The Society of Dread (6 page)

‘Good morning, sir,’ Theo said politely. He did not wish to be rude. He had once heard tramps referred to as knights of the road, so he decided ‘Sir’ was the safest form of address.

The tramp stopped a few feet away from Theo and gazed at him with ice-blue eyes.

‘So at last we meet,’ the man said in a hushed voice.

‘Oh, you!’ said Theo. ‘I saw you in the street.’ He surveyed the stranger, who looked unkempt and gaunt, but not half as weathered and down-at-heel as he had expected a tramp to be.

‘I know all about tramps,’ Theo said, feeling a little awkward. ‘Gentlemen of the open road. No worries, no cares. Whistling a merry tune as you scrump an apple from a passing orchard.’

‘I am not a tramp,’ the figure replied in wounded tones. ‘Do I look like I could whistle a merry tune?’ He drew himself up indignantly. ‘I am Ex-chief Benevolence of the Society of Good Works, ex-second-in-command only to the deceased Dr Saint, the right honourable Lord Timeus Dove.’

Theo went white.

‘L
ord Dove?’ Theo gasped.

‘The same,’ the stranger said. ‘I know much about you, Theobald. But, owing to the extreme secrecy of our Society, we have, of course, never met.’

‘B-but how –?’ Theo began to stammer. ‘I mean, why –?’

The figure raised a finger to his lips. ‘Not so loud!’ he said. ‘The police are everywhere. I’ve seen them stamping in and out of here all hours, looking through Dr Saint’s old files and records. There seems to be a constable at every door.’

‘Well, the police are here to protect me from people like you!’ said Theo, starting to take off his gloves.

He
has returned, Theo remembered. Lord Dove had been missing since Dr Saint’s defeat. Was this his new arch-enemy?

‘Stop!’ hissed Lord Dove, backing towards the door. ‘You don’t need protecting from me any more. Much as I hate it, you’re the head of my Society!’

Theo kept his distance.

‘But I always heard that you were an immaculately dressed man – even more so than Dr Saint,’ Theo said, puzzled at Lord Dove’s scruffy appearance. ‘Mr Nicely told me about your white suit and lilac gloves.’

‘I’ve been on the run,’ Lord Dove snapped. ‘Hiding in tunnels, flitting from one wretched hole to another, like a fox.’ He looked affronted. ‘Anyway,’ he added, ‘to avoid capture I have to appear as little like myself as possible!’

Theo thought about this. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, the cleverness of this strategy hitting him. ‘That’s rather good! But why have you come? And how did you get in?’

‘Under a word of truce. “Rapscallion”,’ he said. ‘Your staff had to let me in. It’s old Society rules. Luckily your butler used to work for one of our old members, Baron Patience.’

Theo looked puzzled. Lord Dove shut the door quietly. He approached Theo again, step by cautious step. Mr Nicely had once told Theo that there was nothing so dangerous as a cornered rat. Well, Lord Dove was something like a cornered mouse.

‘It’s – it’s my son,’ Lord Dove said.

‘Freddie?’

‘Yes. My only son, Frederick. May I have a spot of coffee?’ he asked suddenly, eyeing a round silver pot on Theo’s tray.

‘Go ahead,’ said Theo. ‘But I thought the Society of Good Works regarded coffee as poison: the
Brown Death.’

‘Ah, yes,’ sighed Lord Dove, rather shakily pouring himself a cup. ‘While Dr Saint was alive we had to follow rather a lot of beliefs. Times have changed now, haven’t they?’ he added. ‘Perhaps a little bit of death can be good for you.’

This reckless attitude shocked Theo quite as much as Lord Dove popping up from the park in the garb of a tramp.

Lord Dove went pale and sombre again. He continued in a low voice. ‘Last night a work party went down into the network. A group of thirteen.’

‘I know,’ said Theo. ‘I waved them off.’

‘Half were found dead this morning.’

‘Dead?’ Theo felt a chill pass through him. He stared stupidly at his visitor, waiting for more.

‘I may be on the run, but I have a very efficient spying network in place. I monitor police communications. The rest of the work party appear to have escaped – and are now somewhere in the network.’ Lord Dove continued, ‘The survivors – as far as we know – include two of your friends . . . and my sole son and heir, Frederick.’

Theo felt weak, but also giddy with relief. Whatever terrible thing had happened, his friends had escaped it.

‘Why – why have you come to me?’ Theo asked.

‘I want you to help find my son,’ Lord Dove said. ‘He is obviously in terrible danger. Every second could count. But the police –’ he suddenly looked exhausted and bitter – ‘the police are shutting
down every known way into the network.’

