by Ian Richards
‘It’s all right, old friend. We can talk freely out here. Our dear fairy is even more scrambled than usual tonight. He won’t be thinking about us.’
‘All the same, I don’t like it. The boss—’
‘The boss. Please, Krook. Are we the type of men to take orders from him?’ He broke off and raised a finger for silence. Something was out there in the mist. He could sense it. A presence.
Mr. Krook sensed it, too. His hand reached instinctively for his knife.
Like ghosts, Tony and Sir Roderick emerged from the woods in front of them. The boy cradled the lamp in his arms.
‘One move,’ he said. ‘Make one move and I’ll set my genie on you.’
Kepler and Krook exchanged glances. Slowly, almost mockingly, they raised their hands into the air. ‘What do you want, boy?’
‘I want you to get out of our way for starters. Then I want Martell and Vanessa. We’re taking them back to London.’
‘That’s a lot of demands,’ Mr. Kepler smirked.
‘At least three by my count,’ nodded Mr. Krook.
‘Indeed it is.’ Kepler lowered his hands again. His eyes were snake-like and predatory: he sensed an advantage. ‘You wish for us to stand aside. You wish for your friends to be released. And you wish to return to London unharmed. That’s all very well, my boy, but I wonder how many of these wishes your dear old genie is able to help you with? All three? Two? One?’ He studied Tony’s face carefully. ‘Yes, I think so. You used your first wish escaping from us on the night you snuck into the Black Jack club. I’d wager you used your second piecing yourself back together after Mr. Krook introduced you to his knife …’
‘That leaves one, Mr. Kepler.’
‘It does indeed, Mr. Krook. So the dilemma you face is do you use your final wish now or do you save it for later on tonight?’ Kepler saw the doubt in the boy’s eyes. The fear. He stepped forward. Krook did too, a crooked shadow moving in sync with its source. In the moonlight the mist had a luminous, translucent quality. It seethed around them like shower steam. ‘Let’s assess your options, Tony Lott. You have one ace up your sleeve, and as soon as you play it you become powerless. Do you use it now and have your djinn zap Mr. Krook and I into oblivion? Or do you hold off, knowing that you’ll need it a lot more once you get inside the house? It’s a big decision, boy. Can you really afford to surrender your last wish when you’re so very close?’
‘You’ll kill us if we don’t.’
A nod of Kepler’s head conceded the point. ‘Very probably. But believe me, without a genie to back you up, you won’t stand a chance in there. The house is unforgiving at the best of times.’ Here his smile became sharper. It spread across his face like a knife wound. ‘They’re all going to die, you know. Your uncle. Your girlfriend. He’s going to kill them all.’
Sir Roderick had taken all he could stand. ‘I’d rather take my chances with this Firefox character than a couple of ghouls like you. Call up your genie, Tony. Send this pair packing.’
But the boy’s interest had been piqued, Kepler could see that. He had begun to wonder about the type of reception awaiting them inside. ‘I’ll tell you a secret, boy. One that only a handful of people know. Once you step inside Marshwood you’ll find someone else you know waiting for you, too. He goes by a different name these days, but don’t let that distract you. It’s still him, all right. The same driven, power-hungry man who walked out on you all those years ago.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, you do.’ He dropped his voice to a cruel hiss. ‘I’m talking about your father, Tony.’
He could barely summon the energy to move his lips. ‘What …?’
‘Your old man,’ Mr. Krook shouted. ‘The one behind all of this.’
‘No. No, you’re lying.’
‘Come on, Tony Lott’ Kepler laughed. ‘Who else but dear old Thomas could have orchestrated a scheme like this? Don’t you see? This house is the reason he left you. This is where he’s been for the past thirteen years.’
‘No …’
‘Yes! And so once again you have a choice, child. Use your wish now against us or save it for the good old fashioned family reunion coming up later. Who knows, with a genie on hand you might have a chance of stopping him. But without one, I’m afraid you, your mustachioed friend, dear old Martell, and sweet little Vanessa will all be taking a one-way ride to oblivion.’
‘Stand aside, Tony.’ Sir Roderick stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves as he did so. ‘I’ll take care of these ruffians.’
