by G. P. Taylor
The carriage horses reared up in panic. Lady Tanville screamed, and from somewhere near came a loud growl as if from a tiger. The lightning flashed again and a creature leapt from the road and disappeared into the night.
‘It’s taken Barghast, he’s gone!’ she screamed. She held his cloak in her hands. ‘He was here and then the creature took him.’
‘Then we are at war,’ Ergott shouted as he pulled his diving wand from his jacket and held it like a short sword.
‘Thought you’d have a bigger one than that,’ Bragg said snidely, stepping towards the carriage light. ‘Take more than a twig to frighten off the creature out there.’
‘Keep your panic to yourself,’ shouted the bugler. He sounded the alarm, blowing several times upon the small cow horn that he kept on a red rope around his neck. The hounds hollered with each blast, sensing that a chase was about to take place.
‘The screaming came again. It pierced the air like the shrill cry of a dying lamb. As the night sky lit up with a crack of lightning, the shape of a man could be seen upon the tor. For the briefest moments he was as clearly visible as if in the brightness of day. His hair blew in the wind; a beard covered his face. He raised his hands to the sky as if he wanted to catch a lightning bolt as it crashed to earth. His arms were bare and about his shoulders was tied a tattered cloak. From each arm dangled a short, broken chain of iron fetters, manacled to his wrist.
‘Mad Cassy!’ screamed the coachman as he fought to control the horses and battle with the brake.
The bugler took aim and fired into the night. The barrel of the blunderbuss exploded with a flash of double-charge so bright that it dazed and blinded the travellers. In the darkness there was a languishing moan.
‘You got him!’ shouted the coachman as the hounds barked.
‘And I’ll have him dead,’ shouted the bugler, double-charging the gun yet again.
‘He’s wounded,’ Raphah called as the moaning turned into a scream. It was shrill and harsh and pierced them to the bone. From peak to peak it sounded like the dying of a mad dog. ‘You’ve got to help him.’
‘Kill him, lad. That’s the only thing good for him,’ the bugler said as he rallied the hounds to set off on the chase.
‘But what of the creature that has taken Barghast?’ Ergott asked.
‘Your duty is to protect us!’ screamed Bragg as he desperately tried to mount the carriage and hide within.
‘Can’t let a chance like this go by,’ the bugler replied. ‘Could be my making.’
‘Could be your death. What if the madman takes you like he has taken Barghast?’ Ergott asked. He waved his wand frantically in the shape of a star and muttered under his breath.
‘Then it’ll get some lead as well,’ the bugler said excitedly as he stepped from the toll road and began to make his way slowly upwards through the steep rocks.
‘We can’t let him kill the man,’ Raphah said quietly to Beadle.
‘Oh yes we can,’ Beadle replied, burying his face in his hands. ‘The man’s got a gun and can do what he likes.’
‘Then I’ll go with him,’ Raphah said, breaking rank from the gathering and jumping from the road. He ran through the stones and into the darkness. In the blink of an eye he was gone from sight as if he had entered death.
Beadle ran up and down the road shouting for Raphah to return as the carriage was pulled to a halt. Bragg screamed in protest from inside the coach. He locked the doors and slid the window shut, leaving the rest of the travellers to await the approaching storm.
Mister Shrume, fearful of the night, took up a place under the coach. Holding the axle in both hands he hung on from beneath, so that he could not be seen by whatever had taken Barghast.
Ergott had rooted himself to the ground and mumbled a malediction time and again. He clutched his wand with both hands and stared into the darkness that surrounded them. The tallow lamp that hung from the outside of the coach began to fade. Slowly its light became softer and reached out less and less to banish the night.
‘Let us in!’ screamed Lady Tanville, banging on the carriage door. Reluctantly, Bragg slipped the lock and edged it open to allow her to enter. The travellers ushered each other inside as Shrume appeared from his hiding place, quivering with fear. Beadle took hold of the handle and stepped upon the mounting plate. The door was pulled tightly shut and locked before him.
‘You paid for the roof,’ Bragg said. ‘And the roof it’ll be.’
