by G. P. Taylor
Jago looked out of the window. The storm had passed and the night closed in as the sun set above the wild hills. The water in the bay shone silver as it reflected the moon. Where it met the sea, the land was edged with the purple of the moor and the dark alum stains of the far cliffs. It was then that he saw Tallow. The man walked across the gravel drive holding a tall lantern. He wore the same clothes he’d worn the day before. They were unchanged and clung to his skin as the rainwater dripped from his brow.
Tallow took long deliberate steps, as if counting his paces or playing a game in his mind. His lips moved as he mimed each number without speaking. The lantern rocked back and forth above his head and its faint light shone down on him. Step by step, he made his way to the entrance of the labyrinth. As he approached the entrance, Jago could just make out the shadows of two men beneath the large oak tree that covered the driveway.
‘Bia,’ he whispered as he pressed himself close to the stone mullion so as not to be seen. ‘It’s Tallow. He’s gone into the labyrinth.’
Bia came to the window and looked down. Tallow had gone. She could vaguely follow the path of the light as it sparkled through the top of the hedges.
‘I can see him,’ she said. She pointed to the maze beneath them.
‘What are they doing?’ Jago asked as Tallow reappeared. ‘It’s Draigorian.’
There was Draigorian in his black hat and white gloves and holding a long cane. He was talking to Ezra Morgan as if they were old friends. The old man laughed and looked up as if he expected to see them at the window.
‘Look out,’ Bia said as she ducked from view. ‘Did he see us?’
Jago crawled under the window to the far side of the room. He peered over the ledge but could see no one.
‘They’ve gone,’ he said as he got to his feet and looked down.
His eye traced the passage of a light through the avenues of the intricate maze. It strayed neither to the left or the right and did not double back on itself. All the while he watched, the light got closer to the centre of the labyrinth.
‘What are they doing?’ Bia asked. ‘Why should Draigorian be here with Ezra Morgan?’
‘They are old friends – that’s what he said in the car.’
‘And who else was with them, besides Tallow – there were three men,’ Bia said.
‘Three?’ Jago asked.
‘I saw two and the shadow of another behind them,’ Bia replied as she looked down and traced the final steps of the lamp until it stopped in the centre of the maze. She looked at Jago, who smirked elfishly. ‘No, Jago – we promised Hugh Morgan we would stay here.’
‘How would he know?’
‘If he checked the room?’ she replied.
‘And what will he do to us? He was in love with your mother, you can tell,’ Jago said as he walked to the door and picked up his jacket from the chair by the fire. ‘Coming?’
He didn’t wait for her to reply. He slung on his coat as fast as he could, carefully opened the door and stepped in to the passageway. Bia followed, took the key from his hand and locked the door.
Hawks Moor was empty of life. Jago sensed it as he walked along the dark corridor with Bia close by. He felt like an animal. Every sinew in his body tingled and shook with anticipation. Bia held on to the hem of his coat. Soon they found the back stairs. They were narrow, neatly swept and smelt of cooked chicken.
‘Kitchen?’ Bia said as they took the first step together.
‘Must be,’ Jago replied as he nudged ahead. ‘Don’t speak.’
The stairs spiralled down to the kitchen. The door opened next to the shutter of the small lift that would take food to the upper floors. Jago had seen one before in a London hotel where his mother had worked. He waited a moment and then looked around the room. It was empty. An old oven gurgled in the fireplace. A large pot full of chicken bones and water rattled on the stove top. The lid shook with the bubbling liquid and clattered on the pan.
Across from the stove was the doorway to the outside. It was guarded by a thick terracotta curtain. Jago looked at Bia.
‘Could be locked,’ she said, knowing what he was about to ask.
‘Don’t know until we try,’ he said as he slipped behind the curtain.
A cruel draught that blew back the drape amd the dark of the night seeped into the room. Jago looked up at the sky. It seemed different, darker than he had known before. The bright glow of the comet had gone; in its place was a mantle of stars that prickled against the dark velvet sky.
‘RedEye,’ Bia said instantly, her voice just above a hush. ‘It’s gone. It can’t be, they said it would be here for days, just like before.’
