by Jon Mayhew
‘But Jacob would be stuck in the house,’ Josie said, her shoulders sinking. ‘And the barge can’t leave without him . . .’
They sank into silence. Josie chewed her nails. Her head felt as if it would burst at any minute. Jacob would have to come with them, that would make three. How can we get three out and only two in? she thought. Alfie paced the room.
‘The only way,’ Arabella said at last, ‘is if the delivery man stays in the house. I might be able to get one of the boys from the village to bring the delivery up instead of Jacob – the ladies don’t care who brings the package.’
‘You’re takin’ a big risk ’ere,’ Alfie said. ‘You sure you’ll be all right?’
‘Don’t think his lordship’ll suspect nothin’ if I just play dumb,’ Arabella said, trying to sound casual but twisting her fingers together. ‘He might punish me for bein’ stupid and lettin’ you get out, but what choice do we ’ave?’
Despite having a plan, the room seemed even more claustrophobic and gloomy when Arabella left them to do her work.
‘Lord Corvis might get suspicious if I spend too much time up here,’ she said, winking as she left the room. ‘I’ll go an’ check if one of the village boys is available for delivery service . . .’
There’s so much that could go wrong, Josie thought, watching the door close. She stared at the diluted colours of the marsh and listened to the mournful cackling of their crow guards. Were the crows clever enough to tell people apart? What would happen to Arabella if Corvis suspected that she had helped them? Josie shook her head.
‘Maybe we should try to think of a plan that doesn’t involve Arabella,’ she said, running a finger down the windowpane. She turned and stared at Alfie. ‘What are you doing?’
Alfie had his palms outstretched around a small swarm of flies. They buzzed and wove in and out of each other. He coughed and lowered his hands. The flies fell to the floor, dead and desiccated.
‘Oh, Alfie, that’s disgusting!’ Josie gazed at him. She remembered the toad boy she’d met in the shop. A lot had happened since then. Alfie blushed and looked at his feet.
‘Well, I thought I might as well keep tryin’. They’re only small but I’m learnin’ to concentrate and it’s gettin’ easier. I can control ’em. Maybe it’ll come in handy some time.’
‘Yes, if we need an army of dead flies,’ Josie muttered, giving him a withering stare. A flurry of panic rose up in her stomach and she threw herself on the bed. ‘What if it all goes wrong, Alfie? And we’ve still got to find the Amarant. We’ll never do it.’
‘We’ve got to ’ave a go,’ Alfie said softly. ‘Corvis is gonna start askin’ questions soon. He wants that Amarant an’ he thinks we know where it is. We’ve gotta get away and find it before he does.’
All afternoon, Josie struggled to come up with a different escape plan, fretting about the details of the one they had. Could they rely on the boy Arabella would find? How long would the Aunts spend on their feast? Josie cursed herself for not being more level-headed this morning. She could have timed them.
‘I keep thinkin’ about that note, the one your uncle gave you,’ Alfie said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘It didn’t sound right. More like a riddle or somethin’ . . .’
‘How d’you mean?’ Josie chewed the ends of her hair. What was he thinking about that for now? They needed to escape before anything else.
‘Well, that “think of my last words . . . don’t heed the goodbye” business. It sounds like a puzzle.’
‘Can’t you just concentrate on one thing at a time, such as how to get out of here?’ Josie snapped. Her nerves were frayed.
‘Suit yerself,’ Alfie grunted and took himself off into a corner to reanimate his fly swarm. Daylight succumbed to darkness and, once more, the weird glimmer of light appeared across the marshes.
‘That light again,’ Josie said, pressing her forehead against the cold glass.
‘Wonder what it is,’ Alfie murmured, leaning over her shoulder.
There was a knock at the door and Arabella stepped inside, bringing more soup. She seemed excited and nervous.
‘Right, I nipped down to the village and saw Sammy Nichols. He said he didn’t mind bringin’ the delivery – very keen to show me how brave he was.’ She grinned, blushing. ‘I left a letter for him to give to Jacob Carr, too, explainin’ that Sammy would be comin’ to pick up the delivery instead this time . . . and that Jacob is to expect two passengers for his journey back to London.’
