Bane of Brimstone (The Bill Blackthorne Chronicles Book 1)

by Mike Mannion

  *

  Bill was in an old-fashioned study, filled heavy dark wood furniture. Gas lights were flickering in brass sconces on the walls. It was very late at night and he was sitting beside a large fireplace, gazing at the glow of dying embers. He was wearing very strange clothes – a black frock coat with high-waisted trousers and starched collar that was very uncomfortable around his neck. Suddenly the door was flung open and six burly men, each with earnest faces and huge side whiskers, came rushing into the room. Bill was manhandled roughly, dragged to the floor, kicked and beaten. Through swollen and brushed eyes, he saw one of the men stand over him, grasping a shotgun. A moment later it was blasted into his chest...

  Bill woke up with a start. It took him a few moments to realised he’d been having a terrible nightmare. As he looked around the room and as he became fully awake the memory of those mysterious men faded. He realised he was in one of the Small’s spare rooms – a sparsely furnished attic room with white washed walls and boxes of stored old junk. The bed was a camp bed.

  He got up, got dressed and went downstairs into the kitchen. Arthur, Jim and Ophelia were sitting around the kitchen table, eating large plates of food. Daisy was by the Aga, clattering about with a heavy frying pan.

  “Perfect timing my love,” she said, giving him a plate piled high with bacon, mushrooms, egg, sausage, fried bread and tomatoes.

  “Thanks Mrs. Small,” said Bill, accepting a steaming mug of tea and a knife and fork.

  “She cooks a lot when she’d worried,” explained Jim.

  Arthur waved a cat off a chair and Bill sat down, still feeling half asleep and not sure if he could manage such a mountain of food. “Good morning. How is everyone?”

  “We’ve been up nearly half the night, me and Daisy,” said Jim, “trying to work out how to get our kids back. We’ve been over all angles, racked our brains for all they’re worth. It hard ‘cos we still don’t know what to do.”

  “I don’t think Jimmy and Davy want to come back Dad,” said Arthur, “Something wicked's got inside their heads.”

  “And did you see that terrible look on Rosie’s face?” said Daisy joining the table with her own breakfast. “It wasn’t our little Poppet. He’s right is our Arthur. Something wicked's got into the poor kids, possessed them like.” She stopped, trembling and was about to burst into tears, so to control her emotions she stuck a fork into a large sausage and began eating.

  “Arddhu Og’s in their minds,” said Ophelia. “I know all about it. Trust me!”

  “At least we know that medicine does work. You seem okay – after last night,” said Jim.

  “You seem to know a lot about this occult stuff,” said Daisy. “How did you get cursed like our kids?”

  “Well, it's a long story. A friend of mine is a witch and got mixed up with things, and got me involved. I thought I liked the idea of being a witch at the time, thought it was cool, but not any longer.”

  “I see,” said Daisy, eyeing her suspiciously. “But you need to keep taking that medicine. Last night you took Rosie’s dose.”

  “Yes, but there's more. Enough for Rosie, and the others.”

  Daisy swallowed her sausage and gave Ophelia a hard stare. “But you’re one of 'em, something wicked inside your head I mean, and you’re not wanting to attack us. You don’t have that horrible look about you.”

  “Well, Vita Dantis-” said Ophelia in a faltering voice.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m rude, but are you safe to be with?”

  “Hey mum,” said Arthur, “she’s cool. She took a whole load of Vita Dantis last night. Our Professor Jareth took that stuff for years and never harmed a fly.”

  “Really?” said Daisy looking a little more relaxed, then her face clouded over as she added, “But why didn't our Rosie touch the stuff? Maybe if we’d have stopped her jumping out that window, made her take her medicine like a good girl.” Daisy’s lip quivered so she took a big bite of her sausage.

  “Come on Love,” said Jim, “it’s done now. She was all confused, didn’t know what was good for her, did something stupid. That’s kids for you.”

