The Vampyre Quartet

by G. P. Taylor

  Jago left the room. He ran the length of the corridor, down the stairs and, turning on the landing, he charged past the picture of Pippen Draigorian to the front door.

  ‘Not wise to be out when it’s getting dark,’ Mrs Macarty said. She appeared from the shadows as if she had been waiting for him.

  ‘I was going –’

  ‘After Biatra?’ she asked knowingly.

  ‘She’s in the churchyard. I saw her from the window,’ Jago replied.

  ‘And who would I be to stand in the way of family?’ she asked. Jago had no idea what she meant. ‘You better be after her, but watch the time. The funeral will be there within the hour. They don’t like snoopers at those things. Go get her – be quick about it.’

  Jago nodded as Mrs Macarty opened the door. He leapt down the steps and ran across the square, past the statue and through the gates. High above, the comet had been obscured by a veil of cloud that filled the sky to the horizon. It had a ghostly glow that changed with every gust of the wind as if the sky was on fire. Far to the east, the first crescent of the moon was breaking through the sea below the clouds.

  Bia was by the edge of the cliff. Jago could see her clearly. She stood on the precipice with her arms outstretched as if she was going to fly at any moment. Long ringlets of her red hair blew back as she leant into the wind. It was as if she was being held in place by the fierce vortex that blew up the cliff from the sea.

  Jago stopped running and circled around to the side, hoping she would see him out of the corner of her eye and not be startled. Her toes were at the very edge of the cliff and she leant out like someone about to fall. Her eyes were firmly shut, her mouth open as she gasped the gale that blew into her face.

  ‘I can see you, Jago. I know you’re there,’ she said as she leant out further, kept in place only by the force of the wind. ‘I want to fly, to jump from this place and fly – do you understand that?’

  ‘But you’d crash to the sea – you’d be killed,’ he replied as he edged his way closer to her.

  ‘What is there here for me?’ she answered, still with her eyes closed.

  ‘There’s …’ he said, unable to think of anything.

  ‘Nothing,’ she answered. ‘All is lost – I have no one. Would you want to live in that house when every day you knew they laughed at you behind your back and called you scar-face and blood-head?’

  ‘It’s words,’ Jago said. ‘And what you did tonight really showed Staxley.’

  ‘He won’t stop. I just made it worse. He’ll find a way of getting me – they always do. You never looked like this, you don’t know.’

  Jago slowly edged closer. He looked over the brink and his stomach churned. The cliff fell away to the sea far, far below.

  ‘Come back, Bia. Don’t lean so far out,’ he said as she swayed with her arms outstretched, her hair blowing in long strands. The wind blew her back, holding her like a soaring bird.

  ‘Does it frighten you?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said simply, his words just heard above the sound of the wind. ‘Everything has frightened me since I got here. Nothing’s right. You’re all I’ve got.’

  They were words he hadn’t meant to say. For a moment she hesitated. He thought she would fall. Jago dived for her, grabbing Bia by the waist and pulling her towards him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she screamed as they fell into the long grass.

  ‘You would have fallen. I saw it happening,’ he said.

  Bia began to laugh. ‘It’s what I do – would it matter?’

  ‘It would to me,’ he said as he felt her breath on his face.

  ‘If I could give you this – would you take it?’ she said as she pointed to the mark on her face. He didn’t reply but just looked at her, thining about what she had said. ‘Do you know what it’s like to be laughed at and scorned?’

  ‘Weren’t you the one who said you were no different and told them to get on with it?’ he answered.

  ‘It gets to you sometimes. Staxley is a pig. Everyone does as he says because they’re frightened of him.’

  ‘But not you?’ he asked.

  ‘Why should I? He can say what he wants.’

  ‘So what were you doing?’ Jago asked.

  ‘Sky flying,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I saw the birds flying on the wind. It’s so powerful just here. The wind is forced up through two gulleys in the rock. My Dad said that a woman fell over the cliff just here and was blown back. You should try it.’

  ‘I’ll leave it to you,’ he replied as he looked back to the dark silhouette of the church. ‘Mrs Macarty said I had to get you back before the funeral. She said they didn’t like snoopers.’

