The Thirteenth Curse

by Curtis Jobling

  “Wasn’t expecting a visitor at this time o’ night, certainly not a Van Helsing, young Maxwell. Where’s that old reprobate, Jed? Coming to my humble establishment on your lonesome, and at this hour, too? Streets are a dangerous place for any soul after dark.”

  Max collapsed behind the jewelry counter. “It’s been a helluva day. Where to start?”

  Crumb filled a kettle and popped it onto the stove, firing the burner to life. “How’s about at the beginning?”

  As Crumb prepared a pot of tea, Max went over the day’s events, starting with battling Eightball in his bath towel. If it weren’t for the fact he’d lived through it, he’d have called shenanigans on the whole sorry story. When he was done, he finally got around to drinking his mug of tea, which steamed reassuringly in his cupped hands.

  “So you came here looking for what?” asked Crumb.

  “Answers. I figured you could help. Jed always says you’re a man who knows a lot of people. Says you’re ‘well connected.’ Is that true?”

  Crumb sipped at his own drink, his leathery upper lip lingering along the rim of his mug like an enormous slug. “Will he be okay, the little Chinese lad? Your friend’s able to look after him?”

  “Wing will be fine,” replied Max, noticing Crumb had dodged his question. “So can you help me?”

  Crumb placed his mug on his countertop.

  “When you entered my store, some kind of . . . rage took hold of me. Ain’t never happened before. I pride myself on keeping the beast in check, understand?”

  “The beast? I didn’t think you were a monster; thought you only dealt with them.”

  Crumb’s lips went thin as he smiled, his crooked teeth poking out like a row of broken stalactites.

  “Oh, I’ve got a bit o’ monster in me, little fella. My dear old mother was goblin, you see. Met the old man when he was digging Tube tunnels below London. Love at first sight, they both used to tell me, bless their dear departed souls.”

  The thought of a human falling for a goblin didn’t conjure a pretty picture to Max’s way of thinking, but then again, beauty was in the eye of the beholder. “So I triggered something in you? What did it feel like?”

  Crumb shrugged. “Felt like I was drunk on home brew, didn’t it? Wasn’t meself until you clobbered me. And then”—he clicked his fingers—“it lifted. Just like that.”

  “Can’t you remember what you saw? Something must’ve set you off.”

  Crumb shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you. But it was like a red rag to a minotaur. Good job I got me some human blood in here as well, or you might’ve been brown bread.”

  “Brown bread?”

  Crumb drew a dirty finger across his own throat, sticking his tongue out in a grisly manner. “Dead.”

  Max smiled. After the smorgasbord of monsters he had gone head-to-head with that day, one crotchety pawnbroker hardly put the chills in him. Still, it was best to humor the fellow while he was a guest.

  “I don’t mean to sound like a broken record, but can you help, Mr. Crumb? I’ve got nowhere else to turn.”

  The pawnbroker scratched his jaw as he considered the boy’s plea. There was a twinkle in the man’s eye that made Max feel uneasy. He let his hand drift over the flap of his messenger bag, within easy reach of its contents.

  “You know, your predecessors have often proved a thorn in the side of monsterkind.”

  “Have I ever wronged you?”

  “Not personally, boy, no. But Van Helsings have made the lives of many a misery. Who’s to say you’re not gonna take my head to mount on your wall one of these days? I bet there’s no shortage of goblin skins in the family trophy cabinet, eh?”

  “If there are, I’ve never seen them. Don’t judge me on my forefathers, Mr. Crumb. The Van Helsings might be monster hunters, but I like to think of myself as a new branch of the family tree.”

  A noise outside made them both start—the clattering of a garbage can lid.

  “Seems if I kicked you out of this shop right now, you wouldn’t last too long. Some might say I’d be doing my fellow fiends a favor, letting the last of your lot snuff it.”

  Max managed to smile, even though his stomach was in knots. Play it cool, Max; that’s what Jed would have said. He gingerly placed his mug on the glass counter. Out came the yo-yo, the boy spinning it nonchalantly as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Jed had warned him about Crumb, said he couldn’t be trusted. Had Max judged this terribly? Could he have gotten things so wrong?

