Nighttrap

by Tom Becker

  Jonathan raced blindly out into the corridor to Mountebank’s body, senseless to the bullets whizzing over his head. He rolled the magician over, saw the pink eyes staring blankly up at him, before a pair of strong hands dragged him back into the safety of the side room.

  “Are you crazy?” Correlli yelled above the gunfire. “You could have got us both killed!” And then, more softly: “He’s gone, Jonathan.”

  “He’s . . . dead?” the boy asked, disbelievingly.

  The fire-eater nodded grimly.

  “And we will be too, if we don’t move. Come on – we can still get to the basement if we go through that door there.”

  He pointed at a door on the other side of the room. Jonathan knew that he was right, but the rest of the Troupe were pinned down in the doorway on the other side of the corridor, the walls either side of them studded with bullet holes. They may have only been a few paces away, but with the gunshots ricocheting down the passageway, they might as well have been on the other side of the world.

  “What about everyone else? We can’t leave them behind!”

  “They’ll find a way out. There’s nothing we can do to help.” Correlli grabbed Jonathan’s shoulders and shook him. His eyes were fierce. “It’s you and me now. We’re the only ones who can get the Crimson Stone. Pull yourself together, or all of this has been a waste. Can you do that?”

  It was all Jonathan could do to nod, relieved that his balaclava was hiding the tears running down his face. As the fire-eater hauled him off through the side room, he raised his hand in a farewell gesture to Carnegie. The wereman ripped his balaclava from his head, concern etched into his face. A mournful howl followed Jonathan as he stumbled through the door and into the hall beyond.

  19

  The main hall of Xavier’s mansion was paved with black and white floor tiles, marking it out like a giant chessboard. It was a large, draughty space. There was no furniture, no decoration, save for more strands of silk coiled across the floor. The high arched windows lining the walls were imprisoned behind shutters, and the musty, murky atmosphere suggested that it had been many years since they had admitted light or fresh air.

  Only animal instinct, a deep-rooted desire to survive, kept Jonathan going, made him place one foot in front of the other. He was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that a man had died in front of his eyes. Jonathan’s brain kept replaying the moment Mountebank had been shot: the way his body had shuddered as he was sprayed with bullets; the vacant look in his eyes as he toppled to the ground; the irretrievable stillness of his corpse. He knew that these were images that would haunt him for what remained of his life.

  Striding purposefully ahead of him, Correlli was a picture of merciless calm. He hadn’t even flinched as Mountebank had been shot. Then again, he had hated the magician. For the first time in days, Jonathan was reminded what sort of man he was dealing with: a thief; a thug; a mercenary. How many men had Correlli seen die, he wondered, and how many at his own hand?

  As they continued down the hall, the sound of gunfire died away, and all that could be heard was the echo of their own footsteps. Correlli wrenched off his balaclava and tossed it on to the floor.

  “No point trying to hide now,” he muttered, rubbing his sweaty face.

  Jonathan followed suit, relishing the cool breath of air on his skin. “I can’t believe it. . .” he said quietly. “They killed Mountebank. . .”

  “It’s worse than that,” the fire-eater replied. “That blasted magician was our safe-cracker. I don’t know how we’re going to get the Stone now.”

  Jonathan stopped abruptly. “You don’t care, do you?” he said bitterly. “He’s dead, and you don’t give a toss.”

  Correlli didn’t break stride. “Only ten minutes left,” he called out over his shoulder. “I’d concentrate on the job in hand if I were you.”

  Jonathan was tempted to leave the fire-eater there and then and run back to help Carnegie, but deep down he knew he had to carry on. There were too many lives at stake, and he couldn’t bear the thought that Mountebank had died for nothing. Pulling himself together, Jonathan jogged across the hall and caught up with Correlli.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” he muttered sullenly.

  “I know what you mean,” Correlli said. “There’s something not right here. I can almost taste it.”

  “Still no sign of Xavier. Do you reckon he might be asleep?”

  “I doubt it,” the fire-eater replied. “I’m not that lucky.”

