by Jon Mayhew
I am fortunate to have such good travelling companions. Corvis has a dark sense of humour but doesn’t let his wealth or high birth stop him from enjoying the company of commoners. Chrimes has been a dear friend for several years now . . .
Josie paused. They all sounded such good friends. What had gone wrong? She glanced down at an irregular-sized piece of paper. She pulled it out of the pile. It was a flyer advertising ‘Lorenzo’s Incredible Circus’. A tall ringmaster stood at one edge of the paper, half framing the list of acts. A lion pawed the air from a corner of the sheet.
‘Madame Lilly,’ she read aloud, ‘tells the fortunes of the brave. The Flying Gambinis, trapeze artists to royalty. Ulrico the Clown. Cardamom the Great, magician and conjurer . . .’
‘And Professor Necros,’ Alfie continued, ‘Communicator with the Spirit World, Master of the Ghostly . . .’
‘Uncle never told me he worked in a circus,’ Josie said, frowning. Part of his life had suddenly been revealed to her, a hidden part. She couldn’t understand why he had never told her about it. ‘Maybe that’s where he met Mother.’
‘Madame Lilly, this her, then?’ Alfie said. He sounded casual but Josie thought she caught a note of emotion in his voice. He touched the cameo picture of the fortune teller on the poster.
‘What d’you think?’
‘Dunno what to think really,’ he murmured. ‘Very beautiful . . .’
‘Cardamom didn’t tell me much about her. She was a fortune teller, a dancer, she loved life . . .’
‘There are many things that Cardamom didn’t tell anyone about,’ Gimlet said, drawn from the window by the conversation. ‘Many things he wanted to keep secret, buried. Too shameful to remember.’
‘Uncle would never do anything shameful,’ Josie said, folding her arms.
‘Not the Cardamom you knew, Josie, but he had his dark moments, his depressions when painful memories swamped him. From what I know, he started life humbly enough, trying to scrape a living in sideshows and funfairs. He was, by his own admission, a pretty poor conjurer.’
‘Well, he wasn’t when I knew him,’ muttered Josie, staring down at the journal again. How could Gimlet say such things? She’d known Cardamom most of her life, and, despite his moods, she’d loved him and trusted him. And he’d been the only family she had.
‘Blimey!’ Alfie said out loud, shoving a letter under Josie’s nose. She recognised the handwriting, and the address at the top.
Bluebell Terrace
7 July 1844
.
Mortlock, my dearest friend,
I write to you one last time for the sake of our friendship and all the difficulties we have been through together. If it is true that you possess the Amarant then I beg of you, destroy it. No good can come of it. I know the ill will you bear towards me and can understand, but it is the cursed flower that has brought this upon you, not me. If you cannot bring yourself to destroy it, then let me help you. We agreed many years ago that bringing the Amarant here would result in disaster. Can you not see what is happening?
.
Your ever-faithful friend,
Edwin
‘Mortlock had the Amarant,’ Josie said. The letter at home had called Cardamom a thief. Had he managed to take the flower from Mortlock?
‘Looks like Mortlock was up to no good with it,’ Alfie said, whipping the letter back. Josie flicked through the journal, looking for the same date as the letter.
‘There’s something here, written a few days before Mortlock sent that letter to Uncle accusing him of theft,’ Josie said, dragging her finger down the page.
1 July
My research has confirmed my greatest hope: the Amarant gives great power. Of the three corpses I have had delivered, I was able to awaken one on my own but at great physical cost. I was exhausted. I’ve known of this ability since I returned from Abyssinia. A parlour trick. But, with the Amarant, I could animate all three, make them walk, carry out simple tasks, and with no strain to myself. Think of the possibilities of such power! How can this be a curse?
‘He could wake the dead,’ Alfie murmured, staring at Josie.
‘From my own research, I understand that the Amarant is said to give power to anyone who comes into contact with it,’ Scrabsnitch said, appearing at Josie’s shoulder. ‘But as well as leaving some vestige of power, the Amarant will curse the recipients.’
‘Curse?’ Alfie pulled a face.
‘In the hands of the divine, the Amarant could only do good. In the hands of flawed humanity, it draws on the darkness that lurks in us all. I watched Cardamom perform and his act baffled me. I’ve seen other conjurers and magicians and know a little about the mechanics of artifice. It is hard to fool me, but your guardian’s skills were of a different order. He foxed me every time. That is all I will say.’
