The Society of Dread (22 page)

The faceless man was torn by a fit of coughing. He breathed slowly before continuing.

‘The Candle Man was pitted against a clever villain called the Philanthropist and they fought the great battle of good versus evil above and below the streets of London.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Theo. ‘A hundred years ago.’

‘A hundred years ago,’ echoed Dr Pyre in a hollow tone. ‘If you say so.’ His deep, dark eyes stared out into the darkness with something Theo
could only regard as sorrow. The faceless man coughed again, then continued.

‘But the Philanthropist, a brilliant man called Erasmus Fontaine, was too clever for the poor Candle Man. The Philanthropist pretended to be good, used his money to buy important friends, and ran criminal gangs he called charities. Eventually, he rose to become important in the police.

‘From that time on, whenever the Candle Man fought his foe, people thought that the Candle Man was bad – or that he was going insane. Friends turned against him. Everyone began to distrust him.

‘Lord Wickland, the Candle Man, was determined to smash his foe. He tried to increase his power. In a disastrous experiment at Wickland Hall, his
tripudon
energy flowed out of control. It became a raging flame. Before Lord Wickland could control his power, it had scorched his body, and razed his mansion to the ground.’

Theo felt a cold tingle rush along his spine.

‘Now Wickland had lost everything. His battle
with the Philanthropist, his friends, even his face.’

Theo gazed, spellbound, at the ruin of a man before him.

‘You,’ he breathed. ‘You are Lord Wickland!’

The ashen figure assented with the slightest inclination of his head.

‘Yes,’ he sighed.

Theo staggered backwards. His mind reeled. The events of the last days flashed deliriously through his mind.

He had been sent to fight the original Candle Man.

But there was no time to consider that now. In a crumbling whisper, the man before him carried on.

‘I decided to turn my disaster into an advantage. I abandoned the identity of the Candle Man. I became the villainous Dr Pyre. As Dr Pyre I could act as I wished, I did not need to work with the police, or observe any laws that inconvenienced me. I used my new, wilder power to burn down the hidden bases of my enemy, attack those who secretly worked for him.

‘The Philanthropist soon worked out who I was, but he could do nothing to stop me. Instead of defeating him by being good, I was destroying him by being terrible – by appearing more evil. It worked for me in a way I couldn’t have dreamed possible.’

‘But what happened?’ Theo asked. ‘How did you end up here, in my time?’

A profound sigh, or perhaps a groan of pain, came from the dark human wreck.

‘A grim twist of fate,’ he said. ‘Blame it on the garghouls. While my war with the Philanthropist was at its height, the garghouls were arising. At first, some worked for my enemy, some worked for me. But soon they decided to rise up against all humans. And the devil that would lead them was that traitor, my once-friend Tristus.’

‘Tristus!’ Theo could only listen, astonished.

‘One night, I ventured into the network on a mission to stop the Philanthropist and the infernal devices he was building beneath the city. As I pursued him, we both stumbled across a great
gathering of garghouls, a veritable war-council of the winged demons.

‘The Philanthropist and I were attacked by a cruel
ghoulish
spell. The events are confused to me now, shadowy, but a dark enchantment swept the caverns, turning both me and my enemy into shapes of lifeless stone. Our lives, hates, hopes and folly all taken away in the wink of an eye.

‘Lost to mortal sight, we slumbered a century away, petrified in darkness. Until, eight weeks ago, we returned.’

The crumpled figure caught his breath. Not just physical pain, but bitter emotional turmoil seemed to be eating him away.

Just then, light dawned in Theo’s mind.

‘Eight weeks ago!’ he blurted out. ‘That was when Dr Saint performed his terrible experiment in the Well Chamber.’ He looked on his ancestor with eyes of sad wonder. ‘Dr Saint, a modern-day alchemist, achieved Golden Time,’ Theo explained, ‘the time when miracles are possible.’

Then Theo’s excited face clouded over. ‘His – his
power went wrong. I – I defeated him before he had finished his work. But the forces he unleashed must have brought you back to life . . .’

Lord Wickland stared at Theo from deep, sorrowful eyes.

‘Your words ring true,’ he whispered, in a voice that was growing ever more faint. ‘Golden Time was achieved by another, deep in these tunnels. When that miraculous state occurred, we were freed. We became flesh again, but at a cost.’

