The Devil’s Paintbox

by Robin Jarvis

  ‘It turned people into china figures!’ Verne blurted. ‘Small statues of themselves. It did it to my mum!’

  ‘Seriously? Total, instant transformation? That’s smack-me-in-the-face-with-a-rubber-fish remarkable. I never figured on the china aspect. Whoever devised this has one real sick sense of humour.’

  ‘My mum!’ Verne repeated angrily. ‘Is there something we can do to change her back?’

  ‘You got her with you?’

  ‘No, I was so scared of dropping and breaking her on the way I stashed her somewhere safe.’

  ‘I’m real sorry, Verne, but we’re dealing with hugely powerful forces. That stuff is outta my ballpark, even if I was my old razzle-dazzle self.’

  ‘I thought maybe Lil could try something. Where is she?’

  ‘She’s not with you?’

  ‘No, she did the paintbox on her own. I was still at the hotel. Really narked with her about that.’

  ‘You been to hers?’

  ‘Yes, she wasn’t there.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I looked everywhere and called. Where would she have gone?’

  ‘I think today,’ Cherry said in a voice filled with concern, ‘the paintbox just might have bit the artist.’

  ‘You mean Lil was changed too? I didn’t check. It was dark in there and I wasn’t looking for that.’

  ‘We’d best find out.’ Cherry closed her window. ‘Been hearin’ some strange things runnin’ over the roofs lately. And they’ve been chewin’ up the woodwork. Don’t want them to get in.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Not sure yet. But sounds like they’re gettin’ bigger each night. Are the windows of Lil’s place still intact?’

  ‘The ones upstairs are,’ said Verne.

  ‘Say, you did remember to shut them when you left, yeah?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘Then we better get there pronto! Anything could crawl inside.’

  A near silent footfall sounded on the landing of the Wilsons’ home. Four sable feet came padding noiselessly down the stairs and golden eyes pierced the dark. The candles in the kitchen were still burning and the intruder prowled in.

  Catesby flapped his wings and flew on to the table. He circled the paintbox and flicked his tail impatiently as he glared around the room.

  The Wilsons’ orange and black kitchen was filled with clutter; witchcraft-themed mugs and pots lined the shelves of the Welsh dresser and hung on hooks under cupboards. There were cauldron-shaped storage jars and dark green teapots with goblin faces. Witchy ornaments were dotted around on every surface, but Catesby was searching for one in particular.

  There at the end of a shelf was the porcelain figure of a girl with her hands raised before her frightened face. It was Lil.

  A low, menacing purr reverberated in Catesby’s throat. He rose off the table and alighted further along the same shelf. Furling his leathery wings, he stalked forward, knocking off the obstacles that were in his way.

  The figurine was almost in swiping reach and the mutant cat’s claws slid from their sheaths. Closer and closer he came, head low, eyes shining with malignant intent.

  Before he could lash out, the kitchen was filled with frantic barking. Catesby whirled around and hissed, the hackles rising on his back. The broken crockery covering the floor scattered as small paws rampaged and skidded in.

  Sally’s ghost bounded on to a chair and from there to the dresser. She had never manifested visibly before, but now the Westie’s sturdy and compact form was revealed in the candle glow. She charged along the dresser counter, leaping up at the shelf, where Catesby was spitting and jabbing with his talons.

  The dog barked even louder and clamped her jaws round the cat’s outstretched leg. Catesby screeched and took to the air – with Sally attached.

  The winged cat flew around the kitchen, trying to shake off the phantom Westie, but Sally held firm. Catesby wheeled about in rage, then tore into the hall and up the stairs, colliding with Verne and Cherry who were descending. There was a tangle of fur, wings and disco wig. Sharp claws snagged in the nylon frizz and Catesby shrieked in aggravated fury. Sally finally let go and was caught by a boggling Verne. The barking recommenced and Cherry hollered as she struggled to keep the wig on her head.

  And then Catesby was free. He rushed over the landing and into the front bedroom where he shot out of the window, yowling like a scalded demon.

  ‘What was that?’ Verne spluttered, open-mouthed.

  Cherry tugged the Afro back in place and pulled out a torn claw.

