Tales From The Wyrd Museum 3: The Fatal Strand

by Robin Jarvis

  Both of Jack Timms' legs were broken and, from the impossible way it bent in the sleeve of his greatcoat, it looked as though his left arm now had two elbows.

  Only Edie contemplated his piteous screams with a detached coldness. 'Good,' she said severely. 'You deserves that, an' more.'

  Blasting its horn, the train thundered on through the tunnel, but the sound did not fade. Instead it grew louder again, and Neil turned to see a second engine come racing the other way, along the track where he and Josh were crouched.

  Yelling for his life, Neil bolted from inside those deadly lines, hoisting his brother after him. To the arching wall he raced, to Edie Dorkins' side. 'Flatten yourselves against the tunnel!' he shouted.

  But as Neil did the same, he saw that Tick-Tock was still stuck on the rails, screeching and shrieking for help.

  'Get me offa this!' his high, petrified voice pleaded. 'You can't let me die! Not me! Please! Please!'

  Tears of pain and panic gushed from his tiny eyes to mingle with the scarlet juices flowing from his countless wounds. Faced with his imminent demise, the torturer of the Wyrd Infirmary was like a terrified child. 'Help me!' he begged again, stretching his one good arm towards those he had wanted to kill. 'PLEASE!'

  Neil shuddered and even jerked forward, but Edie grabbed him and pulled him back. 'There's nowt you can do!' she told him.

  In agony, Tick-Tock Jack tried to drag himself out of the oncoming train's path. From the rail he heaved himself, but that was as much as he could manage. At that moment, the engine came bursting through the dim dark. The warder flung himself back to lie in the centre of the lines, hoping that the engine and carriages would rumble harmlessly over him.

  Yet, even as the back of his broad head struck the concrete, he caught sight of the person behind the driver's window of that rushing train, and knew he was done for.

  For the briefest of moments, Jack Timms thought he saw in that cabin an elderly, gaunt-faced woman, whose fine white hair curled out from under the cap of her uniform. A solemn smile was traced over her thin lips, and she looked him full in the eyes before the engine rode over his head.

  So was the horrendous Destiny that Miss Ursula Webster had woven for him fulfilled, for the abhorrent warder was caught under the train. Such was the scourging decree of Fate, the man did not die until three whole circuits of the line had been completed. Only then was his unequalled suffering ended.

  Over the children's faces the squares of light from the carriage windows swept swiftly, and then it was gone, shooting off into the distance. Down the tunnel, the warder's tormented howls echoed as the train tore over the track, with him ensnarled beneath.

  Only when no whisper of those abhorrent cries could be heard, did Neil and the others stir. The enemy that they had learned to fear, the agent of Woden, could no longer do them any harm. Now, at the end, Neil felt only pity for Jack Timms.

  Seeing how shaken he was, Edie Dorkins took charge of Josh. 'This way,' she said and, in silence, they resumed the journey down the tunnel.

  There were still other dangers to face.

  Chapter 25 - Reunion And Confrontation

  It was only when four more trains had rocketed by that Neil finally spoke. 'There's a station ahead.'

  Some way in front, the arched gloom became much brighter as a long platform curved into view like an oasis in that desolation of gleaming rails.

  One more train hurtled by and, when it had gone, the children hastened toward the slope which ascended to that orange and cream tiled expanse. Up on to the platform they clambered, exhausted and drained by everything that had happened, and Neil wondered how they must appear to the rest of the world. Begrimed from head to toe, they looked as though they had scaled the inside of every chimney in London. Fortunately, when Neil glanced up and down the platform, he saw that it was deserted and he peered curiously at his watch.

  'Quarter-to-six in the morning,' he murmured. 'Not surprised there's no one here. We've been up all night.'

  Traipsing to the nearest row of seats, he sat Josh down and threw himself beside him under the sign which announced their location as Bethnal Green.

  Having paced a little way up the eerily empty platform, Edie Dorkins turned and a deep frown marked her forehead. 'Don't stop!' she ordered. 'There ain't time!'

  Supporting his head in his hands, Neil stared at her. 'We can't go on,' he groaned. 'I'm not going back to that museum, and there's no way I'm letting Josh anywhere near it.'

