Gloom Town

by Ronald L. Smith

  He was happy to work. It kept his mind free of the dark thoughts that had clawed their way to the front of his brain and taken up space.

  For a moment, he’d thought of confiding in his mum and her friends. Ox Bells was a big brute. His mum said he knew others just as tough. He could probably kick down the door to the manor and drag Foxglove and Malvonius out by their ears. Rory winced at the painful memory of Malvonius marching him down to Foxglove’s cellar.

  The cellar.

  The double doors with the carving of the woman in the wood.

  Mara of the Shadows.

  She is the Destroyer. Queen of Sorrow.

  Rory shivered, then finished the last of his chores.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Masked

  The sound of laughter and music grew as Rory and Izzy stepped into Market Square. All of the vendors’ stalls had been cleared away to make room for the circus. Torches were staked into the ground, and soft moonlight touched the tops of the surrounding trees, spreading a glow among the festival goers. Several red-and-white tents dotted the space. On any other night, Rory would have admired the beauty of it all. But not tonight. Tonight was different. They were on their way to Foxglove Manor, and Market Square was simply in their path.

  “Never seen a real circus before,” Izzy admitted.

  “Me either,” Rory said. “Only in a few books.”

  “What books?”

  “I don’t know. Just books.”

  Ahead of them, on a raised wooden stage, musicians with stringed instruments and drums played a festive tune, the melody drifting up into the night sky. Rory noticed that no one from Gloom danced though.

  Izzy looked out at the crowd. “They don’t know,” she said. “Do they?”

  “No,” Rory replied. “They don’t.”

  That was all they needed to say. They both knew they were speaking of shadows.

  On their right, a man nimbly walked across a cable strung from one makeshift platform to another, his arms spread out for balance. Izzy looked on in wonder. Her red hair was tied up in a knot. Rory knew what that meant. She was ready for a fight again. For a moment, he felt his eyes sting. Her bravery made his stomach pitch. She was the best friend one could ever hope for. He noticed a cloth pouch hanging at her waist.

  “What you starin’ at?” she said, catching him off guard.

  He pointed to the pouch. “What you got in there?”

  She turned away from the spectacle and followed Rory’s eyes. “Stuff,” she said cryptically.

  “Uh, what kind of stuff?”

  “Stuff that’s gonna help us out if we run into trouble.”

  Rory would have laughed, but he was too anxious. “Do you ever give a straight answer?”

  “Depends,” Izzy declared.

  “Oi! Rory!”

  Rory turned to see Ox Bells lumbering up the road. A minute later, he was standing in front of them. Mum’s comrade wore a leather vest with no undershirt and pants that ballooned at the very bottom. A forest of thick black hair covered his chest. Rory was reminded of a bear he once saw from a distance when he was exploring in the Glades and way too far from home.

  Ox Bells clapped him on the shoulder. He winced.

  The big man nodded a greeting. “Rory. Isabella.”

  Izzy smirked at being called by her proper name. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked.

  Ox Bells looked at her. “I’m built like a bear,” he said, slapping his broad chest. He waved his big hand in the air, grinning. “Sight to behold, innit? This is me old troupe, Rory. Met the new ringmaster the other day. Good fellow. Said he’d decided to come to Gloom to make a little coin.” He paused and looked around with admiration at the festivities. “No greater show than the Circus of Fates.”

  “How long will they be here?” Izzy asked. “And why did you leave the circus, anyway?”

  It was a good question, and Rory realized he had never asked it.

  Ox Bells twirled one end of his mustache, something he always did when thinking. “Cannonball fell on my head. Knocked me clean out for a week. Never felt right after that.”

  Rory shot Izzy a glance and tried not to chuckle.

  “Back in my day,” the former strongman continued, “the Circus of Fates would set up for weeks at a time. Made more money that way.” He placed a heavy hand on Rory’s shoulder and bent down a little. “Now, if ya wanna see somethin’ magnificent, find the mermaid.” He finished with a wink.

  Izzy rolled her eyes.