  “Some might say that helping me out tonight could put you forever in the Van Helsing good books. Might even earn you a Get Out of Jail Free card or two, insurance for any future misdemeanors.” Max watched to see whether Crumb would take the bait.

  Crumb smiled, eyes wide with interest. “Go on.”

  The yo-yo rose and fell from Max’s open palm. “Know this. If you don’t help me tonight, it won’t bode well for you.” Crumb’s smile slipped. “Turn your back on me, set me out on the streets alone, and you’re as good as killing me yourself.”

  The pawnbroker’s face darkened now, his skin mottling around the eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You think I came here without telling anyone where I was?”

  Max hadn’t stopped for a moment to tell Syd or anyone else where he’d been headed, of course—this was a megabluff—but what other choice did he have? Jed’s warnings now rang in his ears; it was that kind of impulsive hotheadedness that could get a monster hunter killed. Max crashed on.

  “Jed may be missing, but my friends know I’m here. They’ll be expecting to hear from me.”

  “Are you . . . threatening me, boy?”

  Max snatched the yo-yo back into his hand, his gaze suddenly fixed upon the pawnbroker. “I could ask you the same thing, man.”

  Crumb’s face was set, hard, and humorless, his goggle-eyes narrowed as he gauged the young visitor. Then the smile reappeared, and any menace dissipated. “What are we like, eh? A pair of silly sods, that’s what,” said Crumb, the jovial tone returning to his voice. “Come on, sup up. Have your brew, little fella.”

  Max ignored the mug on the jewelry counter. “Help me, Mr. Crumb. What’s happening to me?”

  “I don’t know, young Maxwell, may my dear old mother rest in her pit. I’m as stumped as you.”

  “Then who might be able to help? Who’s the wisest soul you know?”

  Crumb considered the question for a moment. “Clay.”

  “Who’s Clay?”

  “There ain’t nothing that happens above, or below, that he don’t know about. He’s as wise as the hills and as old as the earth itself.”

  Max felt hope soar in his heart, almost punching its way out of his chest. “Then you’ll take me to this Clay?”

  “One tiny problem with that, my lad. He lives in the Undercity.”

  “Ah,” said Max. “Your definition of tiny is different from mine.”

  “You walk through the gates to the Undercity, you may as well ring a dinner bell and paint a target on your chest. No, young sir. You won’t be going downstairs.”

  “Which leaves me where?”

  “Heading home without any answers,” said Crumb, making his way to the back door. “I can’t help you, Master Maxwell. You’re on your own, I’m afraid. And that includes facing whatever nasties come after you.”

  “You have to get me into the Undercity, Mr. Crumb. It’s not just my life that hangs in the balance, nor Jed’s.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Max looked deep into the man’s eyes. “Both worlds, upstairs and downstairs, are full of monsters who are fighting the urge to do monstrous things. Monsters who want to get along with folks. Monsters who are, at heart, good and honest souls. Like you, Mr. Crumb.”

  Crumb’s face gave nothing away as Max’s impassioned speech con
tinued.

  “If I’m gone, who will stand up against creatures that aren’t fighting those urges? Who’ll keep the real monsters in check? If hell on earth is what you’re after, then that’s how it begins . . .” Max stopped. If that didn’t convince Crumb to help, he didn’t know what else to say.

  The pawnbroker ran a pasty hand over the alley door. He rapped his fingers against the timber and smiled. “Have you brought your Wellington boots in your purse?”

  “Pardon me?” asked Max, patting his messenger bag.

  Crumb’s laugh was an unsavory gurgle as he patted the thick wood. “There are always alternatives to the front door, little fella.”

  NINETEEN

  xxx

  HEADING DOWNSTAIRS

  Not for the first time that night, Max hurled. This one was a dry upchuck, since the remaining contents of his stomach had been evacuated three heaves ago. His eyes strained, leaking tears, as he leaned against the sewer wall. When his innards stopped contracting, he placed his forearm over his mouth, sucking at his bomber jacket sleeve as he tried to block out the stench.

