Simon’s gaze crept along a spindly neck and up to the monster’s head. His mouth fell open. The demon possessed the face of a beautiful young woman! She had a flawless, ivory complexion with just a hint of blood beneath the cheeks. Full lips, a cute little nose and a pair of bright green eyes completed the picture. Only when Miss Creekley began to speak was the illusion lost. Her lips drew back and revealed a set of hairy mandibles. Simon shuddered. He imagined kissing her, his lips brushing against those lethal spider-fangs.
‘Ensnare him,’ Mother Inglethorpe commanded.
Miss Creekley reared up onto her back legs. The pulsating thorax segment of her body jutted forward. She pressed her spinnerets against the ground and thick strands of webbing lashed out towards Sidney Tinsmouth. Within seconds, he had been spun into a sturdy cocoon with only his face still visible. Miss Creekley jerked the webbing and the magician toppled backwards. She dragged him across the ground and laid him at her mistress’s feet.
‘Now,’ Mother Inglethorpe said, ‘you will tell me all you know of the Elders’ weapon. If you do, I will make your death an easy one.’
The demon stood over Tinsmouth, drool dripping from its fangs.
‘Sssthh, let me taste him, miissstress,’ the thing purred.
‘Do you remember how Miss Creekley’s poison burns?’ Mother Inglethorpe asked. ‘How it will eat through your organs like acid? How it will fry your eyes out of your head? Speak, or you will know the agony of her bite.’
‘Your threats are toothless,’ Tinsmouth said, ‘and so is your monster.’
His eyes blazed and Miss Creekley let loose a deafening scream. Those hideous fangs fell from her mouth, as if they had been wrenched out by an invisible dentist.
‘How is this possible?’ Esther cried. ‘Where is your demon? The Elders must have returned him to you. Where is Mr Smythe … ?’
Mother Inglethorpe stopped dead. She could do nothing but watch as the web cocoon started to wither and fall away. Tinsmouth rose and brushed the last of the decayed rope from his body.
‘Smythe was returned to the hell fires years ago,’ he said. ‘My magic is untainted by demonkind. The power I now wield is the natural magic of the earth. It is Oldcraft.’
‘Fairy stories! Lunacy!’ Inglethorpe shrieked.
‘Truth.’ Tinsmouth reached out to his enemy. ‘I can help you, Esther.’
The old woman looked from her familiar to her old pupil.
‘Magic without demons? Is it possible?’ She stifled a sob. ‘I have committed so many foul acts, destroyed so many lives. Can there really be forgiveness for all my sins?’
Terror washed across Miss Creekley’s pretty face.
‘Miiissstress, what are you ssssaying? You know only I can grant your powersss.’
‘Don’t listen to her,’ Tinsmouth said. ‘Honestly, Esther, I don’t know if our sins can be forgiven, but let us try and find out together. Let me help you, as I was helped.’
Mother Inglethorpe stepped towards Tinsmouth. She held out her hands to him.
‘And my magic?’
‘You will find it anew,’ he said. ‘A better, purer magic.’
‘Miiissstresss!’
‘You promise?’
Tinsmouth took her hand. ‘I promise.’
‘You’re a fool!’
The witch wiped the phoney tears from her face. It seemed to Simon as he watched that Tinsmouth made no move to defend himself. He simply stood back and closed his eyes. Energy crackled between Mother Inglethorpe’s fingers and she took her aim. The blast hit Tinsmouth and a large smoking hole appeared in his chest. He fell as if all the bones and muscles had been taken out of his body.
Simon laid Jake down on the cobbles. The witch had her back turned and did not see the boy emerge from the alley. Fists clenched, he pounded across the pavement. Something deep inside started to scream at him, howling and protesting against what he planned to do. It did not want him to help Tinsmouth. Instead, he felt that what it most desired was for him to join Mother Inglethorpe in her destruction of the man. Simon stopped. What was happening to him?
Tinsmouth caught sight of Simon. His fingers twitched and a small blue light danced into the air. It flew towards the boy and disappeared into his mouth. Like a string puppet, Simon was plucked a few centimetres from the ground. The toes of his trainers scraped the road and he was dragged back into the alley. He tried to call out but his voice had been hushed.