  He came to a halt before a doorway, and tapped his feet thoughtfully. “According to the plans, we should be over the vault right now. So where on Darkside is it?”

  Jonathan gazed around the empty hall. “Do you think there’s some kind of secret door?”

  “If there is, I don’t know how we open it. Unless. . .”

  The fire-eater went over to the left-hand wall and began examining the plasterwork for a concealed switch, gesturing for Jonathan to do the same on the other side of the hall. As Jonathan crossed the floor, a hinge creaked, and he had to leap out of the way as a white tile beneath his feet swung open, revealing a set of steps leading down into the darkness.

  “Er . . . I think I found it,” he called out.

  Correlli came over to him and peered down the steps, frowning. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing! Just stepped on it.”

  “Less of a vault door than a trapdoor,” Correlli remarked. “I don’t like this one bit.” He tucked his flashlight back into his belt. “No lights from now on. If there’s something down there, I don’t want them knowing we’re coming.”

  Jonathan nodded, and hesitantly followed the fire-eater down into the gloom. He slipped down the stairs as quietly as he could, treading carefully in order to avoid tripping over the strands of silk that trailed down the steps. The air was getting hotter and more humid, like a greenhouse.

  The stairs came out into a pitch-black space. Jonathan strained his eyes but couldn’t tell how big the room was or whether anything was in it. He could barely see Correlli, and the fire-eater was standing right beside him. As Jonathan stepped forward, he had to forestall a cry of alarm as a silken thread brushed his face. The feel of the material against his bare skin set his teeth on edge.

  “This stuff’s everywhere,” he whispered.

  Correlli stopped in his tracks and grabbed Jonathan’s arm. “Oh Ripper, no.”

  “What is it?”

  Correlli didn’t reply. There was a look of bewilderment on his face.

  “Of course, silk. . .” he murmured to himself. “How could I have been so stupid? He’s known we were here all along. . .”

  “Correlli, what is it?”

  He pushed Jonathan back in the direction of the stairs. “You have to go. Now.”

  “What? But we’re so close!”

  “Go, damn you!”

  “What, leave already?” a hoarse voice rasped. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that. . .”

  Jonathan whirled round. There was a flicker of light, and then suddenly a lantern sparked into life, revealing the hunched figure of Cornelius Xavier. Up close he looked even older than before, his skin as dry as parchment and etched with deep lines. A voluminous robe struggled to contain his bulbous body. With a shudder Jonathan noted that Xavier’s eyes were black holes, utterly devoid of any emotion.

  The old man shuffled towards them with an awkward, unnatural gait. “You look surprised to see me. Did you not think I was expecting you? Or did you think I would go outside to watch your pretty fireworks? Vendetta must be losing his edge.”

  “How do you know about Vendetta?” Correlli demanded. “Did he tell you? Is this a set-up?”

  Xavier grinned, revealing a row of blackened stumps. “No, no, no. Vendetta’s desire to get his hands on the Crimson Stone is genuine enough. I merely had a conversation with his m
aid. I . . . persuaded her to tell me. She is a feisty sort. It took quite some time.”

  “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll kill you,” Jonathan said fiercely.

  “Bold words, child,” Xavier rasped. “The maid is still alive. She was lucky that I had eaten recently. But soon enough I will be hungry again, and then. . .”

  Jonathan gasped. “Then what? What sort of monster are you?”

  The old man laughed, wheezing like an empty bellows. “Monster? Children can be so cruel. Look around you. What sort of monster do you think I am?”

  He clapped his hands and the room was suddenly filled with bright light. Jonathan stared around him, numb with horror. He was standing in the middle of a vast chamber, where the floor and the walls were coated in reams of silk threads, criss-crossing through the air high above his head. Together they formed a giant spiralling structure, just like a web. A spider’s web.

  Xavier laughed again. “Now do you understand? You walked straight into my lair, you foolish child, and now you’re caught . . . like a fly in a trap.”

