Mortlock

by Jon Mayhew

  ‘Josie, what’ll I do?’ he said, his voice quavering.

  ‘Stop it,’ Josie hissed at Corvis. She glanced down at the knife on the bench, instantly weighing up its sharp point and solid bone handle.

  Corvis caught her eye. ‘You can save him. Show me what you can do.’ He grinned, looking more ghul than human. ‘Or you could sacrifice Alfie and kill me . . .’

  ‘Josie . . .’ Alfie called as his head bumped against the back wall of the cellar. The ghul hopped closer, its cackling mingling with shrieks of laughter from the Aunts.

  Leaping forward, Josie snatched the knife from the bench. It felt heavy, the bone handle cold on her palm as she aimed it at the creature.

  The ghul hissed, taking a few more hesitant stalking steps towards Alfie, lowering its head and stretching its neck out as it prepared to bound forward. Josie could see the sinews in its legs stretch and flex, the glossy feathers rippling. Alfie’s pleading eyes stared at her over the ghul’s hunched body. The bird’s back faced Josie, making it a tough shot. But there was no more time to breathe or balance, no more time to take stock.

  ‘Josie, it’s gonna –’ Alfie squeaked. A hoarse croak drowned him out as the ghul leapt into the air.

  Josie flicked her hand, hurling the knife. It twisted and spiralled towards the ghul. She watched the light play on the vicious blade as it cut through the air. It whistled past the ghul’s head. Alfie gave a yell of horror but then, with a satisfying metallic ping, the knife bounced off the wall of the cellar and struck the ghul right between the eyes. Blood spattered the dusty floor as the ghul’s feet swung up and it fell flat on its back. It lay thrashing and flapping in agony as its life blood pooled and congealed around it.

  Only the sounds of the knife quivering in the ghul’s skull and Alfie’s ragged breathing broke the silence that followed. Alfie lay staring at the twitching, feathery heap. The Aunts clung to each other, glowering in dismay at Josie. Then Corvis’s slow handclap echoed around the cellar.

  ‘Bravo,’ he said. ‘I’d heard you could throw but that was simply amazing . . . almost unbelievable, in fact.’

  ‘I wish I had a second knife,’ Josie spat, glowering at Corvis. Anger boiled inside her. What he’d done was evil. He would have quite happily watched Alfie die merely to put her to the test.

  ‘Your talent intrigues me, that and your miraculous healing ability.’ Corvis pulled the bloody handkerchief from his hand and held up a clean palm. No sign of the cut remained. ‘You have the power of the Amarant flowing through your veins, children. You’ve been near it. Now tell me where it is.’

  ‘Why should I?’ Josie sidled around the twitching body to where Alfie struggled to his feet.

  Corvis stared into the distance, as if reliving a dream. ‘It is mine . . . taken from me . . .’ He paced the length of the bench. ‘And if you won’t help me . . .’ he said, and his face darkened. Again, Josie thought she saw something of the Aunts in his sharp features. ‘Then I will leave you to the tender mercies of my ladies.’

  The Aunts inched forward, bobbing and chuckling. Corvis stopped beside them, smoothing his hair down with a hand and frowning as something downy appeared between his fingertips. Josie felt a jolt of shock run through her. Feathers? He hastily shook his hand, sending the fluff drifting to the ground, where Aunt Mag snatched and wafted the small feathers away.

  ‘Give me the Amarant and I’ll keep them away from you for ever,’ he said.

  Josie thought of Cardamom wasting away, Gimlet struggling in the street, Ernie at the Erato. She frowned and glanced over at Alfie, who looked three shades paler again.

  ‘Mr Scrabsnitch said that the Amarant could only do evil in the hands of men,’ Josie said, trying to conceal the tremor in her voice. ‘What would you do with it?’

  ‘What would I do?’ Corvis gave a laugh, as if he couldn’t believe that a child was questioning him. ‘I’d bring order to the world.’

  ‘You’d just kill people, like your “ladies” have,’ Alfie said, leaning heavily against the cellar wall, exhausted by his brush with the ghul.

  ‘But what is death, boy?’ Corvis shook his head. ‘With the Amarant, we can make all that right.’ He turned to Josie. ‘Death has no meaning when you have total control over it. We can bring them back.’

  ‘Bring who back?’ She eyed Corvis and her frown deepened.