Misunderstanding the nature of the spell, Mother Inglethorpe laughed.
‘Was that your great Oldcraft magic? Pathetic! Your spells are illusions and your hand-wringing grows tiresome. I do not believe that the Elders would ever have told an insect like you the secret of their weapon … Did you say something? Speak up!’
Tinsmouth struggled to breathe. His skin had turned a deathly white. It took all his energy to speak.
‘I forgive you.’
A look of disgust bunched the old witch’s features. She summoned Miss Creekley to her and hobbled out of the alley.
The moment she left, Jake woke from his slumbers and Simon found that he could move again. By the time they reached Sidney Tinsmouth the darkness had retreated and the summer sun was shining down once more.
Sidney looked up into the light, his expression calm, peaceful.
‘Jake, get on your phone,’ Simon instructed. ‘Call an ambulance.’
Jake walked away in search of a signal. Simon squatted beside Tinsmouth. The wound at his chest was deep, ragged. The man shuddered and coughed up a mouthful of blood.
‘Hold on. The ambulance will be here soon.’
‘This is a magical wound,’ Tinsmouth gasped, ‘their medicine cannot help me.’
Simon took his hand. ‘Why didn’t you defend yourself?’
‘No time. Not after I’d cast the spell on you.’
‘There was no need for that. I can take care of myself.’
‘It’s true, you are very powerful.’ A terrible shudder ran through Tinsmouth’s body. ‘Very powerful. But you must control your nature. It will be hard, I know that, but you must try. Don’t—don’t betray him … ’ Tinsmouth turned and looked at Jake. ‘Be true to the boy and to yourself. I’ll be watching…’
His eyes fixed on an invisible figure standing in the doorway of the magic shop. Tears rolled down his face as he recognized the ghost. He held out his hands, as if waiting for someone to pick him up. To raise him to the light.
‘She has come for me,’ he said. ‘Am I forgiven?’
Jake ran back, the mobile phone clenched in his fist.
‘Ambulance is on its way.’
Simon closed the magician’s eyes.
‘He’s gone.’
The train rattled through the night, its destination the tiny village of Hobarron’s Hollow.
‘You shouldn’t go back,’ Simon said.
Jake stared out of the window. Trying to ignore his pale reflection, he watched the black hedgerows flash by.
‘I have to.’
‘Why?’
‘For the same reason you saved me from Tobias Quilp and Mr Pinch,’ Jake said. ‘Because it’s the right thing to do.’
‘Don’t be so simplistic,’ Simon argued, ‘we’re talking about life and death here.’
‘Tomorrow we may all be dead.’
‘We don’t know that. All I’ve heard so far is vague prophecies and rumours. Maybe the Door will hold, maybe the demons won’t get through. And even if they do, who’s to say they’ll be strong enough to take over the world? There’s only one certainty I’ve heard—if you go back, the Elders will sacrifice you.’
‘Sacrifices have already been made. My mum, my dad, Sidney Tinsmouth, you … ’
‘And they will all have been for nothing, if you go back.’
‘Simon, I have to,’ Jake repeated.
‘Why? Because that poor man said you were the weapon? Jake, he was crazy with guilt and grief. He didn’t know what he was saying. Anyway, that thing you described to me—t
hat box of wires—“the Incu”—that is the weapon. Must be.’
‘I can’t explain it,’ said Jake, ‘but what he said feels right. I am the weapon. Maybe I’m descended in some way from the Witchfinder. Maybe that’s why I’ve dreamed about him.’
‘OK, let’s say you are the weapon. From what you’ve told me, the Elders and your dad have said that “you” don’t work. You’re offline, buddy. Fritzed. Defunct. So what good are you anyway?’
The wheels clattered on the track. Dark shapes flew past the window.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Jake said at last. ‘Maybe Tinsmouth was crazy; maybe I’m crazy, wanting to return to the Hollow. But the Demontide is going to happen and I have to try and stop it. If I don’t, if I run away, I’ll have betrayed my mother and father.’
‘Your dad told you never to go to the Hollow.’
