by G. P. Taylor
‘They?’ Bia asked.
‘Dead people. All these were so poor they couldn’t afford a coffin,’ Henson answered as the tunnel began to fill with the soft amber light of a warm fire. ‘If you’d had your wits about you, you could have spent your time in here and kept warm. Even put some food out for you.’
Jago was first to step into the room as he followed Henson. It was like a grand cavern with a chiselled roof that bore the marks and cuts of many hands. In a hundred hewn holes, candles burnt brightly. In one corner was a hearth with a log fire and an old blackened kettle that steamed and faintly whistled. Above it were bundles of herbs in tight bunches and strange talismans that dangled from pieces of thread. The fire smoke was sucked through a chimney cut from the solid stone. Before the fire was a small table carved from a single piece of wood, and decked upon it was a covered plate of food.
‘So we could have come in here?’ Jago asked.
‘If you had been wise enough not to have thought you were trapped by the darkness,’ Henson said. ‘Had to keep you out of the way of Rathbone and the others. They came looking for you, but I sent them off.’
‘I heard you shouting – thought you were going to hand us over,’ Jago answered as Henson offered them both a chair.
‘Ha …That’s the last thing I would do,’ he said sharply, as if offended by the thought. ‘Always knew there was something about you that would attract a lot of interest. See you’ve found your cousin, then?’ he asked.
‘You knew?’ Bia asked.
‘It was obvious from the moment I set eyes on you both together. I wondered when the boy would be back. Heard all about you from the whisperers.’
‘Whisperers?’ Bia asked.
‘Ghosts, spirits – whatever you want to call them. Talk all the time – but they never come in here. Only place where I get peace from them.’
‘Why’s that?’ Jago insisted.
‘Beneath the chancel of the church. Nothing can get close to that place – too much power,’ Henson said quite glibly.
‘Beneath the church? That’s by the edge of the cliff,’ Bia said.
‘Through that door are the steps into the crypt and back-a-ways is my cottage. I can come and go as I please. That tunnel comes out in my bedroom – through a panel in the wall.’ Henson seemed pleased with himself and smoothed the front of his long coat. ‘Anyways – the thing is, what to do with you? If Rathbone is after you, then so is Ezra Morgan and the others.’
‘The Vampyre Quartet?’ Jago asked.
‘Didn’t take you long to discover that. What else do you know?’ he asked.
Jago looked at Bia, his eyes asking if he should go on.
‘There are four Vampyres.’ Jago said.
‘Makes sense being four of them – after all, they are a quartet.’ Henson laughed, his head thrown back as his body shook. It seemed a strange thing for him to do. Jago thought Henson had always seemed so sombre. ‘So you know about the Vampyres and they know about you.’ His voice dropped to a whisper as he leant closer to Jago and picked a piece of bracken from the cuff of his leather coat. ‘I knew about you from the moment you stepped foot off the train. They have known about you since before you were born.’
‘How could they?’ Jago asked. ‘My mother left here long before –’
He never got time to finish his words.
‘Who do you think paid all your bills and who sent you to London in the first place? Even your name is their joke. Harker was the name of the first woman their master killed. They gave it to your mother to make her respectable so no one would think you were a …’ Henson stopped and then went on. ‘You are a Morgan – it’s written on your face. Didn’t they tell you that?’ Henson asked.
‘It must be true,’ Bia said. ‘Just look at that painting we saw – you were the spitting image of Hugh Morgan.’
‘Is Ezra Morgan my father?’ Jago asked as his stomach churned.
‘He is no more your father than Ebenezer Goode is my sister,’ Henson said, laughing again. ‘Your mother was in love with Hugh Morgan. I would see them all the time in the ruins walking together. Hugh Morgan is your father. You have Morgan blood in your veins and you too carry the curse.’
‘A Vampyre?’ Bia asked as she instinctively felt her neck and the two small wounds that burnt in her skin.
‘I remember when Hugh Morgan was born. The first child of that family to be born at Hawks Moor for hundreds of years. Then Ezra went away and left him alone just after your mother went to London.’ Henson thought for a while. ‘Do you know what they want you for?’ he asked.
