Darkside (14 page)

 

 

C
arnegie tossed another log on the fire, and let out a long sigh. He settled deeper into the chair, bathing in the warmth of the glow. Firelight flickered over the cuts on his face: sharp reminders of his struggle with Skeet. The animal rage had drained from his face, the bristles had receded and the claws retracted. Now he looked wearier and more human than he ever had before.

By contrast, even in the relative safety of Carnegie's office, Ricky was struggling to calm down. He sat bolt upright, his head flicking round at the slightest sound, his body flinching with every scream that echoed up from Fitzwilliam Street. Jonathan knew how he felt. Adrenalin was still coursing through his veins. He hadn't stopped running and fighting since he had crossed over to Darkside, but he had never felt more alive. For the first time in his life, Jonathan didn't feel afraid of anything. Even so, for Ricky's sake, he went over to the window and drew the curtains closed.

“What do we do now, Carnegie?”

“Now? We rest,” the wereman mumbled. “Send Ricky back to Lightside. Then I try to come up with a plan that means Vendetta doesn't kill us both.”

“He won't come after you – not tonight anyway.”

Jonathan whirled round. Raquella was standing in the doorway, a grave look on her face. Carnegie rose from his chair, rubbing his face drowsily.

“Raquella! What are you doing here?”

“I had to talk to you.”

“If Vendetta finds out you've come here, you'll be in serious trouble, my dear.”

She shook her head. “I had no choice. You don't have a phone. Anyway, he won't find out. He's gone to Lightside to feed. He's got his dagger back.”

“I don't understand. What dagger?”

Raquella unbuttoned her cloak and sat down on the couch. “When he feeds on humans, Vendetta uses a dagger to slice them open. It's made of a rare substance that stops his victims passing on any diseases to him. He's always been paranoid that he'll pick up something nasty. Dirty blood – it's what kills most vampires in the end.”

Slowly things started to become a little clearer for Jonathan. “Hang on a sec. I had that knife! I found it in the room next to my dad's at the hospital!”

Raquella nodded. “He must have made the link to you. That's why he's been chasing after you. His dagger is the key to his panic – without it, he couldn't feed. And tonight Marianne came to the house and returned it to him.”

“But it was on my dad's ward. In London. On Lightside!”

“That's where he feeds sometimes. He can't drink pure Lightside blood – it's too potent; it would send him insane. But if people there have a bit of Darkside in their bloodstream, or seeping into their brain, he can drink it. It's one of the things that makes him so powerful. I guess the patients on your dad's ward must have associations with Darkside.”

Jonathan was beginning to make a connection – and then stopped in his tracks. “So what's he going to do now he's got his dagger?”

He knew the answer to his own question. Raquella looked away. “He's travelling back to the hospital tonight. To feed again. And he knows your dad's there. Jonathan, I'm so sorry.”

The room began to spin. Jonathan staggered, and then sat down sharply. Carnegie was trying to speak to him, but the words washed over him in a meaningless jumble. Vendetta was going to attack Alain, who was lying helpless in a hospital bed. The image of his dad lit a fire in Jonathan's chest.

“I have to get back to the hospital now!”

“He's got a head start on you. You won't be able to catch him.”

“Then we have to warn him. There must be a way that we can get hold of him!”

Carnegie shook his head. “I'm sorry, boy. But we can't contact Lightside from here.”

There was a small cough from the other side of the room. “I'm not sure,” said Raquella dubiously, “but I think there might be a way. You remember the phone in Vendetta's glasshouse? I overheard him speaking on it once, and I think he's managed to connect it to Lightside. He has so many contacts there, it would make sense. We could try and phone from there, if you like.”

Carnegie punched one hand into the palm of another. “We'll have to give it a try. Throw me the hat, boy, and we'll get moving.”

Throughout the conversation, Ricky had looked on the point of fainting. At the prospect of travelling to Vendetta Heights, he began to physically shake. “But if this guy's some kind of vampire . . . what happens if he catches us?”

“He's not there,” Jonathan replied. “So he won't catch us.”

“Can't I stay here anyway?” he pleaded.

Carnegie nodded. “If you want, boy. I suppose you might make it through the night.”

There was another scream from outside. Ricky's face hardened. “I'll come with you.”

The burly wereman patted him on the back. “Good lad. Knew you'd make the right decision.”

