The Curse of Salamander Street (11 page)

‘Wonderful, amazing, marvellous …’ he said as he looked into the glass and then tutted as if he saw something he had expected. Kate stared into the crystal; she saw nothing but the reflection of the fire and the many people who by now had gathered around them to see Galphus’s performance.

‘There is a rumour in the world of my dreaming that someone close to you will be seen again. Someone you thought to be lost and long gone – do you know of whom I speak?’ Galphus asked with a dramatic smile. ‘I can see him travelling, walking across the windy moors.’

Kate jolted a glance at Thomas, daring not to say the name. He stared back at her and then at Galphus, his look urging him to speak.

‘I have lost many people in my time and can’t recall …’ Crane said, his face telling the children to be silent.

‘You are wise not to mention his name or where he is from. But I can tell you he is alive. He searches for you with a desire that can overcome death.’

Kate felt as if she would explode if she didn’t say his name. She had to know the truth from Galphus. ‘Do I know the one of whom you speak?’ she asked, talking as she ate.

‘Not only do you know him, but you have spent much time with him. From what I can see in the crystal, he is on his way to London.’ Galphus touched the tip of her nose with his finger. A spark cracked from the tip as if a minuscule bolt of lightning had jumped through the ether towards her.

‘Another one of your dreams, Galphus?’ Crane said as he leant forward. ‘Was it picked from slumber and chewed like cud? Don’t give them great expectations, Galphus. These kids are in my care and I don’t take lightly to them being made fools of.’

‘I tease not, Jacob. Within the crystal, news travels faster than the horse and outruns the mortal messenger. These matters are of heavenly importance. For as your friend seeks you, so does another – an adversary. I can see him in the stone; he hides his face like a spectre in the candlelight. You all know his name and it doesn’t need to be repeated.’ Galphus rambled as he stared at the walking stick. ‘You are being hunted by your friend and news is but two days away.’

‘So what is your place in all of this?’ Crane asked. ‘You speak as if we were brought here for this very purpose.’

‘Believe me, Jacob. This is the safest place for you to be … for the time being. All I can say is that Salamander Street will
grow upon you. It will become like a haven of rest. Wait with me three days and all will be made clear. Stay in Salamander Street and you will find your friend and you, Jacob, will be on your ship again.’

Galphus turned to Thomas and held out his hand. ‘I see you’re the son of a fisherman. How would you like to make shoes? I could teach you myself this very day. You could be my apprentice. Jacob and Kate can take old Mister Pallium back to count his money and you and I can make shoes. Whatever you make you can keep. How does that sound?’

Thomas nodded, his mouth filled with food. ‘Can I go?’ he asked Crane as he swallowed quickly.

Crane smiled and gestured for him to go. ‘Go and make some sea-boots. If Galphus is right then we will soon be sailing again.’

Then Galphus got to his feet. Kate hadn’t noticed before how tall the man was. As he stood, he seemed to tower above them. Crane stood with him and held out his hand.

‘Come, come, Thomas,’ Galphus said slowly as he made to walk to the door. Then he stopped and turned. ‘I’ll bring him back tonight. We can talk again, Jacob. Perhaps I can help you free your ship.’

With that Galphus stepped from the Salamander Inn and disappeared into the street with Thomas following like an obedient dog. Kate shrugged to herself, not wanting Crane to see her anger at being left behind.

‘Do you believe him?’ she asked Crane.

‘Of course he believes him,’ said the silent Mister Pallium as if suddenly stirred from a trance. ‘That is Galphus you speak of. Didn’t he amaze you with what he knows of your lives?’ he asked querulously.

‘We’ve seen much in the past days. Enough to last a lifetime, Pallium. It’s only right she should ask,’ Crane replied.

‘But it’s Galphus. He’s a seer and knows the future. The man has the finest leather factory in London – some say he has a thousand silver guineas. Imagine all that wealth, and he ate with
us
.’

‘Can’t you see, he’s so much like Rueben Wayfoot in every way,’ Kate said, remembering the time at Boggle Mill. ‘He talks the same, looks the same. It’s as if Rueben were here amongst us.’