  Daisy ate another sausage thoughtfully, and began to look hopeful. “So if we can just make them take this Vita medicine they’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  “I think you have to want to take it,” said Ophelia. “I mean want a normal life. They’re in the grip of Og, can’t think for themselves. It took me all my will power to take it, but she'd just a kid. That’s why she didn’t have any. I’m sure she would otherwise. She'll have gone up to the Manor to be with Lord Percy.”

  “Who?”

  “The ring leader. He was down on the square last night. When you get cursed he holds some fascination. You want to be with him.”

  Daisy almost jumped up with anger. “What! This is even worse than I thought. I don't want me daughter hanging around with some strange man.”

  “We’ll call the police! Our local bobby, Gerald Tubbs, he’ll arrest this man for child abduction and – how can I put it – mental cruelty.”

  Arthur shook his head. “I don’t think Gerald will take us seriously when we explain that three teenagers stayed out all night – because they’ve been possessed by a pagan God.”

  “And if poor old Gerald goes and knocks up at the Manor he’ll probably get cursed and bit,” added Daisy.

  “We’ll just have to sort this out ourselves!” exclaimed Jim, suddenly becoming animated. He puffed out his ruddy cheeks and banged his fist on the table. “I’ll get a load of men from the village, most own shotguns, and we’ll go up to the Manor.”

  “I don’t think that’s good idea dad,” said Arthur. “It’d be a bloodbath on both sides.”

  “And what if some trigger-happy fool shot the kids?” said Daisy, who was so agitated she stuffed three rashers of bacon into her mouth at once.

  “And you might get cursed,” said Arthur, “and where would that leave me and mum?”

  Jim knitted his brow and puffed out his cheeks but he was lost for words. So was Daisy. They bowed their heads and tucked into their breakfasts. Everyone ate in silence for a while.

  “Well! I’m off to the tool shed to get some more nails,” said Jim when his plate was clear. “There are still a couple of windows out the back that need boarding up.” He got up and left the kitchen.

  Daisy pushed her plate away and stood up. “And I’m going to telephone Mrs. Proops from the corner shop, see what’s happening around the village. If someone’s heard something about those people being attacked last night she’ll know about it.” As she headed off to the hallway she said over her shoulder, “Your turn to wash up, Arthur love.”

  For a number of minutes, Bill had been deep in thought but now he looked like he’d come to some sort of decision. When Daisy and Jim had gone, he stared wide-eyed at Ophelia and Arthur and said: “Remember the journal we talked about, the Journal of William Whitebeam, up at the Manor?”

  “Of course we do,” said Ophelia, “full of gobbledygook from some mad Victorian scientist, supposed to be a cure.”

  “I’m going to go and get it.”

  “What?”

  “Are you crazy?” said Arthur. “It’s wall to wall pagans up there.”

  “I don’t know why I’m being so brave, or stupid... But you don’t understand. When Professor Nox gave me his treatment I saw a laboratory, a scientist, a brass cabinet.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Bill jabbed a finger at his temple. “There was knowledge, complex scientific knowledge, floating about, it was all there but I couldn’t understand it.”

  “What you saying?”

  “I was writing a formula, in a journal...”

  Ophelia shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I! But I have to go. There’s something very important locked up in my head and I think the key to unravelling it is in that book, of me understanding the contents of that book. And if I can fathom it... then
we’ll have a proper cure for Jimmy, Davy, Rosie... and you.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Professor Jareth’s up there. Remember why we came here in the first place? We came to rescue her,” said Bill.

  Arthur nodded firmly, like he made up his mind about something. “Well if you’re going then I’m coming with you.”

  “And me,” said Ophelia.

  “Neither of you can come,” said Bill. “Look, Ophelia, Lord Percy will take over your mind, you know he will. Look what you did in the van when he was near, getting out to go to him. You’ll end up like Rosie, not wanting treatment, lost to whatever evil is trying to take you. And Arthur, if you get bit I don’t think Daisy could cope with all her kids being Arddhu. You need to stay here and help your mum stay strong.”

  Arthur was about to launch into a vehement counter argument but he knew his friend was right. He lifted his finger to make a point but dropped it down again and remained silent. Ophelia also knew Bill was right. She couldn’t get any closer to Lord Percy and stay in control.

