Kill Fish Jones (27 page)

On the far wall he could see fiction, and here he glimpsed the velvet of romance and the rain-dark streets of a crime novel. The children's shelf was the most terrifying, chockfull of magical power practically reaching out to drag him in and swallow him whole.

And there, on the top shelf, was a section that didn't qualify as either fact or fiction. Myths and Legends.

Grimshaw flipped his tail thoughtfully. The Mighty Curse was a legend, all right, so maybe the clue was there. Perhaps, long ago, some human had told others the story of how the world nearly ended, and perhaps the tale had been passed from person to person down the generations until, finally, someone had called it a legend and written it down.

His inky eyes narrowed. Top shelf. Typical.

Looking around, he spotted one of those ladder things on wheels resting next to a large armchair. Ever so carefully, he stepped towards it. He was doing just fine until he began to pull it gently towards the shelf he wanted.

There was a tortured groan of metal and he realised
at once that the wretched thing had a squeaky wheel. Now there was no time to be careful – the books had spotted him! Yanking hard, Grimshaw dragged the ladder past
Dissection and Anatomy
as fast as he could, hurtled by the howling din of
A Lexicon of Demons
and skirted hurriedly around
Execution: The Facts
, but not before he had glimpsed a face with bulging eyeballs peering at him.

Crashing the ladder against the right bookcase he began to climb, praying that he would get past the children's fiction before
Gruesome Fairy Tales
nabbed him. He had just made it when his back paw slipped on a rung and before he regained his balance a bony, black-nailed hand shot out of
Gruesome Fairy Tales
and seized his tail. Hissing with fright, Grimshaw scrabbled to hold on. Already he could feel the stories pouring down his spine, burrowing their way towards his head. His vision grew cloudy as images of golden princesses, green-faced witches, rats and cats and saw-toothed ogres blocked out reality. He felt the ladder rock beneath him, the dodgy wheel locking as the other one spun, and suddenly the whole contraption tipped over, throwing him off. As he went, his flailing paws caught in the books, dragging them off the shelves. They sprang free, their pages flapping, their stories running riot on the air in cloudy shapes that grasped, trying to catch hold of the reader they knew was there somewhere. Catch hold of him and pull him in.

Grimshaw hit the library floor with a thud. He lay
on his back, gasping with shock and terror. Any minute now, all the escaped stories would sense his whereabouts and dive into his mind. If he didn't want his brain turned to mincemeat on the spot, he had to move fast.

Flipping from his back to his front, Grimshaw spotted a book that had fallen open practically under his nose. It was
Little-Known Folklore of Yorkshire and the Dales
. Reaching out, he slammed a paw into the middle of the book, flattened it down and stared in astonishment. The page he had hit upon was
Chapter 32
and was called ‘The Mighty Curse'.

Which was so what Grimshaw was looking for that he gasped and peered closely at the first line, only just remembering to ready himself for what was to follow. A moment later there was a hoarse scream as the story got hold of him, followed by a sizzle and a pop.

It wasn't a moment too soon. In the air over Grimshaw's now disappeared head, the stories –
Gruesome Fairy Tales
among them – had been gathering in a menacing cloud of colour and sound. With their potential reader gone, the cloud imploded, its contents howling with fury as they were sucked back into their books.

Gradually, a sort of calm returned to the library. Only the triumphant
Little-Known Folklore of Yorkshire and the Dales
seethed on.

As soon as they rang the bell, the door was opened by an elderly man. Fish took a step back and nearly trod on Alice.

‘Hello?'

‘Oh, um, are you Mr Toby Green?' asked Alice, giving Fish a frown.

‘That's me. And you are?'

‘Alice Craig. And he's Fish Jones. Can we talk to you a minute?'

Mr Green looked surprised. ‘Oh, sure. Do you want to come in?'

‘Yes, please,' Alice sang out cheerfully. She pushed past him, dragging Fish with her.

‘The living room is … Oh you found it, good-o.' Toby Green closed the door and followed them in.

