Robin Jarvis-Jax 02 Freax And Rejex (10 page)

The Holy Enchanter gazed out over the sea of bobbing heads. His questioning stare fixed upon each and every one of those youngsters.
Which of them?
he asked himself.
Which of them?

He saw Charm concentrating, desperately wishing for the power of the book to swallow her up. She even tried nodding her head, but only succeeded in catapulting her sunglasses on to the stage. She let out a squeal of frustration. The Ismus looked further back, to where Lee Charles was
moving his head from side to side, in time to the music blaring in his eardrums. He hadn’t been paying the slightest attention to anything and wasn’t even holding a copy of the book. Then the Ismus regarded Spencer. He was fidgeting nervously while trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

A twelve-year-old boy next to him caused the Ismus to narrow his eyes. There was something unusual and furtive in the way Jim Parker was gently patting his shirt, as if he was hiding something beneath it. Nearby, Tommy Williams was still peering around like a baby bird. He and the other small boys had been put in the same cabin as Alasdair and they were now gathered about him. The Ismus considered the Scottish lad and discovered he was staring straight back. Such deep hatred blazed in those young eyes.
Could he be the one?

When the reading ended, the crowd uttered wretched groans and gasped miserable breaths as they were torn from the blissful existence in Mooncaster and found themselves back here.

It was time for the parents to depart in the coaches. The Ismus thanked them for bringing their children on this journey. He was confident the next time they met they would have found their rightful places in the world of
Dancing Jax
.

Kate Kryzewski and Sam filmed the farewells eagerly. In spite of the neglect and unhappy home life, many of the smaller children cried when they saw their parents board the vehicles without them. Rupesh Karim tried to jump on after his father and had to be dragged clear. Jody disappeared into her cabin long before her parents thought to look for her.

There was only one sad parting.

“Now don’t you worry,” Mrs Benedict told her daughter. “When this weekend’s over, you’ll be a real-life princess – I know it.”

Charm tilted her head back and fanned her eyes to stop the tears.

“I wish you wasn’t going, Ma,” she said. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

“S’only two days,” her mother consoled her. “I’ll be here first thing Monday morning to pick you up and take you back home. Don’t you fret none.”

“You promise?”

“I vow it, if you’re not too grand for me by then. And don’t you forget, when you finally wake up in the castle, come find Widow Tallowax in the wash house and spare her a silver penny or two so she can buy ointment for her poor chapped hands.”

“It’ll be the first thing I do!” Charm swore. “I’ll buy you everyfink the Queen of Hearts has got.”

Her mother smiled and stroked the girl’s face tenderly.

“You’re a good child,” she said softly. “Your real mum will be so proud. Blessed be.”

Charm wanted to tell her how much she loved her, but the lump in her throat made further speech impossible. Instead she threw her arms round her mother’s neck and sobbed.

“Don’t you worry,” Marcus declared, imposing on this intimate moment. “I’ll take care of her.”

Neither took any notice of him. Mrs Benedict stepped on to the coach and Charm mouthed the words she hadn’t been able to say. Her mother found a seat and waved.

When the coaches pulled away and drove up the long forest road, Charm covered her eyes with the sunglasses once more.

“If you want a great big cry,” Marcus invited, holding out his arms, “my shoulders are damp-proofed and I give good hug.”

Charm flicked her ponytail back and walked briskly away.

“You’re a cucumber, you are,” she said over her shoulder.

Marcus wasn’t sure what she meant, but he called after her, “In every way except the colour, gorgeous!”

“I hate cucumber,” she clarified. “It’s wet and borin’, pointless, tastes rubbish, keeps repeatin’ an’ you can’t get rid.”

Marcus was too busy ogling her bottom in that short skirt to be offended or discouraged. It was only early evening Friday – still plenty of time.

Jody had emerged to watch the coaches leave. Leaning against the
cabin wall, she saw them turn off at the junction and disappear behind the trees in the distance.

“On my own now then,” she murmured. “No change there.”

A small hand slipped into hers. “No, you’re not,” Christina said. “You’ve got me.”

