The Curse of the Gloamglozer: First Book of Quint

by Paul Stewart

  ‘The Master of Creation,’ said Bungus scornfully.

  Linius hung his head. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. He shuddered, wrapped his arms tightly around him and raised his head to the ceiling. ‘Oh, Sky above!’ he wailed. ‘If I had known then what I know now, I would have shut the door and turned my back on the laboratory once and for all. And yet I could not. It took until the other night before I was finally convinced – before I finally did what I should have done so long ago, and sealed the laboratory.’

  He turned to Maris and took her hands in his own. ‘It has taken many, many months,’ he said, ‘but finally I have seen the error of my foolish ways. It's over now. For ever.’

  ‘Over?’ said Maris. ‘But don't you remember, Father? Even now, your apprentice, Quint, is down in the stonecomb, making his way to the Ancient Laboratory.’

  ‘It's all right,’ said Linius. ‘He won't be able to get in. Only the bearer of the Great Seal of High Office can gain access.’ He squeezed her hands. ‘Be a good girl and fetch it for me.‘

  As he squeezed through the narrow gap in the rock, Quint knew that he had almost reached his destination. There was a scrap of torn material, still clinging to the spur of rock; hopefully Bungus's cape, which he was now wearing, was made of something stronger. Grunting with effort, he eased himself round the jagged spur and shuffled on further.

  A moment later, the tunnel opened up once more as he reached the far side of the blockage. Ahead of him, bathed in the same dull red glow, was the door to the Ancient Laboratory.

  ‘At last,’ he whispered, ‘I've found it.’

  He stepped forwards and leaned the hooked pikestaff against the wall. Then he reached out slowly, laid his hands against the carved door and traced his fingers round the outlines of the sculpted creatures. He stroked their life-like fur; he tickled their ears. His touch fell on the circular indentation at their centre, and as he ran his fingertips around the outer circle, up and down the triangular jags, along the calibrations, his eyes glazed over.

  He remembered what had happened to the professor the last time he had stepped inside the laboratory: the terrible wounds, the horror-filled stare.

  ‘What monstrous creature lies behind this door?’ he wondered out loud, and shivered with fearful anticipation. ‘It still isn't too late to give up, Quint. You could just turn around and leave,’ he told himself. ‘No-one would think the worse of you. No-one need ever know…’

  But even as he spoke the words, Quint knew that he could never pay them any heed. He would know if he turned and left – and he would never be able to forgive himself for such cowardice, no matter how long he lived. Besides, it was too late to give up. It had been too late ever since the moment when he had helped the stricken professor to bed the night before last, loosening his collar, unburdening him of the heavy chain around his neck…

  Quint reached into his jerkin pocket and drew out the large gold medallion. He breathed in deeply to calm himself … He raised the Great Seal, eased it into the indentation in the carved stonework and turned it to the left, to the right…

  There was a soft click. The door slid open.

  · CHAPTER SIXTEEN ·

  THE CREATURE

  Not there?’ Linius collapsed back onto his pillow, his face pale and taut. ‘Not there … But it must be there! Have another look, child.’

  ‘I … I'm sorry, Father,’ said Maris, ‘but the case is empty.’

  ‘No, no!’ groaned the High Academe. ‘It can't be. How could I have been so careless?’

  ‘What is it?’ Maris cried. She was frightened now. Her father looked so frail, so fragile, and so very small lying there in the great bed, shaking his head from side to side. ‘Have you remembered where you left the Great Seal?’

  Linius looked up at her miserably. ‘I took the seal off,’ he said. ‘I was weak, half-delirious. I handed it to him and told him to put it in its case. Then I collapsed into bed. It never occurred to me that he would…’

  ‘You don't mean … ?’ said Maris, as the truth dawned on her.

  ‘Quint,’ breathed her father. ‘Quint has the Great Seal.’

  ‘And the key to the Ancient Laboratory,’ said Bungus quietly. ‘I think you need to finish your story, Linius, old friend.’

