The Shadow Guests

by Joan Aiken

  ‘But – hey! Wait a minute! How do you mean, on guard? I’ve never done this kind of fighting – I haven’t learned fencing!’

  Mark and Ma had, however; she had been senior blade in her fencing club at college, and had taught Mark all the feints, lunges, parries, thrusts, counters and recoveries that she could remember. Mark had taken to it with enthusiasm; and, sometimes for hours together, little Cosmo had sat watching.

  ‘That is your bad fortune,’ said Osmond Curtoys callously, and lunged forward at Cosmo. A fierce flash of moonlight ran up his blade.

  ‘You rotten cheat!’

  Almost instinctively Cosmo knocked his blade aside.

  ‘I wasn’t ready for you – that’s not fair!’

  ‘Fair?’

  The bright blade came zipping at him again, and Cosmo, hardly readier than he had been before, managed to deflect it by twisting his wrist, throwing it off to the right. Vaguely he began to remember the voices of his mother and Mark.

  ‘That is carte – the fourth position of the wrist – from the French quatre – and this is tierce, the third position – Always oppose your blade with the other hand, keep yourself in balance. On your toes, Mark, keep your weight exactly poised, ready to move forward, or back, or to the side, but always under control; this, now, is a botte coupée, beginning in high carte, finishing in low tierce. Now let me see you do it … Forte, that is the upper half of your blade, the stronger part; see, with that, I can knock your point aside every time … Watch your button, Mark! There – it has fallen off.’

  But there were no buttons on these swords. The points sparkled in the moonlight, bright and deadly.

  ‘Fair?’ Osmond repeated. ‘There’s no question of fair between us two.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because the black priest at Medmenham looked into the scroll of the future for me – looked ahead to see what fate will bring –’ Osmond lunged expertly, and his blade came within a centimetre of Cosmo’s cheek, if Cosmo had not thrown himself, half staggering, with his legs tangled together, off to the side.

  Already his knees were shaking, his arms were aching with the effort of being held up high.

  ‘I don’t understand at all. What black priest? Are you an elder son?’ Cosmo panted, trying, in his turn, to make a lunge. Up to now he had been fighting entirely on the defensive, it was as much as he could do to oppose his blade, in one way or another, to all the darting, piercing thrusts that his adversary was delivering; the point of Osmond’s sword seemed like a whole nest of hornets, ready to sting on every quarter.

  ‘Elder son? I am an only son!’ Osmond shouted angrily. ‘How do you think my mother would feel if I were to die?’

  ‘I suppose she’d have to bear it like all the rest –’ Cosmo gasped, jumping backwards out of reach, and then bounding forward, trying for a flanconnade, a thrust at his opponent’s side.

  ‘She is a woman of deep learning, of much lore, not the kind to put up tamely with a bad fate. When I asked the black priest if I should die fighting like my forebears –’

  Their blades clashed, engaged, then flung apart again.

  ‘The old fool! I don’t believe he knows half that he pretends to. He said my battle would be against a boy younger than myself – a boy from another time. He named you. But I do not intend to die! He said – if I escaped you – and you are an unskilled fighter – then I should be the first to break away from the curse. As my clever mother planned. Mother?’ he said. ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Don’t worry, my dove. I am close enough,’ came the answer, in a thin, dry voice, like that of a parrot. Cosmo was horribly startled by its closeness, and by the unexpected glimpse of a woman, beside the big moonlit opening. She was on his right, or sword-arm side, and seemed to be edging in, steadily coming closer to him. He remembered Moley’s description, ‘a skinny old hag in black’ … ‘she looked the type to think that locking somebody up and starving them to death would be a real laugh-riot.’ This one was old enough, and skinny enough, to fit that description, and her expression, what he could see of it, certainly did.

  ‘Stand farther off! Or you’re likely to get hurt!’ Cosmo panted at her. But the woman only laughed, edging farther in.

  Osmond said, ‘You can’t hurt her, fool! She will not be hurt by your blade. My mother is a striga. She can fly through solid walls. She has taught me much of what I know.’ He too laughed, rather crazily.

  Cosmo could not help being horribly distracted by the presence of the old woman at his elbow, creeping closer and closer. He thought he saw her pick something off the floor, and wondered what it could be. Next moment he realized that it was the cloak that Osmond had flung down; using it as Con had used his gladiator’s net she swung it to and fro, trying to trip Cosmo.

