Shadowghast

by Thomas Taylor

  Then I head back into the hall and sit in despair on an upturned display chest.

  “What am I going to do?” I say aloud.

  Of course, no one answers.

  The big pendulum clock above the doc’s office goes BONG, making me jump. It also reminds me that I’ve long-since missed lunch. Of course, what I would normally do at this stage in an adventure is go to Seegol’s with Violet and work out one of her brilliant master plans over a huge bowl of chips.

  But Violet is gone.

  “Whatever I do,” I say, sagging even further, “it looks like I’ll have to do it on my own.”

  “You’re never alone when you have a book,” says a distant, muffled voice.

  “But I don’t have a book, do I?” I reply. “All I have is a broken clockwork companion and a marmalade sandwich under my cap.”

  I take the sandwich out and prepare to make a lunch of it.

  “When a friend comes to help,” gasps the faint voice, in a way that makes the speaker sound as if he’s desperately clinging on and close to letting go, “it’s rude . . . to keep him . . . hanging around!”

  And I look up.

  Through one of the bottom panes of the great Gothic window at the far end of the hall, I see a small furry white face peering in at me, pink nose pressed against the glass, an urgent look in his ice-blue eyes.

  “Erwin!”

  I jump up and rush to the window, which has a small section that opens on a hinge. I have to go on tiptoes to reach Erwin, where he’s claw-clinging outside to the sheer castle wall.

  I grab him by the scruff of the neck, lift him inside, and plop him onto the floor. He bristles his whiskers at me, and says, “E-ow!”

  “I’m sorry!” I reply. “It was the only part I could grab. I didn’t expect to see you there.”

  “N-ow?” says Erwin, as if surprised.

  “But I’m so glad you are, Erwin. Violet’s gone! Captured by the Shadowghast and . . . and by . . .”

  Erwin raises one catbrow at me.

  “. . . and by Caliastra,” I admit, finally getting the words out. “I think Violet was right about her all along.”

  “Phsss!” Erwin says, blowing what sounds like a feline raspberry and flattening his ears in disgust.

  “Anyway,” I say, pulling the front of my battered uniform flat and straightening my cap. “You have arrived in the nick of time. I was just about to formulate a brilliant plan.”

  Erwin gives me a doubtful look before padding away down the hall.

  “Hey!” I call. “Where are you going?”

  And then I see it.

  Violet’s coat, the one she slipped out of when Mr. Mummery grabbed her. It’s still there, on the floor. Erwin reaches it first and disappears underneath. The coat wriggles and writhes a moment before the white cat reappears, pulling something in his pointy teeth.

  “Caliastra’s book!” I say, remembering that Violet brought it with her. “But surely we don’t have time for that. What good is it to us now?”

  Erwin looks as though he can’t believe the poor quality of human he has to deal with these days. He touches the book with one paw, and he catbrows at me like crazy.

  So I pick up the book.

  “The Subtle Mask.” I read the title aloud, turning the yellow volume around in my hand. “Well, Caliastra certainly wore a mask, all right. And it was subtle enough to fool me!”

  I flick through the book and find that it opens onto a particular double page. I flick again, and the same thing happens. I’m just beginning to wonder what’s so special about this page when a piece of folded paper—wedged in as a bookmark—falls out.

  I pick it up, open it, and stare at what I see there.

  And then I gasp.

  I don’t even flinch as my Lost-and-Founder’s cap slips off my head.

  Because, suddenly, in a rush, I think I understand everything.

  Well, not everything, obviously—I’d still need a moment to calculate seven times nine, or to figure out when to use a semicolon—but as far as this whole Ghastly Night/Caliastra/Shadowghast business is concerned, I’ve just had a brain flash.

  And I’m still having it, a little while later, when I’m sitting in a quiet corner of Seegol’s Diner—the fish and chip shop on the pier—surrounded by a smattering of late-afternoon customers. I’m not worried about being seen out of the Lost-and-Foundery, not now. And that’s just as well, as already I’m attracting quite a few curious looks because of the company I’m keeping. Opposite me, in the seat Violet would usually be in if this adventure hadn’t taken such a disastrous turn, sits Erwin, his head barely reaching over the tabletop, narrowing his eyes at me and licking his chops.

