The Wolfstone Curse

by Justin Richards

  Then they came to the Crystal Room.

  “The Crystal Room dates back to a time when the villagers believed that the palace and its occupants were cursed,” Ludmilla explained as she led them along yet another wide corridor. Windows on either side gave views of the formal gardens outside. The sun was an orange disc hovering above the horizon.

  “In the nineteenth century, the villagers even tried to burn down the palace. They marched on it with burning torches.”

  “Flaming peasants,” Carys whispered, making Peter smile.

  “Described as the Eighth Wonder of the World, there was nothing quite like the Crystal Room anywhere else in all the Russias… In all the world,” Ludmilla announced proudly. She had stopped outside a set of large double doors that were braced with silver. “And here it is.”

  So saying, she threw open the doors and stepped aside to allow the tourists in.

  The room was an empty shell. The walls were bare stone, scored and scratched with the marks of the tools the Nazis had used to prise away the crystal. Like claw marks down the walls.

  The other tourists murmured with disappointment as Ludmilla explained how the retreating Nazis had taken the crystal. “But close your eyes and imagine how it was,” she went on. “Imagine this whole room lined with crystal – even the floor and the ceiling. And it didn’t stop there. The large central table and the chairs, even the chandeliers, the fittings were all fashioned from crystal.”

  Now the tourists were more interested, walking slowly around the room, trying to get an idea of what it might have been like.

  “And not just any crystal,” Ludmilla told them. “It was a milky, quartz-like crystal that glittered as if backed or suffused with silver. With the hundred flickering candles that lit the room, the effect must have been quite startlingly beautiful.”

  Carys nudged Peter, looking pointedly across the huge room.

  “I’ve seen it,” he assured her.

  Set into one wall, built into the structure itself, was a standing stone. The surface glittered in the harsh electric light that had long-since replaced the candles and chandeliers.

  “Just like in the cellar room at Wolfstone Manor,” Carys said.

  Ludmilla joined them. “Beautiful, is it not?” she said. “It is called the Lonely Stone. Perhaps it was always here, or it is possible that the stone was brought from the Vrolask Circle to be a focal point. Most of the stones, sadly, have been removed over time.”

  “Was it covered by the crystal walls?” Carys asked.

  Ludmilla shrugged. “Exactly how the room looked, we shall never know.” She turned to include the other tourists in her explanation. “Vrolask was in the direct path of the German advance in Operation Barbarossa when Hitler sent his troops on their misguided and ill-fated invasion of Russia.”

  The few Germans exchanged glances at this, but they made no comment. They probably agreed with the sentiment, Peter thought.

  “Again – remarkably – this palace was left virtually intact,” Ludmilla said. “But when the German army retreated, they did take one trophy with them. This Crystal Room – in its entirety. The liberating Russian soldiers found just this chamber of stone, stripped of the famous crystal. As you see it now.”

  “So, what happened to it, miss?” an American lady asked.

  “Perhaps the crystal was broken up. It must have been very fragile. Certainly, no part of the room has ever been seen since the Germans retreated. All we have left to help us imagine its strange beauty and power are a few eyewitness descriptions, the myths of the Sword of Destiny, and one poor-quality black and white photograph that hardly does the legend justice…” She shook her head sadly. “After so many years, it is inconceivable that any trace of the magnificent Crystal Room will ever be found…”

  Ludmilla moved them quickly on. It was getting late, and she insisted they would want to see the grounds before the light faded.

  Peter knew exactly where the Crystal Room had ended up – it was described in Carys’s grandfather’s journal. But there was one question he was keen to ask. In the event, Carys beat him to it.

  “What’s this ‘Sword of Destiny’ you mentioned?” she asked.

  They were making their way back through the palace towards the main entrance. Ludmilla explained as they walked.

  “The Sword of Destiny is a legend, a myth, a story. It was said to be made from the same crystal as the rest of the room.”

  “But you said the crystal was fragile,” Peter reminded her. “Could you actually make a sword out of it?”

  “Some accounts suggest the crystal encased a silver blade.”

  Peter looked at Carys, and saw she was staring back at him. She gave the faintest nod. The sword described in the journal. The sword Acer had used against the wolf.

  “It was this sword that Count Alexander Grishko apparently used to dispatch his dinner guests,” Ludmilla told them. There was a murmuring of interest from the group, and she paused in the entrance hall to finish the story.

  “Legend tells how the count would invite villagers he suspected might be witches or demons, warlocks or devils, to dine with him in the Crystal Room. If they refused, they were burned by Alexander’s soldiers. If they accepted, Alexander watched them carefully, for any hint of demonic behaviour.”

  One of the American men laughed. “No demon would be stupid enough to give himself away.”

  “It is just a story. But it is said that the room had the power to reveal a monster, to draw out its true form. And at the first sign of change, their host – the count – would strike the villager’s head from their shoulders with a single mighty blow.”

  “Well,” the American said, “I guess that as trial by ordeal goes, it’s probably as scientific as the ducking stool.”

