The Ghost Roads (Ring of Five) (27 page)

“It’s all right, my young Cherb, he was never that partial to you lot. He had a big interest in your half-Cherb pal, though, whatever was going on. He would have had him if I hadn’t called foul on him. Get it? Foul? See, it’s a referee’s whistle, adapted for his ears. Foul? Referee? Never mind. Just because you’re in the underworld doesn’t mean you can’t have a sense of humor.”

He looked moodily at the dark water flowing by.

“I’m sorry if we’re being rude,” Danny said, “but we were so scared by the … the creature … the whole place is a bit strange to us.” Then, thinking he had gone too far, he added hastily, “I’m sure you get to like it when you’ve been here for a while.”

The man threw his head back and laughed uproariously.

“Here for a while? You could say that. But thank you, young fella, that was well spoken. It’s a bad joke, I know.”

“Thanks for rescuing us,” Danny said sincerely. Nala clambered out of the bottom of the boat. He squeezed himself between Danny and the bearded man.

“Who are you?”Nala growled suspiciously.

“I’m known as the Boatman,” the man chuckled, “but do you know, I always think that sounds a bit dark and grim. I once was called Taylor, and I think of myself as that.”

“Dark and grim?” Danny said, looking around him.

“I know,” Taylor said with a laugh, “it could hardly be described as the most cheerful place you’ve ever seen.
But it’s what people expect. I think they’d be kind of disappointed to reach the underworld and find it all sweetness and light. They’d think they weren’t being taken seriously. I mean, imagine arriving at this place and being given a slice of pizza or a hot dog and being told to have a nice day. Just wouldn’t work. You need to give them the old Boatman routine.” Here he pulled his hat over his eyes and set his mouth in a hard expression.

“Do ye wish to pass to the place from which none return? Step on board and no more set eyes on mortal shore!”

The Boatman threw his head back and laughed with such good humor that Danny had to grin.

“You see—they’re dead impressed by all that malarkey. But enough of me. What are you doing down here?”

Danny drew a deep breath. Despite the urgings from the dark part of his mind, he knew that a lie would not cut any ice with Taylor, that for all the man’s good humor, he wasn’t to be messed with.

“The treaty is broken and Longford’s trying to start a war and then he’s going to take over so we’re going back to Wilsons to stop him.”

Danny realized he had said it all in one breath, the way a child recites an answer in class, but Taylor was regarding him seriously.

“So you think you can stop him? Or perhaps you want to be him?”

Danny turned his face away into the darkness so he wouldn’t betray the shadows in his mind.

“It’s all right, young’un,” Taylor said with a weary
smile. “You can’t hide anything here. As far as I’m concerned, you’re ready to
try
to do the right thing, and that’s all that any of us can say. I’ll put it to the vote. Who votes to help this pair?” He stuck his hand in the air. “Carried with acclaim. Apart from anything else, there’ll be a lot of work down here for me if you fail … so don’t fail.” And this time there was no smile in his eyes.

“Right, you need to get to Wilsons. Let’s go.”

Asked afterward to relate the story of their journey, Danny would always drift into something like a trance. The river valley was full of wonders, of dreams, almost. They passed though vast caverns with crystals glittering in the roof like a million stars. They were caught in great storms where black rain fell in sheets and wet nothing. They passed vast cities where the inhabitants moved and yet were still, where they breathed and yet lacked life. Shadowy birds flew overhead as the boat passed under canopies of black-leaved trees like none Danny had ever seen. And once, as they passed close to the shore from which no one returned, Danny heard hooves and thought he saw prancing manes and tossing heads, as of great horses running silently by the riverbank.

But all journeys must end, and at the end of this one they came to a small landing stage. There was no sign to say where they were, but Danny knew they were back at Wilsons. Taylor examined the landing stage with a frown.

“What is it?” Danny said.