Jago again checked the sky. There was no sign of the comet. From horizon to azimuth, the sky was dark and crystal clear. The thunderstorm had blown away all the clouds; a fresh breeze came in from the sea and rattled the autumn branches all around them.
‘Is that why Draigorian is here?’ Jago asked.
‘What?’
‘The comet has gone and Draigorian sent the cup to Morgan,’ Jago answered.
‘Doesn’t make sense, what difference would an old chalice make?’ Bia replied as they hid under the dark canopy of a tall yew tree.
‘It’s not just any old cup,’ Jago said. ‘It can change your life when you drink from it.’
‘How?’ Bia asked.
Footsteps came from the far side of the house, crunching on the shingle. Like before, they were measured, equal and counted.
‘Tallow,’ Bia whispered as they retreated further into the darkness of the canopy.
The footsteps came closer. Tallow walked towards their hiding place, his hands tucked into the top of his trousers, his lips counting each step for no purpose. He passed by without noticing them staring at him.
‘Why does he do that?’ Jago asked when he was out of sight.
‘Tallow counts all the time. Footsteps, teaspoons, plates, beans in a jar. He can’t stop it. I heard that was why Mrs Macarty sent him here. It drove her mad,’ Bia answered as they left the darkness and sloped closer to the labyrinth.
The black of night came down quickly. Without the comet, soon every tree was outlined in just the silver of the moon. Somehow, even that seemed fainter and more distant than it had. At the entrance to the labyrinth, Jago stopped. He hesitated for a moment before crossing the long stone that marked the threshold. The air seemed thicker and held him back, as if it wasn’t his place to be there.
‘Don’t speak,’ he whispered in a breath to Bia, his lips close to her face. ‘You can stay and look out for Tallow.’ Bia kept hold of his coat. She didn’t want to be alone, not at night and in the dark. They could both hear Tallow coming around the corner of the house. His footsteps were ordered, each stride the same length, taking the same time to cover the ground. ‘Inside … quickly.’
It was a step that Bia took with apprehension. The entrance to the maze was three feet thick. It was made of dense privet and holly leaves. To one side was a sudden turn and then an alcove of topiary.
Jago put a finger to his lips; his eyes were wide as his hair blew across his face. At the corner of the avenue was a candle lamp. It was in the hand of a statue of a creature half man, half dog set on top of a marble plinth.
‘That way,’ Jago whispered pointing to the statue.
‘But what if …?’
Tallow’s footsteps didn’t turn at the house as they had expected. They were soon at the mouth of the labyrinth. Jago held his breath and pulled Bia into the alcove, smothering her mouth with his hand.
‘Who is it?’ Tallow asked in the darkness, just a yard from them. ‘I can hear you there.’
The man waited a moment and peered around him. He stepped back from the threshold and out of the maze.
‘Quickly, Jago said.
‘No. I’ll stay here,’ Bia insisted.
He could feel her hand tremble slightly and knew she was afraid.
‘I’ll just go and see what they are doing. They won�
�t hear me. You hide here. Don’t move until I come back.’
Bia stared at Jago wide-eyed. He knew she didn’t want him to go. ‘I won’t be long,’ he whispered.
In three steps he had vanished. Jago followed the glimmer of the lanterns and turned at every corner where there was a stone sentinel. The hedges towered above him, blotting out the light of the moon. They twisted and turned, folding back on themselves and taking him deeper and deeper into the labyrinth. Soon he could hear voices. One he knew well – Crispin Draigorian.
‘Are you sure it could be him?’ Ezra Morgan asked from the other side of the thick hedge that divided him from Jago’s hiding place.
‘Positive. I could feel it in his mind,’ Draigorian said eagerly. ‘I set him on finding the book in my library, but I could tell he already knew of it.’
‘Then what shall we do with him?’ asked the one voice that Jago had never heard before. It sounded younger, softer – the voice of a woman.
‘He has to be stopped, stopped before he brings destruction,’ Draigorian said. ‘If he has the cup in his possession then it will be difficult for us all.’
‘I told you never to trust that fool. You said he would look after the boy until he was of the age when he would be useful to us. All he has done is sent him back here,’ Morgan growled angrily. ‘He knew what would happen and he cares not.’
