The Curse of Salamander Street (23 page)

She raised the knife, looking for a place to strike him quickly. She reached out to take hold of his hair to hold his head back and slice the neck. The voices sung like a dark choir and stamped their feet in the black that surrounded them. The blade glinted in the light. She held it like a key to gain what she desired. There was no sense of fear, no swelling of guilt. Thomas had to die. Gently she stroked his head and grasped the locks of hair within her fingers. Taking the knife she drew it back, ready to strike.

‘THOMAS!’ screamed a voice from outside the cage.

Kate jumped back and let go of him as the spectre of the girl appeared before her.

‘THOMAS!’ the ghost screamed again, hoping he would hear. ‘SHE WILL KILL YOU!’

Thomas stirred from his sleep and opened his eyes. ‘Kate,’ he said as he looked at her. ‘What were you going to do? A voice called me …’

Kate held the dagger in her shaking hand and stared at it.

‘He wanted me to,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Said he would give it to me if you were dead.’

‘Give you what?’ he asked as he got to his feet.

‘The
Gaudium
, that’s all I need,’ Kate said.

There was a swirling of crinoline as the ghost wafted through the cage and into the room. Thomas could see her clearly. ‘Look, Kate,’ he said.

‘She called you, saved you. She is a ghost.’

‘Galphus has poisoned her,’ the spectre said. ‘It will kill her if she has more.’

‘What do you know?’ screamed Kate. ‘You’ve never had
Gaudium
… I want more now …’

In a sudden burst of anger, she ran at Thomas with the knife. He grabbed her arm as it thrust towards him and twisted it until she broke her grip. She kicked and punched, not wanting to let go. He threw her to the floor and took the knife.

‘Leave it Kate,’ he said as he pushed her away. ‘You’re gripped by the madness.’

‘I want it all, I want it now,’ she said as she stalked him like a mad cat.

‘Stay back and leave me be,’ Thomas said.

Kate lunged again, trying to claw his face and rip out his eyes. He held her back with one hand and then without hesitation struck her with a single blow. Kate fell to the floor like a corpse dropping from the gallows.

Thomas looked down at her and sobbed. The ghost of Lady Isabella came into the cage and stood by him.

‘Look what I have done,’ he said as he stooped to pick her from the floor.

‘She did it to herself,’ the ghost said gently. ‘You must get from this place and bring her to Pallium’s house. There is a secret way of escaping from Salamander Street. The only way. I will show you.’

‘How can we get from this place?’ Thomas asked.

‘Wait until you hear the clock strike midnight and then you will be free. I will come for you then.’

In a swirl of foxgloves and meadow grass, Lady Isabella vanished from the room. Thomas held Kate in his arms and waited for the clock to strike.

T
HE bugler stood on the roof of the carriage and called the hounds. From the door of the Black Shuck Inn came the travellers. Ergott followed on at a distance, wand in hand and a small leather bag draped about his shoulders. The coach had been decked in sprigs of holly and upon the door had been painted a rough cross inscribed with signs and symbols long since forgotten. Bounding in the dirt were the hounds, their barks echoing from wall to wall. The innkeeper quietly passed words with Barghast, who handed him a small bag of silver coins. The man nodded in appreciation and stepped back from the coach.

‘For the inconvenience,’ Barghast whispered to him, hoping that the money would ease his conscience and cover the deaths of his fellow travellers. They both turned and looked to the freshly dug earth beneath the oak tree.

‘I’ll keep an eye on them,’ the innkeeper said. ‘Make sure they stay in the grave.’

‘And a shilling for Carsington to ease his wounds,’ Barghast replied.

‘Not that he’ll need it now he is Lord of the Manor,’ the
innkeeper said as the hounds barked and the sun dimmed behind the high hill.

Beadle ran down the steps towards the carriage as Raphah walked slowly behind, looking at the clear evening sky in great expectation of the journey. The mist of hound-breaths rose up and then vanished in the cold night air. Far to the east the moon rose from the sea.

Raphah had wrapped himself in one of Bragg’s old coats. It was far too big but was warm as toast and was just like a huge blanket. He carried the bag he had found in the cave and inside was the Chalice. In his mind he had already decided that this would be taken to his village – a sufficient replacement for the loss of the golden Keruvim that now lay at the bottom of the Oceanus Germanicus. He studied the holly sprigs and strange signs that adorned the coach. The driver saw him looking and tutted mournfully.

‘Why have you done this?’ Raphah asked.

‘We go through the great forest,’ said the driver slowly. ‘We make one stop to change horses and then we are off again. London by dawn, if we get through.’

‘And should we not get through?’ he asked.