‘Whoever Rueben is, he must be a fine fellow,’ Pallium chuntered as he nodded his head fretfully. ‘Let the man be, Jacob. By his fruit is a man known.’

‘Exactly, by his fruit. I feel as if we stand on the verge of winter and there has been no harvest and a thorn tree cannot bear a fig.’

W
ITHIN the minute they were all on the road and walking with the carriage as it began to descend the steep and winding hill. The bugler walked ahead, his faithful hounds packed close to his feet. The hairs on their backs stood bristled and each bared its teeth and uttered a low growl. The man carried his blunderbuss at the ready as he looked about him. To the east, the sky rumbled with the approach of a storm that flashed against the dark sky.

The travellers huddled together, jostling to be inside the group, not one of them wanting to be on the outer edge. All was quiet, except for the distant rumbling of thunder and the growl of the dogs. The madman could not be heard amongst the rocks, and as they walked a sense that the danger had passed came to them.

Bragg sighed, out of breath and with a sense of relief. Behind him, Mister Shrume scurried on like a little mouse, his legs at a trot to keep pace. It was Raphah and Beadle who had been pushed to the back of the gathering. They walked on, Beadle constantly looking over his shoulder with every distant peel of thunder.

‘How far do we keep this up?’ puffed Bragg discontentedly. ‘The hill can’t go on forever and I paid to be carried, not to walk.’

‘Just a mile, sir,’ muttered the coachman, pulling the brake even tighter as the carriage pressed hard against the horses.

They quickly descended into what was a vast open cavern with steep sides, littered with dark, jagged boulders. Pigs grazed on the sparse grass between the rocks. They were silent, their small sharp eyes reflected in the light from the carriage lamps.

‘In daylight, it is said that you can see for miles from this place,’ Ergott advised the gathering as they walked. His hand gripped the wand that he kept within his coat.

‘I prefer the inside of a hostelry, with a warm fire and hot food,’ Bragg snapped.

‘Then you better keep walking or else we shall never see such a place again,’ said Barghast, his long cloak flapping like a bat’s wing.

For a while the road became steeper. The horses slipped their footings and the carriage rocked back and forth. The light of the carriage gave a meagre glow that surrounded the travellers. Not one would step away from the glow of its paltry flame. Like moths they were drawn closer to it step by step, as if it would provide them with some protection. Outside the rim of its defence, the blackness was so intense that the travellers could not see a hand’s breadth in front of their faces.

‘We’re like sheep,’ Beadle said as they shuffled even closer together, as if herded by an unseen shepherd. ‘Ready for slaughter.’

‘The hounds say we are alone. They show no fear,’ the bugler said as he cocked the blunderbuss.

‘They’re dogs, what do they know?’ Bragg argued again.

‘They can see and hear that which we cannot,’ he replied. Suddenly one of his beasts began to growl.

‘My guts tell me different, my guts …’ Beadle said. His guts were rumbling and gurgling like a sewer.

‘I think we are all aware of what your guts are telling us, Beadle,’ Barghast said as he made a loud snort.

From the outer darkness came the babbling cry of a young child. The company gathered closer to the carriage as it squawked and squealed with every turn of its wheels. Beneath their feet, the road fell away steeply. The coachman held the brake tightly until it smoked against the rim. The cry came again, high and shrill, this time from the far side of the valley. The hounds growled and jumped about their feet. They pressed in against their human companions to form a frightened pack.

‘There’s someone out there,’ Beadle said as they walked slowly on.

‘Not for long,’ said the bugler as he aimed the blunderbuss into the darkness.

The screaming came again. It echoed around the walls of the valley and upwards to the thunderous sky. A blanket of lightning flashed from horizon to horizon. In amongst the rocks the shadow of a gigantic man was silhouetted against the stones.

Quickly, without taking aim, the bugler fired his gun. The shot rang out just as the storm began to explode upon the moors. Falling to his knees, he reloaded the weapon.

The carriage horses reared up in panic. Lady Tanville screamed, and from somewhere near came a loud growl as if from a tiger. The lightning flashed again and a creature leapt from the road and disappeared into the night.

