Gallows at Twilight

by William Hussey

  What was he?

  Who was he?

  Another light snuffed out. Another memory taken.

  And the music played on … and on … and on …

  Chapter 31

  Jake’s Sacrifice

  ‘Who am I?’

  ‘My dear, how should I know who you are?’ the lady at the harp tittered. ‘Such a silly question!’

  The hall in which the boy found himself was very grand. As large as an upturned ship’s hull, the great arched ceiling soared beyond the reach of candlelight. The boy stared into the ceiling. Shouldn’t there be rain falling through the roof? Wasn’t there someone upstairs, waiting to be rescued? He tried to remember, but the music swelled and swamped his senses.

  ‘Have a care, Lethe,’ said the man on the stairs. ‘My master will not thank you if the child’s core memories are lost. He will want to examine the boy’s magical abilities in detail.’

  ‘Very well, Master Quilp. I will only take away those memories most precious to him.’ The woman stared at the boy, as if seeing deep into his soul. ‘Memories of his father and his friends. Memories of his beloved Eleanor.’

  Eleanor …

  A light reignited in the darkness.

  He spun round and saw the girl in the doorway. She was reaching out to him.

  ‘Eleanor.’

  Her name left his lips and the magic appeared in his hand—a bright blue flame sizzling red at its edges. The roar of Oldcraft drowned out the song of the harp and Jake reclaimed his name from the shadows. The lights came back on inside his head, one by one: birthdays, Christmases, bedtimes, holidays, all brightening the corridors of his mind. The people who had shaped his life crowded back in, and with them came the identity of the man on the stairs.

  The murderer, Tobias Quilp.

  The flame in Jake’s hand darkened.

  ‘Eleanor, are you all right?’ he called.

  The girl nodded. Her face had lost that vacant, empty expression.

  ‘Stay where you are.’ Jake switched his attention to the witch at the harp. ‘You know something, Miss Crowden? I never did like classical music.’

  Lethe looked from the ball of magic to Jake’s grim, determined face. Her shaking fingers left the strings.

  ‘This was my revenge!’ she shrieked. ‘You killed my sister!’

  ‘She killed herself,’ Jake spat back. ‘I was there. I remember.’ He drew his hand back over his shoulder. ‘Now, if I were you, I’d move away from that demon.’

  Jake was about to hurl the magic when a shout from Eleanor alerted him to danger.

  In a two-pronged attack, Quilp had released Mr Pinch while at the same time summoning a dark hex. The demon bounded down the stairs, its thick tongue lashing around its lips. As it ran, flecks of green mucus flicked out from the large, weeping hole that served as its nose.

  Forced to turn away from Lethe, Jake sent his magic streaming towards the demon. It struck Mr Pinch with such power that the creature was plucked into the air and dashed against the wall. Pinch hit the ground and stayed there, shaking a dazed and hideous head. Jake barely had time to recover before Quilp’s hex struck. It left the witch’s fingers in the form of a jagged, blood-red lightning bolt.

  ‘Know my pain!’ Quilp shouted. ‘Feel it!’

  Jake thrust out his left hand. The lightning hit his palm and the smell of scorched skin filled the air. Dark magic juddered along the length of Jake’s arm and shrieked into every corner of his body. It felt as if his blood had been turned into a river of fire and that flames were dancing in the chambers of his heart. He staggered under the onslaught of the hex.

  Maintaining the lightning stream, Quilp descended the stairs.

  ‘They told me that you had become a great sorcerer,’ he laughed. ‘Magic at your command as powerful as any wielded by Josiah Hobarron. It seems that such reports were exaggerated.’

  As he stepped off the last stair, Quilp brought his wrists together. The source of the hex throbbed in the bowl between his hands and grew stronger.

  ‘Come now, show me this legendary Oldcraft I have heard so much about.’

  Jake tried to lean into the lightning stream, to deflect it, but the hex was too powerful. All he could do was to contain the worst of it in his hand; a strategy that could not continue for much longer.

  Lethe Crowden left her harp and skipped to Quilp’s side. Pinch walked groggily to stand beside his master. The dark triumvirate looked down on Jake like cats eyeing a wounded mouse.

  ‘You and your father have haunted my dreams these many nights,’ Quilp said. ‘A pair of murderers stalking my nightmares.’