‘I could never guess how he accomplished some of his tricks,’ Gimlet added, nodding slowly. ‘If he found the Amarant, do you think its power helped him?’
Scrabsnitch shrugged. ‘It’s possible if, as you say, he has been in the presence of the Amarant.’
‘Maybe Uncle took it from Mortlock and hid it,’ Josie said, ‘to stop him from doing any more bad things.’
‘That might explain why Mortlock’s not about now,’ Alfie added. ‘He could still be lookin’ for it.’
‘We’ve got to find a way to destroy it,’ Josie said, frowning at the journal. She turned the pages. ‘Sacrifice, he said to us, Alfie. That, and a tender heart.’
‘Got to find the bloomin’ thing ourselves first,’ Alfie muttered, shaking his head.
‘And you aren’t the only ones interested, by the way.’ Scrabsnitch glanced at them over the top of his spectacles. ‘Your three old ladies came in asking about Cardamom and the Amarant only last week . . .’
‘The Aunts,’ Josie spat. ‘They are searching for the Amarant, too.’
‘Aunts?’ Scrabsnitch looked from Alfie to Josie. ‘I wouldn’t be so happy to claim them as relatives.’
‘What d’yer mean by that?’ Alfie frowned.
‘I don’t know.’ Scrabsnitch shook his head. ‘Just something about them. They didn’t seem natural and when I saw them at your house . . . well, I was fearful of calling.’
‘Ghuls,’ Josie said. ‘They aren’t human.’
‘Ghuls?’ Scrabsnitch paled beneath his fuzz of beard.
‘You’ve heard of them?’ Josie asked.
‘In my line of work you get to hear of – and see – all manner of strangeness,’ Scrabsnitch said, scratching his beard. ‘The word “ghul” means demon. They appear in most traditions. Ghuls are usually associated with the dead and they devour the newly deceased. You’re in trouble if they’re involved.’
‘We’re in trouble if they get the Amarant, from what I’ve heard,’ Gimlet said, shaking his head.
‘They’ll kill us all,’ Alfie muttered.
‘Worse, they could trap you between life and death, neither fully alive nor resting,’ Scrabsnitch added. ‘They could create whole armies of the dead to ravage the world of the living.’
‘Whatever they have in mind, it ain’t good,’ Alfie groaned.
‘It would be hell on earth,’ Evenyule Scrabsnitch said.
‘Does that sound so bad?’ came a grating voice.
The blood drained from Josie’s face, as she and her companions turned round. The Aunts stood by the door, their throats ruffled in black silk and lace, heads cocked. Thin smiles split their hatchet faces.
‘We could make our own little hell in here, right now,’ Aunt Jay said. Then she spread her arms wide.
.
.
O Mother, Mother, make my bed,
O make it soft and narrow,
Since my love died for me today,
I’ll die for him tomorrow.
‘Barbara Allen’, traditional folk ballad
.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Gimlet’s Choice
Bodies twisted and feathers b
urst forth. Josie had seen the Aunts transform before, but it didn’t make the moment any less shocking now. Aunt Veronica and Aunt Jay shook out their glossy feathers and snapped their sharp beaks. They flanked their sister, Aunt Mag, who kept her human form.
Josie glanced around for a weapon and found her hand resting on a pile of pewter plates. She snatched the first one and sent it whirling across the room at Aunt Mag. It would have been a direct hit, but Aunt Jay darted her head forward and her long beak snatched the plate out of the air, inches from Aunt Mag’s head.
‘You’ll have to do better than that, young lady,’ Aunt Mag said. She gestured to Aunt Veronica, who launched herself into the air, sending clouds of dust billowing across the room.
Josie grabbed a plate in each hand and sent both spinning at once, followed by two more. Aunt Veronica twisted and spiralled, dodging one plate. Josie feinted with another, then sent it hurtling in a different direction. The plate spun in a perfect arc and hit Aunt Mag on the temple with a metallic clang. Aunt Mag wobbled, then fell to the floor, dragging half the contents of a display case on top of her.
