Crik (9 page)

‘They are good,’ said Jack. ‘Did you paint them yourself?’

‘With instruction from another,’ answered Krimble. ‘Please sit, you must be exhausted after your near escape from the wolves. I saw your escape from the woods, quite breath-taking. Never seen anyone ride a wolf before, it will make a nice picture. Have a drink.’

Steam rose from two cups; to be polite Jack reached for one. His fingers welcomed the warmth of the porcelain, so he clutched it tight with both hands. Taking the chair beside Bill, he felt the rough grain of the unfinished wood pull at his trousers, making the seating uncomfortable.

‘It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone new visit,’ said Krimble.

Jack smiled, watching Krimble’s tongue probe his lips. ‘I’m afraid we can’t stay long, I shouldn’t have left the village at all.’

‘It will take hours to get back to your village. Rest here for a while; give the wolves a chance to move on before going back to the wood. Please drink your tea.’ Krimble touched his own cup to his withered lips.

Glancing over to Bill, Jack saw his friend had already emptied half his cup. Feeling rude, he drank. The sweetness of the drink surprised him, but it passed down his throat easily enough, and he found himself taking a longer sip.

‘I use honey instead of sugar,’ explained Krimble, pointing at the jars. ‘I find it packs more bite.’

Picking a framed picture from the wall, Yang turned it around, so the sky became the ground and the reflecting water the sky. Upside down, the trees, brush and birds swooping through the air, looked more like a portrait of a crying face than the marsh.

Unsettled, Jack called out to his shadow, ‘Put it back the way you found it.’

His shadow ignored him, studiously admiring the twisted image.

‘Hang it up,’ said Jack, alarmed that Krimble, not knowing he had no control over his shadow, would blame him if Yang should drop and break the painting.

Grinning, Krimble said, ‘Put it back Yang, but before you do, can you clear the dust from the top of the frame. I find it hard to clean these days.’

To Jack’s and Bill’s immense surprise, Yang at once started to brush the dust bunnies from the pine frame, he even polished the glass before setting the picture back on its nail.

‘How’d you make him do that,’ asked Jack, his mouth agape.

‘You just need to know how to speak to them, that’s all,’ replied Krimble.

Bill dropped his cup, smashing it across the reed strewn floor, stopping Jack from asking Krimble what he meant by referring to Yang as them. Only a spongy layer of honey lay at the bottom of the shattered cup.

With a muttered apology, Bill bent to pick up the broken pieces. When he got to his knees, his eyes rolled up and he crashed forward into an unconscious heap.

Racing to his aid, Jack failed to notice Krimble rise from his chair, clutching a cudgel in his long fingers. Bill’s head lolled in Jack’s arms, his skin was as white as papier-mâché, making Jack’s pulse quicken in alarm.

‘Something’s wrong with him,’ said Jack, fearing the hand of the Hatchling in Bill’s sudden ill turn.

He opened Bill’s mouth in an attempt to coax out the demon, when a shadow fell across him, sending a shiver down his spine. Looking back, he saw Krimble standing over him with a cruel grin peeling back his lips, showing for the first time his rotted teeth, and his madness.

The meagre amber glo
w
from a lone candle shaded the three people sat at the table, highlighting certain features, while swathes of blackness hid others. A girl, with copper blonde hair, tipped her face forward, revealing sunken cheeks and roving wild eyes. She tapped her chipped fingernails on the wooden table top, watching the two sleeping boys with growing impatience.

Krimble no doubt left her in near darkness as a new torment. He often changed his games, in an attempt to get her to react. Since coming to the Marsh House, she had come to prefer the shadows. Even in this dim light, she refused to look down at herself. A moth circled the candle, drawn by the light before the heat beat it back. She envied the insect, at any moment it could fly into the flame. Having endured timeless misery here, she saw no end to Krimble’s imprisonment.

When Krimble first brought in the two boys, she mistook them for stuffed dolls; neither moved in his arms, nor had they stirred when he arranged them on the chairs. Once Krimble had gone, the boys’ snores, so like the soft passage of wind through leaves, made her want to cry. The boy, with sandy hair, rapidly moved his eyes beneath his lids. The candle illuminated their tanned skin, which made her inspect her once sun-browned arms; appearing to her now like the underside of gigantic white slugs. Blood matted the boy’s fair hair and stained one cheek in maroon swirls. She wanted to reach over, to feel the warmth from another living person.

When he brought the boys in, her captor ignored her, and she ignored him. During her long imprisonment in the windowless room, she could not recall a time Krimble had spoken directly to her. Again, his parting words were not for her ears. The scraps of her last meal spoiled next to her arm. She had picked at the meat, leaving the raw vegetables on the plate; moving the peas around with her fingers. Her stomach ached, but not trusting the food Krimble brought her, she refused to eat more than necessary.

