by Glenn Dakin
CANDLE MAN
By
Glenn Dakin
EGMONT
Copyright
EGMONT
We bring stories to life
Candle Man: The Society of Dread
First published in Great Britain 2011
by Egmont UK Limited
239 Kensington High Street
London W8 6SA
Text copyright © Glenn Dakin 2011
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
ISBN 978 1 4052 4677 4
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
www.egmont.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
First e-book edition May 2011
ISBN 978 1 7803 1026 8
To Christopher Richard Dakin
‘If you don’t stand up for yourself,
you don’t like yourself.’
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One: A Walk
Chapter Two: Tricky
Chapter Three: New Age
Chapter Four: Unmasked
Chapter Five: Unlucky
Chapter Six: Rumblings
Chapter Seven: Old Friends
Chapter Eight: Pets
Chapter Nine: Orpheus
Chapter Ten: Dove of Peace
Chapter Eleven: The Capsule
Chapter Twelve: Level Five
Chapter Thirteen: The Man With No Face
Chapter Fourteen: The Larder
Chapter Fifteen: Refuge
Chapter Sixteen: Phase Two
Chapter Seventeen: Moss Break
Chapter Eighteen: The Fool
Chapter Nineteen: Canaries
Chapter Twenty: Spies
Chapter Twenty-one: On the Surface
Chapter Twenty-two: Nicely Situated
Chapter Twenty-three: Golden Words
Chapter Twenty-four: Harvesters
Chapter Twenty-five: Crimes
Chapter Twenty-six: Friends in Need
Chapter Twenty-seven: Lairs
Chapter Twenty-eight: The Society of Dread
Chapter Twenty-nine: Parasites
Chapter Thirty: In Command
Chapter Thirty-one: Surrounded
Chapter Thirty-two: Descent
Chapter Thirty-three: The Collectors
Chapter Thirty-four: Goodbyes
Chapter Thirty-five: Wonders
Chapter Thirty-six: Unseen
Chapter Thirty-seven: Doomed
Chapter Thirty-eight: Of Madness
Chapter Thirty-nine: Unearthed
Chapter Forty: Vigilant
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter One
A Walk
How hard can it be?
Theo had never been for a walk before – on his own – but he was pretty sure he could do it. He hunched deeper in his big winter coat, feeling the January chill. The wind ruffled his lank black hair. Cold air sparked tears from his grey eyes. He shivered – he was not used to being outside.
Don’t panic, he told himself. Thousands of people go for walks every day. You can do it.
He took a deep breath and surveyed the dismal, damp street before him. In the past, he had only been allowed one walk a year – planned by his guardian Dr Saint. Now, Dr Saint was dead. There was no one to tell Theo what to do. In fact, he could do anything he liked.
That was scary.
Theo looked back at the dark shape of Empire Hall, the vast mansion in which he had spent his whole life. Since the death of his guardian, he now owned the great house, even though he was still just a teenager. It was one of the biggest mansions in London, but the sight of it brought Theo no pleasure: it had been little more than a prison to him.
His cautious footsteps had brought him to the Condemned Cemetery, the graveyard that backed on to his house. Dusk was just beginning to gather among its tombs and woodlands. Theo liked dusk. It had always been his time, after the dreary routines of the day were over. In his imagination, anything could happen at dusk.
An old man, walking slowly, with a big stick and a plastic earpiece headed towards him. Theo panicked, thought of turning back – then remembered the words that he needed.
‘How do you do?’
The old man frowned at Theo, grunted and moved on.
Theo’s heart was pounding, but he was happier now. He had faced a tricky encounter, but his book, An Introduction to Introductions, had saved him.
When meeting a stranger or new acquaintance, the traditional formula of ‘How do you do’ is all that is required, the book stated.
The wrought-iron gates of the cemetery were open, a thin mist covering the ground within, like a grey sea. He stepped inside, all senses alert. His long coat dragged through the dank nettles and outlandish weeds of the overgrown place.