‘Yes,’ said Theo. ‘They stopped me going in earlier.’

‘There are terrible creatures on the loose down there,’ Lord Dove said. ‘I’ve heard police reports –’

‘I know,’ interrupted Theo. He did not want to mention Chloe. ‘I – I’ve seen them. I destroyed one last night.’

‘Destroyed one!’ Lord Dove exclaimed with excitement. ‘Yes, there . . . I knew you could do it! I knew I should come to you.’

For a moment it seemed to Theo that Lord Dove gazed at him with a look of awe.

‘But what can I do?’ Theo asked.

‘You’re the Candle Man,’ Lord Dove said. ‘There are things you can do that no one else can. In the Society we’ve all heard rumours of the old stories. If half of what we’ve heard is true, then . . .’ His words faltered, as if he dared not give voice to his hopes.

A strange, desolate feeling welled up inside Theo. ‘If I’m so special then why did you all try to
kill me?’ he asked bluntly. He tried to look tough, but inside he was quaking with emotion.

‘Dr Saint poisoned our minds against you,’ Lord Dove said. ‘He said the Wickland blood made you wild, uncontrollable. He said your power had to be contained, siphoned off and used without you knowing.’

Theo felt almost overcome with rage and misery for his wasted childhood of lies and captivity. For a moment he felt as if he could hardly stand. Taking a deep breath he supported himself, leaning against a chair.

‘Can I have one of those sausages?’ Lord Dove asked suddenly. Theo was glad for the distraction, glad not to be held by that glassy stare.

‘You see,’ said Lord Dove, ‘we didn’t know that our dear kind leader was secretly planning to become the Candle Man himself.’

Theo nodded. Lord Dove took some toast.

‘I haven’t eaten for thirty-six hours,’ he said through a big mouthful. Theo wasn’t surprised to hear that Lord Dove was starving. He knew from
all his story books that bad men didn’t prosper, and not getting to eat much was the least he expected them to suffer.

Theo felt off-balance. Suddenly he remembered Chloe – how he wished that she were there to advise him! She would say it was bad tradecraft to let an enemy eat your breakfast or something clever like that.

‘So tell me,’ said Theo. ‘What can
I
do?’

Lord Dove jumped up as a heavy tread sounded at the door.

‘Rapscallion,’ said a lowered voice. It was Montmerency. ‘I think the time might be right, sir,’ he said. ‘I would get moving if I were you.’

‘All right,’ said Lord Dove. He turned back to Theo. ‘So will you help? If I give you the means to enter the network, will you go?’

Theo nodded. Freddie Dove was with Sam and Magnus. They were all survivors together. Anything Theo could do to help Freddie would also benefit his friends. It might – Theo hardly dared to hope – also lead him towards Chloe.

Lord Dove leant forwards. A little nerve was quivering under the haggard man’s left eye.

‘Do you have the seal of the Society of Good Works?’ Lord Dove asked.

Theo nodded. The Society’s solicitor, Mr Sunder, had made it clear Theo should keep the seal secret, and near to him at all times. Theo had already used it once or twice, making documents official by pressing its symbol into wax.

Lord Dove now looked very nervous. Theo awaited what he had to say. He had the feeling that a lot depended on what Lord Dove was about to ask. The whiskery face drew nearer to him.

‘And have the police said anything to you about the ice house?’

‘No.’

‘Then let me show you a little secret.’

‘W
here are we?’ Sam whispered.

Darkness was all around them. The prisoners were exhausted after a long march down a series of broken stone stairways and winding tunnels. Every step of the way, thorny tendrils had slithered over their feet and around their ankles, reminding them of their peril. Now they had stopped on the edge of a big black crater, the rim of which could just be made out, due to a faint glow from within.

The air was full of drifting fumes. The distant rumble and clank of machinery reverberated all around them.

‘Judging from the acoustics,’ Magnus said, ‘my guess as to our location –’ Here he stopped and gasped for air, his eyes bulging. ‘Hurrrrgh!’

Magnus opened and shut his mouth like a drowning goldfish.

‘Great Scott,’ Freddie Dove gasped. ‘He’s going to drop dead!’

Sam slapped Magnus on the back.

‘No, he’s not,’ Sam said. ‘Magnus always does this. His eloquence is too long for his wind. Keep it short, eh, Grandad?’

The prisoners fell silent as one of the Sewer Rats walked by, then disappeared down a stairway into the crater. Sam went to peer down after him, but a tendril pulled him back sharply.