‘Sometimes it is difficult,’ the driver said with a smile that contorted his face, as if he wanted to speak the full truth but could not. ‘You’ve seen what is happening. Since the sky-quake and the coming of the comet all kinds of beasts seem to be roaming the world. Only last week a coach was set upon by beasts with red flaming hair dressed in armour.’ The driver spoke as if he didn’t believe his own words. ‘All that was left was splinters – not one man left alive.’

‘Filling his head with stories?’ Barghast asked.

‘Only saying what went on,’ the man replied.

‘And we’ll be protected by these?’ Barghast asked, pointing to the holly sprigs and crude pictures daubed upon the carriage.

‘Best not travel without them – then we can say we did what we could.’ The driver pulled up the collar of his coat and double charged the blunderbuss. ‘Will be an
interesting
journey and one I will be glad to end. Billingsgate Dock an hour before eight and I’ll be done’.

‘London,’ Barghast said with anticipation in his voice. ‘Not the kindest of places.’

‘I hope to find my friends before they are found by Demurral,’ Raphah said.

‘Demurral – an old fox and twice as cunning,’ said Barghast.

‘You are wiser than I thought.’

‘We are all here for a purpose. I feel as if another hand plays us like a card. None of this has come by chance.’ Barghast stepped inside the coach. ‘You travel above?’

‘Beadle insists upon it,’ Raphah replied. ‘Said he could escape if the beast attacks again. Didn’t want to tell him he’d been sharing a table with the creature.’

‘Better to share a table than your mind. I take hope that soon the beast will be dead.’ Barghast drew close to Raphah so that no one would hear what he would say. ‘When I put Bragg to the earth, I took a handful of soil and held it to my face. I wanted to know what it would be like. You will never know how I have waited for that time.’

‘Carriage!’ screamed the coachman as he cracked the whip for the off.

The yard burst into sudden life as the gates of the inn were thrown open. Lady Tanville took her seat, followed by Ergott. He looked even sourer faced, and his lips pouted like a fat trout. Beadle clambered up the steps of the coach and onto the roof. He took his place behind the luggage and beckoned Raphah to follow as a large owl flew overhead.

‘There is one thing,’ whispered Barghast. ‘Should Ergott be transformed, he must be killed and killed quickly. I fear
that he searches for your friends and that he knows who you are.’

Within the minute the coach was under way. The horses jumped and clattered, as if they knew what was to come. Around their feet the hounds barked as the mist from the vale wisped about their feet.

Raphah took his place by Beadle’s side and pulled the coat around him to keep out the approaching night. From the off, the bugler kept the blunderbuss at the ready and held a sprig of holly in his hand. As they left the inn and made their way to the road to London, all kept silent.

‘He’s near,’ Beadle said. ‘I can always tell when he is near.’

‘Demurral?’ asked Raphah, not surprised by what he heard. ‘I too can see his work in all that has happened. He will be a day behind. We can get to London, find them and be on our way. Let us pray that we are protected from what is to come.’

In the carriage, Ergott sat quietly and stared at Lady Tanville. He tried to smile and show warmth in his manner. She replied by looking coldly, staring at him with her piercing eyes. Barghast sat back in his cape and laughed to himself, quite pleasured by the entertainment of their mutual anger.

‘So how will you search for the lost children?’ he asked Ergott to distract him.

‘I am to meet someone and together we will seek them out. My dowsing rods will take me to where they are. That shall not be a problem,’ he said.

‘Then what will you do when you find them?’ Barghast said as he teased with the wolf whistle, every now and then putting it to his lips.

‘They will be returned to their rightful place and all will be well,’ Ergott said.

‘And if they should not want to go?’ Barghast asked.

‘There will be no doubt of that. I have been asked to recover
many things and never have I failed in my duty.’ He stopped speaking and looked at Lady Tanville as he thought of something to say. ‘You look for something. I could find it for you – for free, gratis and with no charge.’

‘I know where to look and I know what I am looking for. I don’t need splinters to find it for me.’

‘You sound as if you are a sceptic, Lady Chilnam. Could I give you a demonstration of my abilities?’ Ergott asked as he took the pipe from his pocket and stoked it with an even stronger brew.

‘Let him entertain us while we journey,’ Barghast said, raising his eyebrow. ‘It is a long way to London and the night will soon be upon us. Continue, Mister Ergott, and I assure you we’ll both be enthralled.’

‘Very well,’ said Ergott as he sucked upon the pipe and took from his travel bag a small silver cup. ‘First of all, I take something that belongs to the one I seek and tear from it a small portion.’ Ergott took a piece of cloth from his pocket and dropped three threads within the cup. ‘Then we add some fine wine and a powder, the secret of which I am not at liberty to say.’

‘You said you weren’t a magician, Mister Ergott, and yet you act like one,’ Tanville sniffed.

‘On the contrary, Madam. This is a science and not magic,’ Ergott said as he took a small flask of wine, poured some into the cup and then sprinkled it with some white powder that looked like a pinch of salt. ‘Finally I place this lens upon the cup and concentrate my intention upon it.’

