Julius and the Soulcatcher

by Tim Hehir

  Mr Tock pushed the door and was gone, slamming it shut behind him.

  A machete wheeled through the air, missing Mr Flynn’s nose by a quarter of an inch. It embedded itself in the spine of a book on the bookshelf.

  Rapple pulled another machete from his coat. Julius reached for the nearest bookshelf and pulled out a large volume.

  ‘Mr Flynn,’ he called out and flung the book to him.

  Mr Flynn held the book up in front of him like a shield. The second machete stuck firmly in its cover.

  Baines pulled out a meat cleaver and came at Mr Flynn’s flank.

  Emily plucked a porcelain figurine from a bookshelf and threw it. The ornament smashed against Baines’s elbow, giving Mr Flynn a second to pull the machete from the book. He kicked over a table, sending large volumes cascading over Baines. Then he threw the shield book at Rapple.

  It hit him squarely on his nose, making him cry out in pain. In two steps, Mr Flynn was within striking distance. He punched Rapple, sending him tumbling backwards, crying out oaths as he went.

  Julius saw Baines rise up with a meat cleaver like an angry phoenix. Emily threw a book at him but he knocked it aside and made for her.

  ‘Not so fast,’ said Mr Flynn.

  Baines turned to see the machete flying towards him. He ducked and swung the cleaver at Mr Flynn’s head. But the champion boxer was too quick. He dodged the blade and it cut into the edge of the table, sticking there. Mr Flynn drove his fist into Baines’s jaw. Julius heard the bone crack.

  Baines wailed like a wounded bloodhound and staggered back. He slammed against the window, shattering the glass, and fell through it.

  ‘Mr Baines,’ called out Rapple.

  ‘Quick,’ said Julius, pushing open the door Tock had gone through. ‘We have to find Clara.’

  Julius took one last look at the library before following Emily and Mr Flynn after Tock. All that could be seen of Baines was his bloody hand clasping the window frame and Rapple leaning across the glass-strewn windowsill clutching his friend’s collar to stop him from falling two storeys down to the snow.

  Julius slammed the door behind him. Tock was gone.

  ‘What’s that smell?’ said Mr Flynn.

  Emily was already at the bookcase, prodding and pressing the books. ‘The secret door’s frough ’ere somewhere,’ she said.

  Julius remembered which book it was. He tilted back a small green volume and felt a click under his fingers.

  The bookcase opened like a door. The stench of open graves flooded over them.

  Emily put her hand over her nose. ‘Smells like ’e’s collecting whale offal,’ she said.

  Julius looked at a stone stairway, winding down into the gloom. ‘Bloomingbury wanted us to go down here,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s not disappoint him, then,’ said Mr Flynn.

  Julius, Emily and Mr Flynn climbed down. The air grew warmer the further they went.

  The stairway stopped at a wooden door. ‘There’s water sloshing around,’ said Julius. ‘It’s like something very large is having a bath.’

  He opened the door far enough for one eye to peek through.

  ‘What is it?’ whispered Mr Flynn.

  ‘It seems we’ve found where His Lordship keeps the crocodiles.’

  CHAPTER 25

  Monday 22nd January 1838

  12:42 PM

  Julius, Emily and Mr Flynn looked through the gap in the door at a pool of dark sloshing water enclosed by rusty, wrought-iron railings. The sloshing was caused by an indeterminate number of very large crocodiles. One of them raised its jaws above the water and snapped at another, which lifted its gaping jaws to snap back. A third crocodile thrashed at them with its tail. The spectacle gave the impression of a single, many-limbed and many-jawed leviathan in an ill mood.

  Julius opened the door wider. They were in a large hothouse where long-armed monkeys and exotic birds whooped and squawked in branches wedged into the decorative ironwork under the glass ceiling. Three rows of planting boxes with wire mesh covers stretched across the marble floor.

  The rank odour of blood-and-bone fertiliser stung Julius’s nostrils as he hurried around the crocodile enclosure. He looked at the neat lines of red buds poking through the dark soil.

  ‘There’s bleeding ’undreds of the fings,’ said Emily.

  ‘And that’s what they’ll grow into,’ said Mr Flynn. He pointed to an aviary in the corner of the hothouse. Instead of birds it contained twenty or more soulcatchers. They flicked their tendrils through the bars when they sensed Julius coming near.