  ‘Muh-murderers?’ Jake panted. ‘You are the murderer, Quilp. My mother … ’

  ‘My definition of murder is the destruction of a glorious life by an unworthy adversary. Your mother was a pathetic nobody, a scientific tinkerer without a scrap of magic in her veins. Yes, I killed her, and what did it matter? Even in the world of Man such an inconsequential life was shrugged away. But you and your father! You murdered a woman whose dark light shone with such brilliance … ’

  Jake could hardly believe the emotion in Quilp’s voice. Could such a monster really grieve?

  ‘Mother Inglethorpe,’ Quilp shouted, spit flying from his lips. ‘My Esther!’

  And now Jake understood the force behind the hex. It was born of love. Dark, unkind, and twisted, but love just the same.

  Love—magic’s most powerful spur.

  Quilp joined his hands together and the source of the hex pulsed with fresh intensity. Jake felt it blaze into his flesh, reach deep and burn him from the inside out. He screamed and fell to his knees.

  Cool hands touched his face. Eleanor, kneeling beside him.

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Go,’ Jake hissed. ‘Run.’

  ‘The girl.’ Quilp looked to the veiled lady chained at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Yes indeed, your coming was also foretold by Mistress Frija.’

  Frija Crowden shivered at Quilp’s words.

  ‘Before you die, Jacob, you will know some of my pain. You will lose the thing you treasure most.’ The effort of maintaining the hex was beginning to show as Quilp addressed Lethe. ‘A little sport for you, my dear.’

  Lethe giggled and skipped back across the hall. She was within ten metres of Jake and Eleanor when she stopped and clicked her fingers. A pretty red flame flickered at the tips.

  ‘Such a fine young girl.’ Lethe’s tongue slipped over her lips. ‘Such sweet and supple skin. Yes, I see that I shall enjoy my lonely supper tonight.’

  She swirled the magic and directed her fingers at Eleanor.

  ‘No!’

  Jake broke his defensive spell and switched all the magic to his right hand. As soon as he had relaxed his guard, the full power of Quilp’s hex struck home. Jake tried to ignore the pain and focus on his conjuring. There was no point in targeting Lethe, the spell had already left her fingers. Instead, he sighted the magic itself—a flame-red orb flying towards Eleanor—and released.

  Jake’s burst of blue light struck the orb like one missile crashing into another. Both spells shot into the ceiling, illuminating the web-strewn darkness with flares of red and blue. While Jake screamed with pain and hit the floor, the two bolts of magic smashed through the roof. The impact shook Havlock Grange to its foundations. Tiles, dust, and debris rained across the Great Hall. Cracks splintered the walls and ran through the floor.

  Shaken by the explosion, Quilp lost focus. His hex spluttered and died in his hands. Despite this, the witch smiled victoriously: one look at Jake, wrapped in a tight ball of agony, was enough to show him that the dark spell had achieved its purpose. The boy had been weakened and could now be transported back to the Demon Father. Quilp snapped his fingers. A moment later, Marcus Crowden’s nightmare box emerged from one of the upstairs corridors and swept into the hall. It swirled behind Quilp, waiting, watching.

  Lethe looked at Quilp imploringly. ‘May I?’

  ‘Yes, my dea
r. Finish her.’

  Jake strived with every sinew to move but the pain was too great. He felt Eleanor’s arms tighten around him.

  ‘Go,’ he gasped. ‘Leave me.’

  ‘Never,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘Such nobility. Such bravery,’ Lethe purred. ‘Such love.’

  The witch stood over them, a bright red light in her hand. Lethal light, reflected in Eleanor’s eyes.

  It was then that Jake caught sight of the veiled figure, bound and chained. She was holding her manacled hands out to him in a gesture of desperation. Jake’s heart responded. That secret store of power deep inside him opened its doors. Magic squeezed a path through his pain-crippled body and gasped into life between his fingers. A tiny flame flitted weakly through the air. It was seen by Quilp and Lethe and dismissed as Jake’s last pathetic attempt to save the girl. A spell unworthy of their attention.

  ‘Make her suffer,’ Quilp hissed. ‘Make him watch every shred of life being wrung out of her.’