Theo peered around. He eyed the stone figures and angels with fascination. He knew from experience that such things could come to life. But nothing like that happened now. In fact, on this drippy, slow, January night, the world seemed quiet and empty of excitement. Dead.
That was just how Theo liked it.
Turning back, he could see the lights were being switched on in Empire Hall. It was hard to believe that the daily routine of the household was going on without his presence.
A strange sensation stirred him from within, like a breeze whispering in his heart. A feeling grew that he barely recognised or understood: freedom.
It was wonderful to know now that his evil guardian was dead he could start living a normal life for the first time. How delicious it was to breathe the soft, damp air and smell the curious scents of the overgrown cemetery. He walked through the rows of tombs, gazing at every weathered stone carving, solemn inscription and tattered bouquet. For someone who had never been taken to a beauty spot, a park or a garden, this graveyard was a world of wonders.
Just a bit longer, he told himself as he ducked under the ragged hawthorn trees and ventured deeper into the cemetery. Theo saw a narrow, almost invisible pathway between holly trees and followed it, taking delight in the sparkling cobwebs among the drippy thorns, the bright red berries, the brown and golden ferns curling in the chill air.
This is a magical place, Theo thought. I wish I could wander here forever.
Suddenly he glanced down at his hands – at the leather gauntlets he wore at all waking hours. A pale, green light was flickering about his fingers. He frowned. His power was stirring. That was a sure sign of danger . . . but why now?
‘At last!’
A booming voice crashed through Theo’s thoughts. A giant figure broke through the holly bushes and loomed over him.
A pale man with a shaven head and strange bulbous eyes confronted him. He was dressed in a filthy, ill-fitting collection of rags. His immense, powerful hands were dark with ingrained dirt. As he approached Theo he lifted his broad, ugly nose in a sniffing gesture, like a wary animal.
‘You don’t know who – or what – I am, do you?’ the figure snarled.
Theo held his breath but he tried not to panic. He didn’t need to know who this was. He just had to find the words to say.
‘How do you do?’ he blurted out quickly.
The man lashed out with a big leather boot and kicked Theo’s legs from under him. Theo crashed to the ground, almost fainting with pain and shock.
‘How do I do?’ growled the man. ‘How do I do, when you and your friends wrecked al
l our plans and destroyed our home?’
‘I – we – what?’ gasped Theo, astonished.
His mind raced. He had seen men like this before. Among the armies of Dr Saint, there had been many shaven-headed, powerful brutes: Foundlings, they were called. But this one seemed somehow different – almost like a wild man. Theo’s hands were deep in nettles, and, unseen by the attacker, he began to work off his gloves.
‘Don’t act all innocent,’ the man cried. ‘You’ve had your fun, but it’s all over now!’ He paused, his protruding eyes glinting, as if savouring Theo’s plight. ‘He’s back,’ the man said with a nasty smile. ‘And he’s more powerful than Dr Saint ever was. He’s back and now you’re finished!’
He’s back? Who was he? Theo wondered as he tried to edge away.
‘They told me you was special – you had some kind of magic,’ the ragged man said. ‘Well, I’ve never believed in magic, and I don’t think you’ll have much left when I’ve pulled your heart, lungs an’ liver out.’
He moved in on Theo, who was desperately scrambling backwards through the weeds. Theo had taken his gloves off and nettles were stinging his skin.
‘I’ve bided my time,’ the man said. ‘I’ve come to the surface, kept a watch and waited for a chance to pay you back.’
He wrenched Theo up from the ground and swung him backwards, about to dash his head against a gravestone.
But he never did. Theo’s trailing hand made contact – the barest whisper of a touch – with the man’s cheek. The attacker could not move. He stared down at his own body as it began to glow a luminous green.