But Aunt Veronica was closing in. Josie cartwheeled out of the ghul’s way while Gimlet grabbed a pikestaff that leaned against a suit of armour. He jabbed it at the snapping ghul, forcing it to beat its massive wings in a hasty retreat. The air filled with dust and fluttering papers, as ornaments and artefacts smashed to the floor.
‘We’ve got to get out! Is there a back door?’ he yelled at Scrabsnitch, but the old man stood transfixed by the sight of the creatures.
‘Here,’ Alfie called, pushing open a door. ‘Mr Scrabsnitch, come on!’
But Evenyule remained frozen to the spot as Aunt Jay hurtled across the shop towards him. Suddenly, he turned and looked straight into Josie’s eyes.
‘I wish you luck, Josie,’ the old man said. Then he threw himself under a display cabinet. Aunt Jay landed in a shower of glass and dust on top of the case. Scrabsnitch crawled under the next cabinet, moving with surprising speed.
Josie threw another plate at Aunt Jay as Gimlet backed towards the door, parrying Aunt Veronica’s razor beak with his pikestaff. Aunt Jay wheeled about and fixed Josie with her beady eye. Beyond her, Josie spotted Scrabsnitch’s head bob up as he scurried through a door on the other side of the room.
Alfie’s hand clamped on to Josie’s arm and she felt herself being dragged into the back room. Gimlet gave a final vicious jab at Aunt Veronica before leaping back, and Alfie slammed the door against the scrabbling, screeching ghul.
The clutter in the back room was even worse than the front. Chairs were piled on top of each other, leaning at crazy angles. Alfie shoved chairs and boxes to one side and managed to drag another door open. It squealed on rusted hinges but opened just wide enough for them to squeeze out.
They pushed their way into a dingy yard, stacked with crates and old planks. Beyond the yard was a narrow alley, with walls that ran with black putrid slime. Josie wrinkled her nose and pulled a face at the smell.
‘If we can get to the street at the front of the shop, we’ll be safer,’ Gimlet said. ‘The crowds there might put the ghuls off.’
Slipping and cursing, they sprinted up the muddy alley back into Jesmond Street and the chaos of the traffic jam. Gimlet elbowed his way through the crowds, as more people spilled out from stranded carriages and coaches.
Josie glanced back and saw Aunt Mag, a livid bruise on her brow, pushing her way towards them. Just as they passed the front of the Emporium, its filthy windows exploded out into the street. Glass rained down on the packed crowds. Horses whinnied and women screamed as two giant crows burst out of the windows, swooping down on the three fugitives. The frozen winter sky blackened as thousands of crows, rooks and jackdaws swept on to the crush of people, pecking ears and eyes and pulling at hair.
The crowds pushed forward, the surge of bodies squeezing the breath out of Josie. She felt their heat and closeness, the rough fabric of their clothes, their elbows and knees digging into her. She forced her body forward, trying to ignore the curses and yells around her. People began to stumble and fall, and were trampled upon as others fled. Josie grabbed Alfie and Gimlet and ducked into the middle of the street, under the huge wheels of a coach. They picked their way between the wedged carts and carriages, keeping their heads down as Aunt Jay and Aunt Veronica hovered above the seething crowds, snapping and pecking, unable to get near their quarry.
The world became a mass of stamping hoofs, screeching birds and screams of fear. Josie wove down the street, her heavy skirts snagging on the close-pressed wheels. The crowds pushed, overturning a trap and pinning the horse, which kicked out in terror.
Finally, she dragged herself out of the tangled mass. Gimlet grabbed her hand and, followed by Alfie, they sprinted up the street towards their trap. Josie cursed the stiff dress that swished against her legs. They turned into the narrow alley and clambered aboard.
‘Josie, look!’ Alfie yelled, his voice shrill.
‘Going somewhere?’ croaked Aunt Mag, now in her crow form.
The three ghuls had landed in the alleyway, blocking their exit. Gimlet snapped the reins, making the pony set off at a gallop towards them. Aunt Jay and Aunt Veronica threw themselves aside, but Aunt Mag flew into the air above them. She hovered, beating the air with her huge black wings, claws outstretched. She was waiting for the trap to bring them to her.
‘Don’t look back,’ Gimlet called as they raced towards the ghul’s talons. Giving a final snap on the reins, he leapt up and caught Aunt Mag’s scaly legs, dragging her down to the cobbles as he fell.
