Munro turned back to his Ouija board and waited for the indicator to move, but it didn’t, so he closed his eyes and touched it lightly with two fingertips. A current shot up into his arm and he jumped with excitement.
“That’s right,” he said encouragingly. “Come out on this night of nights when the barriers between our worlds are so thin!”
Very slowly, the indicator began moving under Munro’s fingers. He watched it start to bounce around the Ouija board, resting on a string of letters that made no sense. Even the cardboard was electric under his fingers, so he knew there were souls struggling to get out, but they just needed time and patience. He told himself it would be worth the wait when he possessed spirit photos of the Mariner’s Chamber’s skeletons – and they told him what they knew about the three paintings.
Lexie had scarcely moved from her frozen position on the bench. Her eyes still darted about but alighted on nothing. Something was there but it could not get through.
“My friends,” he said in a honeyed tone. “You are so keen to let me know who you are that we have a bit of a blockage here. Might I be allowed to meet you one at a time please?”
Something whooshed around Munro’s ears and made the cat emit a small squeak, her head circling round and round to see what was flying about the chamber.
“Ah, very good.” He lifted his fingers briefly and laid them back onto the indicator. “Shall we begin again?”
The indicator juddered as if it were being pulled in several directions at once.
“Gentlemen,” he gently chided. “You will all have a turn.”
The indicator was yanked from Munro’s hands and stabbed vertically into the board.
The photographer leaped away and Lexie began making a mewling noise he had never heard before. She was up on all fours, tensed and staring at him with her wide green-gold eyes.
Munro slowly turned round.
At first he nearly collapsed at the sight of the misty thing that glowered at him from the darkness. A curtain of long, lank hair half-covered the phantom’s face, but what Munro could see was deeply pitted and scarred. There was no eyebrow above the round eye that stared at him. Its tunic and breeches hung from the bony body and it gripped a short piece of rope in its skeletal hand. The thing hovered, never releasing him from its gaze.
“W-welcome, sir,” said Munro.
Without taking his own eyes from the ghost, Munro edged over to the table where the neglected Oculus stood. Scarcely able to believe his luck, he felt about for his camera and began snapping pictures. After he’d taken what he believed to be an excellent collection of the spirit, he prised the indicator out of the Ouija board and laid it flat asking, “What brought you to Blackhope Tower, sir?”
The phantom smiled, its mouth a dark toothless slit.
The indicator pulled itself from the board and spelled out two words. MAGICK PAINTINGS.
Munro shivered with excitement. “And did you find the magic paintings?”
The phantom’s horrible smile changed into an even more hideous grimace as the indicator covered two letters. NO. The wraith raised its hands high above its head with the rope stretched taut between them, and let out a silent roar of rage.
No problem. We’ll see what the other spirits have to say. Hands trembling with delicious terror, Munro took picture after picture, thinking of customers who would pay good money for prints of this one.
Suddenly the indicator sliced itself across the Ouija board and broke in half as a second wraith with a sabre materialised beside the first. The two apparitions merged at one shoulder, hazy against the dark chamber.
“Welcome, sir.”
Lexie’s fur stood on end and she was pressed hard against the back wall of the Mariner’s Chamber, but Munro took no notice as he captured the two spirits on camera. This was turning out better than he could have hoped and he was going to take full advantage. This new spirit, with its surly expression, long moustache and patch of beard, must surely be another bounty hunter who had once sneaked into Corvo’s painting seeking treasure.
Munro took the camera away from his eye. That was strange. The pair of phantoms seemed a bit larger than before. Curious, he quickly scrolled through his previous pictures, trying to decide whether anything had changed. When he looked up, a third spectre had joined the others.
And this one was big – very big.
Under its eerily lit spider’s web, the Great Hall rang with the sounds of clapping hands and blazing fiddles as pairs of costumed guests stomped and danced. Portly devils, leggy cats and feathered angels drank down cups of blood-red punch and galloped over the stone tiles, occasionally whooping out loud. The music only just drowned out the roar of conversations at the tables that lined the compact dance floor.
When the ninja strolled in, no one paid him any attention or made any attempt to speak to him. Perfect. He smirked as he calculated the best route to the table on the far side of the hall where the zombie prom queen sat.
The girl’s face and arms were painted with purple-grey patches of decomposing flesh but the ninja recognised her as Sunni’s friend, the one whose house she’d gone to the night before. If there was one way to get to Sunni and Blaise, it might be through this girl in the ruffled ball gown, tiara and corsage of dead roses.
But as he was about to move towards her, a nearby conversation caught his attention.
“I wasn’t the last person to see Mr Bell before he vanished. Blaise was,” said the teenage girl with copper hair and a witch’s hat. “You know, the American guy. Quite cute, always has his head in his sketchbook? And his little sidekick Sunni.”
“The two that supposedly transported themselves into the painting upstairs?” snorted a girl with sparkly wings and antennae.
“No ‘supposedly’ about it,” said the witch. “I’m sure they did and so is James.”
The other girl raised her eyebrows. “Little bit strange that they, of all people, were the last ones to see Mr Bell, don’t you think?” She looked around. “Are they here?”
