The Deptford Histories

by Robin Jarvis

  “Poor wretch,” mumbled Jupiter sadly, “no one deserves such callous treatment. Not even a rat.”

  “Wholeheartedly do I agree,” breathed the spirit, “yet thou hast not opened the other door—discover what the remaining half contains.” And as he said it he could not conceal the anticipation in his voice.

  With a queasy stomach Jupiter obeyed. The shadows retreated as the door was opened and the light of the candles gradually filled the interior. The cat’s heart pounded in his chest as a larger jar was slowly revealed and his breath came in rapid gulps.

  And then he saw.

  “NOOO!” he screamed. “NOOOO!”

  Drowned in the liquid were the remains of a cat.

  Jupiter’s staring eyes fell upon the scraps of tortoiseshell fur that still clung to the preserved pieces and he screeched hideously.

  “DAB! DAB!”

  “Now thou knowest the full depths of thy master’s black heart!” said Magnus grimly. “Wilt thou still deny me my revenge?”

  Jupiter staggered back, his face an awful mask of horror and despair. “Dab!” he howled, and then his countenance became terrible, filled with anger and hatred for the man who had murdered his sweet and gentle sister. “Spittle!” he roared. “Your time is over!”

  “The incantation!” Magnus shouted. “Thou must summon my bones from the grave!”

  But the cat was too inflamed with wrath to listen. Exploding with rage, he tore down the stairs, shrieking at the top of his voice, possessed by hatred and revenge.

  “Come back!” cried the spirit. “The spell!”

  Leech crawled out of the shadows and gazed at the body of his sister. No emotion betrayed his thoughts and his green eyes were dry and free of tears.

  “Fetch Jupiter back!” commanded Magnus. “Or all will be lost.”

  The runt blinked and turned his ugly head. “No,” he whispered, I obey none but myself,” He glanced back at the cupboard and muttered, “I saw him take her you know. I saw his hands cover her mouth as she called to my brother for help. Her pretty voice was still whimpering as the door was closed and I heard it slowly fade away as she was taken downstairs.”

  The spirit looked at him bewildered. “Then why didst thou not help her?” he asked.

  “My name is not Jupiter!” snapped Leech. “My sister did not call out to me—oh no, only my grand and noble brother filled her mind. When it mattered most she forgot I was there! Nobody thinks of Leech!”

  “And so thou didst let her die?” gasped Magnus. “Then I curse thee Leech, for thou art a misshapen abomination!”

  The runt gloated under his breath. “What do I care for your curses?” he mocked. “You have no power to enforce them. Your hope has ended. My brother can never overcome the old one: he has gone haring to his doom.” And he laughed like one gone mad.

  14 - Of Reckoning and Destiny

  Jupiter hurtled down the stairs, but when he reached the small landing he halted and charged into the alchemist’s bedchamber.

  On to the pillows he jumped and from there reached over to the jar which held the elixir. Grasping it with both paws, Jupiter thrust his head inside and drank deeply.

  The cat gulped down as much as he could, and when he reared up and vigorously shook his whiskers he saw that he had drained it to the dregs.

  His fur dripping with the water of life, Jupiter bounded from the bed and stormed down the stairs. He was strong now; filled as he was with the power of the elixir, he roared like a tiger and the hatred of his cruel master burned into his mind, consuming all other thoughts.

  Doctor Spittle had slid a glass rod into the neck of the bottle and was just drawing it out. The poison was green and thick, oozing and trickling down the rod until it formed a large, quivering droplet.

  Sniggering, he crouched down and dangled it over Will’s mouth. “At last,” he breathed, “the last of the Godwins are gone.”

  “SPITTLE!”

  The alchemist shivered at the force of that voice. The glistening venom flew from the tip of the rod but it missed Will’s mouth and where it hit the ground the very stone foamed up and a thread of black smoke steamed into the air.

  Doctor Spittle twitched with anger; stiffly he rose and turned upon the intruder.

