It was only when the Trikuklos disappeared around a corner that the Lurid finally came to a stop.
CHAPTER 23
A TURN-UP FOR THE BOOKS
Folly’s Kryptos was feeling rather crowded. It was perfectly adequate for her, and it could accommodate a single guest without issue, but now she had two more – Jonah alone took up the space of two – and things were decidedly tight.
After her second daring escape of the evening Citrine had pedalated the Trikuklos with all her might while Folly gave directions to the Komaterion. Vincent, pale-faced and weak, was slumped on the back seat, with Jonah trying to revive him by the only means known to him, in essence a series of slaps around the face. Although the Trikuklos was very efficiently geared, it was not suited to the boggy terrain of the salt marsh and eventually its occupants had to dismount. There was a thick mist all around and the flickering blue corpse candles were out in abundance.
‘Don’t pay them any heed,’ warned Folly.
Jonah pushed the Trikuklos; its wheels were set just close enough to stay on the narrow path, but more than once it came dangerously close to rolling off into the quaggy marsh itself. Folly and Citrine supported Vincent who, although now able to walk, was clearly struggling to keep up. When they reached the Komaterion the Trikuklos could not negotiate a way between the headstones and statues, so Jonah concealed it under cover of branches and brush near the gates.
Soon the three guests were sitting at Folly’s marble table recovering from their various ordeals, each sipping gladly on a soothing and aromatic tisane of Folly’s own concoction and dipping hunks of bread into bowls of slumgullion. Vincent removed his metal hand and unwound the bandage. It was bloodied from Kamptulicon’s wrenching and he was about to throw it on the fire, but Folly took it from him. ‘I’ll boil it,’ she explained. ‘And it can be used again.’
Jonah and Citrine had finished their drinks by now and were looking around the Kryptos with interest.
Folly drained her own tisane and spoke. ‘I think proper introductions are in order, and some explanations. My name is Folly Harpelaine and you are all very welcome to my home.’
Citrine spoke first. ‘I’m Citrine Capodel.’
‘We’ve met before,’ Vincent reminded her with his special smile.
‘Yes, I believe you have my Brinepurse.’
Vincent, his smile disappearing as quickly as it came, rejoined smartly, ‘And I thought you were to be hanged for murder.’
‘She didn’t kill nobody,’ Jonah chipped in protectively. ‘I rescued her from the noose cos I believe she’s innocent. The cards as good as told me.’
Vincent, more than a little put out by Citrine’s apparent immunity to his charms, looked disparagingly at Jonah. His voice was rough and uneducated, and he smelled strongly of old fish and seawater. It was causing the atmosphere to become rather unpleasant, despite the countering effects of the tisane. Vincent tried to get a proper look at the lad, but he insisted on keeping his head down. He was broad across the shoulder and almost as tall sitting down as Vincent was standing. And for some strange reason his coat toggles appeared to be made from animal teeth. He did not look the sort of company a girl of Citrine Capodel’s ilk would normally keep.
‘Well, Jonah, how in Aether’s heights did you persuade the Lurid to back off?’ asked Folly. ‘It was as if you had some sort of power over it.’
‘That was a Lurid!’ exclaimed Citrine. ‘Good gracious me! Do you mean to say one of them has escaped from the Tar Pit? Was it with the old man?’
‘The filthy stinker was trying to kill me,’ said Vincent, strapping on his metal arm. Already, even after such a short time, he felt self-conscious without it. ‘And that old man is Leopold Kamptulicon. He did this to me.’ He held up his arm. ‘He controls the Lurid—’
‘For now,’ interrupted Folly.
‘And for some crazy reason he wants it to take over my body.’
Jonah looked surprised. ‘Domne, so it’s true. Lurids really can take on human form.’
Folly explained briefly how she and Vincent had tried to steal the pendant, and how Vincent had lost his smitelight to Kamptulicon, and about the drifting stones.
‘We don’t know what the stones are,’ she finished, ‘but if I can find out why the Lurid listened to you, Jonah, it might help us. What do you know about the Supermundane?’
‘Supermundane?’ Jonah laughed out loud. ‘I know only about whales.’