‘They want me to be a Vampyre. The woman said that this morning. Told me it was my inheritance. So did Strackan when I saw him by the bookshop when he attacked the woman. He said I would be like him.’
‘Woman?’ Henson asked as his eyebrow curled over his forehead.
‘A Vampyre. She looked like my mother and then she …’ Bia said, unable to tell him what happened.
‘Bit you?’ Henson asked.
‘Jago stabbed her with a holly wand. I heard her die,’ Bia answered.
‘Holly won’t kill her. As soon as the wand is taken from her she will be back to life just as she was before.’
‘I used myrrh balm,’ Jago said softly, unsure if he should speak.
‘Myrrh balm – where did you get such a thing?’ Henson enquired.
‘A man in London gave it to me before I was sent here,’ Jago answered quietly. ‘Hid it in my bag.’
‘Your guardian. I thought you wouldn’t have grown up alone,’ Henson replied. ‘He must have liked you. Myrrh balm is the only thing that will repel Vampyres. It stops them breathing and they can’t drink blood. Won’t kill them, though.’
‘How do you know so much about Vampyres?’ Bia asked.
‘Let me see your neck,’ Henson asked, ignoring her question. Bia showed him the wound. He grunted to himself as he twisted her head to one side. ‘Typical. Well healed … Myrrh balm eh?’
‘Will Bia be well?’ Jago asked.
‘All depends on the venom. Vampyres are like snakes. You can get some of the venom out, but never all of it. If you keep it covered in myrrh she will stay well – for the time being.’
‘What about the woman from the bookshop that Strackan attacked?’ Jago asked as he wondered of her fate.
‘So it was you?’ he asked.
‘It was,’ Jago declared as he wondered if he could trust Henson. ‘I didn’t dare say anything – thought you worked for him.’
‘Strackan?’ Henson cursed. ‘No man works for him. He is the cause of all this.’
‘You going to hand us over to Morgan?’ Bia asked him.
‘Rathbone said you had stolen a cup from Morgan and that you were thieves. They are looking for you. I told them I had never seen you. Did your friend in London give you the cup that I found in your leather bag?’
‘How did you know?’ Jago asked.
‘Was he dark-haired – a foreign man, a storyteller?’
‘Do you know him?’
‘Julius Cresco?’ Henson said.
‘Yes.’ Jago answered simply as he looked at Bia and wondered what thoughts were veiled behind her worried face.
‘We can’t talk here – not any longer. It’ll be night soon and these caves aren’t the safest place to be when it’s dark. If you want to truly save your friend and end all this then the answer lies in a book.’ Henson stopped and looked about the room as if he had heard someone.
‘The Book of Krakanu?’ Jago asked.
‘You know of this?’ said Henson as he moved away from the fire.
‘Cresco told me about the book and Draigorian set me on trying to find it in his library,’ Jago answered.
‘Draigorian has the book?’ Henson asked as his eyes glowed and shimmered with deep consideration.
‘Said he had lost it in his library – asked me to search for it.’
‘Wanted you to find it … For some strange reason I think Draigorian wa
s trying to help you,’ Henson interrupted eagerly. He looked about the room as if distracted by something he could hear.
‘I thought it was just a book of stories?’ Jago said.
‘I have never seen the book. But, I have heard from the whisperers that it contains every scrap of knowledge to rid this world of Vampyres.’
‘So we could stop them all?’ Bia asked.
‘But it comes at a price,’ Henson said. ‘The book is guarded by a poltergeist – a troublesome spirit that will try to stop you from finding it.’
‘Is that something that can lift a table and throw you across a room?’ Jago asked.
Henson laughed.
‘I take it that the poltergeist made itself known to you?’ he asked.
‘It lifted the table and smashed it into the floor when I was searching the shelf. I thought it was Strackan,’ Jago answered.
‘Then you were close to the book. If you want to be free from the Morgan curse then you will have to find it and follow what it says.’ Henson spoke quickly. ‘The poltergeist can read your mind and will know your weakness.’