‘And what happens next?’ Barghast asked politely as Ergott took the lens from his pocket and sealed it upon the rim of the cup.

‘This!’

There was a fizzing within the cup as Ergott’s brew effervesced momentarily and then became still.

‘Look!’ he said as he held out the cup. ‘All I need to know will be shown to me.’

From within the cup, the deep red of the wine cleared instantly. It shimmered like a looking glass glazed with snow. They could all see the view of a town as if from the eye of an eagle or other bird that soared high above. Ergott held the cup in one hand and with the other took his wand and held it above.

‘Is this the town?’ he asked the cup, keeping an eye upon the movement of the wand. In turn the wand bowed to the cup touching the rim. ‘Show me more,’ Ergott said as the vision then changed to that of something looking down from the rooftop. ‘Is this the street?’ he asked. Again the wand responded and touched the rim. ‘And more,’ he said to the cup. The scene changed to that of the front door of a house. ‘Is this the house?’ he asked, and before he could even finish the question the wand had tapped the rim.

‘But how do you know which street and in which town?’ Tanville asked.

‘Simple,’ he replied. ‘I ask the wand and it will show me. Right for yes and left for no. It is just a process of elimination. I take a map of the city and hold the wand above and within the hour will have the place they are hiding.’ He unfolded a map of London and dowsed the wand across it as the carriage rolled back and forth.

They didn’t speak for the rest of that evening. Ergott sat in the candlelight dowsing the map and making notes as he went. It was as if he sat in a cloud of vapours that clung to him and made the carriage lamp dim.

Lady Tanville dozed. She thought of Isabella and how she would be returned to the castle, her portrait turned to face the wall and kept from roaming the night. In her mind she looked from her bedroom window across the gardens to the gate beyond. She tried to count the yew trees that grew in each
avenue of flowers and formed peculiar boxed hedges. In her counting, sleep came to her quickly and she closed her eyes.

Barghast kept watch. He looked to Ergott and spied the map, keeping note of where Ergott had looked upon the page. He saw that in several places he had scored it with a cross, marking where he thought the wand had told them the children were hidden.

The carriage drove on into the night. Leaving Peveril, the road dropped from the hills and went towards the great forest. To the east was a vast lake and to the west a deep marsh. The road was straight and well metalled. Upon the mile stood a row of small houses. Beadle counted them as they went by. Each one was the same. A small chimney sat on a tiled roof, two windows and a door upon each front and a fire lit within. They were the houses of the road-makers. Built to mark the way, they gave Beadle a feeling of being safe. He snuggled contentedly in his coat, knowing he was never more than a mile from them.

By the time they had driven for five hours, the horses became weary. The road was overwhelmed by a wall of high trees that stood like ancient pillars before them. Branches reached up into the sky and rattled in the wind like sabres. It was as if they were speaking to them, telling them to turn back and go another way.

Beadle held on to Raphah’s arm, hoping to be reassured that all was well. Raphah slept soundly. The coach slowed to walking pace as the bugler called the hounds in close. The forest rustled with noises from within. Eyes stared at them from the darkness as the horses pranced nervously.

The last mile-house was now some way behind. Beadle turned back and looked at the fading glow from the window – a sign of a welcome fire now disappearing into the night. A cold draught blew against his face and rattled the branches of a
nearby oak. There was a distant creak and the splitting of a limb as a branch fell unseen. The horses gained pace, not by command but by their own desire. It was as if they knew something was there, something was watching. They quickened their gait until the carriage rocked as if at sea. The hounds followed, their yelps silenced as they kept guard. They ran on, not wanting to cry out, hoping to keep step, not wanting to fall behind.

Ahead, the forest grew thicker. The road was darkened by overhanging branches that formed an impenetrable tunnel against the night sky. The coach rattled over broken stones that crunched like skulls beneath the wheels.

Beadle wrapped himself against the dark. He hated it more than anything he knew. For Beadle, the dark was full of fear, not that he knew why; it had always been the same. He would see things in the shadows; tufts of grass would become monsters, hanging branches the limbs of dead men. It was as if the creatures that inhabited the night had freedom to haunt his very soul. He couldn’t resist; he was helpless.

Hour after hour, as the coach went on, Raphah slept. Beadle peered out occasionally from his hiding place. He wanted to keep completely covered so that nothing could touch him, snatch him from the carriage and drag him away. The forest moaned and chirped. Eyes flashed from dark places, lit by the coach lamp as it went by. The driver kept on, the bugler at his side, the hounds nearby.

Beadle thought he must have fallen to sleep. In his dream he saw Demurral on his horse, cantering through the night. Not stopping, not waiting, always going on. Day and night went by. The sun rose and set. Demurral continued on.