by G. P. Taylor
‘It’s easier than I ever thought it would be,’ she said.
He felt the fangs press gently against his skin as she prepared to bite.
There was a dull click of the latch. Suddenly Jago lurched purposefully backwards into the churchyard as his hand gripped tightly to Bia’s waist. With all his might he pulled her closer as he rolled back in the long, dew-stained grass.
Grabbing her by the wrists, he fought against her as she tried to get up. Bia bit at his hands and snarled and spat, hissing like a snake.
‘It’s for your own good,’ Jago said as he pinned her to the ground with his knees.
With his hand, he scooped the fresh dew from the grass all around him. Bia screamed with burning pain as Jago smeared the pearls of water on the wound in her neck. Instantly she convulsed as if struck by lightning. Her hands gripped the tufts of grass, her fingers white to the knuckle.
Jago took the balm and dipped his fingers, plunging them into the two holes. Like hot pokers in beer, they blistered to the touch. Bia screamed, her voice so loud that it shook the air. A murder of crows lifted from a copse of gnarled oak trees as Jago fell forward, pinning her to the ground.
He lay there until he felt the first finger of the morning sun reach across the horizon. It cast a shadow of an old stone cross that marked a nearby grave. Jago reached out and touched the shadow as Bia lay panting for breath.
‘Is it gone?’ she asked, as if Jago had expelled some monster from within her.
He looked at the wound on her neck. All that was there were two small scars as if she had been stung by a wasp.
‘Do you feel the madness?’ he asked as he lay next to her in the grass and stroked her face.
‘I think it has gone,’ she answered. She searched for his hand and when found, gripped it tightly.
Jago brushed back the mass of red curls and looked at her face. Her eyes were as they had always been. He could see she wanted to cry.
‘Then it worked,’ he answered.
‘The woman you killed, was she my mother?’ Bia asked as she lay with him and looked up at the sky.
‘No,’ Jago said. ‘I think that a Vampyre can change its appearance in your eyes. It is as if it has hypnotised you to see what it wants you to believe.’
‘What did it feel like – when you killed her?’ she said in a hush.
‘I didn’t think anything of it. It had to be done. I saw what she did to you. That was all that mattered.’ Jago tried to say all that was on his heart. ‘She had to die.’
‘You know that they will come for us, don’t you?’ Bia replied as she thought of Ezra Morgan and Draigorian. ‘There could be more of them and we will never know who they are.’
‘They are a Vampyre Quartet, brought to life by a curse,’ he answered.
‘So what of Strackan – is he one of them?’
‘When I saw him he was different from the others.’ Jago thought for a moment. ‘I need to find him and track him down. It’s as if my life is part of a game and he is the master of it all.’
‘But I thought we were going to leave – go to London?’ Bia asked.
‘When I went into the labyrinth I heard them speaking,’ Jago said. ‘They were talking about me – I am sure of it. When my mother was taking me to the train I was saved from the bombing by a man. He disappeared and then, on the train, he was there again. I couldn’t see him, but he spoke to me. I need to find him.’
‘Why?’ Bia asked. ‘Morgan will be coming after us as soon as he has found out what you’ve done.’
‘I think the man who saved me could be my father. I have to know,’ Jago answered.
‘Then we do leave?’ Bia asked.
‘London,’ he said in reply.
Bia turned and, without saying a word, kissed him on his cheek.
‘I lost my parents and found you,’ she said. ‘London will be a good place to hide.’
They lay in the long grass that surrounded each grave and waited until the sun touched the old church. Then, setting off along the cliff path, made their way towards the abbey. Jago looked back as they reached the top of the hill. The church, Hawks Moor and the abbey formed an invisible line that stretched to the pinnacle of a hill far to the south. Ahead, the old stones of the crumbling arches rose up from the earth. Already he could see the glistening water of the fishpond and the herd of cattle that gathered close to it as they swished their shaggy red tails.
Within an hour they were on the empty dirt road that cut by the abandoned school with its broken bell under the eaves. Soon the slate roof of Streonshalgh Manor came into view. Seagulls squawked as they circled high in the air. An old man on a rusted bicycle rode by and then looked at his watch as he eyed them warily.
