The Curse of Salamander Street (24 page)

It was the slowing of the wheels that woke him from his sleep. He could hear the squeaking of the cork against the metal rims as the carriage slowed and slowed. He pulled the coat from
his face and looked out. The thick black of the forest that had covered the land like a cowl had thinned to a sparse wood.

Beadle could see the moon high above him. It lit many paths through the trees. He stood up and looked ahead. Far in the distance he could see the staging post where the horses would be changed. They would rest for a while and then be off again. The hounds began to bark and chatter, signalling a brief mark of civilisation in the realm of the forest. A spiral of smoke went up into the night air. Beadle could smell burning pine that scented the damp wood as the wind rustled the leaves from tree to tree.

‘The Green Man,’ the coachman shouted as they drew closer. He turned the horses towards a large stable built onto the side of a chalk house that glistened with old flints. ‘Half the hour and then we set pace.’ He shouted as two men came from the dwelling, torches in hand, to welcome them.

It was only in passing that Beadle noticed the black horse tethered to the door of the barn. He gave it but a fleeting thought as he noted its huge size and deep mane. He pushed Raphah in the ribs, waking him from his sleep, and together they left the carriage and followed Barghast and the others into the house.

Beadle took a piece of flint from the outer wall and unthinkingly put it into his pocket. They were all welcomed and stood by a warm fire that lit the room. Each was served by a young girl and given small beer and bread and cheese.

On the hearth wall was the head of a man carved in wood. He had a growth of beard that swept about his face and turned to oak leaves. Within the beard were birds and animals, each carved to an unbelievable likeness. Beadle stared at the face of the man whose warm eyes looked upon them all.

‘Is this the Green Man?’ he asked the girl as she filled his cup again.

‘’Tis he,’ she said as she turned and went away.

The minutes went quickly by. The fire was warm and took the chill from their bones. Outside the horses were changed and harnessed and the hounds made ready. It was Lady Tanville who first noticed that Ergott was not with their company. She looked about the room and couldn’t see him, nor could she remember him coming from the coach.

‘You look troubled,’ Beadle said.

‘Did you see Ergott?’ she replied.

‘He’s not here,’ Barghast said, and he went outside to look for Ergott.

From the side barn, he cold hear voices in conversation. He walked quietly towards them, his steps parlous and slow. Ergott stood by the barn door, his back to the night and his breath snorting in grabbed staccatos. He nodded and mumbled as Barghast attempted to hear what was being said.

Ergott stopped and turned as if he knew Barghast was there. ‘Cold night, Barghast,’ he said, and he stepped from the barn and into the light of the tallow torches that sparkled against the flint and chalk walls.

‘You alone?’ Barghast asked as he looked into the empty barn.

‘Quite. And you?’ he asked.

‘We make ready. It’s time to leave,’ Barghast said. He looked into the darkness of the barn and then walked towards the coach, expecting Ergott to follow on.

The carriage took on its guests as the bugler called the hounds and the driver made ready. There was a sense of foreboding as they all took their places. Nothing was said, but there was urgency in their ways. The driver looked towards the road and the dark forest beyond. Raphah looked down upon the yard outside the Green Man. He looked for Beadle and wondered what kept him from the journey.

The house stood like a chalk-flint chapel. Its walls glowed in the light of torches that appeared to have been placed in a circle against the approaching forest. Beadle sat by the fire in the empty room, a small mug of beer in his hands. He roasted his feet against the side of a burning log and thought of Whitby. Outside he could hear the calling of the hounds and knew in his heart he should soon stir and be on his way.

The fire reminded him of the scullery where he had lived those many years. He would sit by its hearth, drink beer and dream. He would be alone with his own thoughts, wrapped in a ragged blanket and with a plate of cheese. Snatching that most pleasant of moments when Demurral slept and the house was silent, he would be very happy. He would steal a log from his master just for the occasion. Fire made him feel that way, fire and beer. Beadle pulled the chair closer for a final warm, knowing he would soon have to stand and make ready for the off. It was like the morning, when the bed keeps you to sleeping and begs you not to welcome the world. Just another minute, he thought to himself, hearing the baying of the coach hounds.

‘Beadle … Beadle …’ whispered a voice from the shadows behind him. Beadle knew it well. It was the voice of Demurral.

For what seemed to be a lifetime, Beadle stood before the fire unable to move. He fidgeted in his pockets, turning a piece of string in his fingers as he slowly began to twist his head to where the voice had spoken. In his heart he hoped someone would walk in and break whatever spell was over him. Outside he could hear the coachman making the final preparations.

