Hunger that turned to trepidation as she found the splintered door. Turned to anger as she saw the broken body lying on the ground. Turned to heartbreak as she knelt beside the lifeless corpse and tore the stake from his chest.
Clarissa buried her head in the cold flesh, her cloak pooling round them both. She had felt no sadness, no fear, no grief for almost thirty years. Now she felt them all, as she wept for her dead brother.
CHAPTER 22
A few stray wisps of fog lingered like cobwebs. But the afternoon sun had burned off most of it and the day was clear and bright. Despite this, it was very cold, and Eddie’s breath hung in the air with the remnants of the fog.
‘You don’t think this place will still be there, do you?’ he asked.
‘Why not?’ George said.
‘Well it was back in 1858. That’s …’ He gave up trying to work it out. ‘That’s years ago.’
‘Nearly thirty years ago,’ Liz said gently.
‘Houses are built to last for a long time,’ Sir William pointed out.
‘Except it was already falling down. Said so in that diary.’
‘True,’ Sir William accepted. ‘But Liz’s father also said he hoped his trap would last for a very long time. Perhaps for ever. It is imperative that we discover what this trap was, and as soon as possible. If we are to hold out any hope of defeating this evil – and I do not use that word lightly – then we must arm ourselves. And the only weapon we have,’ he said, turning to Liz, ‘is your father’s knowledge and his trap.’
‘But we don’t know anything about the nature of this trap,’ George pointed out. ‘It may be nothing at all to do with the house.’
‘We’ll soon find out,’ Liz said. They had just turned into another street. She pointed to a cracked and stained sign attached to a broken fence. ‘This is Mortill Street.’
‘How will we know which house it is?’ Eddie wondered.
Ahead of him, Sir William, Liz and George had all stopped.
‘I don’t think that will be a problem,’ Sir William said.
He stepped aside, and Eddie could see past him up the road. The houses on either side were typical terraced houses. A little run-down and neglected, but otherwise very ordinary. Distinctly out of the ordinary was the house facing them at the other end of the short street. Its windows were boarded over, and the steps up to the porch had rotted almost completely away. A section of the roof had collapsed, the brickwork was chipped and scarred.
Just looking at the house made Eddie feel nervous and afraid. They all walked slowly along the street, and he sensed that none of them wanted to be there.
‘Can we just walk in?’ Liz wondered.
‘It’s your house,’ Sir William pointed out. ‘Held in some sort of trust I imagine, but your father bought it.’
‘I’m not at all sure that I want it.’
‘It looks about ready to fall down,’ George said. ‘Eddie was right. It may not be safe.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it isn’t safe,’ Sir William said. ‘That, if you recall, is why we are here.’
The garden was so overgrown with grass and nettles that it was impossible to see where the path to the front door might have been. The fence had given way under the assault of the brambles that were entwined through it, and lay in a tangled line across the edge of the pavement.
‘Shall we?’ Sir William asked. Even he was unable to keep the edge of trepidation out of his voice.
From behind them came the sound of a door slamming. Eddie turned to see a man coming out of the front gate of the nearest house. He was old and stooped, with a hooked nose and wispy grey hair. He hurried up the road towards them.
‘Come to complain to the owner,’ George said quietly to Liz. ‘Thinks you might have let the place go a bit.’
‘Oh sirs, madam,’ the man called out as he approached them. ‘Is it time already? I wasn’t expecting you until this evening.’
‘I think you’re making a mistake,’ George said, confused.
But Sir William stepped in front of him. ‘A mistake,’ he quickly clarified, ‘in your timing. We are here now.’
‘And I am honoured to meet you,’ the man said. ‘Honoured. Truly honoured. The, er, other gentleman – is he not with you?’
‘Alas no,’ Sir William said. ‘He has other matters to attend to. I’m sure you understand.’
‘Oh completely. Absolutely. Yes, indeed. A busy man. But I thought he’d be here. And …’ The man hesitated, suddenly nervous, ‘the promise he made me, all those years ago. That’s today too, yes? He hasn’t forgotten?’
