Dawn of the Demontide (23 page)

‘Why are you being like this, Dad? You’re frightening me.’

‘Good. You should be frightened. If we don’t find Jacob then there will be dire consequences … ’

‘You mean the Demontide.’

Now it was Dr Saxby’s turn to be surprised.

‘You’re the Hobarron Elders,’ Rachel persisted. ‘Some of them at least. It’s your job to prevent the Demontide. We want the same thing. Jake has been trying to find out how to stop it. I don’t know why he didn’t want me to tell you, but now we can put our heads together. We can … ’

Saxby’s face darkened. ‘You will tell us where the Harker boy has gone. Now.’

Terror caught at Rachel’s heart. In her father’s words she caught a glimpse of the truth.

‘You want to hurt him.’

The doctor turned to Alice Splane.

‘Take her away,’ he said. ‘Do whatever you have to, but find out where the boy has gone.’

Jake checked the map he had downloaded from the internet. He had circled the magic shop in red. Without another word, the boys set off.

Abracadabra
stood in an alleyway just off Lion’s Head Parade. Unlike many of the drab shops, cafés, and amusement arcades that made up the seaside town, the magic shop was bright and colourful. Several eye-catching displays had been designed to lure in passers-by. One window housed a beautiful miniature theatre. Giant playing cards, wizards’ wands, polka dot handkerchiefs, and multi-coloured flags danced across the stage, all worked by invisible strings. In another window a small fountain had been set up. Despite the laws of gravity, the water started in the bowl of the fountain and tumbled upwards towards the spout.

The shop’s central window had been reserved for the most baffling illusion. A mannequin dressed in magician’s garb waved his wand over a top hat. Jake would have expected a jerky, robotic motion but the hand holding the wand moved smoothly. All at once, golden streamers exploded out of the hat. The magic man swirled his wand overhead and the streamers froze in midair. Like snakes obeying the command of a charmer, they whipped back into the box. For the life of him, Jake couldn’t see how the trick was done.

A sign pointed towards the door—

‘Cute,’ Simon said. ‘Are you ready?’

The fear of his seven-year-old self rose up around Jake Harker. He was about to meet the creature that had haunted his dreams for the past eight years. Yet his fear was not limited to memories. He was also frightened of the things he might learn from the monster. Ever since his mother’s death, he had yearned for the truth. Now he wondered if it might be better
not to know
…

Jake pushed open the door and entered the magic shop.

A bell jangled. From somewhere inside the shop came the mumble of voices. Jake stood on his tiptoes, trying to see over the confusion of shelves. The entire shop was a clutter of magical merchandise. If he hadn’t known that the proprietor was one ‘S. Tinsmawfe’ he would have enjoyed browsing. There were top hats and wands, capes and crystal balls—even a magic carpet hanging from the ceiling. Moving between the shelves, he saw a hutch filled with rabbits and a cage of snow-white doves.

The voices became less muffled.

‘I don’t think I have enough pocket money, Mr Tyn. Will you save it for me?’

‘Let’s make a deal, Molly my dear. If you
promise
to learn the trick and show me next week, I’ll let you have it free. How does that sound?’

Jake’s heart jumped into his throat. That voice!

He raced towards the rear of the shop. In his haste he knocked against the shelves, sending toys and tricks flying across the floor.

He arrived just in time to see the murderer’s long arm reach out for the child …

‘GET AWAY FROM HER!’

A brown-haired, blue-eyed girl of about ten years old stared at Jake. Terrified of this furious stranger, she stepped back into the protective arms of Sidney Tinsmouth.

At the sight of Jake, the monster closed his eyes. His face crumpled. Tinsmouth quickly mastered himself and turned to the girl, a smile replacing the anguish.

‘It’s all right, Molly, don’t be frightened. This is Jake. He’s a friend of mine.’

Molly shook her head. ‘He looks scary, Mr Tyn. He won’t hurt you, will he?’

‘Of course not.’ Tinsmouth managed a dry chuckle. ‘We just need to have a little chat, that’s all. Now you take the cup trick and run along home. No charge.’