‘I will have betrayed what was important to them. They stood against the darkness, Simon. I have to stand against it too.’
Simon crossed his arms and slumped back into his seat.
‘No point arguing with an idiot,’ he mumbled. Then a grin spread across his face. ‘Oh well, as long as there’s a chance of death by witchcraft, I guess you better count me in!’
‘Thanks,’ Jake said in a quiet voice. He reached over and gripped his friend’s shoulder. ‘It means a lot, having you with me.’
‘Nowhere I’d rather be … ’
A shape brushed past the window.
‘What the hell?’
Thwish, thwish, thwish.
Human forms swept by, hurtling faster than the train, rocketing through the night. Their capes spread out behind them like dark wings. Jake snapped his fingers.
‘Quickly, the map.’
Simon took the Ordnance Survey map they had brought with them out of his bag. He spread it across one of the empty seats. Jake leaned over and scanned the area. He jabbed his finger at a thin belt of green heading west from the coastal village of Hobarron’s Hollow. It was marked ‘Wykely Woods’.
‘We were too busy gabbing to notice—we’re here.’
Simon’s hand shot up to the emergency stop cord. The brakes squealed, the wheels screeched, and the boys were jolted back into their seats. The lights flickered. In the snatches of darkness, they glimpsed another shadow shoot past the train. The ticket collector’s angry tones echoed down the carriage.
‘There’s a fifty pound fine for misuse of the cord, you know? Who pulled it?’
His gallery of suspects was limited: Jake and Simon were the only passengers. Neither responded to his interrogation. Simon stuffed the map into his bag and opened the carriage door. The boys jumped down onto the track, vaulted a fence and started running across the open field beyond. The ticket collector stood in the doorway, his face an ugly shade of purple.
‘Hooligans!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll be contacting the police as soon as we get to Hobarron’s … What the—?!’
All the anger and outrage drained from the man. The sight that greeted his eyes sent him reeling back into the carriage. He dropped into a seat and, like a wide-eyed schoolboy, pressed his face against the window. It was a hallucination. Had to be. That tuna sandwich he had bought from the canteen at teatime had tasted a bit iffy. He slapped his face, rubbed his eyes, but the illusion persisted.
Two boys running across a moon-drenched field, and above them …
Dark forms flying through the night sky. Like witches from a fairy story.
Chapter 22
Slaughter at Steerpike Bridge
Like a colony of bats, the witches passed across the face of the moon. They flew in tight formation, a dozen perhaps, all making for the bank of trees that marked the edge of Wykely Woods. With minds fixed upon their destination they did not notice the figures that tracked their flight.
Jake’s eyes never left the Coven—it seemed that these witches did not ride broomsticks; their transports were far more grisly and unusual. Three metres or so in length, the thick-bodied snakes curled and twisted beneath their riders. One of the witches swooped down to the tree line, and Jake saw that the bit of a harness had been fitted into the snake’s mouth. The sight of the creature stirred the pages of his dark catalogue. He had read somewhere that marshland witches used to shape snakes out of peat and ride them across the water. These monsters must be a variation on that old legend.
One by one, the snakes and their riders disappeared between the trees. Jake and Simon reached the forest minutes later. Simon took out the map.
‘Steerpike Bridge is about a mile east of here.’
They set off again.
Tree boughs came together overhead and formed a green canopy that shut out the moon. The beam of the boys’ torches provided the only light. Their feet thumped across the sun-hardened ground and Jake’s mind raced ahead of him.
What would he do when he reached Steerpike Bridge? His rescue idea had been to stop the convoy by creating some kind of diversion. While Simon distracted the Elders, Jake would try to free his father. It had been a vague plan at best, and now there was the added complication of witches and flying snake monsters! What was the Coven doing here?
‘There’s the road!’ Simon whispered. ‘The bridge can’t be far.’
The boys slowed to a trot. They kept to the shelter of the forest and followed the road for another five hundred metres. Gradually it began to widen and cut further into the forest. A watery chuckle told them that they were approaching the river that ran under Steerpike Bridge. Simon raised his arm and barred Jake’s way.
‘Kill the torches. There’re people up ahead.’
