The Amber Pendant

by Imogen White

  “Look, by the door,” Rui whispered.

  She shuffled closer to him and nudged the curtain open a little further. A tall, imposing man stood near the shop entrance. He had neat auburn hair and a moustache of the same colour.

  “Banks,” she hissed to Rui. The detective stood apart from the others and puffed on a cigarette.

  A slow hollow clap drew Banks’s attention.

  “Who is that?” Rui murmured. The crowd parted just enough for them to see.

  An old man stood behind the glass sales counter opposite, his head bowed. He was clapping slowly.

  Looking up, his thin lips cut a lopsided smile. His hollow cheeks sprouted wild sideburns.

  Rose’s hands shot to her face. She recognized him at once, the thin face, the lopsided smile – “That’s…that’s—”

  “An aged Anthony Funnel,” Rui whispered. “But how can it be? The newspaper said he had died in India some forty years ago?”

  One half of Funnel’s face was shiny with scarred skin and a nasty black hole beneath his eyelid where his eye should have been. It looks like the train fire got him, though. Rose swallowed.

  Funnel’s good eye stared eagle-like at the twelve smartly dressed men before him.

  Then Rose spotted it with a gasp – a large circular amber pendant dangling around his neck. Dark, but for the dot of orange in the middle. The opposite design to Miss Templeforth’s: It’s Verrulf’s pendant, Rose realized with a start.

  “He’s got the other pendant, Rui!” Rose studied the man’s hands with growing horror. They perched on the counter like two spiders embalmed in skin. You can’t forget hands like them. “It’s him, the old fella I saw before in the carriage. And that’s the other pendant for sure,” she breathed. “But where’s mine?”

  “Welcome, my brothers.” The old man’s rasp sent a chill through Rose, his voice thick and shifty, like smoke.

  “Let us begin,” Funnel continued, a wicked smile creeping sideways between his sideburns.

  The old man tugged a gold-tassled cord and the red curtains behind him parted, revealing a gilt-framed portrait of himself. The painting mirrored him exactly; the same wonky smile, the same fierce sideburns brushed upwards, the same missing eye, but…in the portrait he wore red robes and a thick ornamental chain of latticed gold.

  “Me,” he said, pointing at the large brass plate inscribed beneath. “Captain Cuthbert Stitchworthy, Mayor of Hove, October, 1907.” Funnel twisted his sideburns and gave a long-toothed smile.

  The brotherhood tittered and applauded.

  “Stitchworthy?” Rui breathed.

  “We’ve found the guardian of Verrulf’s pendant, and it’s… Funnel,” Rose breathed.

  “Except,” Rui cut in, “he’s somehow changed his identity and now—”

  “He’s the bloomin’ mayor!” Rose panted.

  The clapping petered out and Funnel continued. “Yes, as of today, I am officially Mayor of Hove. Each of us has been elevated thanks to the guidance of our masterful Lord Verrulf. Ormerod is the newly appointed curator at the museum, replacing that interfering Mr Thomas.”

  Rose’s heart missed a beat. The museum – where the cup is…? What did this all mean for Enna? She squeezed her eyes shut, worry pulsing through her. Rose knew Enna had trusted Funnel, liked him even. Would he hurt her now? He’d tricked her after all, and taken Verrulf’s pendant.

  Funnel continued. “And our faithful brother, Banks, is now detective in chief of the local constabulary.”

  Banks tipped his ash.

  “Snodgrass – well, your time will come.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” Snodgrass snivelled.

  “I could go on –” Funnel paused to tickle his spindly fingers through the air – “Our Shadow Lord, Verrulf, has granted each of us our every material wish.”

  “Verrulf has got them all into positions of authority and power,” Rui murmured. Rose’s lips pursed as she listened to Funnel’s words.

  “Verrulf has advised us…guided us, and been our oracle into the affairs of men. He is a gifted seer, who speaks to me through this.” Funnel gripped his pendant and held it aloft.

  Seeing Funnel’s pendant gave Rose a sudden pang. Why had hers not called to her again? Had it forgotten about her? Was it in this shop somewhere?

  Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the brotherhood. Taking a moment, Funnel produced a jar from beneath the sales desk. He unscrewed the lid and popped a striped humbug into his mouth.

