by Robin Jarvis
Up into Veronica's withered face Miss Celandine was compelled to stare, and from that dead mouth came a rasping breath which filled her shrinking nostrils with the reek of lifeless lungs.
Wailing in terror, Miss Celandine's exposed throat quivered and trembled. Then the slaughtering strike came rushing down.
'Get away from her!' a furious voice shrieked.
Before the blade could drink yet more Webster blood, Miss Ursula came running up and threw herself upon that scything arm, using all her might to shove it aside.
By a hair's breadth, the killing blow missed Miss Celandine's neck and at last she wriggled free.
A repugnant hiss issued from the corpse's mouth as it leaped after her, but Miss Ursula jumped forward. Just as Edie Dorkins scurried to the nightmare's heels upon her hands and knees, the woman gave an almighty push.
Backwards the abomination blundered, tumbling over the obstacle which lay in wait behind. A hellish screech ricocheted about the cavern and the creature fell heavily against the weed-wrapped stone of the wellhead.
In a second it had rallied and risen once more. Brandishing the lethal blade, it darted greedy glances at the waiting prey, selecting which would be its first victim.
'We can't stop her!' Miss Celandine wept, scampering towards the gateway. 'She'll kill us all!'
It was then that Edie discovered she was completely alone. Miss Celandine's mewling wails were already echoing through the adjoining chambers and, with a shock, she realised that Miss Ursula had also disappeared. With those glittering black eyes turned full upon her, the girl saw the corpse's sepulchral flesh come prowling closer.
'Get back, you!' the girl growled. 'I warns yer!'
Yet her threats sounded feeble and unfounded, for the unclean darkness which beat from those venomous eyes rooted the child to the spot. There was nothing she could do; her limbs were locked and still the monster advanced. The hairs on the back of Edie's neck prickled when she saw how sharp the rusted blade now appeared and she swallowed helplessly.
Then it pounced.
Yet in that moment, Edie was whisked off the ground and a glimmering light streaked past her.
With unerring accuracy, Miss Ursula hurled the small oil lamp at her dead sister and it exploded at the corpse's feet with a blinding burst of glass and liquid flame.
On to Veronica's bloodstained robe the fuel fires splashed and an instant later the entire garment was ablaze.
'Begone and burn!' Miss Ursula commanded, setting Edie back down.
Vivid, crackling flames were now leaping over the possessed creature, wreathing it in bright, lapping tongues, and a hollow, squalling screech boiled out from the blackening lips.
The long dark hair, which had been Miss Veronica's pride, crinkled, burning away in the devouring heat whilst the wrinkled skin began to roast and smoke.
Yet still the eyes glared out at Ursula and Edie and, though the flames raged about its face, it could see them well enough.
As a writhing pillar of fire, the fiend tottered a wavering zigzag towards the woman and child, fiercely flailing its wasted, fiery arms.
'Quickly!' Miss Ursula told the girl. 'Back this way'
To the wellhead they stumbled, with the burning body chasing after, like a pursuing demon cloaked in flame. From this roaring terror they fled and, shining brighter than ever in that scorching grasp, the spear slashed a crimson web of hellish light.
Columns of twisting, fuliginous smoke poured from the lumbering lantern that had once been Veronica, coiling high into the upper darkness, giving it a turgid, churning density and substance. Within the inferno of that blistering furnace only a charred outline could now be glimpsed. The old woman's bones were tinder dry and the rapacious fires eagerly consumed them.
Glancing backwards, Edie suddenly stopped running.
The fiend's steps were beginning to falter. Torrefied sinews withered and the marrow fluxed from cracked bones, spitting and sizzling in the flames.
'Edith!' Miss Ursula called anxiously:
But the child grinned impishly at her. 'It's finished!' she cried. 'Frazzled—all crispy like!'
The flaring glare in the cavern began to diminish. Like dying candles the bright, licking tongues sputtered as they were quenched. Yet the power which steered that cindered skeleton was not quite beaten.
Swaying from side to side, as though the very effort of binding those blackened bones together was a tremendous strain, the smoking remains reached out a sizzling arm towards the young girl and flung itself forward.
