by Caro King
‘I don’t care about flaming Destiny,’ he said, hissing the words, ‘I’ll do it somehow. I’ll kill Fish Jones, you’ll see.’
‘Hmmn! I’ll believe it when it happens.’ Lampwick stalked erratically over to the coffin and picked up the chronometer. He threw it at Grimshaw.
‘Go on then! Get out of my sight!’
Sticking out a hand, Grimshaw caught the chronometer and slapped it on his wrist. Then he spun the dials as fast as possible and hit send.
He ended up back in Real Space on a tuft of grass in the middle of a field. A cow raised its head and looked at him. Avatars were hidden from human eyes, it took an effort of will to make themselves visible, but animals could see them all right.
The cow chewed thoughtfully, then looked for another mouthful. It took a step forward, interested in the succulent clump that Grimshaw was sitting on. Grimshaw snarled at it. It lowered its head and gripped a chunk of grass practically underneath Grimshaw, then pulled hard, forcing him to move.
With a scream of rage, Grimshaw flailed around, tearing up chunks of grass and throwing them at the cow. It ignored him. He bounced towards it and landed a kick on its solid flank, then bounced back, turning to face it with a howl. The cow began to eat the grass.
It was intolerable. Even cows treated him with disdain!
He stopped howling and stood, heaving in great, deep breaths of air. His corner-to-corner black eyes smouldered with an inky heat. He would show them. He had meant what he said, all right. A little thing like Destiny wasn’t going to get in his way. If Hanhut had done it, so would he.
Persistence, he thought, that’s the key. Determination. Hit the boy with everything I’ve got and leave Destiny standing.
Grimshaw dug out his copy of Mrs Minchin, and his ruler, and got to work. Destiny or not, Fish Jones was as good as dead.
Later that same afternoon, in a small town some miles beyond Stoney Cross the sky was filled with leaden smoke that twisted and heaved in oily clouds. Sirens wailed and from everywhere rose the clamour of screams, crying voices and running feet. Broken glass crunched underfoot and the stench of petrol and greasy flames hung in the air. Behind a barrage of fire engines, a row of firemen struggled to control the blaze consuming a petrol station. Paramedics ran all over the place and policemen shouted directions, organising people and vehicles to safety.
A short distance away at the corner of the street, an old man stood watching, his face covered in dust and soot and his hat clenched in one hand.
‘Excuse me,’ said a voice at his elbow.
The old man looked round and then down. He cocked an eyebrow that looked like a shaggy grey caterpillar against the dark skin of his face.
‘Can you … um … tell me what’s going on?’ said the new arrival. ‘I just got off the train, see. I was meant to catch a bus from here, but everything’s delayed.’
‘Been an accident,’ said the old man. He looked bemused, like a man who was trying to work out something complicated, something possibly unbelievable. ‘Well, several, actually. Someone died too. See, there was this boy … Odd-looking kid. Fair hair, almost white, and eyes like hazelnuts. Wearing a T-shirt far too big for him. Had a drawing of a fish on the front.’
The girl stared at the old man with fixed attention.
‘Fish?’
‘Yes, like I said. And the word fish.’
The girl blinked at him. Then she cleared her throat and dragged a battered notebook out of her pocket. ‘Tell me everything,’ she said firmly. ‘The name’s A. J. Craig and I’m a reporter …’
When the old man had finished his story of death and mayhem, A. J. Craig nodded. She had long since stopped writing it all down. She looked over to the houses with their broken glass and tattered curtains billowing in the air, hoping that no one had been in there, sitting in front of the TV or reading, when it happened.
‘So the boy was unharmed, right? Even after four near-fatal … accidents! But someone did die – the man in the truck, the one that ran into the petrol pump?’
The old man sighed heavily. ‘Yes. I wish I was not there then. I wish I had stayed at home, but I saw it all. A scarecrow of bones and ash, still burning inside the truck. Horrible it was. And …’
‘Yes?’
