Demelza & the Spectre Detectors

by Holly Rivers

  But Demelza daren’t utter a word. Like the beginnings of a storm, a freezing wind burst through the chamber. The noise was unbearable, as if a thousand eagles were propelling forward, as if a cyclone was whipping its way through a desert. A battalion of spectres came careering inside, each one clasping a deadly-looking weapon.

  Demelza recognized them at once – they were the spectres she’d seen at the Quietus! There was the Ancient Egyptian, the burly cowgirl, the Native American chief and a menagerie of spectral animals that growled and squawked as if ready to pounce. A pirate floated shoulder to shoulder with a bare-chested boxer and a rag-tag band of Victorian children brandished their chimney sweeps like swords. At their front Harry Le Quin, the jester who had sat at the Quietus reception, bounded forward on a spectral horse which galloped through the air like a breaking wave.

  Gregor dropped the knife from Grandma’s throat and Boris staggered back towards the wall, away from the grave and the approaching army of spectres. ‘Arghhh! Keep away from us you zombie demons!’ he shouted. ‘Get away!’

  But Mr Grey’s face was set in determination, and the vein in his temple was pulsing like a worm trying to escape. He strode over to Grandma and, taking the knife from where Gregor had dropped it, locked his own arm around Grandma Maeve’s throat. He angled the tip of the blade dangerously close to her face. She was trembling, but didn’t move a muscle.

  ‘Neville, put that down,’ said Mr Barnabas sternly. ‘We can help you, just let Maeve go.’

  Mr Grey laughed, spittle building in the corners of his mouth. ‘I don’t think so! Do you think I’m going to give up on what I’ve waited so long for? My son will be brought back to life! Demelza will do the Conjuring of Resurrection!’

  ‘Father, please!’ pleaded Percy. ‘I’ve already told you, I’m happy as I am. I can go and live at the Quietus with all the other spectres. I’ll be safe there, and we can still see each other. You can come and visit whenever you like . . .’

  All heads turned to Mr Grey. Demelza swallowed. For a moment it looked as though he was considering his son’s suggestion. His eyes were shining with tears, his hands trembling as he curled his fist tighter around the handle of the knife. Demelza knew that whatever this man said next would decide hers and her grandmother’s fate.

  ‘Well?’ said Percy. ‘What do you say? Let Grandma Maeve go and then we can talk.’

  ‘No,’ answered Mr Grey. ‘We both know that if I give myself up, I’ll go to prison – and then I’ll never be able to bring you back to life. I won’t give up on you, Percy. Someday, somehow, I will succeed.’ Still holding the knife to Grandma’s throat, he backed towards the open door of the crypt. ‘I’m leaving now, but if anyone tries to follow me, the old woman is chopped liver, you understand?’

  And with that, Mr Grey disappeared into the darkness of the cemetery, taking Grandma Maeve with him.

  CHAPTER 36

  The Robotic Hand for Homework Haters

  Demelza ran her hands through her hair in despair. What was she going to do now? Unless she was able to somehow procure a shotgun or a crossbow within the next few seconds, there was no way that she was going to be able to bring down Mr Grey without him hurting Grandma Maeve.

  ‘Spectres, after him!’ commanded Mr Barnabas from the doorway. ‘NOW!’

  ‘NO!’ protested Demelza. ‘Didn’t you hear what he said? If anyone follows, Grandma Maeve’s as good as dead!’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Percy. ‘My dad isn’t thinking straight. Who knows what he’ll do if we cross him again?’

  THUD!

  Demelza’s satchel suddenly landed at her feet.

  ‘You dropped it in the cemetery,’ Miranda called from across the crypt. ‘Is there something inside that you could use? One of your inventions, maybe?’

  Demelza grinned and, with adrenalin spurring her on, tore open the bag. She scrabbled through the pockets, searching frantically for something that might be of use. Out came a half-eaten bar of toffee, some marbles, a mouldy banana, her Magnificent Belly-Button Cleaning Machine, her Self-Playing Harmonica . . .

  Then she spotted it.

  Nestled right at the bottom was the Remarkable Robotic Hand for Homework Haters! Its clawed metal fingers were outstretched, as if waiting to grab hold of something, or maybe someone. Could she use it to seize Mr Grey? It hadn’t had an official test run yet, but it was her only hope!

  ‘Found anything?’ shouted Miranda from the doorway. ‘He’s headed for the church!’

