Tales From The Wyrd Museum 2: The Raven's Knot (16 page)

‘Save your excuses,’ she rapped. ‘The harm is already done—and do stand up man. I refuse to address the top of your head in this fashion. Such archaic manners, together with the times which bred them, are long crumbled into the dust.’

Aidan did as he was bid and Miss Ursula gracefully descended the stairs.

In the boy's arms, Quoth peeped out at the old woman and twitched uncomfortably.

‘Ware that dam,’ he cawed under his breath. ‘He that sups with she requireth a long spoon.’

‘Harm?’ Aidan muttered when Miss Ursula was standing before him. ‘What harm do you speak of?’

‘The girl I was to send with you,’ she said, ‘the one for whom we have hoped and waited for all these years, has disappeared—and Veronica has gone with her.’

Aidan's face clouded over. He understood the grave implications of this and his dark brows knotted together. ‘They have been taken? But how? What power can enter the sacred shrine of the Fates?’

‘I did not say such,’ she tetchily replied. ‘No, they have been lured away from here.’

‘Lured? But how? Who?’

‘Only one voice other than mine would Veronica attend to. Listen to me Aidan, in you the blood of Askar runs true. Tremble then when I tell to you that the age-old enemy of the Spinners of the Wood has returned. It is His hand that lies behind this.’

‘The Gallows God?’ he breathed, shooting a cautious glance at the raven in the boy's arms. ‘Then that answers much.’

The old woman clasped her hands before her and pressed her thin lips together. ‘Yes,’ she affirmed. ‘Veronica and Edith do not know of the dangers they are heading into. A dread is upon me Aidan, yes, I who wove the fabric of destiny and ordained all that has been—I am mortally afraid.’

‘What must I do?’ he asked.

Miss Ursula took his hands in her own and squeezed them imploringly.

‘Stop them!’ she begged. ‘Bring them back to the museum—He who has enticed them away desires only their destruction. I would go myself, but I may not pass over the boundaries of my small realm. Do this for me, Aidan—descendent of the city beneath the Ash.’

The emeralds of the man's eyes sparkled with a fierce fire and he nodded sombrely.

‘Where will I find them?’ he asked simply.

Taking a step towards the entrance, Miss Ursula stared out at the brightening day and sighed. ‘Where else?’ she said. ‘He will deceive them into bringing that magical device into his own blood-soaked hands. Although she has taken the measuring rod with her and without it I cannot see further than my eyes allow, Veronica and Edith have most certainly gone to Glastonbury.’

Aidan backed away. ‘Then I must set off at once!’ he cried.

‘Wait!’ she commanded, and to Neil's surprise he found that the old woman was now staring at him.

‘In the past, boy, I have treated you harshly,’ she began. ‘If you are able, forgive me.’

Neil shifted uneasily and wondered what she wanted from him.

‘If you wish your thread to be sundered from the web,’ she said, ‘then speak now. Yet, if you desire to remain a part of the weave then journey with Aidan, go with him to Glastonbury.’

‘Me?’ Neil spluttered in disbelief.

Miss Ursula nodded and he could tell she was in deadly earnest.

‘You understand us better than I dare to admit,’ she said. ‘But, most of all, you know Edith.’

Neil opened and closed his mouth but no sound came out. He wanted to refuse, yet he realised that this sinister old woman would not have asked him if it was not of the greatest importance.

‘W... What about Dad..?’ he stammered.

‘I will make your father understand,’ she answered. ‘You can trust Aidan. What do you say, boy? I do not order you, not this time. Yet if Veronica and Edith are not returned, then the end of all things creeps a little closer.’

This forbidding thought made the hairs on the back of Neil's neck rise, but it was not that which finally made up his mind. Remembering the melancholy that had engulfed him when he had believed his adventures to be over, and realising that this was his chance to be a part of something exciting again, he found himself saying, ‘I'll go, but Quoth comes with me.’