 

There was a strange looking vehicle parked outside Carnegie's rooms. It looked like a large carriage, but instead of horses there was simply an extended front section and an upright steering wheel rising starkly from the driver's seat.

“Vendetta's car,” Raquella explained. “I borrowed it.”

“You can drive it?”

“I can make it go. The rest sort of takes care of itself.”

She hoisted herself up into the vehicle, and carefully rearranged her skirt before sitting down in the driver's seat. Jonathan and Ricky clambered up to the back seats, while Carnegie went round to the front of the car and began turning a handle in the grille of the machine.

Jonathan leaned forward and spoke into Raquella's ear. “You have to wind this thing up to make it go?”

With a splutter and a loud cracking noise the engine burst into life, sending the occupants of the car rattling around in their seats. Raquella turned round and glared at Jonathan. “There's no time to waste, and this is the fastest vehicle in Darkside,” she snapped. “You can walk if you want.”

Carnegie leapt up into the car, and she pulled away into the road with a screech and a loud blast on the horn.

It was a journey that Jonathan would never forget. They couldn't have been moving that quickly, but the fact that the vehicle had no sides or doors left them horribly exposed. They had to cling on for dear life to avoid being thrown on to the road. Beside him Ricky juddered and bounced, and the pair of them banged into each other with every slight adjustment of the steering wheel. As the wind sliced through his hair and the cobbles rumbled beneath him, Jonathan couldn't help but grin with exhilaration.

As usual on a Darkside night, the streets were filled with cabs and carriages and scampering urchins, but Raquella took no notice of them. With only her horn to protect her, she drove in a straight line irrespective of any oncoming traffic, and regardless of the shouts of surprise and oaths from other drivers.

They hurtled down the Grand, past the bejewelled, well-to-do Darksiders heading into Kinski's Theatre of the Macabre, the blood-drenched couples arguing outside Casino Sanguino, and the lonely, shadowy figures that haunted the doorways of The Psychosis Club. Jonathan counted at least three carriages that were forced to veer off the road on to the pavement to avoid a collision with the car. Horses bucked and whinnied in fear. Chaos enveloped the road, but the one constant was the proud, insistent beeping of Vendetta's horn.

In the front seat, Carnegie looked ill at ease. He winced at every near miss, and flung a hand over his eyes when Raquella shaved the side of a horse-drawn omnibus. At one point her turned to her and bellowed: “You're going to kill us! Do you always drive like this?”

She replied without taking her eyes off the road. “I did on the journey here. I've never driven before today.”

Carnegie groaned and placed his head in his hands.

The car shot off the Grand and began the gradual ascent up to Savage Row. The road was quieter now, the air a little fresher, and the leaves in the trees were dappled with moonlight. Behind them, the daunting silhouette of Darkside's factories and chimneys seemed to take a pace back.

Before too long the gothic outline of Vendetta Heights came into view. The gates were open, and the car flew up the gravel driveway. As they passed the fountain of the crying child, Raquella hit the brakes, and sent the car skidding to a standstill outside the front entrance. The engine pinged, and water ran across the bonnet like perspiration. Jonathan's body felt shaky after the violent jolting of the journey, and he nearly fell over trying to get out of the vehicle.

Raquella's face was blackened with grime, but she was grinning from ear to ear. “Not a bad journey, eh? I'm definitely getting better.”

Carnegie dismounted slowly. “Young lady, you are never driving again. Ever.”

She pouted, and walked up the front steps of the house.

Inside, everything was pitch black. Raquella lit a candle by the front door and began to walk softly through the hallway. The light cast skittish shadows on the panelled walls and grotesque artworks.

“Will anyone be here?” whispered Ricky.

“Shouldn't be. The cook will have gone home by now, and I'm the only servant who'll stay in this place at night.”

They crept in silence through the house and out the back door towards the glasshouse. Here the fog was thickening, taking on a life of its own. Rain was mixed in with it, leaving sheens of water droplets across their faces. Jonathan's muscles were bunched in a tight knot, and with every step he became more convinced that there were evil creatures lurking somewhere beyond his line of sight. Beside him, Ricky felt, if anything, even more nervous than he had at the Beastilia Exotica. At least there he knew what he was up against. He wondered if he was ever going to see his home again.