  Linius nodded weakly and cleared his throat. ‘As I became more skilled with the levers and wheels up on the valve-platform, I often thought of the carving of that ancient scholar standing, just as I was, at the controls of the Ancient Laboratory. I went back to the Blackwood Chamber and tried to read the ancient script but it, like the carving itself, had been hacked about horribly. From what I could make out, however, this ancient scholar had succeeded both in isolating a glister in the laboratory and bringing it to life. This he did by re-creating the exact conditions of Riverrise during a Mother Storm. Given my own growing feeling for the minute workings of the laboratory, and the months I'd spent studying in the Great Library, I felt sure I could repeat his achievement.’

  ‘Linius, Linius,’ said Bungus, as if talking to a young child. ‘Didn't you realize even then? There was a reason why the First Scholars abandoned the laboratory and mutilated all record of it in the blackwood carvings. Something went horribly wrong down there and they didn't want the catastrophe ever to be repeated.’

  ‘Yes, Bungus,’ said Linius, with an exhausted sigh, ‘but with the power of the Ancient Laboratory at my fingertips – my fingertips, Bungus – it was just too great a temptation. I had the entire learnings of the Great Library at my disposal. I was convinced I could succeed where they had failed. And I did succeed, Bungus. At first…’

  Bungus shook his head. ‘Of course, of course,’ he muttered. ‘It is all becoming clear to me now.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Maris. ‘Then please tell me, because Father is really beginning to scare me, Bungus.’

  ‘The First Scholar in the blackwood carving is in the act of giving a glister life,’ he said. ‘What happened next has been erased from history, but I think I now know.’

  ‘What?’ said Maris. ‘He created the rogue glister,’ said Bungus simply. ‘Huge, monstrous, and very likely insane. Not life as we know it – life that begins at Riverrise – but an abomination that destroyed its creator and has haunted the stonecomb ever since!’

  ‘No wonder they closed the laboratory,’ said Maris, her blood running cold at the memory of the hideous creature.

  ‘Aye, and sealed up the tunnel,’ said Bungus. ‘They probably hoped the glister would never escape.’ He shook his head. ‘They weren't counting on the tunnel itself shifting its shape over the centuries and giving it a way out.’

  Maris shuddered. ‘Please, Father,’ she pleaded, ‘tell me you didn't create a blood-red glister!’

  ‘No, child,’ said Linius. He trembled. ‘Though as my unease grew, with each visit to the laboratory, I did sense something in the stonecomb. Something terrible, watching me, listening. A malevolent presence … Oh, Maris, I thought I was so much cleverer than the First Scholars.’ He swallowed hard and tried to control himself. ‘You see, they had sucked a glister from the stonecomb into the pipes and then, as a mighty electric-storm hit the Sanctaphrax rock and passed through it, they diverted the storm's power into the laboratory. They exposed the glister to the full force of the lightning. That much you can see in the carving.’

  Linius shook his head and permitted himself a rueful smile. ‘Of course they created a monstrous glister – how could they not have, exposing it to such indiscriminate power? But I, Linius Pallitax, the greatest scholar in the history of Sanctaphrax …’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘I knew better. When I sucked a glister into the pipes, I waited. I studied the sky. I bided my time. I chose my storm carefully, with all the skill of a sky-scholar, and when it struck I was up on the valve-platform ready.

  ‘You should have seen it,’ he said excitedly. ‘I diverted the storm's power through every branch, every root of the Ancient Laboratory; channelling, filtering, concentrating it with every flick of a valve-le
ver or turn of a valve-wheel until the lightning orb – hovering in mid-air – glowed brighter and brighter. Below it, in a sealed tube which led up from the central root-pipe, was the glister.

  ‘As I watched, the lightning-orb grew more dazzling, more intense until, all at once, it began flashing with bright blue tendrils of light. This was the moment I'd been waiting for. I released some air from the root-pipe into the tube to build up pressure, then opened the valve at the other end. With a hiss and a pop, the glister burst

  from the tube. It flew up towards the sphere of light, penetrated its outer skin of crackling light and was held at the centre of the brightly pulsating lightning-orb.’

  Linius fell back into his pillows, his eyes distant and unfocused. ‘I shut down the valves an instant later,’ he said. ‘Then, as the ball of light faded and disappeared, my heart leapt. For there, at the very centre of the afterglow, was … was my creation.‘

  As the door of the ancient underground chamber opened, Quint found himself staring into the curious laboratory with its tubes and pipes, its bell-jars and spheres. This time he stepped right in. The papery cape rustled as the door closed behind him. He sniffed the air and his nose crinkled up. It smelled musky in there: acrid, sour.