  'You must!' the girl cried, stamping her foot. 'It's the only chance we've got—all of us. The Frost Giant'll find the Loom sometime. He might've already. That's more important than anythin'!'

  Neil's fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. It was his father's habitual gesture and the boy shivered when he realised. 'Don't you see?' he declared. 'That's our dad back there. I can't face him again, not the horror he's become. If everything's going to end, then it might as well, because Josh and me have got absolutely nothing left. I'd rather the darkness came while I was out here in the ordinary world, than back in that madhouse.'

  Edie ran to him. 'You don't mean that!' she exclaimed.

  The boy gazed at her, then shook his head. 'It's all right for you,' he said. 'You're barmy Edie Dorkins, the Websters' heir. Well, I'm only human—you might've forgotten about your real parents, but I haven't.'

  'Then I'll go on me own,' she responded.

  'You'll have to,' Neil said hollowly. 'I'm sorry—I just haven't got anything left to give.'

  It was then, when they were at their lowest, that they heard a shuffling footstep descend on to the platform from the station above. The well-wrapped figure of an old woman pattered into view, looking eagerly around her.

  For a moment she seemed to sag with disappointment. Then, when she noticed the children, the newcomer gave a slight gasp and ambled towards them, the tartan shopping bag in her gloved hands swinging jauntily at her side.

  Neil and Edie stared at her as she raised her hand in greeting, but neither of them recognised this early-rising stranger. 'Well!' she called out to them. 'Who'd have thought it, eh?'

  The kindly mother of Gloria Rosina, that slovenly landlady of The Bella, Vista guest house, came shambling over the platform, a delighted smile upon her aged face.

  ‘I never did!' her warm, sweet voice proclaimed. 'Just look at the pair of you—not a day different.'

  Edie and Neil exchanged baffled glances, and the old woman laughed merrily at the blank expression on their faces.

  'You don't remember me, do you?' she chuckled. 'But I know you right enough. Neil—Neil Chapman, how are you, love? And if this isn't little Edie Dorkins—I weren't expectin' you, dear. Didn't make the connection! What a turn up, an' no mistake!'

  The children could only stare back, dumbfounded.

  'Looks like the message were right after all,' the elderly woman sighed. 'Always thought it were. Wouldn't have stayed round here otherwise, not with our sour-faced Glor. Could've gone to live in Canada with Danny. Always asks and, soon as this is done, I'll pack my few bits and take him up on it.'

  Neil shook himself. 'Message?' he prompted. 'What message? How... how do you know us?'

  The old woman's faded green eyes sparkled at them both as she lifted her shopping bag and reached inside. 'Mustn't forget,' she said, becoming serious. 'There's no time for anything in between; it's now what counts. Deadly urgent, ain't it?'

  'What do you know about it?' Edie asked, suspiciously scrutinising the newcomer and noticing that her fur-lined boots were covered with snow.

  The elderly stranger tutted solemnly and brought out a rolled-up piece of pale-blue fabric, printed with small pink roses. It was tied around by a lock of corn-coloured hair.

  'Well,' she said, passing it to Neil, 'Doom is hanging by a thread, ain't it? Only you can stop it, that's what it says. You've got to get a move on, ain't you?'

  Taking the scrap of cloth from her, Neil handed the binding curl to Edie who took it in trembling fingers, recogni
sing it at once. Taking a deep breath, the boy unfurled the material and there, in a wavering, underlined script that had bled slightly into the pale, rosy buds, was written the day's date, exact time—even the place: Bethnal Green Underground Station, Platform Two. Then, beneath those directions, he read aloud for Edie's benefit:

  To Neil Chapman

  The Doom of the world is hanging by the slenderest of threads. (I always wanted to say that, but Ursula beat me to it every time!)

  Firstly, I should say that this is very naughty, but Edward made me do it—he did. He said if I knew, then I should tell, but I daren't tell Ursula because she'd be so cross with me, she would. Not supposed to do any knitting on my own, to have a peep and see what'll happen, but I can't help it if Veronica casts on for me. That's how I know—I saw it all! Well, bits of it and that's as good as!