Tinsmouth dropped three tin cups and a small rubber ball into Molly’s hand. Jake stepped back and allowed her to pass. She paused in front of him.

‘You better not hurt Mr Tyn,’ she said. ‘He’s nice and he’s my friend.’

‘I … I won’t.’

The little girl looked at him, unconvinced.

‘At first I thought you were angry,’ she said, ‘but you look more sad than angry. Mr Tyn’s sad too. Even when he smiles.’

Simon opened the door for the child and, with a final frown, Molly left the shop.

The bell jangled.

‘God save and protect her,’ Tinsmouth said. His tear-blind eyes returned to Jake. ‘I have dreaded this day. I have prayed and prayed that it would never come. But now that you are here, I must keep the promise I made to your father.’

The man nodded sadly.

‘I will tell you the truth that has been kept hidden from you … ’

They waited while Sidney Tinsmouth shut up shop. Locking the door and turning out the lights, he led the way into the back room that served as his living area. There was no window here and no electric light. Tinsmouth lit a candle and placed it on the surface of a rickety wooden table. The flame flickered, revealing a room as cramped as a prison cell. A camp bed with a mouldy old pillow and blanket had been set up in one corner. The framed picture hanging on the wall above the bed was the room’s only decoration.

‘Please sit down.’ Tinsmouth indicated the chairs that stood around the table. ‘I’m afraid there’s very little I can offer you in the way of refreshment … ’

‘This is sick!’ Jake exploded.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Simon.

Jake pointed at the picture. From behind the dusty glass, Olivia Brown smiled back at him.

‘That’s her. Olivia. The little girl
he
murdered.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Tinsmouth murmured, ‘I didn’t think. I should have taken it down.’

‘Jake’s right,’ Simon growled. ‘It’s disgusting, you keeping her picture.’

‘It’s not what you think. I keep it as a reminder of the evil that I allowed into my heart. As a kind of punishment … ’

‘You deserve to burn in Hell for what you did.’ Jake spat out the words.

‘I agree,’ Tinsmouth nodded. ‘And, if I am right about the purpose of your visit, I will be burning there soon enough.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The Demontide. Even if mankind can stand against it, a great many of us will wither in the darkness to come.’

Illuminated by the shifting candlelight, the man held his head in his hands. He couldn’t have been much over thirty, but his shock of white hair and the lines around his eyes made him appear a lot older. The first pang of pity caught Jake by surprise. He spoke now in a softer tone.

‘Tell us your story.’

‘Before I begin, you must know that I don’t expect your understanding or your forgiveness, Jake. The crime I committed that day claimed not only Olivia Brown—
you
were my victim too. Your father told me about your nightmares.’

‘Tell your story,’ Jake repeated.

Tinsmouth let out a long breath and began.

‘Adam said that one day you might come looking for me. That if the weapon failed and the Elders decided upon a sacrifice, they might take him before he had time to tell you the truth. If that ever happened, then he would send you to me, and I would have to speak for him.’

‘But why would my father send me to you?’

‘Because he is my closest friend.’

Jake shot to his feet.

‘That’s not true! My dad wouldn’t have anything to do with you. You’re a filthy murderer!’

‘Calm down,’ Simon said. ‘Let’s hear what he has to say.’

Jake screwed up his anger and sank back into the chair.

‘I understand your feelings,’ Tinsmouth continued, ‘but I’m telling you the truth. Your father saved me, Jake. He plucked me from the darkest, deepest pit of Hell and showed me the way into the light. He is the best man I have ever known …

‘Let me start by telling you my history, what there is of it.’

The shopkeeper took the candle from the table and held it up to his neck. An ugly black mark, like a rope burn, scarred the skin all the way around.

‘My fullest memories start on the day I was branded as a witch of the Crowden Coven. Everything before that day I remember in snatches. Sometimes I wake up in the dead of night, trying to cling to the ghost of a dream. Memories of my mother and father flash before my eyes. She was a small woman with blonde hair and crooked teeth; he smelt of old tobacco. I’ve seen an older boy in my dreams, a brother perhaps, I don’t know. My past is a forgotten country, a landscape ripped away from me when I was ten years old. They came for me in the night—Mother Inglethorpe and Tobias Quilp.’