There came a shuddering howl from the ridge above them as if one of the coach hounds was being torn to pieces in the darkness. Beadle jumped quickly from the road and pulled himself to the driver’s seat.
‘Take this, use it if you must,’ the driver said, handing Beadle a small flintlock pistol. ‘It’s not right here, they should never have gone.’
On the far side of the valley, they could hear the hounds making their way up through the rocks. With every flash of the storm they could see the bugler followed by Raphah, clawing their way higher. The hounds bounded on in the brief but blinding flashes and then were gone as ink-black covered their tracks.
‘What took Barghast?’ Beadle asked the coachman anxiously as he pointed the pistol into the blackness.
‘Hate this place, hate it. Knew we should have gone faster and made it in daylight.’ The coachman nodded his head and steadied the horses. ‘There’s talk of a hound, a hellhound. Comes from the fell and uses a storm to take its victims. They say that the madman feeds the beast and in return it keeps him safe. The Ethio is a brave fool.’
‘Do we stay?’ Beadle asked.
The driver stared him in the face and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘I’ll be gone before they come back. Peveril in the mile. I’ll run this coach down the hill and take my chance.’
‘Give them time,’ Beadle insisted.
The howling came again, this time closer. It sounded like the call of a wolf and the growling of an old bear that had somehow come together to make a cry so terrible that it shuddered the bones. The horses jerked upon their hooves and danced upon the road as if it were hot coals. They steamed and groaned, panting short breaths and eager to run.
‘I can’t hold them much longer,’ the driver said, gripping the reins tightly in his gloved hand. ‘There’s something that they can see and we can’t. If it comes closer they shall be from this place like the devil were chasing them.’
‘Just a time longer,’ Beadle pleaded.
‘Go on man, go on – think of your passengers,’ screamed Bragg from within.
‘You can’t leave them,’ shouted Lady Tanville. She tried to open the door, only to be pushed back by Mister Shrume, who now quivered violently as if he would fall apart at that very moment.
There was a crash of glass from the far side of the coach as something smashed the window. The carriage swung to the side as if the weight of a beast fell upon it.
For a moment, in the flash of lightning, Beadle thought he saw a beast. Full of fear and trembling, he tried to aim the pistol. He closed his eyes as he squeezed the stiff trigger. The hammer fell suddenly and the plate ignited. But there was silence. ‘No!’ he screamed as he realised that it had no charge.
‘Not loaded?’ shouted the driver. ‘I never thought …’
The coach rolled like a bobbing ship and Mister Shrume screamed like an old hag. And then the lead stallion bolted, its black mane streaming like silk fingers as it took off from the road. The other horses gave chase and the carriage was dragged at speed down the hill. The driver held them fast with one hand as with the other he pulled the screaming brake. But the carriage got faster and faster, the wheels clattering ever quicker.
Beadle gripped the iron rail that ran the width of the carriage seat as he was pounded up and down. Inside, Ergott, and Shrume were buffeted from their seats and heaped upon the unconscious Bragg. Lady Tanville held tightly to the fading lamp, her hands burning upon the metal.
From the darkness the roar of the beast came again as if it gave chase. The
horses were spurred faster, not caring that they raced to death.
‘I can’t hold it!’ screamed the driver as the reins began to slip from his gloves.
Lightning flashed again. For a moment Beadle could see the road ahead. It twisted and turned, flattening out as they approached Peveril. At the turn in the road he saw a vast expanse of water.
‘Galilee!’ shouted the driver as he battled to pull the sweat-lathered horses to a halt. ‘We’ll never make the corner.’
Beadle let go of the rail and grabbed the driver’s hand. With all the strength he could summon he took hold of the reins and began to pull.
‘By Riathamus, we will not die!’ he screamed at the night. Cries of terror from the carriage were all he could hear. The carriage rolled on, out of control. Beadle feared he would soon be dead, tossed from the coach and down the rock-strewn valley. He gripped the reins for all his life, desperately trying to pull the horses back. A shard of bright blue lightning hit the lake and appeared to jump from the water, hitting the clouds and then in the blink of an eye firing to earth. The explosion was so intense, so loud and powerful that the sound knocked the wind from Beadle’s chest. It was like the final note to some great concerto. All fell silent. The storm was over.
