by Sharon Sant
‘And leave you two?’ Charlotte squeaked.
Polly glanced at Isaac, who nodded his agreement. ‘I get it. Charlotte takes Annie and gets her away.’ He laid his hands on Charlotte’s shoulders and smiled encouragingly down at her. ‘Me and Poll have escaped worse scrapes than this. We’d find our way back out somehow, but Annie needs someone to take care of her.’
Charlotte stared back at him. She clasped her arm in a shaking hand and nodded. ‘It somehow didn’t feel real until now, our quest. It was dangerous, and it was terrifying, but it was like a game. Now that I see that stairway winding down into the darkness, it’s like looking at the gates of Hell. I don’t know why I think so, but something tells me we’re not all going to come out of this alive. And it frightens me more than anything we’ve faced today, even the wolves.’
‘You don’t want to be talkin’ like that,’ Isaac said gently. ‘Come tomorrow morning we’ll all be eatin’ your mamma’s lovely breakfast, Georgie safe with us, laughing at how scared we all were over nothing, you’ll see.’
‘Isaac…’ Polly nodded a head at the secret entrance. ‘If we stand here chopsin’ any longer we might as well just shout down and announce we’re coming.’
‘Righto, Poll. Let’s go.’ At the first step he turned to Charlotte and smiled. ‘You remember what I said. If you see someone coming you get Annie and you run, as fast as you can, and you don’t come back, not for nothing. Got that?’
Before Charlotte had time to mount the feeblest argument, Isaac and Polly had begun their descent and were swallowed by the dark.
Chapter Twenty-two
They dared not speak as they inched their way as silently and carefully as they could down the steps. But even the lightest tread echoed around them as if to betray their presence, the clammy walls beneath their hands exaggerating a chill that they both already felt in their hearts. There was no light, and it seemed as if Charlotte’s fears might be proved right, that they might just be walking down into the depths of Hell itself as they followed the steps, further and further, the end forever out of sight.
But, after a few silent minutes, the dark seemed just the tiniest bit less dark, and the faint echoes of voices reached their ears. Isaac stopped dead, Polly slamming into him and almost sending them both toppling down the remaining steps.
‘Clotpole,’ she hissed. ‘What are you doin’?’
‘It sounds like singing,’ Isaac breathed back.
‘That means you got to go an’ trip me up?’
‘Why would there be singing?’
Polly was quiet for a moment, straining hard to hear clearly what he was hearing. ‘It ain’t gonna win any favour with the vicar, that’s for sure. I heard better singing from the dogs in the marketplace on a Friday night.’
‘I know,’ Isaac agreed. ‘It sounds more like…’
‘Like chanting,’ Polly finished for him.
‘Like spell casting.’
‘What do you know about spell casting?’
‘Only what gossip I heard on the streets. But folks tell me it sounds like a lot o’ droning on.’
‘Annie don’t sound like that. She sounds beautiful.’
‘Annie’s magic must be different.’
‘Maybe,’ Polly whispered thoughtfully. ‘What do you think it means?’
‘Well, for a start it means there’s someone down here. And I think it means we should probably stay low.’
‘I weren’t going to pop up an’ sing All Things Bright and Beautiful, was I?’
‘Just saying.’
‘Come on…’ Polly moved in front and began to make her way to the source of the dim light. Isaac grabbed her arm and hauled her back. ‘What now?’ she breathed.
‘You’re just going to march in there? We ain’t got a plan and we don’t know what we’re walking into.’
‘No, we ain’t, but I don’t see any other way of finding out. You were the one who wanted to come down; you were the one who said we had to face danger if we was going to save Georgina.’
‘I know that. But now I’m not so sure this is the best way of doin’ it.’
‘The longer we stand here procrastinating the worse things are going to be.’
‘We ain’t procrast… procranitating… whatever that is you just said –’
‘Procrastinating. It means messing about trying to decide what to do.’
‘Well we ain’t. We’re just being careful.’
‘We ain’t got time to be careful!’