For the second time Vincent noted the look of disappointment that crossed Folly’s face. ‘Maybe it was the smell from your trousers,’ he said with a snigger. He was beginning to feel better, a dose of Antikamnial had taken the edge off the pain, and he didn’t like all the attention this rough brute was getting. ‘Never mind a Lurid – it’s enough to put a fellow off his dinner. You should burn them.’
Jonah protested. ‘I can’t throw away my lucky trousers. I was wearing them when I escaped from the belly of the Cachelot.’
Vincent let out a small noise of irritation. How in Aether had he got himself tied up with this bunch? Folly he could deal with, she seemed a capable, resourceful sort, but the other two? Citrine was hardly his natural ally, more the sort he was used to robbing. And why wouldn’t Jonah show his face? What did he have to hide? The Kryptos walls were beginning to close in and he was getting distinctly itchy feet. He was used to working alone, coming and going as he pleased; being cooped up with these strangers was bringing out the worst in him.
‘So, Jonah, you want us to believe you escaped from the stomach of a sea monster unharmed?’ he asked rather meanly.
‘Not entirely unharmed.’ Slowly Jonah removed his hat and Folly and Vincent saw his scarred face for the first time. They were both rendered momentarily speechless. Citrine talked to cover up the awkwardness. ‘What shall we do about these trousers then?’ she asked cheerfully.
‘I’ll change,’ said Jonah. ‘I have more in my haversack.’ He pulled off the stiff briny garment and Folly took it and started to roll it up, her nose twitching at the smell. As she did so, a shower of what looked like small stones fell out of the turn-ups. ‘Is that gravel?’ she asked.
Citrine collected them all up, a sizeable handful, and held them under her nose. She sniffed hard. ‘This isn’t gravel,’ she said. ‘I think this is ambergris.’
To everyone’s surprise, Jonah jumped on the spot with a whoop of delight and punched the air, his fist nearly reaching the ceiling. ‘By the briny ocean,’ he exclaimed. ‘Floating gold! My turn-ups were filled with floating gold!’
Folly stood stock still, the trousers in her hands, and just stared at him. Vincent’s ears pricked up. Had Jonah said gold? This was more like it!
‘It doesn’t look like gold,’ he said.
‘No, it don’t, but it’s worth a fortune!’ enthused Jonah. ‘These lumps are made in the stomach of the whale, from squid beaks and suchlike. Now and again the whales spew it up and it floats ashore.’ He grinned. ‘And sometimes it comes out of the other end, if you get my drift. I must’ve picked it up in me turn-ups when I was in the Cachelot’s guts. Who’d o’ thought it, eh? All this time it’s bin in me lucky trousers.’
‘But where can you sell it?’ asked Vincent, getting straight to the point.
‘To a perfumer, of course,’ said Citrine. ‘Jonah’s “floating gold” is a very important ingredient in scent-making. My own perfumer was complaining recently that someone had broken into his shop and stolen his supply.’
Something to keep in mind for the future, thought Vincent. Out loud he said, ‘Well, now we’ve cleared up that mystery, let’s get back to business. Folly and I have to deal with my Lurid problem.’ He looked over at Folly for a reaction, but she was deep in thought.
‘And I have to prove my innocence,’ said Citrine.
‘You know I’ll help you with that,’ said Jonah firmly. ‘But I ain’t sure how. That cousin of yours is as slippery as an eel.’
‘Family can be tricky,’ murmured Folly, re
-entering the conversation. Then, decisively, she said, ‘I think for the time being the best thing to do is help Citrine.’
Vincent did a double take. ‘Er . . . why?’
‘Because Citrine and Jonah saved us, when we were in trouble.’
Vincent could hardly object; there was no denying he owed them a debt. ‘I suppose,’ he said with an air of resignation. ‘But I need that Lurid off my tail, and my smitelight’s very important to me; it’s all I have of my father. The longer we leave it, the less chance—’
‘I know, I know,’ said Folly. She seemed preoccupied and was chewing on her lip. ‘But I need to think about this, before we go off on a half-cocked search for Kamptulicon. Citrine, what do you need to do?’
‘I want go home, to fetch all the information I have on my father’s disappearance, anything that might prove Edgar’s betrayal for definite. There’s a safe in my father’s study. Edgar put something of mine in there the other day. And there might be other documents too.’
