The Bone Snatcher

by Charlotte Salter

  She took a deep breath and plunged forward, throwing herself to the ground as the next pendulum flew toward her, and landed facedown on the planks.

  She lay flat on the bridge as the pendulum passed over her feet and took a layer off the bottoms of her boots. She got up, legs weak as jelly, waiting for the next pendulum to disappear near the ceiling, and ran.

  Things flashed past her, cogs and levers and lights and hourglasses, as the balcony loomed. Her foot caught a loose plank and she fell to the floor, cracking her chin on the wood for a second time. The lights turned out, and she could see nothing but the faint glint of machinery rotating around her. The clockwork noise was louder than ever, and the bridge was still swinging, caught between flying and stuttering.

  She wanted to hurl the contents of her lunch into the heart of the clock, but she forced herself to scrabble around for the tripped wire, and when she found it she yanked it out. The light turned back on, and Sophie tossed the wire over the side.

  She got back to her feet. The last pendulum came screaming toward her, and for a second she froze, her body a lump of clay. Her last reserves of logic bobbed to the surface. She threw herself backward instead of forward. The pendulum missed her head by a whisker, but the force of the movement, the air being pushed out of its way, threw her off balance. Her leg crumpled, and she slipped off the side of the bridge.

  She screamed as her body slipped backward into space.

  And then she was swinging by one arm over the abyss, the fingers of her right hand gripping the edge of the bridge, her hair flying around her face as a hundred bits of machinery churned around her.

  She had no idea how to get back up, and it seemed that she was only putting off the act of falling. She wasn’t strong enough to pull herself back onto the bridge, and her arm was screaming for her to let go.

  “Help me!” she cried, her voice lost in the monstrous ticking and grinding.

  On the other side of the bridge, Laurel’s eyelids flicked open. As the pendulums purred around him he folded forward at the hips to form a solid right angle and rolled forth, his arms dropping with a huge clunk so his fingers grazed the bridge and dragged behind him.

  He trundled over the bridge without pausing, squat and heavy as a tank. His timing was so precise that the pendulums didn’t hit him. He didn’t even wobble. Sophie tightened her grip, her shoulder burning. Through the curtain of dread, she wondered if he was going to save her.

  He lifted his head and unhinged his jaw to reveal a speaker. It crackled, and there was the sound of someone clearing their throat.

  “Thank you for visiting Catacomb Hill,” Laurel’s recorded voice said cheerily. “I hope your time here has been pleasant. Have a safe journey!”

  The voice recording stopped, and the speaker spewed out tinny music, the kind you might hear on a carousel.

  He pivoted to face her, so he could see her through his dark glass eyes. Sophie knew right away that he wasn’t going to take her hand and pull her up; he was going to peel her from the side of a bridge like Scree would peel mussels from the rocks, then toss her to her death.

  Every few seconds the swinging of the bridge made her body jerk through the air like a rag doll, and her fingers slid a little more. The clockwork man straightened to his full height and raised a foot, his leg sliding up and into itself like a collapsible umbrella. He should have looked ridiculous, but instead he looked demonic.

  He brought his foot down like a hammer, slamming it into the bridge so hard splinters flew. Satisfied, he wheeled closer to her fingers. Sophie, through a mist of panic, tried to work out how to pull herself back onto the bridge in time.

  The clockwork man creaked alarmingly. Sophie swung her free arm up, her fingers just grazing the side of the bridge. She did it again, and this time she touched the leg he was standing on. His other leg folded into itself again, ready to come down on her hand, and as it prepared to stamp again she used all her strength to grab the leg he was standing on.

  She let go with her other hand a split second before the metal foot smashed into the bridge, and then she grabbed that leg, too, so she was hanging with both hands from the clockwork man. He tried to fold up his legs, his machinery choking. With a sharp whine he changed tactics and wheeled away from the edge, which pulled Sophie up a few inches until she could claw her way on to the bridge. Arms burning, chest aching, she heaved herself onto the planks. Laurel swiveled around to face her, still spewing music through his dark and empty throat.