  ‘Two to one isn’t fair!’ Cosmo shouted angrily, jumping backwards from one of Osmond’s fierce thrusts.

  ‘You may as well give up now, stupid boy! I can take a man’s heart out and leave a sawdust one in its place,’ the old woman hissed behind his right shoulder.

  ‘Why don’t you, then?’ Cosmo flung back. ‘If you can work all that magic, why not do it?’

  ‘Fair?’ Osmond said. ‘Only fools expect life to be fair!’ Pressing forward steadily, he darted his point straight at Cosmo’s breastbone. Cosmo could see it coming at him like a diamond and, even in that moment, he remembered the needle-shaped Females of Flatland and the author’s comment, ‘A Female in Flatland is a creature by no means to be trifled with.’ I’m finished, he thought, but at least I remembered a joke just before I died.

  Incredibly, though, the darting blade struck something hard under his shirt and glanced off sideways. The old woman let out a harsh cry of rage, and Cosmo seized the chance to leap backwards out of danger. But how long could he keep up this unequal fight? He ached and trembled with fatigue, sweat ran scalding into his eyes, the cold air on his tongue tasted sharp as pewter, and his heart, thudding away savagely inside his ribs, felt like some heavy piece of deck cargo that is liable to break loose from its moorings at any moment and hurtle about the ship, doing untold damage.

  I’ll never win this fight, Cosmo thought coldly, because this man wants to kill me – intends, has to kill me – and I don’t want to kill him. All I want is for the fight to stop. Perhaps if I were to try and knock him out with my hilt –

  Snatching a handkerchief from his pocket he wrapped it round the blade of his weapon and, holding the sword by the blade, flexed his knees, preparing to spring forward and bring down the hilt on Osmond’s head. But, as he crouched, something black and smothering came down over his head. The cloak, he thought. That old hag has blinded me with the cloak.

  The impulse of his spring took her forward, and he felt that he was dragging the woman with him. He could hear her breath rasping behind his ear. Then that sound was drowned by another – a rustling creaking rumbling noise that rose in volume to a crashing roar – and the boards suddenly fell away from beneath his feet, he felt himself poised in mid-air, then falling, falling, falling.

  Solid objects, chunks of masonry or wood, were cascading round him – a shower of fragments battered his head and arms. His head was still wrapped in the black cloth – he could see nothing – fighting to disengage himself he gasped as he suddenly plunged into icy, rushing water. No time, now, for thought. He kicked and struggled instinctively, but knew that he was going down deeper – he felt that he was being whirled and tumbled over and over, like a marble being bounced down a flight of stairs in a bucketful of suds. He had let go of the sword long ago, and had no notion what had become of Osmond or the horrible old woman – no time or strength to concern himself with them – he was wholly occupied in kicking and battling his way upwards, trying to combat the fierce pulling tugging undertow that was sweeping him onwards and down. If he didn’t manage to get some breath into his lungs soon, he would die – he felt certain that death was only seconds away.

  And then, at the last possible moment, silver light bathed
his face and air, sharp and stinging like Eunice’s brandy, rushed into his open mouth. He saw the moon overhead, silvery and calm. He was on the surface of the water, being hurled along like a twig, in a breakneck smother of white foam. All I have to do now is keep afloat, he thought hopefully, and in the end the current is bound to slow down and I’ll be able to swim to the bank.

  I have to keep afloat …

  But just then his foot caught in an underwater snag, and something heavy struck his head a crashing blow. The moon vanished from view, and he went down, again, into darkness.

  9. Eunice, Richard, Moley, Meredith

  ‘What’s the Hellfire Club?’ Cosmo muttered when he next opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed, and Eunice was standing beside him. Her hair was tousled, and she wore a windcheater over her pyjamas. Lob was panting heavily somewhere nearby.

  ‘The Hellfire Club? Why in the world do you want to know that?’ She thought for a minute and said, ‘It was in the eighteenth century – a group of people – young rakes mostly I think – who practised devil-worship and black magic, things like that. They wanted to live for ever. Where did you hear about that?’