Miss Ursula narrowed her eyes as she contemplated this condition, then assented, ‘Well decided. You are indeed bound up with the business of the Fates, for a little while longer at least. It will be a time of trial for your new found companion also. Before it is over we shall see if Quoth is capable of keeping faith with you. Yet if Memory returns, then it will be an extra peril for you to contend with. Now, there is no more time to waste—go immediately.’

Without even a chance to say goodbye, Neil was ushered to the door, where Miss Ursula turned to Aidan one last time and said, ‘Find them. Do not fail me.’

Hastening down the three steps outside, the strange little man raised his top hat and flourished it theatrically as he pointed his toe and made a respectful bow.

In Neil's arms the raven nudged the boy and murmured, ‘Fools and little dogs are ladies’ playfellows. As she hath no love for me, I hereby say unto ye thy trust in her shouldst be thin as a rasher of wind.’

‘Don't worry,’ Neil assured him, glancing cautiously at Miss Ursula. ‘I know just how treacherous she can be.’

Reaching his van, Aidan cried, ‘Fear not! They are as good as found.’

With that the little man clambered inside. Taking one last look at Miss Ursula and wondering what lay ahead, Neil climbed into the passenger seat with Quoth upon his lap.

Alone upon the step, the eldest of the Webster sisters watched in stony silence as the engine started and the blue van pulled away.

‘But I do fear, Aidan,’ she murmured. ‘I fear very much indeed.’

Lifting her hand in farewell, she waited until the vehicle was out of sight before turning to gaze at the sculpted bronze figure upon her left.

‘And you, Veronica,’ she whispered, staring up into the unseeing, verdigris-stained eyes, ‘there truly was no other way. I really am so very, very sorry.’

It was the sound of birdsong which finally roused Lauren Humphries from slumber. Although she had attempted to stay awake for the rest of the night, her eyelids had eventually slid down and her head nodded to her chest well before the dawn came.

Now, like a drowsy hedgehog, she unfurled from the increasingly uncomfortable curled up position and stared drowsily about her room, wincing when her neck clicked stiffly.

Then, all at once, she remembered all that had happened and, ignoring the complaints of her cramped muscles, hurried to the door.

‘Sheila!’ she cried, storming on to the landing and charging into her parents’ bedroom.

‘Dad! Dad!’

Suddenly, Lauren stumbled to a standstill and the girl stared at the bed in disbelief.

Unwilling to open his eyes just yet, her father stirred grumpily, scratching his receding hairline and groping for the alarm clock. The figure at his side, however, continued to sleep soundly.

With the coverlet pulled up to her chin, her skin a bloodless shade of grey and sparkling with perspiration, Lauren's stepmother lay there as large as life.

Doubting her own senses, the girl moved closer whilst Guy prised open one eye and slowly let the digital numbers of the clock impress themselves upon his mind.

‘That can't say ten-past six,’ he grumbled, flopping back on to the pillows. ‘What's the big idea?’

Lauren touched Sheila's cheek, the flesh was hot and clammy.

‘I don't have to be up till seven-thirty,’ her father continued. ‘Too early for breakfast in bed, Lorrie.’

When his daughter didn't answer, Guy Wearily forced his eyes open.

‘Don't wake her up as well,’ he said crossly. ‘She doesn't get a decent night's kip as it is without you looming over her.’

Lauren looked up from the unconscious woman at his side. ‘Dad,’ she said quietly. ‘There's something wrong—look at her.’

Still groggy, Guy wearily pulled himself up and leaned across his partner's pale form.

‘She's burning up,’ he exclaimed, finally surfacing from his doze. ‘Sheila! Sheila!’

Worriedly he shook her and, still with her eyes firmly closed, the woman muttered under her breath.

‘Hlökk... Hlökk.’

‘What was that?’ Guy asked, his face frowning with concern. ‘Sheila, wake up!’

Lauren shuddered as a chill gripped her and she stared at the object hanging innocently from the bedpost.

Suspended upon its thread, its glass eyes oddly bright and gleaming, the crow doll appeared exactly the same as when Sheila had first taken it from its wrappings, but Lauren disliked it more than ever and she studied the letters embroidered upon the calico apron with suspicion.