  “Ah, Herbie!” says jolly Mr. Seegol, beaming at me as he comes over. “You have done well to get here early. I have had many reservations—yes, many reservations! It seems the whole town will be at tonight’s Ghastly Night show, and most of them will stop here for fish and chip suppers on the way. It will be my busiest night of the year!”

  Behind him, taped to the side of the island kitchen in the center of the diner, Caliastra’s brilliant smile dazzles from her show poster, while the two mime artists cavort behind her, and her magical lantern throws fabulous shadow forms all around. Even Mr. Mummery can be seen, raising his straw boater hat and twinkling his eye. It’s the poster that has gone up all over Eerie-on-Sea. No wonder the whole town will be at Ghastly Night. Nothing this exciting has happened at the Theater at the End of the Pier for a long time.

  “It should be fun,” I say, forcing a smile.

  “And you, of course, have been given the evening off,” Seegol beams back, “to see the show. And I expect your friend Violet will be here to join you any moment.”

  “She’s, um, she’s helping with the production, actually,” I reply, using all my willpower to keep the smile in place. “So, it’s just a bowl of chips for me, please, Mr. Seegol. And a couple of fishfingers for my associate.”

  Seegol glances over at Erwin, not entirely approvingly. I think Erwin has a certain reputation when it comes to the fish and chip shop—and the occasional missing halibut. Erwin looks up at Seegol with half-moon smiling eyes and roars his rumbliest purr.

  “Hopefully this will do nicely?” I say quickly, sliding a dazzling silver signet ring over to Mr. Seegol. It’s been in my Lost-and-Foundery more than a hundred years, so—according to the rules—it’s mine now. I always carry a few things like this in my pocket for fish and chip emergencies.

  “Coming right up!” says Mr. Seegol, popping the ring on his pudgy little finger and holding it up to the light. “For a ring like this, Herbie, you can have doubles.”

  When we’re alone again, I unfold the piece of paper I found in The Subtle Mask and flatten it on the table. It’s a flyer for another one of Caliastra’s shows, from a few years ago, in a distant European city I’ve heard of but will probably never see. She looks a little younger, but her smile is just as dazzling. Tristo the mime artist cavorts behind her, while Mr. Mummery—with more hair than he has now—lifts his straw hat. It looks a lot like the poster for Ghastly Night. But something important is different.

  “This is what you wanted us to see, isn’t it?” I ask Erwin under my breath, tapping the flyer.

  “Prrp.”

  “And why the mermonkey dispensed this book?”

  “Prr-rr-rr.”

  “In that case,” I whisper in reply, just as Mr. Seegol heads over with the chips, “I think I do have a plan, after all.”

  I make the chips last until crowds begin to gather on the pier. By the time I scoop Erwin into my coat, turn up my lapels, and step out onto the deck, Seegol’s Diner is busier than I have ever seen it.

  With an hour still to go, a good amount of Eerie-on-Sea has already gathered, eager to see the “greatest show in town” for themselves, and more are coming along the pier behind, chatting and laughing. Mothers and fathers lead their caramel-apple children, elderly couples gossip arm-in-arm in the salty air, an
d even some of the fisherfolk are here, bringing jugs of mulled cider and congratulating one another on a night off. Many are carrying manglewick candles, gazing admiringly at the strange shadows they cast on paper shades. None of these folks show the slightest awareness of the danger they are in. They come to their doom gladly. I’m the only one here who knows that they are about to be exposed to the Shadowghast lantern and turned into puppets themselves.

  “It looks pretty hopeless,” I whisper to Erwin, feeling a wibble of despair in my knees. “Unless we can stop the show.”

  “Prrp,” says Erwin, digging his claws into my chest. I think he’s telling me to be brave, so I continue to approach the theater.

