by Tom Becker
“Look, boy, if people try hard enough they can persuade themselves of pretty much anything. Most people don’t want to acknowledge that Darkside exists, so they keep their head down and carry on with their little lives. It’s obvious we’re here, but you need to look in the right places. You’ll find that if you walk down a certain tunnel, or go down a certain staircase, or cut through a certain alleyway, we’re just around the corner.” His eyes gleamed with mischievous intent.
In the middle of the Grand there was a large black statue on a plinth. It depicted a tall figure whose face was obscured by a thick coat and a low-brimmed hat. In one hand he carried a sharp, narrow blade.
Carnegie nodded at the statue. “That there’s the founder of Darkside,” he said. “The Ripper.”
Something clicked in Jonathan’s brain. “What, Jack the Ripper?”
“That’s the man.”
“I’ve read about him. He killed all these women in London, and they never caught him!”
“Not exactly caught, no. Instead, they had a word in his ear and sent him here to rule over Darkside. The authorities reckoned he was the only thing evil enough to stop this place descending into complete anarchy. They were right, too. Jack’s grandson Thomas Ripper runs the place now. Don’t see that much of him these days, but he’s still the boss, all right.”
Jonathan gaped. “Darkside’s ruled by Jack the Ripper’s family?”
“And you wonder why everyone’s mean around here. Come on.”
A crowd had gathered around the gutter by the side of the road, and were roaring with excitement. Jonathan stood on his tiptoes, trying to see what was going on. Through a sea of waving arms he could make out two fighting cocks pecking and clawing at each other. Their feathers were soaked in blood. As the fight continued the shouts of the crowd spiralled louder and louder. Notes and coins changed hands with lightning speed as people bet on the outcome. Jonathan looked away. A woman in the crowd, clearly relishing the savage spectacle, had reminded him of something.
“Carnegie, have you heard of a woman called Marianne?”
“Marianne? Pale woman with fluorescent hair? She’s a bounty hunter. She can hunt down anyone – for the right price, of course. How do you know about her, boy?”
“She’s been trying to kidnap me. She’s the reason I came to you.”
The wereman raised a shaggy eyebrow. In the gutter, the crowd gave a final roar as one of the birds went down. “You should be honoured. Marianne doesn’t come cheap, and she tends to get her man. Someone really wanted to get their hands on you.”
“Why would anyone here want to kidnap me? I’m not worth anything.”
“That’s the first sensible question you’ve asked. I’m not sure yet.” Carnegie scratched his arm thoughtfully. “One thing’s clear, though. If Marianne has been hired to kidnap you, she won’t stop until she does. We’re going to have to be on our guard. First things first. You need to start trying to fit in a bit more. You’re sticking out like a sore thumb at the moment. We don’t tend to see many Lightsiders on these streets, and those we do aren’t welcomed with open arms. Believe it or not, boy, you’re something of a rarity.”
“But if I can make the crossing over here . . . surely other people can too?”
“They can try. It’s complicated.”
“I can vouch for that,” said Jonathan meaningfully.
“It’s often tough physically, but it’s more than that. To come to Darkside you’ve got to think differently. There’s so much evil in the air that you’ve got to open your mind to it all, or it’ll drive you insane. Most people can’t cope with it. They break down, go crazy . . . it’s not pretty.”
Jonathan cast his mind back to Alain’s ward, and the deranged patients that wandered the halls and corridors there. “My dad’s always falling ill.”
Carnegie grimaced. “I’m not surprised. Alain used to spend a lot of time here.”
“Hang on a sec. If coming over here caused his darkenings, why has he sent me here?” A wave of panic swept over him. “Does he want me to end up like that?”
“Well, that’s hardly going to be a problem for you, is it? If you’re part-Darksider, then crossing over isn’t going to affect you at all.”
Jonathan came to an abrupt halt. The shouts and oaths of the Grand faded into the background, and all the elbowing and jostling on the pavement left him unmoved. The only thing he could feel was the relentless pounding of his heart. “What did you say?”
