by Robin Jarvis
Will cowered. Doctor Spittle had become a nightmare. Sparks leapt from his eyes and a chill breeze stirred the folds of his coat. A hellish light lit his face from below. “Now pay the price for your inquisitiveness, boy!” he raged. “You have outlived your usefulness!”
A terrible howl issued from the chimney and a savage wind tore into the attic. Will staggered before its violence and stumbled into the window pane. The rats in the cages screamed as their wooden prisons rocked and were nearly plucked from their hooks. Books and parchments were seized in the gale and flapped about the boy’s head like birds caught in a storm. “Stop!” he yelled. “I can help you still! Wait!”
Unseen hands pulled at the window’s latch and it flew open, cracking several of the diamond panes. Will was lifted into the air as the unnatural tempest thrust him onto the sill. But before it could hurl him outside he caught hold of the frame and held on for dear life. Far below him he saw the street and he snapped his eyes tight shut.
“Peace!” called the apothecary abruptly.
A still calm descended on the room, papers and books fluttered to rest on the floor and when Will scrambled away from the window he found the old man studying him with fresh interest.
“An interesting notion, young dog,” he said. “There are indeed certain... items I need for my experiments which prove impossible for me to collect myself.” He reached up to stop the cages swinging and poked a yellow fingernail at one of the rats inside.
“You... you’re a wizard, aren’t you?” gasped Will catching his breath.
Doctor Spittle steadied the mirrored globe before answering. “There are many things I have... studied,” he began slowly. “It is true that I have had considerable success with my forays into the black arts but that is too narrow a field of study.” He ran his fingers over the books which had remained on the shelves. “Magic is an easy art to master,” he said dismissively. “Something all cheap-jack scholars can learn—providing they are willing to sacrifice something in return. No, I do not call myself a magician—my true dreams and desires lie in another direction.”
“What direction is that?” ventured Will.
Doctor Spittle made a sign of humility. “I am an alchemist,” he whispered. “The science of the ancients is my particular and especial interest. For most of my life I have pursued my goal and at times I have been close to achieving it.” With a sigh he sadly shook his head. “But always there was something missing. Continually at the end of my experiment I would be thwarted and the Stone would elude me once more.”
“Stone?”
A far-off smile spread over the old man’s face. “The Philosopher’s Stone, boy,” he uttered as though speaking of something holy. “That is what I seek; that perfect element which transmutates base metals into gold. The ancients knew of it, and down the ages I believe others have discovered it, but alas, as yet, I have not. The Stone is always just out of my reach, but one day, one day I shall attain it and then the world shall see. The star of Elias Theophrastus Spittle will rise and I shall have more riches than the King himself. We shall see who will bow and scrape then, oh yes. All my life I have been forced to serve others; when I possess the Stone all that will change.”
Will’s breath was less laboured now, but he was still uneasy. He had bought his life with rash promises that he had no intention of keeping. There was definitely no doubt about it—Doctor Spittle may be a magician but he was also out of his mind. Even he knew that nothing could change base metals into gold—if that was possible then there would be hordes of wealthy witches swanning about. He eyed the door as the apothecary stepped aside but the old man caught his glance and chuckled.
“Thank you for reminding me,” Doctor Spittle said. He took the key from the floor where it had fallen and turned it in the lock. “Now you can stop wasting your time plotting an escape,” he told him. “I have too many little jobs in store for you to let you go now. Even if you do manage to slip out of my net, rest assured, boy, that I will find you. There are many methods I can employ in the search and many agencies at my command to fetch you back. If you thought your work hard before, then you were never more wrong. That will seem like a May revel compared to what awaits you.”
He moved to the open window and squinted at the sky. The night had fallen and the earliest stars were pricking through the heavens. “But first things first,” he admonished himself. “I have been waiting all day for this moment.” He rummaged through a great pile of papers and unravelled a rolled-up chart. On it was marked all the stars of the heavens with their names written in a flowing script beside them. Doctor Spittle yelped with glee as he traced a line with his grimy fingernail and pulled the large telescope closer to the window.