‘And I will tell you this – there was something else too. I will tell you because I must tell someone or go crazy. Just for one split second, when that young fellow went off his head and crashed into the pump, I saw something in the truck with him. Something that flicked into view and then disappeared again. Something … horrible! Like a skinned cat with extras.’
He looked down at the scrawny figure with the notebook, the carrier bags and the shocked expression. ‘You do not have to believe that. But it was there.’
‘Thanks,’ said A. J. Craig, stuffing the notebook back into a tatty pocket. ‘Thanks very much, you’ve been ever so helpful, but I’ve got to go now. I’ve got to hurry. But I’ll tell you something – about the thing you saw in the truck.’
The old man swivelled his gaze from the scene of chaos around him to the grubby-looking would-be reporter. ‘Mmm?’
‘I believe you. I really do.’
21
ALICE
Fish was still running as evening began to draw near. He didn’t care which direction he went, as long as it was away from the doomsday town and the demon. He could barely keep upright, and his foot was hurting so badly that every step was like treading on knives. His face was wet, though he couldn’t remember crying, and his head was filled with the effort of keeping on the move. He wasn’t even looking forward to arriving at Crow’s Cottage, because all he would find there was an abandoned house full of the demons that came with dirt and decay.
The road was empty. He had just left the last small village behind and was facing a long walk up a hill to the rocky wilds ahead. After that would be a long walk downhill. And then he had moors to cross. Above him, the sky pressed down in a darkening bowl, filling his vision in all directions. Silence blocked his ears and cool air stirred around him in silky currents. It made him feel like he was at the bottom of a deep sea.
Although he had escaped alive, the barrage of attacks had left his head full of chaotic images. Of these, the one that came back to him the most, more than all the damage and the fire and the frightened people, was that of the demon as it snapped into existence right in front of him on the High Street. It had reared up as tall as it could on its back paws and had looked at him, stared him in the eye, and the look it had given him was one of exultation. It had revelled in his terror, it was as simple as that. And it was Fish’s terror that had stopped him in his tracks and sent him fleeing to the other side of the road, right where disaster was waiting to strike in the form of shattered glass, falling tiles, flying pottery and exploding pumps. Any one of those accidents could have killed him, would have killed him but for a series of freak events (the unravelled shoelace, for instance) that delayed him right at the crucial moment.
But if it was the demon that had sent him into the path of danger, then it was the thing that he had seen at the petrol station that had caused him to veer away just as the explosion happened. And that thing was death.
Death, in Fish’s view of the world, arrived in the form of silvery light. Inside the silvery light was something. Fish had only once been close enough to see the something and it freaked him out far more than dirt demons, or even misery snakes.
Death could be quick or it could be slow. When it was quick, as in the case of Jon Figg, the light arrived fast and went as swiftly. Right over the petrol pump, Fish had seen the light appear and he had run away because he was afraid it was meant for him. As it happened, the poor man in the truck … well, anyway, the death hadn’t been there for Fish after all, but seeing it arrive had saved his life. Odd that.
Fish glanced at the sky again. By now, the sun was sinking fast and he knew he wouldn’t make it before dark. He also knew that he could no more stop and sleep than he could fly. He w
ould just keep walking until he couldn’t walk any more and then he would fall down and if he was lucky he’d live until the morning. Then he’d have to hope that he could get up again.
A long way behind him a black dot appeared in the middle of the horizon. As it drew nearer it became a car. It was nearly on him before he heard it. Startled, Fish turned to look.
It was more than just a car. It was a taxicab. Right out here in the middle of nowhere. Fish stared at it, bewildered. It drew level with him and then it stopped.
The door opened and someone peered out.
‘God, Fish, you look like death! Seems I got here just in time.’
Fish smiled. It was hardly visible beneath all the dirt and blood on his face, but it was a big smile.
‘Come on then!’ A small and grimy hand reached out to grab him. He stumbled with it, falling into the cab. The door slammed.
‘You can drive on now.’
