by Cate Cain
Cazalon slapped the arm.
“Osiris, did you hear that?” he wheezed, still rocking with mirth.
Behind him, Jem suddenly heard a rushing sound like wind moving through tree tops. The hot air from the fireplace seemed to shift over his head as a huge white bird swooped close to his ear and came to settle on Cazalon’s chair.
The bird turned its milky pink eyes on Jem and opened its ugly beak to reveal a yellow tongue that wriggled like a fat worm. Osiris leaned forward, raised its tail and deposited a steaming squirt of foul-smelling liquid on the floor.
“Such a messy pet,” said Cazalon affectionately, adding, “but what can one do? An albino raven like my beauty here could not live in the wild. His kind would tear him apart.”
Cazalon looked directly at Jem.
“So, in some ways, young man, your answer to my question was quite correct. Despite their afflictions, Tapwick and Ptolemy are both singular people and I value their particular… qualities.”
He leaned forward and Osiris began to sway excitedly on the chair behind him.
“But what I value most, Jeremy Green, is that one of them cannot see what happens within these walls and one cannot tell of it. And that is the lesson I want you to learn today.”
Grasping his bird-headed cane, Cazalon raised himself to his full height. The movement seemed to cause him pain.
“I understand that you have seen some of my toys today, Jeremy?”
Jem nodded, thinking that ‘toy’ was strange choice of word to describe the wretched deformities he’d seen earlier.
As if reading his thoughts, Cazalon smiled slowly and spoke again. “When I was… younger… I travelled the world to find the creatures of ancient myth and make them my pets. I am sure that an inquisitive boy like you would be as disappointed as I was to find that gryphons, unicorns, manticores and merfolk did not exist. They were merely stories – the work of imagination.
“Ah, but then, Jeremy, I thought to myself, if such creatures could be created in the mind, why should I not create them in the flesh?”
Cazalon paused for a moment and his eyes bored into Jem’s.
“It was such a pity,” the count concluded, dropping his words slowly and deliberately into the air like stones into a deep well, “that none of them survived beyond a month.”
An image of the white horse with the horn bolted cruelly to its forehead flashed into Jem’s mind. The animal had been alive when Cazalon experimented upon its body. He wanted to be sick.
Cazalon watched him carefully. “And so I believe we understand each other, Jeremy. If you and I are to become…” Cazalon paused and appeared to test a phrase in his mouth before uttering it, “… bonded in friendship before you leave today, I must extract a promise of discretion from you.”
Jem nodded dully. His mouth had gone very dry. Somewhere a small, hopeful voice told him that Cazalon had talked about him leaving.
Leaning heavily on the staff, Cazalon took a step closer to Jem and caught the boy’s chin between his fingers. Again Jem smelt the odd perfume of sweetness masking putrefaction. He stared up. Cazalon’s eyes were closed and his dark-painted lips were moving.
Suddenly Jem began to choke. His throat felt blocked and dry. Pulling himself free from Cazalon’s grip, he bent double as his stomach heaved. He began to retch – and sand poured from his mouth. He spluttered and coughed, fighting for breath, but to his horror, the sand kept falling and falling.
Then suddenly, it stopped.
Jem gasped and swallowed a lungful of air. It felt as if his chest was bound with iron bars. He braced his hands on his knees and tried to control his ragged breathing, then he wiped at his mouth and straightened up.
Cazalon was smiling.
For a second any fear was driven from Jem’s mind as he burned with hatred. He thought about lunging at the count – perhaps he could grip the plait and pull the man to his knees?
But Cazalon thumped his staff heavily on the floor and the fire in the hearth began to flare and pulse.
Jem felt his eyes begin to scald, his very eyeballs seeming to boil in their sockets. He could see and feel nothing but searing flames, as a pair of hot coals burned in his head.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, the pain stopped. Jem stood shuddering before the hearth. Around him, the room was swimming and everything appeared to be red. He blinked hard and winced at the sudden shot of pain that speared his temples. His head throbbed and tears were now streaming from his eyes. He wiped them away and then pulled to loosen the linen band covering the birthmark at his aching throat.