  “Bladderwracks, it’s Mummery!” I mutter, skidding to a halt. The theatrical manager is standing beside the main theater entrance, wearing his horrible striped blazer and straw boater hat. I had been hoping to slip in unseen, but there’s no way I can do that with him standing there.

  “Step right up!” cries Mr. Mummery to the crowd. “The best seats go early! Come and see the greatest show in town! Amazement guaranteed!”

  “Maybe,” I mutter, “there’s a way in around the back.”

  Erwin pops his head out of my coat to take a look.

  “A sofa cat by day,” he says suggestively, “is a rooftop cat by night.”

  Dodging behind a group of teenagers eating chips from cones, I duck down the side of the theater. Here the pier is at its crumbliest—exposed as it is to the relentless elements that roar, surge, and crash from the four corners of Eerie Bay. No one dares walk around the end of the pier, not even in the summer. A hand-painted sign hangs across the gangway:

  “You could hang a sign like that on half the town,” I say, and chuckle nervously as I duck under it. The rotten deck planks sag beneath me.

  I put Erwin down and point up to a window above. It’s the window I saw when I was exploring the amusement arcade, the one that was stuck open. I’m glad now that I couldn’t close it.

  Erwin flattens one ear at me and holds up a paw, showing how battered his claws are already after scaling the sheer stone wall of the castle. But before I can feel too guilty, he leaps up the walls of the peeling wooden theater anyway, and he claws himself up to the window.

  I climb after him—using fingertips and boot tips on the weatherboard slats. I feel the building shake. The tide is in, and the waves are pummeling the pier. I look down and immediately wish I hadn’t—the sea is heaving and gnawing at the old iron struts of the pier as if it has spotted a wobbly Lost-and-Founder barely clinging on and fancies a snack. It’s a relief to reach the window and squeeze myself inside.

  The amusement arcade is as dark and dusty as when I left it yesterday. Beyond the grubby glass screen in the theater lobby, I can see the people of Eerie-on-Sea making their way through to the auditorium, chatting excitedly, lit only by their manglewick candles.

  I take off my Lost-and-Founder’s cap—it is a bit of a giveaway with its gold trim, and the elastic is broken anyway—and tuck it, and Erwin, under my coat. Then I quietly slip out and join the throng.

  Inside the auditorium is the hubbub and happy bustle of people finding their seats. Dr. Thalassi is there, guiding people toward the center, where—I can’t help thinking—the light of the Shadowghast lantern will hit them at full beam. Jenny and Mrs. Fossil are there, too, lurking mutely in a shadowy corner. It makes me sick to think that these people—whom I’ve known as long as I can remember—are under the magical control of the Puppet Master and are now my enemies.

  I turn my lapels up to their highest setting and slip away into the crowd.

  There is a door to one side of the auditorium marked ROYAL BOX. When I’m sure no one is looking, I open it and slip inside. Then I climb a flight of rickety stairs.

  If you don’t know, a theater box is a little seating area to one side of an auditorium where people who think they are too special to sit with everyone else spend a lot of money to have a private view of the show. Calling such a thing a Royal Box is a bit of a joke in a place like Eerie-on-Sea. But from what I’ve heard of old Mayor Bigley, I guess he had high hopes of attracting the richest people in the land.

  There are only three seats in the Royal Box. I slump into the darkest one and let Erwin out. He leaps onto my lap, where he stands with his paws on the rail, and together we peer down at the stage.

  The threadbare velvet curtains are closed.

  Is Violet down there behind them right now? Preparing to play her part in a dastardly plan to take over the town?

  Erwin rubs his head on my chin, bringing me back to the here-and-now.

  “I know, puss,” I say, stroking him. “But I’m just starting to wonder if my master plan is really all that masterful. Or even a plan at all! It depends completely on Part A: a thing I’ve guessed, and Part B: a thing I’ve worked out.”

  “Mew?”

  “The thing I’ve guessed?” I reply. “Well, that comes from the fact that the Shadowghast spoke to me once, down in the Netherways, and said that my shadow wasn’t right. I don’t know what that means, exactly, but my guess is that maybe some people’s shadows can’t be snatched for . . . reasons. And maybe mine is one of them?”