  Jupiter stood in the doorway, tall shadows tapered behind him and he appeared immovable as a mountain. His boiling temper seethed within him, threatening to erupt at any moment like a restless volcano.

  “Get away from the boy!” the cat demanded.

  The alchemist regarded his familiar warily; a perilous light blazed in those golden eyes and righteous fire shone from the slits of his pupils. Doctor Spittle guessed what he had found.

  “I assume you’ve seen your sister,” he said, then added with a cold chuckle, “Well, some of her.”

  Jupiter roared and the building quaked from the might of his fury.

  But Doctor Spittle was not impressed and he showed no trace of fear. “I told you not to meddle in my affairs,” he said. “Begone before I make you suffer.”

  “Suffer?” yelled Jupiter. “There is nothing you could do now that would make my torment any greater.”

  The old man tutted. “Many griefs there are greater than the loss of family. Now leave while you may.”

  But the cat grinned, revealing his sharp teeth. “You are mistaken, Spittle!” he cried. “No longer am I bound to you—I have come not as your familiar, but your executioner!”

  At this the alchemist laughed. “Are you crazed?” he asked with derision. “I am not afraid of a mangy cat—however educated it presumes itself to be.”

  “Have a care, Spittle. Do not underestimate my powers.”

  “Pah!” scoffed the old man. “What do I who have drunken of the elixir need to fear from the likes of you?”

  Then Jupiter threw back his head and laughed. “Then gaze upon your doom, Elias Theophrastus Spittle! For I, Jupiter, have also drunk of the water of life and my strength increases with every passing second.”

  His claws sprang out and they gouged deeply into the floor, ripping through the stone as easily as if it were butter. Then Jupiter muttered under his breath and at once the ground trembled. With a terrible splitting sound, a great fissure opened, running between his paws and Doctor Spittle’s feet. The challenge was unmistakable.

  The alchemist glanced calmly at the gaping chasm that yawned before him. “A contest?” he asked in a confident and casual manner.

  “No contest,” Jupiter boomed, “but a battle to the death!” He stamped his feet twice and called upon his secret arts. Sudden bolts of lightning crashed about him, walling him round with a fence of dazzling, jagged energy.

  Doctor Spittle shielded his eyes from the blinding spectacle. He was impressed by the cat’s powers but had studied the black mysteries for too long to feel threatened by a jumped-up familiar.

  “This is a waste of time,” he said undaunted. “Since we have both drunk of the elixir there can be no victor.”

  “Are you indeed so confident?” hissed Jupiter, his voice filled with menace. “Then this will do you no damage!”

  He pressed himself flat against the floor, inhaling deeply. Then, with a rush he blew his breath upon his sister’s murderer and the shop was filled with scarlet flame as fire gusted from the cat’s gullet.

  The alchemist raised his hand, an unconcerned smile flickering on his lips as the torrent of flame burst towards him.

  And then it happened: the fingers of his hand passed within the jet of fire and pain rifled down his arm as they blackened and burned.

  “AAHH!” squealed the old man wrenching his hand quickly away and staring dumbfounded at the grinning cat. “My hand!” he yelped. “My hand—it is scorched! The pain is unbearable!”

  “Did you not listen to the words of Magnus Zachaire?” Jupiter chuckled. “Were you so eager for success that you heeded nothing of his warning?”

  Doctor Spittle blew on his smoking palm and whimpered, “What warning?”

 
“Fire and water!” exclaimed Jupiter gleefully. “The two elements from which the elixir was made. Only they can destroy its effects and undo the life it has given.”

  Finally the alchemist became aware of his danger and he realised that his immortality was truly under threat. He had never been valiant and now, in his alarm, stood like one bereft of thought and will. He was plunged into a fit of doubt and fear, and with increasing terror he saw the blazing coals of the cat’s eyes as he prepared for another strike.

  Hurriedly Doctor Spittle gathered his shredded wits and groped in his memory for a spell to counter with. Clenching his teeth he drew himself up and began uttering a deadly incantation. But before he could complete it Jupiter had lowered his head once more and a second stream of flame poured from his mouth.