  ‘The world is a chaotic and unhappy place,’ Corvis said, stepping over the dead ghul and coming close to Josie. His tone had become intimate. ‘With the Amarant, we can choose whether to live for ever or die. We can bring our lost loved ones back to life . . .’

  For a moment, Josie forgot her hatred of this man. Could he bring Cardamom back? And what about Gimlet? She imagined them beside her once more, laughing, sharing a joke and teasing her. She thought about the mother she’d never really known, and imagined having a real family. Maybe Corvis would help me, she thought, hesitating. He had once been Cardamom’s friend, after all. Mortlock had taken the Amarant, not her uncle – she was sure of it.

  ‘But we can’t all live for ever,’ Alfie piped up again, breaking into Josie’s daydream. ‘There’d be no room. Mr Wiggins says that death is nature’s way of keepin’ the population from gettin’ too big.’

  ‘Ah, a devotee of the Reverend Malthus and his so-called “population control” notions, I take it? Anyway, young man, we wouldn’t let everyone live for ever.’ A feverish light glowed in Corvis’s dark eyes. ‘Only the few. Only the few would live at all. Consider your home city, children, full of misery and crime, people choking the streets. The lower orders go on breeding and multiplying, draining our resources, causing disease and poisonous miasmas to spread, infecting even the richer, more enterprising elements of society. Now imagine a world where we, the few, lived and all others existed to serve us, not eating, drinking or sleeping even . . . and not increasing their numbers with wearisome regularity.’

  ‘How can you stop people eating?’ Josie shuffled closer to Alfie, away from Corvis. He trembled as he stared out into his imaginary future. ‘People have to drink and sleep,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Not if they are dead.’ Corvis grinned into Josie’s face, making her lean even further back. He grabbed her wrist, his palm hot and sweaty. Aunt Mag clutched her hands to her heart, listening in rapture. ‘The living dead, animated by the Amarant, slaves with no will but mine! They could run our factories, fight in our armies, serve in our houses with no concern for themselves, no physical needs of their own. And a small ruling elite would steer this nation to further greatness.’

  ‘And when we have the precious plant, my lord,’ Aunt Jay said, bobbing with excitement, ‘we’ll be able to take our rightful place at your side.’

  ‘They’re incomplete, you see,’ Corvis drawled. It was as if he were talking about the poor gait of a racehorse he’d bought. ‘Still prone to animal urges. No soul, either. Took a lot of blood and effort to get them to this stage. Even now they’re more crow than human, despite their appearance and intellect. They need me to keep them from returning to their previous state.’

  ‘But Lord Corvis will make us whole.’ Aunt Mag grinned, her eyes wild. ‘He has promised.’

  ‘It’s hideous – all those people dead.’ Josie stared at Corvis, who pursed his lips and regarded his fingernails. Josie couldn’t help noticing that they seemed long and pointed – more like claws than a gentleman’s nails. ‘I’d never tell you where the Amarant is.’

  Corvis heaved an impatient sigh. ‘It’s important that you understand, Josie: you’re signing your brother’s death warrant if you refuse.’ Josie stared at Alfie’s pallid face. Corvis went on, ‘Believe me, I will find the Amarant sooner or later. You can make it sooner and save a lot of suffering and anguish along the way. My patience isn’t limitless . . . nor that of my ladies. I’m tired of waiting.’ The Aunts narrowed their eyes and leered at Josie and Alfie. ‘Jay, Veronica, take them to their rooms and lock them in. You have until noon tomorrow to think about it – sep
arately – then whoever tells me will live.’ Corvis’s eyes burned into Josie’s. ‘The other will die.’

  .

  .

  None of my gold now shall you have,

  Nor likewise of my fee;

  For I have come to see you hanged,

  And hanged you shall be.

  ‘Maid Freed from the Gallows’, traditional folk ballad

  .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Tiger-skin Rug

  Kicking and howling insults, Josie threw herself at the bedroom door. The Aunts had dragged her none too gently up the stairs and pushed her into her room. She had lunged forward in panic, catching a last glimpse of Alfie before the door slammed shut. The sound of the iron bolt outside sliding home stopped her assault on the door. What was the point? She gave the solid oak a final kick.

  Josie felt utterly alone. She hurled herself on to the bed. What would they tell Corvis?

  Would Alfie?

  Josie sat up. No, he’d never do that. He was her brother.