  Quint stepped cautiously forwards. As he did so, he thought he heard a tiny, plaintive voice. But when he stopped to listen more closely, the voice disappeared.

  ‘Is my imagination playing tricks?’ he asked himself.

  ‘Help me.’

  There it was again. This time there could be no mistake.

  ‘Please, help me.’

  The voice seemed to be coming from behind him. Quint turned round, and there – crouching in the shadows on one of the glass pipes – was a wide-eyed, pitiful little creature, trembling like a wispen leaf. Quint felt his heart melt.

  ‘It's all right,’ he said softly.

  The creature cocked its head to one side, and blinked its large, doleful eyes. Quint took a step closer.

  ‘So, little one,’ he said, his voice low and lulling,‘what's your name? How did you get here?’

  The frail-looking creature slumped down. Sobs racked its puny body. With a jolt, Quint noticed angry red welts scarring its back. He stood stock still, shock mingling with anger.

  ‘Don't worry, little one,’ he said, ‘you're safe now.’

  ‘There it was,’ Linius breathed. ‘A life created away from the sacred pool of Riverrise.’

  ‘What did it look like?’ asked Maris.

  ‘Look like?’ said Linius, the faraway expression returning to his eyes. ‘It looked… it looked innocent. Yes, innocent – but so frail and flimsy as to be hardly there.’ His eyelids fluttered. ‘It had soft downy fur and clear, almost translucent skin on its paws and palms. Its little ears were floppy and its eyes – they were big, Maris, big and round and sparkling with intelligence … I reached out and cupped it in my hands – and it grasped hold of my little finger. Oh, Maris, it was so delicate, so vulnerable. I held it to my chest and felt its tiny heart hammering.’ He looked up. ‘Even though I was a scientist, a professor, a creature of logic, I …’ He fell still. ‘It was mine,’ he said. ‘I had created it, and I couldn't help but love it.’

  Remembering the promise she had made her father at the start of his story, Maris tried to ignore the unpleasant pangs of loss and hurt that made her stomach clench. But it wasn't easy.

  ‘Then a curious thing happened,’ her father continued.

  ‘Yes?’ said Maris, hardly daring to breathe. ‘I dropped it,’ said Linius. ‘My hands were shaking, and it was so light and insubstantial that it just slipped through my fingers. I caught it just in time, no damage done, but in the instant I fumbled to catch it, a sharp pang of fear ran through me, and when I held it to me safely back in my arms, I could have sworn it seemed bigger than it had been just a moment before.’

  Down in the Ancient Laboratory, Quint took a step towards the terrified creature. ‘I won't hurt you,’ he whispered.

  The creature paused and looked back. ‘You won't?’ it said. ‘You're not like him then. He hurts me. He hurts me all the time…’

  ‘Wh … what do you mean?’ asked Quint nervously.

  ‘He enjoys tormenting me,’ the creature murmured weakly. ‘Keeping me prisoner down here, with no-one to talk to …’ It faltered. ‘Then, when he gets angry, he punishes me.’

  ‘Who?’ said Quint. ‘The professor?’

  ‘He's not coming back, is he?’ the creature wailed, and tears welled up in its large brown eyes. ‘You haven't brought him, have you?’ It shivered violently. ‘He's so, so cruel.’

  ‘The professor? Cruel?’ said Quint.

  But even as he spoke, Quint remembered the sound he'd heard when he first stumbled across the laboratory – that sobbing cry, like an infant in pain, which had turned into a high-pitched scream. No more, I beg you, it had pleaded.

  The creature edged forwards and nuzzled its furry cheek against Quint's arm. ‘You will save me,’ it said softly, ‘won't you?’

  Quint stroked its shoulders and back. His ears were burning with indignation. All his worst fears about the professor's work had proven to be true. The laboratory was little more than an elaborate torture chamber – and he, Quint, had been the unwitting accomplice to Linius's cruelty. He tickled the creature behind its ears.

  ‘Yes, little one,’ he said, ‘I'll save you.’