  Ox Bells rose up and peered into the distance. “Bless my britches. I think I see old One-Handed Nick. Excuse me, if you will.”

  Rory nodded absently and watched Ox Bells make his way down the road, bellowing a greeting as he did so.

  “Maybe Ox Bells could knock down the door to Foxglove Manor,” Izzy suggested, watching his retreating figure, the muscles on his bare arms rippling.

  “I thought the same thing,” Rory said.

  They were interrupted by the arrival of a group of men and women, all dressed in beaded costumes of green, red, and gold, who quickly climbed atop one another, forming a triangle of bodies, the one at the very top standing with hands on hips.

  A man on wooden stilts clomped by, his face a mosaic of painted stars. A girl, paper wings spread out behind her, carried a gilded cage holding an exotic bird boasting a spray of blue feathers. Rory’s head spun. And then he caught sight of a painted wooden ship held aloft by bare-chested strongmen on either side. At the front of it stood a boy about his age with skin just as dark, but with golden curls on his head.

  “Goldenrod,” Rory murmured.

  And that’s when he noticed it.

  Torchlight cast the boy’s shadow on the cobblestones beneath his feet.

  “Izzy,” he whisper-shouted. “He has a shadow!”

  Izzy watched as the boy who played Goldenrod passed by. Her eyes grew wide. “Look at the others!” she said urgently.

  Rory did. Mingled within the crowds of the shadowless Gloomfolk, he saw that every carnival player had a distinct shadow.

  He turned and met Izzy’s eyes, which mirrored his own surprise.

  “If these people still have shadows . . .” she started.

  “That means they can still be stolen,” Rory finished.

  “Do you think Foxglove knew they were coming to Gloom?” Izzy asked.

  “A great harvest is coming,” he whispered, as it all clicked into place. “Gloom’s shadows weren’t enough. They need more. Much more.”

  A horse galloped by, hooves pounding the cobblestones, its rider sitting high in the saddle. Rory and Izzy jumped out of the way, then moved back toward the edge of the square, where the woods met the town. Trees towered above them, their heavy branches creaking in the wind.

  “Could it be?” Izzy asked, looking out at the crowd.

  “We have to warn them,” Rory said.

  “How?” Izzy questioned, turning to face him. “Just go up and tell them they have to leave Gloom or their shadows will get stolen? That’s mad, Rory!”

  He knew she was right, as usual. The treetops above them continued to creak and groan.

  She is coming. I can feel her upon the wind.

  “The only thing to do is head to the manor,” Izzy declared. “I’ll fight Foxglove myself if I have to.” She looked at Rory and smiled.

  They locked eyes, and Izzy’s courage spurred him on. “Right,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

  They stepped out of the darkness beneath the trees, ready to face who knew what. Rory was determined to meet it, though, come what may.

  A group of jesters wearing brightly colored masks and red robes was approaching. A little girl tugged on one of the jester’s sleeves, who then reached down and dropped a treat into the eager child’s hand. She turned and ran back toward the crowd, holding aloft her prize as if it were a gold coin.

  But something didn’t feel right. Rory tensed.

  “What are they doing?” Isabella said, backing up. “Why ar
e they walking toward us?”

  One of the jesters held up a hand in greeting.

  Rory sighed in relief, but as they drew closer, a sense of danger suddenly buzzed around his head. He caught a glimpse of two oddly colored eyes beneath one man’s silver mask.

  “This way,” he said, steering Izzy to the right and toward the crowd. They needed to get closer to the activity before—

  But it was too late.

  One of the jesters closed the distance between them and grabbed Rory. Strong arms lifted him off his feet.

  “Run!” he shouted. “Run, Izzy!”

  The other masked attackers surged forward, their robes flapping in the wind. Izzy struck out with her small arms and legs, kicking, scratching, and cursing the whole while, but she was swatted away like a fly. “Help!” she cried out, rising to her feet. “Ox Bells, help!”

  But all the music and commotion of the carnival goers drowned out her cries.

  Rory struggled, but he was held tight.

  “Got you now!” a familiar voice hissed in his ear.

  Malvonius.