“They were before,” said the witch. “But they’ve disappeared too.”
An older woman in a 1920s dress swooped down upon them. “Not up for the dancing, girls?”
“Hi, Mrs Gordon. We were just talking about Mr Bell,” said the witch. “Blaise and Sunni were the last to see him.” She paused and let this idea settle. “In the Mariner’s Chamber.”
“I know, Iona,” Mrs Gordon said, glancing solemnly at the blue-haired woman beside her. “Aurora told me.”
“I don’t like that room!” Aurora said. “Fausto Corvo’s painting always sends shivers down my spine. An old friend vanished there.”
Mrs Gordon frowned. “You don’t mean Lorimer’s cousin Angus, do you? He was a nasty piece of work. Good riddance.”
Aurora’s cheeks went pink. “That’s not like the Angus I knew in school. He was funny and friendly.”
“Well, he grew up to become a convicted forger. Then he beat up a guard in this castle and put him into hospital before he disappeared,” Mrs Gordon said acidly.
Aurora shrank. “Maybe he was defending himself.”
“After breaking in? I think not,” said Mrs Gordon. “He was a bad lot and you’re deluded if you think otherwise.”
“Oh.” Aurora hung her head and Mrs Gordon let out a silent breath of triumph.
Iona smiled sweetly and asked, “Have you seen Blaise and Sunni since we came in?”
“They were downstairs earlier on, with the so-called spirit photographer and his cat,” said Mrs Gordon with pursed lips. “Personally, I don’t believe an animal should be allowed in Blackhope Tower, in case it piddles, but that man seems to get away with it.”
“His name is Munro,” Aurora murmured. “The cat is called Lexie. They see things that we can’t and he photographs them.”
“Well,” said Mrs Gordon, taking her by the arm and leading her away. “He’s nowhere to be seen either. There are far too many people disappearing here. Mind yourselves, g
irls!”
When the ninja had heard enough, he set off towards Mandy, slipping between tables and overexcited dancers until he came round to the rear of her chair, and stood for a moment, thinking what to say. She was with two adults dressed as Mr and Mrs Frankenstein. Parents, he said to himself. Play it cool.
She must have sensed he was hovering behind her because she turned round and peered at him as if she were trying to figure out who he was. “Hi.”
He cleared his throat. “Hi.”
“Do I know you?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said. “Dance?”
She wiggled coyly and answered, “Maybe.”
He gestured awkwardly towards the dance floor, annoyed he had to do this, and she trotted off before him, grinning at her parents.
As they pushed into the centre of the Great Hall, where couples were waiting for the next number, she squinted at his eyes again. “Aren’t you going to tell me who you are?”
He cocked his head and said nothing. As the band cranked up, Mandy laid one lace-gloved hand on his shoulder and he put his arm around her waist, desperately trying to copy what the other couples were doing.
“Okay, be mysterious then,” she giggled. “But do you know how to do this one?”
The ninja barely knew how to do any of these ridiculous dances so he just grunted. He’d go along with this for a few minutes but he had to get her out of the Great Hall as soon as possible.
The band kicked off and the next thing he knew they were hopping forwards and back, jumping to the sides and clapping. He was at least one beat behind everyone else and his irritation grew.
When he and Mandy were facing one another again, clumsily whirling about and kicking their feet, he asked in a low voice, “Can we get out of here for a minute?”
“What?” Mandy asked, her prom dress flying up as she flicked her feet out. “Why?”
“I want to ask you something.”
She screwed up her red lips in a pout. “Ask me here!”
“No, it needs to be somewhere quiet,” he said hoarsely, letting go of her and hopping out to the side. “There are too many people about.”
“You won’t even tell me who you are, so why should I go with you?” She was less flirty when he grabbed her round the waist again and she gave him a wary look.
“I’ll tell you who I am if you come with me.” He was starting to get riled with all this and knew he mustn’t let her hear it in his voice, but it was too late.
Mandy stopped dead and another couple danced straight into them. The ninja pulled her out of the others’ path and hissed, “This is very important. You’ve got to come with me.”
“I don’t like being ordered about by strangers.” She removed his hand from her arm and stared hard into his eyes. “Tell me right now or I’ll get my dad!”
“All right, all right,” he said under his breath. “Someone you know is in big trouble. And you’re the only one who can help.”
Chapter 17
From their viewpoint on the Amsterdam hill, Sunni and Blaise saw torches appearing one by one in the distance. Each new flame burst into life and moved in behind others in a procession down one of the darkest streets.
“Who are they?” Sunni hugged herself and rubbed her upper arms, tweezing thorns from her wilted costume with her fingernails. “I can’t see anything but torches.”
“I don’t know. I thought for a minute…”
“What?”
“Nothing,” he replied. “I’m probably wrong.”
“There are a lot of them, whoever they are,” she said. “And they know where they’re going.”
“Someone’s leading them. See, one torch is ahead of the others.”
“We’d better investigate,” Sunni said.
“I still don’t get why Munro went against us,” Blaise said angrily. “What’s the point? Just to see what happens?”
“I’ve got a funny feeling about it,” said Sunni, frowning. “He knows Soranzo’s in here hunting for the paintings. What if Munro wants them too?