‘But he could have been killed in the bombing and then where would we be?’ Draigorian answered sharply. ‘It is time – the Lyrid of Saturn.’
‘Bloodless,’ cackled the woman. ‘We need the blood for the cup – we need the Cup of Garbova.’
‘It’s a difficult decision,’ Morgan said. ‘He is nearly flesh and blood.’
‘Who would you wish to use? It has to be the descendant of one of the Quartet. When your son was of age you went away. You knew he would have to be spared. You cheated us.’ The woman snarled. Jago could hear the rustling of her skirts against the stone floor at the centre of the maze.
‘And you said the boy would be looked after and what happened?’ Morgan shouted, his voice hot with frenzy.
‘She is right, Ezra. This could have been completed years ago,’ Draigorian added feebly.
‘Very well. So mote it be. We cannot do anything until the moon of Friday – the Lyrid of Saturn. I will try to keep him here. But my son must never know.’ Morgan said thoughtfully.
‘And the girl?’ the woman asked, her voice excited.
‘Blood for blood … You may keep her like you have the rest,’ said Ezra Morgan as he slapped his hands together. ‘One more missing child will not matter. If she satisfies your appetite, then so be it.’
‘It has to stop, Ezra. Eight hundred years is enough for any man,’ Draigorian snapped. ‘I am tired of this life. I will drink no more blood.’
[ 17 ]
Molech
IT WAS THE RAPID BEATING of his heart that first alerted him to the rising sense of fear twisting in his guts. Just like before, the world began to spin as a vision came to mind. Jago gripped the hedge and held on for his life. In his mind, he could hear the calling of a morning crow. Trees hemmed him in from all sides and his feet slipped on a shaded path. Bia was screaming – she was close by. He breathed hard as he tried to stop himself from falling over. His heartbeat thumped in his throat and made it hard for him to swallow. Then, as quickly as it had come, the vision was gone.
‘Then it is decided. Friday … the thirteenth … the Lyrid of Saturn,’ he heard Morgan say as the world stopped spinning and he regained his breath.
‘But what of him?’ Draigorian asked. ‘Shall we call him from London? The Quartet?’
‘It matters not. Three will be enough for what we seek to do,’ Morgan answered.
Jago realised their meeting was coming to an end. Half drunk with fear and the aftermath of the vision, Jago staggered to the entrance of the labyrinth. Bia was gone. There was a faint impression of her against the leaves of the hedge where they had hid, but nothing more. Jago knew he could not call out. Already he could hear the footsteps of Morgan and the others coming from the inner circle of the maze.
Peering around the hedge, Jago could see Tallow by the front door. It looked as though he were counting the stones that made up the archway. Slowly, he moved from his hiding place and step by step, he made his way to the back of the house.
As Jago took hold of the door handle, he became suddenly aware of someone looking at him intently. His hand froze to the wooden ball as he thought of running.
‘What kept you?’ Bia asked. ‘I had to move – Tallow came looking. I’m sure he thought someone was there.’
‘We have to get out of here,’ Jago said as he opened the kitchen door and he and Bia stepped inside. ‘That is what this is all about: a trap to get us here – in this house. It’s to do with blood.’
‘Blood?’ Bia asked.
‘My blood, your blood … We’re both going to be dead. I heard them.’ Jago panted. ‘It’s planned for Friday. Ezra Morgan will try to keep us here. We can’t do anything to make him suspicious.’
‘How?’ Bia asked as she tried to take in the words.
‘Let’s get back to the room,’ he whispered.
Taking the same back staircase, they were soon on the upper landing and at the doorway to the turret room. Jago took the key, opened the door and walked to the window. In the driveway below he could see Draigorian walking to his car. Rathbone was with Ezra Morgan. Tallow stood anxiously by the oak tree and tapped the back of his hand.
‘I wish I could hear what they were saying,’ Jago said as he felt Bia close by.
‘We should get away tonight,’ Bia answered. ‘I don’t want to stay here.’
‘Trust me, Bia. If we left now they would come after us. We have to make it look like it is all normal. Whatever happens we should wait until the morning.’