  Bill got up and made his way over to the door at the back of the kitchen. Ophelia followed and gave Bill a hug. Arthur went over to his friend and patted him on the shoulder.

  “I’ll get the book and find the Prof,” said Bill.

  “Don’t get turned into one of them,” said Ophelia, giving Bill a kiss that made him turn bright red.

  “If I don’t come back-” said Bill.

  “Don’t be a dunderhead!” said Arthur. “Of course you’re coming back.”

  Bill left his friends at the door and made his way through the vegetable patch behind the house. It was a chilly cloudless morning that made Bill shiver slightly. He found the gate out the garden and followed a dirt path that meandered round to the front of the house and onto the cobbled street that led down into the village square. As he was crossing the square he saw a few people wandering in and out of the village shop. As he passed by, he heard them chatting about the attack last night, about broken windows and doors. How it was the worst commotion they’d seen around the village since the war. Someone mentioned the blood and bitings and how none of it made any sense. Gerald the local bobby had done his rounds and had said he had no idea why young thugs up from the city would want to come causing trouble.

  It looked like any normal village on any normal day and only Bill seemed to know that there were terrible dangers lurking up at the Manor, ready to pounce, probably that very night. He followed the lane that led past the Unicorn and a long row of thatched cottages. Soon he was out the village and into the silent and oppressive presence of Bogmire Wood. Minutes later he saw up ahead the tall brick chimneys and ivy clad walls of Brimstone Manor, a grim and brooding presence through the trees.

  Chapter Sixteen - The Dark Manor

  I hereby bequeath the Valentine Estate, all lands and buildings, including Brimstone Manor, the farms thereabouts and Underwood village, to the Ultorius Apostles (to the coffers of aforesaid company). In the event of early death, my wife, Lady Rowena Valentine, and any children, will be allowed to live at Brimstone Manor in perpetuity. All monies gained must be used by the Apostles solely to fight pagan evil in all forms.

  – Extract From The Last Will and Testament of Lord Percy Valentine, Brimstone Manor, 1872.

  A couple of minutes later the lane came out of the cover of trees and Bill found himself standing on a wide gravel driveway full of black and chrome motorbikes. Directly in front of him was Brimstone Manor’s ivy clad frontage, much too close for comfort. Bill felt very conspicuous, so he went back down the lane and set off into the undergrowth in a direction he hoped would allow him to get to the Manor without being seen. There were lots of potholes and knobbly tufts of grass underfoot so he found it hard going – and almost tripped over a few times – but eventually he managed to skirt around to the part of the wood that adjoined the west wing of the house. He scrambled through thorny bushes and came out near a courtyard surrounded by a crumbling brick building lined with arched wooden gates. This was the old stable block that was now used as a garage.

  He remembered exploring this part of the house between studying with Miss Spital, and knew it had a small side door that was in a fairly rotten state. He ran over to the side of building and followed the wall until he found this side door. He grabbed the rusty black knob and turned it. It was very loose and rattly but the door wouldn’t open, so he pushed against it with his shoulder, trying to be as quiet as possible; and to his surprise it swung open, with a fall of dust on his head. Bill went inside to darkness and a strong musty smell.

  He froze when he heard a long low rasping moan coming out of the darkness. This terrifying sound was repeated again. It was coming every few seconds. Bill peered through the dim light but couldn’t see a thing. He waited for a while, not knowing what it could be or if he was in danger. Eventually Bill’s eyes began to adjust to the low light and he found himself surrounded by gardening equipment and rusting old tools, but couldn’t see any further. There was a small metal torch covered in cobwebs on a shelf beside him, so he picked it up but dared not switch it on. The rasping sound was still coming at regular intervals from out of the darkness. Was it getting closer? He tried to move forward and almost tripped over an old lawnmower. He decided that there was nothing he could do without turning on the torch, so he took a deep breath and pressed the switch. The beam was fairly dim as he shone it across the open expanse of garage bays. He could see the Rolls wasn’t there – so Beryl and Mordred had somehow escaped the Pagan invasion – but there was something huge, black and alive on the floor! It was breathing slowly, and as it’s chest heaved up and down it made the rasping sound. He moved forward, picking his way over the tools and garden equipment to get a little closer. It was only then that he realised that it was a large black horse, lying on its side – and snoring! He felt such relief that he almost laughed.