  Rose remembered the scent of peppermint she’d smelled on him and her lips pinched shut. She felt sick.

  “And now, my brothers.” The humbug clicked against Funnel’s teeth and balled in his scrawny cheek. “The time has come to repay his kindness. Lord Verrulf wishes to walk the majesty of this earth in his human form once more, with us by his side.”

  The brotherhood cheered. Buoyed by the heightening mood, Snodgrass stuck two fingers in his mouth and made a shrill whistle. But the others scowled at him, and he shrank back.

  “As you all know, Lord Verrulf is my powerful ancestor. He was betrayed by the people of this earth – betrayed by his own wretched brother – many thousands of years ago. If he hadn’t been imprisoned –” Funnel’s words burned, and spittle flew from his mouth – “I would by now – being of his royal blood – be in a position of great worldly power. It is my BIRTHRIGHT.” His good eye glistened with anger as he slammed his fist on the glass service counter.

  Rose jumped and tried not to gasp out loud. So Funnel were after the pendant all along. He weren’t helping Miss Templeforth all them years ago, he was trying to help himself.

  “Now, clear the circle and take up your positions,” Funnel spat. The brotherhood slowly backed away, revealing a black sun motif painted on the floorboards. The mirror stood in the middle.

  “What’s the mirror for?” Rose breathed, a dreadful worry threading through her.

  Funnel hobbled around the sales bench, using a black cane for support before entering the circle. He stopped in front of the mirror, turned and drew a deep breath. “Ormerod, bring it forth.”

  Rose felt Rui stiffen by her side.

  A man with a monocle perched over one eye presented Funnel with a black satin cushion; nestled on top was a small reddish-brown cup. “The Amber Cup, Sir,” Ormerod announced proudly.

  Rose gripped Rui’s arm. Panic scurried up her spine. “They’ve got it,” she whispered. Matching the image sewn onto Enna’s tapestry, the Amber Cup looked just like a chunky teacup.

  “Funnel said that Ormerod has become the curator at the museum,” Rui whispered into her ear. “He must have taken it. This is very bad, Rose,” Rui said, fear glazing his eyes.

  Funnel laced his horrid fingers together and bent them until they clicked. “This mirror is backed with amber resin. It will reveal Lord Verrulf’s image briefly, and…he will speak to us.”

  An audible shiver of anticipation travelled around the brotherhood. “Bravo!” a deep voice called out. The others cheered and clapped.

  Funnel waved down their adulation. “Our Shadow Lord Verrulf has important news to share about the missing pendant we seek.”

  “What? So, they ain’t got it?” Rose listened, confused. Rui edged forward.

  “Let us begin! Fill the cup of souls with the waters.”

  Snodgrass appeared with a silver flask that glistened against the light.

  “That’s Enna’s flask!” Rose gasped. It was the same one Enna had taken with her to the museum. “What are they doing with that? What have they done with her?”

  Snodgrass popped off the stopper, and his thin moustache twitched as he poured the water into the Amber Cup.

  The ceiling light flickered on and off.

  “Thank you, Snodgrass.” Funnel elbowed him away. “These waters were kindly altered, magically, by our heathen friend, who alas, could not be with us tonight.”

  Banks sniggered.

  Rose’s tummy hollowed. Rui’s cold hand gripped hers.

&nbs
p; Kneeling, Ormerod offered up the Amber Cup. Funnel’s spidery fingers twitched for a moment, then he seized it.

  “Now I will show you what is possible with one pendant and the cup.” Funnel swirled the liquid around inside the cup and in one fluid movement, gripping his pendant in one hand, he thrust the cup above him, balancing it on his outstretched palm. It began to glow, a beacon of red, exposing dark fissures and cracks within the body of the amber.

  The brotherhood began chanting words Rose didn’t understand. The whole room filled with a nasty energy that snaked into every crevice.

  Rose couldn’t take her eyes off the cup. “It looks alive, don’t it?” she spluttered, watching it pulse and flash in a rhythmic sequence.

  “Rose, it looks like a human organ. A heart.”

  BOOM – BOOM – boom – boom – boom.

  Dark shapes materialized in the bowl of the cup, dancing, sending shadowy projections around the room, like a magic lantern.