  ‘Only because they don’t want anyone to see how she’s buried,’ Bia replied.

  ‘How would that make people want to stop us looking?’ he asked.

  ‘They’ll be burying her face down. They put the coffin in upside down so she can’t get out,’ Bia said as she got up and leant on an old grave. She looked at Jago and realised he didn’t know what she was talking about. ‘They think Sara Clark will become a Vampyre, and they’ll wrap her in holly wands and put a stone in her mouth. They were the old ways of how to keep a Vampyre in the grave.’

  Bia raised an eye at Jago and tried to smile. It was halfhearted but spoke of what she really felt.

  ‘Why do they think she’s a Vampyre?’ Jago asked, not wanting to tell her what he had seen in his dream.

  ‘When the comet appeared before, a hundred people were found dead. The rumour was that Strackan had killed them all and they too would be Vampyres. They were all buried by the edge of the cliff. On the night the comet vanished, it is said they all broke free from their graves and ran through the town. The next day, another hundred people were dead. Some looked as though animals had eaten them. Others looked as if they had died of fright. Every one was buried face down and wrapped in holly wands, just to make sure.’

  ‘Did they come back to life?’ he asked.

  ‘After they were buried, a storm came and part of the cliff fell into the sea. The coffins were all lost, all but one – and that was empty.’

  ‘So they were Vampyres?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s what they say.’

  ‘And now the comet’s back it will all happen again?’ he asked.

  ‘Jack Henson believes it and he’s the one spreading all the rumours. If he says it’s true then the whole town will follow him. He’s got good reason. Henson thinks a Vampyre murdered his wife.’ Bia suddenly crouched into the shadow of a stone. ‘They’re here. The funeral. I can see the horses.’

  Jago peered out from his makeshift hiding place in the long grass just as four black horses walked slowly towards the church. They pulled the sleek black carriage he had seen the night before. The horses were braided and plumed and looked as though they floated upon the veneer of mist that seeped through the gates. Jack Henson walked by their side, spade over his shoulder, lantern in his hand, followed by four men in black top hats. The hearse was now out of sight. Jago crawled closer to the grave by the wall of the church.

  ‘Come on,’ he said to Bia. ‘I want to see what they are doing.’

  She followed reluctantly, keeping as low to the ground as she could. Then the singing began. At first it was a low drawl of words they couldn’t understand.

  ‘It’s just as my dad said – the witches’ song to keep her in the grave,’ Bia whispered as four men rounded the side of the church with the coffin wrapped in knotted holly wands high on their shoulders. Jack Henson followed them. He carried a lantern on a short staff. As he walked he chanted. Jago could make out only some of the words; the others were drowned by the wind.

  ‘Holly … grave … blood … death …’ Henson croaked like a crow.

  The procession turned again as they lowered the coffin to the ground. There was no priest, no blessing, just Jack Hen-son chanting as the men tumbled the coffin into the deep grave. There was a dull thud as it sank into the earth.
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br />   ‘Stones,’ shouted Henson as he stuck the lamp into the soft earth and watched it swing back and forth. ‘Better keep her in with the stones.’

  They watched as the four men began to throw rocks on top of the coffin. They thudded loudly and without respect. Then an old woman hobbled to the graveside, her arms wrapped around a bundle of herbs. They all fell silent.

  ‘Sara Clark … by the power of hemlock and rue I command you to stay asleep and not to wake. By the essence of larkspur and crowfoot you shall always keep within this grave,’ the old woman said as she scattered the herbs on to the coffin. ‘By the light of day and the moon at night, rest until the end of time.’

  ‘So mote it be,’ ended Jack Henson as he picked up the lamp and lowered it into the grave. ‘With fire and earth be made fast and not stir. Is she for staying?’ he asked the woman.

  ‘If the wands have been tied and she faces the earth, she will not stir. Strackan will have to dig her from the ground to bring her to life,’ she replied. She pulled a black shawl over her head and turned against the chill breeze.

  ‘We should have done this from the start. Pointless only doing it now – what about all the others?’ he asked the woman, as if she would have the answer.