Theo fell to the ground. He scrambled backwards, on grazed knees, as he watched the stranger’s skin bubble and smoke. Then, the angry, frightened face of the man smeared downwards, a gaping skull shining out from the ruins of the flesh.
With a whooshing hiss the man melted into a big steaming pool.
‘Theo!’
Theo had climbed on to a stone tomb, to avoid being touched by the hot slime. Through the bushes came a familiar figure in a navy greatcoat and peaked cap.
It was Chloe. She took in the scene with a glance, clapping her hands to her head in dismay.
‘Theo, you idiot!’
The dark bookshelves towered above them on both sides as Theo and Chloe sat together on an old leather sofa, deep in the library of Empire Hall.
‘He was a Sewer Rat,’ Chloe said, still huddled in her enormous coat although they were back indoors. ‘That is, if I can rely on your colourful description of the fiend.’ There was a twinkle in her eyes as she said this. They both knew that Theo was remarkably observant. ‘Part of a gang that live beneath London – in the network of tunnels you love so much.’
‘A Sewer Rat?’
Chloe put on her official face. As a member of the secret society that protected Theo she held arcane knowledge that never failed to astonish him.
‘Your evil guardian, Dr Saint, sometimes used criminal gangs to do his dirty work for him. The Sewer Rats are a loose association of ne’er-do-wells that live in the tunnels and sewers beneath this city. Scuzzbags. You could call them urban pirates.’
‘Pirates?’ Theo’s eyes suddenly lit up. ‘Well, he did look a bit like one. But he did this funny sniffing thing,’ he said, aping the Sewer Rat’s upturned nose and his big staring eyes.
‘Thanks for sharing,’ commented Chloe drily. ‘Some of them have gone feral down there, half wild, and really do live like rats. They hate the surface world now. They take these funny potions so they can see better in the dark. Makes their eyes stick out. It’s horrible.’
‘But why did he hate me?’ Theo asked.
Chloe looked thoughtful. ‘It’s not hard to guess. When you defeated Dr Saint you ruined the hopes of all the assorted scum that worked for him, including the dregs like the Sewer Rats. They’ll probably never forgive you for defeating their paymaster.’
Theo looked gloomy. Being a hero was more complicated than he realised. Everything you did seemed to lead to more trouble.
‘Looks like one of these thugs tried to make a name for himself by trying to get revenge on you,’ Chloe concluded.
‘I didn’t want to melt him,’ Theo said. ‘I – I had no choice . . .’
‘I didn’t call you an idiot for defending yourself.’ Chloe sighed. ‘I just can’t believe you went out on your own.’ Her brow knitted into the fine lines Theo knew so well. ‘Especially without telling me!’
Theo peered through the back window that opened on to a little courtyard. It was now dark outside. His breath made a cloud of mist on the pane. He dabbed his finger in it, childishly, and drew a glum face.
‘I thought it would be all right. I thought the trouble was over now.’
Chloe frowned.
‘Don’t be dense, Theo!’ she whispered. ‘Look, like it or not, you are the Candle Man, the latest incarnation of an ancient hero. Sadly, that means you inherit a lot of enemies too.’
Theo looked bleak. He didn’t like hearing about his terrifying destiny.
‘But, looking on the bright side,’ Chloe continued, ‘you also inherit an ancient society whose job it is to look after you: the Society of Unrelenting Vigilance. This crazy group of fanatics is one I’m rather proud to be a member of.’ She gave a weary smile. ‘You might at least help me a bit by telling me when you’re taking a stroll with a bug-eyed assassin!’
Theo responded with a wary grin. ‘And you also have a duty to protect me,’ he said, ‘because you’re in the police.’
‘Yes, our old leader, Mr Norrowmore, thought that would make me especially useful to the cause,’ Chloe remarked. ‘I suppose I’m a kind of double agent,’ she added.
‘And so I’m double protected,’ Theo replied, feeling brighter. Now Chloe was there to talk to, he was already starting to forget the shock of the attack.