  There was a loud tearing sound, and six spindly legs burst through the sides of Xavier’s robes. They flexed their joints and writhed in the air, revelling in their escape from imprisonment. The tatters of the creature’s robe were left to stretch forlornly around the rolls of his bulbous belly. Somehow, the sight was made worse by the fact that Xavier’s arms and head were still human.

  There was a horrible sound of clicking bone, and the bottom of his jaw dropped down, widening his mouth into a hellish chasm. Xavier dropped down on to his spider legs, and suddenly there was nothing ungainly about his movements. He scuttled towards Jonathan, his feet clicking across the floor, his maw gaping.

  “Run!” shouted Correlli, shoving Jonathan to one side.

  Jonathan staggered away, not knowing where he was going. Blindly stepping over and ducking under strands, he headed for the heart of the web. Here the threads were as thick as ropes. He caught his leg between two strands and fell to the floor, the clatter of Xavier’s legs getting louder and louder. Jonathan wriggled free and began crawling across the floor, nearly crying with desperation.

  There was a familiar whoosh, and Jonathan twisted his neck to see Correlli, his back arched, a flaming brand pressed close to his lips. With a flourish, the fire-eater sent forth a wave of fire that made the web around him crackle and disintegrate. The chamber was filled with acrid smell of burning silk. With an angry chitter, Xavier abandoned his pursuit of Jonathan and scurried back towards the fire-eater.

  Having been bought some precious time, Jonathan scanned the room for a weapon, anything he could use. Then, high up in the rafters, where the cobweb was at its thickest, he caught sight of a small bundle wrapped up in strands of silk. A single strand of telltale red hair had escaped from the top of it. Raquella!

  Jonathan fastened his hands on the nearest thread and began hauling himself up, hand over hand. The silk strands were treacherously slippery between his palms, and for every two feet he climbed, he slid back down a foot. His knuckles blanched with the effort of clinging on. As Jonathan continued his torturous ascent, down on the floor Correlli aimed another jet of flame at the spider, which veered out of the way with frightening ease. The fire-eater was on the defensive, dodging and weaving through the cobwebs, and his brand was burning dangerously low. He couldn’t keep it up for much longer. Focusing his gaze on Raquella, Jonathan gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts.

  The higher he climbed, the more tangled the cobweb became, allowing him to use his feet, as if he were scrambling up a net on an assault course. Though the going was slightly easier, the threads still wobbled dangerously each time he put weight on them, and he knew that one slip would send him crashing to the unforgiving stone floor.

  Nearing the ceiling, Jonathan grabbed a thread running above his head and began to traverse the web towards the mummified form of Raquella, rocking forward and backwards as he struggled to keep his balance.

  “I’m coming, Raquella!” he called out. “Hold on!”

  Reaching the cocoon, he held on to it to steady himself. Even this close, the only sign of Raquella beneath the silk strands was the single lock of red hair. Jonathan frantically clawed at the cocoon, tearing handfuls of threads away until he could see her face.

  “Raquella!” Jonathan said urgently. “Are you OK?”

  The maid said nothing. Her face was drained of colour, and her eyes were wide with shock.

  Suddenly Jonathan felt the thread he was clinging to shake violently. He looked down with horror to see the spider-beast clambering up towards him, an army of legs propelling its obese body upwards. There was no sign of Correlli. Jonathan’s first thought was to flee, but there was no way he could leave Raquella with this monstrosity. He attacked the cocoon feverishly, succeeding in freeing the top half of the maid’s body. Even though they had been released, Raquella’s arms hung lifelessly by her side. She looked like she had been hypnotized.

  “Please, Raquella!” Jonathan cried. “You’ve got to move! It’s coming!”

  A soft moan escaped from the maid’s lips, but she didn’t move.

