“I know what you’ve done,” Victoria continued. “And I know what you are. And I know the book is worth nothing, but you still want it. Still need it. I saw you before. You hoard, like a common rat.”
The hoardspike swallowed, his beady eyes resting on the book. “Just give it back.”
I crawled as slowly as I could, reaching for the place where my gun had fallen.
I was halfway there when the hoardspike snapped his head in my direction. “I thought you were out cold. A shame, I was looking forward to feasting on your eyes before I killed you. Oh well.”
He splayed his fingers, his long, curled nails as sharp as knives, and loped towards me. And then Victoria laughed and he stopped, screaming as he saw his book tumbling into the flames.
He lashed out at Victoria with a savage blow and her scream was cut short. There was nothing I could do for her.
I dove for the gun, cocked the trigger, and shot the demon.
He fell where he stood, straight into the fire, an acrid stench filling the air as he joined his fetcher.
I ran to Victoria. She clutched her throat, and I could see by her eyes that the wound was a mortal one. She slumped to her knees, falling into my arms. I held her, weeping and weeping until, finally, Sarah placed a gentle hand on mine. “It’s over,” she said.
And it was.
At dawn, I returned to the abandoned house and set about my grim task. I dismembered the hoardspike, placed him within a series of sacks, and threw them into the back of my hired carriage. Sarah and I removed the binds and chalk markings on the walls of the building and destroyed all evidence of our presence.
I took out the compass the guild had given me and used it with my map to find the nearest crossing place to the Grimwytch.
It was a small crooked old bridge over a dried-up river and below it was a door in the wall. I opened the door into the other world and put my Solaarock necklace on to counteract the harsh rays of their moon before entering.
I found myself deep in a part of Blackwood, a haunted, wretched place. Surrounding me stood Watcher Trees. Or at least that is how they appeared with their tangled limbs adorned with softly glowing eyes.
The place was known to be haunted by shapecasters, and so I took a piece of iron from my pocket and touched each of the trees with it. Their eyes blinked rapidly and their limbs recoiled, but had they of been shapecasters, the iron would have scorched and sizzled their revolting flesh.
I dumped the remains of the hoardspike below two entwined Watcher Trees. And then, crossing back to our world under cover of night, I returned the body of Victoria Stapleton to her parents.
I wrote to them, certain my words would offer scant comfort. Had my occupation permitted, I would have told them what had happened to their brave daughter. But my job was to move by shadows and stealth, to sweep away all evidence of the other world.
We travelled west after and buried the pouch of harvested souls deep beside a spring, paying our final respects to the poor unfortunate victims within.
9
No Such Thing
“So, what was the point?” Eliza whispered. Why follow a story with a journal entry? Why not just make it a part of the story?
Unless the author, Edwin Drabe, was trying to make the story seem more real. Perhaps it was all a part of the atmosphere, such as fixing the book to only turn one page at a time.
But as her unease grew, as she tried and failed to tell herself it was just a book of fairy stories, something slithered across Eliza’s foot. She clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling her scream. Her foot itched madly. It felt as if it had been tickled by a series of tiny feet.
Eliza leaped from the bed, pulling back the duvet, to see something black and shiny scuttle over the edge of the bed.
It couldn’t be…could it?
The fetcher?
Had it somehow escaped from the book and found its way into her room? Perhaps it had been secreted inside a hidden compartment.
“Don’t be ridiculous. There are no such things as fetchers!” she told herself. But whatever had crawled from the bed, Eliza knew she needed to find it if she hoped to get to sleep. Eliza flipped the main light on and the room brightened for a moment, before the light bulb dimmed and extinguished with a soft pop.
Movement in the center of the room caught her eye as something wriggled towards the curtains. Eliza took a tentative step forward, wondering what she’d do if she managed to catch whatever the hell it was—because aside from mosquitoes, Eliza didn’t like to kill anything. Not even the enormous spiders that appeared each autumn.