  Demelza gave a big nod as she sprung to her feet. ‘Wish me luck!’ she said, and with her thinking cap pulled on tight, she tore out into the cemetery.

  Outside, the night wind hacked at her skin like a sickle. It was still foggy, but up ahead Demelza could just about make out Grandma Maeve’s slight silhouette being dragged into the steeple-topped church ahead. Mr Grey’s laugh rang through the night, mingling with her grandmother’s screams like a jarring, discordant concerto.

  ‘Don’t worry, Grandma,’ whispered Demelza to herself as she slalomed through the tombstones to the church. ‘I’m coming!’

  She ran through the stone gateway of the church and slipped silently inside. It was dark, the only glimmers of light coming through the stained-glass windows throwing jewelled hues across the pews. Demelza tucked herself behind a pulpit and watched. At the altar, Mr Grey’s back was turned, but it was clear that he was still holding the knife close to Grandma Maeve’s throat. Her muffled cries echoed through the pews as she struggled to break free.

  ‘Oh, be quiet, you stupid bag! I’m not letting you go until I know it’s safe for me to escape,’ he taunted, heading for a narrow door in the vestry. His jeers echoed through the church’s stone pillars and Demelza breathed deeply, stopping herself from reacting too quickly. She only had one chance at this, one chance to save Grandma Maeve. She pulled the glimmering robotic hand over her own like a glove, adjusted the settings on the control pad at its wrist, and with the precision of an archer, pointed it in the direction of Mr Grey. She slammed the thumb of her other hand on to the control pad’s red button and . . .

  WHOOOOOOOOOOSH!

  The hand was let loose from its metal wrist and flew through the air like a remote-controlled aeroplane. Using the device’s control pad on the wrist piece, Demelza navigated the hand through the church’s wide gothic arches: ducking and diving, zooming left and right, flying loop-de-loop.

  But the buzz and hum of its motor were noisier than Demelza had expected, and as it hurtled towards Mr Grey, he spun around.

  ‘What on earth—?’ He jumped backwards, losing his grip on Grandma Maeve, who fell to the floor. As the robotic hand circled around him, Mr Grey began flailing his knife around, as if he were swatting an extremely large bumblebee. ‘What’s happening? Get away from me! Get off!’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so, Mr Grey!’ Demelza stepped out from her hiding place, and as soon as the contraption was close enough to its victim, she pressed the blue button on her wrist.

  ZAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!

  The fingers of the robotic hand began to stretch outwards like tentacles, before closing around Mr Grey’s neck. When they had clamped themselves tight, Demelza moved the lever on her control panel and Mr Grey was lifted into the air. The invention was working! It was just as strong as a real hand – perhaps even stronger!

  ‘ARGGGHHHH! Let me go!’ Mr Grey wailed as his feet left the ground and he was hoisted higher into the air. He thrashed about, wobbling all over the place like a moustachioed octopus. He tried to unhook the metal fingers, but the more he struggled, the tighter Demelza ordered them to squeeze around his throat.

  ‘You’re going nowhere!’ Demelza shouted. Her forehead was dripping with sweat, her pulse racing. ‘Apart from a prison cell, that is!’

  Demelza glared up at Mr Grey, suspended on the end of the contraption. His face was green, his legs treading air like a duck’s in water. ‘N-n-now look here, Demelza,’ he spluttered, ‘put me down. I’ll let your grandma go
and we can just forget that all of this ever happened.’

  ‘What? So you’re free to find another apprentice to abduct?’ Demelza shouted. ‘I don’t think so!’

  Grandma Maeve looked up, clearly weak and woozy. ‘Demelza, is that you?’ she said. ‘Oh, my darlin’ girl . . .’

  ‘Yes, it’s me, Grandma! Just stay where you are, OK? Help will be here for you soon!’

  And with the confidence of a pilot, Demelza began to guide the robotic hand back through the church and into the cemetery.

  Through the night air it flew, Mr Grey dangling from its claws like a prize in a fairground machine. ‘Help me! Boris! Gregor!’ he croaked, looking around for his henchmen. ‘The girl must be stopped at once! Get me down!’

  But Boris and Gregor couldn’t hear their boss’s cries, as at that very moment, the spectre of Harry Le Quin was walloping them over their heads with his jester stick, while a murder of spectral crows pecked at their toes.