‘Then take Vincent. He tells me he’s the expert in all matters of lock and key. Though I haven’t seen much evidence yet.’
Vincent curled his lip at the dig. ‘And what will you and Jonah do?’ Suspicion was vellicating his heightened senses. Something was definitely up. Folly was distinctly anxious to get rid of him.
‘Jonah can stay here with me and lie low,’ she said. ‘I’m going to look at the book again. Maybe I can work out what these drifting stones are.’
Vincent thought for a moment. Folly was probably right. And he could no doubt pick up one or two things for himself while he was in the Capodel Townhouse. ‘There’s one slight problem – what if the Lurid finds us? It’s already tried to get me twice. What if it’s third time lucky?’
‘I’ve thought of that.’ Folly was holding a rag and a small brown bottle. Vincent recognized it from the trunk. She tipped the bottle on to the rag and then wiped the oily liquid across Vincent’s blistered forehead. ‘This will confuse the Lurid. It won’t be able to track you now.’
Jonah laughed. ‘Smoked haddock! That stuff really stinks!’
Vincent made a face and looked at Citrine. ‘Well, let’s go now then; it’s the middle of the night – everyone will be asleep.’ He was almost daring her to refuse, but she was up and ready to leave in a moment.
‘Excellent. Then take these, just in case.’ Folly pressed upon them both Natron dispersers and beanbags.
‘And the Mangledore,’ Citrine reminded Vincent.
Not long after, and more than adequately armed against the Lurid, and indeed any other Supermundane entity that might be abroad, Citrine and Vincent crossed the threshold of the Kryptos and set off into the night.
Jonah, tossing his bag of ambergris up and down lazily in his large hand, watched Folly bid the pair goodbye and push the heavy door to. So that’s where Suma’s Mangledore got to, he thought to himself. What a queer crew we are. A convicted murderer, a one-armed thief, a landed sea dog and Folly. He didn’t quite know what she was, but he had seen the way she held her knife, like a weapon.
He continued to watch as she moved around the Kryptos, filling her satchel with an odd assortment of items: a shallow dish, kindling, bottles and pots. Every so often she consulted a small black book, as if for guidance, but when she began stuffing Vincent’s bloodstained dirty bandages into the bag he could remain silent no longer.
‘What the barnacles are you doing with those?’
Folly didn’t answer.
Jonah wasn’t going to give up. ‘Did that book tell you what those drifting stones are?’
‘I think so,’ she said evasively.
‘Really?’ Jonah was excited. ‘But you said if you had them you could control the Lurid!’
Folly stopped what she was doing. ‘It’s not as simple as that. What I need to do is send it back to the Tar Pit. For that you need bones. You summon a Lurid with a bone, and return it with a bone.’
‘Plenty of bones at the Tar Pit.’
‘There’s a catch; the bone has to belong to the Lurid itself.’
‘Oh,’ Jonah sounded deflated. ‘That ain’t gonna be so easy.’
‘Exactly,’ replied Folly. ‘And we still don’t know why Kamptulicon freed it in the first place.’ She fastened the satchel and belted her coat. ‘I have to go somewhere,’ she said tersely.
‘Yes, of course,’ realized Jonah. ‘We have to tell the others about the drifting stones.’ He started for the door, but the expression on her face stopped him. Before he knew what was happening, Folly flicked the fingers of her right hand at him. He felt a stinging liquid spatter across his face and he was blinded. He staggered backwards, arms flailing, and overbalanced, hitting his head with a stunning blow on the slate hearth. Dazed and confused, he was vaguely aware of someone kneeling at his side. A ghost, he thought, before realizing the pale face and shock of white hair belonged to the girl. And, to confound him further, she was tying up his hands and feet.
‘I’m sorry, Jonah,’ she said in a very ghostly voice. ‘I have to go alone. I’ll explain later. Oh, and I need to borrow this.’ She wrested the bag of ambergris from his hand and then was gone.
As his head cleared and the stinging in his eyes subsided, Jonah surprised himself with a laugh. ‘Well, I’m blutterbunged!’ he said to the emptiness. ‘I didn’t see that coming.’