Beadle gripped the horses’ reins with both hands, knowing his life depended on it. They began to slow. Yard by yard, step by step, their pace changed from a mad gallop to a canter and then to a trot. He pulled harder, unable to speak a word, his mouth clamped with fear. The driver leant upon the brake, holding it fast as the leather and wood braced the wheels and squealed.
Far ahead Beadle could see the lights of Peveril and the mouth of the cavern in which it was built. Upon the hill was the dark outline of a large castle. Scattered all around were the smoking chimneys of the houses. To the west was the vast entrance to a large cave.
‘You did it,’ said the driver, panting hard and drawing his tight breath. Beadle turned his head and looked away. ‘I’d lost my strength couldn’t find it in me to hold on – but you did it.’
‘I fear it was not I but the lightning that saved us,’ Beadle said, his teeth still chattering with fear. ‘What of the bugler and Raphah?’
‘Pray they are not lost to the madman,’ the driver said.
The lights of Peveril beckoned them onwards.
The Mender of Bad Soles
GALPHUS walked nimbly along Salamander Street and then, without saying a word, turned into a long, narrow alleyway. Thomas followed, wondering what awaited him. The alleyway was darker than the street, with only a feeble lamp at the far end that gave a sombre glow. There was no light from the sky. It was as if the whole of the district had been placed under a pudding bowl and the world that Thomas knew was no more. The further that he walked from the Salamander Inn, the dirtier the streets became, and here was no exception. With every step, the alley began to fill with the flotsam of London life; at every doorway some unfortunate huddled silently in the gloom, holding out a hand for an offering of grace.
Galphus strode on, oblivious to all around him. He never stopped or looked back to see if he was being followed. Pace after pace, he prodded his cane sharply to the ground. Step after step he walked boldly through the dark. They followed the alley until it turned into another and then another. Left and right, faster and faster Thomas followed until they walked through what was nothing more than a crack between the buildings. He knew not if he travelled north or south or how far they had come as their route twisted back and forth through dank, mouldy alleyways that stank of the sea.
‘Mister … Mister Galphus,’ Thomas said as he attempted to catch the man, nearly breaking into a trot to keep pace with his steps. ‘Where do we go?’
‘Onwards, ever onwards. Questions, always questions,’ Galphus barked with a swagger and a clatter of his cane as his coat appeared to sparkle in the lamplight..
‘Mister Galphus,’ Thomas belched breathlessly. ‘How far do we go? We have walked for miles.’
Galphus stopped suddenly. He turned and looked at the boy. ‘So, Thomas, you think you know we are far from Salamander Street?’
‘We have been walking for the hour. I came to make shoes, not wear them out.’
‘Shoes? Did I say you would make shoes? Then we must go back to Salamander Street at once.’ Galphus made a small sidestep and vanished from view. ‘This way,’ he said curtly, his voice echoing from the darkness.
Thomas realised that Galphus had slipped into yet another part of the labyrinth that he was being dragged through. Quite lost, he dutifully followed, trying to catch up with Galphus. The man strode on at the speed of a horse. Thomas ran to catch up before he completely lost Galphus from view.
Soon they came to a place where there were no street lamps. Thomas felt his way forward by holding out his hands to both sides of the passageway and touching the cold stones. He could hear the clatter of the cane and the sharp tap of Galphus’s shoes a little distance ahead. The passage made a sudden turn and opened out into a neat and well-lit yard.
Galphus stopped in the light of two wall lamps that stood like sentinels by a large green wooden door. It had an ornate handle and a knocking plate moulded in the shape of a lion’s head. Above the door was a large carved shoe. It was painted in what had once been bright red, but years had taken away its shine and glory. Now it hung there, waiting. Thomas could see no other way from the place. Only the route they had followed had brought them to the door and he wondered how this place could be chanced upon or how it could bring any trade.