  Abandoning the unfinished spell, the alchemist hastily threw up a wall of defence. All about him the air shimmered as a magical shield snapped into existence, and not a second too soon.

  With a deafening squall of fury, the heats of Jupiter’s fire smashed into it, and the violence of the attack made the old man jump back in fright. Already his defence was buckling as the inferno battered and blasted and Doctor Spittle was forced to squander valuable time keeping the blistering wall in place.

  “Do you know fear now?” asked Jupiter, flames dripping from his lips. “Are the thoughts which run through your mind the same as those my sister had? I think not—for your brain is sick and twisted, whereas hers was kind and trusting. Go now to the abyss which awaits you!”

  The cat began to purr but it was not the soft sound of ordinary felines, this was a jarring rumble that cracked the plastered walls and sent splinters flying from the oak beams. Steadily it rose, piercing the ears of Doctor Spittle until he thought his head would burst. The entire building shook and tiles clattered from the roof, smashing in the alley below. Then a change came over the ginger cat.

  As his voice grew louder, so he increased in size. His fur bristled and his taut muscles quivered. The lightning which surrounded him leapt upon his brow and he was crowned like a dreadful lord of destiny and doom. Beneath his skin the bones of his body creaked and stretched as the awful power of the elixir inflamed him. Doctor Spittle could only gawp as the cat swelled and grew to horrible dimensions, filling that corner of the shop where he glared down at his cruel master. Larger than the mightiest lion Jupiter became—his back touched the ceiling and his tail reached out of the door and up the stairs.

  The alchemist was terrified; never had he encountered a more deadly foe, with powers that seemed to outstrip his own.

  Jupiter’s eyes stabbed with baleful light and the shop was lit by their unwavering and glittering stare. The huge maw of his mouth fell open and the vapour of his breath smote the old man like a barrage of bitter darts.

  “Lord of All I shall be!” Jupiter told him. “But you shall never witness my full glory. Breathe your last, Spittle—your petty life is ended.”

  The fiery tempest tore through the shop and beat upon the magical shield of the alchemist. But Doctor Spittle was not beaten yet; Jupiter had shown his hand, fire was his selected weapon—now it was the alchemist’s turn. Standing like a pinnacle of stone amid the turmoil of the final storm, the old man raised one hand and declared, “Two elements there are you say that are fatal to we both; then I shall wield what is left to me!”

  With a pass of his hand a faint glimmer of cold light began to swirl in the air. Rapidly it became a whirlpool of icy stars that churned and spun above his head. “Ignorant fool!” he shouted. “If you dare to turn against your betters, be prepared to endure their punishment. You have overreached yourself, my reckless familiar, vaunting your skill like a boastful and bragging idiot. Too rash were you; fires are indeed spectacular, but what can they do other than char and burn? Brash and brazen are they, yet he who is wise knows that heats can be quenched. Water is a more amenable element, having many forms and uses.”

  He pointed at Jupiter and at once the glittering host of stars raged forward.

  The immense cat sent a ball of flame to meet them and it shot through the crackling air, pulsating with lethal force. A thunderous explosion sent Doctor Spittle staggering back but when he recovered he saw that his magic had prevailed. The icy stars had speared the fireball and utterly destroyed it. Now they raced towards Jupiter—spitting frost and deadly cold at him.

  The cat braced himself for the attack, having no time to protect himself. The ice hailed down, bombarding his huge face and biting deep into his flesh. Jupiter cried out as the fierce blue stars drove into his fur, slicing him like razors.

  Cackling, Doctor Spittle held up his hand and snatched a long, sharp icicle out of the air. The choice you made was the wrong one!” he declared. Then he hurled the bitter spear straight at Jupiter. It shot through the cat’s leg, skewering and pinning him to the floor. His anguished screams rang into the troubled night and, twisting up the stairs, the enormous tail thrashed about in his agony and the banister buckled beneath it.

  Then, conquering his pain, Jupiter lifted a claw and a circle of flame sprang up around the alchemist. The old man laughed scornfully and at once a downpour of cool rain flooded from the ceiling. Clouds of steam hissed and engulfed the shop as the two magical forces collided—and at last Doctor Spittle had the mastery.