Cazalon barked a short, hoarse laugh.
“Just a taste of what I can do to those who displease me, Jeremy. I trust that you are now aware of what might happen if you were ever to reveal the secrets of my extraordinary…”
The count broke off as he noticed Jem’s bandaged hand. Most particularly it seemed that Cazalon noticed the fresh blood that had seeped through the scrap of cotton over Jem’s raw, scraped knuckles.
His eyes widened and he grasped the staff more tightly.
After a moment he spoke in an eager cajoling voice. “But where are my manners? You are injured and as I am, among many other things, something of a physician there is nothing I should like more than to help you. Show me your hand.”
Jem didn’t move. He stared sullenly at the floor.
“Your hand, boy. I haven’t got all day.”
Cazalon’s voice was light, but there was an oddly strained quality to the words that made Jem look up. The man was staring intently at him, his pupils were dilated with concentration – for a second it almost seemed that his eyes were completely black. Jem felt compelled to raise his bandaged hand and hold it out to the count.
Cazalon leaned forward and tutted as he unwrapped the bloody scrap and examined Jem’s scabbed knuckles. The tip of his thin black tongue appeared as he moistened his cracked lips.
“You should keep the wound clean to guard against infection. And you should allow it to breathe.” Cazalon scrunched up the blood-speckled bandage and quickly stuffed it into the folds of his gown. “You will not be needing this again, Jeremy.”
Jem noticed that the man smiled broadly as he patted the place where he had secreted the bandage and smoothed the material.
Then Cazalon stared intently at him and he had the strangest sensation that he could feel the count inside his mind. Not in the way that Tolly spoke to him, but rather as if something was sneaking around in his deepest thoughts and trying not to be noticed. It was like the faint itchy feeling when a tiny insect lands on your skin.
Osiris bobbed excitedly on the pole. The bird opened its pale yellow beak, dribbled and let out a single ‘kraak’ of approval.
Cazalon nodded and looked over at his vile pet. He murmured something that sounded to Jem like, “Soon, my dear heart, my own soul.”
The count clapped his gloved hands.
“And now to business, my young friend. I suppose the great duchess will be expecting her cure?”
Jem felt in his jacket pocket for the duchess’s note. He handed it over.
Cazalon took it between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and held it away from him as if it were something unpleasant. Then, without warning, he quickly crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the flames without even reading it.
“And the money?”
Jem dug into his pocket and produced the coin pouch. He was about to hand it to the man, but Osiris swooped swiftly and silently, and snatched up the little bag in his bent grey claws.
The count gave a satisfied smile and limped over to the fire. He reached up into the carvings of the chimney breast and retrieved a small polished black jar with a lid shaped like the head of a hawk.
He turned.
“Do you know what this is, Jeremy?”
Jem shook his head.
“It is a canoptic jar from taken from the tomb of a long-dead king of Egypt. A pharaoh, in fact. This little jar once held the mummified
remains of the king’s heart, so that when he made the great journey to the afterlife he might…”
Cazalon stopped. He whispered, “Afterlife,” once more, then laughed. It was a bitter, angry sound.
The count removed the cap and poured a handful of black dust from the jar into a small pouch. He continued, “This substance is mummia, boy. It is made from the powdered skin, bones and corpse wrappings of the pharaohs. It is the most ancient and valuable medicine – a physick that can prolong youth and life.
“Your mistress is to add one spoonful of mummia every day to a single glass of wine and drink it immediately.”
Cazalon’s eyes narrowed as he handed the pouch to Jem.
“One spoonful only, mind. That is most important. You must make that very clear to her, Jeremy. If the duchess uses more than the amount I have prescribed…”
Cazalon paused and drew his hand across his forehead. He stumbled back and sank into the chair beside the fire, staring silently into the flames. He clapped his hands again.