  Xavier was only a few feet below him now. Jonathan could hear the creature making excited clicking noises to itself. Where had Correlli gone? Coming to rest at an intersection of webs, the spider suddenly spat a stream of thick green liquid from its maw. A globule landed on the strand beneath Jonathan’s feet, making the silk fizz and bubble. Jonathan began shuffling towards another part of the web, but it was too late: the thread gave way, and he felt his legs kicking out into thin air. He instinctively reached out and managed to grab another strand above his head, but he was left dangling helplessly in mid-air. Twisting his face into a hungry leer, Xavier went in for the kill.

  20

  “Drop, boy!”

  The chamber reverberated with the sound of Elias Carnegie’s gruff bellow. The wereman had burst down the steps and was now racing headlong across the floor. His black clothes were torn, and his exposed face was bleeding. In his right hand, he was carrying an antique spear.

  Jonathan couldn’t see the floor through the tangled mass of strands beneath him, but he knew that he was high enough up to make it unlikely that he’d survive the fall. The spider lurched closer towards him, and sent another venomous globule whistling past his ear. One thing was clear – if he stayed up here, he was dead for sure. He had to trust Carnegie.

  “I’ll be back!” he shouted to Raquella, and let go of the web.

  As Xavier chittered in fury, Jonathan fell through the air, his arms and legs flailing wildly. After what felt like an age, he landed smack in the middle of a pile of off-white objects, which cracked loudly beneath him. Jonathan lay still for a second, unable to move. The impact had punched the wind from his lungs, and his left leg was in agony, but he was alive. Looking around him, he saw that the off-white objects were a collection of giant shells. He picked one up. It was the shape of a long insect’s leg. His stomach lurching, Jonathan realized that his life had been saved by a pile of the spider’s discarded skins.

  He rolled gingerly to one side, as quickly as his battered body would allow, and got to his feet. Carnegie had crossed the chamber and was now shaking the bottom of the web beneath Xavier, trying to draw the spider away from Raquella.

  “Come here, you overgrown bug!” he snarled.

  By way of response, the spider spat forth another stream of venomous liquid, splattering the flagstones near the wereman. Then, without warning, it sprung off the web and dropped down from the ceiling. Carnegie had to roll out of the way as Xavier landed on the ground with a mighty thud, his many legs absorbing the impact.

  The wereman took a step back, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably, and he dropped to his knees as the beast within took control of his body. Immediately the spider was upon him, knocking the spear out of his grasp with one of its legs and sending it rolling away
across the floor. Carnegie howled with rage and aimed a backhanded slice with his claws at the creature’s eyes.

  As the two beasts clashed, Jonathan limped across the chamber and retrieved the spear. It must have been another one of Xavier’s antiques: a simple wooden stick, covered in tribal decorations, with a sharp iron point on the end. Jonathan just hoped it worked as a weapon.

  Though Carnegie was fighting like a wounded animal, Xavier’s sheer weight and number of legs were overwhelming. As Jonathan crept back towards them, the spider succeeding in pinning the wereman’s arms to his sides, encircling his legs around him like a ribcage. Carnegie stopped howling and eyeballed Xavier, daring him to finish him off.

  As Xavier threw his head back and prepared to douse Carnegie in venom, Jonathan thrust the spear upwards into the exposed belly of the spider. The creature reared up with pain, emitting a high-pitched scream that was neither human nor animal. Thick green pus oozed from its wound. Xavier thrashed and writhed, catching Jonathan on the chin with a flailing leg. The boy went stumbling back, landing in a dazed heap on the floor. He heard another terrible scream, and then there was silence. Jonathan slumped back on the flagstones, utterly drained.

  He opened his eyes to see a tall, dishevelled figure towering over him.

  “Seems I owe you one, boy. You all right?”

  Jonathan nodded, catching his breath. He pointed up towards the ceiling. “Raquella . . . we’ve got to get her down.”

  “Leave it to me.”

  Carnegie swung athletically to the top of the cobweb and ripped through the remains of the cocoon with his claws. He bundled Raquella over his shoulder and descended back to the ground. Usually, the maid would have been furious at such an undignified journey, but she didn’t snap or shout. She didn’t, Jonathan noticed, say anything at all. The wereman set her gently down on the ground and lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes, which were bulging with fright.