  ‘Tock must have used cuttings from these to propagate the buds,’ said Julius. ‘We have to destroy every last one of them.’

  Before anyone could reply a set of double doors opened on the right side of the crocodile enclosure. Lord Bloomingbury walked in with the humming birds flitting around him.

  ‘And here are my favourite pets,’ he said. ‘It’s nearly their feeding time so they’re quite ravenous. I’d advise you not to lean over the railing.’

  ‘What an interesting odour,’ said Mrs Trevelyan, stepping into the hothouse behind him, ‘And so warm.’ She held a handkerchief to her nose. Darwin followed close behind.

  ‘Yes, quite pungent.’ said His Lordship. ‘But not unpleasant.’

  He held his arm out to invite her to the railing, but then he saw Julius. He took a moment more to glance at Emily and then at Mr Flynn.

  ‘You again,’ he said to Julius. ‘You are trespassing in my home, and you shall hang for that as well as for your insolence.’

  ‘Your Lordship,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘We came to warn you about Mr Tock. He’s—’

  ‘Silence, whoever you are,’ said Lord Bloomingbury. ‘How dare you address me before you are spoken to. You will warn me about nothing. You shall hang too.’

  ‘If I may, Your Lordship,’ said Mrs Trevelyan. ‘I’m sure the fellow meant no offence.’

  Lord Bloomingbury patted Mrs Trevelyan’s hand reassuringly. ‘Do not distress yourself, my dear lady,’ he said. ‘Let me show you my komodo dragons. I have a breeding pair, if I might be so bold.’

  Mrs Trevelyan pretended to simper. ‘Oh, Your Lordship,’ she said, and blushed.

  Lord Bloomingbury smiled rakishly and held out an arm to lead her and Darwin back through the door.

  ‘Oi, Bloomin-bod. Wot ’ave you done wiv Clara ’iggins?’ said Emily.

  Lord Bloomingbury glared. ‘Ah, the guttersnipe speaks,’ he said. ‘I advise you to hold your tongue… while you still have it.’

  ‘You ’old yours, you poxy old git,’ said Emily. ‘You wanted to feed us to the crocodiles last night, didn’t you?’

  ‘No. I had something far more imaginative in mind.’

  ‘You were going to let the soulcatcher seed us,’ said Julius. ‘Along with my mother. You thought no one would know.’

  ‘So the Higgins woman is your mother? I thought as much.’ Lord Bloomingbury smiled briefly but then scowled. ‘She lied. She told me she had no family. And now I find a gaggle of her brats whining about my ankles.’

  ‘Your Lordship,’ said Mrs Trevelyan. ‘Is something amiss?’

  ‘No, my dear lady,’ he said. ‘Just a minor irritation with the servants.’

  ‘I’ll give you a bleeding irritation,’ said Emily.

  Mr Flynn advanced towards Lord Bloomingbury, but a loud metallic screech made everyone stop.

  Tock stood at the door Lord Bloomingbury had come through. He held Clara’s arm with one hand and a single soulcatcher in a birdcage with the other. Clara’s hands were tied in front of her and tears were streaming down her cheeks. Abigail loomed over both of them from behind.

  ‘Your Lordship, I—’ said Clara, but Tock shook her into silence.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ said Tock to Lord Bloomingbury. ‘We’re not seeding until after dinner.’

  ‘Ah, Tock,’ said Lord Bloomingbury. ‘Just the fellow. I was going to show Mrs Trevelyan and Mr Darwin the komodo dra
gons. Would you be so kind as to have your metallic friend entertain the brats and the bruiser while we’re gone.’

  Lord Bloomingbury smiled graciously at Mrs Trevelyan and held out his arm for her to take. ‘So good of you to call,’ he said to Emily over his shoulder.

  Mrs Trevelyan did not take his arm. She stood to attention as if on a parade ground. ‘Your Lordship,’ she said, with her regiment-commanding voice. ‘Kindly explain what is happening. I will not move until I receive a satisfactory explanation.’

  Lord Bloomingbury was affronted for just a moment. He turned to Darwin.

  ‘Now I see it all, Mr Darwin,’ he said. ‘This was no social visit, was it?’

  ‘No, Your Lordship, I’m afraid it wasn’t,’ said Darwin. ‘We know Tock means to seed that poor woman as a special exhibit for your bizarre collection in exchange for you hiding him and the soulcatchers. But what you don’t know is that Tock intends to release hundreds of them to seed everyone in London.’