‘But Poll –’
Isaac’s argument was cut short by the sound of footsteps coming from the light. He cocked his head for a moment, listening. The footsteps were coming towards them. And there sounded like a lot of them. He grabbed Polly’s arm and yanked her back towards the stairs. She allowed him to lead without protest, apparently understanding his fears and his intentions of escape.
But then a deep voice halted them both in their tracks.
‘You realise that we cannot let you leave this place now?’
‘RUN!’ Isaac shouted, shoving Polly up the stairs and turning to face the darkness, all stealth now pointless. ‘I’ll hold em’ off!’
‘Not ruddy likely!’ Polly yelled back. ‘You fight, I fight!’
‘Poll, this ain’t the time to be stubborn!’
No sooner had Isaac spoken than cloaked figures emerged, now visible in the half light like terrifying visions of the Grim Reaper himself. Isaac felt a hand grab his leg, halting his escape. Almost immediately he was surrounded, cursing as he lashed out. Although he landed a few hits, he was quickly overpowered and in a matter of moments he was held fast.
‘Get out, Poll!’ he roared before rough cloth was stuffed into his mouth, making him choke and his eyes water.
It was near impossible to tell what was going on, but as he was dragged towards the source of the glow and the incessant drone of the chanting he could just make out another scuffle. Polly let out a scream, loud and piercing enough to chill the hardest of hearts, but then all became still. Isaac was dragged away, into a large, stone-walled antechamber, desperately craning behind to see what had become of Polly. She had been caught, of that there was no doubt, he just hoped that she hadn’t been harmed in the process. As he was half-carried, half-dragged, struggling against his captors, along a torch-lined tunnel towards a daunting set of wooden doors, his thoughts turned to Charlotte and Annie, still waiting for them above ground. He could only hope that his and Polly’s shouts had alerted them both early enough to make an escape. It seemed likely that he and Polly would die down here. Perhaps Georgina would die too. But it would all be in vain if not one of them managed to escape the slaughter.
Charlotte paced the room. Polly and Isaac had not been gone for all that long, but it was far too long for her liking. None of them had known what they were heading into, but they had gone regardless, and now Charlotte was angry with herself that she had let them. She should have offered a stronger argument to go with them, she should have stopped them from going at all, she should have led them back to Annie and… she didn’t know what she should have done, and although every decision felt wrong, none felt as wrong as the one she had eventually made. She felt helpless, wretched, tortured by uncertainty and fear. Part of her wanted to run to them, follow wherever they had gone so at least they would be together. But perhaps that was more to make herself feel better than for their sake; she was hardly equipped to save them from any danger that might lurk there. And there was Annie too. Charlotte wasn’t sure how long they had been parted, and she wasn’t even sure if Annie was in any state to know herself, preoccupied as she must be with keeping the dangerous pack they had been foolish enough to bring with them under control, but she was sure that Annie must be struggling now. The icy fist of fear tightened around Charlotte’s heart. What made them think they were strong enough to contain such a force of nature, to use it and bend it to their will? They were children, struggling in the face of insurmountable odds. Perhaps they had been lucky so fa
r. Surely that luck must run out soon?
Charlotte crept to the top of the stairway. She cocked her head, listening to the darkness. She could hear something, a faint hum. What was that? Straining harder, her breath held, she listened again. It sounded like the drone of bees, in and out of the hive the vicar kept in a shaded corner of the churchyard. For the briefest moment Charlotte was transported, back to lazy summer days lying against a mossy gravestone, happy in her own company and daydreaming as she gazed at the clouds scudding across a perfect azure sky. Charlotte lost herself in the memory.
Then came the scream from down below, and without another thought, she ran.