  “No!” Rory shouted. “Ox Bells!”

  But no one heard him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Unmasked

  Rory struggled against the ropes that bound his wrists.

  He was on his knees in Lord Foxglove’s cellar.

  How they had gotten him there was a mystery. He must have blacked out. The last thing he remembered was a scratchy, smelly bag going over his head and then being carried by two abductors, one at his feet and the other gripping his outstretched, limp arms, like he was a pig headed to slaughter. His head throbbed as if he’d been hit with a rock or a very heavy fist.

  His captors stood in a circle around him. Four? Five? He couldn’t tell. His vision was blurry. Was it blood or sweat dripping into his eyes? They still wore jester masks, but Rory was sure that underneath were some of the faces he’d seen the night Foxglove had visitors—the night he’d first heard the words Arcanus Creatura.

  The familiar dampness brought back memories he wanted to forget—of being marched down to the cellar by his ear and thrown to the icy marble floor.

  The figures surrounding him suddenly grew still. A shape appeared out of the shadows at the back of the room. The tall, thin frame could belong to no other.

  Foxglove.

  But as he drew closer, Rory gasped.

  The man he knew as Lord Foxglove was no longer the same.

  He had the head of a jackal.

  Gold, lustrous fur, slashed with stripes of gray, framed his sharp face. At first Rory thought it was a mask, but when the wild green eyes landed on him, he knew it was no such thing.

  Malvonius stepped out of the darkness behind Foxglove and shook his head, a rapid back-and-forth motion that was too fast to comprehend. Rory slowly turned to look, even though he didn’t want to.

  Where the masked butler had lurked a moment ago stood a man with the head of a hawk, his cruel, yellow beak snapping.

  “We meet again,” Foxglove said through sharp teeth.

  Rory blinked up at them from the floor, hoping it was only a dream.

  “You are witnessing something very few will ever see,” his former employer went on. “No matter. You won’t live to tell anyone.” He paused and cocked his jackal head, so unnatural on his human body. Rory felt sick.

  “We could eat your cracked bones, but I have another plan for you.”

  The bones, Rory thought. Those were human bones on the plates. His stomach pitched.

  His other captors slowly removed their masks. A menagerie of animal features emerged from the darkness: the eyes of an owl; the forked tongue of a snake; the scales of a lizard; the bristling, red comb of a rooster; and the curled horns of a ram. Other aspects blended together, revealing even odder visages: clawed, feathered, and fanged.

  It wasn’t an illusion. It was real. It was all real.

  “We are Arcanus Creatura!” Foxglove cried out. “And I am the Golden Jackal!” A chorus of bestial howls and shrieks went up from the assembled mass.

  Rory wanted to clap his hands to his ears but he could not. Sweat poured off him in rivulets.

  “We have been blessed,” Foxglove said, raising his arms as if addressing Rory as well as his terrible host of creatures. “A gift, we call it, for this is our true form. We are cloaked under her great shadow, which gives us the illusion of humanity.”

  A wispy trail of smoke appeared in Rory’s mind. Beware, daughter. She is the Destroyer. Queen of Sorrow.

  I thirst. I hunger.

  They were doomed.

  Lord Foxglove—the Golden Jackal—stepped closer. Rory noticed the man’s boots were finely polished, gleaming black and lustrous; he wondered how he could notice such a trivial, pointless detail in the midst of such madness.

  He struggled against the tight ropes that bound him and thought of all the things he should have done with his life. He’d never get the chance to learn more about his father from his mum. He wouldn’t see Izzy again either—crazy, brave Izzy. His best friend.

  And his mum. That hurt most of all. She did everything for him. It was the two of them, together, always looking out for each other.

  And now he had failed her. How would she be able to go on?

  Rory’s head was pounding. All he could do was stare at those black boots of Foxglove’s—boots he had polished more than once. Where is Izzy? She had to have escaped. She’ll come for me. But just as suddenly, another thought occurred to him. It’s not her they want. It’s me. The too-curious valet.

  Foxglove took a step closer. “I always knew you were a curious child,” he said. “Is that not so?”