  Lord Bloomingbury chuckled. ‘Mr Darwin, my good fellow. What a feverish imagination you have.’

  ‘I speak the truth, sir,’ said Darwin.

  ‘Only half of it, actually,’ said Lord Bloomingbury. ‘We’re going to sell the soulcatchers for ten thousand pounds apiece. It will be the new fashion. Lords and Ladies of distinction will have these magnificent orchids in their parlours—the serving class will provide the hosts.’

  Lord Bloomingbury appeared to grow bored with Darwin. He turned to Tock. ‘Tock, my good fellow,’ he said. ‘Have your contrivance dispose of them all.’

  He made for the door but Mrs Trevelyan gabbed his arm and pulled him back.

  ‘I think not, Your Lordship,’ she said. ‘I haven’t finished with you.’

  ‘But I have finished with you, my dear lady,’ said Lord Bloomingbury. ‘Tock, you stupid little man, unleash the monster and have done with the lot of them. But keep the Higgins woman.’

  Everything happened in a matter of seconds.

  Abigail clambered towards Mrs Trevelyan.

  Lord Bloomingbury lifted his arm to break her grasp. Instead he got Mrs Trevelyan’s elbow square in his face.

  ‘Aaagh,’ he yelled as he fell back. His head and shoulders fell across the railing and a pair of gaping jaws rose up and snapped shut around his head. The crocodile heaved Lord Bloomingbury over the side and into the water.

  Darwin pulled Mrs Trevelyan aside, just missing being bowled over by one of Abigail’s claws as she slammed into the railing. Her knife claw plunged into the water after Lord Bloomingbury as another crocodile rose up and bit down on her shoulder trying to pull her in.

  Mr Flynn ran forward, and with a Herculean effort, he lifted Abigail’s hind legs the next couple of inches needed to tilt her over the railing. The crocodile did the rest and she disappeared in the murky water.

  Julius looked around for Tock. He had pushed Darwin away and dragged Clara around to the far side of the crocodile enclosure.

  ‘Tock,’ said Darwin. ‘I implore you, stop this madness now. Let the woman go.’

  Abigail rose up, sending gallons of black water into the air. It cascaded over everyone like a storm wave, sweeping Mrs Trevelyan and Darwin against the wall, knocking Julius’s feet from under him and sweeping Emily across the marble floor.

  Two crocodiles emerged. One of them snapped its jaws around Abigail’s leg and the other around her head. When she twisted to break away bolts shot from the joints on her neck. She fell against the railing, smashing it.

  The combined din of the monkeys and birds calling out in alarm made the hothouse vibrate.

  Emily got up and ran past Darwin and Mrs Trevelyan on one side of the enclosure and Julius tried to scramble to his feet on the other.

  Tock’s teeth ground together in rage as he hauled Clara up off the floor where the wave had deposited them. They were both soaked through. He jiggled the cage, violently shaking the water off the soulcatcher and held it up to Clara’s face. Its dripping tendrils reached through the bars, almost touching her cheek.

  ‘Stay back,’ said Tock. His words were barely audible above the cacophony of all the animals and Abigail’s thrashing to free herself from the water.

  ‘Let Clara go,’ said Julius.

  Abigail was pulled below the surface again, sending another torrent across the floor.

  ‘Let her go?’ said Tock. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Emily edged closer to Tock.

  Just then one of the crocodiles rose up with Abigail’s head between its jaws. Two more bolts flew out, her neck snapped and her severed head spun through the air. Everyone looked up as it crashed through the ceiling of the hothouse, sending down a shower of glass and branches. It landed on one of the planting boxes, shattering it and toppling the others beside it, sending soil and soulcatcher buds across the floor.

  The birds and monkeys flew and leapt through the gaping hole in the roof and an icy wind swept in. Snow fell onto Abigail’s disembodied head as it lay in the mud of the black water and scattered soil.

  ‘Let Clara go, Tock,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘Just drop the cage and you can leave.’

  ‘Can I? Can I?’ said Tock. ‘How kind you are. How kind.’ He looked across the hothouse at the muddy heap where his buds had been growing and laughed. ‘Come out my friends,’ he said. ‘It’s time to play catch the souls.’

  Julius looked behind him. A large branch had fallen against the aviary and one of the soulcatchers was trying to force its way out through the twisted bars. The others were jostling behind it in a frenzy, flicking their tendrils and trying to prise the bars apart.