With his left hand, Galphus raised his cane and struck the door three times. He turned to Thomas and tried to smile. ‘We are not but a minute from where we started, Thomas. This is the Salamander Factory,’ he said proudly, nodding with contentment and rubbing his angular chin.
‘Factory?’ Thomas asked, unsure what he meant.
‘A place of business, a building containing equipment for manufacture. Have you never been to a factory?’ he asked. Thomas looked even more puzzled. ‘Then you shall have a great delight. I see factories as the palaces of the future. The people shall live at the place they work. Their beds can be next to their anvils. Gone the squalor and the roughness of life. This is fair trade. Mankind shall do what it was meant for – work and sleep, Thomas. Work and sleep.’
Galphus puckered his lips to kiss the air. The door to the factory opened and he stepped inside.
Thomas followed, not knowing what would be in this factory. He turned to see who had let them in and there in the shadow of the door was a young child barely five years old. He did not know if it was a boy or a girl. It wore a regimental suit of grey wool with a jacket of the same cloth over a clean white shirt. The child had short-cropped hair and upon its head a neat round skullcap that gripped tightly to its forehead.
Thomas smiled at the child, who neither spoke nor acknowledged that he was there. Galphus pressed on, not speaking to anyone as he entered a busy hallway with a spiral staircase of rough wood that spun upwards out of sight. On every side of the hallway, people all wearing the same clothes busied themselves. From every corner came the sound of hammering and industry. An overpowering smell of tanning leather burnt Thomas’s nose and caused him to cough with the fumes. Galphus led him onwards through rooms and passageways that seemed to go on forever. The factory was brightly lit. No one looked at him nor spoke to him or Galphus, all went about their business as if they couldn’t see him. They carried boxes from one place to the other, climbed the stairs to the rooms above and descended to the depths through a door in the far wall.
It was as if Thomas had stepped into a gigantic anthill where a multitude of similar creatures carried out tasks without being asked. All just knew what they had to do and how to do it.
‘This way,’ Galphus said, leading Thomas up the staircase to a higher floor. Thomas followed on and undid the collar of his shirt. ‘There is much to see and you cannot become a shoemaker until I have shown you everything. I take it that is why you have come to Salama
nder Street?’
Thomas didn’t know what Galphus really meant. He remembered Crane commanding them to say nothing, so he just said yes – but quietly, in a whisper, hoping it would not be heard. It was easy to say and fell from his lips without any concern.
‘Sorry?’ asked Galphus.
‘Yes,’ Thomas said again.
‘Then before we go another step let us sign the contract of employment.’ Galphus laughed and then, as if he were a fairground magician, a quill pen and piece of parchment appeared in his hand. ‘Here. This is for you. A job for life and your life for the job. All will be found and you will be found wanting … nothing. I even have something that will make you smile with merriment. Sign and we will be friends and the teaching will begin.’
‘But …’
‘There are no buts in life, Thomas. Do you think I would have got to my station in life if I had said but all the time? Seize the moment and every opportunity that comes your way. Say a brilliant yes to everything and the world will open like a clamshell, nay, an oyster, and there inside you will find the most precious thing of all. The pearl. Sign. Quickly.’
Galphus thrust the pen into his hand as they stood upon the landing in front of another large door. Thomas felt a compulsion to run as an inner voice screamed to him. But Galphus grabbed his hand and in the flick of the wrist, Thomas saw his name scrawled in black upon the paper. He read his name clearly printed upon the contract and then fine large letters that he could easily see. As he read on they grew smaller and smaller, until by halfway down the page they were like tiny dots that looked as though they moved across the parchment of their own volition.
‘DONE!’ Galphus shouted as the door in front of them opened. ‘See, Thomas. When you say yes to something doors will open.’
‘I would like to go back and see Captain Crane,’ Thomas demanded. He had suddenly realised that what he had put his name to was an indenture of employment. ‘He will want to know where I am if I do not return. This is not why I am here. I came for a day, not a lifetime.’