Mortlock

by Jon Mayhew

  ‘I know what you mean, but we’re safe for now,’ Josie said, not quite believing herself.

  They talked and dozed through the afternoon, skirting around any further mention of Gimlet or the horrors of that night. Neither felt strong enough to move beyond the confines of the room. Arabella breezed in and out with hot soup.

  ‘At least the bloomin’ Aunts or Lord Corvis ’aven’t stuck their ugly mugs through the door,’ said Alfie. Daylight succumbed to darkness and, once more, the weird glimmer of light appeared across the marshes.

  ‘Can you see that?’ Josie pointed to it.

  ‘Lights.’ Alfie shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s a house or somethin’.’

  ‘No, I asked Arabella about it and she wouldn’t say.’

  ‘Hmm, too far out on the marshes to be a house.’ Alfie nodded. He fell silent for a moment and then said, ‘There’s somethin’ about the light, too. Like it’s callin’ yer to go out into the dark and find it. But that’d be stupid and dangerous . . .’

  ‘Like a moth to a candle,’ Josie whispered, pressing her nose to the cold glass.

  .

  .

  ‘And whose blood is this,’ he says,

  ‘That lies in my hall?’

  ‘It is your young son’s heart’s blood,

  ’Tis the clearest of all.’

  ‘Lamkin’, traditional folk song

  .

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Delivery

  Josie was woken the following morning by fluttering and scratching at her window. Pulling on a dressing gown, she clambered across the bed and drew back the curtains, gritting her teeth at the stabbing pains in her joints.

  A square, bulky man pushed a large sack in a wheelbarrow up the front path towards the house. Crows and ravens swooped and veered around him, making him wobble and tip the barrow as he waved his shovel hands to shoo them away. They seemed very excited. Josie hurried to the door, wincing with each step but eager to find out what was going on. She slipped out into the shadows of the house. The sound of the Aunts, every bit as excited as the crows on the roof, drifted up from the hall.

  Josie crept past the cobwebs and withered plants towards the stairs. A flurry of activity below made her duck behind the thick banister rails. She peered down through the spindles at the scrum in the hall.

  The Aunts must have got to the door before the delivery man even had a chance to ring the bell, and now they crowded round him. The sack was now on his broad shoulder and quivered with his every move. The Aunts reached out and stroked the heavy bag. The man tried to keep his eyes on them all, glancing nervously from woman to woman as they scuttled about him.

  ‘You’re early, Mr Carr,’ crowed Aunt Veronica, hopping from foot to foot. Aunt Jay inhaled deeply, as if scenting the bag.

  Josie made out a nasty, over-ripe, meaty aroma. What could be in that bag? She had never seen the Aunts so animated.

  ‘Bring it through, young man,’ croaked Aunt Mag, clapping her hands together. ‘And put it on the table.’

  ‘We’ll deal with it from there!’ cackled Aunt Veronica.

  The sound of screeching and chuckling faded, following the group as they shuffled out of the hall and disappeared from Josie’s view into a side room. She crept down the stairs a step at a time, until she stood in the hall.

  Oak panelling darkened the place. There were more dusty aspidistra plants, an umbrella stand and a dinner gong by the door. A huge tiger-skin rug snarled silently at her from the black-and-white floor tiles. The delivery man’s empty wheelbarrow propped the front door open, letting the cold air of the grey morning seep into the house. Josie thought about making a run for it now, taking her chance, going for help in the village. She couldn’t leave Alfie, though. What would the Aunts do to him once they found out she had escaped? Josie shuddered.

  The delivery man reappeared from the side room, a disdainful look on his face. He glanced sidelong at Josie as he stalked past her and touched the peak of his cap. Then he stopped, staring back at her with piercing blue eyes.

  ‘You visiting, miss?’ His voice sounded so soft after the harsh cawing of the Aunts. ‘Look a bit out of place ’ere, if I may say.’

  ‘Y-yes,’ Josie said, stepping forward. Can I trust him? she thought. He might call Corvis if she asked for help. ‘I don’t want to be here . . .’

  ‘I don’t blame you.’ The man rubbed his beard and regarded Josie closely.

  ‘I want to leave . . . but my brother isn’t well enough yet . . .’ Josie tried to choose her words carefully. Maybe he thought she was some strange young relative of Corvis’s, playing a game.