‘It’s taken Barghast, he’s gone!’ she screamed. She held his cloak in her hands. ‘He was here and then the creature took him.’

‘Then we are at war,’ Ergott shouted as he pulled his diving wand from his jacket and held it like a short sword.

‘Thought you’d have a bigger one than that,’ Bragg said snidely, stepping towards the carriage light. ‘Take more than a twig to frighten off the creature out there.’

‘Keep your panic to yourself,’ shouted the bugler. He sounded the alarm, blowing several times upon the small cow horn that he kept on a red rope around his neck. The hounds hollered with each blast, sensing that a chase was about to take place.

‘The screaming came again. It pierced the air like the shrill cry of a dying lamb. As the night sky lit up with a crack of lightning, the shape of a man could be seen upon the tor. For the briefest moments he was as clearly visible as if in the brightness of day. His hair blew in the wind; a beard covered his face. He raised his hands to the sky as if he wanted to catch a lightning bolt as it crashed to earth. His arms were bare and about his shoulders was tied a tattered cloak. From each arm dangled a short, broken chain of iron fetters, manacled to his wrist.

‘
Mad
Cassy!
’ screamed the coachman as he fought to control the horses and battle with the brake.

The bugler took aim and fired into the night. The barrel of the blunderbuss exploded with a flash of double-charge so bright that it dazed and blinded the travellers. In the darkness there was a languishing moan.

‘You got him!’ shouted the coachman as the hounds barked.

‘And I’ll have him dead,’ shouted the bugler, double-charging the gun yet again.

‘He’s wounded,’ Raphah called as the moaning turned into a scream. It was shrill and harsh and pierced them to the bone. From peak to peak it sounded like the dying of a mad dog. ‘You’ve got to help him.’

‘Kill him, lad. That’s the only thing good for him,’ the bugler said as he rallied the hounds to set off on the chase.

‘But what of the creature that has taken Barghast?’ Ergott asked.

‘Your duty is to protect
us
!’ screamed Bragg as he desperately tried to mount the carriage and hide within.

‘Can’t let a chance like this go by,’ the bugler replied. ‘Could be my making.’

‘Could be your death. What if the madman takes you like he has taken Barghast?’ Ergott asked. He waved his wand frantically in the shape of a star and muttered under his breath.

‘Then it’ll get some lead as well,’ the bugler said excitedly as he stepped from the toll road and began to make his way slowly upwards through the steep rocks.

‘We can’t let him kill the man,’ Raphah said quietly to Beadle.

‘Oh yes we can,’ Beadle replied, burying his face in his hands. ‘The man’s got a gun and can do what he likes.’

‘Then I’ll go with him,’ Raphah said, breaking rank from the gathering and jumping from the road. He ran through the stones and into the darkness. In the blink of an eye he was gone from sight as if he had entered death.

Beadle ran up and down the road shouting for Raphah to return as the carriage was pulled to a halt. Bragg screamed in protest from inside the coach. He locked the doors and slid the window shut, leaving the rest of the travellers to await the approaching storm.

Mister Shrume, fearful of the night, took up a place under the coach. Holding the axle in both hands he hung on from beneath, so that he could not be seen by whatever had taken Barghast.

Ergott had rooted himself to the ground and mumbled a malediction time and again. He clutched his wand with both hands and stared into the darkness that surrounded them. The tallow lamp that hung from the outside of the coach began to fade. Slowly its light became softer and reached out less and less to banish the night.

‘Let us in!’ screamed Lady Tanville, banging on the carriage
door. Reluctantly, Bragg slipped the lock and edged it open to allow her to enter. The travellers ushered each other inside as Shrume appeared from his hiding place, quivering with fear. Beadle took hold of the handle and stepped upon the mounting plate. The door was pulled tightly shut and locked before him.

‘You paid for the roof,’ Bragg said. ‘And the roof it’ll be.’

There came a shuddering howl from the ridge above them as if one of the coach hounds was being torn to pieces in the darkness. Beadle jumped quickly from the road and pulled himself to the driver’s seat.