  But Cosmo had drifted away again. His bones and muscles, every part of him, ached almost unbearably, as if he had been put through a mincer and turned into shepherd’s pie. It was really too painful to put up with; his head felt huge, like a globe full of red-hot coals, his tongue was the size of a doormat …

  ‘Could I have something to drink,’ he tried to gasp, but nobody seemed to hear him. Without any particular effort he left his body and rose up above it. A very good trick. Why don’t they teach that in school, instead of silly dodgeball or lists of prime minsters?

  Now he was in a green, mountainous land, with yellow lupins flowering, and grey birds wheeling overhead, and broad clear shallow rivers, where one could swim or wade for ever, picking up pebbles, each one more shining than the last … Con was there, without his neck-ring, and Sim, no longer pale and worried. They ran races and sang songs together. Even Lob was there, young and agile, bounding in and out of the water like a puppy after thrown sticks. And over the glossy grass thundered Prince and Blossom, Duke, Duchess and Queenie, kicking up their enormous heels. Larks were exclaiming endlessly overhead. Otters played follow-my-leader down the riverbank. And, on a green slope in the near distance, Mark and his mother sat reading. Soon they would look up and wave to him joyfully and come to greet him …

  ‘Now just put this under your tongue a moment,’ someone was saying.

  ‘Oh do go away,’ Cosmo protested. ‘Can’t you see I don’t want to be disturbed just now? I don’t want to leave this place!’

  ‘You have to go this time,’ Con told him, and Sim said, ‘Never mind. We’ll wait for you here.’

  With grief and extreme reluctance, Cosmo slid back into his body. It seemed to have shrunk since he had left it. I need a larger size, he thought. Must tell Eunice – go to Marks & Spencer –

  The body felt cold and clammy, too, like a banana peel; ugh, horrible! They’d much better throw it away. He began to shiver, but somebody packed warm bedclothes round him. He was vaguely aware, in drifts of time, that things were done to him; he was washed, he was obliged to drink, he was given pills and made to swallow them.

  ‘I’d much rather go back where I was,’ he objected muzzily.

  ‘Well I’m afraid we don’t agree,’ said his father’s voice. ‘We want you here.’

  He opened his eyes.

  ‘Dad! When did you get here?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been around,’ said Richard. He looked extremely thin and tired, greyer than Cosmo remembered; even his eyebrows were grey. He was not smiling, exactly, but there was a light behind his eyes that had not been there for some time. He took hold of Cosmo’s hand, shaking it a little.

  ‘Welcome home!’ he said. ‘You gave us a bit of a fright.’

  Eunice came in with a beaker full of hot milk. She, too, was pale but calm.

  ‘Here, get this down you,’ she said scoldingly to Cosmo, and, as he drank the disgusting stuff, ‘Well! You’re a fine one! Just you wait till Emma starts laying into you!’

  He looked around. Now he realized that he was back in his own room. When had they found time to dismantle the bed and put it up again? He saw, too, that some planks from the sawed-up wardrobe had been made into a kind of shelf-and-cupboard unit at the end of the room.

  ‘Good heavens … When was all that done?’

  ‘Oh, there was time. We had you down in the garden room at first.’

  ‘At first –?’

  ‘You had a touch of pneumonia,’ his father explained. ‘Quite a nuisance, you’ve been, one way and another.’

  ‘Pneumonia? … What happened?’

  ‘You fell in the weir. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘Just the kind of thing you were not supposed to do, if you recall,’ Eunice said tartly, taking the beaker from him. ‘But no doubt you had good reasons.’

  Now it began slowly to come back to him.

  ‘I was in the mill – fighting Osmond – what happened? Did the floor give way?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’m sure!’ exploded Mrs Tydings, who came in at that moment with an extra pillow. Her eyes snapped at Cosmo like sparks from green wood. She looked as if for two pins she’d have given him a good walloping. ‘You were the one who was supposed to be taking care! Getting up and skedaddling out in the middle of the night. Just you wait, my lad. Just you wait till you’re out of that bed! I’ll give you medicine!’

  ‘I had to go, he was calling me … What happened to the others?’

  The very thought of that awful, hopeless fight began to make Cosmo feel weak and feverish. He lay back on his pillows.

  ‘He’s had enough talk for now,’ Eunice said. ‘You stay with him, Richard. Come on, Emma, you and I had better take ourselves off.’