Alice was looking around the room. ‘Hey, this is nice. Like your walls and that. Mum only ever has magnolia. It's dead dull.'

‘I think colour is the stuff of life,' said Mr Green carefully. ‘Would you like … um … lemonade? Not
that I have any. Tea? The kettle is already on.' He waved down the hall towards the kitchen.

‘We've come because we're looking for something. What's up, Fish?'

‘I was about to ask the same thing,' said Mr Green. ‘Your friend does look a little sick.'

They both stared at Fish. In fact, all three of them stared at Fish.

Who didn't know what to do. He looked at the third member of his audience. It looked at him.

‘Oh lor',' said Alice. ‘You can see something, can't you?' She smiled at Mr Green. ‘Fish sees things, you know.'

‘What kind of things?' asked Mr Green nervously.

Alice rolled her eyes. ‘You name it. Dirt demons that hang around bins and stuff, dark lights around bad people, misty snakes around mad people, that kind of thing. And he hears stuff on dead telephone lines. And …'

‘Deaths,' said Fish.

Mr Green focused on him, his eyes suddenly clear. So did Alice.

‘I think you need to go to the doctor, Mr Green.'

‘Right.' The old man nodded, his face suddenly pale. ‘I should call it stuff and nonsense and throw you out, of course, but somehow …' he sat down heavily on a chair, ‘I've not been feeling quite myself lately.'

The Death hung above and behind him, like a strange halo. Its tail rested on his shoulders, its bone-thin hands
on his head and its wings, fanned out in a glowing arc, quivered in the still air. Its light-in-light eyes watched Fish patiently.

Down the hall, the kettle began to whistle, so Alice went to deal with it. Fish and Mr Green eyed one another cautiously, listening to the clink of china and the sound of pouring water.

‘If you go soon,' said Fish at last, sitting on the sofa opposite Mr Green, ‘they may be able to do something.'

‘
Oh no, Fish Jones
.' The Death's voice was like a hint of cool air on a hot day. ‘
We let you keep your mother. You can't have this one too
.'

Fish felt ice between his shoulder blades. He shuddered violently, wondering why it was that only bad things made creatures, things like decay and neglect and cruelty. And death.

‘Must be damned creepy,' said Mr Green, completely unable to hear a word the Death said. He managed a smile. ‘What can I do for you, anyway? You didn't come here just to tell me I'm dying, did you?'

‘Fish is cursed,' said Alice, reappearing in the doorway. ‘And we got your name out of a book, like a clue, so we came to see if you can help us.' She was carrying a tray with three mugs and a packet of digestives. ‘I made it in the mugs instead of the teapot, and I hope you don't mind about the biscuits. It's been ages since breakfast.'

Fish gave her a look. She plonked the tray on the table,
splashing some of the tea, and picked up a mug. Then she settled back and looked at Mr Green expectantly.

He watched them both for a moment. ‘Curses?' he said. ‘Well, it's interesting, but I haven't got much about curses. I'm a collector, you know.' The colour began to creep back into his face. ‘Old books of any sort, some of them are quite rare. I've got an illustrated copy of
Gruesome Fairy Tales
that'd knock your socks off, and some excellent works on myths and legends …'

While he talked, Fish tried to ignore the Death. Which was difficult because the thing kept looking at him. Fish got the feeling it was curious, which bothered him, as he didn't like the idea that an Angel of Death found him interesting.

‘
Our proper name is Avatar of Passing Over
,' it said. ‘
But you can call us Pomp
.'

Fish heard it, but thought he'd rather not know.

‘
We carry the souls of the dead through to the other side and watch over those whose death is to be slow
.'

Like poor Mr Green, thought Fish, feeling horribly sorry for the old man.

‘
Yes, like Mr Green.
'

Fish hunched his shoulders. He hadn't said anything out loud. The thing must be able to read his mind.

‘
Your soul, actually
,' it said. ‘
We can see the questions in your soul's reflection
.'

By now, Alice was telling their host all about Fish's curse and how they had come to find Mr Green's name in a book by accident.