He was right. Huddled together on the old bow-backed bridge, ten or more cloaked figures waited. Simon jerked his head sideways and they moved on, careful to avoid the telltale crunch of twigs underfoot. They stopped a good distance away from the group.
‘Elders,’ Jake whispered. ‘But where’s the Coven?’
‘They won’t be far.’ Simon checked his watch. ‘Ten to midnight. Are we sticking to that crazy-ass plan of yours?’
‘Unless you can think of something better?’
The minutes passed with agonizing slowness. Every rustle from the forest, every call of a night bird tore at Jake’s nerves. The Elders on the bridge, although more composed, often snapped their heads in the direction of the forest sounds. Bit by bit, Jake’s eyes became accustomed to the darkness. He could make out the black and silver thread of the river running nearby—watched it slip into the stone mouth of the tunnel …
His mind shifted to the bridge at the Closedown Canal. The tunnel beneath which true evil had lurked. Jake’s fingers tingled.
Simon grasped his shoulder. ‘They’re coming.’
The sound of the convoy rumbled towards them. The Elders stood up a little straighter and formed two lines on either side of the bridge. Headlights blinked between the trees.
Jake turned to Simon, his face horribly pale.
‘It’s a trap.’
‘What? Jake, what’re you doing … ?!’
Jake broke cover just as the first armour-plated Mercedes arrived on the scene. Not a hint of panic showed on the driver’s face as he swung the car to the right, avoiding Jake by inches. A chorus of screeching brakes sang out from the other vehicles. The passenger door of the first car opened and the grim figure of Dr Holmwood emerged.
‘Hello, my boy. I wondered if we’d see you tonight … ’
‘Get them off the bridge!’ Jake shouted.
He spun round and waved at the Elders, still motionless on Steerpike Bridge.
‘Get away from there!’ He turned back to Holmwood. ‘The Coven, I can sense them. They’re under the brid—’
The explosion swallowed Jake’s warning.
A pillar of blinding white light tore out from beneath the bridge. The blast knocked Jake to his knees and bent him backwards, like a stalk of corn flattened by the wind. His skin crackled under the liquid fire of the explosion. The white light fell back and a hellish scene of burning trees an
d broken bodies came into view. The driver of the car that had swerved to avoid Jake sat upon the ground and cradled the arm that had been blasted from his shoulder. A man ran into the forest, screaming, every inch of his body ablaze. Large red pools glinted in the firelight and gore and body parts littered the forest road. Without counting each limb it was difficult to tell how many of the Elders had died. Certainly everyone on the bridge must have perished.
Jake tried to get to his feet but the pain was too great. He looked down at his hands. No longer pale, his skin was now a molten mass of black and red. Fear and despair shivered inside him.
This was the end.
‘Over here! I’ve found him!’
A man’s voice, cool and cultured. Jake managed to look up into a grandfatherly face, the cheeks cracked with burst blood vessels. The man wore a patch over one eye. In his right hand he held a length of hardened peat that had been sculpted into the shape of a serpent.
Mother Inglethorpe loomed into view.
‘Do your best to heal him, Montague,’ she instructed. ‘There’ll be little point in the Master torturing the child if he’s already half-dead. I’ll get someone to retrieve Adam Harker and follow you back to Yaga Passage.’
The man called Montague crouched beside Jake. He held his hand over the boy’s scorched features and a faint red glow flowed from his palm. Deliciously cool, the magic spread like a mask across Jake’s face and began to ease the pain and heal the burns. As his vision cleared, Jake could make out the figures on the ground all around him.
‘M-my friend, Simon. Please, find him, Hel-help him. And the others?’ he pleaded.
‘Don’t push your luck,’ Montague said. ‘Healing of any kind goes against my nature, but Esther’s right—we must make you presentable for Master Crowden. Now, don’t try to touch your face, the mask will fall away when the magic’s done its work … ’
‘Please—they’re hurt. They’re dying.’
‘Yes, rather wonderful, isn’t it?’
His spell almost complete, Ambrose Montague grasped his patient by the scruff of the neck and lifted him from the ground. One long white finger pointed towards the sufferers.
Dawn of the Demontide Page 20
