Seven Sorcerers (41 page)

Strood turned a look on her that would have sent her to her knees begging for mercy, except that werewolf Grimm did not beg from anybody. Cowering behind her, Scribbins whimpered, shivering in the remains of his long johns.

‘How posshible?’ Strood asked icily. He raised one hand to stop his jaw from falling off.

‘Very possible,’ said Mrs Dunvice reluctantly.

Strood snarled and turned sharply. It was a mistake. His leg, already half eaten through, snapped and sent him reeling towards the hole in the ground. His arms windmilled as he teetered on the brink, one hand flying off at the wrist and hitting the wall with a dull thwack. Staggering, he lurched the wrong way, stepping into the hole instead of away from it. There was a crack as his head connected with the remaining edges of tile and then he was gone.

For a few moments they could hear his smothered howls of rage as he plummeted downwards, until finally the sounds were swallowed up in the depths.

There was a soft sound, like heavy rain only more earthy and then silence.

Mrs Dunvice stepped carefully towards the edge of the hole, but there was no hole left. Strood must have clawed at the earth as he fell, disturbing the loose soil. At any rate, it had caved in refilling the shaft completely.

‘W-what do we do now?’ wailed Scribbins, wringing
his hands.

The Housekeeper shrugged. ‘Start digging?’ she said.

Skerridge was halfway down the tunnel in the graveyard, staring thoughtfully at the wall of earth in front of him. Rumour had it that the tunnel had been here even before the down-house had been built, that it was Seraphine’s Secret Way and had once led all the way from the up-house to the secret love-nest built in the grounds of the house, the building that had since become the sanctuary. But there were things that didn’t fit. For a start, where was the door? You wouldn’t find a door in a mud-walled tunnel like this. And Skerridge was certain that he wasn’t wrong about the door. He looked at the diamond-shaped key in his hand and grinned.

If Ninevah Redstone’s luck was in, then this
wasn’t
Seraphine’s Secret Way. Which was a good thing, because the roof had fallen in and there was no exit here.

Skerridge got moving. Finding Nin might be a problem, but he knew where to start. He burnt air all the way to the memory room.

From there it was easy. Taggit had pulled the trapdoor into place behind them, but he couldn’t put the statue back. Skerridge grinned broadly.

‘Right y’are,’ he chuckled as he set off down the stairs, raising sparks from the stone as he went.

The stairs spiralled down through walls of old and crumbling brick for a very long time. They walked in single file, with Jonas and his candle in the lead, followed by Nin and Toby, then Jik in the middle because his eyes gave a little more light. Hss came after Jik, with Taggit last. At the bottom was a small landing and a door. It was made of thick oak, barred with iron and set in a stone arch, and it was locked. Taggit squashed past them down to the front and put all his weight into shoving, but it didn’t give an inch.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Nin groaned, sinking against the wall.

‘We carn’ go back,’ muttered Taggit. ‘Once the Maug’s under control Strood’ll be after us an’ … well, it doesn’t bear thinkin’ about.’

‘Maybe it’s magic. Maybe it opens to a word,’ suggested Jonas hopefully.

‘There’s a keyhole,’ said Taggit dryly.

‘Oh? Oh yeah. What are we gonna to do then?’

They stared at one another blankly. No one had any suggestions. There was a sizzle in the air, some sparks and then a pop.

‘Ya could always go frew it,’ said Skerridge, holding out something shaped like a diamond and etched with symbols.

There was a stunned silence and then Nin burst out. ‘You lied to me!’

Skerridge looked crestfallen. ‘I was goin’ t’ drop yer pearl off after I gave ya t’ Strood, but in the end I fought I’d keep it. As a memento of our adventures across the Drift, like.’

Nin glared.

‘An’ I didn’ lie as such. I said the pearls were in the ’Ouse, I didn’ say that yer pearl was wiv ’em is all. I ’ad it on me all the time. Funny really. Ya was chasing off t’ the House t’ get the pearl, but it was wiv me an’ I was chasin’ … Ya don’ fink it’s funny, do ya?’

He sighed, then rummaged in a pocket inside his waistcoat. He pulled out a small bag tied with a drawstring, opened it and tipped the contents into his palm. In the dim light, Nin’s pearl glowed with bright colours.

Nin held out her hand and the pearl drifted through the air towards her. She held it for a moment and then tucked it in the pocket of her dress.

‘Thanks.’ She gave him a watery smile.

‘No problem. I found yer bag an’ all. It were in the dusters box, see?’ He held out a battered and no longer very pink rucksack. ‘Blimmin’ uncomfy t’ sleep on an’ all.’

‘Right,’ cut in Taggit. ‘Give us that key. No time for reminiscin’.’