‘Don’t annoy them, you idiot!’ Freddie snapped.

‘I was going to say,’ whispered Magnus, ‘that I believe we have now reached the bottom of the Well Chamber, the great cavern where Dr Saint performed his experiments.’

Sam looked puzzled. ‘But – but I thought all this was destroyed in the big battle.’

Magnus nodded. ‘The great alchemical explosion did destroy the mechanical contrivances of the Well Chamber, but –
hurrrgh
– they appear to have awoken something else . . . underneath. There are old Society legends,’ he added, ending with a deep
frown, and silence.

‘Go on,’ said Sam. ‘Don’t stop there!’

‘I don’t want to worry you,’ said Magnus.

‘For Pete’s sake!’ Sam exploded. ‘What could be more worrying than you saying: “I don’t want to worry you!”?’

‘Silence!’ bellowed Hollister, the enormous Sewer Rat chief.

‘The Mysteries must be respected,’ muttered Magnus, lapsing into silence.

‘But, Grandad – arrrgh!’ Sam cried out as he received a blow to the head from Hollister’s wooden staff. The great, bearded brute glowered at the captives then descended into the crater.

‘That’ll learn yer,’ the one-eyed Queasley snickered in passing. The Sewer Rats went ahead, leaving the prisoners alone again.

‘Yes,’ whispered Freddie, after a moment. ‘Shut up, Sam, for goodness sake. Didn’t your secret society teach you to whisper quietly when trapped by bloodthirsty maniacs? It’s on page one in my book!’

‘Ow!’ Sam fingered a bruise arising on his head. ‘Who are these charmers, anyway?’

‘They are Sewer Rats,’ said Magnus. ‘Rogue Foundlings and assorted villains who have made these tunnels their home. They formed themselves into a gang many –
hurrrgh
– years ago.’ Magnus reached into the pocket of his long brown coat, pulled out a little brown bottle, then stuffed it into his nose and breathed deeply.

‘That’s better,’ he croaked. ‘Hollister’s their leader. He’s the worst of the lot – a bully,’ Magnus said. ‘Occasionally, this gang of pirates used to do a bit of dirty work for Dr Saint – I’ve spotted them on my monitors.’

Sam winced as a stinging tendril tugged at his leg, urging him to move. The captives were shoved towards the crater by one of the Sewer Rats.

‘Rest’s over,’ shouted Hollister, appearing again with a cracked grin on his ash-smeared face. ‘The boss is ready to see you now!’

A narrow staircase wound down the walls of the crater. The prisoners stumbled through
a thick, foul-smelling darkness, lit by a faint fiery glow ahead. Finally, dry-mouthed and with stinging eyes, they emerged into an enormous cavern. How far it stretched could only be left to the imagination. Its jagged roof could be glimpsed in the fitful fires that spat and glowed from an enormous stone building that loomed before them.

The vast stone construction rose up and filled the cavern, in great steps, like the immense temple of some lost religion. Except there was one difference: this temple was dominated by an enormous chimney that rose like the cone of a volcano far up into the dark vault of the roof.

A couple of guards, armed with long rifles, greeted Hollister and the party of prisoners. Hollister turned, his eyes gleaming.

‘More fuel,’ he growled gleefully, ‘for the Furnace!’

‘Suppose they see us,’ Theo whispered. He was standing in the courtyard garden, a chilly breeze plucking at his coat.

‘We’ll be safe for now,’ Lord Dove replied.
‘Montmerency is taking care of the police that were hanging around.’

Theo went pale.

‘With doughnuts,’ added Lord Dove. ‘My own recipe. Sugar is a subtle weapon in my hands. I had Montmerency pretend that the cook made too many. Doughnuts will keep any guardian of the law occupied.’

Lord Dove raked his foot through the frosty mulch of decayed leaves that covered the ground behind the old Memorial. A drain cover appeared.

‘Entrance to the old ice house. Great mansions had these before fridges were invented. Rumour has it that the key to this store was lost long ago,’ he said.

Lord Dove took the seal from Theo and knelt down. ‘But rumour can be manipulated.’ Lord Dove twisted the head of the seal into a socket in the drain cover. With a delicate exhalation of air, the circular cover rose. Lord Dove glanced around nervously.

‘In! Quickly!’

Theo felt a moment of panic at following Lord Dove inside. Could he trust this man? But his anxiety for his friends overcame him.

They descended some thick stone steps. Of course, it wasn’t an ice house at all, but a small, circular chamber. Control panels gleamed in the half-light. The room was dominated by an upright, man-sized silver tube with a sliding door.