‘Thank you, Arabella, I know you’re taking a risk.’ Josie hugged her. ‘I just wish there was another way . . .’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about me,’ Arabella said. Josie detected that same brittle cheerfulness she had heard when she first met her. ‘I can look after meself.’
‘Arabella,’ Alfie said, leaning closer. ‘I was lookin’ at that light out there on the marshes. Do you know what it is?’
‘No.’ Arabella pursed her lips, then sighed. ‘Well, I know what they say it is but . . .’ She shook her head and looked away from the window.
‘Why, what is it?’ Josie said, her eyes wide.
‘It’s a horrible story,’ the servant girl said. ‘It don’t do no good to talk of such things.’
‘Go on,’ said Alfie, sitting on the bed and looking out through the window.
Arabella chewed her knuckles, staring out of the window herself. ‘We’ve enough to think of, what with the ladies an’ all.’
‘Please,’ Josie said. ‘There’s something about the light that draws you in.’
‘I know, that’s what’s bad about it. That light shines way out there on the marshes towards the estuary,’ Arabella said. ‘Has done every night as long as I can remember.’
‘Tell us, Arabella, please.’ Alfie pulled at her sleeve.
‘They say every year a travellin’ circus used to come to the Corvis estate to over-winter and repair equipment, like. A powerful magician performed with them. Some say he’d got his powers from the Devil himself. He was in love with the most beautiful gypsy woman you ever saw. One winter he had to travel – to meet with Satan, they say – and when he came back, the gypsy woman had died . . .’
Josie stared out at the light. It seemed to glow stronger as the story unfolded.
‘The circus had burned her body and her caravan with her. The magician was furious. He reckoned he could’ve stolen her back from Death ’imself. In a blind rage, he cursed the whole circus to a livin’ death, there and then. It’s said that they perform out there on the marshes every night, hoping to draw an audience. Anyone who goes there never comes back.’
‘Do you know anyone who’s tried to go?’ Josie said in a hushed voice.
‘Over the years there’s been a few boys from villages nearby who’ve wandered into that part of the marsh and never returned.’ Arabella stared, frightened by her own story. ‘A few travellers have been lured from safe paths by the light, their belongings found floatin’ in one of the gullies the next morning. Never a body.’
‘They drown in the marsh?’ Josie said, biting her lip.
‘You’re near the sea out there towards the estuary. Tide doesn’t come rollin’ across the marsh; it bubbles up through the gullies and pits, through the marsh grass, too. You can easily get caught if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. But nobody knows exactly why they never find a corpse,’ the frightened servant girl went on. ‘There’s a saying round here for them what go missing. They say they’ve “gone to see the circus of the dead”.’
Alone in her room again, another long night stretched ahead of Josie. Strange notions tumbled around her head and she climbed out of bed to gaze at the faint glow in the dark. There was definitely something oddly mesmerising about the light. Like Alfie had said, it was almost as if it were calling to her. Surely it couldn’t be anything dangerous. It looked warm and inviting – a safe haven. Somewhere to run to.
A stealthy footfall made a floorboard creak outside on the landing. Something scratc
hed and clawed at her door. The Aunts were becoming impatient. Lord Corvis wouldn’t wait for ever.
Josie climbed back into bed and buried herself under the blankets, trying to blot out the sigh of the wind, the creak of the house and the disturbing scratching at her bedroom door. Huddled under the covers, she fell into another haunted night of broken sleep.
.
.
Who’ll dig his grave?
‘I,’ says the owl, ‘with my spade and shovel.’
Who’ll be the parson?
‘I,’ says the rook, ‘with my little book.’
Who’ll carry him to the grave?
‘I,’ says the kite, ‘if it’s not at night.’
‘Who Killed Cock Robin?’, traditional nursery rhyme
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Cellar
Morning finally arrived, bringing bad news with it. Alfie arrived at Josie’s bedroom door with his breakfast tray. Arabella hurried close behind him.
‘Thought I’d eat with you if it’s all the same.’ He grinned, settling into the armchair by the fire and stabbing a fork into his egg. There was something wrong, Josie could tell even if Alfie was oblivious to it. Arabella stood silently wringing her apron in her fists.