  The fires of Jupiter were extinguished and the old man advanced purposefully. “With the waters of Death I vanquish you,” he intoned, “and by the powers in me I have beaten your insolence.” As he spoke the rain turned into a blizzard of driving snow that focused on the giant cat, beating him to the ground and covering him with a hoary white frost. Jupiter shivered and the crown of lightning dwindled from his brow as he tried to kindle the flames once more. But it was no use; freezing mists clung to him, locking his joints so that he could not move. The tears of pain that streamed from his glimmering eyes hardened and slid from his cheeks like tiny glaciers; he could not speak for his jaw had grown numb and a white beard of arctic rime dripped from his chin. Doctor Spittle had won.

  The great fissure in the floor became filled with water as proof of the outcome and the old man raised his arms in exultation.

  As Jupiter felt the unending, wintry cold of the bleak void bite him, he yielded at last. A final flicker of flame trailed from his nostrils and the battle was over. Now both elements were at the alchemist’s command and he seized the prize triumphantly.

  “Now shall I taunt you with them both,” he sniggered.

  From the cat’s fur there sprang tongues of blue fire and Jupiter screeched in torment as both heat and cold racked him. The powers of the elixir waned within his body and, like a candle melting before the fire, he began to shrink. Back to his normal size he wilted and Doctor Spittle strode harshly up to his small, spent figure.

  “Did I not tell you that I was the master here?” he asked. “From now on no one shall stand in my way!”

  He raised his hand to deal the cat the final blow. Bitter stars gleamed and danced around his fingers and Jupiter, lifting up his exhausted and failing eyes, beheld them fearfully.

  But he was not dead yet—using his last energies, he snapped the icicle which held him down and scrambled to the door.

  “There is no escape,” sneered the old man but Jupiter dragged himself away and ran up the stairs.

  Leech was hiding when Jupiter staggered into the attic. The ferocity of the contest had frightened the runt; he thought that the building would come crashing down, so had dived under the table for shelter.

  And now, emerald eyes shining, he saw his battered brother stumble in through the door and collapse—gasping on the floorboards. Blue smoke still drifted from his frozen fur and fizzing stars of ice burned into his skin.

  “Jupiter!” cried a frantic voice. “Thou livest still. Quickly—recite the spell I need!”

  The weak cat raised its head and saw the face of Magnus Zachaire staring desperately out of the bottle. As the frost bit and pinched him, he realised that one slender chance stil
l remained.

  With the breath wheezing in his icy lungs Jupiter summoned the few tatters of magic that he still possessed.

  “Arhiel dor lievel adrasto Rameth—akad zerphiel Bellonar!” he uttered in a feeble voice. “Come forth—come forth!” And then he fainted and his head hit the floor, scattering shards of ice everywhere.

  The spirit’s face split into a glorious smile and his laughter echoed from the bottle and resounded through the attic.

  “My thanks Jupiter!” he crowed. “Now I am freed. Even as I speak I feel my bones claw away the soil and escape the silent grave.” His phantom light shone like a beacon in his joy. “Come my corpse,” he shouted, “come unto me!”

  Leech crept from the shadows beneath the table. His eyes were fixed upon his stricken brother and darkness ruled his mind.

  “So vulnerable,” he whined to himself, “there he lies—close to the precipice of Death. How simple to push him over the brink and claim the power which he denied me.”

  The runt crawled forward, consumed by evil and malice. His claws slid out and he hunched his shoulders as he prepared to spring—then he pounced.

  His teeth went straight for the exposed throat. But some trace of the elixir still lingered in the familiar’s body for he awoke instantly and lashed out at his attacker, catching the runt on the side of the face and tearing great gashes into his cheek.

  Wailing, Leech leapt aside; he had aroused Jupiter’s wrath and fearfully he saw him struggle to his feet. The hackles on both cats rose and their backs arched as they paced round one another—their tails rigid.