Carnegie started to repeat himself, but saw the look on the boy’s face and trailed off.
“You’re saying I’m part-Darksider?” Jonathan asked in a quiet voice.
“Well yes . . . but, your mother . . . you know. . . Has Alain not explained any of this to you?”
“You knew my mother?”
The wereman nodded sadly.
“Tell me everything you know about her!” he said urgently. “You have to tell me everything!”
Carnegie shook his head again, and was just about to reply when an open-top carriage drew up alongside the pair of them. A small, ratty-looking man hopped down from the driver’s seat and gave Carnegie a broad grin. The detective sighed, and turned to Jonathan. “This is not going to be good news,” he muttered.
The man sniffed, and drew his sleeve across his nose. “Vendetta wants to see you,” he said.
Carnegie shrugged. “Tell him I’m busy, Luther.”
The man opened the carriage door behind him and gestured inside. “He’s waiting for you up at Vendetta Heights.”
“All right. But I’ve got to take the kid with me,” Carnegie responded.
It was Luther’s turn to shrug. Jonathan grabbed the wereman and hissed in his ear. “Who’s Vendetta?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“What happened to not letting anyone push you around?”
“You tend to make exceptions for Vendetta. Now shut up and get in, boy.”
12
Ricky opened his eyes, and then immediately wished that he hadn’t. There was a horribly bitter taste in his mouth, and it felt like someone was crashing a set of cymbals together inside his head. He reached up and gingerly touched a swelling on his forehead. Even the brushing of his fingertips made him wince. All in all, he felt in dreadful shape.
He was sitting on the floor of a metal cage, suspended from the ceiling of a cavernous hall by a chain attached to an iron hook. Even in the gloom, he had a sense of imposing vaulted walls rising up around him, as if he was in some sort of dark cathedral. His cage creaked with every draught of air. Ricky whimpered softly under his breath. Where on earth was he? The last thing he remembered was being chased through Trafalgar Square and hiding out in that church, and then he had met that woman. . . It all seemed so unreal, like a bad dream. But now he was hanging in a cage, and it was only too real. A detached voice in Ricky’s head was surprised that he had taken things so calmly. Perhaps he was in shock.
Either it was late at night, or the hall had no windows, because it was difficult to make out anything in the darkness. From the odd tortured groan of metal he got the impression that there were more cages gently shifting in the air alongside his, although how many, and how far the hall stretched on for, he couldn’t be sure. Faint rustles and mutters floated up from the floor, suggesting that there were more people down there. Although a filthy blanket had been left lying on the floor of the cage, it was stiflingly hot. Ricky unzipped his coat and used it as a makeshift pillow. He may have only just woken up, but his head hurt so much and the situation seemed so hopeless that all he wanted to do was fall back to sleep.
He wasn’t to be that lucky. At that moment a shaft of light appeared in a wall far down below, briefly revealing several stacks of large cages on the hall floor. Inside the cages, animals shied away from the light. Then two figures padded into the room. One was a thin man carrying a flaming
torch above his head like an umbrella. The other, her hair glimmering in the torchlight, was his kidnapper. Instinctively, Ricky shrunk away from the light source. He needn’t have bothered. They were focused firmly on each other. Despite the fact that they were speaking in hushed tones, it was clear that they were arguing.
“I don’t need a bounty hunter to tell me how to count, Marianne. I asked for two half-Darksiders, and you’ve only given me one.”
The man’s voice was as parched as dried bones. Every syllable rasped against the back of his throat like sandpaper. Marianne poked him angrily in the chest. “And I don’t need a pet shop owner to tell me about bounty hunting, Grimshaw. I’ve given you everything that was available.”
“A pet shop owner?” His voice rose in indignation. “I am a collector, a scientist, an entertainer! I bring the strangest and most exotic creatures from Lightside and display them here. They fight; they kill; they die. People travel from far and wide to see me. The Beastilia Exotica is the jewel in Darkside’s crown!”