  If you don't go back into the museum, then chaos and darkness will reign and it will be too, too terrible. Edith really does need you, she can't do it by herself.

  Edward's saying for me to get on with it, and I'd better before I have to leave. I was just about to sew up the nice new version of him when I let slip about what I had seen. He got so angry when I said I couldn't tell anyone and that he mustn't either, so that's why he made me write this note. Go back to our museum. Do what needs to be done. Help Edith. Tour presence is vital to the Destiny of everything!

  Good luck, dear—to both of you.

  C.

  Neil looked up from the pale-patterned fabric. His voice had fallen to a murmur. 'Where did you get this?' he asked.

  The elderly messenger gave him a gentle smile, and Neil found that there was indeed something familiar about that aged mouth and, although the eyes had dimmed with the passing years, he felt certain that he had seen the light which shone there before.

  'Found it in amongst his kapok,' she said. 'There it was, written on a piece of cloth cut from the best eiderdown.'

  Returning her attention to the bag, she reached inside and a sublime grin flashed across her face. 'There were times when I thought I must be off my rocker for believin' it at all, but somethin' told me I was right to. Always knew there was more to what happened back then, too many things that couldn't be explained. Anyway, I waited all these years and now here you are. I suppose on this occasion it was me who travelled through time, although I did it the usual way. But you did it back then to save me, so I could do no less.'

  'Save you...?' the boy repeated.

  The elderly woman laughed. 'There's someone 'ere you'll want to see again,' she said.

  Out of the shopping bag she brought an old, shabby-looking object and, when he saw it, a cry burst from Neil's mouth. 'It can't be!'

  There, dangling in her hand, was a one-armed Teddy bear. Tears welled up in the boy's eyes as he reached out to the toy that had once accompanied him back to the London of the Second World War.

  'Ted!' he gasped.

  Although the woolly fur was dustier than when he had last seen it, the Teddy bear was exactly as he remembered. Within that assortment of sheepskin and wadding, the soul of the American airman, Angelo Signorelli, had been imprisoned. Together, they had defeated Belial, the demon that had escaped from The Separate Collection, and, on the toy's fur, there were still frazzled patches to show where he had been singed in that desperate conflict.

  Now, looking at that slightly mournful expression sewn into the bear's face, Neil could almost hear the GI's voice again. 'I got faith in ya, kid—hang on in there!'

  The boy looked up sharply. Was that brash American accent really only inside his head?

  'You and that Teddy,' the old woman remarked, breaking in on his thoughts. 'Always was mad about it. Over fifty years I've waited for that boy my dad found in the bomb-site to return. Been a long time, Neil.'

  Raising his eyes from Ted, Neil regarded the stranger again and at last he knew her. 'Jean!' he breathed. 'Jean Evans!'

  The older version of the lovely woman, whom Neil and Ted had journeyed into the past to save, grinned back at him. The intervening years had left their mark, but the spirit of that young, beautiful creature still burned within her.

  'Like I said,' she began, 'we don't have the fortnight it'd take to explain what's happened in between. Have you decided what you're going to do, Neil?'

  'What did you mean when you said you were now saving me?' he asked her.

  'Isn't it obvious? If you don't go back to that museum then you'll die, Neil. We all will.'

  The boy stared back at the Teddy bear and, for an instant, imagined he saw that old, sparkling intelligence glimmer deep within those glass eyes.

  'What else can I do?' he announced with fresh determination. 'Edie and me are going back—right now.'

  'Then let's get ourselves outside,' Jean said. 'By the looks of things, I don't think there's hardly any time left.'

  Wondering at her words, the children roused Josh and followed her up to the concourse of the station, before climbing up the same stairs where Jean's vindictive and spiteful grandmother had died in the war.

  'The year after Sandy, my husband, came back from the prison camp, I had our Gloria,' she told Neil. 'Turned out just like that mean old baggage, she did. Took after Ma Stokes in everything, 'ceptin' Glor's a lot fatter. I'll be glad to go and live with Daniel now, and get out of her way.'