  ‘I’ve been a senile old jelly brain,’ she uttered, staring at it in fearful recognition. ‘That Frankenpuss, kiddo, was, or is, the particularly nasty familiar of the worst devil I ever met . . . Mister Dark.’

  ‘But he’s dead!’ Verne cried. ‘He was blown up, you told me!’

  ‘He was an agent of the Lords of the Deep. If they thought he could still be of service, a little thing like death wouldn’t stand in the way. I really have been blind. No wonder this has been so personal.’

  Verne wanted to ask her more, but Sally wriggled and jumped from his arms. She ran down the stairs, parping little ghost farts all the way, a habit of her earthly life.

  Verne remembered why they were here.

  ‘Lil!’ he yelled.

  They hurried after the Westie and found her pawing at the dresser in the kitchen.

  ‘Good girl, Sal,’ Verne said. ‘Good girl.’

  Sally’s tail swept to and fro on the floor like a windscreen wiper.

  Verne reached up and took the figurine down gently. Both he and Cherry gazed at it in dismay.

  ‘Why did you have to use the paintbox on your own this time?’ the boy berated it.

  ‘I don’t think she can hear you,’ Cherry told him. ‘Her consciousness will be in a limbo someplace. She won’t hear or feel a thing, unless that figure is broken – she’d feel that. Be the last thing she ever did feel.’

  ‘What can we do?’

  ‘She can’t stay here. This house isn’t safe.’

  ‘You think that cat monster will come back?’

  ‘For sure, but he won’t be on his lonesome next time. ’Cept Catesby ain’t what I’ve been hearing gnawin’ at the window and clattering over the roof at night.’

  ‘What was it then?’

  Sally began to growl and turned to face the mountain of sand that covered the sink. A clicking sound was coming from within. There was movement. Rivulets of sand dribbled down the side, then two questing antennae came spiking out, followed by a stick-like leg.

  ‘Yep. Pretty certain it was that!’ Cherry exclaimed.

  Sally barked fearfully. She lunged at the sand, then backed away as another segmented limb flicked out.

  ‘Run,’ Cherry told Verne.

  ‘Get the paintbox!’ he urged.

  As Cherry reached for it the sand erupted and a creature almost as large as the sink itself slid on to the tiles.

  Verne yelled in horror. It was an insect, just like one of the Carmine Swarm, but hugely magnified. The rough, ridged shell was blood red, bearing three black spiral markings. A pair of clustered eyes bulged and twisted in the boy’s direction and repulsive mandibles fidgeted and frothed in greedy anticipation.

  ‘I said run!’ Cherry shouted, grabbing Verne’s arm and pulling him into the hall. Sally remained to hold it off. The antennae flailed the air, then the enlarged beetle scuttled sideways, spraying a noxious fluid that made the floor tiles foam and burned holes in the cupboards.

  Sally shrank back, shaking her head in alarm, before turning tail and chasing after the others. The beetle spun around and scuttled in pursuit, ripping the carpet in the hall with the knife-like pretarsi at the end of its legs. Hinging open its outer wings it took to the air.

  Cherry and Verne were at the top of the stairs when it came buzzing. With Sally at their heels, they fled into the front bedroom and slammed the door behind them. There was a thud as the insect crashe
d into the upper panel and they heard it drop to the floor. Then a spindly leg came stabbing under the gap with the sound of chewing and splintering.

  ‘Looks like Annie’s bird buddies missed some,’ Cherry said.

  ‘But it’s massive!’ Verne cried.

  ‘They never were ordinary bugs. Every day they’ve gotten bigger. By tomorrow they could be big as Volkswagens.’

  ‘They? How many are there?’

  ‘All I know is I’ve heard more than one of those nasty critters.’

  ‘But where’ve they been hiding? Why haven’t we seen them?’

  Cherry looked out of the window at the dunes.

  ‘No prizes for guessing.’

  Verne followed her gaze.

  ‘In the sand? You mean the stuff we have to walk on when we get out of here? The stuff that Whitby has been buried in?’

  The attack on the door was becoming more frenzied. A jagged rip had been bitten out and they could see vicious mouthparts rending the wood.

  ‘Time we shifted our cabooses,’ Cherry said.