The taxi driver, who had been staring at Fish, faced front again and put the cab back into motion.
‘Well,’ said Alice J. Craig firmly, ‘I brought some money like you said. Hadn’t you better tell me exactly what kind of thing is out to get you?’
Fish sank back against the well-worn leather of the taxi and thought that he had never known such comfort in all his life.
‘I suppose it’s something weird,’ said Alice. There were two large shopping bags at her feet, along with a smaller plastic bag from Sainsbury’s. As usual when she wasn’t at school, she was wearing a skirt with a torn hem, a corduroy jacket with frayed cuffs and a dirty top with a sequin butterfly on it. The butterfly was missing a lot of its sequins. Her shoes were scuffed on the toes and hadn’t been polished since they were bought. She had smudges on her tanned face, grub under her fingernails and had forgotten to brush her hair, but she looked like heaven to Fish.
He nodded.
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me! The moment Jed told me about your call I knew it was something to do with all that stuff. It’s why I decided to bring the money myself instead of posting it like you said. What is it this time? Worse than the dirt devils, obviously. Worse than the death things? The ones that hang around old people and sick folk?’
Fish nodded again.
Alice stared at him, shoving her mop of dark hair back behind her ears. ‘It’s something to do with your mum and them dug-up coffins, isn’t it? Judging by the trail of wreckage you’ve left behind you, I’m guessing a … demon of … revenge? Like a curse demon?’
She took one look at Fish’s expression and sighed. ‘Right, so we’re going to this Crow’s Cottage to hide, yes?’
By now the taxi had gathered speed and was sailing up the hill. Around them the landscape unwound in a vast expanse of heather and darkening sky. Fish took a moment to appreciate its beauty.
‘Nice up here, isn’t it?’ Alice leaned forward and tapped on the window between them and the cabby. He reached up and pulled it open.
‘Are we nearly there?’
‘Not yet, love. ’Bout ten miles.’
‘Thanks.’ Alice waited until he’d closed the panel again before she spoke in a low voice. ‘I’ve got plenty of money. I took everything out of my savings and nicked some more from Mum’s wallet – she always says I can take what I need. Got a train easy. Had to change at that place you devastated, which is when I realised that something really bad was going on. You should’ve seen the mess! So I thought I’d better get a taxi. Figured we’d pick you up on the way. There’s only one road going in the right direction. Good thing too. You’d never’ve made it on foot, not in the state you’re in.’
Silently, Fish reached out and squeezed her hand.
She blushed. ‘That’s OK. Anything for a mate. And Mum won’t even see I’m not there for a day or so. You know her – back from work after I’ve gone to bed, and off again before I’m up.’ She gave a snort of laughter. ‘Dad left over a year ago, now, and I don’t reckon she’s noticed yet.’
They drove in silence for a while through the steadily gathering dusk that covered the land like shadowy silk. On the far side of the hills was a small town where yellow lights glinted in windows, suggesting warmth and hot dinners and TV. But they drove through it and out the other side into a darkness broken only by the taxi’s headlights.
They drove for a long time, deeper into the growing night, and then at last the taxi drew slowly to a crawl.
‘We’re about the right place, love, but I dunno this Crow’s Cottage. Can’t be that one there.’ The cabby jerked a thumb towards a dark hump against the pale moonlight. ‘It looks deserted.’
‘Next one along,’ said Alice smoothly.
He drove slowly down the road for about a mile before Alice said, ‘There, that’s my auntie’s house.’ She pointed towards a light in the darkness. ‘Come on, Fish, out you get. Go round the back – she’ll have left the door open for us. Let’s get inside quick.’
She pushed open the door, shoved Fish out and climbed down behind him, dragging the bags with her. Fumbling in her pocket, she brought out a wad of notes and peeled off a bunch from the top to hand to the cabby, who pulled open the window to take it.
‘You’ve given me too much, love!’
‘Keep it.’