With a flourish, Grimshaw whirled the torch around the room. The light shimmered over more cages. It startled a mangy wild cat, which swung a futile paw through the bars of its cage. As Ricky looked on, he noticed narrow pairs of eyes glinting in the darkness on the other side of the hall, and realized that the space was crammed with captive animals. And him.
He shivered, and reached for his blanket.
“OK. Whatever. The fact is, you have a half-Darksider that you didn’t have before.”
“Marianne, I have been advertising this show for months. It is supposed to be the greatest spectacle ever staged at the Beastilia Exotica. The climax of the show is two half-Darkside boys fighting a pack of starved jackals. Two boys. That’s what the posters say. Not one, two.”
“So you’ve got one less. Who’s going to care?”
“These things are very finely balanced. The jackals will polish off one boy in less than a minute. The audience will be unhappy.” Grimshaw drew himself up. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
“Well, it’s not all bad news. We think the second boy’s managed to cross over to Darkside.”
“Shouldn’t that make things a little easier for you? Surely even you can’t fail to get him now.”
“If he’s not dead already, Skeet will track him down,” came the icy reply. “He’s hunting for the boy’s scent as we speak.”
“I don’t know how you can trust that strange little creature.”
“That ‘strange little creature’ is the only reason I can collect the little ones. Skeet can follow the scent of Lightside blood better than anyone else. That’s why you hired me, or have you forgotten that?”
“And the giant mute?”
Marianne shrugged. “Size comes in handy sometimes. And I feel responsible for the way that Humble is. It seems only fair that I should look after him.”
Grimshaw chuckled; a thin, tearing sound. “And you call me a pet shop owner.”
“Enough, Grimshaw. I’ve had a busy few days, and I’m tired. This hasn’t exactly been my favourite job, and I want my payment.”
“Feeling sorry for the children? Maybe you are too well-bred to be a bounty hunter after all.”
Marianne let out a lazy sigh. “People have said that to me before, you know. Some of them even lived to regret it. Now, are you going to pay me the money you owe me, or do I tell Wren to go and cut the cage down?”
Ricky squeaked with panic, and both heads arced up towards his cage. He scrabbled away from the bars and hid under the blanket.
“Either you’ve got rats in your collection, or the little one is awake.”
“I sold the last giant Sumatran rat years ago.”
Through the gaps in the floorboards, Ricky could see Grimshaw looking up at him. The torchlight played across his face, revealing translucent, papery skin that barely covered his skull. His eyes were different colours; one green, one blue. He looked more disturbing than anyone Ricky had ever seen.
“Stay still up there!” he rasped. “You’re a valuable commodity, and I don’t want you getting injured.”
Surprising himself, Ricky summoned the courage to answer back. “W-where am I? What do you want with me?”
“Try not to worry, little one,” Marianne called back. “It will all be over very soon.”
Ricky could feel waves of panic and anger swelling within him. “What will be over soon? What am I doing here?”
Grimshaw grinned hideously. “You’re backstage at the Beastilia Exotica. With all the other animals. Make the most of the glorious scenery – you haven’t got much time left to enjoy it.”
“But I’m not an animal! I don’t want to be here – you can’t keep me here! Let me out!” screamed Ricky. Fury at the injustice of it all rose up like vomit through his system and made his face burn red. He began rattling the bars, sending the cage swinging violently through the air. “LET ME OUT!”
Beneath him, a guttural chorus of barks, squeals and howls broke out in sympathy, and the hall shuddered with the sound of the animals’ protests. Marianne shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, and looked away. “Come on, Grimshaw,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”
With that, the bounty hunter swept out of the hall. Grimshaw gave Ricky one last warning glance. Then, abruptly, he doused the torch in a bucket of water, plunging the room back into darkness.
13
The carriage moved smoothly off the Grand and the horses began clopping northwards. Jonathan’s mind was racing, and he was desperate to ask about his mother. Twice he opened his mouth, but both times Carnegie growled at him to keep quiet. It appeared questions were going to have to wait until later. Instead he stared out through the window at his surroundings. The streets became progressively quieter, though the air of poverty and decay never went away entirely. Packs of children in tatty clothes roamed the area, running alongside the carriage with their palms outstretched, pleading for money. Every so often Jonathan caught a glimpse of a house on fire, or a body lying prone in an alleyway. The carriage rattled on regardless.