  The afternoon inched by. Josie paced the room, trying to keep track of time. What about this Sammy Nichols? Can we trust him? She watched the multitudes of crows flocking together on the rooftops, nudging and shuffling along the eaves of the house. What if Jacob changes his mind? The room seemed to close in on Josie as the evening shadows thickened. She sat in the armchair, letting the meagre fire illuminate the room. Through the window she could see the steady glow of the light on the marsh. Where was Arabella? What if she’s changed her mind? Josie thought.

  The night darkened and the fire died. Josie dozed in the chair, jumping awake at the slightest scrape at the window or creak of the floorboards. She ran through the plan again and again. They were so dependent on others. Jacob Carr might not turn up. Maybe the tides will change and make him late. Josie shivered and pulled a blanket from the bed, wrapping it around her shoulders. How long until morning? Josie could only guess as she stared out. The windows were solid black mirrors reflecting her worried, pale face.

  The cold of dawn finally seeped into her bones, waking her with a sudden start. Where was Alfie? Was he all right? Josie felt so helpless.

  ‘I can’t sit here doing nothing,’ she muttered to herself and glanced round the room. She picked up a chair, swung it high over her head and brought it crashing to the floor. The crack of splintering wood sounded deafening in the quiet of the morning. I’m not going quietly, she thought, holding the shattered chair leg and feeling the sharp, jagged point where it had snapped off. If I have to fight them, then I will.

  As morning crept on, Josie sized up the room for possible places to spring from and take the Aunts by surprise. She frowned. It wouldn’t be easy; the room was hardly huge, nor was it cluttered with furniture.

  The sound of the bolt being drawn back cut Josie’s thoughts dead. She tiptoed behind the door. The handle rattled as it twisted. Josie gripped the chair leg. The hinges groaned. She pressed herself against the wall behind the door and raised the chair leg like a short spear as it swung back towards her. Seeing a dark shape through the crack, she lunged forward.

  ‘Josie, no!’ Alfie shrieked, throwing himself away from her. ‘It’s me and Arabella!’

  Josie checked her blow just in time, but her momentum took her crashing into Alfie, tumbling him to the ground.

  ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doin’?’ Arabella snapped, rushing over to Alfie and helping him to his feet. Josie sat on the floor, staring up at her.

  ‘Sorry,’ she panted. ‘I thought you were one of the ladies . . .’

  ‘Do I look like one of them old crows?’ Alfie said, grinning and rubbing his head. ‘And sort yerself out there – yer showin’ next week’s laundry! Cor, y’nearly brained me.’

  Josie gave a gasp and jumped to her feet, straightening her skirts and petticoat. ‘I’ve been so worried.’

  ‘Not the only one,’ Arabella said, brushing back her hair with a shaking hand. ‘Lord Corvis wouldn’t let me up here for the rest of the day. I wasn’t sure if you were still alive even.’

  ‘We nearly weren’t,’ Josie said. ‘It was awful, Arabella. We were stuck in that horrible cellar with Lord Corvis.’

  ‘He said he’s going to kill one of us at noon,’ Alfie said, wide-eyed.

  Arabella put a hand to her mouth.

  ‘So this Sammy, he can still do the delivery?’ Josie said, grabbing her arm. ‘He hasn’t backed out? And Jacob Carr will be there?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Arabella said, patting Josie’s shoulder with a shaky hand. ‘He’ll be there. As soon as the ladies are occupied, I’ll distract him and you sneak out. I’ll leave the door unbolted now. It should all work. Just remember, Jacob can only stay a short time. Hurry straight to the quay or you’ll miss him.’

  ‘We’ll keep an eye out for Sammy and make sure we’re ready,’ Alfie assured her. Arabella gave them a brave smile and left.

  Josie bit her lip and poked the cold embers of the fire with the chair leg. ‘I couldn’t sleep for thinking last night, Alfie.’

  ‘You an’ me both,’ Alfie said. ‘But that Corvis has another thing comin’ if ’e thinks ’e can split us up.’

  Josie stabbed the fire again. ‘I thought Arabella had abandoned us,’ she said, dropping the chair leg into the hearth. ‘I thought it’d all go wrong and we’d miss Sammy . . .’

  ‘We won’t miss him, Josie,’ Alfie said and then squinted through the window. ‘In fact, ’ere he is now!’

  A red-haired boy wrestled the barrow up the rough track. It was a struggle, his back bent against the weight, his feet slipping on the broken surface of the path.

  ‘He’s having trouble,’ Josie said through clenched teeth. ‘What if he drops it?’