‘But …’
‘Look money’s no problem, right? Money I’ve got in spades. And you’ve been awful nice and patient and everything, driving all that way. And you’ve got a long way to go back too, so keep it.’
The driver smiled in the darkness. ‘Ooo am I to argue, love?’
Alice picked up the bags and headed fast towards the light. Bewildered, Fish followed her. She let them in the gate and hurried up a path through a neatly kept garden. The taxi was taking its time to leave.
‘Round the back,’ she whispered to Fish. ‘He’s a nice man, so I’m betting he won’t go till he thinks we’re safely inside. And try not to be seen!’
Behind the cottage, Alice flattened herself against the wall. So did Fish. They listened until finally, with a deep rumble, the taxi pulled away. While they waited for Alice to be completely sure it was safe, Fish’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Slowly, the landscape took shape in silhouette against the dark blue of the night sky.
‘OK,’ said Alice.
Carefully, they crept back around the cottage, trying to make as little sound as possible. As they went past the front window, Fish heard the murmur of the TV, which explained why nobody had been paying attention to what was happening outside.
On the road again, Alice set off back the way the taxi had come.
‘It’s not too far, Fish,’ she said gently. ‘Can you make it?’
Fish nodded. He’d had a rest now, and besides, a mile up the road from here was nothing compared to the long, long walk he would have had if Alice hadn’t picked him up.
The night air was soft and still with a smell like cool water. Overhead, stars pricked the sky with brightness and a thinly sliced moon cast a pale light. There was no sound but the soft pad of their feet on the road and the rustle of the carrier bags. It didn’t take them long to reach the dark shape that had to be Crow’s Cottage. The iron gate had a crow on it, which kind of clinched things. Fish paused, looking anxious.
‘Come on,’ said Alice. ‘It can’t be that bad. Let’s go and see.’
She pushed open the gate and they crunched up a gravel path with weeds poking through the stones. When they got to the front door they stopped.
‘Fish, how do we get in?’
Fish screwed up his forehead, then groaned as he remembered that Jon had given Susan the keys to the cottage. She had put them in her handbag, which meant they were either lying by the road where she had fallen, or else someone had found her bag for her and the keys were in Blackheath hospital, nearly thirty miles away.
‘I’m guessing we’ll have to break in, right? Come on, let’s find a back window or something.’
Alice dumped the bags on the doorstep and set off around the house. Reluctantly, Fish f
ollowed her. He was not good at adventures and liked to do things in a proper, orderly fashion. Breaking windows did not appeal. Alice, on the other hand, took keep-out signs as an invitation, never did as she was told and liked to climb on things. It was part of the reason Fish liked her. The other part was the way she understood him without him having to say much.
She pounced on a chunk of brick at the side of the path and a moment later the night was filled with the tinkling sound of broken glass. Fish glanced around, worried that someone would hear. Alice took off her jacket and wrapped it around her hand.
‘Seen them do this in films,’ she said. ‘Stops you getting cut.’
Along with some swearing that made Fish blush, Alice reached in carefully, found the knob and pushed open the back door of Crow’s Cottage.
22
CROW’S COTTAGE
Alice pulled a torch out of her pocket and directed the beam into the darkness on the other side of the door. They peered inside and Fish shuddered.
‘Where?’
He pointed to the dirt demons on top of a pile of old rags. They had turned their heads when the door opened, and their eyes, reflecting in the torchlight, glared up at Fish irritably. One of them bared teeth like tiny needles. To the left, he could see more movement out of the corner of his eye, but he made sure not to look at it.
‘Uh huh. Well, I can see spiders.’ Alice was looking up at a knot of webs near the ceiling. ‘Oh yuk.’
Hanging on to each other, they edged through the kitchen into the hall. It was narrow, with a tiled floor and a couple of doors leading from it, both shut.
‘Going to get the bags,’ said Alice, ‘then we’ll look upstairs.’
She handed Fish the torch, walked to the front door and opened it, then pulled in the bags that were still sitting on the front step.