Will watched in silence as the old man put his eye to one end of the brass cylinder and carefully adjusted the focus with hands that trembled with excitement.
“A perfect night,” he drooled, “absolutely perfect. No clouds in the way—in fact you could even get a clear view without this apparatus, but for a closer inspec... aha!” His whole frame tensed as he peered through the lens. “Magnificent,” he said joyously. “Undoubtedly the best sighting so far.”
Will leaned forward and looked up to where the telescope was trained. There in the twinkling night was a comet. It shone brighter than any star and its tail pointed over the rooftops like a wintry dagger. The boy had never seen one before and he marvelled at it.
Doctor Spittle pushed himself away from the eyepiece, then hunted in his astrological charts. “It is a sign!” he proclaimed. “Nothing traverses the heavens without due reason. Such celestial omens can herald the birth of a Messiah or announce terrible disasters. Something is afoot as surely as fish have scales and I mean to discover what.” In a fever of excitement he pored over the chart, linking one mystic symbol with another. Then he froze and sat bolt upright.
“Hah!” he screeched, slapping his hands on the window-sill. “You see that comet, dog?” he cried, grabbing hold of Will’s arm and pointing upwards. “That is a harbinger of doom!” And he threw back his head to let loose a high, wicked laugh. “A terrible calamity is about to befall this miserable world.”
4 - A Hideous Task
The church of St Anne at Blackfriars was a plain, stone building. At this late hour its stained glass windows were dark and all was quiet within its cold walls. High in the belfry bats were whispering to one another, nodding sagely and repeating their ancient prophecies. They knew what was to happen this night.
A grim silence lay over the churchyard. It was an untidy, creepy place. The upkeep of the cemetery had been too much for the last minister—what with the war and all the problems that it had brought. He had died a troubled man and now his bones lay in the very soil he had neglected. The subsequent minister had not attempted to tame the jungle either, he was more concerned with saving souls than reclaiming old tombstones from the wild tangle outside. It was Nature herself who now ruled the churchyard. Inside St Anne’s the gospels were preached but beyond its walls the dangerous realm of the old goddess flourished.
A sharp frost laced the night airs. Imelza pulled herself further into the bramble thicket, yet the keen fingers of early winter continued to chill her and she shivered uncontrollably. A large, forgotten headstone was at the heart of the thorny bush and she crawled over to it for shelter. There, beneath the granite scales of a twisting dragon, the ginger cat looked down at her swollen belly and knew the time was near.
“Where is that midwife?” she cried in distress. “The word should have spread through the chain by now!”
The Widow Mogs ambled through the narrow streets. She was a fat old tabby, whose fur was brindled and moth-eaten with age. Her face was framed by folds of flab and her eyes were almost hidden beneath the abundance of skin that surrounded them. She was a slow, dirty animal but her importance in the feline hierarchy could not be denied.
In the entire city of London there were only two cat midwives—the Widow Mogs and Old Ma Wackette. These ugly an
d miserable creatures were in constant demand to deliver the kittens to first-time mothers. Over the years they had attended innumerable births, yet these two old cats had never clapped eyes on each other. Each had her own territory and woe betide the foolish feline who requested the services of the wrong one. London was thus divided into two camps: those delivered by Widow Mogs and those by Old Ma Wackette. It was a strange loyalty that lasted throughout a cat’s life: if they had been a Mogs’ kitten then so would their children and the same was true for a Wackette’s.
The tower of St Anne’s now reared above the Widow Mogs and she blinked her tiny emerald eyes at its tall black shape. “Stupid ruddy place to choose, isn’t it, Peachy?” she said scornfully. “What silly little bint ’ave we got tonight then, my old chuck? They don’t learn, do they? These young know-it-all missies are all the same. We seen each an’ every one, ain’t we, Peachy?”