  ‘This is a rum old place and no mistake.’ The man smiled, glanced back at the side room and stooped close to Josie. ‘Listen, I come ’ere every other day, more or less. If you and your brother need any assistance, then let me know . . .’

  Josie’s heart lifted. A way out, a chance to escape! ‘Thank you, Mr . . . ?’

  ‘Carr – Jacob Carr, miss.’ Josie’s hand became lost in his huge grasp.

  ‘Josie,’ she said, returning the shake.

  ‘Pleased to meet yer, Miss Josie,’ he replied. Josie heard him call back as he picked up the barrow, ‘Now, I’m not hangin’ round here a minute longer, but remember what I said . . .’

  Jacob vanished into the frozen morning. Josie’s smile faded as she glanced across the hall. She wasn’t free yet. The side-room door stood ajar. A sickening smell of offal, rotten eggs and something putrefied made Josie gag. She should have crept away but she couldn’t stop herself from peering in. The Aunts were hunched over a table. Josie had to crane her neck to see. She held her breath, conscious that they might turn round at any moment.

  The sack lay split open and its contents slithered in all directions. At first Josie thought she saw a bright red-and-purple blancmange. But the stench told her something different. Liver, lungs and intestines – all manner of offal slipped out of the sack in a shivering, bloody pile. Josie hardly recognised the Aunts. They were bent over the table, tearing chunks from the heap with their teeth, swallowing and gulping them down. Blood smeared their hands, their clothes, their faces. It dripped from their lips and down their pointed chins. Their black eyes burned fiercely as they gobbled up the stinking mass. They glugged and gargled as each gory gobbet was jerked down their throats.

  Josie wanted to scream, to close her eyes and wake up somewhere else. Her stomach lurched as she staggered away from the door, stumbling over the tiger-skin rug, and ran back up the stairs. Her feet thudded on each step, but she didn’t care about stealth now. She imagined the Aunts, smeared in blood, clattering after her as she sprinted along the landing towards Alfie’s room.

  Alfie was sat up in bed, his breakfast on a tray, when Josie burst in on him. Arabella, busy laying out his clothes on the end of the bed, looked up, startled.

  ‘Wass goin’ on?’ Alfie mumbled through a mouthful of egg.

  Josie couldn’t speak. She leaned on her knees, gasping for breath. She felt sick and dizzy.

  Arabella hurried to her, steadying her. ‘Josie, what is it? What’s upset you so?’

  ‘The delivery,’ she panted, dropping heavily on to a chair. ‘Horrible . . .’

  ‘Delivery? What you on about, Josie?’ Alfie frowned.

  ‘There’s a delivery here almost every other day,’ Arabella said, looking grimly at Josie. ‘A barge comes up from London, ties up at the quay down by the village and a man brings the sack up. Smells somethin’ awful. Never went near it meself – the ladies always deal with it . . .’

  ‘They deal with it all right,’ Josie said. In between gasps for breath she told them what she had seen. At the mention of Jacob Carr, Arabella turned and went back to smoothing Alfie’s clothes.

  ‘That man’s trouble,’ she sniffed. ‘Comes down from London with his wayward ideas, turnin’ country folks’ heads. Leadin’ them astray . . .’

  ‘At least he’s trying to help us,’ Josie said, glaring at Arabella’s back. ‘
We’re in trouble here. You know your “ladies” aren’t all they seem.’

  ‘None of my business,’ Arabella said, shaking Alfie’s shirt a little too vigorously. Alfie sat mute, a forkful of egg frozen between plate and mouth.

  ‘Be honest, I bet you’ve seen all kinds of things that you couldn’t explain,’ Josie said, stamping over to her.

  ‘I don’t ’ave to explain,’ Arabella spat. ‘I just do me job and keep me head down. I’m just a servant here and I’d like to keep me position if it’s all the same to you.’ She barged past Josie and hurried out of the room.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Alfie said, clattering his fork to the plate.

  ‘She knows things aren’t right here – why does she just ignore them? She could be trying to help us, too,’ Josie said.

  ‘Well, you’ve a funny way of gettin’ her on our side,’ Alfie murmured. ‘D’you hear what she said about the barge? It comes from London. That’s our ticket out, I reckon.’