***

A coppery taste filled Jack’s mouth. Moving his tongue around, he touched the roof of his mouth, where it clove to his dry pallet. He recalled the tea, he drank earlier, filled with honey; it did not seem so long ago for his mouth to dry out. Images of Bill collapsing, and then Krimble attacking him from behind, roused Jack from his gentle quandary. His head swam when he opened his eyes, making him dizzy and sick to the stomach. Fearing he would throw up, he tried to raise his hands to his face, but coarse rope bound his wrists to a chair. Frightened, he jerked at his bonds, burning his skin.

‘He knows how to tie good knots.’

With a start, Jack looked up from his secured arms. At first, he did not see the speaker, only a small candle flickering atop the table. Then he saw a girl half submerged in shadow, watching him through eyes as dark and dazzling as black diamonds.

‘Who’re you? What’s happening here, release me.’ He tensed his arms against the rope.

‘Release you,’ she laughed, throwing back her head. ‘Release you,’ she repeated, banging the table with the palm of her hand. ‘If I could get you out of here, do you think I would be here myself? He has you now, and your podgy friend.’

For the first time Jack noticed Bill sitting next to him.

‘Don’t worry,’ said the girl, ‘he’s sleeping off Krimble’s wonder drug. He’ll come around soon enough.’

‘He drugged us?’

‘He drugged him,’ she said, pointing a slender finger at Bill. ‘I think with you he had to be a bit blunter. There’s blood in your hair, I suppose you didn’t drink Krimble’s tea as greedily as your friend.’ Her voice croaked, as though she had not spoken in a long time, and when she smiled, her chapped lips cracked, drawing a little blood.

‘Why has he done this to us, we haven’t done anything to him?’ said Jack, disbelieving what had happened. ‘We only came here to escape the wolves, we meant no harm. We spilt the bones outside by mistake; if he’s mad about that I can mend the box and put them all back in.’

‘Do you want some food?’ She pushed a plate toward him. ‘I’ll feed you if you like.’

‘No, I don’t want to eat,’ replied Jack, agitated with how passive she took his captivity. ‘Untie me.’

She ignored his demands. Leaning back in her chair, she opened her mouth in a wide yawn. ‘I wonder what time it is. I tend to lose track in here.’

‘What’s wrong with you; take these bloody ropes off me before he comes back.’

‘I tried to keep count once,’ she said, ignoring his struggles. ‘I tapped the table every second until my fingertips bled. Another time I repeated my mother’s name, until the words became so muddled in my head I don’t know what I was saying.’

The same damp smell he had smelt when he first entered the house, cloyed the air, making him gag. Peering into the dark room, he spied rags heaped on the floor. White sheets reflected enough candlelight to make out a crude bed. Beside the bed was a rusted basin. He presumed the girl slept on the sheets, and used the large bowl for a toilet.

‘I left home to find some mushrooms for my mother.’

Looking back at the girl, Jack noticed, behind the harrowed lines and sunken cheeks, how young she was. Horror, as thick as winter stew, rose up his throat; the girl was only a few years his elder, not a thirty-year-old woman as he had first surmised.

‘Storm clouds brewed on the horizon, making me hurry,’ she continued, oblivious to his scrutiny. ‘I followed an old path my grandfather cleared out; the stone flags he used were still visible after so many years. The path dips, and then skirts a few hills, before leading into a meadow, where I collect mushrooms. This time the path led me astray?’ She frowned. ‘Instead of leading me south, the stone flags turned to the east. I should’ve turned back then, but my curiosity got the better of me.’

Remembering how the trees and foliage had negotiated his own path eastward during his escape from the wolves pricked Jack’s attention.

‘Years of mud and intrusive weeds had half buried the path,’ she continued in her vacant, cracking, voice. ‘Had my grandfather also placed them? A divergence in the path, which had until then gone unnoticed. It took me through unfamiliar parts of the wood. The animals changed from the small birds and squirrels I befriended near to my home. Larger shapes now swooped through the trees, tracking my every step. Frightened, I wanted to turn back, although when I did, I found the path extended before me, with nothing behind but forest floor. Nightmarish shapes, half glimpsed in the trees, kept me on the path. Stepping from the cobbled stones would have meant sure death. The bog ended the path.’ Memories clouded her face. She refused to look at Jack. When she again spoke, her voice clipped the air like shears, ‘Smoke rose from the east, drawing me through the wet mud, until I found this house. Krimble opened his door to me, and despite his fearsome appearance, I trusted him enough to enter. He gave me some of his tea, and here I am.’