Widow Mogs always talked like this. Peachy had been the pet name for her husband who had perished long ago. But from the day he died she had continued to chat to him. It was a harmless habit of hers and nobody minded so long as she continued to do her work properly—besides, Old Ma Wackette was supposed to be even battier than she was.
Muttering in this fashion to her long-dead mate, the midwife entered the churchyard and passed through the deep shadows of the brambles and headstones. “Mogs is here!” she cried. “Where are you, my petal? Mogs can’t help you if she can’t find you! Mew up, my sweet.”
Imelza flicked her ears and raised her head. “Here!” she called. “Over here!”
“Fine place for a litter, we don’t think—do we Peachy?” grumbled the Widow Mogs pushing through the thorns. “What’s wrong with a nice dry attic or stable loft, that’s what we’d like to know. Never heard of such a thing, out in the cold an’ with winter settin’ in as well. Shame on the little madam. Oooh, there you are, chucky.”
At last the midwife had found Imelza. She plopped her bottom on the cold ground and eyed the beautiful ginger cat with a professional glance.
“Seems the chain was right for once then,” she said drily. “Makes a change that, doesn’t it, Peachy? You are near ain’tcha, darlin’?” She stretched out a paw and touched Imelza’s large stomach. “Them’s ready to pop right out,” she clucked knowingly. “We got ’ere just in time. Now don’t you worry none, I know what I’m doin’. Just get comfy and breathe easy.”
Imelza felt better now that she was not alone. She lay her head down and did as she was told.
“Wait a bit, wait a bit!” the midwife said in an agitated manner. “I don’t do nothing fer free, you know. Before I starts I wants payin’. You know the conditions, dearie—Mogs always dines before she delivers. I don’t want to appear callous but what if something should go wrong and you snuff it my love? I’ll have come all this way fer nothin’. Fair’s fair as my Peachy always says.”
Imelza clutched her stomach as the pains increased. A loud miaow issued from her throat but she struggled to control the agony for a moment. “Here,” she began haltingly, “see, I keep my... my part of the bargain.” Carefully she rolled over and dragged a dead sparrow from under her. It was the only thing she had caught in days and to part with it was a terrible wrench, yet she knew she must.
The midwife’s eyes shone as she snatched it from her. “Ooh look at that, Peachy,” she cackled. “Nice birdy—your favourite, remember.” The fat old cat spent the next few minutes crunching and chewing on this delicacy, whilst Imelza groaned and cried beside her.
“There now,” said the Widow Mogs as she pulled a feather from her lips. I’ll see to you my little one. Put your trust in me. I’ve been seein’ to kit-kits since before you were born.”
The minutes ticked by as the midwife assisted Imelza. “Won’t be much longer now,” she said soothingly, “and then you’ll have a lovely little family all yer own.”
Many times the ginger cat threw back her head and screamed with the pain. Her teeth ground together and her eyes rolled in the sockets as she snatched in her breath. She had never imagined it would be like this and at one point thought she would faint away. Then, as she strained and pushed, her golden eyes stared up at the night sky and beheld the comet swinging over the city. Its fierce white light was mirrored in her eyes and curved over them, blazing and dazzling into her mind. Suddenly all her pain vanished. All she was aware of was that cold radiance above and nothing else seemed to matter.
“Lovely!” chirruped the Widow Mogs gleefully. “Look, my dear you’ve a fine little lad—a stronger little tyke I ain’t never seen in all my years of wifferin’. He’s a beauty, with your very own colour.” Holding up the tiny bundle she began licking it clean. The kitten wriggled and squirmed at the touch of her rough tongue and before she could finish the job he leapt from her grasp and nuzzled against his mother.
Imelza stirred from her trance-like state and shook the memory of the comet from her mind. A great smile split her face when she saw her fine young son rubbing his chin against her.
“Ooh,” called the midwife excitedly, “here’s another, my dear. Why ’tis a little girl. My but she’s a darlin’ honey—turn many a head she will when the time comes.” This kitten she clutched tightly to herself and would not let go till every inch had been cleaned.
