by D. R. Martin
“It’s me, Johnny,” the boy panted, wearing what looked almost like a drunkard’s grin. “Basil Hastings.”
Then someone clapped Johnny on the shoulder. It was Marko.
“Good job, Johnny Graphic,” the black-haired boy said.
Johnny nodded at him. “Nice work, Marko Herne.”
* * *
They were all lucky that the night wasn’t cold. Because if it had been, many of the kids—including Johnny—might have suffered from hypothermia and shivered themselves to death, as their body temperatures plummeted. The top order of business now was getting everyone’s clothing dried out. They had to find a place to hide.
Johnny and Marko led them away from Bilbury Hall, just as the rain was stopping. In the distance, Quintus’s diversions kept the bog zombies and ghosts occupied, as various buildings around the estate burned merrily, even in the rain. While they were tramping away, an explosion went off somewhere. Then there were random poppings of firecrackers, sounding a lot like gunshots. Johnny had given the centurion every firecracker Angus Snodgrass had provided.
By dawn, Johnny and all the others had made their way back to the little cottage where they’d left Iris. The zombies would almost certainly come looking for the escaped kids, so it was vital that they quickly get out of the area. The plan was for Iris to lead the escapees east toward the sea. Logically, this was not the best direction. But they figured that’s what the zombies would think, too. Percy’s foot soldiers would assume the kids would hightail it south, in the direction of Chippington—where rescue was more likely.
The next order of business was rest. Quintus had found a safe spot in the woods for everyone to catch some sleep, with the centurion and Petunia standing guard. Iris and her troop would head out as soon as the kids were ready. The, at nightfall, Johnny, Marko, and Basil would attempt to rescue Nina.
On his late-night rampage, Quintus had discovered where they were keeping her. But he warned Johnny that freeing his friend would be even more perilous than the great culvert escape.
Chapter 30
Thursday, February 6, 1936
Royalton
The drive to Royalton had taken over three hours. Bao and Evvie had decided to ride inside the automobile, so they could chat with Grandmother and Mel.
They arrived at Twinings Square and the headquarters of the Royal Society of Etherists, or the RSE, a bit after noon. Grandmother intended to use this group to help in the hunt for Johnny and Nina. She informed Bao that she was a “past president” of the RSE, whatever that meant. Grandmother and Mel planned to spread the plea for help far and wide. Through the RSE, they could reach out to hundreds of specters, rather than just dozens.
But that meant that Grandmother and Mel would be busy for most of the afternoon. Evvie, who had come along expressly to go look at the house he had grown up in, asked Bao if she wanted to accompany him. Grandmother said yes, Bao could go. Just so long as they both were back by four o’clock in the afternoon.
Not having Grandmother or Mel along meant that if Evvie—whose actual name was Edward Arthur Fotheringay Samuel Hastings—should encounter any members of his family… Well, there would be no communication. Not unless someone in the house could see ghosts.
Bao and Evvie floated out of the RSE headquarters and into Twinings Square, which contained a little park full of garden beds and some kind of statue of a warrior on a horse. It was a foggy day, and a light drizzle was coming down.
“All right now, old girl,” Evvie said, as they hovered over the busy street, “we go off this way.” And he pointed to the left. “Hope my sense of direction has survived after twenty-five years in the jungle.”
There was a time when Bao wondered why her friend called her “old girl.” She was, after all, just a little girl who hadn’t lived very long. But, as Evvie pointed out, she was also a girl who had lived, as far as they could tell, many, many centuries ago. And that would make her either a “very old young girl” or a “very young old girl.” In either case, “old girl” seemed perfectly proper. In fact, Bao had grown proud of the nickname.
They soared up this street and down that avenue, making a number of turns. Basil seemed to know exactly where to go.
Bao had never seen more people—both living and dead—in one place in her life. The living were jammed together down on the street, bustling along on the sidewalks, through the fog and rain. Many of them carried umbrellas, and huddled against the damp and cold. All kinds of people, of all ages and all colors.