‘
The Hand of Destiny
,' said the Pomp to Fish, ‘
is a curious thing. Even we know little about it. The lengths it will go to in order to save humankind. To save even one single soul
.'

‘So that's it,' finished Alice.

Toby Green nodded. ‘I must admit, it's a damned good story. But quite why it led you to me …' He frowned. Alice nudged Fish hard. ‘Actually, there is one book you might be interested in. It's been a while since I read it, but if I remember rightly, there is something in there about a curse that was broken, or put off or something. It's a very old, little-known legend. But I believe it's true that many legends have their roots in real life.'

He got up and walked out of the room. Eagerly, Alice followed him, with Fish at her heels. Pushing open the next door along, Mr Green showed them a library, its walls lined with shelves all laden with old-looking books.

‘Top shelf,' he said.

Fish pulled a ladder with a squeaky wheel into place alongside the bookshelves and climbed up.

‘That's the one.' Mr Green moved to an armchair in the corner and sank heavily into it.

‘You're tired,' said Alice sympathetically.

‘Y'know, boy –' Mr Green looked at Fish – ‘I might just take your advice about the doctor. Though,' he sighed, ‘perhaps I should think about getting my affairs in order. Go see my daughter in Australia, maybe. I
always wanted to do that, but kept putting it off. Work and all that.'

‘Now's the time,' said Fish firmly. ‘I'm sorry.'

Mr Green smiled. ‘Never mind, dear boy. Look on the bright side. It's not everyone gets advance notice! Now, if you don't mind, I'd like you to leave. You can take the book. Consider it a gift.'

As they turned to go, Fish sent a last look at the Pomp.

‘
Because
,' it said, answering the question he had thought of ages ago, the question about why only bad things made creatures, ‘
good things all come from, and go back to, the same source. And there is only one Avatar of Love
.'

And then they were outside again, clutching the book that Mr Green had given them and blinking in the brightness of the sun.

Sitting on a bench on the village green, Fish held the book quietly for a moment, hoping against hope that somewhere inside it would be the information that they needed to know. How to break a curse.

He opened it at random. A face swam out of the page at him, its inky eyes wide with gleeful amazement, its needle teeth bared in a horrible grimace. Fish gasped, the book fluttering in his hands as he nearly dropped it. The curse demon was in the story! Not in a real way, but somehow
behind
the words that curled across the page.

With a catch of his breath, Fish recovered just enough
to slam the book shut. He looked up to see Alice staring at him.

‘Let me guess,' she said, ‘whatever is in there, it's something we need to know?'

Fish nodded. Carefully he opened it again, flicking through to the same place as before. This time he saw only words.
Chapter 32
.

They bowed their heads and together they read the story of the curse of Imenga the Mighty.

Right back at the very beginning, when most of the world was covered in forest, and bears walked in the woods of the Clouded Land, there lived a magician of immense power. He was called Imenga the Mighty, and no one dared to challenge him. He took everything that he wanted, and all those who displeased him were turned into ashes and spread on his vegetable garden. He had many sons and daughters, but they were given no land or name or even a house, for the magician wanted everything for himself and would give up nothing.

One day the eldest of his sons said to the other sons, ‘Our father is a great magician who owns the world, and yet he keeps all the land and the power and gives nothing even to his own children. We will die as poor as the people in the village.'

And the second son said, ‘It is true. Indeed, we are as poor as the bears in the woods. Poorer, for we know that we are owned and they do not.'

And the first son said, ‘I shall ask him for land on which to build a house. For I have a wife and I need a home to put her in.'

So the first son went to his father and said to him, ‘Dear father, you have all the wealth of the world at your feet. All I ask of you is some land on which to build a house for my beloved wife.'

But his father said, ‘No. If I gave you land on which to build a house then I would not own the world. You must stay here in my palace and you will live in comfort and want for nothing, but I will own you and your wife too.'

Three months later his wife came to him and told him that she was pregnant with their child, and so the first son went back to his father and he asked again.