The voice spoke again. ‘I followed you, Beadle. Told you I would never let you go. My journey is your journey – it’s you who has led me to the place. From each other we can never escape,’ it said darkly.

Beadle took courage from his beer and turned. There in the shadows was a tall hooded figure. Its face looked sallow and had
the covering of a growth of grey stubble. Its eyes shone from beneath the dark hood. He knew he need not ask its name. It was Demurral.

‘Will you travel with me to the city?’ Demurral asked.

‘How did you get here?’ Beadle replied.

‘Followed you. Watched you, and the Ethio. Know you too well,’ he said slowly.

‘I travel another way now, master,’ Beadle replied, knowing in his heart he would have to run. From the yard he heard the bugler call the hounds again and Raphah shouting his name.

‘Don’t think of running – I’ll only follow you wherever you go,’ Demurral said as he reached out for him. ‘One day you’ll have to face me. I know Raphah has the Chalice of the Grail, and it’s mine, Beadle. Get the cup and you will live, betray me and you will die.’

Without thinking, Beadle threw the dregs of his beer in Demurral’s face and set off to run. He crashed into the door, fell upon the stone steps and into the mud, and scrabbled to his feet. Demurral was close behind, ordering him to stop. The horses bolted at the commotion. The lead mare reared up and then set off in flight as if she knew who was chasing her.

Raphah was thrown from his seat, slipping on the footplate behind the luggage rack and gripping on as the coach bolted forward. The hounds gave chase as Beadle ran behind as fast as he could, Demurral getting ever closer.

M
IDNIGHT came with the chiming of a clock. It crept ino the warehouse through a broken window high in the roof. Thomas stood barefoot and listened to the first strike, which seemed to come from a street close by. He sighed desperately as he looked down at the boots he had cut from his feet. Kate had not stirred since she had attacked him. He knew not whether she slept or feared opening her eyes to the world. Since the ghost of Isabella had gone, he had picked at the lock with the knife. His fingers were now numb with cold and his hands were sore, bruised and bleeding with his desire to escape. Thomas looked at the pyx of
Gaudium
and then to Kate. He twisted the knife into the lock repeatedly, his hands frantic to pull the tumblers and be free before Galphus returned.

Upon the final strike of the clock, all was silent. Thomas waited for the coming of the ghost. Kate stirred from her sleep as if she was being called by a voice she knew.

‘Beadle!’ she screamed, sitting upright. She held her head, where the blood pounded, it felt to Kate, as if it were being cleaved in two with an axe. ‘I saw Beadle … Demurral is going to kill him!’

Thomas didn’t reply as he stuck the knife into the lock yet again and attempted to prise it from the clasp.

‘It was Beadle,’ she insisted. ‘He is coming for us – Demurral knows we are here – he knows Galphus – can’t you see, Thomas? It was all a trap.’

‘
Gaudium
, that’s what’s speaking. Your ghost said she’d be back at midnight and I’m still waiting.’ Kate held her swollen face as the pain throbbed. ‘You hit me,’ she said as she looked up at him.

‘You would have killed me,’ he replied.

‘I need the
Gaudium
– you don’t understand. It opens your mind to see things and be someone else.’

‘From what I have seen it captures your soul and turns you into a murderer,’ Thomas snarled, prepared to hit her again. ‘We’ve been together for years. Thicker than blood – that’s what you said. Yet you would have killed me given half the chance.’

‘Galphus said …’

‘Said many things and told many lies – how do you know the bottles are not empty? Makes you see things, does it? What was Beadle doing, then?’

‘He was running through a wood – a dark place, wicked and black. Demurral was there,’ she said, and then stopped and looked about her as if the dream continued in the air. ‘I cannot see a way for us to go. Demurral’s wish will be fulfilled.’ She spoke as if all hope had gone.

There was a sudden chill as a winter breeze blew through the room. The floor, sprinkled with crisp leaves and the petals of foxgloves, became like a forest, as if the cage were in the open air. The night was full of sound. Within the centre of the cage a thick black mist began to swirl. It spun in a dark vortex until the floor could not be seen. There was the crackling of fire and the spitting of burning twigs. Smoke billowed from the centre
of a whirlwind within a whirlwind that hugged the floor like a spinning platter.

‘It’s Isabella …’ Kate said nervously.

‘She’s late,’ Thomas said as a tumbler slipped within the lock. ‘Don’t need a ghost to set me free.’

‘But you do need one to show you the way to freedom,’ Isabella said as she appeared from the whirlwind. All fell silent. The leaves scattered themselves upon the wooden boards. Isabella folded her arms and stared at Thomas. ‘Galphus has sent his men for you, they are coming.’