The ghosts were equally diverse. Some were friendly and waved at the two visiting wraiths. Many along the way seemed gloomy and indifferent—a common condition for ghosts. A few were even hostile, making rude gestures and shouting curses.
Finally, after a half hour of zooming along over the tops of what Evvie called “double-decker omnibuses,” the two of them turned onto a short, dead-end street off a main road. Evvie said it was called Marcelline Place. There were several tall brick houses on it, sitting snugly next to each other.
Through the haze of the fog, Bao could see lights glowing warmly in many of the windows. The homes looked cozy and welcoming. The sight of them made her nostalgic for the fires of her home village. For the laughing and talking and joking that went on around those ancient flames. For her own family.
“These were our city digs,” Evvie said, pointing to the biggest of the houses. “We had two country homes, too. But we lived here mostly. Father had his duties in the House of Lords, you know.”
Bao nodded earnestly. She did indeed know. Evvie had told her many stories about his young years, and how he had become Lord Hurley at the tender age of fifteen. When he died, only one year later, his younger brother would have become Lord Hurley of Evansham.
Evvie hovered before the house, as if he hadn’t quite decided to enter it.
“What’s wrong, Evvie?” Bao asked.
“A little nervous is all. First time home in a quarter century.”
“But maybe no one will even be able to see us.”
Evvie nodded, but he still didn’t move. Finally, he spoke.
“I’m worried that everyone is going to be heartbroken about my nephew’s abduction. I’m not sure if I want to see them that way.”
Bao understood, but didn’t know what to say.
At last, Evvie shrugged. “Well, nothing for it, old girl, but to pop in and have a look about. Come along, Bao.”
And in they flew through the front brick wall.
The place was much more modest than Wickenham—the furniture plainer, the artwork less striking. But it looked like people really lived here, with knitting left on a sofa, and a book open on the arm of a chair.
All of a sudden, footsteps clattered in a hallway. A young woman in a black uniform appeared in the room where Evvie and Bao were hovering. Evvie waved and said hello, but the woman couldn’t see them.
“You know, Bao,” Evvie said, “I’m not certain any of my family even lives here anymore. They could have sold the old place after I died.”
Bao noticed that Evvie’s face looked a bit forlorn when he said that. But then it brightened up again.
“Guess we might as well go upstairs and find my old room.”
They floated up the narrow staircase at the side of the front foyer. Bao followed Evvie to the third room down the hall on their left.
“Oh, look!” Evvie beamed as he saw the ragged sign on the door. “It says, ‘The Lair of Basil Hastings. Enter at Your Own Peril.’ So the family still does live here.”
“Is Basil your brother?” Bao asked.
“No. I think he must be my nephew. Perhaps the one who got himself abducted.”
They went into the room and looked around. There were books galore, sporting equipment, posters on the walls, tiny aeroboats hanging from the ceiling, and a glass box filled with water and populated by colorful little fishes.
“The bed’s neatly made up,” Evvie observed. “The place is unusually tidy, for a boy’s room. Doesn’t loo
k like anyone is in residence at the moment. Makes sense, since Basil is almost certainly off at school. But I wonder why no one else is around.”
He pondered briefly, then said, “Aha! It’s about teatime for the Hastings family, I’d guess. And anyone who’s home would be down in the conservatory.”
Evvie led Bao down the stairs and out to a room at the back of the house. It had glass windows all around. Green, luxuriant plants crowded it. The space reminded Bao of the jungle at the bottom of her mountain.
In the middle of the large room was a small, glass-topped table. Around it sat a man, a woman, and a very old, white-haired lady in a chair with wheels.
“Ahemmm.” Evvie cleared his throat loudly.
There was no reaction.
He floated down for a closer look, right into the middle of the table. He studied the man closely, from inches away.
“My good heavens,” Evvie finally said, shaking his head. “I don’t believe it. It’s Roger. My little brother Roger. Lord Hurley. But he’s gotten fat and bald and old. He used to be skinny as a stick and capered about like a monkey.”