  ‘Those that you buried we can be protected from. It’s the ones that haven’t been found I’ll pray for,’ she said as she turned to walk from him.

  ‘What do you mean, Polly Peckentree?’ Henson said. Jago watched him grip the woman by the shoulder.

  ‘Strackan has them hidden away. Neither dead nor alive – that’s what I mean. Sara Clark can be thankful she is dead. Trapped in that grave she’ll be – but the others – servants, that’s all they’ll be … For ever.’

  Jago slipped to the ground so he could not be seen. His last glance was of Henson following the pallbearers back to the hearse. The wind dropped as the sky cleared and the tufts of grass that surrounded each stone shimmered gold in the light of the full moon.

  ‘See,’ Bia whispered after some time. ‘I told you they all believed in Vampyres.’

  ‘What’ll we do?’ Jago asked.

  ‘Wait until they’ve gone and then sneak off,’ she said.

  ‘But Mrs Macarty – she told me to bring you straight back.’

  ‘Tell her you couldn’t find me – tell her I was lost.’

  ‘Tell her you’re hiding behind graves in the churchyard,’ Jack Henson snapped as he grabbed Jago and dragged him to his feet. ‘I thought I told you to stay out of here at night for your own good?’

  ‘It’s my fault – he came looking for me,’ Bia said as she stepped away.

  ‘Always your fault, always your fault,’ Henson said as he pulled Jago to the edge of the cliff. ‘What did I say could happen to you if you were caught around here?’

  ‘You said you didn’t want me talking to your guests?’ Jago asked, hoping he was right.

  ‘Funerals are private things,’ Henson said, shaking Jago as hard as he could.

  ‘So private no one comes but you and Polly Peckentree? She’s a witch and you know it,’ Bia said without thinking. ‘You were making sure Sara Clark didn’t come back. She never got a proper funeral.’

  ‘Can’t have her running free. You should know that.’ Hen-son held Jago by the scruff of his neck. ‘Precautions, that’s all it is.’

  ‘Witchcraft and superstition – frightening people to believe that the dead are Vampyres. That’s all,’ Bia said.

  ‘What else do we do – let them all run free?’ he asked as he held Jago closer to the edge of the cliff.

  Jago looked down. The sea broke on the rocks far below. The surf crashed against the harbour wall and vast green breakers rolled in like undulating hills.

  “Mrs Macarty knows we are here,’ Jago said as his feet began to slip from the edge. ‘She saw us go. If anything happened you would be asked all the questions.’

  ‘Accidents happen – especially to inquisitive people. What’s another body at the bottom of the cliff?’ Henson stopped. It was as if he was caught by a conversation that only he could hear. He lifted Jago closer to him and looked into his face. ‘There’s something not right about you, something not right at all. You make us shiver …’ He pulled Jago back and then pushed him towards Bia. ‘Let this be a final warning to you both. This place is out of bounds – awake or asleep – do you understand?’ he said as he looked at Jago.

  ‘Asleep?’ Bia asked.

  ‘Awake or asleep – he knows what I mean,’ Henson muttered as he walked back towards the grave through the wind-beaten stones. Henson stopped by Sara’s grave and looked in. He turned and pointed to Jago. ‘It’s not by chance you have come back. Don’t think you can kid me. I know who you are – we all do.’

  ‘What?’ Bia said as she looked at Jago. ‘Asleep?’

  Jago shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘He’s a mad old fool,’ he said.

  ‘A seer – knows when things will happen, or so they say. What did he mean when he spoke to you?’

  It was the moment that Jago wanted, the moment he had been waiting for. He wanted to tell Bia what he had seen in his dream. But he thought and then let it pass, never to come again. He looked up. The comet looked down on the earth like the eye of an all-seeing god. He mourned for London, mourned for his mother and mourned for Cresco. It was as if they had never been and his old life was a dream that he had mistakenly glimpsed.

  ‘If it were true, all that Henson said – what would you think?’ he asked her.

  Bia looked about the churchyard. The night had crept about them quite silently. It had stolen the light and taken the day without them seeing. They stood surrounded by markers of lives long lost. Each was a cold stone monolith that reduced life to a name on stone.