‘Then I will have to work to free us from this place,’ he said.

‘And then?’ Isabella asked as a ghostly woodmouse ran from the folds of her skirt and disappeared before them.

‘I’ll fight. No one will take me and Kate, no one.’

‘Then be quick, the guards are on the first landing,’ Isabella said as she vanished from the cage and reappeared suddenly by the door.

Thomas slipped the knife into the lock again and tipped the final lever. The door sprang open. Kate got to her feet and staggered towards him, her wits twisted. She dizzily reached for Thomas to help her, all the time keeping her eye on the pyx. Thomas, knowing her intentions, took the pyx. He snatched it from the table and pushed it into his pocket. ‘Better I keep it,’ he said, and he dragged her towards the warehouse door.

Kate shrugged, in the mist of the
Gaudium
, knowing it would be worthwhile to wait her time. The
Gaudium
was safe, she thought, for now anyway.

‘Then how do we get out?’ Thomas asked the ghost, expecting some
deus ex machina
to come to their aid and solve an apparently unfathomable complexity.

‘You may escape but you will never be free of Salamander Street, only if Galphus wants you to be,’ Isabella said. Her skin began to change like that of a chameleon. Thomas could see the
dirty paint of the wall. Isabella faded. The scent of the wood began to vanish and she slipped from view.

‘Gone … Tricked again,’ Thomas said as he searched the gloom for any sign of her.

‘Quickly!’ Isabella said as she appeared behind them. ‘The Druggles are coming for you. This way.’ She pointed to a painted window much like the one that was in the tower.

‘Rather take my chance with the Druggles,’ Thomas said, thinking this to be a trap and remembering what Smutt had said. He grabbed the warehouse door and pulled it open. A Druggle swung at him with a thick cudgel. It clattered against the frame, splintering the wood.

‘DO SOMETHING!’ Kate screamed suddenly, pulling the hair from her head with her skeletal hands.

Thomas kicked at the Druggle, knocking him back across the landing.

‘Bolt the door,’ Kate shouted as the
Gaudium
made the whole world tremble and shudder and the face of the Druggle sneered at her like a rat. ‘Do something!’ she shouted again, searching the room for Isabella.

Thomas struggled with the door, pushing it with all his might as the Druggle beat it with the cudgel.

‘Isabella!’ Kate screamed hoping to see the ghost.

Isabella appeared beside Thomas, her hands clasped behind her back.

‘Open the door when I tell you,’ she shouted above the sound of the beating cudgel.

Thomas turned to her as he pressed his shoulder against the door. The sweat rolled down his face as anger welled from within. Isabella stood rigidly still, her eyes fixed on the doorway.

‘Now!’ she shouted.

Thomas jumped back from the door just as the Druggle beat
at it yet again. It swung violently open, knocking him from his feet and pushing him into the room. The Druggle stepped inside, and seeing Thomas on the floor began to smile.

‘I told you I would see to you later,’ he said as he stepped towards him and beat the cudgel against his hand. ‘Now we’ll see what will happen to you.’

The Druggle had no realisation of the presence of the ghost. Isabella stalked him from behind, only visible to Kate and Thomas. Within a pace he lifted the cudgel to strike Thomas a blow to the legs. Isabella vanished for a second, disappearing through the floor. The warehouse began to shake, struck by a violent tremor. The Druggle stopped and looked as if he couldn’t understand what was happening. Thomas smiled; he knew what was to come.

In a lightning crack the floor exploded from beneath, and a gust of wind blew through the boards. Dust and dead mites were scattered into the air, showering all in a thin vapour of dead skin. Another crack of light exploded from the ceiling, instantly dazzling the Druggle. He stumbled back, taking hold of the wall for comfort. It was then that Isabella appeared to them all. Kate cowered to the floor, covering her face for fear this was another hallucination of the
Gaudium.
Thomas looked upon the sight and hid his eyes with his hands; fear stopped him from staring at the visage of the creature that stood above him. The Druggle didn’t move. His eyes opened as wide as his dry mouth, holding his face in a lopsided smile. Terrified, he dropped the cudgel from his limp fingers as he stumbled on weak feet.

The lad gagged and choked upon his own spittle as fear gripped his throat and made him incapable of gulping it back. He slowly lifted his hand as if to point at the creature that defied belief.