‘Awright!’ grumbled Skerridge, handing it over. ‘Took a lotta trouble over that, I did.’

Taggit slotted it carefully in the lock. There was a screech of metal as the bolts and bars began to draw back of their own accord, one after the other, releasing
the door. Taggit pushed and it swung open silently, even after all this time. They stood on the threshold and stared.

They were looking into earth, only it wasn’t earth, it was the ghost of earth.

‘Fink of it like the soil ’as been shifted over a bit, dimenshunally speakin’,’ said Skerridge, seeing Nin’s baffled look. ‘What we’re seein’ is like an echo, the real stuff is jus’ slightly somewhere else, geddit?’

‘So, while the magic is still working, we can just walk through it like it was a tunnel? But where’s the magic coming from?’

‘Dunno, but see that sorta golden light? Tha’s the bit where the magic’s workin’. Where it ends, the soil is still there.’

‘Um … what happens when the magic runs out?’

‘S’easy. The soil pops back inter it’s proper place and the tunnel’s gone.’

There was a moment of silence, then Taggit cleared his throat.

‘Better get movin’. I’ll go first. Bogeyman at the back, right?’

Skerridge grinned. ‘In yer goes. Door’ll bolt up again as soon as we pull it shut, and I’ll ’ang on t’ the key. Don’ wan’ anybody follerin’ us, do we?’

Strood hissed irritably as he tried to bend his arm to raise it up past his chest to shoulder height. In a space barely
big enough for him to draw breath it wasn’t easy. He had finally slithered to a stop at a point where the tunnel bent sharply, blocking his downward plunge. On the plus side, he was no longer falling. On the minus side, he was wedged tight, deep in the foundations of the House with no obvious way of getting out. Except that his one remaining hand was still clasped around the throwing star.

At last he got the star to about shoulder height. He paused to check that he was facing the right way. He had worked out roughly where he was in relation to the down-house by mentally calculating his angle and speed of descent. Next he had inched painfully around so that he was pointing in the direction of the indoor garden, far below where his roses should be.

Because, many years ago when he was pleading for his life, Gan Mafig had told Strood a secret or two. Like where he had found his daughter’s pendant, lying on the ground before a closed and locked door. She had left it, Gan Mafig said, by way of a farewell to her father. Something to remember her by. So naturally Strood had taken it away from him and thrown it into the attic with all his other belongings.

As to the Secret Way, Strood had ordered one of the workman to put the statue of Mafig’s daughter over the trapdoor (it was the last thing the workman had ever done), and the Way had stayed hidden ever since. After all, it wasn’t like anyone could use it since the key had gone along with Seraphine. Unfortunately, Strood had a
bad feeling that Ninevah Redstone would manage somehow.

Strood gripped the star firmly. There was no room to throw it, but if he could just get up a little forward motion …

He shoved his hand hard into the earth, hoping the movement would ignite the star. Nothing happened, but then the earth was only about an inch in front of him. Irritably he tried again and again, the action slowly burrowing out a hole into which he could thrust his hand. And then finally, it worked.

The star came alive.

Magical devices like staffs or wands relied on their sorcerer owners to keep them filled with power, but the throwing star was designed like a small generator. Once it was in action, it created its own power. It would never run dry and could never be earthed. Which was a good thing under the circumstances.

Spitting like a firework, the star began to spin. In the air it would have been white hot in seconds, but here there was resistance and it could only move slowly. It did move though, the sparks burning the soil as it turned, leaving behind a dry black grit that Strood could push through easily.

The star was meant to be thrown, not held on to, so it crisped Strood’s fingers as well. Not that it mattered. He was already growing some more.

hey set off down the steeply sloping tunnel. The air was thick and heavy and even though the golden light was all around them, Nin could feel the soil that should have been there.

‘The magic is coming from those, look.’ Jonas pointed to a cone of tarnished copper on the right of their path, set on a stone plinth about knee-high. The golden light sprayed from its point like fire from a volcano. There was one every few yards, each decorated with the sign of the long-gone sorcerer who made them.

‘They’re prob’bly all connected,’ said Skerridge from the back, ‘linked like. If one goes out, the others’ll follow. Light musta been brighter once, kep’ the air clearer, like a proper passage. Been dimmin’ over the years, no doubt. But don’ worry, it’ll be a few more decades afore they go out altogevver. What’ve yer stopped for?’

By now the tunnel had levelled out and the floor had changed from earth to uneven rock, though it was still soil all around them.

‘We’re right at the bottom, near the front of the cliff,’ said Jonas. ‘Those,’ he nodded at two cones on the ground in front of them, ‘are the last.’