‘So is Hugh Morgan a Vampyre?’ Bia asked.
‘He has shown no signs. Hugh Morgan is a throwback, a man on his own and so different from his father. Yet I cannot be sure. He keeps himself to himself and has no friends other than his paintbrush and that camera he always carries with him.’
Henson looked at Jago and signalled for them to be silent. Raising his head, he appeared to be listening to someone speaking far away.
‘Who is it?’ Bia asked.
‘The whisperers are talking far away. I should go and listen. There has been another attack,’ Henson said as he walked from the cave, snatching a candle from the rock and beckoning them to follow.
The long, winding tunnel went back and forth under the graveyard. An occasional foot or other bones broke through the roof where the ground had given way. Henson carried on as if this was quite normal. Jago and Bia followed in his shadow, picking their way through the bones that littered the floor.
‘Where are we going?’ Bia asked Jago as the passageway turned back on itself.
‘I am setting you free,’ Henson whispered in reply as they came to a short flight of steps that led up to a stone slab in the roof. ‘This was made by the smugglers. The whisperers frightened them off. It is an incredible contraption, quite a remarkable piece of engineering,’ Henson went on as he stooped down and pulled the lever. ‘I can help you no more. Find the book and you will find freedom.’
Henson pulled the short iron handle that was embedded in the rock. The flat stone above their heads lifted quickly, and billows of night-mist rolled down the steps and into the tunnel.
‘It was you all the time,’ Bia said in sudden realisation. ‘All the stories of the hauntings – people coming from the graves – noises under the earth – it was you.’
‘A legend is always a good way to keep people from a place like this. Can’t have everyone knowing my secret,’ Henson said.
‘But what about us?’ Bia asked. ‘We know about you and the caves.’
‘There is little prospect of you living past Friday the thirteenth. It’s a chance I will have to take,’ he muttered quickly. ‘Anyway, it’s not often you meet the one who could put an end to the curse once and for all time.’
‘Why does it bother you so?’ Jago asked him as he stood on the first step and peered into the night.
‘A Vampyre took my wife and my child forty years ago. The town said they had fallen from the cliff. I knew she had been lured to this place. Since that time I have tried to find who killed her. The woman who poisoned Biatra is called Trevellas, Sibilia Trevellas. Watch her, she is the most dangerous of the Quartet and a favourite of their master, Strackan. Find her and he will not be too far away. Some of the whisperers even say they are lovers.’ Henson pointed to the night. ‘This is something you’ll have to do on your own. I’ll keep that cup of yours for when you need it.’ He looked at Jago as if he could tell what he was thinking and see the hesitation in his heart. ‘You can either run from this place or stay and fight. It’s your choice.’
Jago looked at Bia as she sighed and tried to smile.
‘They’d only come looking for us,’ she said as she held his hand. ‘I thought it would be good for us to get away. But if we can stop them …’
‘We’ll stay,’ Jago answered. ‘Friday the thirteenth?’
‘That’s a powerful night for them. The anniversary of when this all started all those years ago. Live beyond that night and you will have won,’ Henson answered as he rubbed soil from his finger.
‘Then it doesn’t give us long,’ Bia said as Jago strode up the steps and into the mist filled graveyard.
Henson took her by the hand and pulled her close to him.
‘Your mother would be proud of you, Biatra,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she replied as the memory of her mother’s face came to mind.
‘You can still feel the venom?’ he asked in a whisper as he saw her darkened, bloodshot eyes in the light of the candle.
‘Yes,’ she answered.
‘It will get stronger. Fight it, girl – fight the desire to be like them.’
‘Will it kill me?’ she asked.
‘Within the week if Jago doesn’t find that book and destroy Strackan.’ Henson stepped back from the stairs and watched as Bia walked away from him. ‘Shhh … Can’t you see I have guests?’ Henson said to a voice that only he could hear.