The unexpected human contact and the simple, loving statement took her totally by surprise. Jody looked down at the seven-year-old, but the grateful smile froze on her lips. What was she doing? She wanted to tell her they would be like sisters this weekend and that she would protect her. But what about afterwards? What if Christina did get snatched away by the power of that book like everyone else in her life? She couldn’t endure the pain of losing another person she cherished. She couldn’t put either of them through that.

Jody shook her hand free. “Go make friends with kids your own age,” she said coldly. “I don’t want you hanging round me all the time. I’m not here to nanny nobody.”

Christina flinched as if she had been slapped. Then she ran around the cabin, out of sight.

“You’re a spiteful mare, you are,” Charm said as she walked past to go inside. “That’s just cruel.”

Jody didn’t answer, but she despised Charm more than ever for being right.

Over by the stage, the Ismus surveyed the remaining crowd. The entertainers and stallholders were milling around, enthusing about their other existence, while the younger children were either crying or staring in crushed silence at the empty forest road.

“Now the weekend can really begin,” Jangler’s enthusiastic voice broke into the Ismus’s solemn contemplation. “Won’t be long before dusk and then, in the night…”

The Holy Enchanter considered the old man gravely. He came to a decision.

“Walk with me,” he said brusquely.

“It’s almost time for dinner,” Jangler reminded him, consulting his watch and schedule. “There is a feast prepared in the main block…”

“That can wait!” the Ismus snapped. He signalled to his bodyguards to remain and strode away.

Jangler nodded meekly; he had been looking forward to soaking his feet while the feast was going on. With delicate, hobbling steps, he followed the Holy Enchanter through the compound. What was on his Lord’s mind? He seemed so preoccupied and troubled of late. In silence they crossed the grassy area behind the cabins, and passed into the trees beyond. The new leaves were rustling lightly overhead, stirred by the gentlest evening breeze.

“Is it something I have done, my Lord?” Jangler asked. “Have I displeased you? Has the day not gone in accordance to your plan?”

“It could not have passed more smoothly,” the Ismus said. “Miss Kryzewski will send an enthusiastic report back to America and, while her government puzzles and dithers over it, the delay will be enough for the book to take a firm hold there. Within four months the home of the brave shall fall – to my
most
intelligent design.”

“Then what disturbs you? That’s splendid, is it not?”

The Ismus looked back at the compound. A blanket of soft purple shadow had stolen over it. The sun was low. Its amber light caught only the tops of the surrounding trees. None of that was reflected in the darkness of his eyes.

“Those children disturb me,” he whispered.

“The aberrants?” Jangler asked in surprise. “No, no, no. They present no problem. I’ve never seen a more thoroughly subdued and timid lot. They’ll be no trouble. They’re utterly cowed and defeated, just as it should be. They’re nothing, just insignificant wastage.”

“You think so, do you?”

“I know it, my Lord. I’ve encountered disruptive elements before now; there’s none in that dismal collection. They went to their chalets as compliant and docile as rabbits to hutches. Submissive and harmless dregs, that’s all they are. The gullible clods truly believe they’re only staying here
for the weekend! They don’t know what your true intent is, or what the bridging devices are for. Not the vaguest idea, I’m sure.”

The Ismus shook his head. “You are mistaken, Jangler,” he uttered. “One of those docile rabbits could be the greatest threat to the world of Mooncaster imaginable.”

“You’re having a jest with me! Nothing can endanger the blessed Kingdom, nothing!”

“One of those children back there… is the Castle Creeper.”

The old man caught his breath and slowly removed his spectacles. “Are you sure?” he asked in a shocked, dismayed whisper.

“Oh, most definitely.”

“But Mr Fellows doubted such a personage could exist. Theoretically it’s possible, but…”

“Yes, I doubted! There was a chance! Incalculably remote, but a chance nevertheless.”

“But to have been found so soon, in this country… and a child?”

The Ismus closed his eyes. The shadows of evening deepened in the hollows of his gaunt face. Beneath the enclosing trees it grew chill.