‘But we have to face facts. There are sinister people out there who don’t want a new Candle Man stalking the streets! Dr Saint may be dead, but he had allies, armies of villains at his command. I tried to make a list of your possible enemies last night, and guess what – I ran out of paper.’
‘Ha-ha – good one,’ groaned Theo.
‘I’m not joking!’ Chloe said.
She looked thoughtful. ‘“He is back”,’ she said, musing on the words of the attacker. ‘That’s what’s bothering me. If only we knew who “he” was . . .’
Suddenly she jumped up.
‘Wait!’ she mouthed at Theo. She put a finger to her lips, and, in a swift movement, she darted to the library door.
Theo watched. The doorknob was slowly turning. He crept to Chloe’s side. They held their breath as the door began to creak open.
‘Down!’ Chloe nudged Theo, urging him to take shelter behind a bookcase.
A lumbering, dark form appeared in the doorway, along with a clinking and rattling sound.
‘Hot cocoa, sir?’ boomed a deep, musical voice.
The butler, Montmerency, entered with a tea-trolley. Chloe laughed and flopped back down in her chair.
‘Bring it on,’ she said eagerly.
‘You see,’ Theo said with a smile as the butler departed. ‘Things aren’t always as scary as they look.’
‘Well, things are pretty bad,’ Chloe insisted, helping herself to some chocolate biscuits. ‘But there’s one thing we do have on our side: you.’
Chloe wiggled her fingers in imitation of Theo using his powers. Theo sighed. He didn’t like it when she did that. He sat back and sipped his cocoa.
‘We’ve also got you,’ he said. ‘So I’m sure we’ll win in the end. Don’t worry, Chloe. Dr Saint is beaten. I escaped from the Sewer Rat. The bad old days will soon be over.’
Chloe frowned into her steaming mug.
‘The bad old days are never over,’ she said.
Chapter Two
Tricky
The Corridor of Doom lay before Theo. Well, Chloe called it that, anyway. The Boardroom was at the end of a long, windowless
passage of shiny marble. Some parts of Empire Hall, long forbidden to him by his guardian, still scared him.
‘You don’t have to go through with this, Theo,’ she said. ‘You’re still not a hundred per cent, according to the doctors. And you had a nasty shock yesterday.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ Theo said.
It was mid-afternoon, and, in the best suit that Montmerency could dig out for him at short notice, Theo prepared to meet the charity he was now supposed to be head of.
‘The Society of Good Works,’ said Chloe, peeking through the half-opened door into the shadowy boardroom. ‘Invented by a Victorian gentleman as a cover for the wickedest criminal organisation in the world.’
She tried to straighten Theo’s tie, then gave up.
‘Some people aren’t meant to look well-groomed,’ she observed. ‘When it comes to personal style, I think you do “weird” a lot better.’
‘I want to have this meeting,’ Theo said. ‘I need to talk to them. I need everyone to know that things have changed.’
‘Things have certainly changed,’ said Chloe. ‘Dr Saint and his villainous cronies are all dead, under arrest or on the run. Today you’re addressing their next of kin, legal heirs and representatives. No one in this room is under official police suspicion – but don’t trust them. Even Dr Saint had trouble controlling Board Meetings. They’ll be tricky.’
Theo stepped nervously through the door. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark inside. Montmerency had suggested holding the meeting in this way, according to the ancient traditions of the Society; the shadows suited the generally secretive nature of its activities. Theo wished he had changed that tradition now.
He stood at the head of the table, and Chloe sat in the corner by the door. Dark silhouettes met his gaze at every side. Silence, so thick you could almost touch it, hovered in the musty air.
Theo stood, gaping.
‘Go on!’ Chloe whispered.
‘Err . . . Society of Good Works,’ Theo began, his voice sounding funny to his own ears in that vast room. ‘Dr Saint is dead, and I, Theo Wickland, through no choice of my own, am the new head of this society.’