‘When we get there, just say that we have come to collect some things and are going to stay with Ezra Morgan – tell
Mrs Macarty it’s the orders of the Ministry,’ Jago said.
‘Will she believe us?’ she asked.
‘I think it has all been arranged by Ezra Morgan – she’ll be expecting us to come with Rathbone. I’ll tell her he has gone for fuel for the car and that we’re meeting him in the town.’
‘She won’t believe you. She can always tell when I lie,’ Bia said.
‘We’ll have to try. It’s the only way. I have to get the chalice and the money,’ Jago answered.
Bia felt her hands tremble. In her mind she could hear Mrs Macarty waking the children and see Boris Gladling running along the corridor and down the stairs in his oversized pyjamas.
‘It’ll will soon be breakfast,’ she said as they turned the corner by the ruined abbey and walked towards the statue of the gladiator.
The door to Streonshalgh Manor loomed menacingly. Each nail stared at them like an iron eye. The curtained windows reflected back the light and made the stone edifice look as though it contained no life.
Jago reached out to turn the door handle as Bia tried to cover the marks on her neck with the collar of her coat. The door opened immediately. Mrs Macarty jammed it with her foot and peered out.
‘Thought you were going to live with Mr high-and-mighty Morgan?’ she asked belligerently. ‘Not good enough at Streonshalgh Manor?’
‘He said we had to go and we had no choice,’ Jago said as honestly as he could.
‘He said it wasn’t safe for us in Whitby and that the Ministry had sorted it all out,’ Bia added, the frown on her face reflecting the expression on on Mrs Macarty’s face.
‘So, we are left to be blown to pieces in a hail of bombs and for some reason you to have been picked to live the life of Riley in a country house?’ she snorted. ‘Better come in and get your things and then you can be off.’ Mrs Macarty folded her arms indignantly. ‘I thought Rathbone was going to fetch you?’
‘Dropped us at the top of the road, gone for petrol,’ Bia said.
Mrs Macarty looked at the girl, examining her face closely. ‘You don’t look well, Biatra, you’re all wet. What you been doing?’ she asked.
‘Fell over …’
‘She fainted,’ Jago interrupted quickly. ‘Didn’t have much breakfast.’
‘I’ll put that right. You get packed and I’ll do you some food. Not having people think I don’t feed you, even if there is a war,’ she said as she unexpectedly hugged Bia and stroked her hair. ‘Sometimes, we all have to make sacrifices – some more than others.’ She looked at Jago. It was a knowing, cunning stare as if his fate was already written on his face. ‘I sent the boys to pack your things this morning – hope you don’t mind, Jago.’
Jago’s heart raced.
‘I’ll go and see,’ he tried to speak calmly, but all he wanted to do was run to his room.
By the time he was on the landing by the painting of Pip-pen Draigorian, he could hear Staxley laughing in his room. Jago ran the length of the passageway and burst through the door.
‘Didn’t take you long to get your feet under the table with Ezra Morgan, did it, Jago?’ Staxley asked as he sat in the ch
air by the window clutching Jago’s leather bag.
‘I’d rather be here – even with you, Staxley,’ he answered as Griffin and Lorken appeared from under the other side of the four-poster bed. ‘Lost something?’
‘On the contrary, Jago. We have found something very precious, very precious indeed. You must have had it well hidden when we searched your room,’ Staxley said as he rummaged in the case. ‘This cup must be worth a few quid – and talking of quids, what’s a lad like you doing with all these five-pound notes?’
Staxley produced the cup and the wad of notes as if he were a cheap circus conjurer. Griffin and Lorken cackled like monkeys, and Lorken smoothed his quiff of greased hair with the palm of his hand.’
‘They’re mine, all of them,’ Jago said as calmly as he could as he wondered when he would get the beating that was bound to follow.
‘Not any more,’ Staxley answered. He folded the notes the best he could and slipped them into his pocket.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ Jago said as he stepped forward.