He stared a moment more, then twisted round to look at the younger woman.
“Don’t know her, Bao,” he said. “His wife, I suppose.”
As Evvie turned his gaze to the old lady, she suddenly spoke.
“So we have no word at all of Basil,” she said, her voice fluttering with emotion and age. “Taken from St. Egbert’s over two weeks ago. No sign of him. When we lost your brother, our dear Edward…”
Evvie let out a choking sob and zoomed back up to Bao.
“I know that voice,” he panted. “It’s Mother. What’s happened to her? What’s happened to her?”
“She’s alive, Evvie,” Bao gently answered. “She got old. That’s what happened to her.”
Evvie nodded despondently.
Down below, Roger Hastings—the current Lord Hurley—glared at the old lady. “Just because Edward never came back from his dratted jungle expedition, doesn’t mean Basil won’t be coming home. We’re not giving up hope.”
“The authorities are doing everything they can, Mother,” the younger woman was saying—her voice also trembling. “They’re searching high and low through MacFreithshire. All we can do is wait and pray. He’ll be safe, I’m sure of it.”
“This is terrible,” Evvie muttered. “My nephew has been abducted. My brother and my mother have become old. So old! And there’s nothing I can do for them.”
“But at least you got to see your mother again,” Bao replied sadly. “I wish I could be in the same room with my mother.”
Evvie gave Bao a sympathetic look. “You know, old girl, you’re quite right.”
And quick as a wink, he zoomed down close to his mother, and gave her a kiss.
The old lady put her hand up to her cheek and gasped.
“What is it, Mother?” her younger son asked. “Are you all right?”
“The oddest thing, Roger,” she said with a look of amazement. “It felt like a butterfly just kissed me.”
Chapter 31
Thursday, February 6, 1936
Bilbury Hall
It was lucky that night that there were few clouds in the sky. By the light of a quarter moon, Johnny and his comrades made their way on the slow sneak to Bilbury Hall, keeping their eyes peeled for any potential danger.
Iris had already left with her band of escaped kids. Carson and Leith had volunteered to help her herd the exhausted youngsters out of harm’s way. Petunia had reluctantly agreed once again to stay and help Quintus with any ghostly duties.
After inching along the edge of the yard, Johnny, Marko, and Basil quietly slipped into Bilbury Hall’s eight-car garage. Quintus and Petunia floated in behind them. Through a crack in one of the big overhead doors, Johnny saw a zombie guarding the back pantry entrance of the hulking old mansion. How were they going to get past that palooka? But they had to. Quintus had said there was no other way for them to get into the place. The front entry of the great house was guarded far more heavily.
For weaponry, Johnny carried the cricket bat. Basil had delightedly recognized it as his own—the one he had dropped the night of the zombie raid on St. Egbert’s. He was happy to loan it to Johnny for the duration of the crisis. For his part, Basil carried an ax that he had come across on their hike in. Perhaps one of the zombies had left it behind. Marko still wore the army saber that Angus Snodgrass had loaned him back at the school.
I wonder, Johnny thought, staring out through the crack in the garage door, if anyone’s looking for us. By now, Mel and Dame Honoria had surely been notified of Johnny and Nina’s disappearance. What must they be thinking? Mel was probably going nuts with worry.
And where were the colonel and Zenith troopers? Normally, they would have had no problem tracking Johnny down by now. Maybe it was that weird fog, which seemed to upset the ghosts’ equilibrium.
“Pssst…”
Johnny nearly jumped out of his filthy hiking duds. Marko had crept up behind and surprised him.
“What?” Johnny whispered.
“Quintus says we’d better move soon, or forget it till later.”
For Johnny, that wasn’t an option. Wait another day, and Percy’s goons might have taken Nina away. But he had just come up with an idea that could make their job easier.
The long garage they were in housed six automobiles, including a black Morton Monarch much like Uncle Louie’s car. There were also several motorcycles in a far corner. One of them, a small bike, was a Chapman Hellcat. Johnny had gawked at a Hellcat at the motorcycle showroom in downtown Zenith not a month before, and had actually climbed up in the saddle. It was one nifty machine.