‘The alchemy that restored us to life was flawed. It had left us both damaged. I was hurt, dying. The Philanthropist left me in the ruins of the network. He headed for the surface, saying he would rise to power again, finish his Good Works. I was left for dead.’

‘I knew I had not long to live. But I swore one thing – that in the time I had left I would perform a final act of destruction as Dr Pyre.

‘I had discovered that the Philanthropist had a master plan – a terrible power hidden below the network.’

Theo looked up at the vast wheels above him, now shadowy and silent again.

‘The Wonderful Machines!’

‘Yes. I devised a plan. I knew I didn’t have much time. I encountered some villains, the Sewer Rats, lurking in the tunnels. They recognised Dr Pyre from old legends kept alive by London’s underworld gangs, and I soon persuaded them to work for me.

‘Then, I went down into the Crypt and freed some creatures to be my watch dogs. I knew the crelp of old – frightening, sneaking things. I planned to release just enough to flood the network and keep any enemies at bay.’

‘But the crelp are evil!’ Theo said.

‘I did not care,’ Lord Wickland said bitterly. ‘All my heroic efforts to help this city had failed, left me branded a madman, a fanatic. I was using evil to beat evil. It struck me as poetic justice. I believed the crelp would keep the police at bay. That was all I cared about.’

‘But if you feared the Wonderful Machines
why did you get slaves to start them up?’

Dr Pyre gave Theo the bleakest of looks from the depths of his haunted, shadowy eyes.

‘I only ever started them up with the idea of creating enough power to blow them apart. The alchemical bomb I created had but one purpose: to destroy the Wonderful Machines – to course through the network annihilating every cog, pipe, well and furnace. My last act would be to destroy the Philanthropist’s life’s work.’

‘But why?’ Theo asked. ‘Why didn’t you explain what you wanted to do?’

‘To who? To the police? I knew my foe would outsmart me as ever. Look at my hideous appearance! Within a short time, with his lies and influence, he would have me hunted as a monster.’

Theo looked across at the fallen man. Lord Wickland. This bitter, half-insane, burnt shell of a man was what his great ancestor had become. Theo felt pity for him.

‘Now I know the truth,’ Theo said, ‘perhaps we can –’

‘Work together?’ interrupted Lord Wickland mockingly. ‘We would fail! I have fought Erasmus Fontaine for too long! He is too clever. He always wins. And besides – it is too late now, for me . . .’

A sudden spark of green energy flashed between Lord Wickland and Theo.

‘In attacking you, I have been eaten away by the
tripudon
power. It seems it only acknowledges one master. You are the new, I am the old.’

‘But there’s so much I want to ask you,’ Theo cried.

‘My time is nearly up,’ Lord Wickland gasped. ‘But there is something I must say to you. Beware.
He
is out there. He has had eight weeks. That time is short to a mere human. But to one such as the Philanthropist, it is all he needs. He has had time to buy new friends, murder and bribe his way back to power. That most calculating, most cunning of evil fiends is in the world above, mark my words.’

‘Can I . . . could I beat him?’ Theo asked.

‘You will have no chance, I fear,’ Lord Wickland said. ‘He will dazzle the world with his fake
kindness, his glorious lies. You will know he is evil, but no one will believe you. You will warn the world of its peril, but no one will care. You will defy him . . . and the world will brand you a madman.’

‘B-but it’s not like that,’ Theo stammered. ‘There is no Philanthropist now. He’s just an ancient tale, like – like you.’

‘Fool!’ snapped Lord Wickland. ‘He will not use that name any more. He will appear among you as a friend, a hero, a kind man. Beware of him. Because he will be out to rule this world, bend it to his will. And he will see you as his main obstacle.’

‘I’ll help you,’ Theo cried. ‘Together we can –’

‘No, there can be no “together”. The power must pass on.’

And it seemed to Theo that Lord Wickland’s voice had become stronger. It seemed that in the darkness, he sat there, fair-skinned, with a lean, handsome, tragic face.

‘Lord Wickland!’ Theo gasped. ‘You’re . . . you’re all right!’

The figure before Theo shimmered and now appeared to be standing, but not on the ground. Theo could have sworn the man was standing over the bomb shaft, above the inner well . . . in thin air.

‘Yes, I’m all right now, my clever Fool. And I leave you to sorrow. Will you do one thing for me? Release one very stubborn old man from the deepest of my dungeons. He will be found below the ash tunnels. Will you promise me that?’

Theo nodded. But it was strange to hear Lord Wickland sounding so sad, so final, when he stood there looking so young and bright.