‘Nothing is forgotten,’ Sir William assured him.
The man gave a sudden nervous laugh and grabbed Sir William’s hand, pressing it to his cheek. ‘Oh sir, thank you sir. He did promise me. “Bradby,” he said, “I’ll see you all right. When the time comes you’ll join us in … “’ His voice tailed off. ‘I’m sorry, sir, you know all about that I’m sure.’
‘Of course.’
‘But I wasn’t expecting you until after dark. Despite the fog.’ Bradby was rubbing his hands together. ‘No one’s been here, not for years. Not since. Well, since I was young and I was promised. Except the Coachman. He comes to visit her. Not often, maybe once a year. Never goes inside, of course. He kind of watches. Sits there on his coach for hours sometimes. If it weren’t for the fact he’s been told to wait, and not take any risks before the right time, well he’d have had me clear the place years ago. Make her safe, and all.’
Bradby led them up the road towards the house. ‘I’ve touched nothing,’ he assured them. ‘Just made sure everything’s as it was left. I haven’t, you know …’
‘What?’ George prompted. ‘What haven’t you done?’
‘Well, sir, I’ve not removed them. I can go in and do it now. Make a start, anyway. I know exactly where they all are. Taken careful note, you see.’ He tapped the side of his beaked nose with his index finger. ‘Won’t take long, once I get started.’
‘We’ll come with you,’ Sir William said.
Bradby took a step backwards. ‘You can’t go in there, sir. Not with the traps laid and … and everything.’
Sir William smiled. ‘We have protection.’
‘Protection? I thought sleeping was the only protection.’
‘Ask no more.’
‘Very good, sir. Madam.’ He nodded at Liz. ‘One thing, sir.’
‘Yes?’
‘When he summons you, when the Lord of the Undead calls all his subjects to the assembly. Tonight …’ He seemed to think they would know what he was asking.
‘Tonight,’ Sir William echoed. ‘Yes?’
‘Well, I will be there, sir? Won’t I? I mean as one of you? After I clear the traps and give my blood – for the awakening. I will be there?’
‘That depends on how events turn out in the next few hours. Now, show us the house. Tell us everything.’
Encouraged, Bradby led the way through the grass and nettles to the front door. Eddie could see now that the house was more secure than it seemed from a distance. The boards on the windows were fixed solidly in place, and the front door was in good condition. Bradby produced a key and unlocked it.
‘I’d best go first,’ he said. ‘And watch out for the circle, inside the door. You don’t want to go treading in that.’
Eddie pushed eagerly past George, only to find Sir William had turned and was blocking his way.
‘I think perhaps Eddie and Miss Oldfield had best wait outside,’ Sir William said.
‘What? You’re joking!’
Liz also started to protest, but Sir William held up his hand. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure that Bradby was not within earshot. ‘I think it would be safest. We have no idea what we shall find in there, and our guide is likely to realise at any moment that we are not who he supposes us to be.’
‘All the more reason for us all to be there, in case there’s trouble,’ Liz pointed out.
‘All the same, I would ra
ther that you two were out here. Safe. If anything happens to me and George, then you at least can escape and spread the word.’
‘I agree with Sir William,’ George said.
‘Yeah, well you would,’ Eddie told him. ‘You ain’t got to freeze to death out here and miss all the fun.’
‘Our friend was expecting someone,’ Sir William pointed out. ‘As well as being safe, I’d like to think we will have sufficient warning if any more visitors arrive.’
‘All right,’ Liz agreed, though she looked disappointed.
‘Well done,’ George said quietly. ‘We won’t be long.’
Eddie could see this was not an argument he was going to win. ‘You need us, you shout.’
‘You can count on that,’ Sir William said.
Bradby was waiting in the hallway. The bare boards were cracked and rotted, and the paint on the walls was peeling away like thin paper. The faint trace of a chalk circle was just visible on the floor, close to where the stairs rose to the upper floor.