Johnny grinned at Marko. “I have an idea. And it might just work. That is, if I can teach Quintus and Petunia a little something about modern transportation technology.”
* * *
Johnny, Marko, and Basil climbed out of the back garage window they had come in through, then crept behind the inward-curving hedgerow that bordered the garage. The dense hedge hid them from sight, until it ended about twenty yards farther on. When Johnny peered around the thick vegetation, he had a clear view of both the front of the garage and the back of the mansion, where that single bog zombie stood guard. Johnny withdrew and let the two other boys have a look.
“Any minute now,” Johnny whispered. “It’s gonna get interesting.”
“I hope it works,” Marko said.
Basil nodded calmly. “It’ll work. Yeah, it’ll work.”
They didn’t have to wait long.
All of a sudden an automobile engine roared to life behind the closed garage doors. Headlights flared through the glass windows inside the building, illuminating the tarmac and the back of the big house. And with a snarling roar, a great, blue-colored Lindt limousine lurched through one of the doors, smashing wood and glass to pieces. It surged out onto the driveway—bits of debris clinging to it—and headed straight for the back of Bilbury Hall. Straight, in fact, for the zombie standing there, wide-eyed and frozen to the spot.
In the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel like grim old death, glowed a green Imperial soldier, some twenty centuries dead. Johnny could have sworn that Quintus was grinning ear to ear, though he couldn’t be sure.
At the very last second, Quintus swerved to the left, missing the zombie by a few feet. He sent the limousine bounding across the turf and back onto the driveway, circling around the far end of the house and out of sight.
“Pretty good driving, for a beginner,” Basil laughed.
“That it is. But he had a good teacher.” And at that, Marko clapped Johnny on the shoulder.
Johnny was too preoccupied to even notice. “So where’s Petunia?”
As if to answer him, another car engine rumbled to life inside the garage, and headlights flared. There was a grinding of gears and that black Morton Monarch smashed out through another door—though more slowly than Quintus’s rapid exit.
Johnny
figured that if Petunia could get the car started, operate the clutch, and get into first gear… Well it would be a minor miracle. And, by heckfire, she’d done it!
Now Petunia drove slowly and majestically in the opposite direction of Quintus, around the other end of Bilbury Hall, her blonde locks barely visible above the wheel. Her course wobbled a bit, but she managed not to run into anything.
After appearing immobilized by shock, the mesmerized zombie guard finally loped off after her.
“Yes!” Johnny exclaimed. “Time to go!”
The three boys dashed out from behind the hedgerow, making a beeline for the back pantry door. No one was in sight. Breathless, they tumbled into an entranceway lined with shelves, which were stacked with canned and bottled foodstuffs. No electric lights were burning, just a few oil lamps and candles. From there they tiptoed into the vast kitchen—shadowy and forbiddingly festooned with dozens of hanging pots, pans, and implements.
Quintus had made sure that Johnny understood exactly where he had to go. What the ghost couldn’t tell him—and what worried Johnny most—was how many zombies and ghosts roamed the inside of the mansion in the middle of the night. There was no easy way to answer this. The boys would just have to take their chances.
Johnny looked around at Marko and Basil, who were following behind him. “Okey-dokey, guys,” he whispered. “Time to draw weapons.”
Marko quietly pulled his saber from its scabbard, and Basil gripped his axe slightly higher on the handle. Johnny reached behind his head and withdrew the cricket bat from his backpack. Without a word, he tiptoed out of the kitchen and into one of Bilbury Hall’s back corridors.
The coast was clear, no one in sight. Go right after about fifty paces, Quintus had said, then left. That brought them into the dining room—a grand space much like that at Dame Honoria’s Wickenham—and then into a wide corridor. Johnny peered around in the dim light of several more oil lamps. He looked both ways and spotted the main entrance hall, and the staircase. “C’mon,” he whispered.