But if this thing was the fetcher, she’d kill it in an instant.
“It can’t be the fetcher,” she whispered. “It’s just a story and…”
Something clambered up the wall below the curtains, just as the book described—a series of skittering legs, a black shell, two folded wings, and a pair of horribly large pincers.
And then it vanished below the curtain line.
Eliza grabbed the curtains, sweeping them apart just in time to see a long black tail disappear down a hole in the windowsill.
A beam of moonlight illuminated the sill, and now she could see it wasn’t a hole but a large knot in the wood. She ran her hand over it. It was quite solid. There was no hole, no place for the creature to wriggle into.
So where had it gone?
She was seeing things. No doubt through tiredness and her imagination freshly awoken by The Book of Kindly Deaths.
But as Eliza began to pull the curtains, her eyes were drawn to the window across the garden, where she’d earlier seen the figure watching her. It was still there, standing in the window as the bare bulb blinked, and as it did, the light in Eliza’s room came back on, before winking out once more.
As the figure clamped a hand to the window, its light bulb flickered and faded. And as its light went out altogether, the light in Eliza’s room came back on.
Eliza stared at the window across the way, but she could only see a square of darkness. She shivered, wondering if the figure was still there with its hand upon the glass, before she snapped the curtains closed and adjusted them until there wasn’t the slightest gap.
Eliza snatched the duvet from her bed, examining it to make sure nothing was caught within its folds. Then she flipped her pillows over and checked beneath them before switching off the main light and climbing into bed.
10
Into the Grimwytch
Eliza held the book up before the bedside lamp. As she gazed at its cover, she began to understand why her mum had forbidden her to read fiction. It played havoc with the mind. Particularly this book, she thought, with its nasty little stories.
They seemed so real. Or at least, they seemed as if they might be real somewhere. And the darkness they brought had brushed against her world, making a neighbor decorating an empty room a menacing silhouette, a faulty light bulb a threat, and a shadow a mythical creature.
And now her imagination, long ago quashed by her mother, was growing wild like weeds in summer.
Eliza jumped as a floorboard outside her door creaked. Someone was outside.
The first thought to spring into her mind was of the book collector, Mr. Eustace Fallow, standing in the hall. She stashed the book below her pillow, her heart thumping as the handle turned and the door swung open.
A shadow fell against the wall.
And then her father poked his head into the room. “I saw a light under your door. And if I saw it, so will your mother, and she’s on her way up. So, to prevent an argument of brutal and epic proportions, I thought I’d give you a heads-up. It’s pretty late and…are you okay, Eliza? You look awful!”
“Thanks, Dad,” Eliza said, offering a smile. “I’m fine. Something woke me up. It felt like a spider crawling across my leg. So I turned the light on, but there was nothing there.”
“That old chestnut, eh?” Her father grinned.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I have that same
dream too. Most nights. Only it’s not just the one spider; it’s several hundred thousand.” He shivered. “I must have passed my nightmares to you somehow. Sorry!”
“I won’t hold it against you, Dad. It’s probably this house. It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes!” Her dad nodded. “Just a tad! I’ll probably have nightmares myself tonight. Well, there’s something to look forward to. But look, if you get really, really, really freaked out, wake me up.”
“How freaked out?” she asked, allowing a slight smile as she wondered what kind of ludicrous creations her father would come up with this time.
“Really, really, really, really freaked out. I mean, if you wake thinking there’s a squadron of killer midgets on the rampage, don’t wake me. But if you wake thinking there’s a squadron of killer midgets on the rampage with tarantulas on their shoulders and meat cleavers for hands, then you can wake me. Okay?”
“What about tarantulas with meat-cleaver hands and midgets on their shoulders?” Eliza asked.
“The same thing will probably apply. Anything else, let me sleep. Alright, goodnight, darling.”
“‘Night, Dad.”