‘You?’ Mr. Krook chuckled—a dry chuk-huk-huk that sounded like earth being splayed onto the lid of a coffin. ‘A flabby old sack like you? Don’t make me laugh.’
‘Sir Roderick—’
‘Go,’ he said, keeping his eyes fixed on his opponents. ‘Rescue the others. I’ll hold them off for as long as I can.’
Mr. Krook threw his knife into the ground. ‘Make my day, pal.’
Before Tony had time to protest Sir Roderick charged them, his eyes narrowed with concentration. His first punch was a peach. It caught Kepler square on the jaw and sent him tumbling to the ground.
‘Run, Tony’ he cried. ‘Run!’
But it was futile. The dwarf was on his back in seconds, a rucksack come to life, wriggling and struggling and pulling him down towards the floor. As soon as he was on his knees the dwarf began laying into him with powerful kicks, sharp elbows, driving punches. The sheer speed with which Mr. Krook moved was astonishing. Every punch Sir Roderick threw missed its target. It was like fighting a phantom. Blow after blow whistled harmlessly through the air as the dwarf ducked and bobbed and retaliated with strikes of his own. His knotty fists were as hard as oak. Each one hit with precision. A rabbit-punch that deadened Sir Roderick’s thigh and stopped him from running. An uppercut to his testicles that sent an electric shock of pain jolting through every part of his body.
By now Tony had made it to the house. Sir Roderick saw him disappear inside and closed his eyes with relief. Oh, thank goodness. But it didn’t stop the assault. Punches rained down on him like hailstones, slamming into his body with a machine gun-like aggression. Rat-a-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat. He heard the dry snap of breaking ribs. Rat-a-tat-tat. The sickening crack of fist meeting cartilage.
Kepler staggered to his feet and brushed the dirt from his clothes. ‘Meddling fool,’ he sneered. ‘I say we teach this one a lesson, Mr. Krook.’
‘Oh, I agree completely, Kepler.’
A powerful kick sent Sir Roderick rolling onto his back. He blinked up at the sky, his chest shuddering with exhaustion. Cathedrals of mist whirled around him. He could feel himself hovering on the verge of unconsciousness. The moonlight felt cruel and medicinal, sterile in a way he had never before noticed.
Mr. Krook and Mr. Kepler approached slowly. He could hear their footsteps sluicing through the wet grass towards him.
Think of the boy, Sir Roderick told himself. You’re his only hope now. You have to drag this out for as long as possible.
He peered up at the evil faces now looming over him and drew in a deep, painful breath.
‘Do your worst,’ he spat.
‘Don’t worry,’ Mr. Krook grinned. ‘We intend do.’
They got to work.
*
Tony slipped into the house like a shadow. Clutching the genie’s lamp to his chest he hurried along a corridor lined with ominous wooden doors. He didn’t know where he was going, but his legs kept him moving, as if somehow hoping to outrun the horror of what he had heard.
Your father.
Kepler’s words rattled around inside his brain, a demonic howl repeating again and again and again. Your father. Your father. YOUR FATHER.
It couldn’t be true. How could Thomas Lott have become evil enough to orchestrate such mayhem? Why would he do such a thing?
But already his imagination had begun filling in the gaps. Martell said dad used to be obsessed with magic … and there was the book b
ack at the shop, the one mum had bought him as a present, “To The Shadowlands And Beyond” … What if he hadn’t been stranded in Faerie after all? What if he had been more interested in the ‘Beyond’ part of the equation? Things were falling into place at a frightening speed. He felt sick. His own father. He had tried so hard to convince himself that Thomas Lott had become marooned in Faerie against his will—that he was a decent man who hadn’t run out on his family after all. But this revelation changed everything. All the insecurities he had ever felt came flooding back. Loss, abandonment, guilt, shame. A great fog of hopelessness smothered him, as dense and suffocating as the mist outside.
He turned into another corridor. This one had framed canvases hanging on the walls. With the floorboards creaking beneath his feet he passed dark, gothic paintings of dying maidens and screaming demons. Each character appeared to be staring directly at him, their faces contorted into expression of the wildest hate.