  Cosmo was content to lie in silence with the comfort of his father’s presence beside him. After a longish interval he asked,

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yes, Cosmo?’

  ‘Are you in England to stay now?’

  ‘Yes I am.’

  ‘That’s good.’ He was silent again for a while. Then he said,

  ‘Dad – were they ever found?’

  ‘Yes. They were found,’ Richard answered, after a moment’s pause. ‘They were together, quite peacefully, as they must have died. On a little slope of hill. So we buried them there, and put up a stone with their names.

  ‘It’s an awfully long way from here,’ Cosmo muttered. He felt unspeakably sad.

  ‘Not really …’

  ‘They did it to break the pattern,’ Cosmo said, half to himself. ‘It was a better way than that other horrible pair –’ He thought of the hate-filled Osmond and his dreadful mother, ruthlessly intent to save her own son even at the cost of someone else’s life. ‘– Dad – what’s a striga?’

  ‘I think it was some kind of witch,’ Richard answered. ‘A woman who could change herself into an owl and fly through closed doors.’

  ‘I wonder why she couldn’t just kill me by her witchcraft? Maybe she had tried, and realized she couldn’t. Because he was bound to fight me –’

  ‘Are you getting delirious again?’

  ‘No, no. Where will you be living, Dad?’

  ‘I’ll do the same as you. Live in college during the week and come out here at weekends.’

  ‘Terrific …’ Holding his father’s hand, Cosmo drifted off into thought or sleep. Then, suddenly coming to again, he asked, ‘When I fell in the weir – how did they know? It was the middle of the night!’

  ‘Because of Lob. He roused Eunice. He was in a fearful state, barking and carrying on, quite frantic, wanted her to go outside. He more or less dragged her down there, she said. And there you were, bobbing around. Lob plunged in and hauled you to the edge, and between them he and Eunice managed to get you out. You owe Eunice quite a lot, one way and another. So do I.’

  ‘Good heavens,
’ Cosmo said faintly. After a moment or two he asked, ‘Where is Lob? I’d like to see the old fellow –’

  Richard said, ‘Well – I’m afraid – that’s not possible. You see, Lob was a very old dog. He was twenty. And pulling you out of the water was more of an effort than he’d made in a long time. It was more than he really had the strength for –’

  ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Yes.’

  ‘Oh, poor Eunice,’ said Cosmo. A long tremor went through him. He closed his eyes tightly and turned his head sideways on the pillow. ‘I’ve brought her nothing but trouble,’ he whispered, when the ache in his throat allowed him to speak.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. No, I wouldn’t say so.’

  Richard stood up.

  ‘I have to go into Oxford now, to make various arrangements about my work. I’ll see you later. Anything you want?’

  ‘No, thanks, Father. I’m awfully glad you’re here.’

  An hour or so later Eunice came in with a tray of soup and fruit.

  ‘You can probably start getting up tomorrow, the doctor says. Just coming downstairs for a bit at a time.’

  ‘Eunice,’ he said. ‘I – I’m sorry about Lob.’

  He couldn’t help it – the room dissolved round him in a wavering blur. Eunice sat down on his bed and they wrapped their arms round each other.

  ‘Look, Cosmo,’ she said after a while. ‘He was an old, old dog. And rescuing people was what he was meant for. So, what a terrific way to go, don’t you think? Much, much better than getting some horrid illness. We won’t forget him in a hurry. But presently we might think of getting a puppy who’d be more company for you. Now, try and eat your soup.’

  ‘Will you stay for a while? I’d like to talk to you.’

  ‘Yes, I was meaning to.’

  So, between mouthfuls of soup, Cosmo began to tell her about Con, and about Sim, and about Osmond and his wicked mother. She listened with the keenest interest.

  ‘Do you think they were here all the time, Eunice?’

  ‘Possibly so. And your coming here – in a rather tensed-up state – kind of fetched them out of limbo. I’d like to have seen Sim,’ she said. ‘He sounds nice. I think you ought to write all this down, Cosmo, while it’s fresh in your memory. About Osmond and his mother – I suppose she couldn’t help, poor woman, trying to help her son in the only way she knew, by studying black magic. Osmond was wrong about one thing though – he wasn’t his mother’s only son.’