The Dead World of Lanthorne Ghules

by Gerald Killingworth

  Edwin pulled his hand out of his backpack. He was now clutching the small cylindrical object he had been rummaging for. Taking the cushion from the back of his chair, he held it out in front of him. The flame on the lighter he had taken from his parents’ kitchen was flicked into life. Lanthorne squealed.

  “Starting with this cushion, I’m going to set fire to everything in your house, unless you help me find my sister.” Edwin could hardly believe he was threatening an adult in this way. “You’re treating it like an everyday thing. It’s not. It’ll kill my parents if we don’t find her.”

  “Put out the flame,” said Jugge. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “Let’s hear the idea first.” Edwin held the lighter closer to the cushion.

  Lanthorne shrank into his hood, away from the small, pointed flame.

  The two black beads of Jugge’s eyes were completely fixed on Edwin, who wasn’t sure how long he could hold his threatening pose or what he would do if the cushion actually went up in flames.

  “Nothing in our world burns that easily,” said Jugge smoothly. “Stands to reason, doesn’t it? We hate bright flames, so we’re not going to allow our houses to be full of things that catch fire.”

  This made sense and Edwin extinguished the lighter and dropped it back into his backpack.

  “My idea is the obvious one and the best,” Jugge announced. “We hand the problem over to Lanthorne’s parents to sort out. His mum is Necra’s sister, after all.”

  “No!” said Lanthorne. “They can’t be trusted. My mum always argues with Auntie Necra and then does exactly what she says. And my dad’s no use because all he ever says is, ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’”

  “That’s a stinking idea,” said Edwin. “Where’s she gone? We have to follow her.”

  “We know exactly where she’s gone,” said Jugge.

  Edwin couldn’t believe how matter-of-factly Jugge told him this. “Where?” he demanded.

  “She’s gone Out There.”

  “What do you mean? Out where?” Why couldn’t these people explain themselves clearly? Did Jugge mean out to sea, out to lunch—or in outer space, even?

  “Out There,” said Jugge, “is a long, long way from here. It’s a place where people like Lanthorne and me don’t like to go.”

  “Why?”

  Jugge sighed. “Because it’s too dangerous.”

  Edwin fumed. Too dangerous for Jugge, but quite all right for a six-month-old baby? “Why is it dangerous, Jugge?”

  “Some of the people Out There are old-fashioned, shall we say.” Jugge fiddled with his brown cloth as if the subject were too boring and all he wanted to do was to go back to bed.

  “Why are you being so mysterious? This isn’t a guessing game. Tell me!”

  “You tell him, Lanthorne.”

  Lanthorne fidgeted on his chair, scratched his arm and decided to tell his story facing the wall. Then he coughed and swallowed as he tried to find the best words.

  “We live in the important town of Landarn,” Lanthorne began. “There are other people who live Out There. Out There is a long way away, thank goodness. Sort of north. Auntie Necra was born in Landarn like the rest of our family, but when she was young she went to stay with some cousins in the village of Morting.”

  “Morting is a village in the middle of Out There,” interrupted Jugge. “The visit had an effect on her, didn’t it, Lanthorne?”

  Lanthorne squirmed and scratched his other arm vigorously. He was getting to the main part of what he needed to tell Edwin.

  “You see, Edwin, Auntie Necra likes the old-fashioned ways in Morting, the things we used to do ages ago but don’t do any more. The things we ate.” His voice dropped to almost nothing as he said the last word, and it barely registered with Edwin. “When she insists on coming to stay with us, she keeps going on about our birthright. Mum and Dad say no, no, no, but she won’t give up. Swarme…” His voice faltered.

  Jugge picked up the story. “His older brother, Swarme, went back to Morting with Auntie Necra, four years ago.”

  “Auntie Necra says he’s very happy there,” Lanthorne continued. “Mum would love to go and fetch him back, but Dad says it’s not safe. All kinds of nasty things on the road and in the trees.”

  “That’s a good version of the story, Lanthorne,” said Jugge, giving him a long look. “Edwin knows all he needs to know.”