As the door closed, Eliza switched the bedside light off. The book felt hard below her pillow, so she grabbed it and placed it beneath the pile of clothes on the floor. She’d finish it in the morning. When it was daylight and the stories wouldn’t be half so scary. That way, she could discover what happened in the end and maybe a clue to why Tom had left it on the desk.
Providing there was an end.
Eliza was still wondering what the stories meant when she fell asleep…and found herself standing at the top of a ladder in the middle of thick, swirling fog. Except as the fog parted, she saw it wasn’t fog, but a cloud. And close, so close it almost hurt her mind, was a great red moon. Eliza reached for it as if it were a balloon and almost had it in her grasp when the ladder began to shake. She clutched it, climbing down its rungs as fast as her feet could go, glancing beneath and wishing she hadn’t.
Below, stretching for as far as she could see, was a great black city, its ancient buildings bathed in darkness, snakes of gray smoke rising from its chimneys. In the city center stood seven colossal black towers. Eliza gazed at the closest, marveling at its immensity, but beyond its awe-inspiring size and gothic grandeur, there was also something deeply disturbing.
She thought about climbing the ladder, going back into the sky, but the shaking started once more. Eliza renewed her efforts, climbing down faster and looking away from the tower.
As she neared the bottom, which somehow seemed to happen much faster than it should have, she saw people in the street below. Eliza caught a glimpse of pale skin, lank hair, hard angular faces, and flashing red eyes. She looked away, focusing instead on the cobblestone street.
Time jumped, and she found herself at the foot of the tower, pushing its great arched doors open, their color blacker than black. And then she was inside the tower, standing in the middle of a huge chamber. At its center was a tall chair and Eliza felt a curious, immense sense of relief to find it empty.
But of course it’s empty, she thought. The man who sits there is in my world now. And I’m in his.
Quite how she knew this, she had no idea. Except that she did, and the knowledge was as real as the ladder she had descended.
Someone hissed. She turned to find a series of cells running along the room’s circumference—and behind thick black bars, people. At least, they looked like people, until she spotted the tall, disheveled lady with great long, curling nails and warts across her face. Eliza stepped back.
It’s a Collector.
And then the other prisoners began to call—some laughing, some howling, while others wept. “Stop!” Eliza cried, and somehow she was more disturbed by hearing her voice in this world than she was by the cries of the prisoners.
Eliza looked for the doors, her eyes falling on the staircase that rose round and round in ever-tighter circles, vanishing towards the tower’s summit. The staircase beckoned to her. “No. That’s not the right way,” she shouted, her voice rising over the prisoners’ din.
Eliza turned until she found the door, fleeing through it and passing into the street, which for some curious reason was painted with blue letters. She searched for the ladder to her world, but it was gone, and as something screamed, Eliza ran, flying down the street and into another and on and on she went. The streets passed in a blur as here and there she caught snapshots of bizarre and terrible sights and all manner of misshapen figures.
She ignored them and ran on.
Eliza stopped as she passed a street illuminated by a great white glow that seemed to pour from a tall house in the center of the road, its very bricks ablaze with light. Outside, a crowd gathered, keeping to the shadows, unwilling, it seemed, to step into the light.
Someone watched from a window in the light house, and all at once Eliza felt a strange, powerful surge of affection for him.
She knew the watcher.
Or had known him.
Many, many years ago.
As Eliza stepped towards the house of lights, the crowd turned to her, and a figure whose face seemed to be formed of one huge, snarling mouth prowled towards her. Its intent was clear as she glanced at the curved dagger clutched in its hand.
Eliza ran, down a murky tangle of roads filled with old, crumbling buildings, emerging onto a long street lit with gas lamps. At the end, a grand building stood. She ran towards it, doing her best to ignore the howling, which seemed to draw closer by the second. She ran up a small flight of marble steps and came to a door, stopping short as her gaze fell upon its knocker.
It was a gargoyle.
