Legion of the Dead (16 page)

For a moment they shuddered and trembled, teeth and bones rattling in a hideous percussive dance. Then, in an instant, like the shutting off of a current, the brilliant light cut out, and with it, a ghostly sigh rose from the legion of the dead. And, as I watched, the entire multitude crumbled to dust and blew away in a billowing cloud.

Last to go were the colour party, released at last from their deathly captivity. Before me, in the remains of her shattered sarcophagus,
Lady Sienna de Vere crumbled into a pile of disconnected bones.

Faced with the dark jewel’s display of extraordinary power, I understood its awesome secret. Where the golden sword, now shattered and in pieces, had had the power to raise and enslave the dead, this black jewel had released them and returned them to eternal rest.

Kneeling, I turned Sir Alfred over and brushed marble dust from his face, to be greeted by two sightless eyes staring back at me. The young doctor came dashing across the grass from the house, the shattered rifle butt grasped in his hand. I looked up at him.

‘It’s all over,’ I said.

He knelt down beside his father.

‘Yes,’ he said, looking round at me, tears in his eyes. ‘It’s all over.’

The true nature of the mysterious power that was at work that night I can only guess at.

What I did witness though, was the supernatural influence that the statue of the demon goddess, Kal-Ramesh, exerted on all who came in contact with it.

When they escaped from their prison cave, the colour sergeant and his corporals were drawn to seek out the black jewel – the third eye of Kal-Ramesh – embarking on a journey by dug-out canoe that took them from the lamprey-infested waters of the East to the mudflats of Gatling Quays. They carried with them the instrument of their enslavement, the sixth sword of the goddess. As to how long they must have rowed, riding the ocean currents as they were drawn ever onwards by the black jewel, I can only guess at.

Arriving in this great bustling city of ours, they abandoned their primitive canoe on the mudflats and took refuge in the Gatling Sump. With a twisted logic, the colour party did what they did best. Drawn to graves decorated with winged angels, they used the
golden sword to recruit an army – a legion of the dead – to serve beneath the banner of the Fighting 33rd, the Angel of Victory on a blue field. Finally, they homed in on the eye of the goddess, mustering their ghastly troops in the city’s sewers for an invasion of the de Vere mansion and its private burial grounds.

And found peace.

A peace of sorts also returned to Gatling Quays, especially after I laid the whole incredible tale out before Thump McConnell and his fellow gang leaders. Argumentative and brutal they may be, but the quaysiders are a superstitious lot. And I’ve got to say their eyes lit up when they heard about that cave somewhere back there in the East, with three caskets of treasure waiting to be found.

Good luck to any who find it, I say. I’d had enough of six-armed goddesses with eyes in their foreheads to last me a lifetime.

Speaking of which, that strange jewel, the last remnant of the statue of Kal-Ramesh,
was buried with Lady Sienna de Vere in a new tomb, joined this time by poor Sir Alfred. He’d had no idea what he was dealing with when he had the strange eye-catching jewel from his treasure trove set in a tiara for his beautiful wife. Perhaps she sensed something of its mysterious power for, according to her son, the young doctor, it had been her favourite piece of jewellery.

Dr Lawrence de Vere closed up the mansion and moved away soon after the events of that terrible night. Not that I blame him. In my opinion, some memories, like people, should remain buried. Before he went though, he paid a visit to the Goose and Gullet, where he met an old soldier of my acquaintance, who had fallen on hard times. I don’t like to boast, but suffice it to say that Blindside Bailey now has a pension that means he can buy his own tankards of ale.

As for myself, three weeks later, I found myself highstacking over to St Jude’s hospital
with my good friend and promising high-stacker, Will Farmer.

He had a drop to make.

I was in search of an angel of mercy, two tickets to the upper circle of the Alhambra Music Hall burning a hole in my pocket.

One moment I was standing there, sword raised, knees trembling. The next, in a blur of fur and fury, the hellish creature was flying towards me, its huge front paws extended and savage claws aiming straight at my hammering heart …

Barnaby Grimes is a tick-tock lad – he’ll deliver any message anywhere any time. As fast as possible. Tick-tock - time is money! But strange things are afoot. One moonlit night, as Barnaby highstacks above the city, leaping from roof to roof, gutter to gable, pillar to pediment, a huge beast attacks. He barely escapes with his life. And now his friend Old Benjamin has disappeared …

A gloriously macabre tale in a breathtaking new series, packed with intrigue, horror and fantastic illustrations.

My grip tightened on the cruel stone knife, the blade glinting, as the blood-red ruby eyes of the grinning skull bore into mine. Inside my head, the voice rose to a piercing scream. ‘Cut out his beating heart – and give it to me!’

Barnaby Grimes is a tick-tock lad on a mission - to collect a parcel from the docks and deliver it to a famous school. But dark forces have been released and, as Barnaby returns to Grassington Hall School, he is about to find out the full extent of the horror.

A spine-tingling tale of a school in the grip of a terrible curse. Tick-tock, time is running out. Can Barnaby survive?