  ‘Then, one night, not long afterwards,’ Linius went on. ‘I was working at the lectern in the laboratory. It was late, but I was busy with some scrolls I'd retrieved from the Great Library, trying desperately to discover what this creature I'd conjured up could possibly be. Was it a waif? Or some sort of gnokgoblin? Or had I created something unique, something never seen before? I had to find out. I was so excited – and nervous.

  ‘The creature, I remember, was skulking in a far corner of the laboratory, away from the light. Its large eyes never left me for an instant. Sometimes, when I looked up, our eyes would meet and I'd feel a twinge of unease deep inside – and the creature would flick out its tongue as if tasting the air.

  ‘Eventually, exhausted, I fell asleep – only to be haunted by strange, disturbing dreams of storms and carvings and cackling laughter. Suddenly I awoke – minutes, maybe hours later. I couldn't tell. I was drenched in a cold sweat which chilled me to the core of my bones. And then I saw it.’ Linius swallowed hard. ‘I saw the creature in the shadows, clutching the scrolls from the lectern. It peered at each one in turn, almost as if it was reading them – though I knew that was impossible. When it saw me, it stopped abruptly, flung them down and scuttled back into its corner.

  ‘I walked over and began to gather up the scattered scrolls. Despite the chill in my bones, I felt light-headed and feverish. All at once, a searing pain darted through my fingers and up my arm. I glanced down and there beneath the pile of scrolls was a shard of glass – part of a shattered minor pipe – and blood dripping on to it from my hand where it had cut me. Fighting against a wave of nausea mixed with wild panic, I gathered up the scrolls and stumbled from the laboratory.’ His voice lowered. ‘I could have sworn that the last thing I heard as the heavy stone door eased shut was the lapping sound of the creature's tongue tasting the air.’

  Maris's jaw dropped. Bungus took a sharp intake of breath. Neither of them spoke.

  ‘And it didn't stop there,’ Linius sighed. ‘On my subsequent visits it would move glass jars and bottles so that I would knock them to the ground with my elbow, or else it would leave razor-sharp slivers of glass wedged in the controls up on the valve-platform to cut my fingers. It seemed to enjoy the sight of blood. A hundred different incidents there were, and with each one – no matter how hard I'd prepared myself not to react – I grew increasingly uneasy, fearful even. And every time I felt fear gnaw at me, the creature would respond, licking its thin lips greedily and staring at me through those large, unblinking eyes. It seemed to be feeding off my emotions, growing stronger and bolder with each day.�
� He sighed.

  ‘Yet still I refused to accept that I'd made a mistake. I wanted to show the creature love and care and affection – so that those would be the feelings it would develop itself. Instead, the creature only seemed to respond to fear and pain.

  ‘Sometimes, I admit, frustration got the better of me, and on one terrible evening, after I found it damaging a capillary tube – smashing it into those razor-sharp splinters it liked to torment me with – I'm afraid I lost my head. In a blind rage I lunged at the creature, cursing and swearing. “By Gloamglozer! I'll kill you, I'll kill you!” I roared. I grabbed it and lifted it above my head as if to dash it to the ground in my fury.

  ‘I instantly regretted my actions. Why, the creature weighed virtually nothing at all. Although it had grown by several feet, it was no heavier than the first time I'd held it in my arms. It was as light and insubstantial as the glister from which it had come and I was overwhelmed with pity for my puny creation. I put it down gently. It looked up at me with those cold, staring eyes.

  “Gloamglozer?” it said, in a small voice. “Gloamglozer. Gloamglozer.”’

  ‘Tears filled my eyes. “Poor creature,” I whispered, “that you should have ended up with so foolish and arrogant a teacher. Perhaps it is apt that your first word should be a Deepwoods curse.”

  ‘ “Gloamglozer!” it repeated, and slipped back into the shadows.’

  Linius sat back in the bed, his face flushed with exertion. Then he turned to Maris. ‘Could you pour me a glass of Tweezel's cordial?’ he asked her. ‘My throat's as dry as a bone.’

  Maris did so and Linius grasped the glass eagerly, but as he raised it to his lips, it suddenly shattered in his anxious vice-like grip. The dark-red cordial poured down, staining the white sheets like blood.

  ‘Careful, Father,’ said Maris. ‘Shall I fetch you another glass?’