And dimly, she realized she’d recently seen its twin. At her grandfather’s house.
Eliza looked away from the revolting brass, impish face as she placed her palm upon the door and pushed. It swung open and Eliza stepped inside.
The interior was grandly decorated, with polished marble floors and a thick, plush carpet running up a wide staircase. The building was lit with gas lamps and moonlight, which filtered through a series of stained glass windows. Each window boasted a different image—here a deformed figure with what looked like tentacles for hair, there a cowled man gazing into a sundial. But in every picture, Eliza found images of pens, books, and towers.
Eliza turned as voices echoed along the corridor below the stairs. She followed them, avoiding looking directly at the two armored guards standing before a large room. She knew, somehow, that she mustn’t look at the guards. At least, not directly.
The guards stepped into the shadows as she approached, just as she’d known they would. Eliza emerged into a large room lined with bookcases. The books whispered as she entered, but she knew better than to answer them. In the center of the room, she found a large glass case. Something moved within.
Eliza stepped closer as its occupant slithered into a patch of moonlight.
The creature was the size of a rabbit, its flesh the deepest, darkest blue she’d ever seen. It reminded her of a squid, a squid crossed with a slug. Two feelers extended from its bulbous head and as they found her, its soft, yellow, cat-like eyes swiveled to regard her. Eliza felt a compulsion to cradle the creature, for somehow, despite its hideous appearance, she knew it was a magical thing. But as she opened the case and reached for the creature, it sprayed a fine blue mist from its mouth, coating her face. Eliza grimaced as she frantically wiped her eyes and found her hands covered in ink.
And then the voices returned, drawing closer.
“You know he’s not right. Don’t pretend otherwise. Some of his recent judgments have been…evil,” said a man’s voice.
“Right or wrong, we elected him. What would you have us do, conspire to remove him from office? Do you want to commit treason?” a lady’s voice asked, low and full of authority.
“It’s only treason if it’s against the king,” the other pointed out.
“He was endorsed by the
king, Mr. Bumbleton.”
And then they stepped into the room. The first was a lady, tall and reed-like, with long, deep black hair and a pair of bright lilac eyes glowing from her harsh, lined face.
The man beside her looked like a barrel, with a thick auburn beard and a pair of bespectacled black eyes set into a pudgy, pale face.
Both wore official-looking black robes.
They gazed in silence at Eliza as she frantically scrubbed her face, until finally the lady spoke. “It seems the Drabes know no end of meddling. We have another, it appears, Mr. Bumbleton. And he told us there were no more. He lied.”
“Indeed he did, Mrs. Sallow, indeed he did.” Mr. Bumbleton peered at Eliza through his pince-nez glasses. “But this one isn’t wholly here.”
“I don’t understand?” Eliza said. And she didn’t.
Nothing in this dream, for she realized that was what it was, made sense. Although, in another way, it all made perfect sense.
“She doesn’t understand,” Mr. Bumbleton said, sighing loudly.
“No, she doesn’t. Because if she did, she wouldn’t be here snooping,” Mrs. Sallow said with a low, cat-like hiss. “Don’t think ignorance makes you exempt from punishment, Miss Drabe.”
“I’m Miss Winter,” Eliza replied.
“You’re a Drabe, through and through,” said Mrs. Sallow. “Just like your grandfather. Did you see him on your journey? Hiding in his house of light?”
“Hiding might not be the best word to use, Mrs. Sallow.” Mr. Bumbleton chuckled. “Everyone in the Grimwytch knows he’s there. I mean, he’s not exactly difficult to miss!”
“Your grandfather will have to come out eventually. And when he does, there will be consequences.” Mrs. Sallow’s eyes narrowed. “For you, Miss Winter, as well as him.”
“But not now,” Mr. Bumbleton said. “Because she’s not really here.”
“No,” Mrs. Sallow agreed. “She’s not.”
“But…” Eliza stopped.
The Book of Kindly Deaths Page 9