He found himself longing for home. He wanted to be back in the shop with Martell and Pushkin, pricing up antiques and learning about the world from books and encyclopedias. Every second in this nightmarish house only exasperated his fear. This was what his uncle had warned him about: magic in its most primal, terrifying form. He could feel the walls humming with malevolent energy as he hurried onwards, turning into another corridor, this one lit with flaming torches that sent spidery shadows scuttling in all directions. The doors here appeared less imposing than the others. He tried the nearest, nudging it open to reveal a dusty observatory, bright with moonlight. The next offered an abandoned library. The one after, a flight of stone steps winding down deep into the earth. (Instinctively he knew not to follow this path: just standing there made him uneasy. A whistling wind seemed to be coming up from the depths. A soft, foul-smelling breeze that—) He closed the door, his heart pounding. An eerie silence lingered. The house remained as empty as a tomb.
He tried more doors, this time finding a dreary bedroom, a deserted ballroom, and a pantry covered in cobwebs and dust. It didn’t make any sense. Where was everyone? The next door answered his question for him. It opened onto a busy kitchen peopled with red-haired men and women—fairies, he assumed, from their spindly physiques and sparkling green eyes. They were preparing a great feast. Saucepans hissed and bubbled, knives tap-tap-tapped against cutting boards, cooks and waiters circled busily, barking instructions to one another. Great swells of steam filled the room, the heat and perspiration reminding Tony of a book he had once read about the South American rainforest.
His instinct was to slam the door shut and run.
But he didn’t. He hovered in the doorway, sensing something strange about these creatures. Their expressions were vacant, their eyes empty. It was as if they couldn’t see him. As if the only thing that mattered was preparing the food. He grabbed a serving girl by the arm and asked where Martell and Vanessa were being held. She looked at him in confusion, frowned, then answered in a flat, emotionless voice. ‘Down the corridor, last room on the left. That’s the girl. I don’t know about the old man. Please let me go, sir. I have vegetables to prepare.’
He released his grip and she sank back into the steamy heat like a ghost-ship returning to the open seas. He suspected that she had forgotten the conversation already.
The last room on the left. Tony closed the door and ran. There was no fear now. He knew only desperation. Was Vanessa all right? What about Martell? Why didn’t the girl know where he was? He couldn’t help but think the worst. It was the house: it bred nightmares. In his mind he imagined arriving too late. Finding Vanessa dulled with enchantments. Or worse, finding her hurt or in pain. Maybe even dead already.
He reached the last room on the left and threw the door open. Inside all was dark and still. Then he saw her, asleep on a bed, her hair spread out on the pillow in black waves. ‘Vanessa …’ He was at her side in seconds. She was skinnier than he remembered. Paler, too. ‘Vanessa, wake up.’
‘Tony?’ Her voice had the same haunted quality as the serving girl. His blood ran cold. Slowly she opened her eyes. ‘What’s happening?’
Before he could answer a great screeching rang out. ‘Haroo, haroo!’
Tony spun round to discover a tall fairy standing in the doorway behind him. The creature had a lean, nasty physique, with spiked red hair and gleaming green eyes. Firefox. It had to be. He suppressed a shiver.
‘Scoundrel,’ the fairy cried in mock-horror. ‘Holding the hand of my wife-to-be? Seeking to make a cuckold of me on the day of my wedding? I won’t stand for it, sir, I simply won’t.’
‘What have you done to her?’
‘A little sleeping spell, that’s all. Can’t have her snapping away like a crocodile during the ceremony, can we? No, I need her passive and obedient, isn’t that right, darling?’ He walked over and crouched down next to Vanessa. Squeezing her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger he made her nod her head in agreement. ‘Yes, Lord Firefox. I’ll ee very good, I omise.’ Instinctively Tony slapped his hand away, and at once the fairy’s eyes flashed with annoyance. ‘You dare—?’
‘Let her go,’ Tony said.
‘Make me.’
‘I have a genie.’
‘And I have the power to crush your genie.’
Tony could feel his stomach turning. Sweat boiled on his brow. This was the moment. Reunited at last.
‘You’re Firefox, aren’t you?’ he said softly. ‘You’re the one who did all of this.’
‘Guilty.’ The creature affected a bow. It seemed pleased with itself. Proud.