  ‘That’s where we end up, Jago. There’s nothing else. Sometimes I think there is, but when I really think I know there can’t be,’ Bia said, pointing to the grave. ‘Someone is taking people, or else they are just running away – but it’s not a Vampyre.’

  They listened for a moment to the sound of Jack Henson shovelling earth into Sara Clark’s grave.

  ‘Mrs Macarty will be wondering where we are,’ Jago said.

  ‘All she cares for is her money. What did Henson mean when he said awake or asleep? I saw the look in your eyes and you knew what he meant.’

  ‘Perhaps his guests had told him I was in the churchyard last night whilst I was dreaming. They could have seen me and chased me from here.’ Jago tried to laugh but a shiver-finger ran down his spine.

  Bia looked at him. ‘I wished you were lying, but I know a truthful face and to believe you would be madness,’ she said as they walked through the mist that hugged the graves.

  Henson worked on. He was but a dark shadow against the lee of the old church. He paid no attention to them as they walked on. Henson muttered and gnarled and moaned as he argued with himself in a half-heard, echoing conversation. He looked up as their shadows danced across the low mist and caught his eye.

  ‘Don’t you be coming back, Jago Harker. Not tonight, not any night,’ he shouted.

  Jago raised his hand as if to agree.

  ‘Why should he think you will be back?’ Bia asked.

  ‘He doesn’t like me – that’s all. I don’t know why,’ he answered. Then he saw Polly Peckentree on the seat by the iron gate. She sat in the moonlight with the low mist swirling about her feet, huddled in her shawl and waiting for Jack Henson.

  ‘Don’t speak,’ Bia whispered as they drew near.

  ‘Biatra Barnes – I pray they will find your mother,’ the old woman said.

  ‘She’ll be back,’ Bia answered firmly as a moon shadow crossed her face.

  ‘Who is this?’ the woman asked as she stood to look at Jago.

  ‘He’s from London and an evacuee,’ Bia said.

  The old woman gasped in surprise. ‘Can’t be,’ she said slowly. ‘It just can’t be.’

  ‘I’m Jago,’ he said as he held out his hand.

 
‘Don’t touch me – never touch me – I know who you are,’ she said, stepping back from him. ‘I wouldn’t walk out with him – not this boy, Biatra. This lad is trouble 2536and you know it – don’t you, boy?’

  [ 10 ]

  The Lost Griffin

  THEY CROSSED the large cobbled square in front of Streonshalgh Manor in silence. Jago glanced to the statue of the gladiator. It cast its moon shadow across the stones like a giant bird about to swoop down. The house towered over them, its cold grey stones dark and foreboding. Mrs Macarty stood at the door and held back the long blackout curtain as she tapped impatiently with her foot.

  ‘Longer than I thought,’ she said with a note of irritation in her voice.

  ‘I couldn’t find her,’ Jago tried to say, but he suddenly realised by the look in her eyes that he had been caught in the lie.

  ‘You were by the graves – near the cliff edge, Jago – hiding and watching. It’s not only you who can look out of the attic windows and see what’s happening,’ she said with a curl of the lip that he quickly understood. ‘Both of you, to your rooms before I have Jack Henson at my door complaining you were snooping.’

  ‘He caught us, told us to stay away,’ Bia said as they stepped through the doorway.

  ‘I saw it all. What business did Polly Peckentree have with you?’ she asked, closing the large studded door behind them.

  ‘Just said hello. She’s never met Jago before,’ Bia lied.

  ‘Well, enough is enough.’ Mrs Macarty sighed. ‘Tallow has left a drink in your rooms. Hope it is still hot. Best you both be off to sleep. Rid your minds of what you’ve seen.’

  Jago was thankful that it was all she had said. Delphine Macarty was so unlike his mother and yet there was something about her that warmed his heart.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jago said. ‘I shouldn’t have lied to you.’

  ‘Sorry? A strange word to be used by a lad of your age. Don’t say it too much around here. I can’t be having everyone thinking I’m going soft.’ She smiled as she watched him walk up the stairs. ‘Just need a word with you, Biatra – if you don’t mind.’