  ‘From what Jacob said there’ll be another delivery the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Then we’ll need Arabella to get a message to this Mr Carr.’ Alfie raised his eyebrows. Guilt flushed Josie’s cheeks and neck. Alfie was right: she shouldn’t have snapped at Arabella like that. She had nothing to do with the search for the Amarant or Josie’s feud with the ghuls; she was just a servant girl trying to keep her living in the crumbling mansion.

  ‘Let’s get dressed and go and find her,’ Josie said, shutting out the thought of the ghuls devouring their rancid feast. ‘I’ll apologise.’

  Josie peered out of her bedroom door into the dark corridor. Excitement and curiosity had driven her down to the hall last time. But seeing the Aunts feasting together brought their true nature back into clear focus. Did Corvis have total control over them? Josie doubted it, somehow.

  ‘You ready, then?’ Alfie appeared at her side. She jumped back, banging her head on the door frame.

  ‘D’you have to sneak up on me like that?’ she snapped. He looked so much better – in such a short time. Lord Corvis was right: he was remarkable. Maybe I am, too, she thought, twisting her neck and stretching her arms out. She’d disposed of the head bandage and felt stronger than she had just yesterday.

  They wandered in silence through the house. The air hung thick and heavy. Windows needed throwing open, carpets beating, spiders and beetles chasing out of dark corners.

  ‘This place is bloomin’ massive,’ Alfie muttered, glancing round.

  ‘Yes,’ Josie whispered back. ‘If we head downstairs, the kitchen and laundry should be there somewhere . . .’

  ‘Let’s just hope Arabella is, too.’ Alfie hugged his arms round himself. ‘This gloomy old dump’s givin’ me the shivers.’

  They crept across the hall, eyeing the Aunts’ side room cautiously. Alfie tripped over the tiger-skin rug, cursing, his shoes clattering on the tiles, but nothing stirred in the room.

  Carpets replaced the cold stone floors as they edged deeper into the house. Thick tapestries covered the wood panelling.

  ‘Think we missed the servants’ quarters,’ Josie snorted. But Alfie didn’t reply. Josie glanced round just in time to see him vanish through a door. She dashed after him and found herself standing in a room lined with bookshelves. A large desk covered in papers squatted in the centre.

  ‘Must be his lordship’s study,’ Alfie said, pulling a book down and squinting at the cover. ‘Practical Daemonology by Professor Envry Janus. Sounds lovely.’

  A book lay open on the desk. Josie stepped over and flicked through the pages. ‘This one’s written by hand,’ she said, running her finger along the date at the top. She gave a gasp. ‘I think it’s his journal . . . Look – yesterday’s date.’

  Alfie craned his neck over her shoulder. ‘I admire their spirit,’ he read. ‘It is still a mystery to me how they recover so quickly . . . the boy should be dead after the wound inflicted by the ghul . . .’

  Josie flicked back through weeks and months and read aloud: ‘All those years of wandering the world, chasing any thrill and excitement, engaging in any vice that would blot out the memory of that hideously beautiful flower . . . I punished myself for wanting to betray my friends and take the flower. When I finally succumbed to the temptation to return to Abyssinia, I found the Amarant had gone. It was I who had been betrayed . . .’

  ‘He sounds proper bitter,’ Alfie muttered, following the words with his finger.

  ‘Just making excuses for himself,’ Josie spat. She continued reading. ‘Look, here, four weeks ago: Sent message to Chrimes at his theatre . . . demanded a meeting . . . rebuffed me . . . told me to stay away from him . . . See, Uncle was a good man – he wanted nothing to do with Corvis or the Amarant.’

  ‘I know, Josie, I know,’ Alfie said, soothing her. ‘Hey, d’you think that’s why he gave Mortlock’s papers to Scrabsnitch – cos he thought Corvis might get hold of ’em?’

  ‘He must have known that Corvis would come looking for him.’ Josie lowered the book for a moment. Had Cardamom known that Corvis would be so ruthless? No wonder he had seemed preoccupied in those last few weeks.

  ‘If he’d known about the Aunts,’ Alfie whispered, placing a hand on Josie’s shoulder, ‘he’d have got you to safety, Josie, I’m sure he would.’

  Josie gave a smile and stifled her tears. She coughed and focused on flicking further back through the book. ‘Listen to this,’ she said, her voice faint and horrified. ‘Found three specimens yesterday: a magpie, a raven and a jay. Dead but fresh, shot full of pellets and hanging on a wire fence . . . The powers gifted me by the Amarant have brought them to new, if imperfect, life . . .’