An image of Quilp—thin as a corpse, bloodthirsty, leering—flashed into Jake’s mind. He saw the witch twirl his fingers and conduct his mother’s death-dance.

‘You see him, don’t you?’ Tinsmouth said. ‘Him and his demon.’

Needle-sharp teeth. The pain as Mr Pinch bit down into his flesh. Jake grimaced. Tinsmouth reached out to him, a comforting hand. Jake slapped it away.

‘Go on.’

‘They took me. I must have done something to attract their attention. Some little feat of magic, I suppose. Spontaneous flight, speaking to the dead. Maybe I accidentally exploded the neighbour’s budgie.’ Tinsmouth smiled grimly. ‘Whatever it was, it was enough to mark me out as potentially powerful. I remember … shadows at the window—a man and a woman hovering outside—the window opening by itself—hands reaching inside, reaching for me. Then … ’ His long white fingers clutched at his neck. ‘Nothing. A sleeping spell, I think. When I woke up I was in the presence of Marcus Crowden and his cabinet.’

‘The nightmare box,’ Simon whispered.

Tinsmouth’s lips pressed into a hard line. ‘You’ve seen it?’

Simon gave a brief outline of his story. When he had finished, Tinsmouth remained silent for a time.

‘Hey, man, you’re creeping me out. Why are you staring at me?’ Simon asked.

‘I’m sure it’s nothing. Let us continue. The nightmare box: it is Crowden’s demon—the so-called source of his black magic. It is a thing of pure evil and within it lies a dimension of torment and suffering. As I was dragged into the Master’s presence, I could feel it whispering to me. It promised endless power, tempting me, drawing out the darkness within.’ Tinsmouth’s eyes glazed over with the horror of his memories. ‘You see, boys, a dark witch is really made up of two parts: his magic and his evil. Witches like those in the Coven believe that all magic comes from demons, and that a young person who can work magic is actually drawing on the power of an invisible demon. To achieve full magical prowess that demon must be summoned and agree to work for the witch. A demon will only do so if the witch is devoted to evil. I loved my mother and my father. My young heart was theirs. I was
not
wicked.’

‘What did Marcus Crowden do?’ Jake asked.

‘He made me evil.’ There was no emotion in the man’s voice, though tears ran down his face. ‘By the time he had finished with me, I had forgotten my parents. Forgotten who I was. And what was left was a monster.’

‘How?’

‘He put me inside his cabinet.’

‘While I was their prisoner, I heard … ’ Simon trembled. ‘One of the witches—Mother Inglethorpe—she had angered Crowden. He put her in the box for ten minutes. The little man who kept me captive laughed about it. Said that she looked barely alive when she came out. Ten minutes … ’

‘I was in the box for a month.’

Jake felt Simon’s hand on his shoulder. He looked at the older boy and saw the grief and the tears. To his surprise, Jake found tears streaking down his own face. Tinsmouth the murderer, white-haired, grey-skinned, looked like a little boy curled up on his stool.

‘The things I saw,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll never escape them. They twisted me into something new. When I stepped out of the cabinet, I embraced my place within the Coven. All that I had to do now was to summon my familiar, Mr Smythe, from the flames of the demon world … ’

‘There’s something I don’t get,’ Simon interrupted. ‘Why don’t witches just keep on summoning demon after demon? Wouldn’t that be easier than waiting around for the Demontide?’

Tinsmouth shook his head. ‘It doesn’t work that way. One demon per witch—that is the rule. It is the safeguard that was put in place aeons ago by … Well, that’s a story for another day.

‘I pledged my allegiance to Crowden and was given my brand. The Coven believe that it is a twisted tribute to all those dark witches that were hanged by the witchfinders. I know the truth: it is a leash by which our real masters bring us to heel … In any case, I had begun my magical career.’