“It is the job of the dead of Wilsons, the faithless ones, to keep this in good repair. They’ve been working on it
recently. They think it’s going to be used soon, and used heavily, by the way they’ve reinforced it.”

“I could send a few more this way.” The words escaped Danny as though they had not passed through his mind first, or rather had forced their way out without his permission. Nala looked at him approvingly, but Taylor gave him a shrewd, penetrating glare that he didn’t like.

“I’d keep an eye on that if I were you” was all he said. Nala and Danny clambered out onto the dock. Danny looked down and saw a tiny
S & G
carved into the railing.

“Good luck,” the Boatman said, shaking both of their hands, adding with a meaningful look at Danny, “Make sure you succeed by fair means rather than foul. Foul—you get it?” Chuckling to himself, Taylor pushed off from the dock. “Hope I see you later rather than sooner,” he shouted. The sail above his head filled, and in a few minutes he disappeared into the darkness.

“Let’s go,” Danny said, his heart filling with dread at what he might find.

THE DEAD

T
he fire had raged while Vandra and Toxique and the ravens had toiled all night, giving antidotes, carrying the sick birds away from the flames and falling debris. Both cadets were covered in ashes and grime, burned here and there by hot cinders, their hands pecked by ravens striking out blindly in their pain and distress. When dawn broke there was a scene of devastation. The flames had died down, but smoke still poured from the ruined mansion. The canal bank was littered with ravens. Many of them were struggling to eat food brought by the adult males, and some of the mothers had managed to fly for a few feet, though they were still weak.

“Dixie and Les,” Toxique said, echoing Vandra’s thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “they got out somehow. Maybe one of the Messengers lifted them off the roof.”

“Maybe,” Toxique said, not sounding convinced. “You know what’s strange, though?”

“What?”

“Nobody from Wilsons came. The fire must have been visible for miles.”

“We’d better get back. I reckon Les and Dixie must be there.”

Wearily the two cadets made their way to the streets of Ravensdale. It was breakfast time, and normally the street would have been teeming with cadets, but this morning there was no one. The doors of the dining cubicles were lying open, swinging in a mournful breeze. Then they saw two figures approaching them. Vandra’s heart sank: it was Exspectre and Smyck. Smyck was scowling and carrying a huge cudgel.

“Ravensdale is out of bounds,” he snarled. “Don’t you read notices? You lot should be gone home out of here.”

“What happened to you two, anyway?” Exspectre said. “You look like you got dragged down a chimney.”

“Don’t suppose either of you saw Les and Dixie?” Vandra said.

“I don’t know,” Smyck said. “Did you notice a flying rat and a simpleminded jumping bean, Exspectre?”

Vandra grabbed Toxique’s arm as he stepped forward, fury on his face.

“Death and entrails,” he muttered, spittle running from his mouth.

“Scared, we are,” Exspectre mocked.

“Terrified,” Smyck joined in.

Toxique paused. He bent his head to wipe his mouth on his sleeve, gathering himself, and when he straightened again, the two sneering cadets took a step back. Toxique’s eyes were steady and full of ice, his voice cold and urbane.

“So you think you can mock one of the Toxiques? If I were you, I would find a better weapon than a cudgel. I would lock my door at night. I would touch no food or drink for fear of poison. I would put my affairs in order, for when you mock death, it may mock you back.”

Exspectre looked as if he was about to burst into tears.

“You threatened us,” said Smyck. “I heard you.”

“Yes, I did,” Toxique said.

“I’ll tell Professor Brunholm about this,” Smyck warned.

“Do tell him,” Toxique said, his tone soft and full of menace, “and tell him I will be waiting for him when he comes to visit. In the meantime, direct me to Professor Devoy.”

Smyck backed away with a snarl on his lips, but Exspectre, scared stiff, blurted out an answer.

“No one’s seen him. They don’t know where he is.” His voice rose to a squeak at the end of the sentence, and he turned and took to his heels. Smyck hesitated, then followed.