  Odious Crumb turned in the effluence ahead, looking back at the trailing boy. He kept his voice low, aware that the sound might carry through the labyrinth. “What’s the matter, Master Maxwell? Ain’t never crawled through a tunnel o’ turds before?”

  Max retched. “You have?”

  Crumb kicked a boot through the foul river of feculence as merrily as a child skipping through puddles. “Used to play hide-and-seek in the sewers as a nipper. What harm did a bit of dookie ever do anyone?”

  “Besides cholera and typhoid, nothing at all. Lead on, poopmeister.”

  Max fell in behind his half goblin guide, flashlight trained ahead, the pawnbroker cutting through the swamp in purposeful strides. Max followed in his wake, keeping his eyes fixed on Crumb’s back instead of the filth he waded through. The man had kindly sold the boy a pair of secondhand fishing waders back in his shop; Crumb was helping Max out, no doubt about it, but clearly saw no harm in making a little profit along the way.

  “You’re sure you know where you’re going?” Max asked, his voice muffled by his jacket sleeve. “We must have traveled miles!”

  “Don’t worry, lad. I’ll get you to Clay.”

  Max felt more than a little anxious placing all his trust in the pawnbroker, but he was out of alternatives. Crumb was leading him down into a world where few Van Helsings had stepped, one that no doubt teemed with creatures hungry for Max’s flesh. But every monster, big and small, vicious or harmless, was after him, and until he’d solved the mystery, no place—not even home—was safe.

  Crumb turned off down a tributary, narrower than the main tunnel they’d been following. His fingers traced the uneven stones of the wall, picking at the lichen-covered brickwork. Occasionally, he would place a leathery ear to the uneven surface, even stopping to sniff at the air at intervals. What he expected to smell over the stench, Max could only imagine.

  “Please tell me your nose is broken,” said Max, stifling a repeated urge to barf.

  Crumb chuckled. “This nose works perfectly well, my lad. I’ve got my goblin genes to thank for my super schnoz.”

  “What is it you think you can smell? Reckon it’s a crapload of crap, with a hint of crap thrown in for good measure.”

  “Hard as it may be for you to believe, Master Maxwell, it’s fresh air I’m sniffin’.”

  “Now I know you’re kidding. We’re going around in circles, and I’m running out of time, Mr. Crumb. You said you could lead me into the Undercity. No offense, but this looks like an ordinary sewer. Just like the last tunnel did. And the tunnel before that.”

  The half goblin placed a warty hand against a dark, grimy brick, one that looked just like any other. “O ye of little faith . . .”

  Crumb pushed, and with a hiss and clunk the stone recessed into the wall. No sooner had the brick vanished than the whole tunnel shuddered. Beneath the foul water the ground trembled, almost dumping Max backward into the muck. He shone the flashlight on Crumb’s grinning face.

  “Hold on to your Wellingtons,” said the pawnbroker.

  The words had hardly left Crumb’s lips before the tunnel floor opened up beneath them. Max let out a shriek as he, the half goblin, and five hundred gallons of sewage were deposited into a dark chute. Almost immediately the opening snapped shut above them with a clang. The teenager aimed his flashlight dead ahead as the drop became a slide, the pawnbroker a body’s length ahead of him as they shot down the sloping tunnel. Within moments they were both crouching, riding the slurry-slick passage like demented snowboarders.

  Hideous though the elements were, Max couldn’t deny it was thrilling, rocketing headlong through the darkness, surfing a wave of poop. Crumb glanced back occasionally, the flashlight beam catching the fellow across his lumpy face. His flesh appeared a shade greener now, his eyes a bit bigger and more bulbous, his teeth a touch sharper. The deeper they went, the more his spine rose to form a knuckled ridge down his back. Crumb grinned. Max gulped.