All around him were cages. And from every cage terrified faces peered back at him. Isaac was held fast as Polly appeared, dragged as unceremoniously as he had been, through the wooden doors and into the room. She stared at him, a silent, pleading question in her eyes, her mouth now stuffed with a piece of cloth, as his was. He couldn’t look at her; it was too painful to see the proud girl he knew reduced to this. And he felt responsible for her fate. He should have been smarter, faster, better equipped to protect her. But he had failed her, he had failed them all. His sad gaze turned to the children in the cages lining three walls of the room. How many were there? A hundred, maybe more, it was hard to tell and his brain refused to process the information. At the centre of the room was a stone table, strange symbols carved along the sides. There was a deep pattern etched into the top surface, a sort of tree design, angular branches joining in the middle to create a wide, straight trunk. Isaac looked closer. It formed a channel, to allow something to run from the table and collect in what looked like a gold chalice placed beneath it. A cold shudder suddenly stole his breath as he realised the truth – this was a sacrificial altar. He dared not dwell on what was to be collected in the chalice for fear it would stop his heart there and then. As his gaze returned to the children trapped and awaiting their fate, something else occurred to him. He couldn’t say why the fact had suddenly leapt into his consciousness, but it did. Every child had black hair. So did the infant witch the Brethren had been searching for. There had to be a connection. What was it? Were they sacrificing all these children because they were black haired? But most of the children held here weren’t babies. Perhaps this was part of the ritual; perhaps they simply wanted to be certain. All this took seconds to process, and another realisation quickly followed. He had black hair too. So did Polly. Whatever was about to happen here, Isaac was sure it wasn’t good. He and Polly had unwittingly stumbled into this abominable situation, unfortunate victims of their genes and circumstances and bad timing, and it looked as though they had made themselves part of the ritual too. As quickly as Isaac had worked this out, he wondered if Polly had. His heart sank even further. He had almost convinced himself that he could somehow talk them out of this, but now he realised that there was no hope at all.
‘I’ve never had two such willing victims before,’ a voice boomed from the entrance to the room. A new figure appeared before them, somehow larger, more malevolent. Even with his face obscured by a hood, even without noticing the way every occupant of the room seemed to shrink a little in his presence – even the other hooded figures – there was no mistaking that this was the man in charge. ‘It must be a sign, Brethren. It is a portent that our endeavours are sure to succeed.’
Isaac glanced at Polly. He chewed desperately at the cloth in his mouth, trying to get purchase so he could somehow spit it out and speak. But it was stuck fast and struggling with it only made him choke as it worked into his throat. He coughed and spluttered, catching Polly roll her eyes as she always did when she thought he was being an idiot. Despite the terror, it was a look he knew well and if he had been able to, he would have smiled at it. The Polly he knew, the girl with the courage of a general and more spirit than the army he commanded had not quite given up yet. And while she had hope, he could do too.
The man spoke again. ‘Put them in the cages with the others. And then fetch me the One. We have delayed too long and now all the signs point to success, we must delay no longer. The Queen is dead, her empire vulnerable, and with the help of the Dark Lord we will rise to power. This day, this great sacrifice here, is only the beginning.’
Isaac’s mind raced as he tried desperately to come up with some sort of escape plan. Somewhere, obscured by more pressing thoughts was a recognition – the voice of the man who had ordered their destruction sounded familiar. But he couldn’t place it and he didn’t have the time to worry about it now. Pulling against his captors, he wrenched and twisted, trying to break free. Once he even managed to yank a hand out, but it was immediately caught up again in an iron grip. In a matter of thirty seconds or less, he was thrown into an open cage, glaring at the men who had deposited him so roughly as he picked himself up from the floor, and then at the other children who had stood and watched, wide-eyed with fear as the cage door opened, instead of rushing their captors when they had the opportunity. However brief or foolish a plan it was, Isaac would have done and he knew Polly would have done too. They wanted to get out, didn’t they? They were going to die anyway so they might as well go fighting. With a swift movement, he snatched the cloth from his mouth and tore towards the door but too late – the lock turned and the key was whipped out of sight. He looked across the room to see Polly shoved into a cage on the far side. She looked dazed, as if someone had slapped her in all the commotion. She simply stood and stared at him, cloth still in her mouth.
‘POLL!’ Isaac yelled.
‘Silence!’ One of the hooded figures hissed.