The air was heavy with damp, decay and dust. What light there was edged past the boards over the windows so that the whole place was in twilight. Bradby took an oil lamp from a window sill and busied himself lighting it. It was clear he knew his way around.
‘What do you want to see?’ he asked. ‘Even with protection, I assume you’d rather keep clear of the traps.’ His lips parted in a broken-toothed smile.
‘Where would you suggest we start?’ Sir William asked. ‘We want to see everything. Given,’ he added quickly, ‘that the time is nearly upon us.’
‘The awakening,’ Bradby said. ‘He’ll be here for that. He’ll want to see her rise, mark my words. Tonight.’
‘As you say.’
‘Most of them are in the cellar. You want to start there?’
‘That would seem sensible.’
There was a door under the stairs. It creaked open, showering dust. Stone steps led down into darkness. Bradby raised the oil lamp to cast as much light as possible and started slowly down the steps.
‘I don’t come here much,’ he confessed.
The whitewashed walls were stained and damp. By the time they reached the bottom of the steps, George could see that the lower parts of the walls were crumbling.
‘Well hidden, aren’t they?’ Bradby said. He held the lamp as high as he could, turning to show off the whole cellar. ‘I know there are so many houses now, but I reckon this one is one of the best. Most secret. Because of her, I’ve no doubt. The Coachman wouldn’t take any chances.’
They were in a large area, split by several thick walls. Some were structural, rising up through the house above. But there were others that seemed to serve no purpose. Bradby was walking slowly round, between the walls, as if he was browsing past library bookcases.
‘If you didn’t know they were here …’ Bradby said quietly as Sir William and George hurried after him.
‘Didn’t know what were here?’ George asked.
Bradby hesitated, and Sir William tensed. George sensed he had asked the wrong question.
‘Of course,’ he said quickly. ‘Forgive me.’
Bradby regarded him with a moment’s suspicion. Then he shrugged. He reached between George and Sir William to pat the nearest wall gently. ‘Such workmanship.’ He was grinning again, and George gave a silent sigh of relief. ‘No one would ever …’
The grin was gone. He moved the lamp slowly back and forth.
‘Is there a problem?’ Sir William asked.
Bradby was still moving the lamp, but George couldn’t see anything of interest he might be trying to illuminate. Until the man said quietly, nervously:
‘You have shadows.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Sir William’s hand was on George’s arm. ‘Vampires,’ he said, ‘do not cast shadows. Therefore …’ He shrugged, leaving the conclusion unspoken.
‘You’re not …’ Bradby stammered. ‘I shouldn’t have … Oh my Lord, if he thinks I’ve betrayed him, betrayed his sister – the Coachman will kill me.’
With a sudden movement, he pushed past Sir William, and made for the stairs.
Instinctively George ran after him. ‘Come back!’ he yelled. ‘You have to tell us what’s going on here.’
Bradby started up the steps, George close behind. The man was old, and George would soon catch him. Realising this, Bradby turned, and flung the oil lamp back down the steps.
George ducked, and the lamp crashed past him, smashing on the floor close by. Darkness. Then a roar of flame as the oil spilling from the broken lamp caught fire. In the flickering light, George lunged forward and grabbed hold of Bradby’s sleeve, pulling him back.
The cellar was lit in orange and red as Bradby cried out and fell backwards.
George tried to catch him, but the man continued falling, past George, down the steps. Bradby’s cry of fear echoed round the enclosed space as he tumbled. Then his head cracked into the base of one of the walls. His cry stopped abruptly. A dark trickle became a thin stream, running out from under the man’s body, glowing scarlet in the firelight.
Sir William was coughing from the black smoke rising from the burning oil as he joined George on the steps.
‘I doubt we’ll learn much from the poor fellow now,’ he said.
‘I was trying to stop him,’ George said, numb with shock. ‘I never meant …’
‘I know, I know.’ Sir William nodded sympathetically. He glanced back down the stairs to where Bradby’s body lay. And froze.
George too turned to look. The blood from Bradby’s split head was pooling round his body. But where it touched the nearest wall, the blood was running upwards. A tracery of red, spreading like filaments across the whitewash.