  Erwin twitches an ear and looks doubtful.

  “It’s not much, I know,” I continue, “but it’s enough to make me think the ghast will go after others first, giving me time to act.”

  Erwin replies with a small and encouraging purr.

  “As for the other thing,” I add, “the thing I’ve worked out, well . . .”

  I take out the copy of The Subtle Mask, place it on the seat beside me, and pull out the theater flyer that was used as a bookmark. I unfold it again.

  “If I’m right about this,” I say, holding the little poster up, “then I should finally get to see how the trick is done and how the Shadowghast is being controlled.”

  Erwin tips his head to one side.

  “Well, do you have a better idea?” I demand. And the bookshop cat can do nothing but twitch his whiskers at that.

  “There is one thing you can do, though,” I say. “If everything else goes wrong, we could call it Plan C, if you like. C for cat. Let me explain . . .”

  And there, in the darkness of the Royal Box, above the stage in the Theater at the End of the Pier, I give Erwin a very special instruction.

  Before we know it, the auditorium is full, and the appointed hour of the show has arrived. For my plan to work, I need to get down on the stage just after the lantern is lit but before the Shadowghast has gone to work. I think! There’s a passage down to the backstage area from behind the Royal Box, so I should have plenty of time to sneak on at the right moment. In the meantime, the show is about to begin.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” calls a familiar voice, and Dr. Thalassi walks out onstage, in front of the curtains, and holds up his hands for quiet. “We are greatly honored to welcome tonight a performer of rare talent to bring our Ghastly Night celebrations to life.”

  There’s a round of excited clapping from the audience.

  “As you know,” the doc continues, “I, myself, have put on a very inferior version of the shadow puppet show for some years now, so it is a huge relief to hand it over to such a bright star. Please put your hands together for the great, the magnificent, the all-powerful Caliastra!”

  As the audience erupts into cheering and clapping, the curtains swish creakily aside. Caliastra, looking amazing in a glittering black pantsuit, with a top hat perched to one side of her head, strides into the center of the stage and twirls her amber glass cane as she bows.

  Behind her, the Shadowghast lantern sits dark and dragony in an unlit spot of the stage. Rictus and Tristo are introduced and perform a silly routine that makes the audience laugh but makes me shudder, now that I know what they are really like.

  The folks of Eerie-on-Sea love it, though, and are completely captivated by what they see. I’m just beginning to think that now might be a good time to sneak down and get
ready, when something happens to fix me in my seat: as the mime artists retreat, Caliastra retakes center stage and is joined by someone else.

  Violet.

  “What is she wearing?” I gasp.

  “Wow!” agrees Erwin.

  Violet is dressed in an extraordinary outfit of sequins and feathers, with sparkly tights and shiny shoes. She plays the role of magician’s assistant perfectly, bringing props, swishing drapes, and striking smiling poses as Caliastra performs trick after amazing trick to further warm up the oohing and aahing audience. And if I still needed proof that Violet is not in her right mind, then this is surely it.

  “We’ve got to rescue her,” I say to Erwin.

  “Me-ow.”

  Then I notice Rictus move around behind the magic lantern. He opens the door at the back and sets a flame in the fire chamber. The Shadowghast lantern is lit. The main act of Ghastly Night is about to begin, and Caliastra has the audience in the palm of her hand.

  “I have to get down there now!” I cry, leaping to my feet.

  And I don’t know if it’s the cry or the leap that does it, but somehow, despite the dark in the Royal Box, I catch the attention of someone down below.

  Violet looks up.

  She squints, as if unable to quite believe what she’s seeing. Then her face goes hard.

  She waves to someone at the far end of the auditorium and points up at me, even as the audience cheers Caliastra’s final warm-up trick. There’s a sudden shift in the lighting on the stage, and a spotlight swings around to flood the box, picking out my sherbety blond hair and the royal porpoise blue of my Lost-and-Founder’s uniform for all to see. The entire audience turns in their seats to stare up at me, where I stand transfixed in the powerful light.