‘What is it, Arabella?’ Josie asked, sitting her on the end of the bed.
Alfie clattered his fork to the plate. ‘Is somethin’ wrong?’
Josie shook her head. ‘Can’t you tell? Look at her – she’s shaking!’
‘It’s his lordship,’ Arabella said, twisting her apron even tighter. ‘He’s told me to take yer to the cellar . . .’
‘What for?’ Josie’s stomach turned. ‘You don’t think he’s found out about Jacob somehow?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Arabella said, shaking her head. ‘But that cellar . . . Well, I’ve never been in, but the noises that come from there sometimes – screamin’ and such – makes me blood run cold.’
‘Blimey, what are we gonna do?’ Alfie moaned.
‘Not much we can do.’ Josie shrugged but her voice quavered. ‘We can’t escape yet. We just have to go along with it and hope he’s not going to lock us down there.’
‘Well, finish yer breakfasts first,’ Arabella said, but Josie pushed her plate away and shook her head.
‘I think we’ve finished,’ she said, looking at Alfie, who had gone a sickly pale shade.
Arabella led them through the dusty, shadowy house once more. Josie stayed silent. She felt trapped. What was Corvis going to do? He wanted to know the whereabouts of the Amarant. How far would he go to get that information? She shuddered.
They came into the entrance hall and Arabella took them to a small door beneath the stairs. ‘He said to go in there an’ wait for him,’ she said, her voice faint.
Josie pushed the door open. The groan of the hinges echoed into the dark emptiness beyond.
‘Doesn’t sound very cosy,’ Alfie muttered behind her.
‘Be careful,’ Arabella said, as Josie led Alfie through the door and to the top of a flight of narrow stone stairs that ran far down into the shadows.
They wandered down the steps. The sound of their footfalls echoing in the dark void made Josie feel small and insignificant. Looking down made her dizzy; four lamps burned distantly at floor level below.
‘This room must be almost as big as the house itself,’ she whispered.
‘Bigger, I’d say,’ Alfie replied, peering over the edge of the steps. ‘I can see benches and tables down there. Looks like some kind of workshop.’
‘Or a torture chamber.’ Josie shivered.
Strange objects cluttered the edges of the room, including cages of all sizes, some big enough to imprison a man. Chains and manacles lay on top of barrels and boxes. The piles of junk stretched off into the shadows that masked the cellar walls. Three benches formed a ‘U’ in the centre of the room. One had scalpels, knives and bottles of chemicals on it, and another lay bare.
‘Look at these.’ Alfie leaned over the third bench and poked at a line of small black feathery bundles that lay in a row there. Josie joined him. The smell of decay made her wrinkle her nose in disgust.
‘Dead birds,’ she said, pulling back. ‘Why would Corvis have all these dead birds down here?’
‘Dead crows. D’you remember his journal?’ Alfie said, staring at the table. ‘He’s been experimentin’ on them. He wanted to make an army of ghuls, just like the Aunts.’
‘But what for?’
‘Dunno.’ Alfie shrugged. ‘But he reckoned he needed the Amarant to do it . . .’
‘And now you can tell me where it is.’ Corvis stood at the top of the stairs, gazing down on them. Behind him, Josie could see the black outlines of the Aunts. He started down the steps. ‘I understand you’ve been exploring the house. I assume that must mean you have recovered.’
Josie and Alfie remained mute, watching as Corvis and the Aunts descended towards them.
‘I only wish we’d caught them trying to escape,’ Aunt Mag croaked as she followed Lord Corvis over to the children. Aunt Veronica and Aunt Jay gave a grating snigger behind her.
‘Now then, Mag,’ Corvis said, lifting one of the rotten bundles from the bench. ‘Alfie and Josie might help us yet. Let’s not be unkind.’
Corvis slammed the dead crow on to the centre of the bare table and gave Alfie a grim smile. ‘I’ll show you something.’ He took a long, vicious-looking knife from the bench behind him and opened his palm. ‘I did this once to swear an oath – with your precious guardian and Sebastian Mortlock.’ He drew the edge across his hand, tracing a red furrow, then closed his hand into a fist. ‘Now watch . . .’