She was a lovely creature whose fur was a subtle tortoiseshell and when she opened her tiny mouth to mew it was the sweetest voice ever heard in that dreary churchyard.
The Widow Mogs placed the newborn next to her brother and congratulated Imelza. “There now, t’weren’t so difficult was it, my pretty? You’ll make a fine mother I’m sure. What a perfect little family you got, makes my old eyes glad to see it does. Well now you’re bedded down I’ll leave you in peace, but you make sure you find some shelter and soon.”
Imelza purred contentedly as she gently turned her children over with her nose. They were indeed a beautiful pair of kittens and she felt herself truly blessed. Suddenly her eyes widened and she gasped as a new pain seized her. “It is not over yet!” she cried. “I feel one more inside!”
The midwife frowned. “Ooh Peachy,” she whispered, “did you hear that? It don’t sound good that don’t. Let me see, Mogs’ll help yer.”
Imelza screeched and her claws ripped up the soil around her as she gulped the air down. With a concerned look on her face the midwife stared at the kitten which was emerging. One more squeal from Imelza and it was through.
A feeble lump of skin and bone lay motionless on the ground. Widow Mogs sniffed at it and sneered with disdain. “Runt,” she muttered scornfully.
“Let me see,” begged Imelza.
“Don’t you worry yourself over it, petal,” the midwife told her sternly. “Such things do happen. The nasty thing has no place in the wild world. You’ve two lovelies already there, pay no heed to thissun—it won’t last long. The sooner it perishes the better for all.”
Imelza was horrified. “Give me my child!” she yelled.
The Widow Mogs blinked at her in surprise. “It won’t do you any good, dearie,” she told her flatly. “Sickly little things like this are best left to die. No use bringing weaklings into the world now, is there?” She leaned forward and whispered casually, “If you wish, I could take it away with me, save upsetting yerself. I knows how to get rid of rubbish like this.”
The ginger cat stared at her; she knew exactly what this vile old creature would do with her baby. “Get away from me!” she screamed. “Get you gone, you hideous old bloodsucker! Go find some other prey before I sharpen my claws on your face!”
The midwife scuttled out of the thicket fearing for her life. She had never been spoken to like that before. Why was the mother taking such offence? Everyone knew the privileges that came with wifferin’. Once she was safely out in the churchyard she stuck her tail haughtily into the air and strolled away with all the dignity she could muster.
Imelza pulled the runt towards her and gazed at it. The trembling kitten was another boy, only his fur was black as
sable. She smiled ruefully; he had his father’s colouring and that endeared him to her. Tenderly she licked him and his thin voice bleated up at her. “Seems your brother got all your strength,” she sighed, “and your sister all the good looks. Well, I’ll not see you die, little one.”
With her three children tucked round her, Imelza gave thought to the weeks ahead. She had to find shelter, yet how could she leave them to do so?
Will looked warily about him; the dark streets did little to ease the dread which filled his heart. Strange how this, the first time he had been allowed out of the apothecary’s shop, should terrify him so. But the errand he had been sent on would make the strongest shiver in his boots. He tried not to think of it but the grisly thoughts were impossible to shake off.
Over a week had passed since the comet had faded from the sky and during that time Doctor Spittle had been true to his word. Will had been made to work even harder than before. His duties now included helping the alchemist with his unnatural experiments and he spent many a sleepless night watching the noxious mixtures bubble and boil. His eyes smarted from the fumes and his throat was sore from the endless clouds of coloured smoke.
He had been practically useless in the shop lately and on one occasion actually fell asleep whilst grinding some herbs. Grey circles ringed his bloodshot eyes and he seemed a shadow of his former self. The only person who had noticed this and cared enough to mention it was the young woman, Molly.
She had visited the shop twice since he had first seen her and on both these occasions she had exhibited a great knowledge of all the things on the shelves. Molly had taken one look at Will and immediately upbraided Doctor Spittle for overworking him.