Moments later, Tapwick entered the room.
“Take him,” muttered Cazalon without looking round. “Ptolemy will show him the way back.”
The count’s eyes closed and at that very moment Osiris took flight upwards to the painted ceiling of the room, letting out another piercing ‘kraak’.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The door to Cazalon’s chamber closed silently behind them.
Tapwick sniffed, jerked his wig back into place and scuttled off up the corridor. Jem found that he almost had to run to keep up with the little man, who carried the only source of light. They went back through the passage of clocks and then down several flights of stairs.
The boy and the steward were racing along a particularly long dark passageway when something very odd occurred. Tapwick, who was four paces ahead of Jem, stopped dead. He was frozen in the middle of a step with his left foot hovering inches above the floorboards. It happened so instantly that Jem nearly knocked into him from behind.
The boy cleared his throat, “Er… Mr Tapwick, are you all right?”
There was no reply. Confused, Jem walked round to stand in front of the old man.
Tapwick’s milky eyes were open and unblinking. From the scruffy wig on his head to the springy hairs in his nostrils and the unravelling threads dangling from his ragged cuffs, nothing about him moved. Even more oddly, the tiny flame of the candle he carried was utterly motionless, too. Like an old clock, Tapwick had simply stopped.
Jem wasn’t sure what to do. He tried to prise the candle from Tapwick’s hand but it wouldn’t budge. He stared into the blackness ahead but couldn’t make out a thing.
“Tolly!” he whispered, as loudly as he dared.
There was no reply.
He tried with his mind instead. “Tolly… are you there?”
Nothing.
He had to get away.
Jem took a deep breath and stepped away from the frozen man and into the gloom. Within just ten paces he was engulfed in the hungry blackness of Malfurneaux Place. He swallowed hard, held his hands out in front of him and cautiously continued forward.
“Take five more paces and then turn right.”
A light musical voice sounded in the dark. Ann!
“Don’t be frightened, Tolly’s here, too.”
In confirmation, Jem suddenly felt a small tug on his coat and a familiar chirrup as Cleo jumped lightly to his shoulder and began to stroke his ear.
He edged carefully forward and turned right, after the fifth step. The dark was somehow thinner here. Jem could now see another long corridor ahead of him. At the far end, Ann stood at the open door of a lighted room. She motioned for him to join her. Cleo leapt from his shoulder and raced to her. Gratefully, Jem followed. When he reached the door, Ann quickly ushered him inside.
Jem found himself in a tiny, cramped bedchamber. Rags hung at a tiny barred window set high in the wall and the room was almost empty apart from a narrow bed and several piles of books. Patches of brown mould spotted the walls, making the chamber smell musty and damp. The only sources of light seemed to be a single candle set in a sconce on the wall by the bed and a little fire crackling in the grate.
Ann smiled brightly, but she looked even smaller and thinner than he remembered. Her wide green eyes shone with a sort of feverish intensity and her white hair seemed to glow like a halo.
“Welcome to my room, Jem. As you can see, as befits the ward of such a great man, I live in the lap of luxury.”
She smoothed down the skirts of her tattered green dress. Jem saw it was the same one she had been wearing the last time they had met.
Ann smiled bleakly, before continuing. “I am sorry I cannot offer you a delicious pie, or even a glass of water. But you can, at least, warm yourself. Here Tolly, use this one to feed the fire. I’ve read it now. I’ll remember it.”
She tossed a book to the other side of the room. Jem now saw that Tolly was crouched in front of the tiny hearth. Tolly tore at several pages, scrunched them into balls and pushed them into the grate. Then he grinned at Jem and spoke out loud.
“You survived, then?”
The words were light but Jem noticed the quick anxious look that passed between the dark boy and the girl.
“Tolly, we don’t have much time,” said Ann quickly, “You know I can’t hold Tapwick for long. Ask Cleo to keep watch.”