  He tiptoed past the sleeping animal and over to a door at the far side of the garage, which he knew led into the main house via a passageway. He opened it slightly, put his ear to the gap and listened. All was very quiet – except for the long low snores of the horse – so he opened it a little more and had a furtive peep. He saw a gloomily-lit passageway lined with leaded windows. When he was sure there was no one about he moved forward and tripped over a length of garden hose, falling flat on his face and making the door swing open and bang loudly against the wall. Bill lay motionless, cursing himself for being so clumsy, then got up and hid behind the door until he was sure no one was coming. He dusted himself down, switched off the torch and put it in his pocket.

  “I’d make a terrible burglar,” he mumbled to himself.

  He crept down the passageway but its bare wooden floorboards creaked loudly. Bill tried to ignore this and kept going, all the time listening for approaching footsteps. At its end was a corridor running left to right. A stuffed fox in a dusty glass cabinet stared at him with glassy eyes. He turned left and crept along slowly – passing ornately carved furniture and a number of panelled doors to his right. It was very gloomy and dim because someone had closed all the shutters on the windows to his left.

  Bill froze when he heard the sound of chatting and laughing drifting through the air. He took a tentative step forward and cursed when a floorboard let out a loud creak. The voices were coming from a room up ahead that had its door partly open. Bill hardly dared to breathe as he continued to creep forward until stopping just outside the room. He steeled himself and had a tentative peek inside. It was a large games room, with a billiard table, snooker table, a card table and a collection of guns mounted over an imposing stone fireplace. Two young but burly lads, dressed in biker’s leathers and flared jeans, were playing snooker. Their t-shirts were stained with blood and he could see halos of light around their faintly horned heads. Spidery veins on waxy cheeks and intense yellow eyes burned in their young faces. He didn’t recognise them – it wasn’t Davy or Jimmy. They were shuffling and looked tired but seemed intent on staying
awake.

  Bill was terrified of walking past, convinced the boys would see him, but he couldn’t think of what else to do. He took a deep breath and skipped forward as fast as he dared. Luckily, the floorboards didn’t creak and the boys had their backs turned, arguing over a shot.

  He stayed motionless for a second at the other side of the door and was relieved to hear the click of snooker balls. The creatures were still playing. He continued to creep down the corridor – passing a mahogany display cabinet filled with tarnished silverware that clincked as the floor took his weight. A nearby grandfather clock chimed the hour and made him jump. He continued until turning a corner that he knew led into the main part of the house. He walked on and came to a room he felt compelled to explore. It was a very strange feeling and he had no idea why he wanted to do this but exploring its contents was something he had to do.

  He wondered if some lurking pagan had taken control of his mind, if this was a trap, but he still grabbed the door knob and turned it. He opened the door, desperately hoping there was no one inside, and went through. He was immediately struck by how oddly familiar it all seemed. There were test tubes, a brass microscope, Bunsen burners and glass phials. He then saw something that made his heart pound – the brass cabinet from his vision he’d had in Professor Nox's room was there in front of him! It meant what he’d experienced was not some fancy from his imagination. Here was the actual cabinet. Maybe it had happened in this very room? If it was all true then what did it mean?

  He decided to approach the cabinet to have a closer look, fascinated. It was about seven feet tall and covered in polished brass. He opened the door and gazed inside, examining its complex arrangement of pipes and wires. It looked like a person could fit inside, but he had no idea of its function. He tried to recollect the vision in all its detail and remembered the face reflected in the brass door. It wasn’t him – it was a much older man. Bill felt confused. He shivered and decided he’d lingered too long in Brimstone Manor, the place was starting to give him the creeps. He needed to focus on the task in hand: find the journal and Professor Jareth and leave as quickly as he could. He came out of the room and closed the door as quietly as possible.