He held his fist over the bird on the bench and squeezed. A tear of blood dripped down on to the bird. Josie stepped back, eyes watering at the foul-smelling vapour that bubbled up from the carcass. The three Aunts huddled together behind Corvis, grinning and twitching at the scene.
‘You see, I have been in the presence of the Amarant,’ Corvis drawled, squeezing another droplet of blood on to the carcass. ‘My father suppressed the crows of Rookery Heights. My gift from the Amarant was to be able to bring them to a new and enhanced existence.’ He pulled a silken handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around his hand. ‘My blood flows in their veins. That power came from just a brief encounter with the Amarant.’ The dead crow began to writhe and flap on the bench, its eyes glowing red. ‘They’re quite weak to begin with, for the first few hours. Easily despatched . . .’
‘Why’re you doin’ this?’ Alfie said, staring at the crow as it twisted about on the table. Josie stood up and backed away. It was growing, changing. Josie gave a squeal of disgust.
‘A demonstration,’ Corvis said, smiling still. He placed the knife on the bench in front of Josie. ‘I know where my gifts came from and what they are. What are yours? I wonder. Mag, the boy – should he be alive now?’
‘He should be crow’s meat,’ Aunt Mag spat, fixing her eyes on Alfie.
The crow on the bench was the size of a small dog now, but Josie recognised the familiar long beak, the vicious talons growing before her eyes. It screeched in agony as bones cracked and reformed, joints popped and realigned. Bare flesh bubbled from under old feathers, bursting with fresh quills and glossy black plumage as it swelled like some hideous balloon.
‘Remarkable healing powers, the pair of you,’ Corvis said, ignoring the monstrous changes right under his nose. ‘That wound on your head, Josie, would have laid a normal person low for weeks, possibly killed them, and yet you’ve recovered in a couple of days. How do you explain that?’
Josie said nothing. She looked distractedly from Alfie to the quickly developing monster on the bench. Finally it stopped flapping and perched, glaring down on Josie with glowing eyes. It ruffled its spiky feathers and scraped its claws along the wood of the table. The Aunts clapped their hands and grinned at each other.
‘Magnificent, isn’t it? Hungry, too,’ Corvis said. His voice sounded sl
ightly weaker. Black shadows ringed his eyes. Josie thought he looked so much like the Aunts: eyes cold and glittering, nose pointed and long. He paused and clicked his fingers as if he had forgotten someone’s name and was trying to recall it. ‘So where did you say the Amarant was, Josie?’
‘I didn’t,’ Josie said.
The crow on the table gave a hiss, snapping its beak at her. She pulled her head back and stumbled away. Alfie stood frozen in horror at the sight of the newly born ghul.
‘Don’t underestimate me, girl,’ Corvis said, his face twisted into a snarl. ‘I only need one of you to tell me where the Amarant is . . . The other is expendable. Now, my beauty.’ The hatchling ghul swivelled its head round to stare at him. Corvis grinned at Josie. ‘Kill the boy.’
.
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The grave’s the marketplace where all must meet,
Both rich and poor, both small and great,
If life were merchandise that gold could buy,
The rich would live – only the poor would die.
‘Death and the Lady’, traditional folk ballad
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CHAPTER TWENTY
The Fledgling Ghul
The ghul reared up on the bench, sending Alfie stumbling on to his back as it flapped its massive wings. It cocked its head and craned its neck, peering first at Josie and then at Alfie. Lord Corvis closed his eyes, rubbed his temples and shook his head.
‘THE BOY,’ he snapped, raising his voice as though the ghul were hard of hearing. He glanced over at Josie. ‘They’re newly made, not too bright yet – vulnerable, as I said.’ His tone was casual, as if he were discussing the weather. He turned his attention back to the crow, pointing at Alfie and clicking his fingers impatiently. ‘The boy! That one! Him!’
The creature swivelled its head round, gave a low croak of menacing realisation and glared at Alfie. Aunt Jay clapped her clenched fists together and jumped up and down. The fledgling gave a low croak as Alfie lay on his back. He scrabbled away from it.