  Edwin could feel that Jugge wanted the incident to end there. A baby had been kidnapped and taken to a dangerous place where no one cared to go. There was nothing to be done. Case closed. End of story. But Edwin couldn’t let it end now, with Mandoline out there amongst things probably far worse than any he could imagine. “So you think Auntie Necra’s taken Mandoline with her back to Morting?” he said firmly.

  “I just said so,” Jugge replied.

  “We have to get a search party together.” Edwin’s voice rose in volume with each word. “Nobody likes babies being kidnapped. Why don’t you tell your Lawkeepers what Auntie Necra’s done?”

  “Stop being so bossy, Edwin,” said Lanthorne, who hated it when people started shouting. “Jugge’s older than us.”

  “Thank you, Lanthorne,” said Jugge. “First of all, Lawkeepers stay away from Out There. They’re not daft. Secondly, if I take a Shiner along to see them, they’ll lock you up and study you. That won’t help your sister.”

  “Jugge’s right,” Lanthorne added quietly.

  Edwin turned on him. “It’s my sister who’s been taken. My BABY sister! We’re not at school now, being ever so polite to grown-ups and doing exactly what we’re told! I know, why don’t we send you up the chimney, like one of your stupid letters? We could post you express to Necra’s house, and you’ll be waiting for her when she arrives. You just recapture Mandoline and jump into the fireplace and you’ll be back here in no time.”

  There was an awkward moment’s silence, as Edwin fought to regain his temper.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” said Jugge.

  Edwin suspected he was being mocked, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “I’ve never heard of actual people being sent that way,” Jugge continued. “I’m better than most when it comes to managing chimneys. You’d have to screw yourself up extra small, Lanthorne.”

  Lanthorne ran to the most shadowy corner of the room.

  “I might get lost for ever up there,” he sniffed. “I might get cooked!”

  “We’ll need a bigger fire than usual,” Jugge said. “Lots of really efficient smoke.”

  Edwin couldn’t believe his ears. His suggestion was no more than a moment’s lashing out in frustration. He didn’t want to see Lanthorne whooshing up the chimney. And as for Jugge, he obviously intended to avoid any risk to himself. So much for all his talk about being modern, and wearing that ridiculous tank top.

  “Lanthorne is not going up any chimney and that’s that,” said Edwin. “He’s coming with us to find Mandoline.”

  Jugge stood up, gathered the brown cloth around him and suddenly left the room.

  “If he’s going to lock his bedroom door and sneak under the bed, I’ll set fire to his furniture. I really will!” Edwin shouted after Jugge. “I’ll set fire to the whole town if I have to.”

  Lanthorne returned from the far corner of the room and rested his hand on Edwin’s shoulder. “Thank you for not sending me up the chimney, Edwin. If it means we have to go Out There, I won’t let you down.”

  “Jugge’s going to let us down, Lanthorne. I can feel it.”

  They remained in silence for about five minutes, lost in their own thoughts, and just as Edwin had decided they would have to go and find Jugge, the man re-appeared. He now held himself very upright and looked purposeful, as if he had made an important decision. Jugge was dressed in a long, dark coat with a hood which at present was down. In his hand were a second hooded coat and a pair of gloves, Swarme’s clothes that Edwin had thrown at him on his last visit.

  “Put this coat on over that other thing,”
Jugge said in a brisk voice, meaning Edwin’s anorak. “It’s a giveaway. We can’t do anything about the shoes. I’m not letting you have any of mine.”

  “They’re proper shoes,” said Edwin. He demonstrated by stamping loudly on the floor. Jugge was unimpressed.

  “When we get outside, don’t speak a word and don’t play up,” Jugge told him. “I’m beginning to regret I ever took an interest in Shiners.”

  Lanthorne helped Edwin on with the coat and took the opportunity to whisper, “Behave yourself.”

  So Jugge had decided to help them, and they were about to take the first steps towards finding Mandoline. Edwin felt a glow of relief spread through his body, but it was also uncomfortable wearing two coats over his thickest jumper.

  They left the house with Jugge carrying a single lanthorne to guide their way. Edwin felt as if he were stepping into a bottle of black ink. He took a firm grip of Lanthorne’s hand and allowed himself to be led.