Edie squealed and leaped upon the stone dais to escape the unexpected onslaught. Over the tangled weeds she ran, and the nightmare bolted after her, screeching for her death. Through the woody growth the horror lunged and staggered, but the guttering flames which still sparked about those misshapen limbs leaped into the moss, and immediately the well ignited.
Her clothes singed and smouldering, Edie Dorkins jumped clear as this new blaze roared into existence, sending a sheet of searing, tumultuous fire high into the curling smoke above.
Every dry stem burst into livid life, forming a dazzling pinnacle of flame. High into the age-old darkness the flaring light blasted, banishing the ancient shadows. For the first time in many years the entire, straddling shape of Nirinel could be glimpsed above the towering beacon.
Shielding her face from that blistering funnel of fire, Edie saw, within its seething heart, the animated cadaver stumble and lurch as the mind which drove those charred bones finally wrenched itself free.
Caught in the cremating maelstrom, the blackened form teetered for a moment about the wellhead, then toppled down into the gaping shaft at its centre.
Into the chasm fell the clattering bones, down into the empty deeps.
Suddenly, a violent quaking shook the chamber and, from the echoing regions of that immeasurable gulf, a gigantic ball of boiling flame exploded. Up to the arching height of the World Tree's last surviving root the rumbling cloud rushed, erupting with an ear-splitting discharge of scorching heat and fire-dripping vapour as it stormed against that massive bulk.
Then, abruptly, it was over.
The exiled shadows quickly engulfed their old realm and a hot, squalling wind gusted about the cavern, dispersing the curdling clouds. The air became a blizzard of ash.
Only two of the torches remained alight and a thick layer of soot obscured the wide stone ring of the well.
Moistening her parched lips, Edie darted forward.
A few cherry-glowing embers still hissed and snapped, but the child clambered back on to the dais and ploughed through the choking mantle of fine powder.
The heated stone scalded her knees as she crawled over to the broad, round hole where she stared down into the empty darkness.
'It's gone,' her morose voice resounded from the void's brim.
Behind her, Miss Ursula steepled her forefingers and tried to quell the anguish and panic which had overthrown her usual cold, collected bearing.
'How dare He!' she spat with passion. 'How dare He invade this hallowed place and make a puppet of my sister!'
Edie wrinkled her nose. 'Smells 'orrid in 'ere now,' she stated, swivelling around to disclose a soot-smeared face. 'Like burned bangers—only worser!'
'Ursula!' a timid voice called as Miss Celandine padded back into the cavern, looking warily about her. 'I can't go up the stairs in the dark, not all on my own. Is Veronica gone? Why was she being so beastly?'
It was Edie who answered. 'It were that Woden,' she guessed.
Surveying the wreckage, Miss Ursula nodded tersely. 'Indeed,' she uttered in a voice quivering with barely checked anger. 'The age-old enemy of the Fates was the force behind the peril we have just faced. Did He not manipulate her enough when she was living? At least the shell of her being is out of reach now. Poor Veronica—how we all used her.'
'He'll try again though, won't He?' Edie murmured.
The woman gave an affirming nod. 'Of that there can be no doubt. This was merely His c
alling card, to let me know His endeavours are only beginning. None, save He and I, know just how long this contest has endured. He will balk at nothing to destroy us. That is His only wish.'
Edie gazed back down the ponderous well mouth. 'In Glassenbury, Veronica an' me found a undine. I thought he might've come here to be with us—I asked 'im to, so as the water'd fill up again. Do you think he'll ever show?'
'An undine!' Miss Ursula snorted in disbelief. 'I doubt that, Edith. Their like have long since departed this world.'
'I did find him!' the child asserted. But Miss Ursula was looking beyond her, to a mound of ash and cinders a little distance away.
'Even if you had,' she conceded, 'it would not avail us. The well is dry, Edith, and will always remain so. The time of the sacred waters has passed into memory only. We must find other sources of protection to defend us from our enemy.'
Striding around the wellhead, she lifted a familiar object from the soot, only to drop it almost immediately. Edie stared at the thing and shivered. The spear blade had not fallen into the abyss with Veronica's bones and the girl drew her breath sharply.