In contrast to the house, the glasshouse was warm and welcoming. The stream trickled calmly on, and the plants rustled softly as Jonathan moved past them. The phone was where he remembered it, on a table at the edge of the patio. Instead of a keypad, it had a small wheel dotted with holes for each number.

“Every time you put a finger in a hole, you have to turn the wheel,” explained Raquella, with exasperation. “Honestly, I thought you Lightsiders had lots of telephones.”

He ignored her, and wondered who to call. He didn't know the number for the hospital and he didn't have any friends, which left only one number. He put his finger in the first hole and began to dial.

The line was awful, but after what seemed like an age, a faint ring tone started up. Jonathan clutched the table. This was his only hope.

“Hello?”

“Mrs Elwood. It's me! Jonathan!”

“Jonathan? Where are you? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine! Listen, it's Dad that's in trouble! You've got to help him!”

“What dear? This is a dreadful line. You'll have to speak up!”

“Help Dad!” Jonathan shouted. “He's in danger!”

“Help who?”

From behind him, there was a roar from Carnegie, and then the line went dead.

 

 

 

J
onathan dropped the receiver and whirled round. Through the window of the glasshouse, he could see that the world outside had changed, and that the white pallor of the street lamps through the fog had deepened into an impenetrable wall of black. “What's going on?” he cried.

There was a thump against the glass, as if something had been thrown against the building. Carnegie strode over to Raquella and grabbed her by the arm. His muscles were starting to flex and ripple underneath his suit, and the first few tufts of hair were sprouting out from his cheeks.

“Does Vendetta know we're here?” he growled thickly. “Did he order you to bring us here?”

“I don't know!” sobbed Raquella. “I didn't tell him anything! He must have set a guard before he left!”

There was another bang, louder than before, and then another. Above the thumps, Jonathan could make out a rippling, chattering noise.

“What the hell's going on? What's outside?”

Carnegie glared at Raquella, and then let go of her suddenly. “Bats,” he said. “Lots of them.”

Jonathan raced over to the window, dragging over a paraffin lamp from the patio table. As he neared the glass, he could make out the vast, writhing beasts that made up the unholy congregation. Their wings beat furiously in the air and against each other. Heedless of their own safety, they flew headlong against the glasshouse in an attempt to force their way inside. He held the lamp up for a closer look and they shied away, baring tiny, needlepoint fangs in anger.

Racing back to the patio, Jonathan placed the lamp back on the table. “Well, they don't like the light. What else can we use against them?”

“Don't crosses hurt them?” asked Ricky.

Carnegie narrowed his eyes. “How do you mean?”

“You know. . .” Ricky crossed one finger over the other in the shape of a crucifix. “A cross!”

“What's that supposed to do to them? Send them home crying?”

“OK,” said Jonathan, “how are we going to get out of here?”

From the side of the building there came the sound of splintering glass.

“They're breaking through!” screamed Ricky.

Carnegie roared with frustration and brought his fist down on the table, crumbling it into pieces. His eyes were now bloodshot, and for a moment Jonathan feared that the wereman might turn against one of them. He knelt down beside Raquella, who was sniffing quietly to herself. “We have to get out,” he said softly. “Is there another way out?”

She nodded, and pointed away into the undergrowth. “Somewhere towards the back there. But I don't know exactly where. . .”

There was an almighty crash as one of the windows finally succumbed to the huge pressure and shattered. The black, chirruping crowd of enormous Darkside bats began to swarm into the building.

“Move!” screamed Jonathan. “Take any lamps you can!”

He hauled Raquella up on to her feet and began to drag her in the direction she had pointed. Ricky dashed to the other side of the patio and grabbed another lantern, and then headed after them. Before they plunged into the undergrowth Jonathan risked a glance behind him. As Carnegie's rage grew, his animal self took over, howling and tearing at his clothes. The bat swarm wasn't attacking him, but circled above in a giant arc, seeming to recognize a fellow creature of the night.

“CARNEGIE! COME ON!” Jonathan bellowed.

The wereman howled again, and then sprinted towards him.