‘Gimlet, no!’ Josie screamed. But the trap was already leaving him behind as the pony bolted. Josie stared back at the rapidly receding figures struggling in the alley behind them. She saw Gimlet grab hold of Aunt Mag’s beak and force her head back. His clothes hung in blood-soaked rags where the ghul had slashed at him with her claws.
‘We have to help him!’ Josie cried. She clambered to the front of the trap and groped for the reins to stop the pony, but they were being dragged along the street, far out of reach. She watched helplessly as Aunt Jay launched herself after them with terrifying speed, leaping on to the back of the trap and making it tip and lurch.
Snatching up the whip, Josie lashed out at her. She struggled to keep her balance as the pony continued to bolt through the crowds. Aunt Jay swung her talons at them. But it all seemed to happen so slowly, like a dance. Josie threw herself to one side. Alfie crouched in the seat, desperately trying to fend off the ghul, but it still managed to slice his face. He pivoted and slumped down into the trap, a long red gash running down his cheek.
Josie cowered, hiding her head in her hands, as Aunt Jay reared up to deliver another blow. Instead, the sound of tinkling glass and a metallic clang made Josie look out from between her fingers. Aunt Jay was gone, entangled in a tall gaslight, her legs dangling.
But the trap was gaining speed. The pony, foaming at the mouth, raced across the cobbles. Josie’s heart hammered, keeping time with the pounding of the horse’s hoofs. Crowds flashed by, diving aside to avoid being crushed. Yells of anger and fear were snatched away by the wind as the trap rocked and pitched along the street. Alfie started to roll over the side and Josie just managed to catch him and pin him in the seat, leaning her weight against him. The cut on his ashen face was turning a livid blue.
The pony grew more frantic as a chestnut seller’s brazier crashed over. Josie glanced down at the reins, which were flicking and bucking off the cobbles. The body of the trap swayed and bounced. She made a stretch for the reins, leaning dangerously far out as the clatter of the steel-rimmed wheel reverberated through her head. The trap lurched again and Josie dragged herself back up as Alfie slid to the floor, pinning her now. She pushed him upright, nearly spilling out of the trap again as the pony careered around some brave onlookers who were trying to slow it down. She gritted her teeth and leaned down a second time.
‘Come on,’ Josie muttered. Th
e cobbles rushed by, hard and grey, sparks crackling from the horse’s hoofs. She wedged her leg beneath the seat and reached out perilously far for the dancing reins.
A distant ringing filled Josie’s ears. She looked up. Thundering straight towards her was a fire cart with a team of horses. Even from this unlikely angle, Josie could see the look of horror on the driver’s face. She glanced down as the reins flicked along the sparking cobbles, and snatched them up. Thighs, stomach and back all seemed about to snap. Bile rose to fill her throat as she righted herself and yanked on the reins.
The trap veered left, scraping along the length of the fire cart. Josie ducked as buckets and ropes bounced and rattled overhead, torn free in the collision. An axe sliced through the air above Josie’s head, clanging on to the street on the other side of the trap.
The ringing of the bell disappeared as the pony thundered on. Josie had lost all sense of direction but the stench of sewers told her the river wasn’t far away. More faces sped past in a blur. Josie jerked on the reins, pulling from side to side, anything to get the horse to come back to its senses. Something clattered against the left wheel of the trap and the whole thing began to pitch even more wildly and unevenly.
A stabbing pain exploded in Josie’s head. She was knocked back into the trap and lifted her fingers to her forehead. It felt warm and wet. When she pulled her hand away it was slick with blood. She glanced back at a swinging shop sign.
Josie’s vision blurred; shadows filled her eyes. Her stomach lurched and she suddenly felt weightless. The trap had come to a stop and Josie’s body was flying through the air. She could hear the trap smashing into the side of the street. Rough cobbles smacked against her elbows and shoulder.
Then everything was still.
Josie could hear a wheel clicking as it whirled on its axle. Alfie groaned, somewhere off to her left. She tried to stand but her legs buckled and she fell to the ground, looking up at the dark sky, blood pulsing in her head.
A cold breeze blew against her face. The black silhouettes of ragged birds flitted across the moonlit clouds and Aunt Mag’s triumphant, grinning face filled the night above her.