  “A silver and crystal sword designed to kill demons and monsters,” Carys said to Peter. “Interesting, don’t you think?” She leaned closer. “There’s something else you need to know. Something Mum told me. She said I could show you the journal because…” She broke off.

  “Because – because what?”

  But Carys was staring past Peter. “What’s going on there?”

  The tour group backed away as two uniformed security guards escorted a woman to the door. The guards were practically dragging her along as she shouted back over her shoulder.

  The woman pulled an arm free from one of the guards as she passed close to Peter and Carys. She was middle-aged, her face lined with worry and hardship. Her greying hair spilled out from underneath a cotton headscarf, and her clothes were faded and patched. She clutched at Carys, speaking quickly and urgently, her eyes wide and her cheeks streaked with tears.

  Carys looked at Peter, shocked and anxious. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she told the woman. “I don’t understand.”

  “What’s going on?” the American man who’d joked about ducking stools demanded.

  “Local woman,” Ludmilla said. She spoke quickly in Russian to the guards who were propelling the woman towards the door. She reached back at Carys, but was pulled quickly away.

  “She is upset,” Ludmilla said as the woman disappeared through the main door. “She worked here, but has lost her job. She is angry. She worked in the kitchens, but was found stealing food. There really is no need for that; Einzel Industries feeds all its employees very well.”

  “And their families?” Carys asked.

  Ludmilla ignored the question. “Now, please, you must see the palace grounds. They are quite spectacular.” Flustered, she ushered them outside.

  An elderly American woman caught Carys’s arm as she and Peter followed the others. “You were right to ask about the families,” she said quietly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I speak a bit of Russian. That woman wasn’t complaining about losing her job.”

  “What then?” Peter asked.

  “She was asking about her son. “I know you took him,” that’s what she said. “I know what you will do to him,
to my only son. I just want him back.” She wasn’t angry, she was desperate. And she was scared.”

  The tour of the grounds was by minibus. Ludmilla pointed out the stable block, the lake, and various outbuildings and interesting features of the grounds. A steam train stood in a railway siding, thick smoke billowing from its funnel.

  “Einzel Industries has its own branch line,” Ludmilla explained. “No passenger service, I’m afraid, or you could have come right into the grounds. It is for shipping out products and bringing in supplies.”

  Peter and Carys sat at the back of the minibus together. They were more interested in what they’d seen already – Einzel, the empty Crystal Room, the woman who wanted her son back – than what they were seeing now.

  “Missing children,” Peter whispered. “Like your grandfather said in his journal. All that stuff about how it must feel if your child disappears.”

  “You think Einzel is doing similar experiments?” Carys asked.

  Peter didn’t know what to think. But just the suggestion made him feel sick.

  Ludmilla was telling them all that there would be a small buffet supper back at the palace before everyone went their separate ways. Some were staying at a local hotel before continuing their tours. Others were on the night train back to St Petersburg. Sadly, they would not have time to stop and examine what remained of the famous Vrolask Circle.

  Peter wiped at the window to try to get a better view. He could make out just a few stones. One lay on its side. There were gaps where others had been removed…

  “It looks like a broken-up version of Wolfstone,” Carys said, peering over his shoulder.

  “Did someone mention wolves?” Ludmilla said.

  Peter and Carys exchanged glances. But before they could answer, Ludmilla went on.

  “You may have heard about the pioneering work Einzel Industries is sponsoring to reintroduce wolves to Great Britain.” She smiled indulgently at Peter and Carys. “I am afraid that the Lupine Sanctuary is not open to the public, but we have over a hundred of the animals here being prepared for their journey first to Poland to acclimate them.”

  “Acclimatise,” Carys muttered. “The word is acclimatise.”

  But Peter knew the disgust he could hear in her voice had nothing to do with Ludmilla’s vocabulary; she shared his revulsion at the thought of what might really be going on at Einzel Industries.

  Peter and Carys were last off the minibus. A small group of people had stayed on-board and were now heading back to their hotel for dinner, rather than stay for the buffet. Ahead of them, Ludmilla shepherded the other tourists into the palace.

  “I wish we’d had a better look at the stones,” Carys said.

  “Let’s go now, then.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Peter shook his head. “No one will notice. They’ll just think we’re ducking out of the meal, like those guys.” He gestured to the minibus pulling away behind them. “And if we’re caught, so what? We’re on a tour. The circle’s part of the tour, it’s open to the public. We’re just getting a closer look.”

  The light was fading fast by the time they reached the circle. Just like the Wolfstone Circle, had once been a flattened ellipse, open on the side facing the Vrolask Palace. But there were only half a dozen stones left – irregularly spaced, leaning at drunken angles. One of them had fallen over completely. Lights still burned in the palace and in the office and laboratory buildings. The sun was low on the horizon, the crystal in the stones making them glitter just like their twins back in England.

  “It’s amazing,” Carys said. “Like some giant just picked bits of the circle up from Wolfstone and dropped it down here.”

  “Be good when it’s finished, then.” In his mind’s eye Peter could imagine the completed circle here in Russia. And he could see himself inside the circle as the robed figures dragged their victim towards him…

  “Hang on, I want to try something.”