  The brotherhood intensified their chants, which grew louder and louder, until in unison, they pulled up their sleeves, each revealing the hideous sun tattoo on their wrists. Their mouths moved faster, their voices boomed, building to a crescendo. The towering glass jars behind the counter wobbled and chinked together, and as one they shouted, “SOL-NI-GRA!”

  BOOM.

  Now the cup shone bright and constant, blasting a ray of light through the gap in the curtain. Rose and Rui shielded their eyes, and the men stumbled backwards, covering their faces. The candles suddenly blew out. The lamp above Funnel shattered, showering him in fragments of glass. A new mauve light broke through the darkness, emanating from the mirror.

  Funnel’s mirrored reflection revealed the demonic grin cut sideways across his face. The crooked bodies of the brotherhood surrounded him, bent away in fear, pinning themselves against the display cabinets.

  “I don’t like this, Rui.”

  The air thickened with something invisible, but heavy.

  Inside, a black mist fogged the mirror, concealing Funnel’s reflection. When it finally lifted a new shadowy figure filled the mirror, one with broad shoulders and long muscular arms that hung low. Stag antlers branched from its huge head.

  “What the—?” Rui murmured.

  Two eyes sprang open on the creature’s face. Veined, pulsing, red eyes. The eyes of the creature that was stitched into Enna’s tapestry. The same antlers.

  “It’s him…V-verrulf,” Rose murmured, her hands hovering over her mouth.

  Verrulf blinked. Rose felt an icy breath blow through her as the creature in the mirror spoke.

  “They have a new guarrrdian.” The room shook as Verrulf’s ancient, guttural voice vibrated through the air. “A girrrl who shares the blood.” Rose’s chest heaved. “She is strrrong. The pendant calls to her, but she does not possess it. My Crrreeplings see it somewhere darrrk, held by someone weak. GET THE PENDANT AND THE GIRRRL. Or, she will destrrroy us allllllllll.”

  Verrulf vanished, plunging the room into total darkness.

  Back on the pavement outside the tobacco shop, Rose bent over trying to catch her breath. Verrulf’s words still echoed in her mind. Get the girl…

  Bahula circled her, his fur standing on end.

  “Rose.” Rui gripped her arm. “They don’t have your pendant.”

  “But they must have got Enna? They had her flask,” she panted. A cold wind blew the hair hanging loose from her bonnet.

  CRRRr-pringgg!

  The coiled bell of Stitchworthy’s Tobacconist’s cried out as the shop door swung into the street next to them.

  “Let us make haste!” Funnel’s booming voice travelled through the doorway. “Our sun will indeed run black after our lord and master is raised. It’s time for us to make our preparations.”

  “The brotherhood are coming,” Rose squeaked. She cast her eyes in every direction. “Back this way, into the alley.”

  Rui scooped up Bahula, and huddled behind Rose in the shadowy alleyway next to the tobacconist’s.

  “Hide Bahula,” she spluttered. Rui tucked him inside his coat. Bahula yelped.

  “Shh!” she whispered to the monkey. He quietened down.

  Out of view she could hear footsteps, coughs and muffled voices as the brotherhood piled onto the pavement. Snodgrass hurried past with several other men, their faces pale and drawn, their coat-tails flapping behind them in the wind.

  “What have we got ourselves involved in?” a portly man stammered, wringing his gloved hands. “What was that thing? It’s not natural.” The men bustled by.

  The shop door creaked shut and a key ground in the lock. “Banks, a word,” a gravelly voice hissed.

  Rose recognized it as Funnel’s rasp. She leaned further into the shadows, her palms touching the cold brick wall behind her. Dank water dripped slowly from the archway above. She could feel Rui’s body next to her own and prayed Bahula would keep quiet. Holding her breath, she listened.

  “You’ve somewhat scared our brothers, Sir,” Banks chuckled.

  “They’ll soon change their tune when they see what I can do with both pendants. The gypsy is…not going to be troubling us further, I take it?”

  Rose’s brow furrowed as she strained to hear over the wind.

  “No, Sir. She is silent,” Banks laughed.

  Silent! What does that mean…that they’ve killed her? NO! Rui squeezed her arm.

  “And Gupta?”