  Mounting those steps, Neil and Edie swiftly discovered that the winter which raged about The Wyrd Museum had spread to the whole of the East End. A scouring wind, filled with swirling snow, blasted into the stairwell from the entrance above, and emerging on to the pavement, the children could hardly believe the transformation.

  Wherever they looked, their gaze was dazzled by a blank, glaring whiteness. Bethnal Green was in the merciless grip of severe Arctic weather. The roads were devoid of traffic, submerged beneath frozen dunes, and the doorways of snow-swaddled buildings were blockaded by high, sweeping drifts. Into this desolation the small group surfaced, where the howl of the abrasive gale was the only sound.

  Edie Dorkins glanced up at the slate-coloured sky. 'The lords of the ice an' dark,' she muttered. 'With Nirinel gone, their power's stronger than ever. If the Loom's smashed and they get free, it'll be 'undred times worse than this.'

  Neil looked at her worriedly. 'Do we stand any chance at all?' he asked.

  The girl pushed her hand into the plunder-filled pocket of her coat where her fingers met with something small and round, and her eyes glittered when she answered him. 'I reckon so,' she said. 'A small 'un, if I'm right.'

  Neil considered her doubtfully, then turned to Jean and shouted above the battering wind. 'Will you look after Josh until... well...'

  The elderly woman took the toddler's hand in hers. 'You just go and do what you have to,' she replied. 'He'll be safe with me.'

  'You'd better take this too,' the boy called, handing Ted back to her.

  Jean leaned forward and planted a kiss upon the boy's forehead.

  'How did you know?' he asked.

  'Know what, love?'

  'About me and Ted, going back to save you.'

  The lovely smile creased her face again, but she did not answer the question. 'I'll see you again when all this is over,' she promised. 'Now, hurry along and remember what he said. "Hang on in there." You can do this.'

  Neil could only gape at the woman. Then, giving his brother a final hug, he took a resolute breath and hastened after Edie, who was already trudging her way over the thickly-layered roads, commencing the journey back towards The Wyrd Museum.

  Standing by the entrance of the tube station, Jean Evans and Josh waited a moment longer, then the old woman turned and led the four-year-old to her daughter's Bed and Breakfast.

  His head sticking out of the shopping bag, Ted's glass eyes stared back at the glaring scene until the figures of Neil and Edie were hidden from sight by the obscuring snowfall. Where the frozen flakes landed upon the bear's cheeks, they melted to form two trickles of water down his woolly fur.

  Over Bethnal G
reen the glacial winter deepened.

  ***

  Through the white, deserted streets, Edie and Neil laboured, their legs aching and their faces numb with the hideous cold. Down every narrow way the blizzard blew but, fighting against it, they eventually saw the turrets and spires of The Wyrd Museum rearing behind the rooftops and rising up into the freezing mists.

  Locked within a covering of thick, impenetrable ice, the ancient building bore the full brunt of that lashing, frost-fuelled tempest. Whirling the weather vanes, the gales tore around the roof to go raging about the solid, square walls and scream in the rear courtyard. The icicles which thrust from the gutters now stretched all the way to the ground, and had become mighty pillars. It made the museum look like a palace of cold, wherein the lords of the ice and dark had already made their formidable stronghold.

  Down Well Lane the children battled, the storm wailing in their ears. Yet slithering over the rippled banks of ice to turn into the alleyway at the front of the museum, they halted abruptly. Filling that cramped path was a gathering of nearly thirty people. All were well wrapped in warm winter clothing and every scarf-bound face was turned to the doorway as though they were aware that something of the utmost importance was occurring inside that forbidding place. It was as if they were keeping a silent vigil outside the building, waiting upon the momentous events which were about to befall.

  Stumbling forward, Neil and Edie stared at them curiously, astonished by their presence. They were a strange assembly and, by the looks of them, from all walks of life. The only factor which linked them, as far as Neil could see, was that they had chosen to congregate outside The Wyrd Museum at this, the critical hour of Doom.

  Then he understood. 'The well wishers,' he muttered.

  These were the people he had seen when he had first moved into the building, those few descendants of the race of Askar over whom the mother of the Webster sisters had ruled as queen. In this time, Aidan had been their leader, and to this place every year they came in pilgrimage to lay flowers about the broken drinking fountain.