CHAPTER 24
COLD STORAGE
Vincent stole a glance at his sombre passenger. She was pretty, with her green eyes, and she was undoubtedly courageous. Soon all of Degringolade would be baying for her blood, even Edgar, her very own cousin. He couldn’t help thinking that had he been in her shoes he would have pedalated out of the town and never come back. He regretted his earlier rudeness.
Having pushed the Trikuklos across the marsh Vincent was now enjoying piloting it. His metal arm was proving no hindrance. In fact, it was possibly an advantage, enabling him to keep a firm grip on the handlebars as the machine shook and rattled over the rough terrain.
‘By the way, I do have keys,’ Citrine informed him. ‘You won’t have to break in.’
‘As a wanted criminal, maybe you shouldn’t go through the front door. And cover that hair – you’d be recognized from a mile away. Who’ll be in the house?’ Vincent’s voice bristled with efficiency.
Citrine, startled by his brusqueness, pushed her hair under her hood. ‘Edgar, maybe. Usually he’s at his club until all hours.’
‘Servants?’
‘No. My father always let them have time off for the Ritual of Appeasement. Edgar did the same, which surprised me a little.’ Just then the Kronometer struck three. ‘Nox is nearly over, not long now before the Ritual.’
‘I’d have thought this ritual would take place at night,’ said Vincent. ‘Somehow midnight seems a better time, or whatever you call it here.’
‘Usually it’s 2 Nox, which is the middle of the night. But every few years the lunar apogee coincides with the Ritual, and then the Ritual takes place at the moment of apogee. Exactly 6 Lux.’ Citrine shuddered. ‘You know, if it hadn’t been for Jonah, it would be my body offered up for the Lurids.’
Vincent made a face. ‘Uurgh. So who will they offer now?’
‘Most likely a cow, unless they hang another criminal before then.’ She looked at him. ‘You must think Degringolade a cruel place.’
‘When you’re dead, you’re dead.’ Vincent shrugged. ‘At least, that’s what I used to think before I came here.’
Citrine laughed and changed the subject. ‘Tell me about this smitelight. Why is it so important?’
Vincent stared straight ahead, his face an inscrutable mask. ‘My father gave it to me. He won it in a wager. A fellow had invented a safe lock that he said was unbreakable, but my father broke it. He made me promise never to lose it. I have nothing else to remember him by.’
Citrine made a wry face. ‘I have plenty of things to remember my father by, but they’re all at home.’
Vincent smiled. ‘We’ll
soon fix that,’ he said, and pushed harder on the pedalators.
They skirted Mercator Square. It was quiet now, with little sign of the previous evening’s uproar; a mask or two lay on the ground and posters for the hanging fluttered about. ‘The calm before the storm,’ said Citrine with feeling, and pointed Vincent in the direction of Collis Hill.
Shortly after, they wheeled soundlessly through the door in the wall and into the grounds of the Capodel Townhouse. Vincent parked the Trikuklos in the shadows. Citrine made a brief examination of the stables.
‘Edgar’s horse and Phaeton are gone,’ she whispered. ‘The house is empty.’
‘I shouldn’t have bothered with this then,’ said Vincent, and he pulled back his cloak to show the Mangledore. ‘It only works on people who are asleep.’
Citrine grimaced. ‘Personally I find Mangledores rather repulsive. But many believe in them. Besides, if Suma gave it to you . . .’
‘I know, I know,’ said Vincent. ‘I’ll keep it.’
He followed her into the house through the scullery door, shrugging off his disappointment at the ease of entry. It wasn’t that the door would have presented a challenge, but Folly’s gentle mockery had touched a nerve and a part of him wanted to show off his true criminal talents, if not to Folly then at least to Citrine. They entered the dark, warm kitchen and he cheered up a little. This was his domain, other people’s houses. His skills lay not with Lurids and black beans. Plain honest thieving would do for him every time.
Citrine lit a candle.
‘Spletivus!’ oathed Vincent, before he could help himself. He had not thought that the humble kitchen could testify to a family’s wealth, but even in this dim light he could see that the Capodel cooking quarters were enormous, with a broad, gleaming stove, a huge array of copper pots and a wealth of culinary devices hanging from walls and ceiling, some of which he had not known existed, let alone known their purpose.
The Phenomenals: A Tangle of Traitors Page 11