[ 20 ]
The Book of Krakanu
THE LANE ECHOED to their footsteps as they ran through the mist towards Hagg House. On either side, the high walls of the donkey path kept out the sound of the sea as it broke on the harbour below. Bia tried to keep pace. Breathing got harder with every step as the venom brewed deep within. She remembered how her mother would break a fever when she was a small child and wrap her in a linen shawl. Her mother would bathe her head in a cold compress ofnettle leavesand vinegar. Then she would be wrapped like a parcel in brown paper and smeared in goose grease. Bia would feel the heat seep from her and all would be well. Now, as she ran through the curfew streets, her hands began to shake. When she looked at the moon, every vein trembled.
‘Seems different without the comet,’ she said as they got to the path high above the estuary. ‘The sky looks empty.’
Jago looked up. ‘Feels better – don’t think I’m being watched,’ he said as they stopped on the corner of the lane and looked out across the town. ‘Fog reminds me of London, never seen it so thick.’
From where they stood, it looked as though they could step from the cliff and walk across the estuary on the dark slither of mist that forced its way in from the sea. It filled the bottom of the town by the harbour side and hid the ships beneath its hand.
‘My mother said that when it was like this, the Devil could never catch you.’ Bia shivered as she spoke. ‘I’ve never liked the fog, always makes me feel sick.’
‘If we get caught after curfew we will be arrested for sure,’ Jago said. He had a sudden feeling they were not alone. ‘Can you feel anything?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘Don’t know – it’s like someone is near to you that you can’t see.’ Jago looked around nervously and held her hand. Bia felt cold. ‘You all right?’ he asked.
‘Fine. Just feel sick. Haven’t eaten, that’s all,’ she replied as she thought of the food her mother would make and the sweet smell of baked bread that would always be in her kitchen. There was the sound of a shrill siren coming from the factory. ‘Changing shifts,’ Bia said. ‘Not a good time to be near Hagg House.’
‘Does Clinas sleep at the house?’ Jago asked.
‘Sometimes, if Draigorian is really unwell. Other than that he has a cottage on Scoresby Terrace. He lives alone – well, alone with three cats and a parrot.’ Bia smiled.
She remembered the parrot clearly. It was blue and gold with a club foot. She had been to the house with a message
from her father before he went away. The parrot had repeated everything she had said as if it could speak English. Bia had laughed at the bird. Then it had stared at her, snapped its perch in half with its beak and told her to go before it ate her fingers. Clinas had laughed, said the bird was incor rigible, and then pushed her out of the door. Bia would never go back; she was convinced the bird understood everything she said.
‘We’ll give it an hour and then we’ll break in,’ Jago said as he pulled up the collar of his coat and looked about for some shelter.
‘It’s best to hide in the woods. No one will look for us there,’ Bia answered. ‘No need to break in, there is always a key hidden behind the drainpipe.’
They took refuge in the woods, and the hour passed quickly and silently. Bia grew colder as the venom seeped through her veins like ice. She shuddered as her fingers began to turn blue, the tips numb and lifeless. Jago stared from the small copse of trees to the back door of the house.
From far across the fog-filled town, the church clock struck midnight. Clinas left the house. He locked the door from the outside and hid the key deep in his pocket. Before he got on his large black bicycle, he looked around and then instinctively checked the door again to make sure all was well. Then he stopped, turned and scanned the line of trees that edged the garden. It was as if he knew they were there. His moon shadow crossed the yard, and then he whistled as he disappeared.
Jago stepped from behind the tree.
‘Wait,’ Bia said, as if she knew what would happen.
Clinas reappeared, scurrying around the side of Hagg House like a rat. He again checked the back door and the windows. Then he walked towards the copse of trees at the bottom of the garden and, taking a torch from the pocket of his coat, scanned the wood.
Jago hid in the long grass as Bia kept the man in view. Then, like before, Clinas turned and walked away.
‘Do you think he knows?’ Jago asked as Bia moved from her hiding place.
‘He’s suspicious. We’ll have to give him time,’ she said.
They waited until the clock of the church struck the half hour. Bia could feel the venom numbing her feet. Her body tingled as if being warmed from a cold winter’s day. The dull ache in her mouth had grown more intense. Every sense was heightened. She could see the colour of the trees in a different way. The world shimmered and glowed as if everything was alive.