  “I didn’t log the murder so there’s no paper trail back at the station. And by the day after tomorrow, the world will be a very different place,” Banks sniggered. “The arrangements have been carried out just as we planned. It’s regretful that neither the book nor the pendant were on his person. But, rest assured, I will find them.”

  Rui glanced at Rose.

  “You must! Now, you heard our Shadow Lord, Verrulf,” Funnel continued, “he warned us about the new guardian, and that the pendant calls to her. Time is running out. You must find the pendant, and dispose of the child.”

  Rose flinched. Dispose of me!

  “But which girl? We made sure that Missy was the last girl interviewed. No guardian had been discovered before her. Missy was certain of that,” Banks protested.

  Rose remembered the girl with ringlets getting into the carriage on that fateful afternoon.

  “Well, she’s wrong. They tricked you. Someone was in my head that evening, someone uninvited. Whoever she is, she is strong – too strong, and they have hidden her identity from us. She must be found.”

  “Everything will be in place by tomorrow night, Sir.”

  “It has to be. You hear me, Banks?”

  “I will see to it.”

  “Hmfff.” Funnel’s ebony cane clicked the pavement as he walked past, filling the air with his strong scent of peppermint. He headed down Church Road following the others towards the Tamplins Brewery.

  A figure suddenly lurched in front of the alley and stopped. Rose held her breath. Banks, framed by the brickwork arch, pulled a tin of Woodbines from his pocket and tapped one loose. A top-hatted man stopped alongside him: Ormerod, the museum’s new curator. Shorter than Banks, he had a monocle wedged in his eye socket and an oversized pipe dangled from his lips.

  “That was hideous. I would not have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes,” Ormerod said, his pipe trembling. “Our small group of brothers, we’ve only dabbled in the occult – nothing serious like this. But since Stitchworthy has joined, things have taken a much more sinister turn. And I’m not sure that—”

  “Ormerod, calm yourself, man. Tonight, Stitchworthy has proved his power over the cup. If that’s what he can do with one pendant and the cup, then we must believe what he claims to be able to achieve with both,” Banks grunted.

  “I’m not sure I want to know,” the other man stammered.

  “You’re in too deep to back out now.” Banks leaned over his associate. “Stitchworthy is a powerful man. Remember what he’s already done for us – we are rich! He’s proved
to us he speaks with this Lord Verrulf. By Jove, we just saw him! We’ve made a pact, remember. A pact that can’t be broken.” Banks pulled up his sleeve to reveal his tattoo. “Unless you—”

  “No, no, quite so. It’s just…in there, things seemed so…dark.”

  “Control your nerves, man. By releasing Lord Verrulf, we ensure that in future we will serve beneath him as his human rulers. Stitchworthy has promised us great riches, power beyond our wildest imaginings. Don’t lose sight of that. Besides, we need you to translate the spell tomorrow night. Once I get the book.”

  Rui stiffened.

  Banks took a drag on his cigarette; he exhaled and the wind took the smoke away up the street.

  “No, no, no. Fear not, I shall be there. It is for the greater good, we are as one on that point.” Shakily, Ormerod struck a match and cradled the flame, but a gust of wind extinguished it. “Chfff,” he exclaimed. He looked around for some shelter, the pipe hanging ladle-like from his mouth, and on spotting their archway he moved forward.

  Rose heard Rui’s sharp intake of breath. Her eyes shot around. We’re trapped.

  Ormerod leaned into the archway where Rose and Rui hid. He struck his match and sucked on the pipe. Embers glowed bright in the bowl. This new light inflated Rose and Rui’s shadows against the damp brickwork. Ormerod squinted at them through his monocle.

  “Spare any change, Sir?” Rose spat, covering her face with her coat collar. With a disinterested snort the man backed away, blowing out the match. Rui squeezed Rose’s arm with relief, but it made him let go of Bahula.

  The monkey leaned forward, his face highlighted in the street lamp. Rui snatched him back, but it was too late.

  Ormerod recoiled at the sight of him. “Good Lord!” he said withdrawing his pipe.

  Rose’s heart pumped in her throat.

  “I swear the street scum are getting more and more wretched-looking by the day,” Ormerod blustered.

  Banks swaggered behind him. If he recognizes us we’re done for. Rose scrunched up her fists at the ready. Banks sniffed and stepped back, taking a deep drag on his Woodbine.