  The odd crow swooped at him as Josie had seen them do before and, as he drew closer, she could see fear on the boy’s face. Arabella appeared on the steps below and ran out to meet him.

  ‘Good girl, Bella. Them crows’ll be countin’ now, two in . . .’ Alfie murmured, then turned suddenly to Josie. ‘Come on. Let’s get on the stairs, so we can be ready.’

  They slipped into the shadowy corridor and crept to the top of the stairs. Josie poked her nose above the banister rail. She could hear the Aunts flapping and fussing with excitement. They surrounded Sammy, poking him and stroking his hair. The smell from his putrid burden filled the hall. Alfie covered his mouth and nose with his hand.

  ‘A new boy,’ Aunt Mag said, her eyes shining. ‘Can you manage that load, young man?’

  ‘You’re rather late, child – been dawdling? We’re hungry, you know!’ added Aunt Jay.

  ‘No Mr Carr?’ Aunt Veronica croaked, stroking Sammy’s arm.

  Sammy stood mute and pale. Clearly the Aunts terrified him, the sack on his back wobbling as he trembled.

  ‘Just bring it in here, boy – it’s ours to deal with then.’ Aunt Jay gave him a sly wink and licked her cracked lips with her black tongue. Arabella stood by the door to the servants’ quarters, trying to catch Sammy’s eye.

  ‘Well, go on then, boy,’ Aunt Veronica cackled, slapping her withered hand into Sammy’s shoulders and sending him stumbling across the hall. She turned to Arabella. ‘You can get about your duties, girl. Go on, hurry!’ Arabella pursed her lips, turned on her heel and vanished down the corridor. Josie stared at Alfie in dismay. What would happen now?

  The Aunts bundled Sammy into the side room. Josie held her breath.

  ‘Come on, let’s make a break for it now,’ Alfie hissed.

  ‘No,’ Josie replied, grabbing his sleeve. ‘The Aunts aren’t settled yet. Besides, we need Arabella to detain Sammy, to give us time to get away, remember?’

  ‘Come on, Bella, where are yer?’ Alfie whispered. They watched the door to the servants’ quarters. Nothing. The hall lay still, only the muffled cackling of the Aunts broke the silence.

  ‘Where’s she gone?’ Josie hissed.

  Sammy’s voice drifted into the hall, followed by a sickening, sq
uelching noise. ‘What the . . . Oh my lord,’ he said. A high-pitched scream quickly followed. Sammy Nichols came staggering from the side room, blood smeared on his cheek. Raucous, crowing laughter followed him, cut short by the door slamming shut. He paused for a second, glancing around for Arabella, then fled through the front, not even stopping to pick up the barrow.

  ‘Brilliant,’ Alfie sighed. ‘Now what do we do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Josie muttered, creeping down the stairs and into the hall. She stared out after the disappearing figure of Sammy. She felt sick. It had all gone wrong but they had to get out now.

  Arabella suddenly appeared from the servants’ quarters. She looked pale and horrified.

  ‘Arabella,’ Josie whispered urgently, ‘the plan’s gone wrong. Sammy, he ran away . . .’

  But Josie’s words died in her throat. Arabella’s face was chalk white as she shook her head. Lord Corvis stepped into view, grasping her wrist.

  ‘What’s gone wrong, young lady?’ he sneered. ‘Why aren’t you safely locked up in your room? I wonder. Arabella? Any ideas?’ The girl shook her head, her whole body trembling. Corvis raised his free hand to his mouth in a pantomime gesture of shock. ‘Surely not! It couldn’t be. You weren’t helping them to escape, were you, Arabella?’

  Lord Corvis grinned, savouring the children’s fear. He jagged Arabella’s wrist, making her cry out and stumble into him.

  ‘I don’t know what to think.’ Corvis shook his head. ‘My own staff turning against me.’

  ‘It wasn’t her, we tricked her . . .’ Josie protested. ‘It’s not her fault.’

  ‘Tricked her into unbolting your door from the outside?’ Corvis said. ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Please, your lordship . . .’ Alfie began, taking a step forward. Corvis backed away, nearly tripping over the tiger-skin rug that covered the polished floor tiles. He roughly twisted Arabella’s arm behind her back, making her cry out again.

  ‘I can see that I’ve wasted my time. The ladies are feasting now, but . . . What are you doing?’

  Corvis glared at Alfie. As Josie watched, her brother’s eyes rolled back in his head and he held his shaking hands aloft. She frowned as the skin of the rug behind Corvis began to ripple and squirm.