‘But there’s no one looking for us now. If we disappeared then it wouldn’t matter to anyone.’
Below, the car drove off and Morgan stomped back to the house, followed obediently by Tallow and Rathbone.
‘Where is Hugh Morgan?’ Jago asked. ‘He wasn’t there.’
‘Is he involved?’ Bia asked.
‘I can’t be sure. I could only hear their voices. It was Draigorian, Ezra Morgan and a woman.’
There was the familiar sound of footsteps on the stairs to the room. Jago ran to the bed, leapt upon it, wrapped himself in the blanket and pretended to be asleep. Bia slumped in the chair by the fire and closed her eyes.
Four distinctive raps beat slowly against the wood.
‘Jago? Biatra?’ the voice whispered. ‘Do you sleep?’
‘Who is it?’ Bia asked as she got up from the chair and unlocked the door.
‘Ezra Morgan,’ the man said. He pushed the door open and peered inside with a tormented smile on his face. ‘I am the harbinger of some bad news,’ he said as he stepped inside, the floorboards creaking beneath his leather boots.
‘What?’ asked Jago as he slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat and gripped the silver pyx in his fist.
‘Things have changed and Whitby is no longer a safe place for you to live. I have just had a phone call from Mrs Macarty. The bombing, the dreadful bombing … The Ministry have asked for you to be moved here. Both of you.’
Bia looked at Jago in disbelief. It was just as he had said. She looked down to the floor and tried to hide what she felt.
‘Here?’ Jago asked. ‘Hawks Moor?’
‘Yes,’ Morgan said discreetly as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear. ‘I will tell Hugh in the morning. He is not due back from Whitby until later tonight – urgent business.’ Ezra Morgan smiled at them both. ‘Hawks Moor is a nice place – your mother liked it here, Biatra.’
‘What do you think, Bia?’ Jago asked. His eye was caught by the ring on Morgan’s finger, a wide band of gold cut through with a woven trellis. ‘It is certainly nicer than Streonshalgh Manor and Staxley isn’t here and the room is so clean a
nd warm.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ Bia said to Morgan as she smiled. ‘How long would it be for?’
‘Until the end of the war or until you are old enough to find a place of your own. You are very welcome.’ He spoke quite humbly and stroked his long chin eagerly. ‘Sadly, it is not open to negotiation, but I am glad that you agree with the decision made.’
‘Agree?’ Jago said. ‘It’s the best thing that has ever happened to us.’
‘So glad, so glad,’ Ezra said as he backed out of the room like a housemaid. ‘One more thing,’ he said. He straightened up and clasped his hands tightly. ‘Rathbone will take you to Whitby. I have arranged for Mrs Macarty to pack all your things and for you both to go shopping – on my account, of course.’
‘This place feels just like home,’ Jago answered.
‘Home? Interesting,’ he muttered slowly.
Morgan closed the door. His heavy footsteps trudged along the landing and then down the stairs.
‘Just as you said,’ Bia whispered as she wondered how they would escape.
‘What do you know about Vampyres?’ Jago asked as he walked towards her and then pulled the wooden shutters across the window to keep out the chill of the night. ‘Draigorian said he had enough of life and it had to stop after eight hundred years.’
‘My mother told me they lived for ever,’ Bia answered.
‘Can they be killed?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. I never believed in them – thought they were make-believe.’
‘I think Draigorian and Morgan are Vampyres,’ he said quickly. He went back to the fire and poked the embers to gain more light. ‘Draigorian is dying because he won’t take any more blood. He’s killing himself.’
‘There’s just one Vampyre – Strackan,’ Bia answered as she too drew closer, not wanting the shadows of the room to press in on her. ‘That’s what the legend said. Strackan is the only Vampyre.’
‘Was the only Vampyre. Hugh Morgan said it when he was showing us the painting and talking of the Penance Hedge. Just think, if Ezra has lived as long as Draigorian then he too is eight hundred years old. He is really Tristan Morgan. He was the one who chased the creature to the hermit. They were hunting a Vampyre and the curse was that they too became Vampyres and that is why they have lived so long.’