‘I go now,’ Lord Wickland said. ‘I go into the candle light.’

As Theo gazed, astonished, a large, black, hooded bird landed next to the ashes of Lord Wickland’s skull.

‘T
here,’ said a cool female voice. ‘We found you.’

Theo turned to see a tall woman in a ragged silver costume strolling into the ruined chamber. Her wild, dark hair was singed and faintly smouldering. More hooded crows swooped to follow her. Just behind her were a handful of men in torn white coats, covered in blood and ashes. A pack of grinning wolves loped beside them, some limping, their fur scorched and smoking.

‘Lady Blessing!’ Theo cried.

She made a wry face. ‘I wanted to go home and have a shower,’ she remarked. ‘But
he
insisted we check up on you.’

She nodded back to the doorway, where a bizarre procession was arriving. Slow-moving Phytosaurs, the immense, waddling crocodilian monsters, were carrying a makeshift bier on their backs, a kind
of bed of ropes and timber. Lying on it was the blackened, still-smoking form of the Dodo.

‘I knew we would find you,’ whispered his cracked voice. ‘All humans stink to the sensitive noses of my creatures, but you, Theobald, with your knack for getting in and out of extraordinary situations, stink more than most.’

‘You made it,’ Theo said, smiling to see the old man. ‘You survived!’

‘Just,’ commented Lady Blessing.

Theo peered at the scorched and ragged form of the Dodo. His skin was mostly blackened and blistered. One of his hands was like a piece of charred meat, and his left eye was bloated and pale, reminding Theo of a poached egg.

‘Surprised? You haven’t been paying attention, my boy,’ the Dodo groaned. ‘Thanks to the touch of your ancestor, who transfigured my cells with his cursed power, I cannot die.’

‘Yes, but you’d still be cooking down in that pit if we hadn’t turned up to haul you out,’ Lady Blessing said sharply.

The Dodo, wincing with pain, turned his head slightly to look at Theo.

‘Now, young man, be so kind as to tell me . . . Dr Pyre?’

‘He – he’s gone,’ replied Theo. And after a moment’s thought he added, ‘He never really existed in the first place.’

The Dodo’s face twisted into the tiniest suggestion of a smile. ‘Quite the sort of answer I would expect from a curious boy like you!’ he sighed.

‘He – he said we’re in great danger, from the Philanthropist,’ Theo added.

The Dodo scowled. ‘You might be in great danger,’ he said, ‘of all, each and every kind. But I am not. When you have become a Reluctant Immortal, then danger is a thrill reserved for others.’

Lady Blessing raised her eyes to heaven. ‘Listen to him! You’d think he came out of this without a scratch,’ she said. ‘We’d better get you home, Sir Peregrine,’ she added in a respectful tone, ‘where I can look after you.’

The Dodo gave a small nod.

‘Come,’ snapped Lady Blessing. Theo followed as they headed out of the control dome.

‘The men have been studying the machinery here,’ Lady Blessing remarked. ‘The place is a wreck. The bomb cannot be activated now. It seems the threat from these Wonderful Machines is over.’

Theo nodded. ‘But what about the greater menace? The original Philanthropist has returned. Do you think we should do something about that?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Looking for more adventures already?’ sighed the Dodo from his bier. ‘Oh, what it is to be young.’

Theo suddenly felt tired and unable to care any more. Now that Dr Pyre had gone, his words, his warnings, seemed to be fading like a dream.

‘This battle is won,’ the Dodo said. ‘I only wish to return home and calm my beloved beasts – the dear Phytosaurs and the delicate Wolf Rats.’

Theo sighed. He felt lost, tired and confused. Lady Blessing took him aside and pointed up a narrow side passage.

‘This tunnel,’ she said, ‘will take you back to your friends. Our spies –’ here she glanced at a couple of tiny bats, nestling by the Dodo’s enormous head – ‘tell us the Orpheus squad are still stuck behind a wall of fire up there.’

‘Then how did you get through?’ Theo asked.

‘Aha,’ Lady Blessing looked smug. ‘We discovered a way after rescuing the Dodo from the pit he was dumped in. There’s a whole catacomb connecting the Furnace up there with the vault down here. Old service tunnels and waste chutes. A delightful place when you get to know it!’ She offered Theo the shadow of a smile. ‘Anyway, run along, and get your party hat on – a great celebration is about to begin.’