  Rory didn’t answer—couldn’t answer.

  “But to think that you would seek out one of our disgraced members . . .” Foxglove paused and shook his furred head. “That is the height of insanity.”

  He’s talking about Swoop, Rory realized. Was the painter one of them? Is that why he knew so much?

  “And now your curiosity has put you in a very tight spot,” Foxglove continued. “I believe, when you were galivanting about the manor, you were interested in one particular room, were you not?”

  Dread settled over Rory as he remembered the red door and the gruesome light that pulsed along its bottom edge.

  “I think you shall see it,” Foxglove said. “Now.”

  Rory curled into himself as his captors advanced like something out of a nightmare. Creatures. Secret creatures. Arcanus Creatura.

  Long arms and sharp talons reached out for him. He felt himself go limp. There was no use fighting. The thought of Izzy coming to his rescue faded.

  They marched him up the spiral staircase. Rory’s legs felt like lead. He wondered if the rest of their bodies took on animal shapes too, or if it was just their heads. He didn’t want to know what was under their robes.

  They reached the landing. One of the beasts steered him forward with strong hands that pinched his shoulders. The armor, Rory thought with a glimmer of hope. It’s right around the corner at the end of the hall. The lance. A weapon.

  His small moment of hope disappeared as they stopped in front of the red door.

  “Unbind him,” Foxglove said. “He must kneel before our queen and lay out his hands in supplication.”

  Rory wasn’t sure what that meant, but the creature behind him cut his ropes. Hot breath steamed against the back of his neck, but his hands were free.

  I can make a run for it. Grab the lance and . . .

  Foxglove reached into the folds of his clothing and withdrew a strange, elaborate key with a sharp point at its end.

  Rory closed and then opened his eyes again. The key wasn’t just a strange shape—it seemed to be made of something unnatural. Black wisps swirled around it and caressed Foxglove’s hand. A shadow key? Rory wondered. But before he could think on it any longer, Foxglove spoke again.

  “You will see her now. Our glorious queen. In all her eternal magnificence.” He g
ave Rory a gloating, jackal-faced smile.

  Boom.

  A deafening crash.

  Rory turned. Desperate. Hoping.

  Foxglove and his minions rushed down the corridor and around the corner, into the main hall.

  Rory stood up quickly and followed.

  He grabbed the lance from the knight’s hand and peered down the hall.

  Izzy, Ox Bells, and another man with a hook for a hand stood among the ruins of the front door, now in splinters.

  “Oi!” Ox Bells shouted. “What in the name of the sea gods?”

  Izzy, Ox Bells, and the other man, who had to be Ox Bells’s friend One-Handed Nick, charged down the hall and tore into the monstrous creatures, who fell upon them in a rush of howls and screams.

  “Run, lad!” Ox Bells cried, as he blocked a blow from hawk-faced Malvonius. “Take Izzy and go!”

  “No!” Izzy shot back, and just as she did when she saved Rory from the Canaries, she strung together a flurry of unfamiliar words, but this time, she clapped her small hands together. A flash of white smoke erupted in the air.

  Rory didn’t know where to direct his attention in the midst of all the chaos. He swung the long lance in an arc, sending a bull-headed creature smashing into the wall. Glass and gold frames crashed to the floor.

  Ox Bells and One-Handed Nick seemed to be getting the best of Foxglove and Arcanus Creatura. Rory watched as his mum’s friend punched and kicked his abductors to the floor. A few already lay seemingly lifeless, blood streaming from their animal faces.

  In that moment, Rory made a decision. He knew he wasn’t a fighter, but he had to be brave. He had to help.

  He rushed at Foxglove with the lance, charging straight at him. The Golden Jackal snarled and stepped aside, easily dodging the attack. Rory turned around and faced the creature again. The fighting raged everywhere, but for a moment, it seemed as if it were just the two of them.

  “Rory!” Izzy shouted, and ran up alongside him.

  Foxglove cocked his strange head again. “Pretty thing.”

  “Shut up, you freak!” she cried, and tucked her chin and ran forward, knocking her small head into his midsection.