‘Silence yerself!’ Isaac shouted back, slamming the bars of his cage with the flat of his hand. ‘You just wait until you open this! I’ll give you silence!’ His gaze went back to the opposite cage. ‘Polly! If they’ve hurt you, by God I’ll…’
‘ENOUGH!’ the main hooded figure roared. ‘God will not help you now. Only the Dark Lord himself has power in this domain.’
Isaac turned to him. ‘What are you blabbin’ on about? The Dark Lord…’
‘Satan. A power your feeble brain cannot begin to comprehend. Pray to your God, but he won’t save you now.’
‘I don’t know how to pray,’ Isaac said, spitting on the ground in front of him and sneering at the shadowy figure. ‘I ain’t been to church since I were orphaned. And I don’t much care for the way him upstairs looks after me anyways. But I don’t much care for the downstairs fella either. The only things I trust in this world are my wits and my fists. And if you let me out of here you’ll get a taste of the fists alright.’
The hooded figure threw back his head and laughed. It was a laugh of weirdly genuine humour. Isaac raised his eyebrows, taken by surprise at the reaction. ‘Spoken well,’ the man said. ‘It is a pity I will have to kill you.’
Polly’s voice came from the other side of the room. Isaac turned to see that she had now taken her own gag from her mouth and seemed more herself.
‘Mr Finch…’ she said slowly.
And then Isaac knew where he recognised the voice from. It was indeed Mr Finch, the beadle, the man who made sure that orphans found their way to the orphanage. Of course it was. Isaac almost slapped himself for his stupidity. It was only by luck that he himself had escaped the clutches of Mr Finch as a child when he had chosen to hide and eke a living on the streets rather than receive his charity. And now Isaac saw exactly what sort of charity Mr Finch was handing out. How many black haired children had he sent to their deaths over the years? Had he known which ones had magic or had he sent them all regardless of whether they did or didn’t? And the rest of the world had simply turned a blind eye, choosing not to notice as long as they didn’t have to worry about the increasing number of orphans thrown to the mercy of any adult who chose to exploit them, harm them, even kill them, in any way they saw fit.
The man threw back his hood and Isaac saw at once that Polly was right. Mr Finch turned to her and bowed his head in acknowledgment. ‘At your service.’
�
��What are you going to do with us?’ Polly asked.
‘My dear,’ Mr Finch replied amiably, ‘I’d have thought that was obvious. I’m going to kill you all.’
‘Not if I kill you first,’ Isaac growled.
Mr Finch laughed again. ‘It really is a pity about you, young man. You’d have made such an excellent and useful thug in my service.’
‘I would never serve you! I don’t serve no one.’
‘What about Dr Black… oh yes, I quite forgot that he’s not likely to need house staff any longer.’
‘You killed him…’ Isaac hissed. There was no love in his heart for Ernesto Black, but he did owe him a strange kind of loyalty for all the years the doctor had kept him from freezing to death on the streets, and he felt it keenly now.
Mr Finch simply inclined his head.
‘You admit it?’ Polly asked.
‘Why ever would I need to deny it? Who amongst you will live to tell the authorities?’
‘Isaac!’ Polly shouted. He followed the direction of her gaze to see that a new figure had emerged from the doorway, carrying a crying Georgina.
‘She ain’t the babe you’re looking for,’ Isaac shouted, thinking quickly. He needed to stall for time. He wasn’t sure what he would do with that time, but it seemed that any delay in the seemingly inevitable fate that now awaited them was better than nothing. When it came to life and death situations, he knew from experience that a second could change everything.
‘It doesn’t matter. She has magic and she will do just as well. Once we perform this one last ritual the rise to power will be complete and The Dark Lord will have a hold on the world, now and forever. No prophecy and no child, however powerful, will be able to stop him.’
‘But surely it won’t work if you got the wrong baby?’
‘Silence!’
‘It won’t work!’ Isaac turned to the other children in his cage. They looked thin and weak, wide-eyed with terror and unable to meet even Isaac’s challenging gaze. ‘Ain’t you going to fight back? We could take them if we work together!’