Tony nodded. ‘Do you know who I am?’
‘Yes, Tony. I do.’
‘I’ve been waiting a long time for this.’
‘Have you now?’
‘Now that you’re here I don’t know what to say.’
‘What comes to mind?’
‘That you don’t look anything like I thought you would.’
‘No?’ Firefox tilted his head to one side, playing with the boy. ‘Well, I’ve changed a little over the years, my boy, but what can one do? Marshwood is a place of transformations. Can’t you feel the magic? It’s in the very air. Breathe it in. Delicious, isn’t it? But enough about me, what about you? You and your genie. You’ve come all this way just to rescue the old man and the girl? How brave. How noble. And how utterly doomed. What on earth were you thinking? You really thought you could stop me? Haroo! Child, you’re ridiculous. We’re moments away from my greatest triumph. You can’t stop me now. I’ve been planning this night for centuries.’
Centuries? Tony did a double-take. ‘But that’s impossible.’
Firefox’s eyebrow arched slyly. ‘Why so?’
‘Because thirteen years ago you were still living at home with mum and Martell.’
At the mention of this such a change came over the creature that Tony stepped back in fear. Firefox seemed suddenly possessed. His eyes narrowed. His playful demeanor melted away, a ripple of tightening muscles that drew his mouth back into the cruelest of sneers.
‘You’re mad,’ Tony murmured. ‘It’s this place, it’s messed with your head. You don’t even realize, do you?’
‘Listen, brat’—he stepped forward and slapped Tony hard across the face—‘do you honestly think I don’t know how long I’ve been here? I’ve had to suffer through every single minute.’
‘But mum—’
‘Mum,’ he screeched. ‘Mum, mum. I’ll say this very clearly, boy’—he plucked the lamp from Tony’s hands before he could stop him—‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have no idea. You say I’m the crazy one, but as far as I can see, you’re the one suffering from delusions.’
‘You came here thirteen years ago. You did. Try to remember.’
Firefox slapped him again, harder this time. ‘I didn’t. Stop saying that.’
‘You did,’ Tony cried. ‘You don’t remember but you did. You used to be human, like me. You lived in Dover Street with Emily and Martell. You had a son.’
‘
I didn’t!’
He was getting angrier now. Tony could see his cheeks reddening. His eyes flashing with hate.
‘It’s true.’
‘It’s not. You’re trying to trick me.’
‘You used to wear glasses. Your real name is Thomas.’
‘It’s not.’
Another slap. Then another, and another, and a final one that struck with such force Tony tasted blood. He staggered back against the wall, horrified that his own father could be so ruthless. ‘Remember,’ he shouted. He spat a mouthful of blood to the floor. ‘You used to be a good man. Remember Emily. Remember how much you loved her.’
But Firefox was too busy hauling Vanessa over his shoulder to listen. Once he had the girl in his clutches he gave Tony a final dismissive scowl, held up the lamp (as if to say, ‘thanks for that’), and stormed out into the corridor.
The door slammed shut behind him.
*
The darkness that night felt deep and serene. A lake at midnight. Still and silent and devoid of all light.
Martell woke slowly, aware firstly of the throbbing at the back of his skull, and then the chill cold of his surroundings. He opened his eyes. He was in the atrium, bound to a chair by his wrists and his feet. Black candles and stargazer lilies surrounded him, ornate flourishes more appropriate for a funeral than a wedding. He had been positioned in the front row, forced to face the moonlight-soaked altar where the unholy union would soon take place. He didn’t know how long he had been out for, but the gentle flickering of the candles suggested they had not been burning for long.
Though his head ached from where he had been struck—and who had hit him? Firefox? —he tried his hardest to focus. There wasn’t much time now. He had already started to change. He could feel it, feel the house crawling beneath his skin, writhing, its insectile presence stripping away his humanity piece by piece. He struggled against his bonds, but they had been tied too tightly. He cried out for help, but nobody answered. He was alone. Tied up in the dark and unable to turn away from the looming altar. Poor Vanessa. He thought of her drugged-out eyes and the way she had slurred her speech. The child didn’t have a prayer against someone as wicked as Firefox. She would be forced to marry him without even knowing it.