  Mr Flynn ran towards them, but slipped in the mud. The first soulcatcher broke through the bars and another leapt out behind it.

  Julius turned to see Emily kick the caged soulcatcher from Tock’s hand.

  ‘Get back, you brat,’ shouted Tock.

  Clara tried to pull her arm away, but Tock gripped her tight. He clutched a clump of Emily’s hair with his other hand and held her face up to his.

  ‘I shall have your soul first,’ he said. ‘I shall. I shall.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ said Emily.

  As Julius rushed to them he saw Emily’s hand slip inside Tock’s coat. Mrs Trevelyan and Darwin edged towards Tock as one of the crocodiles lurched out of the water and fell against the railing on the other side, flattening it completely.

  Tock faltered for an instant. He looked at Emily’s face closely.

  ‘Recognise me do you?’ she said. ‘That’s right. I’m the one in Darwin’s diary.’ Her hand came out from Tock’s coat and she tossed the box of vials over her shoulder. Julius ran to catch it.

  ‘Noooo,’ shouted Tock, loosening his grip on Clara.

  Mrs Trevelyan pulled Clara away. Darwin went to snatch Emily, but Tock pulled her out of his reach and held her over the railing.

  ‘Get back, Darwin,’ he said, and he shook Emily over the choppy black water as if she were a rag doll.

  Emily punched him on the chin, dislodging his face slightly.

  ‘Wait, wait,’ said Julius. A mass of soulcatchers fanned out and scrambled towards them over Abigail’s severed head and the muddy wreckage of the planting boxes.

  Mr Flynn picked up a fallen branch and brandished it like a sword.

  The crocodile clambered over the flattened railing and raised its long snout towards Mr Flynn.

  Julius opened the wooden box. There were four vials inside. He held them up.

  ‘Look, Tock,’ he said. ‘I’ll swap you. Give me Emily for these. You can escape through the wall. We’ll never be able to follow you.’

  ‘I’ll have them anyway,’ said Tock, ‘when my friends have finished with you.’

  Julius looked around. His knees went weak with desperation. Mr Flynn was trying to hold off the advancing soulcatchers on one side and a hungry crocodile on the other with just a piece of wood. In a few more seconds either the soulcatchers or the crocodile would have him.

  A severed hand, which mus
t have belonged to Lord Bloomingbury, bobbed to the surface of the water, and a crocodile’s jaws snapped shut around it. Emily lashed out at Tock. He fought to keep her teetering over the edge.

  Julius looked at the four delicate glass vials in his hand. Clear, green liquid bubbled like champagne inside them. There was nothing he could do. Tock had won. This was the moment before everything would fall apart. This was the moment before the soulcatchers would begin their spread across London, seeding everyone. He knew what would happen—he had seen it all. He had seen the desolation the soulcatchers would cause. The only difference was that this time Tock was going to kill Emily himself, rather than let a soulcatcher slowly steal her soul.

  In his rage Julius wanted to crush the vials in his hand. He wished it could make Tock and the soulcatchers disappear and have done with it.

  Then he had an idea.

  ‘Tock,’ he yelled. ‘Watch this.’

  He turned to the advancing soulcatchers. ‘Mr Flynn, stand back,’ he said.

  And he threw the vials at Abigail’s severed head.

  It took less than a second, but to Julius it all unfolded with an unhurried beauty. The vials tumbled through the falling snow and smashed against Abigail’s razor-scaled jaws. There were four tiny explosions of glass and the green liquid splashed out. As soon as it touched the wet metal it began to fizz and steam. Then, as quick as fire racing across spilt oil, it spread into a circle of hissing vapour that enveloped the mounds of mud and the advancing soulcatchers.

  Mr Flynn hit the crocodile on the snout with his stick and leapt over it as if it was a stile. In the next moment the hissing vapour began to bubble and then everything dissolved and disappeared.

  Julius teetered at the edge of the void looking down on a turquoise sea, far below. The planting boxes, Abigail’s head, the soulcatcher, all the buds and the crocodile gracefully plummeted into it. There was just enough time to see the splashes as they hit the water before the hole closed up and all that was left was a clean marble floor with a few ribbons of vapour rising up.

  Julius spun round. Tock still held Emily over the railing. One of the crocodiles was moving towards her.