  Verne looked down at Sally. She was beginning to fade.

  ‘What about Sal?’ he asked.

  ‘Sounds crazy worryin’ about a ghost dog,’ Cherry said. ‘But she’s earned that and more. She saved Lil’s life down there. Poor pooch just wants to stay close to her – how’s that for devotion? From the looks of it she’s used all her strength and can’t maintain the physical form. Till she disappears completely we’ll keep her with us. Lift her through the window.’

  ‘Can’t she float or fly?’

  ‘You serious? She was a dog and remembers being a dog; when she’s here she likes to do dog-type things.’

  ‘She’s my first ghost,’ Verne muttered, picking Sally up, which prompted her to break wind. ‘I didn’t know there was rules.’

  They climbed out and closed the window firmly behind them.

  ‘With any luck,’ Cherry said, ‘Herbie in there won’t go bananas when it finds the room empty and will lose interest.’

  ‘Wait!’ Verne said, before they set off. ‘Jack Potts is only a little further on. If you’ve got some change we can bring him.’

  Cherry looked up and down the sand-covered street.

  ‘We shouldn’t spend too long outside,’ she said cautiously. ‘But yeah, I want a word with the guy who puts the con in contraption.’

  Jack Potts was where Verne had left him. Cherry cast a critical glance over the robot then shoved in a coin. The eyes lit up and Jack Potts thanked her.

  ‘It is so aggravating not being financially independent. How long have I been immobile?’

  ‘Depends what time Cassandra and her cronies left you behind last night,’ Cherry answered sternly. ‘Don’t spin your chest barrels at me and come up with three haloes and act all singing-nun innocent. You’ve been playin’ Lil and Verne all along. You’ve been workin’ for Mister Dark this whole time, haven’t you?’

  Jack Potts took a step back and put a metal hand on his bellows.

  ‘I assure you, madam,’ he began to protest.

  ‘Save it!’ she snapped. ‘People can lie real swell already; we don’t need machines to join in. What’s Dark gonna do next? What’s he getting out of all this?’

  Jack Potts flinched but made no answer. Inside his head small components began to rattle.

  ‘I . . . I am conflicted,’ he eventually uttered.

  ‘Too darn right you am,’ she said angrily. ‘And I’ll conflict your bionic butt right into next week if you don’t level with me.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Verne said. ‘It’s not true, is it? Jack, my dad made you. Why would you betray us?’

  ‘The Nimius made me!’ came the tormented reply. ‘I must serve its true master and no other.’

  ‘You think Mister Dark is the master of the Nimius?’ Cherry cried in derision. ‘What made you believe that baloney?’

  ‘His hand helped craft Melchior Pyke’s great wonder. He wishes to continue Pyke’s work and rid this town of witches, begging your pardon, Miss Cerise.’

  ‘You got it all wrong!’ she told him. ‘I saw what happened when Melchior Pyke died. That was Mister Dark’s doing. He wanted the Nimius for himself back then and I guess he still does. He’s lied to you. Pyke loved Scaur Annie and they’re at peace now. The feud is over. Pyke wouldn’t want this town to lose their witches. You’ve been helpin’ the very fiend who killed him.’

  ‘Is . . . is this the truth?’

  ‘Yes!’ Verne insisted.

  ‘If anyone’s the master of the Nimius, it’s Verne,’ Cherry added. ‘For cryin’ out loud, the kid was possessed by Melchior Pyke!’

  Jack Potts staggered backwards and held his head in his hands.

  ‘Where is Mister Dark now?’ she demanded.

  ‘In the ruins of the abbey,’ he said wretchedly. ‘His unclean spirit has taken up residence there and no longer has need of me. He . . . he made me commit atrocious crimes! I knew no better, I swear it! His foulness has been polluting my poor wits. I must be dismantled at once and my disjecta membra strewn into the sea, to be corroded and consumed by brine.’

  ‘You don’t get to rust your way out of it that easy!’ Cherry said curtly. ‘I need you to fess up the whole diabolic kit and caboodle!’

  ‘Whatever you wish. I am yours to command.’

  ‘How can we possibly trust or believe him?’ Verne asked, feeling hurt and foolish for having been taken in.