'Should I throw it in?' she suggested.
Miss Ursula shook her head. 'It would do no good. Woden will still try to find a way of using it against us. I would feel more secure if this perfidious object were under my scrutiny in The Separate Collection.'
The old woman wrung her hands. ‘I have been careless,' she said. ‘I had thought the defences of my museum could withstand all assaults. Yet His base arts were able to creep through my barriers and seize control of Veronica. How vain and stupid I have been. Better to have left Celandine in charge. What use all those exhibits in The Separate Collection? Powerful and dangerous I have always thought them but look at this—see what He has done. My fortress is weaker than I ever...'
Her despairing voice fell silent as her gaze fell upon Miss Celandine who was still standing by the gateway and yawning widely. Suddenly, Miss Ursula's face lost all trace of her discouraged melancholy and she pulled herself up sharply.
'Of course!' she said with renewed hope. 'After all these years locked away in the museum, the exhibits have become sluggish and inert. Their forces are sleeping. This ennui must cease and the stagnation purged. The enchantments which were once so vigilant must be roused and made strong once more.'
Infected by the old woman's sudden excitement, Edie bounced to her feet. 'How do we do that?' she demanded.
Miss Ursula turned a secretive smile upon her. 'We do not have to do anything, my dear. You shall see. Now come, bring the spear and let us return to the museum—I have a further commission for your obliging policeman.'
With Edie and Miss Celandine hurrying after, Miss Ursula Webster strode from the Chamber of Nirinel and the metal gateway clanged shut behind them.
***
Outside The Wyrd Museum, a river of grey mist poured into the alleyway. The early morning light was weak, and the squat building seemed flat and shapeless beneath the pale disc of the sun which hung low in the dim sky.
Over the cobbles the thick fog flowed, filling the narrow way with a dense, swirling cloud. Suddenly that smoking sea billowed and divided as a hooded figure, wrapped in a mouldering black cloak, drifted towards the entrance.
A thin, whispering laugh issued from the blank shadows beneath the heavy cowl when that hidden face looked upon the remaining bronze figures about the ornate doorway.
'Oh Urdr,' Woden's mellifluous voice murmured. 'This time I shall be the victor. The war will not cease until you and those you harbour are utterly defeated. Do what little you think you can. The Allfather will not be bested by your paltry tricks and somnolent enchantments.'
With ropes of mist winding tightly about him, the enemy of the Nornir sank back into the fog. But, before the blanketing vapour engulfed him, his foot dragged against a fragment of shattered bronze and his laughter sounded once more.
Upon the upturned face of the sculpted Verdandi, he brought his heel crashing down and the metal cracked—snapping in two beneath the callous violence. Then into the smoke his low chuckles melted, and he was gone.
Chapter 4 - An Early Summoning
Mrs Gloria Rosina focused a bleary eye upon her alarm clock and snorted in disgust to learn that it was only twenty-to-six in the morning. An impatient ringing had awoken her but the little clock was not to blame.
Someone was incessantly pressing her doorbell and brutal thoughts whisked through her mind as she hauled herself out of bed. Swearing, she thrust her podgy feet into an icy pair of slippers.
'All right, all right!' her gravelled voice ranted as she heaved herself into her worn dressing gown and bundled out of the bedroom, snatching up her cigarettes and lighter en route.
The landlady of The Bella Vista boarding house was a slovenly, fifty-three-year-old, overbearing widow who suffered no one gladly.
Instead of the familiar surroundings of her bedchamber, this morning her customary coughing fit was barked and expelled in the shabby hallway where cheap prints of London landmarks and exotic views cluttered the walls.
Still the bell rang its urgent summons, and the woman's over-generous bosom heaved with annoyance as she regarded the wobbly outline showing through the frosted glass of the front door. Pulling the belt of her dressing gown to so tight a constriction that her ample figure ballooned around it, she padded down the shabby hallway with her arms formidably folded, an unlit cigarette twitching between her lips.
‘I hear you! I hear you!' she bawled, angrily. 'You'll break the bleedin' bell in a minute.'