“I have sensed the incursions,” he said with a slight shudder. “Felt every trespass, as keenly as a cold scalpel razoring through my skin. One of those children, one of those ‘harmless dregs’, has the ability to enter the Dawn Prince’s Kingdom, to insinuate him or herself into my wondrous creation, yet not become a part of it. Somehow they do not assume one of the prescribed roles. They appear in Mooncaster as they are here, whilst retaining a footing in this world and, with each fresh visit, their presence gains in strength.”

“Then we must kill every child in the camp at once!” Jangler insisted – appalled by what he was hearing. “Massacre them! We can set up another bridging centre in the next country that falls. The Castle Creeper is a threat to the Realm – a deadly menace!”

“Only if he, or she, strives against us. Have you forgotten what the Creeper is capable of? Must I remind you of what only they can do? What
even I, even His Majesty the Dawn Prince, cannot?”

Jangler blinked and groped through his memory for the relevant passage. Then, in a voice wavering with excitement and wonder, he quoted the hallowed text.

“And who can hinder the Bad Shepherd’s wild, destructive dance? None but the unnamed shape; the thing that creeps through the castle and the night.”

“Yes!” the Ismus declared. “Now do you see?”

Jangler exhaled. His eyes were sparkling. “We must discover which of them is this Castle Creeper!” he said urgently. “There must be no delay!”

“It is too soon!” the Ismus warned. “That would be the ruin of this one incredible chance. We must wait, we must watch, keep those aberrants close and under scrutiny. When the Creeper is grown in strength and conceit, they will betray themselves. Then we shall know.”

“What are my Lord’s wishes?”

“Live up to your name,” the Ismus instructed with a foul grin. “Be the gaoler of that place. When this weekend is done, you will remain. Keep the children under lock and key.”

“It shall be just as you command and I shall report to you every day.”

“No need,” the Ismus said with a low chuckle. “I will monitor everything, know everything, before you do, Jangler.”

“My Lord?”

The Ismus took three steps back and threw open his long arms.

“
Dancing Jax
must go out into the world and do its glorious work,” he exulted. “There is much to be done and I, Austerly Fellows, must oversee the domination of every country. But I shall spare a part of me – leave a splinter of my essence – here. To observe and do what must be done.”

As he spoke, dark blemishes broke out across his skin until his face was peppered with ink like spots of black mould. They bloomed and spread, foaming over his features until his head was a pulsating mass. Only his mouth was visible – a cave within a festering cloud. Mycelia branched through his hair, writhing and sprouting fresh growths. Then he arched his
back and a flood of black strands and spores went shooting upward – into the leaves above. The putrid stench of decay and corruption rained down.

Jangler watched, enthralled, and he fell on his knees to worship the true form of Austerly Fellows.

The mould blossomed overhead, swelling and crackling softly, forming a thick, clotted web in the trees. And then, from within its dark heart, a malignant, bubbling voice spoke.

“Rise, Jangler. Rise, grandson of Edgar Hankinson. For three generations your family have proven their worth and loyalty to me.”

Jangler got to his feet and stared adoringly up at the frothing horror clogging the shadows.

“It has been an honour to serve,” the old man answered, raising his hands in adulation. “You are the Abbot of the Angles, founder of the candle faith, author of the sacred text. When I was a small boy, I dedicated my whole being to your great glory and grandeur. All my life I have venerated you.”

“This shall prove your greatest labour,” the voice told him. “I entrust to your safe keeping the smooth running of the camp. Fortify it. Make it a stronghold from which there can be no escape.”

“Alone? Will you not guide me?”

“You will not be alone. Help shall be sent, extraordinary help. It will support and assist you.”

“But the splinter of yourself? May I not come here, to this place, and consult with it?”

The mould cluster quivered as a gurgling laugh issued out. The sound filled the gathering gloom beneath the trees and the strands connecting the Ismus to the thing overhead vibrated wildly. Then they snapped apart. The hideous growths covering the Holy Enchanter’s face retreated back, disappearing into his pale skin. The disembodied laughter ceased, and was immediately taken up by him. He put his arm round the old man and pointed to the repulsive, throbbing mass above. It crawled higher up the tree and hid itself among the leaves.

“I don’t understand,” Jangler said.

“You won’t be able to consult with that fragment of myself,” the Ismus told him. “Because you won’t know where it is. One night this weekend, that little part of me up there is going hunting.”