  Lethe pointed a finger at Eleanor. Dark magic pulsed at the tip. The girl stared defiantly at the woman, her body thrown over Jake …

  Meanwhile, Jake’s magic crept across the floor until it arrived at the feet of the witch. Frija Crowden bent her hands to the flame. At the magic’s touch, the chains snapped and fell from her wrists. Frija pulled the rest of the chains from her body, straightened up, and thrust her arms into the air. Words fluttered against her veil—

  ‘I am sorry, sister.’

  Lethe’s hex vanished from her finger. ‘Frija … ?’

  She turned and glared at her sister. Then, following the direction of Frija’s hands, she looked up into the ruined ceiling. Part of an immense wooden beam had been sheared away by the magical crash and now hung precariously overhead. All that kept it attached to the main rafter was a thin strip of wood. Before either Lethe or Quilp could react, Frija dropped her hands and the beam was severed from the ceiling.

  Quilp managed to jump aside but Lethe was not so quick.

  She opened her mouth to scream.

  The wooden spear fell and, in an explosion of blood and gore, silenced the witch for ever. On cue, Lethe’s demon harp burst into flame.

  Frija hurried to Jake’s side and helped Eleanor to lift him from the ground.

  ‘Thank you,’ he panted.

  ‘You saved my life as much as I saved yours,’ said the veiled woman. She looked to the stairs and the lightless corridor beyond. ‘I pray now that those poor children are at peace.’

  Jake reached out with his mind. He felt that, although evil still haunted Havlock Grange, its intensity had weakened. Something had departed from the house.

  ‘They’re gone,’ Jake whispered. ‘Flown.’

  Although he could not see her face, Jake was sure that Frija was smiling. He was about to turn to Eleanor when the coldest of cold voices echoed through the chamber.

  ‘I am not done yet, boy.’

  Quilp, his lip bloody, his clothes torn, staggered to his feet. Beside him, the demonic Mr Pinch.

  ‘At her!’ Quilp commanded.

  In the same instant, he directed two streams of magic towards Jake and Frija. Taken by surprise, both conjurors reacted to deflect the hexes. These spells were much weaker than the dark magic Quilp had originally used against Jake. Still, they were enough to divert attention while Mr Pinch made his move.

  The demon sprinted across the hall and threw itself at Eleanor. Pinch followed the trademark attack that had served him well for many centuries: a precision landing at his victim’s throat followed by a brutal, ravenous assault. During those few precious moments while Jake and Frija dealt with the hexes, Pinch unfurled his long, rapier-sharp talons. Eleanor had no time to cry out before the demon slashed at her face. A ribbon of blood folded through the air.

  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Jake dashed the hex aside; Frija sent the magic flying back at Quilp, who ducked out of the way. The pale pink blur of Pinch’s body flashed in the corner of Jake’s eye. He heard the demon snicker and slurp its thick lips. Blood splashed against Jake’s face.

  ‘STOP!’ he screamed.

  But the demon did not stop.

  It went on tearing.

  Jake conjured his magic, but Frija was quicker. A streak of sky-blue energy whipped from her fingers and caught Mr Pinch around the neck. The creature shrieked as the magical lasso tightened and he was wrenched away from his victim. Frija had endured years of torment at the hands of her cruel sisters and their demons—the scalding spells from Drude’s cauldron, the vicious tunes played on Lethe’s harp—each torture designed to force Frija to use her gift. Now every scrap of hatred she bore for dark magic was condensed into two words—

  ‘Die, demon!’ she roared and swept her hand over her head.

  Helpless in the stranglehold of the leash, Pinch hurtled towards the ceiling. He clawed at the magic but it was too powerful, even for his talons. His screams rang out like the startled squeals of a pig. Then his head smashed against one of the huge, heavy rafters and he screamed no more. Tobias Quilp cried out in horror. Even Jake, cradling Eleanor in his arms and wishing for the demon’s death, winced at the sound of Pinch’s skull cracking apart.

  Frija closed her fist and the spell was broken. Pinch fell to earth. It was only the quick wits of his master that saved him from certain death. Quilp reached out and the demon flew into his arms.

  During all this, Jake had been using his magic to heal Eleanor. He had managed to stem the flow of blood and the girl was breathing steadily. Her eyes wide with shock, she seemed unable to talk. Three wide gashes ran down the left side of her face. Pinch had vandalized her beauty and the sight of it made Jake weep.