  The bridge was swaying higher and higher. She had to stay on all fours to keep her balance, but the clockwork man didn’t even tilt.

  Laurel’s arms swung out in front of him, to push her off or choke her or whatever gruesome thing he’d been programmed to do. The hammer trembled above the bell, ready to fall with the next swing of the pendulum. With a burst of courage, she realized what she had to do.

  “I hope you’re watching this,” Sophie shouted to the door at the other end of the room.

  As the bridge swung back to the middle she ran forward and barreled into the chest of the machine. She was so light, and the machine so heavy, that it felt like she slammed into a stone wall. He jerked backward an inch. It was enough. His wheels struggled to get their grip back, and in that moment the clockwork man was hit by a pendulum and thrown off the side of the bridge.

  Laurel fell down and down and down, and hit the space between two wardrobe-sized cogs. He was sucked into the middle, bits of machinery torn off and flung high into the air. The cogs sputtered and struggled. There was a large pop as something came loose and flew off. The whole clock ground to a resounding halt.

  The bridge swung slower and slower, finally coming to rest over the jammed cogs and levers.

  Sophie clung to the planks. She stayed there for several minutes, staring at the balcony. At last, legs weak and shoulders burning, deafened by the sudden and impenetrable silence, she crossed the rest of the bridge, feeling like she’d killed something.

  She reached the balcony, looked up, and saw the bell hanging above her, the hammer frozen moments from striking. Still shaking, she pushed into the jumble of old inventions and junk. There were no boxes. She wriggled deeper into the stacks of machinery, but there were only piles of broken furniture. The Monster Box wasn’t there. It was a theater backdrop. She had been tricked and nearly killed, and all for nothing.

  Hatred rose in her throat for the twins and the house and everything in it. Sophie kicked a three-legged chair over the side of the balcony, down into the guts of the clock, watching as it smashed into pieces, splinters flying everywhere. It wasn’t enough. She pushed a record player over the edge, a bunch of lightbulbs, a huge vase, a wooden mannequin, and they all shattered below. But the noise was muffled and unsatisfying. She tried to control her breathing, which was hard and painful.

  As the last thing tumbled over the edge, Sophie heard it: a small click, like a cog or lever had shifted. A spring popped. A string was released. The balcony gently began to shake. She looked up and saw a small chain reaction travel up the side of the room, switches flicking and cords lifting on the side of the wall. And then the hammer began to fall toward the bell.

  Sophie leaped toward the door and yanked the handle with both hands. It opened immediately, and she swung into the house just as the bell was struck. It felt like her head was being put through a lemon juicer. She slammed the door shut and collapsed into the cool, damp carpet of the corridor, clamping her hands over her ears until the bell stopped ringing, abruptly choked by flying debris.

  Then came silence, and the house finally stopped breathing.

  Chapter 19

  The Bonfire

  Sophie stalked the house like the Queen of Bones. Her pockets were filled with femurs; her boots sprouted ribs; her hands dripped knucklebones, which she left behind her like a bread crumb trail.

  It was two days after her escape from the Clock Room, a
nd the floodwater had finally started to drain away from the catacombs, leaving scummy tides of bones and trinkets and lost glowfish. She pushed the stranded, smashed bones against the wall ready for the next feeding, although with the house so quiet, she wasn’t sure when that would be.

  She’d been unable to sleep properly for the past two nights. The silence was so loud and uncomfortable that it woke her up repeatedly. She kept telling herself that it was just a house, just a clock with a big bell, and that she only felt strange because she was used to the constant, low-level ticking noise that pulsed through the walls like blood. All the same, she felt like she was balanced on a knifepoint. Unsure when their next meal was coming, the sea creatures were dangerously quiet, as though they might snap at any minute. If they got fed up and came for the house, it would be all her fault. She’d broken that clock with her stupid adventure.