‘Take this, use it if you must,’ the driver said, handing Beadle a small flintlock pistol. ‘It’s not right here, they should never have gone.’

On the far side of the valley, they could hear the hounds making their way up through the rocks. With every flash of the storm they could see the bugler followed by Raphah, clawing their way higher. The hounds bounded on in the brief but blinding flashes and then were gone as ink-black covered their tracks.

‘What took Barghast?’ Beadle asked the coachman anxiously as he pointed the pistol into the blackness.

‘Hate this place, hate it. Knew we should have gone faster and made it in daylight.’ The coachman nodded his head and steadied the horses. ‘There’s talk of a hound, a hellhound. Comes from the fell and uses a storm to take its victims. They say that the madman feeds the beast and in return it keeps him safe. The Ethio is a brave fool.’

‘Do we stay?’ Beadle asked.

The driver stared him in the face and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘I’ll be gone before they come back. Peveril in the mile. I’ll run this coach down the hill and take my chance.’

‘Give them time,’ Beadle insisted.

The howling came again, this time closer. It sounded like the call of a wolf and the growling of an old bear that had somehow come together to make a cry so terrible that it shuddered the bones. The horses jerked upon their hooves and danced upon the road as if it were hot coals. They steamed and groaned, panting short breaths and eager to run.

‘I can’t hold them much longer,’ the driver said, gripping the reins tightly in his gloved hand. ‘There’s something that they can see and we can’t. If it comes closer they shall be from this place like the devil were chasing them.’

‘Just a time longer,’ Beadle pleaded.

‘Go on man, go on – think of your passengers,’ screamed Bragg from within.

‘You can’t leave them,’ shouted Lady Tanville. She tried to open the door, only to be pushed back by Mister Shrume, who now quivered violently as if he would fall apart at that very moment.

There was a crash of glass from the far side of the coach as something smashed the window. The carriage swung to the side as if the weight of a beast fell upon it.

For a moment, in the flash of lightning, Beadle thought he saw a beast. Full of fear and trembling, he tried to aim the pistol. He closed his eyes as he squeezed the stiff trigger. The hammer fell suddenly and the plate ignited. But there was silence. ‘No!’ he screamed as he realised that it had no charge.

‘Not loaded?’ shouted the driver. ‘I never thought …’

The coach rolled like a bobbing ship and Mister Shrume screamed like an old hag. And then the lead stallion bolted, its black mane streaming like silk fingers as it took off from the road. The other horses gave chase and the carriage was dragged at speed down the hill. The driver held them fast with one hand as with the other he pulled the screaming brake. But the carriage got faster and faster, the wheels clattering ever quicker.

Beadle gripped the iron rail that ran the width of the carriage seat as he was pounded up and down. Inside, Ergott, and Shrume were buffeted from their seats and heaped upon the unconscious Bragg. Lady Tanville held tightly to the fading lamp, her hands burning upon the metal.

From the darkness the roar of the beast came again as if it gave chase. The horses were spurred faster, not caring that they raced to death.

‘I can’t hold it!’ screamed the driver as the reins began to slip from his gloves.

Lightning flashed again. For a moment Beadle could see the road ahead. It twisted and turned, flattening out as they approached Peveril. At the turn in the road he saw a vast expanse of water.

‘Galilee!’ shouted the driver as he battled to pull the sweat-lathered horses to a halt. ‘We’ll never make the corner.’

Beadle let go of the rail and grabbed the driver’s hand. With all the strength he could summon he took hold of the reins and began to pull.

‘By Riathamus, we will not die!’ he screamed at the night. Cries of terror from the carriage were all he could hear. The carriage rolled on, out of control. Beadle feared he would soon be dead, tossed from the coach and down the rock-strewn valley. He gripped the reins for all his life, desperately trying to pull the horses back. A shard of bright blue lightning hit the lake and appeared to jump from the water, hitting the clouds and then in the blink of an eye firing to earth. The explosion was so intense, so loud and powerful that the sound knocked the wind from Beadle’s chest. It was like the final note to some great concerto. All fell silent. The storm was over.