Tolly called the monkey over and bent to stroke her ears. Cleo chirped softly and scampered over to the door. Ann let her out and wedged the door ajar with a book, then she turned to Jem and demanded abruptly, “Do you know anything about the rites of binding?”
Jem shook his head, he had no idea. He felt confused and frightened. Even though he was relieved to see the others again, instinct told him to run as fast and as far as possible from Malfurneaux Place.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “Please, I just want to get out of here. This place is… is… evil.”
He almost whispered the last word. He had a strange feeling that the house might be listening. Then another thought blazed in his mind.
“What did you mean about my father, Ann? You know – when you came to the duke’s house… That was you, wasn’t it? I wasn’t imagining it? You said he was alive.”
Ann ran a hand through her luminous white hair, pushing it back from her pointed face. “I am sorry, Jem, but we don’t have time for explanations. You must tell us everything about your meeting with my– my g– guardian.”
She faltered over the last words and Tolly rose to join her by the door. He took her hand and squeezed it. Jem felt oddly excluded.
“You two seem to know so much already. I think it’s me who deserves some answers.”
Ann sighed and shook her head.
“Now is not the time Jem, but I promise to explain everything to you later. As much as we know, that is. But for now, you must listen to us. I’ve sealed Tapwick into a moment of time, but I can’t hold him long – I’ve not practised enough. I need to know what happened in that room. What did my guardian say to you? Everything is a clue.”
Jem looked from Ann’s troubled green eyes to Tolly’s serious brown ones and knew that he could trust them. But all the same, he felt they were both keeping something from him.
“Please, Jem.” Tolly poked another crumpled page into the grate. “I understand why you are reluctant to help us, when we won’t answer your questions, but now is not the time for explanations.”
Ann took a step forward. “Jem, start from the beginning. Try to remember everything you saw and heard after you left Tolly in the hall – and do it quickly, before Tapwick comes looking for you.”
Jem began to speak. Once he started, the words tumbled from his lips as he described the horrors of the house, the mutilated animals, the passage of clocks and the rat-footed bird.
When he got to the interview with Cazalon, he lowered his voice to a whisper, as if repeating the man’s words could conjure him up. When Jem finished, Ann’s eyes wer
e round as saucers.
“I haven’t seen those rooms,” she said. “Officially I’m a prisoner in here, but even when I’ve managed to get out and explore – I usually only make it as far as the library…” she pointed at the piles of books, “I’ve never seen the chambers or the poor creatures you describe. What about you, Tolly?”
The dark boy looked troubled.
“I’ve seen my share of strangeness here – the library itself is strange enough,” he looked knowingly at Ann and she nodded, “But I’ve never seen those animals, Jem. I think the house shows people what it wants them to see. Only Tapwick and Cazalon can truly navigate its maze.”
Jem shuddered. “Malfurneaux Place and its master should be burned to the ground. I can’t understand why you two stay here.”
Ann laughed bitterly. “Where would we go, Jem? Look at us. A penniless girl and a moor. Where would we find a place to hide? Who would help us? We would be starving on the streets, and worse. This house is our only home. When my mother and grandmother were taken, I had no choice. I…” a huge sob stopped her words and Ann hid her face in her hands.
Tolly put a protective arm about her shoulders and glared at Jem.
“It is not so easy to be free,” he said angrily.
Jem bit his lip. His words had been thoughtless.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
Ann fished a grimy rag from the folds of her skirt, blew her nose and smiled weakly.
“Don’t worry,” she said, sniffing. “Besides, Tolly and I have to be here, Jem. We think my guardian is about to do something terrible, but we don’t know what it is or why he wants to do it. The only clue we have is that he needs the boy of jade to make it happen. We’re certain that’s you.”
She stopped for a moment and frowned. “Jem, think. When he spoke to you did he take anything of yours?”
He shook his head. “No, nothing… unless you count the bandage.”
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