Blaise scratched his head. “And he’s just helping us so he can get information out of us and find them himself?”
“Could be.”
“Well, forget that! He’s never finding out anything else from me.”
“Me neither.”
He lifted his chin. “What’s that sound?”
The air was punctuated by a gut-wrenching cry from somewhere below them.
A man’s anguished voice bayed the same words over and over, sending a chill through them.
“Who’s that?” Sunni whispered.
However much he peered down at the jumbled streets, woods and canals, Blaise could not work out where the cries came from.
“Corrrrrrvo!” The howls came closer. “Fausto Corrrrrrvo!”
“Look there.” Blaise pointed at a patch of brightness in a street below. A ragged, bearded man ran disjointedly, only stopping to shout and fling his arms at the sky.
“Corrrrrrrrvo!” As the man reeled round a corner the sound muffled.
“That voice…” Sunni shuddered.
“Who is that?” asked Blaise. “He’s kind of following the people with torches.”
“I reckon we should too,” said Sunni. “Come on.”
They picked their way off the rocky outcrop and down the scrubby hillside. When they had squeezed through the brambles and onto the street, they followed the bearded man’s faint voice into a dim part of the city that had no sunlight streaking in from some other sky. Its formerly flat streets now curved up and down, pushed and pulled out of shape by the mountainous land and dangerous ocean from Arcadia’s under-paintings.
When they reached a crossroads, Sunni peered round the corner and put up one hand in warning.
A torch glowed from the high, canopied poop deck of an Arcadian galley ship half-buried in the cobblestones, its oars horizontal as if in motion but unable to move because their ends were melted into walls on either side of the street. The vessel looked like a giant, dead insect pinned onto a board with its wings outspread.
“Seems empty,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” said Blaise, creeping round the corner. “I knew those torches reminded me of something – I saw sailors with them when I was on one of these boats.”
“I never thought I’d ever see a galley again.” She screwed up her face. “And now this has bled through from Arcadia.”
They moved alongside the empty boat, ducking below the canopy of oars. Pausing below the mighty carved bow and its figurehead of an old man with flowing hair and beard, Sunni said, “Let’s go after the sailors.”
“Are they going to get us any closer to Mr B?” said Blaise.
“I don’t know. Maybe we should split up and search.”
“Do you really want to do that?” he asked. Losing her in this maze of distorted streets and canals was the last thing he wanted.
“No.”
“We stick together,” he said with feeling. “At all costs.”
She grinned wanly and scanned the darkness.
“I think they turned that way,” said Blaise. “They definitely seemed to be heading towards a bridge.”
They hurried off in the direction he indicated. The once silent streets were now alive with the sounds of foliage rustling and birdsong. Even the old houses creaked and groaned as more branches pushed in through their walls and lumps of earth grew up through the foundations. Blaise could even hear splashes from the canals. Were they made by masonry falling into the water or by things that were alive?
One new sound made him stop short and hold Sunni back. High-pitched squeals and guttural snorts filled the air as two large pigs ran from a narrow lane and dashed along their street, pursued by a winged creature. Blaise could not make out what the creature was, but it was setting itself to land, claws out, on the slower pig.
The flying thing circled low and swooped, scattering the pigs, which separated and shrieked off in different directions. The predator forced the
second one against a wall. It huddled against the bricks for a moment then scampered off, but it was doomed. The winged creature latched onto the pig’s back and carried it away into the night. As they crossed the full moon, Blaise saw its form go limp.
The other pig let loose an agonising cry and went round in circles looking for its companion. Blaise and Sunni stood still and called soothing words to it until it slowed to a stop, whimpering.
“Where did they come from?” Sunni asked.
“You got me.” Blaise crouched down on his haunches and put his hand out to the animal, which came a bit closer. “We can’t leave this guy alone.”
Sunni slowly walked away. “Come on, girl. Or boy. Whatever you are, piggy, follow me.”
Blaise cajoled the animal and walked slightly behind it so it would follow Sunni. It followed hesitantly at first then joined them.
“Ignore it, so it doesn’t think we’re after it.” He steered them towards a bridge over a canal. “It looks clear ahead.”
When they were halfway across, having constantly checked the black water for any moving shapes, Blaise said, “Stinks here. It’s like low tide.”
“Low tide times ten.” She held her nose between her thumb and forefinger.
“I keep kicking this squidgy stuff with my foot,” said Blaise.
“Oh!” She jumped back at the sight of a huge dismembered tentacle, curled up and shrivelling on the stones. The bridge was strewn with chunks of dead aquatic flesh.
“Someone’s been here and battled some kind of octopus,” Blaise exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here!”
They hurried over the bridge and made for a thicket of trees growing across the entrance to the next street. Something had hacked through the branches and brush, leaving a man-sized gap. As Sunni pushed through, a shrill noise came from the bridge.
The pig was going crazy at something, but it wasn’t until another octopus tentacle had lifted itself up high, that Blaise could make out its black shape against the unnaturally bright night sky. It slid back into the canal as silently as it had come out, but with the shrieking pig in its grip. And then there was silence.
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