Eventually the roads began to broaden out and tall trees lined the road, the first Jonathan had seen in Darkside. The wind had picked up, and their brown and brittle leaves rustled uneasily in the breeze. The tightly-packed rows of decrepit buildings had given way to luxurious mansions that hid behind high hedges and spiked railings. The road reeked of money.
Carnegie noticed Jonathan’s inquiring gaze. “This is Savage Row. The richest people in Darkside live here. And Luther, of course.”
He patted the driver on the back, a little too hard for it to be a friendly gesture. Luther flew forward, and hauled on the reins, halting the carriage. He spun round angrily.
“You shouldn’t push me, dog boy. You might not make it to Vendetta’s, at this rate.”
The burly wereman laughed in response. “Nonsense! We’re nearly there. Come on. You’re not going to keep him waiting, are you?”
Luther glared at him, and then reluctantly geed up the horses again. The carriage swung swiftly around the winding bends of Savage Row, and Jonathan noticed how the street was getting steeper and narrower. The mansions had disappeared from sight, and the trees had closed in on all sides, forming a sinister guard of honour. It was getting colder now, and Jonathan pulled a blanket over his legs. Carnegie gave him a grim smile, but said nothing. He was looking tense.
The road abruptly levelled out and came out on to a wide, broad avenue. Here the trees were almost tall enough to block out any light from the murky sun. Nothing moved, and there was no sound except for the horses’ urgent progress across the cobblestones. The avenue led to a set of imposing stone gates, which were being slowly strangled by green fingers of climbing ivy. Behind the gates, Vendetta Heights lay in wait for them.
It was a vast, brooding structure. The brickwork was old and coated with moss and shadow.
Rows of elegant arched windows looked loftily down. Gargoyles perched in the eaves, their faces contorted into permanent stony leers. On the east wing of the mansion a spindly tower poked the sky. No lights could be seen anywhere, giving the building the air of an ancient mausoleum.
As the carriage approached, two shadowy figures emerged from the grounds of the house and opened the gates. Then they melted away into the undergrowth, as if fearful of being seen close up. The carriage rolled up the lengthy gravel driveway, skirting round an ornate fountain topped with a statue of a small child crying. Water spurted out from the child’s eye and tinkled gently into the pool beneath its feet.
“Vendetta wants you to meet him in the glasshouse,” said Luther, bringing the carriage to a halt. “It’s round the back.”
He cast another malevolent glare at Carnegie, who grinned. “Always a pleasure, Luther.”
It had started raining gently. Judging by the colour of the sky, it was late afternoon. Jonathan had lost track of what time it was. It didn’t seem to make much difference in Darkside. You were only ever five minutes away from trouble, and that was the only thing that mattered. As Luther drove the carriage away, he and Carnegie followed a path that cut around the side of Vendetta Heights.
The grounds running off behind the mansion were as imposing a sight as the house itself. They must have covered a couple of square acres, before ending at a small wood that appeared to mark the end of the estate. Someone had lavished a great deal of attention on the lawn, cutting and trimming until it resembled an immaculate green carpet. A network of gravel paths ran across it, linking different parts of the estate. In the far corner of the lawn an intricate maze had been fashioned from dark-green hedgerows. Despite the beauty of the view, there was a silent starkness about it that chilled Jonathan to the bone. There wasn’t a sound, neither the chirrup of a bird nor the rustle of an animal in the undergrowth. Carnegie seized the opportunity to lean over and speak in Jonathan’s ear. “Vendetta’s a banker, and the richest man in Darkside. He’s also one of the most dangerous. I don’t know why we’re here, but it probably means we’re in trouble. Keep your mouth shut, boy. And if I shout ‘move’, don’t stop running. Ever.”