“That was impressive,” Vandra said. “Not sure I liked the new you, but it was definitely impressive.”

“Now I think I know what’s happening around here,” Toxique said. “What has Brunholm done with Devoy?”

They went to the bottom of the Ravensdale street, passed through the curtain and stepped into Wilsons. They looked at each other uncertainly.

Wilsons had always looked a little bit shabby, but now it had a derelict feel to it. For a long time there had been windows that were cracked and patched, but now whole panes were missing. There had been miles of dusty carpets in the place, but now dead leaves blew along the corridors.

“Let’s find Valant,” Vandra said. Her eyes were grainy and tired, and her brain wasn’t working. The school porter was solid and reliable. He would know what was happening. But when they got to the entrance hall, the porter’s desk was unattended.

“What’s going on?” Vandra whispered.

“We’ll go to the Roosts,” Toxique said. “Maybe we’ll find out something there.”

But the Roosts were empty, beds unmade, lockers emptied in a hurry, the stoves cold to the touch.

“What do we do?” Vandra said, sinking onto a bed, despair in her voice. They had only left Wilsons the previous evening, but it felt as if had been months ago.

“You need to sleep,” Toxique said.

“I can’t,” Vandra said, but Toxique insisted. She had been up all night and had taken poison into her system.

“I can’t risk you becoming a liability,” he said.

“Liability,” she snorted, giving him a cross look. But she relented and put her head down. In a few seconds she
was asleep. Toxique got up and walked to the window. Although it was daylight, lights burned in the upper floors of the main Wilsons building. He turned to look at Vandra, how deeply she slept, two red patches burning on her pale cheeks. He would not leave her. The jeopardy of the Two Worlds rested in this place, instinct told him, the same instinct that let him know that you didn’t leave your friends alone.

I
t had been a long flight for Conal and Longford. They had been forced to fly below radar to avoid the air force planes looking for them. Longford’s mind was working quickly. He could pass off his flight with Conal as a kidnapping by one of the mysterious winged creatures. That shouldn’t be a problem. And he could see now that it had been a mistake to try to get Danny to use his power to spark off war. It didn’t really matter, anyway. The atmosphere was so tense that war was almost inevitable. The only focus for opposition to war was Wilsons. The job should already have been done, but Wilsons had a way of defying his will. He had to make sure that any uprising there was ruthlessly suppressed. He joined his mind to Rufus Ness. He could feel the fury and impotence of Ness but cut him short.
Get to Wilsons, bring as much force as you can muster
.

V
alant was one of the few inhabitants who realized just how much the ravens did in Wilsons. They patrolled the
building at night. They picked up litter in the corridors. They carried out small acts of maintenance, often warning him about burst pipes and the like. But there were other, more important things that few people were aware of. The building itself was strange and old and sometimes treacherous. A young cadet could find himself or herself in a wing of the place where the floor was rotten, liable to give way at any time. An open manhole might appear where none had been before. The ravens kept the building in check, Valant was sure of it.

But he hadn’t thought about their role in dealing with the dead, keeping an eye on them in the Butts. The dead there were, after all, the most treacherous band in history, the spies and the traitors, and would do mischief if they were allowed. Now it appeared that, with the ravens absent, the strongest of the dead had started to cause mischief in Wilsons. There were terrible smells at night. Fresh food turned rancid in front of your eyes. And the noise—that was what had scared most of the cadets away. The sounds drifting up through the school were not the cartoon moans and chain-rattling of most ghost stories. These were eerie cries full of loss and hatred and desolation, unbearable to listen to.

Then there came the poisonings. First the Messengers were struck down. Already demoralized by the death of Daisy and the virtual disappearance of Gabriel, they fell prey to violent cramps, weakness and evil dreams. The sickest of the Messengers were moved to the apothecary, while the others took to roosting on a roof that was inaccessible by foot. Jamshid the apothecary
worked out that the poison had been placed in their evening cocoa.