gaze; I knew what he meant. Able Quizzler had arrived in the graveyard not by walking, but by falling, and if he hit the grass hard enough to bury himself, it was from a great height.

‘From a Leviathan, do you suppose?’ I asked.

‘No other explanation,’ said Perkins, ‘and Leviathans lead us on to Sky Pirate Wolff, and from there we get to the Eye of Zoltar – or do we?’

‘Sadly, no,’ I said after a moment’s thought. ‘We just get to Able Quizzler hitching a ride on a Leviathan. Ralph would have suffered the same fate – only I don’t think he had the good luck to fall into a graveyard.’

I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. I would risk all our lives if there was evidence of the Eye of Zoltar, but not for evidence of a Leviathan. This was a magic expedition, not one in pursuit of an endangered species, fascinating though that might be.

‘Right,’ I said, finally coming to a decision, ‘once we’ve got the Princess back we’re moving on to Cambrianopolis to negotiate for Boo’s release. My brief was to find evidence of the Eye. We don’t have any so I’m pulling the plug.’

‘Shame,’ said Perkins. ‘I was looking forward to climbing Cadair Idris and facing off all those terrors. jeopardy tourism has kind of grown on me.’

‘Well, it’s not growing on me,’ I said. ‘Come on.’

We walked back towards the entrance to the graveyard after giving the gravedigger a tip. We had almost reached the entrance when Perkins stopped.

‘Jennifer?’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘I was just thinking. I mean, is it even possible for someone to bury themselves falling from a great height?’

‘What’s your point?’ I asked.

‘I’m thinking perhaps you’d only leave a dent in the ground, if that. Unless …’

‘Unless what?’

‘Unless you were made of something much, much heavier.’

‘Like … lead?’

Able Quizzler must indeed have come into contact with the Eye of Zoltar. But far from it giving him the power he craved, he had instead been changed to lead, the fate of anyone unskilled who tried to tap its massive powers. He would have been on a Leviathan when it happened, too, and once lead he would simply have toppled off. Being changed to lead wasn’t a great way to go, but probably quick.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘Kevin was right about the Eye. Looks like we’re heading north after all.’