  “Looking for the Leprechaun’s crock of gold?”

  Peter crouched down beside one of the remaining stones. He was sure this was where he had seen the robed figure bending down in the Wolfstone Circle.

  “When they’d brought Annabelle to the circle, one of them did something under this stone. Or the equivalent stone. I saw him.” He didn’t mention he’d seen the same thing in his dream.

  “Probably tying his shoelace.”

  Peter fumbled round at the base of the stone, but he couldn’t feel anything.

  Unless…

  His fingers found a hole in the stone, just below the level of the grass. The ground was cold, and he wasn’t sure whether he’d really found something or just lost all sensation in his fingertips. But he pressed and pushed.

  “Sorry,” he said at last, straightening up. “I thought there was something. It felt like a lever. But there’s nothing.”

  Carys didn’t answer. She had her back turned to him, staring into the middle of the circle.

  “What is it?”

  She still didn’t answer. A gaping hole had opened in the middle of the circle. A deep, dark circular pit.

  “Did I do that?”

  “It just opened up. The ground dropped away. There must be some sort of cantilever mechanism to swing it aside, under the grass. I think…” She swallowed. “I think there’s something in there.”

  The light was fading fast, and the pit was shrouded in shadow, but Peter could make out a darker shape lying at the bottom of the pit. The sides were shored up with wooden struts. The floor was flagged with cracked and pitted stone slabs – a disc of rock, like his dad had said the survey found at Wolfstone.

  Lying in the centre of the pit was the body of a woman. Blood was pooling round her body, and her greying hair spilled out of a sodden headscarf. She was dead.

  “Let’s get away from here,” Carys said. Staring at the body in the pit – she’d seen the same woman alive and frightened just a short while ago. She felt as scared as she ever had. “Close it up and let’s get out.”

  They closed the pit and hurried back to the main entrance, hoping they hadn’t been missed.

  “Let’s just get on the minibus,” Peter said. “Get back to the station. Then we can decide what to do. Who to tell. D’you know enough now about what happened to your grandad?”

  “As much as I want to.” She was wishing they’d never come. But it was too late now. Could they simply go home and forget any of this happened?

  In any case, the minibus was still gone.

  “What do we do now? Wait here until it comes back?” Carys said.

  “Better to join the others. We don’t want to attract attention.”

  “We could talk to that American woman. Tell her what’s happened.”

  “And get her killed too?”

  “I’m just thinking out loud, okay?” Carys snapped. Immediately she regretted it. “Sorry. But as soon as it’s back, we get that minibus to the station and get on the first train to St Petersburg.”

  “Deal,” Peter agreed. “But we said we’d put a stop to this – to whatever’s happening.”

  “And how do we do that? Try to burn the place down like the peasants did?”

  Peter looked for a moment like he was considering it. “We should tell the police or whoever,” he said at last. “Let them sort it out. There’s a body – they’d have to do something. As soon as we’re well clear of this place we’ll make sure something’s done. But for now, let’s behave like nothing’s happened, right?”

  Carys nodded. She forced a smile. Everything was certainly not all right, but Peter had a point – they needed to carry on as if it was.

  Their plan survived only until they were in the large hallway. Two security guards emerged from the shadows and walked towards them. There was no mistaking the menace in the way they moved.

  “I don’t like this,” Carys murmured. “They’re the two who took that woman away.”

  The guards continued to advance. The chandeliers threw multiple
shadows across the floor – distorted patterns in the vague shapes of the figures.

  The figures had jutting jaws, and hunched shoulders.

  They were the shadows of advancing wolves.

  Carys turned, but another guard stood in the doorway behind them, cutting off their retreat. The man’s eyes burned red. He opened his mouth to reveal sharp, yellowing teeth. Then, with a snarl of anticipation, he leaped towards them.

  The guard morphed in mid-air. Claws erupted from his outstretched hands. His face was the image of a wolf.

  Carys stood frozen to the spot. Then Peter’s rucksack slammed into the guard, knocking him sideways.

  “Don’t just stand there!” he yelled.

  The guard was already getting back to his feet. The two guards from inside the palace were running now. Peter grabbed Carys’s hand and pulled her through a doorway off the hall. He slammed the door shut behind them. Something heavy crashed into the other side.

  There was a large conference table surrounded by upright chairs, and beyond that was another door. Together they charged across the room. Carys heard the door behind her open. She didn’t look back.

  Out into another, smaller room, then through and back into the corridor from the hallway. Carys wondered if Peter had any idea where they were going. Or he was just running, like she was. She couldn’t hear the guards following, but they didn’t slow down.

  Finally, they reached a set of doors that Carys recognised. “In here!”

  “You sure?” Peter rasped, out of breath.

  “You want a debate?” she demanded.

  Peter didn’t answer. He followed her into the empty stone-lined chamber – the Crystal Room.

  “It’s just that there’s no other way out of here,” he muttered.

  He was right. If the guards found them, they’d be trapped. “We wait till they”ve gone, then head back to the main entrance, okay?”

  “If you say so.” Peter smiled thinly. “I don’t have a better idea.”