‘Won’t your mother be looking for you?’

Anger compressed the girl’s lips into a thin line. ‘Of course she would.’ She leant forward. ‘Can you tell me where we are? The path, which led me astray, would appear normal to my parents, leading them to the meadow. My father, with all his tracking skills, could not follow a bewitched route.’ She wiped away a tear. ‘Your fat friend is stirring.’ When she returned her stare to the flickering flame, her sorrow dulled the reflected light.

Jack turned his head as Bill slowly opened his eyes. Opening his mouth, Bill coughed up tea. With a groan, Bill leant his head back, cracking it against the chair.

‘Careful,’ said Jack, alarmed.

‘What happened?’ asked Bill, his skin waxy in the poor light.

‘You drank drugged tea,’ said Jack.

‘The drug will wear off soon,’ said the girl, with some sympathy. ‘You’ll have a headache for a while, but there’s no lasting effect. Close your eyes until the dizzy spell passes.’

Surprise at hearing a girl’s voice brought Bill forward in his chair. ‘Who’re you?’

‘Inara,’ she replied, after a pause, as though trying to recall her name. ‘Don’t fight against the ropes,’ she said as Bill discovered his bound wrists.

‘We can’t just remain here,’ said Jack. ‘No one knows where we are; our only chance is to escape.’

‘What’s going on Yin?’ asked Bill.

‘I guess it’s the upstairs room,’ replied Jack, remembering the space beneath the roof of the house. ‘I don’t know why we’re here. Krimble has held Inara captive a lot longer than us.’

Inara scratched her knotted hair; both Jack and Bill waited for her to give them an explanation. ‘What’s that moving across the table,’ she said, drawing back her arms.

‘It’s Yang!’ cried Bill. ‘Yin, get him to untie the rope.’

Jack saw his shadow move closer to the candle, his form almost too faint to detect. The flame licked the curled wick with a blue sheen, the yellow fire extended only a little higher, providing the candle with a peaked hood.

Shaking his head, Jack said, ‘He’s too weak, without a stronger light he won’t be able to loosen the ropes. If we had a second candle, he could do it. As it is, he won’t be able to grip anything.’

Climbing the white wax, Yang reached for the flame. They held their breath, willing the shadow to gain strength. The shadow’s fingers passed through, stirring the candlelight as though disturbed by a breath of wind.

‘It’s no good,’ said Jack when Yang did not solidify. ‘How about you Bill, can you get Black to kill Krimble for us?’

Bill shook his head. ‘I’ve needed to see all the animals I’ve commanded. Locked up here, all I can do is feel Black’s presence. He’s still outside, obeying my last command. I’ll try later, I’m still sick from the poison.’

‘Don’t try to escape,’ warned Inara. ‘He will catch you, and then it will be worst.’

Dumbstruck, Jack looked at the girl. ‘How can you say that, knowing how sick with worry your parents are? We must get out of here.’

‘I’m not going to spend my time locked away in this room,’ said Bill. ‘Black will protect us once we’re outside.’

Unshed tears shone through a fan of blonde hair. Inara, her mouth cast into a grimace, said, ‘I want to get from here more than you. I have lost everything since coming to this house. Once I escaped from this room.’ Her voice, cracking like a castanet, fell silent. She sat, wringing her hands in her lap. ‘It was the last time I saw anything other than these walls. He caught me.’ Shifting in her seat, she hiked her brown skirt over her knees.

Jack’s eyes grew large with horror; Bill vomited the last of the tea onto his shirt. Inara sat on the chair showing how Krimble, after discovering her downstairs, had cut off her legs below the knee. Only two ruined stumps remained; blood soaked through the dirty rags bandaged around her legs.

‘You understand why he doesn’t bother to tie me to the chair. He doesn’t need to, I can’t escape.’ She banged the table. ‘If you attempt to escape, he will catch you, and make you scream.’

The significance of the casket of bones became clear. Suppressing a surge of bitter-tasting bile, Jack remembered his shadow playing with the leg bone. Had that once belonged to Inara? How many people had Krimble mutilated, the casket held enough bones for at least another ten people, had they all once sat up here in the dark?

‘I’m sorry Inara,’ he said, ‘I am, but we must escape. We will take you with us, don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here.’

He saw Inara about to argue, when they heard the doorknob turn. With an intake of breath, Inara straightened her skirt, hiding her crippled legs. The door opened, bleeding new light into the room.

Krimble stood framed in the doorway, holding a cage full of black rats.