  As Demelza navigated her flailing cargo back into the crypt she called to Miranda, ‘Go and get Grandma Maeve from the church! Quick! I think she’s hurt.’

  Miranda nodded and was out of the tomb in a flash.

  ‘Demelza, please let me down!’ begged Mr Grey from the air. ‘Please! I’ve been a fool, but I can’t go to prison. Percival can’t be left on his own!’

  ‘It’s too late for that now, Father!’ shouted Percy. ‘Demelza, do what you have to do!’

  Demelza nodded and, taking a deep breath, pressed another button on her control pad. The robotic hand began to descend, bringing Mr Grey with it, and as his feet touched the ground, Mr Barnabas swooped in, binding Mr Grey’s wrists and ankles with rope.

  ‘NO! Let me go, you ruffian!’ Mr Grey growled. ‘You won’t get away with this, I can assure you! No one will believe you!’

  ‘Oh, the police are already on their way, Neville,’ said Mr Barnabas. ‘And I think they’ll find more than enough evidence here to convict you of kidnap, trespassing and grave robbing, without us needing to reveal exactly what has been going on here tonight.’

  Demelza pulled off the robotic hand and let herself fall back against the crypt wall. Her face was burning, her ears ringing, but she’d done it! She’d stopped Mr Grey!

  As she sat catching her breath, Shiver came toddling forth. His tail was waggling in what could have been applause, but more likely hunger, and Demelza patted his head. ‘Don’t worry, boy, we’ll be home soon, and you’re going to have the biggest, juiciest piece of steak I can find! Just you wait!’ On hearing the word steak, the little dog lolled out his tongue and bared his teeth, as if smiling.

  ‘Demelza! Oh, Demelza, you clever, clever girl!’ Escorted by Miranda, Grandma Maeve came hobbling back into the crypt. ‘You did it, you did it!’

  Demelza tore towards them and she flung her arms around her grandmother. As she breathed in the comforting smell of her lavender perfume, she instantly felt her body soften. The smell of home.

  ‘Are you all right, Grandma?’ she asked, noticing the graze on her grandma’s cheek. ‘Did he hurt you?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a little scratch,’ replied Grandma Maeve with a wink. ‘Nothin’ compared to what that four-horned leopard did to me when I was trekking through the mountains of Tibet!’

  Demelza smiled through her tears. ‘Oh, Grandma, I’m so sorry. I’ve been so foolish! If it weren’t for me and my big mouth then none of this would ever have happened.’

  ‘Don’t even give it another thought, my darlin’,’ said Grandma Maeve. ‘It was your quick thinking that saved the day. You were ever so brave back then in the church.’

  ‘She’s right, Demelza,’ reassured Percy. ‘It was you and your invention that put a stop to it all in the end.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re a hero!’ said Miranda, putting a hand on Demelza’s shoulder. ‘I’m definitely going to write a poem about this! “The Ballad of the Robotic Hand”.’

  Demelza smiled and wiped her face. ‘Thanks. But I couldn’t have done any of it without you two by my side. How did you know to confide in Mr Barnabas?’

  ‘He found us in the forest after I left you to get help,’ said Percy. ‘Apparently we aren’t very convincing liars after all.’

  Mr Barnabas came to join them. ‘Yes, that tall tale you told me about studying nocturnal animals didn’t quite ring true,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘And after you left my sweet shop I had this niggling feeling that perhaps something wasn’t quite right. So I followed the three of you at a distance. The path of bonbons that you’d left eventually led me to Miranda and Percy.’

  ‘And you’re a Spectre Detector too?’ asked Demelza.

  Mr Barnabas nodded.

  ‘And not just any old Spectre Detector,’ said Grandma Maeve, looking up at the dark-haired man. ‘Mr Barnabas is one of our Spectral Sages!’

  Demelza felt her eyes widen as thoughts began to come together like the teeth of a zipper: the realistic skulls in his shop window; the familiar chocolates she’d seen at the Dance with Death; his early-morning phone call to Grandma Maeve offering to post her letters; the bowl of sweets on the Quietus’s reception desk . . .

  It all made sense now!

  ‘So you’re one of the heads of the Quietus?’ she asked.

  Mr Barnabas nodded. ‘I’m ever so sorry about what happened when you came to us yesterday looking for help, Demelza. I had no idea.’ He leant in and said sotto voce, ‘Mr Le Quin’s a very efficient receptionist but can be a bit militant when it comes to checking paperwork. He was executed by the court of King Henry VIII, you see – apparently his juggling skills weren’t up to much, and he wasn’t able to fart on demand. Has been a bit of a jobsworth ever since.’