  She spent all morning sweeping bone fragments from the floor, then went to find Scree.

  He was deep in the catacombs, hunched over a brass bowl. There was something small and squid-like inside, writhing and making little slurping noises. At first Sophie didn’t think he’d noticed her.

  “Sea-scrivening,” he said as he stared deep into the bowl. “My old ma, Neptune rest her soul, told me anything with tentacles can tell the future. It ain’t working.”

  “Did you get a look at the clock?” she asked quietly.

  “As good as I could with a rope an’ a drippy candle,” he said. “Ruined. Chewed to bits.” He looked at her ruefully, making her squirm with guilt. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, which she knew was a rubbish apology.

  “Aye. It’ll take me days to sort all the cogs out.” He prodded the bowl with a long finger, then looked at her mournfully. “Maybe I won’t bother. Dunno how long I’ll be around.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “Why not? I’m old. If age don’t get me, something else will. I only want easy work from now on.”

  Sophie tried to think of something to say. Scree prodded the bowl, listening to the whistling of the squid. Then he coughed loudly. He pushed the bowl aside, pulled out his barnacle-crusted pocket watch, and held it out to her.

  “Use this for the Bone Snatching,” he said.

  “I can’t take your watch,” she said, horrified.

  “I don’t want it anymore. The ticking annoys me.”

  He grabbed her hand and pushed the watch into it, his papery, calloused fingers squeezing hers tight. She wanted to thank him, but as soon as she opened her mouth he made a sound like Manic snorting.

  “You’re doing me a favor,” he said. “I’m not long for this place. Bad things are going to happen.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Sophie said. “You’re indestructible. You’re part of the house.”

  “Bad things,” he repeated. “The twins’re getting too mean even for my limits.” He sucked his cheeks in disapprovingly. “I know you’re looking for the box.”

  She thought about denying it. She couldn’t.

  “I don’t know what’s in that box, and I don’t care to,” Scree added. He rummaged in his pocket again and gave her the silver scissors she’d stabbed Cartwright with. “Found these on the floor. I’d hide ’em somewhere safe if I were you. Just in case of emergencies.”

  “What kind of emergency?” she asked, although her imagination was already running riot.

  “Hop to it. It’s nearly time to feed ’em.” Scree pointed toward the beach, which meant she wasn’t getting anything else from him.

  He followed her outside and stood by the entrance to the catacombs, watching as she flung the broken bones in. As soon as they saw the food the monsters broke their silence, and they play-fought like a bunch of excitable dogs, drooling and bickering and flicking their tails at one another. Scree folded his arms and pressed his lips tightly together as Sophie threw a jawbone into the mouth of a waiting demikraken.

  “Ten points,” she said, looking sidelong at Scree.

  “Eh?” he said. “Never heard so much youthful rubbish in my life. ’Sides,” he added, “them’s easy targets. You try getting a lochnessfish to catch a bone.”

  Minutes later they were throwing things into the sea together, aiming for the jaws of the biggest, fastest creatures, shouting at each other, getting covered in spray and foam. Scree was good; he knew each of the sea creatures inside out, what sorts of bones they liked, how they moved, how high to throw; but the creatures vied for Sophie’s attention, crowding around her feet to get the next mouthful and, she swore, doing watery acrobatics in front of her.

  “There it is,” said Scree, wiping the sea from his eyes. “You’ve got something about you. Me, I think they’re a slobberin’ bunch of children, but they know you’re soft for ’em deep down.”

  “I’m not soft for them,” Sophie said, scowling. “I’m not soft for anyone.”

  “’Course you are. I should be a bit proud of that, if I were you. Mind you,” he added, “it won’t stop ’em from eating you. They like something, they want to chew it up all the more.”

  Secretly she did feel proud, in an odd way. She felt like the sea creatures were hers now. As she walked back to the catacombs she almost thought that everything was going to be all right, and that the island wasn’t such a bad place after all.