Isabella had been transformed. Gone were the pretty dress
and foxgloves. Gone the crinoline and laced-ruff neck. Now she stood, dark and sinister, a human snake that stared upon her victim through eyes of fire. Instantly she spat out her tongue to catch the lad who stood and trembled. It shot blood-red from her mouth, tipped with the heads of other dead. It was skull-laced and stank of death. Her long rat’s tail cast itself about his feet, pulling him to the floor as he fell backwards. The lad clawed for the entrance, gripping the gaps between the beams as Isabella slowly drew him towards her. He began to scream. He hollered, blank and empty and utterly feeble. He had not the strength to scare a mouse. The words dropped from his lips and summonsed no one.

Isabella coiled through the air as if to strike. The lad rolled like a dog upon the floor, waiting for the attack. Then in a fit of madness he twisted from her grip, jumped to his feet and fled. He ran into the wall so hard he smashed the plaster, which fell in pools of dust about him. He screamed the scream of a bedwetter. His throat tightened to a breaking drum as he grabbed his sodden pants and ran from her.

As the dust settled they heard the Druggle running down the wooden stairs whelping like a pup. Isabella was again transformed and smiled at them.

‘How?’ asked Thomas as he lowered his hands.

‘I did nothing, ’twas all in your minds – you saw what you wanted. You haunted yourselves,’ Isabella said as she smoothed her wig and made straight the ruff upon her pure, lead-white neck.

‘But I saw …’Thomas said

‘What you wanted,’ she replied.

Kate said nothing. She had seen Thomas smile at Isabella. It was a smile he had once given to her. She knew what it meant and the
Gaudium
knew her envy all too well.

‘There’s a way across the roof into the factory and then
down to the street. It’s the only way – follow me,’ Isabella said as she made off. Kate stumbled mindlessly behind, not thinking of where she would go. Reluctantly, Thomas followed, casting back his glance to the door.

‘Wait,’ he said, and he ran back to the door to the stairs and stacked the wooden boxes against it. ‘We need more time.’

Isabella waved urgently for him to follow. Thomas watched as she went to the window. There was no sign of any physical movement; it was as if she had no feet but just glided without friction. She beckoned him again as she stood by the window. ‘This is the one,’ she said. ‘There is a stairway on the other side, it’ll take you across the roof.’

‘And you?’ he asked, as Kate drudged behind in her melancholy.

‘I’ll see where they are and come back to you,’ Isabella said in her shrill voice.

‘And tell Galphus?’ he asked, still not sure of the ghost’s heart.

‘It’s a chance you take. I’ll come and find you. There is your escape – take it,’ she said with a smile. With that she was gone, vanished like a spring mist.

‘Come on, Kate. You’ll have to go faster,’ Thomas said as he kicked open the window and stood upon a gantry high above the roofs of Salamander Street. He could see the lights of the city going on forever, glistening against the cold.

They took to the steps in the cold night, Thomas shutting the window and slipping the lock. He followed Kate across the wooden pathway that ran across the leaded roof. It glistened in the frost, grey, cold and bitter. Thomas thought it was like the whole of the factory had been encased in sour pastry. It was the frozen skin of a vast skeleton, which traced the way of the eaves. The gantry led on by the tower along the east of the factory. Far away, Thomas could see the masts of ships. He
thought of Crane and the
Magenta
– he would be there, somewhere, very close. They turned the corner and the scaffold took them to another window. Isabella stood graciously waiting.

‘This way. They look for you in the factory. The guards have gone to wake Galphus,’ she said as the window opened by itself.

Once inside, Thomas knew where they were. To the right was a flight of stairs. Two floors below he knew would be the front door, and by its side was the room Galphus used as his laboratory.

‘Isabella, a favour – and one which I trust you for. Please, I need to know if there are any Druggles in the doorway below,’ Thomas said, and he reached out to touch her hand.

Kate saw it all. It simmered in her as the
Gaudium
whispered in discontent. The ghost vanished from sight and then quickly returned.

‘Gone,’ she said. ‘I have waited for this for so long.’

‘Kate, you have to keep up,’ Thomas said. ‘We’ll get to the door and I’ll get the key. Galphus keeps it in the desk in the room at the side. Then we’ll be gone.’

‘I think I’ll die, I need some …’ Kate said.

‘It’ll kill you, Kate. Isabella said,’ Thomas replied.

‘What does she know?’ she whispered like a cauldron hag at Beltane.

Thomas walked swiftly on. Isabella glided ahead, and Kate struggled to keep up. Everything within her felt as if it were wizened and arid. In her mind she saw herself as an old barren women, frail and decrepit. The
Gaudium
whispered to her again as she bided her time, waiting for the moment to steal it from him.