  They trotted down street after street, although Edwin could barely distinguish street corners or buildings. Their destination was reached after about twenty minutes. All Edwin could make out was a set of tall gates, as Jugge walked past them with the lanthorne, and then a small door where Jugge stopped and knocked gently.

  “It’s a nagge-yard, I think,” said Lanthorne carefully, timing his words so they were covered by the sound of Jugge’s knocking.

  The proprietor of the building made Jugge look positively handsome by comparison. He was older, taller, thicker set and harder in every way—from his bony fingers to his sharp stare and I’m only telling you once voice. Edwin knew as soon as he caught his first glimpse of the man that it would be a grave mistake to answer back. They were grudgingly allowed in.

  “This is Trunke,” said Jugge. “He might be willing to help.”

  Trunke’s eyes and cheeks were unnaturally sunken, as if he had sucked in impossibly hard. They looked ready to pop back out again at any moment. His skin was grey-tinged, of course, with blotches of yellow that even managed to invade the dark line of his lips. He had been working late and was still wearing a heavily soiled wrap-around leather apron.

  “Wait here and don’t move,” said Trunke. He didn’t bother to look at the boys when he said this.

  They were left in a lightless corridor, while Trunke and Jugge moved deeper into the house, taking the lanthorne with them. They had been forbidden to move, but not to talk.

  “I don’t like Trunke at all,” said Edwin, as soon as he thought the men were out of earshot.

  “We still have Jugge.”

  “So you say.”

  “He needn’t have helped us at all.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Please don’t be cheeky to them, Edwin, now that we might be on the way.”

  “I don’t expect anyone cheeks Trunke.”

  “Not even his nagges.”

  “What’s a nagge?”

  Lanthorne thought for a moment. “They pull our hansommes when we need to travel a long way.”

  “Like our horses.”

  “That’s a funny sounding name for an animal. Horses. Do they get sore throats?”

  Edwin couldn’t help giggling at this remark.

  “Nagges have got a nasty bite.”

  “I expect Trunke bites them back.”

  Now it was Lanthorne’s turn to giggle.

  The door at the end of the corridor opened.

  “Come here, you two.” This was Trunke and they obeyed at once.

  Edwin peeped from under his large hood. He couldn’t tell whether they were in a store room or perhaps Trunke’s lounge. It lacked even the modest comfort of Jugge’s home, having no fire and no furniture other than the two rough chairs on which the men were now sitting. Edwin and Lanthorne remained standing beside the door with their backs to the wall, looking as if they were suspects about to be interrogated. Jugge’s lanthorne was on the floor and its light hardly reached anyone’s face.

  “So this is the Shiner. Let’s have a look at him, then,” said Trunke in a tone which flattened quite a lot of the hope which had been building inside Edwin.

  Edwin didn’t know what he was expected to do—walk up to Trunke, offer to shake his hand, say a few words about himself?

  “Take off your hood and be quick about it,” said Jugge. “Trunke hasn’t got all night.”

  Lanthorne looked at Jugge in surprise. He’d never heard his friend speak as unpleasantly as this to anyone before. Trunke’s personality was obviously catching, or perhaps Jugge was as nervous as they were and wanted to create a good impression.

  When Edwin was standing bareheaded, and glowing, Trunke said, “I see what you mean. Unnatural, isn’t it? Are you sure he won’t burn us all to death?” He laughed briefly at his own joke while continuing to stare at Edwin as if he were a freak of Nature with an assortment of extra limbs or tails. When he had stared his fill, he said, “That’s enough of that. Put your hood back.”

  Edwin was too daunted by the man to offer any cheek or to say what he was thinking, which was that if anyone deserved to be stared at it was Trunke himself. He searched for his humblest voice.

  “Lanthorne’s Auntie Necra has kidnapped my baby sister. Please, are you going to help us?”

  Trunke didn’t even look at him, let alone answer his question. Jugge answered for him. “Trunke has agreed to drive you along the road to Morting, until…”

  “Until he doesn’t care to drive you any longer,” finished Trunke. “I heard another hansomme go by in that direction, a few hours ago. Rattling along it was, which is unusual at night. Must have been her.”