  And then she saw what had been left for her.

  * * *

  There were two scraps of gold placed casually, almost as if by accident, on the slab of rock she called her bed. Her fingers went cold as she walked toward them. They looked like small coins—as if someone had given her a present. But then she was close enough to pick them up, to press the gilded paper between her fingers, and she knew that it was no gift.

  They fluttered down, the bits of paper with spidery black writing, and she was gone before they reached the ground. On her way through the tunnels she almost knocked Scree over, but before he could complain she was racing into the house with a scream of fury building in her throat.

  “Ralf! GAIL!”

  She was answered by a silence so deep it must have been deliberate. But there was something else: a smell, and it wasn’t damp, mold, or seawater. She could smell smoke. It curled through one of the windows, creeping in tongues past a crack in the frame.

  She pressed her face against the dirty glass and squinted. The twins were in the garden, their red heads bobbing up and down as they dragged bits of dead tree around, building a den or something.

  A bonfire.

  She ran to a rotting door, fury surging through her whole body. She rammed it open with her shoulder and went through headfirst, landing in a knot of brambles, her foot still caught on the threshold. She turned over like a fish on dry land and tried to free herself, then rolled sideways into a patch of stinging nettles, and cursing, spitting leaves, stumbled off into the garden. She sprinted toward the plume of smoke, which was coming from the pointed end of the island.

  Twenty yards into the garden, which was more like a forest, she could hear distantly triumphant crowing. The twins were singing now. She could hear them perfectly. And then she burst into the clearing where the bonfire was. The twins were each holding a ticket to the New Continent, waving them close to the flames like they were toasting marshmallows.

  She went straight for Ralf, who sidestepped her so neatly she plunged into the ashes and the bottom of her trousers caught fire.

  “You must have been running fast,” said Ralf.

  “Where did you get those?” she gasped, trying to beat the flame out. She swiped for Ralf’s ticket, but he gracefully lifted it out of her reach.

  “These?” said Ralf. “We just found them. Funny, the things Cartwright keeps in his sock drawer.”

  “Do you even know what they are?” she said. “You wouldn’t be waving them around like that if you had any sense in your thick heads!�
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  “No idea,” said Ralf. “But they’re obviously valuable to you. To Cartwright, too, seeing as he’d installed a booby trap.”

  “A loaded crossbow behind the door,” said Gail. “How very unoriginal.”

  She lunged for the ticket in Ralf’s hand. He tsked and raised it again. He was taller than her, very tall indeed, she realized, like he’d grown overnight. The ticket gleamed above his head.

  “Jump for it,” he said. “Go on.”

  “All right,” she said, and stamped on his foot. She grabbed his elbow as his face creased up and tried to snatch it from him. Gail coughed politely, then started to shred his ticket.

  The sound of ripping went on forever, as painful as if Sophie were having her nails pulled out. Gail put the torn corner in his palm and blew it into the bonfire. The paper crackled and sparked.

  “Here’s the thing, Silverfish,” said Ralf as he raised the ticket above his head again. “All this sneaking around is amateur. Playing tricks, creating decoys, follow-me, follow-you, et cetera. That was Act One. We should move on now.”

  “You’re going to rot under the sea,” she hissed. Her fury was so strong she felt like she should be able to lift the island from its foundations, to strike both the twins to the ground with one blow. She snarled and swung her bunched fists, but Ralf caught her arm and twisted it behind her so she was trapped. When she was fighting someone she normally won by ignoring the rules and kicking right where it hurt. But the twins knew how she fought, and they were just as good at it. She couldn’t hurt them by playing dirty.

  “Tut,” said Ralf. “We expected more of you. Isn’t that right, Gail?”

  Sophie twisted her arm out of Ralf’s grip, but he caught it again. She saw Gail wince. It only took a second, but his face told her everything she needed to know. She realized Ralf had done exactly the same thing to Gail, time and time again since they were little.