  Demelza let out a snigger, but at the same time couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for the poor jester. Imagine being killed for such a thing!

  ‘Come on, let’s go home,’ she said, turning to Grandma Maeve. ‘I don’t know about you, but I could really do with a cup of tea. And a peanut butter and cheese sandwich, of course!’

  CHAPTER 37

  Home at Last

  By Sunday morning, things were gradually getting back to normal at Bladderwrack Cottage. In the sitting room, Demelza and Percy were relaxing with Shiver in front of the roaring log fire. For the first time in a while it had been lit, and as it crackled, plumes of smoke unfurled from the grate, filling the room with its sweet, comforting incense. Grandma Maeve had agreed that Percy would stay with them for the time being, before moving to the Quietus when he felt ready.

  ‘Ah, home sweet home!’ said Demelza. She was in her dressing gown and thinking cap, tinkering with a screwdriver and circuit board, while simultaneously jotting down some new ideas in her notebook. She’d wasted no time in picking up the latest issue of Young Inventor Weekly, alongside a few new additions to her tool kit.

  ‘Demelza, we’re meant to be resting,’ said Percy, who was reclining happily in mid-air, leisurely flicking through a comic book. ‘Why don’t you just slow down for a bit?’

  ‘Percy, I’ve missed out on nearly two weeks of inventing,’ she replied curtly. ‘That’s nearly 20,160 minutes of creating time lost. If I’m ever going to win the Nobel Prize for Physics, I have to keep my brain well oiled.’

  Percy rolled his eyes and put down his book. ‘Well, how about a game of chess instead? Will that help to keep your brain well oiled ?’

  Demelza looked up, her eyes glinting. ‘Sure. But be prepared to be completely annihilated! Again!’

  By the time the clock struck midday, Demelza had already won two games of chess and the friends were halfway through their third.

  ‘I still can’t believe you never guessed that you were a spectre, Percy,’ said Demelza. ‘Surely when you woke up after being summoned you felt – I don’t know – different?’

  ‘Well, I guess I did feel . . . lighter,’ said Percy, staking out the chess board. ‘But my dad said it was just down to me losing weight after being so ill. He’d taken all of the mirrors fr
om the house, so I never realized that my face wasn’t changing, or that I wasn’t growing up. I was told that my skin was so pale because I couldn’t go out in the sunshine because of my allergies. Dad had an answer to everything, so in the end I just stopped asking questions, I suppose.’

  ‘But what about being able to float? You really never knew?’

  ‘No! I thought I was just a regular human boy. You’d have to be completely crazy to think that you could actually defy gravity!’

  Demelza blushed as she thought back to three years ago, when a test run of her Wondrous All-Weather Wings had resulted in her being rushed to hospital with a broken leg, three cracked ribs and two black eyes. ‘Yeah . . . completely crazy,’ she muttered.

  ‘It’s a pretty amazing perk of being dead, though,’ said Percy. ‘I feel like a golden eagle!’ With that he shot up into the air, banging his head on the ceiling.

  ‘A turkey, more like!’ laughed Demelza. She looked intently at the chessboard, trying to work out her next move. ‘Any word about your dad?’

  ‘No, nothing yet,’ replied Percy, floating back down to his spot. ‘The police told Grandma Maeve they’d get in contact.’

  ‘I wonder how long he’ll be in prison for?’ said Demelza, moving one of her pieces diagonally across the board and taking out another of Percy’s. ‘Do you think you’ll go visit him?’

  Percy looked up, his eyes watery. ‘To be honest, I don’t really want to think about it at the moment. Do you mind if we change the subject?’

  Demelza smiled. ‘Of course not. And you know you can stay here as long as you like, whatever happens.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘We’d have to make you a bedroom in the shed, though,’ added Demelza quickly, worried that she was starting to sound soppy. ‘I can’t have you cluttering up my inventing space with your comic books and fluffy toys for ever.’

  The pair giggled, and Demelza felt a warm surge of happiness rush through her body. The feeling only improved when a few minutes later Grandma walked in carrying a plate of home-made biscuits and a steaming mug of hot chocolate. The doctor had told her to stay in bed for at least a fortnight, but she’d already donned her apron and had spent all morning in the kitchen.