The ringing ceased and the landlady grunted as she stooped to unbolt the door, wisely keeping the chain on.
'Better have a flamin' good reason to wake decent people up at this God forsaken...'
She left the sentence unfinished as she opened the door a fraction and saw the tall Chief Inspector upon the step.
'Sorry if I woke you, Madam,' Hargreaves apologised, 'but it is important.'
Mrs Rosina shut the door again to slide the chain off, then opened it fully.
'What is this?' she asked, folding her arms once again. 'A dawn raid? Post office ain't been done over again has it?'
The Chief Inspector cleared his throat. 'Nothing like that,' he assured her. 'I understand you have a Mr Pickering lodging with you. Is that so?'
The woman bristled visibly and she raised her dark eyebrows. ‘I see,' she drawled with tart disdain. 'What's he done?'
'Nothing, I'd just like to have a few words with him, that's all.'
'Look, love, I know it's early but I don't look that green, do I?'
'Is Mr Pickering here or isn't he?'
Mrs Rosina pursed her lips and the cigarette waggled insolently as though it were a substitute tongue.
'You'd better come in, then,' she finally invited.
Removing his cap, the Chief Inspector stepped inside the hall and gazed mildly about him.
'Well, he's not down here,' the landlady was quick to point out. 'Only me and me old mother have those rooms. What sort of a place do you think this is? That Pickering's in Room Four, upstairs. This way.'
Leading the policeman up to the first floor landing, the woman gave a wheezing breath. 'So what do you want him for?' she insisted, blocking the Chief Inspector's progress with her substantial form. 'Got a right to know, ain't I? I don't want to be murdered in me bed.'
The Chief Inspector eyed her restlessly. He did not have time for this tedious woman. 'I have already said that I only wish to speak to your boarder, Madam,' he repeated, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. 'I guarantee that you have nothing to worry about.'
'So you've only come to have a cosy little chat with him—at this time of the morning? You must think I've just got off the boat. Hoping he can help you with your enquiries, is it? We all know what that means, oh yes.'
'I'm sorry, Madam,' Hargreaves interrupted, unsuccessfully attempting to squeeze by her. 'It really is urgent.'
Mrs Rosina sniffed belliger
ently, then revolved like a globe upon the axis of her slippers and trotted to the door marked with a plastic number four.
Using the butt of her lighter, she vented some of her irritation by rapping loudly and calling for the occupant of the room to wake up.
'Hello?' a muffled, sleepy-sounding voice answered. 'What is it?'
'Visitor for you.'
'If you could give me a minute or two to get dressed...'
The woman threw the Chief Inspector a sullen look. 'Hope you've got some of your lads out back—'case he scarpers through the window.'
The corners of Hargreaves' mouth curled into a humouring smile which infuriated her more than ever.
'Wouldn't put anything past him, anyway,' she said sulkily. 'Bit too quiet, if you know what I mean. Doesn't talk much—gives nothing away. Been here a couple of months now, on and off. Right through Christmas an' all, which I thought was downright peculiar.'
Before she could unleash any further spite, in the hope of startling some hint or disclosure from the policeman, the door opened. As she'd been leaning on it, Mrs Rosina nearly fell into the room.
'Austen Pickering?' the Chief Inspector inquired.
A short man, with a high forehead encompassed by an uncombed margin of grizzled hair, looked up at him in drowsy astonishment.
'Inspector Clouseau here wants a word with you,' Mrs Rosina chipped in.
Her lodger blinked at her behind his large spectacles. 'With me?' he asked in surprise. 'Is something the matter?'
'You'd know, I'm sure,' she rejoined in a voice which positively fizzed with acid.
Hargreaves coughed politely. 'It's all right, Sir,' he said. 'I merely wanted a word with you—in private.'
The landlady ground her teeth together, but she was prevented from speaking her mind on this matter by a voice which called to her from downstairs.
'Glor?' came the anxious cry. 'Is that you, Glor?'
Mrs Rosina scrunched up her face in exasperation and hurried to the landing banister, where she leaned over and shouted down, 'Quiet, Mother! Go back to bed.'