‘Three of us and one of you?’ Staxley asked. He stood and dropped the leather case to the floor.
‘It’s my money – my mother gave it to me,’ Jago said, taking a tentative step and watching for the dogs to pounce.
‘Then she is generous woman.’ Staxley laughed as he took the money from his pocket and waved it in his face. ‘And where she is, I don’t think she’ll care.’
They were the words that Jago didn’t want to hear. His eyes clouded with a cold, bloody mist as he felt his fists clench. A low, echoing groan left his throat as he let out a deep gust of breath. He could feel the twisting knot in his stomach stretch and stretch until it suddenly snapped. Without another word, Jago took a long step towards Staxley. He swung his arm blindly. His hand jabbed and jabbed again.
Staxley stood for a moment, the money held out in limp fingers that could no longer grasp it. He was completely breathless, so winded by the blows he could not speak. Jago snatched the money from his hand, making ready to fight Griffin and Lorken. He turned to look at them as Staxley slumped back in the chair.
‘You next?’ Jago asked.
Griffin looked at Staxley, who groped for breath.
‘Not my money,’ he said hesitantly, hoping that Staxley wouldn’t hear his words.
‘Do what you want,’ Lorken added in a whisper.
‘I’m taking my things – thanks for packing them so neatly,’ Jago said as he placed the silver chalice in the bag and slipped the money in his pocket. ‘When he comes to, tell him never to come after me or I’ll do it again, understand?’
Lorken nodded as Jago left the room. For the first time he was vaguely aware of a telephone ringing in the house. It was a sound that was out of place and out of time. It echoed through the wood-panelled corridors and then suddenly stopped.
Turning the landing under the picture of Pippen Draigorian, Jago looked down the stairs. Bia sat in the large chair by the door, her head in her hands, her long red hair covering her face. Urgent footsteps came down the corridor. They were snappy and clicked against the tiled floors. Jago knew something was wrong. Inside he knew he had been betrayed.
‘Staxley! Griffin!’ Mrs Macarty shouted as she entered the hallway. Her voice stopped suddenly as she saw Jago on the stairs. ‘I trusted you, Jago,’ she said as she made towards Bia.
‘Run, Bia – get out!’ Jago shouted as he heard the footsteps clattering on the landing above them.
‘No – you’re a thief, Jago Harker – stealing from Draigorian,’ Mrs Macarty said as she tried to grab him.
‘I’ve stolen nothing,’ he said. He pushed her away and chased after Bia, who was struggling to open the door.
‘A gold cup – priceless – that’s what Morgan said,’ Mrs Macarty uttered as she lashed out again, catching Jago by the scruff of his shirt. Footsteps stampeded along the corridor and turned the landing. Jago knew they had to get away.
‘Thieves! Villains!’ she shouted.
‘I can’t open the door,’ Bia said, trying to turn the handle that just spun in her hand.
‘Out the back,’ Jago said as he twisted from Mrs Macarty’s tight grip.
As he turned, Staxley, Griffin and a reluctant Lorken ran down the final flight of dark stairs. Their feet clattered on the old wood.
‘He’s stolen a gold cup from Draigorian,’ shouted Mrs Macarty.
‘It’s in the bag,’ Lorken said. ‘I’ve seen it.’
‘Get her, Griff,’ Staxley shouted as he eyed Bia.
Griffin leapt the banister to block their escape as the sound of a car’s tyres screeched on the gravel outside the house.
‘Rathbone!’ shouted Mrs Macarty as she ran to the door.
Jago ran at Griffin, his head down, still clutching the bag with the cup and dragging Bia her along. Griffin dived out of the way as Staxley screamed in disapproval.
‘Stop him!’ he shouted as he chased them towards the kitchen and the back door that led to the alleyway and the old abbey.
Jago felt the breeze as the front door opened. Swirls of thick dust blew up from the cracks in the floorboards.