  “This is the Undercity?” cried Max. They had gradually left the tide of filth behind, but the pair still sped along. His feet slipped suddenly, his footwear losing traction along the tunnel floor, sending him into a slithery skid on his bottom. He accelerated past the pawnbroker, his flashlight arcing wildly over the tunnel walls.

  Crumb chuckled. “This is a tunnel,” he said, seizing Max by the strap of his messenger bag, the clawed fingers of his other hand gripping the passage wall and halting their descent. The satchel caught tight around the young monster hunter’s chest, riding up and across his throat as he was jerked to a sudden, violent halt. The flashlight flew out of his hand, spinning through the air before him like a pinwheel firework. Instead of clattering off the tunnel floor or walls, it continued its trajectory out into the darkness, Max’s eyes following its flight until it disappeared.

  “That, my lad,” said Crumb, “is the Undercity.”

  Max’s vision slowly adjusted as an alien world blossomed into life. In the depths of a gargantuan cavern, myriad twinkling lights bloomed in the dark. Surrounded by a starless gloom, high in the vaults of the incredible abyss, it was hard to judge distance, but the cityscape must have been thousands of feet below. Great spires and towers rose all around, crowding each other as they aimed for the black heavens. Each was riddled with windows, lanterns, bonfires, and braziers, turrets and steeples jostling for dominance. Bridges spanned every empty space, crisscrossing over one another as they connected the suburban sprawl, the void beneath bottomless and impregnable. The sounds of the city were carried up toward Max on gusts of warm, pleasant air, a riotous cacophony of chaos, a maelstrom of music, merriment, and mayhem. He caught sight of the toes of his filthy rubber boots now, peeking over the edge of the sheer and deadly drop that Crumb had saved him from.

  “But . . . it’s huge!” said Max.

  “What were you expecting? A shantytown? Three tents and a donkey?”

  “I don’t know, but not . . . this!”

  “That’s not just a city down there, Master Maxwell,” said Crumb proudly, hauling the youth back from the brink and dusting him down. “That’s a civilization.”

  Max looked along the edge of the ledge that they were perched on, the path skirting the cavern’s crooked wall like a crude gallery within a cathedral dome. His vertigo suddenly hit him like a bomb dropping. He was ground zero in an explosion of nausea that sent him to his knees.

  “No, no,” said Crumb, hauling him up. “You need to keep moving. You get spotted, you’ll be in for it, remember?”

  “But the city’s down there,” said Max. “There’s nobody up here. Is there?”

  Crumb extended a knob-knuckled finger, directing Max’s gaze over the cliffs that surrounded them. The occasional pair of glowing eyes shone in the darkness.

  “The Undercity may be below, b
ut that don’t mean there ain’t life up here, in the Roof.”

  Max’s eyes picked out silhouettes moving around the cavern, clinging to the sheer, jagged stone. “The Roof?”

  “Aye. Not every monster can afford to live with their brethren downstairs. The Undercity’s just like Gallows Hill. Up there, the filthy rich look down on us from their penthouse apartments. Well, it’s the reverse here. The deeper you go, the pricier the rent. The Roof’s home to the have-nots.”

  More eyes could be seen now, bioluminescent orbs like those one might find in the ocean depths. Max couldn’t be sure, but it seemed their gazes were leveled at him. Hisses echoed around the Roof.

  Crumb squeezed Max’s arm. “We need to move. Now.”

  The path dropped and rose, cutting in and out as it weaved haphazardly around the cavern’s walls. Max would have gladly crawled along that walkway, clutching on for dear life, but Crumb would have none of it. The half goblin was running, his leathery hand keeping a firm hold of the trailing teen. Above and below, Max heard grunts and growls in the dark. He was aware of movements, shadowy forms pursuing them around the walls, clinging to the Roof like bats.

  Suddenly they were out of the dizzying cavern, slipping through a fissure in the rock face. A broad flight of uneven steps had been carved out of the stone, sweeping up in a curving flight. Were they being followed? The only thing he was sure of was that they were directly above that nightmarish, never-ending cavern, the jagged stone roof directly beneath their feet. Crumb kept a grip on Max as he scuttled up the staircase.