‘Wait,’ she murmured to herself, ‘it wasn't there. Last night—it wasn't there.’

Guy glanced up at her but the question upon his lips was lost when Sheila's eyelids fluttered open and he saw that her pupils were dark and dilated.

Grimacing at the light which streamed through the open window, the woman quickly turned away.

‘Honey?’ Guy began. ‘What's the matter? Shall I call the doctor?’

Sheila shook her head. ‘No,’ she grunted. ‘I'll be fine. Just so tired... very tired.’

‘Sheila...’ Lauren asked, ‘do you remember anything about last night? Did you go out for a walk or anything?’

Her stepmother attempted to laugh but found the effort too much, ‘Really, Lorrie...’ she uttered faintly, ‘the things you say. I died as soon as my head touched the pillow, but to be honest... I feel as though I spent the entire night running a marathon. I can hardly keep... keep my eyes open.’

‘You lie there then,’ Guy said calmly. ‘Don't you worry about anything, you get your rest. It'll be all right.’

Slipping from the bed he closed the window, failing to notice the claw marks gouged into the sill, then led his daughter to the landing.

‘Looks like she's got this bug that's going round,’ he said in his usual efficient manner. ‘Good job there's no guests in at the moment. Look, Lorrie, I know it's a lot to ask but I've got this really important meeting today which is going to drag on for ages and it's a two hour drive...’

The girl sighed and folded her arms in resignation. ‘All right,’ she agreed before the favour was even asked. ‘I'll bunk off college and stay with her.’

‘That's my girl,’ Guy said, gently nudging Lauren's shoulder with his fist. ‘I'll ring the surgery before I go and make sure the doctor comes out to check on her. Probably won't last more than a few days anyway.’

Returning to her room, Lauren sat upon the edge of the bed and tried to make sense of what she had heard and seen the previous night. No matter how she strove to explain it, however, there was simply no rational answer.

Looking at her plump reflection in the bedside mirror, she dragged a brush through her masses of ginger hair and longed to believe that the experience was all an invention of her weary imagination.

What had made that dreadful shrieking noise and why hadn't it awakened her father? Laying the brush down, she stared at her own, freckled face and watched her forehead crinkle as she scowled.

Sheila was certainly not suffering from any ordinary illness and, remembering the large feather she found, Lauren could not help but think of the crow doll hanging above the woman's head.

‘I don't get it,’ she said aloud, pouting at the face in the mirror as though it ought to know the answers. ‘What is going on?’

*

In the next room, the girl's stepmother lay exhausted under the bedcovers. From the bathroom she could hear the squirting shower water and Guy's voice raised in some tuneless, half-remembered song.

Sheila smiled wanly. No trace of the night's trauma remained to plague her waking thoughts, but when she closed her eyes and drifted upon the threshold of sleep, chaotic flashes leapt into her fatigue-filled mind.

She felt herself travelling high above the ground, riding upon the wind, while all around her large shadowy shapes called in harsh, cruel voices. Sometime the sounds changed into terrified screams and then, flickering needy in and out of her weariness, she could see a great burst of flame—blasting and blossoming in the dark like a beautiful, burning marigold.

Yet throughout all this, one feature remained a constant—whether she was soaring into the night or swooping low over a wood, there were always feathers. Black, suffocating feathers that scored and itched her flesh, choking and catching in her throat as she gagged and bawled in that hideous, grating voice.

‘Hlökk!’ the woman whimpered and, with a jolt, she came to once more. Heaving a sigh of relief, Sheila found herself still in the bedroom.

From the kitchen downstairs the deliciously mingled scent of frying bacon and percolating coffee was rising and its pervading aroma floated up into the bedrooms.

Usually Sheila adored this time of the morning and loved the mouth-watering smells of breakfast, but today the odours made her wretch and balk and she threw the bedclothes from her to stagger to the bathroom.

Yet as she hastened to the door, the woman stared back at the bed and covered her mouth in dismay.

About the imprint her body had made in the rumpled sheet, was a filthy collection of twigs and straw and, when she looked down at her feet, she discovered that they were covered in grime and dried mud.