  He allowed himself a quick sideways glance. He could see Frija standing guard over them, her hands outstretched, ready to cast defensive spells. Beyond her stood Tobias Quilp, his wounded familiar in his arms. The demon’s skull was a pulpy mass of bone, flesh, and dark green blood.

  ‘This isn’t over,’ Quilp cried.

  He had reached the foot of the stairs and the door of Crowden’s nightmare box. The tall black cabinet ceased its spinning and allowed the witch to step inside. It was as Quilp took that first step that his long coat fell back and Jake saw the object tied around his neck.

  The witch ball.

  ‘Avert your gaze,’ Quilp smiled. ‘This is the property of the Demon Father.’

  With that, he pulled his coat back over the witch ball and slammed the cabinet door.

  The nightmare box turned on its axis, building steady momentum. Scarlet sparks of magical energy sizzled across its surface. From inside, Jake could hear the terrified screams of Tobias Quilp. It seemed that, even when serving a dark purpose, the box could not help but torment those that stepped within its walls. Jake could only hope that Quilp had a long, long journey before him.

  Such a thought was cold comfort. Very soon now Quilp would emerge into the twenty-first century and hand the witch ball to his master. The Demontide would break, Jake’s father and his friends would die, the world would be lost …

  Frija spoke words, ancient and solemn. A grey thread issued from her fingers and swept around the nightmare box, locking it in a misty manacle. It slowed to a grinding halt.

  ‘Quickly, Jake,’ Frija cried, her voice strained. ‘I cannot hold it much longer.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Jake looked down at the girl in his arms. ‘I can’t leave her.’

  ‘You must. I promise that I’ll do my best to heal her, but you have to go.’

  ‘But I’ve only just found her.’ Tears prickled Jake’s eyes. ‘I can’t lose her again.’

  The nightmare box creaked and, very slowly, began to turn.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jake, but the future of the world is in your hands. You must sacrifice … ’

  Jake’s eyes blazed and his voice took on a deep, magisterial tone.

  ‘I have sacrificed more than you will ever know, Frija Crowden.’ He hugged Eleanor to his chest. When he spoke ag
ain it was with his own voice. ‘Can’t I stay with her?’

  ‘I know you’ve had the dreams,’ Frija sighed. ‘You’ve seen what will happen if the Door to the demon world is opened. Devastation, despair, unending death. Demonkind triumphant.’

  Magic crackled across the box. Frija’s mist was fading.

  ‘You do not belong here, Jake, this is not your time.’ Regret in every syllable of the witch’s words. ‘You were never supposed to meet her, never supposed to love her. Your destiny lies elsewhere.’

  Jake felt a tug at his sleeve. Cornflower blue eyes creased into the saddest smile he had ever seen.

  ‘She’s right,’ Eleanor said. ‘You have to go.’

  ‘I won’t.’ He buried his face in her hair. ‘He—I—lost you once before, I can’t do it again. It’s too hard.’

  ‘Jake … ’

  ‘Don’t you understand? I remember everything about you. My Eleanor of the May. My beautiful girl of the spring with the promise of summer in her hair.’ Jake smiled through his tears. ‘I remember, Eleanor, and I know how happy we could be.’ He took her hands in his. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘She can’t,’ Frija said. ‘She’s already weak, poisoned by the demon’s touch. I’m sorry, but the journey in the nightmare box would kill her.’

  ‘There must be a way,’ Jake choked.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Eleanor whispered.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Listen. You said you know me. Well, I believe that I know you, Jacob Harker. The strong, good heart of you.’ She brushed her lips against the back of his hand. ‘Your path is clear.’

  ‘But I’ll never see you again.’

  ‘No,’ Eleanor said softly. ‘No, you won’t.’

  She drew him to her. Their lips met and their tears mingled. She had always given Josiah the strength he needed to do his work; to face the horrors, to vanquish evil, to save the innocent. Though it broke her heart, she now gave Jake that same loving, generous strength.

  ‘Such sweet sorrow,’ he whispered.

  She smiled. ‘You remember.’

  ‘It was how I always said goodbye. And you would always laugh.’