They hurried back down into the cellar to examine the wall. As George approached, he saw that the wall was glowing red. Pulsing. The pool of blood shimmered, then it too split into rivers, running swiftly across the uneven floor towards other walls. Soon spiders’ webs of red crisscrossed the walls like veins.
‘How fascinating,’ Sir William said.
‘What is it?’ George wondered.
‘Blood that defies gravity. Drawn, somehow, to these walls. A capillary action?’
‘But they’re just walls. Aren’t they?’ George leaned close to examine the plaster in front of him. Behind the glow there was something, a shape, a shadow on the whitewash. Like a silhouette, light shining through from behind the shape.
‘I think perhaps we shouldn’t linger,’ Sir William said.
But George was intent on the shape on the wall. Or in the wall. ‘My God,’ he realised. ‘I think there’s something inside.’
The sun was dipping out of sight behind the houses, and the smog was thickening. Eddie stamped his feet and blew on his hands in an effort to keep warm. Liz had her jacket pulled tight and her arms folded.
‘They won’t be long,’ she promised Eddie.
‘Course they won’t. Probably not much to see.’
‘I wonder what Father did in there,’ Liz said. She was staring back at the old house.
‘I think all these houses are empty,’ Eddie said, looking back down the street. ‘I’ve been watching and there’s no sign of life at all. Just creepy old Bradby left. Everyone else has probably moved away.’ He pointed along the street. ‘Look, there’s grass growing between the cobbles. Shows no one ever comes here. Not a living soul.’
‘In which case,’ Liz said, ‘I wonder who this can be.’
A dark carriage had turned into the street. Pale, skeletal horses were heading towards Liz and Eddie, gathering speed as the carriage rattled along the cobbles. The driver raised his whip. He wore a dark, hooded cloak that shadowed his face.
‘Like I said,’ Eddie told Liz, ‘not a living soul. I think it’s time to give them that warning.’
The carriage hurtled towards them, not slowing at all as it neared the end of the street.
‘I think it’s time to run,’ Liz said.
; A pale, emaciated arm smashed through the wall and grabbed George by the neck. Plaster dust showered down as a second arm punched through close by.
George yelled in fright and surprise, leaping back and breaking the grip. He rubbed his sore neck, looking round. Sir William too had backed away from the wall. A forest of arms erupted. White dust fell like snow. Fingers clutching. Then feet kicking through – boots, shoes, even bare toes. Followed by the first head.
Dark eyes glinted in the failing firelight, turning towards George.
‘Is it time already?’ a voice croaked, dry and ancient.
A figure forced its way through the surface of the wall and stepped into the cellar. Then another. And another.
George was running for the stairs, Sir William beside him. Halfway up, a hand exploded from the stonework beside them. A head burst out of the next step, and George had to leap over it.
Top of the stairs, and out into the hallway. Wooden floorboards were heaving and rattling as they were forced up from beneath. Chunks of plaster fell from the ceiling.
‘The whole house,’ George gasped.
‘It’s infested!’ Sir William cried. ‘The blood woke them!’
There was a sound like a distant train – a rumbling drumbeat of sound. George covered his ears, struggling across the lurching boards. Hands, arms reaching up at him. Thrusting through the walls. And a black cloud descending in a rush from the ceiling, down the stairs. The sound – the steady, insistent beat of their wings.
Leathery shapes slapped at George as they swirled in a blizzard through the house.
‘Bats,’ he realised. ‘Vampire bats. Hundreds of them!’
‘Thousands.’ Sir William’s voice was almost lost in the maelstrom of sound.
George battled towards the front door. How far could it be now? He felt a hand clutch at him, tried to throw it off, and realised it was Sir William.
A bat tangled in George’s hair, scratching and biting in a fury. A hand gripped his leg and dragged him over. He fell headlong, the floor bucking under him like a wave crashing on the beach. More hands clutched, dragging him down, and George’s world went black.
The Parliament of Blood Page 19