‘Where’s the boy?’ Rathbone shouted as he gave chase through the house.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the Gladlings appeared. It was as if they had been listening. Without fear, they grabbed Staxley. Morris and Boris each fastened on a leg whilst Laurence pushed him to the floor. Staxley fell back, knocking Rathbone to one side, as Griffin and Lorken stumbled over the wrinkled carpet that covered a hole in the floorboards.
‘Run!’ Laurence Gladling said bravely as he held fast to Staxley’s head so he couldn’t see and Mrs Macarty lashed out at him with a besom brush.
Jago looked back and saw Gladling’s eyes asking if his debt was now repaid.
‘We’ll come for you,’ Jago shouted as they ran out of the kitchen door and into the covered alleyway.
‘We can’t leave them,’ Bia said, knowing their fate.
‘Have to get away. They will kill you,’ Jago answered as he slammed the door as they ran through the twisting corridor of high walls and dripping stone.
‘Jack Henson lives up here,’ Bia screamed as they ran towards a small cottage cut out of the stone of the abbey wall. The door was inset into the rough-hewn stones and half covered in a shroud of bracken and hanging grass. From far behind they heard Staxley shouting to the others as if he were a hound following their scent. ‘We’ll not get away from them,’ Bia said as they ran by Henson’s sombre cottage with its narrow windows and its door with peeling paint.
‘Got ya!’ a voice said as a fist snapped from an unseen passageway. Bia was dragged from the alleyway by a large hand that loomed out of the dark hole. ‘You too, Jago …’
Before he could make a sound, five strong, grimy, mud-stained fingers had grabbed him by the coat and pulled him from the pathway and gripped his mouth so he couldn’t utter a sound. Jago could smell the dirt on the hand as it pulled tightly against the three-scar wound on his cheek. They had been captured.
[19 ]
Gravedigger
WATER DRIPPED FROM THE ROOF of the cave without ceasing. Jago had rested on a large stone whilst Bia had tried to open the lock on the wooden door that Henson had bolted on the outside. A solitary candle lit the cold room cut out of the rock under the ruins of the abbey. It cast long, dark shadows and willowed back and forth in the chill breeze that came from the dark recess of the cave. Jago had tried to see how far back the void went, but had come back to the light when the roof of the cave dipped down so he could no longer see. Bia had spent the time trying to open the door. It held fast like a castle keep. Time dragged slowly. Hours passed and more hours and still Henson did not come back.
‘What’s he going to do with us?’ Bia asked finally as she broke her fingernails on the door.
‘Give us over to Morgan, that’s what I think,’ Jago answered, still trying to think of a way of escape.
He had heard muffled v
oices, people talking angrily in another room. Henson had shouted, but Jago couldn’t make out what he had said. Then, there had been hours of silence only broken by the drip-drip-drip of water from the sodden roof.
‘Why so long?’ she asked as she turned to look at the candle and try to judge how much light they had left.
Jago knew what she thought.
‘About an hour left in that,’ he said, having already made the calculation. ‘What about the door?’
‘Three bolts on the outside and no chance of moving them. I think we’re stuck,’ Bia answered sarcastically, resigned to what was to come.
‘We could jump him when he comes back. I could blow out the light and –’
‘You could go to the pier and have an ice cream?’ Henson asked from the shadows behind him.
Jago turned. Henson stood taller than ever, his shadow cast up the wall of the cave in the dim light.
‘How?’ Bia asked as she pushed at the locked door.
‘If Jago had gone a little further or used the candle he would have seen that this is just a hallway.’ Henson laughed as he spoke.
‘But I looked – the cave went down to nothing,’ Jago answered.
‘Didn’t look hard enough. Follow me,’ Henson said as he turned and disappeared into the darkness.
They followed quickly. After turning to the right and then right again, there was a narrow door cut from the rock. In the dim light it looked as though it was part of the wall, the shadow tricking the eye. Henson stepped through and was gone from their sight. Jago and Bia went after him. They walked for three paces in complete darkness. The floor beneath their feet was littered in old bones that crunched with each step.
‘Sometimes the ground gives way and they fall through. I pick them up the best I can – but my eyesight isn’t what it was,’ he said as he went further along the tunnel.