  ‘Is he talkin’ about the Aunts?’ Alfie said, staring in horror at the page.

  The door creaked open, making Josie start and drop the book on to the desk. Alfie gave a startled yell. Aunt Veronica stood at the threshold, her eyes twinkling, the lace-work of her black dress caked brown with dried blood. Josie felt her throat tighten at the sight.

  ‘Lord Corvis found us stiff and cold, swinging bloody in the icy breeze,’ she hissed, with an evil grin. She paced towards them. ‘He brought us to new life. To what we are now . . .’ She leaned over the desk, her face close to Josie’s.

  ‘L-Lord Corvis has commanded you not to h-harm us,’ Josie stammered. Her knees felt weak and her head throbbed as Aunt Veronica eased closer, glaring at them.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Aunt Veronica’s voice had fallen to a whisper. ‘Our time will come, Josie Chrimes. You can’t escape. Our crow brethren are very efficient guards. They count people out and they count people back in. They are everywhere and they would know in an instant if you left.’

  Arabella appeared behind her and politely cleared her throat. ‘I’d better take them back to their rooms now, miss,’ she said, giving a curtsy, her face stony and pale, eyes downcast.

  ‘Take them, then,’ Aunt Veronica hissed. ‘But remember, Josie, we’ll choose our moment well.’

  .

  .

  I’ll do as much for my true love

  As other maidens may;

  I’ll dance and sing on my love’s grave

  A whole twelvemonth and a day.

  ‘The Brown Girl’, traditional folk ballad

  .

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Arabella’s Tale

  Josie, Arabella and Alfie walked back through the house in silence. The angry exchanges in the bedroom hung over them. Just say sorry, Josie told herself. Why can’t I just say I was wrong? Alfie obviously had the same thoughts as he kept raising his eyebrows and nodding in Arabella’s direction.

  Finally, as they entered Josie’s room, he coughed and said, ‘Josie has somethin’ to say to yer, Arabella.’

  Josie glared at her brother. What a nerve, speaking for her. But he was right, she knew that much. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, looking at the floor. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier. It wasn’t fair . . .’

  ‘No, Josie,’ Arabel
la said, blushing and giving a smile. ‘It’s me as owes you an apology.’

  ‘How much did you hear just now in Lord Corvis’s study, Arabella?’ Alfie asked, his voice soft.

  ‘Enough to know the ladies don’t mean you no good,’ she said. Her voice dropped to an angry whisper. ‘But I suppose I knew that the minute you arrived. They talk over me as if I’m brainless or deaf. I know things ain’t right here – known it since his lordship come back . . . What could I do, though? Hearing your story, Josie, well, it kind of woke me up . . .’ She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, suddenly gabbling, ‘Which is why I’ve resolved to go an’ talk to Jacob about takin’ a couple of stowaways back to London day after tomorrow.’

  ‘You . . . what?’ Josie leapt up, hugging Arabella. ‘Oh, how can we ever thank you?’

  ‘S’all right, just get away safely.’ Arabella smiled, then frowned at Alfie, who stood morose and deep in thought.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ he murmured. ‘But how are we gonna get out of the house?’

  ‘What’s to stop yer from just walkin’ out when the ladies are . . . y’know, with their delivery?’ Arabella shuddered.

  ‘The birds,’ Alfie said. ‘You heard what the old crow said: they count people in and out.’

  ‘D’you think that’s true?’ Arabella said, pulling a dubious face. ‘I mean, they’re only old crows.’

  ‘We’ve seen ’em in action,’ Alfie said.

  Josie thought of the cloud of chaos outside Scrabsnitch’s shop. ‘Alfie’s right,’ she said. ‘It’s hard to believe, Arabella, but they serve his lordship and the ladies. I’m sure they can be deceived, though . . .’

  ‘What if Arabella were to meet Mr Carr at the gate, walk up the path with ’im and then keep ’im occupied inside somehow?’ Alfie thought aloud.

  ‘While we slipped out,’ Josie finished.

  ‘Easy.’ Alfie grinned. ‘Two people in, two people out.’

  ‘Then you could get to the barge and you’d be off to London – they don’t hang around here long at all, believe me,’ Arabella added.