They ran blindly through the plant life, stumbling over vines and roots. The vegetation closed in over their heads, forming a lush, impenetrable roof, and forcing the bats to funnel down the narrow path after them. The sound of their high-pitched squeals was deafening. Over his shoulder Jonathan could hear Carnegie's grunts, could feel his hot breath on the back of neck, and he wasn't entirely sure whether the wereman was following him or chasing after him. Behind them, the dark tidal wave was flooding into the glasshouse. A lone bat managed to break through the tree cover, swooping down from the roof like a dive-bomber to claw at Raquella. She screamed and tried to knock the beast away. Jonathan lunged across her and swung the lamp at the bat, which recoiled from the light in horror. He swung again and caught it on the wing, sending it spinning into the bushes.

“Come on! They're gaining on us!” cried Ricky.

Despite his aching legs and the burning pain in his chest, Jonathan forced himself to run faster. Suddenly the twisting path came out in a small clearing. They had reached the far end of the glasshouse, and in front of them stood a rusty iron door covered in creepers. Ricky raced over and tried the handle.

“It's all rusted over. It won't budge!”

“Jonathan!” Raquella screamed, and suddenly there was a blizzard of bats around them, snapping and tearing at them all. Jonathan wrapped a protective arm around Raquella and swung the lantern around his head. He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and realized that he had been caught by a claw.

“Do something, Carnegie!”

There was a roar in response, and suddenly the wereman had flown past them and hurled himself at the door. It popped open like a champagne cork, and the freezing, damp fog began to seep into the glasshouse. Suddenly Carnegie was beside him, his fur matted with blood.

“Ricky!” Jonathan shouted.

The bats had driven Ricky away from the door, and the boy was fighting for his life. He wielded his lantern like a weapon, thrusting sword-strokes of light into the writhing cloud of black.

Carnegie pulled a bottle from his inside pocket and grinned wolfishly at Jonathan.

“I'll get him. Move!” he growled.

Jonathan didn't need telling twice. Keeping his head ducked low to avoid any more blows, he raced for the freedom of the outdoors. Despite the lantern, it was impossible to see much through the billowing fog, and he and Raquella ran in haphazard directions, first left and then right – anything to take them further away from the glasshouse. Beneath their feet the surface changed from stone to grass, and suddenly it became difficult for them to keep their footing on the slick lawns.

Another roar made Jonathan look behind him. He saw the faint glow of Ricky's lantern outside on the terrace, and watched as it was thrown in a graceful arc back through the window of the glasshouse. For a second nothing happened, and then there was a whooshing sound, and an explosion that tore through the mist and rent the sky apart with flames. A vast, collective squeal of pain carried through the air, the sound of hundreds of vampire bats on fire. They were hurled across the sky like fragments of comets, before crash-landing on to the earth.

Jonathan bent over double, in a vain attempt to catch his breath.

“What the hell was that?” Raquella panted.

“Carnegie's Special Recipe,” he laughed. “He never goes anywhere without it.”

“He did that with a
hip flask
?”

“I'll tell you another time.” He cupped his hands and shouted at the top of his voice, expecting the big man to come out at moment. “Carnegie?”

There was no reply.

“Ricky? Where are you?”

Silence.

“Carnegie! Come on. We're over here!”

The mist remained mute.

“Jonathan. . .” Raquella said gently.

“We have to find them!”

“How? We can't see anything. We have to carry on.”

“No! They saved our lives!” Jonathan cried. Tears welled up in his eyes, but then Raquella gave his hand a fierce squeeze.

“We haven't got time for this. Do you want to reach your dad before Vendetta does? They'll be all right. Come on! That looks like a path. If I'm right, it'll take us to the back gate.”

And with that they were moving again. Time seemed to stand still as they walked through the strange mist. All Jonathan could do was focus on each individual step, and make sure that he stayed on the path. He kept listening for a howl or a shout – any sign that Carnegie and Ricky had survived – but there was nothing.

Just when he thought that he couldn't take a step further, a set of ornate gates appeared in front of him like a mirage.

“We're here. This is the back gate.”

She walked forward and pushed at the railings, which creaked painfully open. They walked out on to another wide, leafy avenue. Raquella shivered and wrapped her cloak tightly around her. “What now then, Jonathan?”

“I have to get back to London, to Lightside. My dad's in danger. Where's the closest crossing point to here?”

Raquella looked at him doubtfully. “I only know one that's within walking distance. It won't be easy, though.”

Jonathan shrugged. “What is?”