  ‘You are the true master of the Nimius. I shall serve you faithfully until the instant of my dissolution. Mister Dark does want it, yes, but he can only attain the great prize once the final watercolour is used up and he is granted life once more. That is the pact he has made with the Lords of the Deep.’

  ‘They’re bringin’ him back to life and lettin’ him keep the Nimius?’ Cherry cried. ‘Have they gone nuts? He won’t just destroy this town; he’ll keep on going.’

  ‘But how can the last watercolour be used?’ asked Verne. ‘Lil can’t do it.’

  Jack Potts looked at the porcelain figurine in the boy’s hand and his eyes dimmed.

  ‘Poor Mistress Lil,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘I tried my best to warn her, but Mister Dark would not permit me. The remaining pigment will be utilised by her mother. She is completely in his thrall.’

  ‘So what is Warrior Blue going to do?’ Cherry asked. ‘What’s the final humiliation?’

  ‘Barbarism,’ he answered bluntly. ‘Everyone who is left, those who have not been stricken with the Yellow Scourge, or transformed into china figures, will become blue-painted savages and slay each other. That is the last revenge of the Lords of the Deep, for the proud little town that defied them.’

  Cherry stared past him. Across the desert, there was activity on the West Pier. People were carrying furniture out towards the lighthouse.

  ‘So we got until daybreak tomorrow to come up with something,’ she said hopelessly.

  ‘Much less time than that. The final pigment is to be triggered just after midnight tonight. Mister Dark is most impatient to be a living man once more.’

  Over on the pier they were carrying what appeared to be a throne.

  ‘So, while her friends and neighbours kill each other,’ Cherry said, narrowing her eyes, ‘Cassandra Wilson sits and watches.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Jack Potts corrected. ‘It is you who will be compelled to watch. By then Madam Wilson will be dead. You see, that is how Mister Dark will obtain his new life. Her blood is to be the bridge between two spheres of existence. He intends to eat her.’

  There was a stunned silence. Cherry and Verne looked at one another, sickened.

  ‘That’s . . . it’s disgusting!’ Verne said. ‘It’s animal!’

  ‘Don’t expect anything less of Mister Dark,’ Cherry agreed. ‘Does Cassandra know? Or has her brain been completely Persilled?’

  ‘There is little of Madam Wilson’s true self left,’ Jack Potts told her. ‘Mister Dark, or Queller, as he is known to h
er, dominates her will utterly.’

  ‘Queller? Yeah, sounds about right. Queller was another name for executioners, or killers. That would appeal to his sick ego.’

  ‘His is a most compelling, overwhelming personality, as I know to my shame. When the time comes, she will submit to him not only readily but with enthusiasm.’

  ‘If we could only get through to the walking Happy Meal, we might be able to prevent that.’

  ‘Not even Lil was able to get through to her,’ Verne said. ‘We’d have no chance. She’s never liked you anyway.’

  ‘Could Mistress Lil not try again?’ the mechanical asked.

  Verne held up the small statue of his best friend. ‘How’d you think she’d manage that?’ he asked crossly. ‘You’ve seen how she is now.’

  ‘But surely the Nimius can assist us there? It is filled with miracles.’

  ‘Forget it. I might be the master of the Nimius, but I don’t know how to work it, remember. I can’t even wind the thing up.’

  Jack Potts straightened himself and the bellows puffed out.

  ‘I am versed in all its functions,’ he said.

  ‘What? Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘Mister Dark forbade me. Until he takes possession, the Nimius is the greatest threat to his ambition.’

  ‘And you think it could restore Lil to normal? And my mum?’

  ‘There is but one way of finding out.’

  ‘Let’s go then!’

  The shortest route to the Thistlewoods’ apartment was across the harbour desert, but Cherry warned against going that way.

  ‘We’d never make it,’ she said. ‘Look at all them busy bees on the pier over there. If we can see them, then they sure have spotted us. We wouldn’t get near your place.’

  Verne agreed. The West Pier was crowded with Cassandra’s followers and he suddenly realised what they were doing. The furniture from the hotel had been smashed up and stacked round the flagpole, where the Yellow Jack quarantine flag was hanging limply in the still air. They were constructing a huge bonfire.