  Edwin’s heart leapt.

  “Thank you so much, Mister Trunke,” he said. “Thank you too, Jugge, for coming with us.”

  Jugge chortled loudly. “Oh I’m not coming with you. You’ll never catch me Out There. If I were you, I’d give up and go home. You have no idea.”

  “Jugge!” Lanthorne’s voice was choked with disappointment. “We’re only boys. We need your help.”

  “Make up your minds,” said Trunke harshly. “Are you going or staying?”

  “I’ll go wherever I have to go,” said Edwin. He could feel his body trembling as much as his voice. “Lanthorne, you needn’t—”

  “I’m going wherever Edwin goes,” said Lanthorne.

  “I’ve paid Trunke for his trouble,” said Jugge. “And here’s some money for each of you.” He handed each boy a purse, a small leather bag closed by a drawstring. They pocketed them. “So don’t accuse me of not helping you. I’m just not big on self-sacrifice. I’ll think of something to tell Lanthorne’s parents, and I’ll keep a fire burning in case you find a way of sending me a letter.”

  “When you visit my parents, I think you should let my snarghe go, if Auntie Necra hasn’t done something to it already,” said Lanthorne, suddenly remembering his pet.

  “Your what!”

  “I caught a snarghe and put it in the cupboard in my bedroom.”

  Jugge let out a sigh of disbelief.

  “It licked me,” said Edwin. “Twice.”

  “Getting the taste of you for later,” Trunke added tactlessly.

  “Throw it something to eat before you go near it,” continued Lanthorne helpfully. “Just in case.”

  Trunke slapped his leg and shook with laughter. “Last call for Morting,” he said. “One last chance to say no!”

  Edwin hated Trunke for the mockery in his voice. “You can’t put me off,” he said.

  “Remember that old customs die hard Out There,” said Jugge, suddenly much more serious. “Let’s hope you don’t come across them.”

  9

  On the Road

  “Do exactly what Trunke tells you,” said Jugge. “He knows what’s what. I’m off now. So long.”

  And that was his goodbye. Lanthorne stared at the door for some moments after Jugge closed it behind him. Edwin could tell how let down he felt.

  Trunke left them without a light, saying he had to “
make preparations.” When he returned an hour later, he had to shake both boys awake.

  “Do you want to go or not?” he asked irritably, as they shuffled behind him into the stable attached to his house.

  It had none of the reassuring smell of straw and solid, friendly horses and their business that Edwin would have expected in a stable at home. The smell here was an acrid stink that made his eyes water as soon as he stepped inside. It woke him up.

  “Don’t ever look a nagge directly in the eye,” Trunke told the boys. “It gives them ideas. I’m taking one of the private hansommes, which means you won’t be seen. Now get in, the pair of you.”

  He was in his travelling clothes: thick, shapeless trousers and a hooded leather jacket that resembled a small tent. His crude boots had hobnails which made scratching sounds on the stable floor.

  Narrow steps were set just in front of the right-hand wheel of the hansomme. Trunke pushed the boys up and into the two-person passenger seat. For a moment, before he was forcibly made to sit down, Edwin was able to look along the shafts and at the strange animal between them. A nagge wasn’t a horse exactly—or a cow, or a lizard. It had elements of all three, as if an ugly horse had swallowed a lizard and then put on a cow suit. Hip bones and ribs were visible beneath skin that had the colour and texture of a lichen-covered tombstone.

  “How long will it take us to get to Morting?” Edwin asked.

  “As long as it takes and perhaps a bit longer,” Trunke barked.

  With a flick of his wrist, he pulled a series of hinged flaps down and across the front of the hansomme, then locked them in place. The boys sat in shocked silence, listening to a key turn twice. This was followed by a prolonged, wheezy, rasping sound and then a particularly loud snap that echoed in the small space in which they were confined. Then they fell backwards in their seat as the hansomme began to move. Edwin hated being shut up in a box. He banged on the flaps, which fitted so tightly together they didn’t even rattle.