The Beast Awakens

by Joseph Delaney

  As if by magic, the two men moved their spears into a vertical position, the doors opened and Crafty followed his guard into a vast room. There was a red carpet down the middle, leading up to a set of shallow steps, and they walked along it until he found himself looking up at the new Duke.

  It was the young man they’d rescued from the Shole!

  The Duke was dressed in a green shirt with gold buttons. His face was ruddy with health and his blond beard had grown a little and thickened out. He smiled at Crafty, who wondered if he did in fact recognize him, or whether he was just kind.

  ‘Bow to the Duke!’ the guard hissed into his ear.

  Crafty bowed clumsily and then looked up at the Duke again, trying to keep his eyes on his face. But he felt his gaze wandering down to the lower part of the man’s body – or, rather, where it would have been had it not been covered.

  The Duke appeared to be sitting in a huge cylindrical container, with three sets of steps leading up to it; one at the front, and one at each side. Knowing what he did, Crafty guessed that it was filled with soil, but you couldn’t see that or any of the roots that now formed the young man’s lower body. A rich purple cloth enclosed his waist and flowed across the container and down to the floor so that not one inch of it was visible. He looked as if he was wearing an enormous skirt!

  Crafty had a sudden urge to giggle, and bit his lower lip hard. To laugh at the Duke would have been disastrous. And he knew that it wasn’t really funny. The Duke was in effect planted in a giant pot – a sad and horrific fate. His lower body had been transformed into woody roots, and he was fixed in this position for the rest of his life. He would never walk again. Crafty knew that the purple cloth was an attempt to afford the Duke some measure of dignity.

  ‘You may leave!’ the Duke commanded the guard, and waited in silence as the man left the chamber and the large doors closed behind him.

  ‘You may wonder why you are here,’ he said to Crafty. ‘I will explain everything in due course, but first I am happy to put your mind at rest. You will not be hanged.’

  The sense of relief spread through Crafty’s body. He began to tremble, and let out a big sigh before he could contain it.

  The Duke gave Crafty another kind smile. ‘The roots of trees are very sensitive,’ he said. ‘It seems that mine are particularly so. For example, my roots enable me to hear things from afar. There are so many different voices; a babble that can be overwhelming. I am gradually learning to be selective and to focus upon individual conversations. I can hear the pessimists in the distance wallowing in doom and gloom, complaining about being evicted from this room and making plans they are convinced will fail. I can also hear the giggling of the servant girls as they wash the pots and pans in the kitchen, and make eyes at the sous chefs. And you too, Crafty – I heard what you said …’

  He stared at Crafty, no longer smiling, and Crafty felt himself glow red with embarrassment.

  ‘When, sir? And what did I say?’ he asked, wondering what the Duke could possibly have overheard recently. Did he talk in his sleep? Had he said something treasonable?

  Then he realized that the Duke had used his nickname – Crafty. Surely he wouldn’t do that if he was angry with him?

  ‘I heard what you said before you rescued me from the Shole,’ the Duke replied. ‘You knew about trees and plants. You knew that to cut through my roots or dig me out too roughly would cause me agonizing pain. You knew that to sever my taproot would mean death. By taking charge and guiding the others, you undoubtedly saved my life.’

  ‘I just tried to do my best for you, sir,’ Crafty told him.

  ‘Well then, I will now do my best for you. I believe you have been found guilty of murder and sentenced to death. Instead, I grant you an immediate pardon and restore your freedom to you.’

  Crafty was amazed and delighted. He wondered how the Duke had come to hear of his fate. But before he could wonder too much, the Duke went on.

  ‘Although I am pleased to grant you such a pardon, you will be relieved to know that it is because the facts of the incident with Mr Vipton have now come to light. And, indeed, it seems that were Mr Vipton still alive, he would be the one facing execution. Come closer …’

  The Duke beckoned him up the steps in front of him, and Crafty climbed until he was level with him. Then the Duke reached behind his back, retrieved something, and held it out to Crafty with both hands.

  ‘Take it!’ he commanded. ‘Yours is a dangerous job. You need go unarmed into the Shole no longer. I believe it belongs to you anyway.’

  It was the dagger that Bertha, the Bog Queen, had given him. It had been taken from Crafty immediately after his arrest.

  He looked up at the Duke and grinned. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you very much!’ Then he remembered something important. ‘Sir, have you been told what Mr Vipton claimed to be? That he said that he was a member of the Grey Hoods?’

  The Duke looked astonished. ‘No, that has not been reported to me. What else did he say?’

  Crafty realized that the Chief Mancer had probably kept this information quiet. It reflected badly on his guild that they had allowed an enemy to join their ranks.

  ‘He said that other members of the cult were secretly working in the castle and trying to hinder our efforts to fight the Shole. They want the Shole to engulf the whole world.’

  The Duke stared at him until Crafty could no longer hold his gaze. As he bowed his head, the Duke finally spoke.

  ‘I want you to give me your word that you’ll not mention this to anyone – neither to friends nor to colleagues. Do you promise?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I assume that you reported it to the Chief Mancer – although he did not see fit to pass the information on?’

  ‘Yes, sir, but he didn’t believe me anyway …’

  ‘Let me worry about that, Crafty. I need to think carefully about this, but I can tell you one thing – there will eventually be very big changes here. Just keep your word and you’ll have nothing to worry about.’

  Although Crafty had no intention of breaking his promise, he did feel a little uncomfortable. He didn’t like keeping such a secret from his friends – and he wondered what it might mean for Ginger Bob.

  It was only after he’d left that Crafty realized he hadn’t asked the Duke about Lick. So, as the guard escorted him back to his old room in the tower, he asked him instead.

  ‘She’s made a full recovery,’ he was told. ‘But I regret to say that your father’s still missing.’

  Crafty felt a strange mixture of emotions – he was sad about his father, but very relieved to hear that Lick was better now. He guessed it was she who’d given the ‘facts of the incident with Mr Vipton’ to the Duke. He could only hope that his lucky spell would continue, and that his father would soon be found.

  He’d hardly been back in his room five minutes when his breakfast was delivered by a kitchen server. It was bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and fried bread, all fresh, hot and delicious – certainly an improvement on the cold porridge he’d been served in his cell. He wolfed it down.

  After he’d wiped his plate clean with the last piece of bread, Crafty washed his hands. He picked up the dagger he’d been given and examined it carefully. There wasn’t a trace of mud on it. Someone must have given it a good wash. The narrow blade was about five inches long, but the hilt added perhaps another four to that.

  All at once something caught his eye. On the hilt was an embossed green shape that looked like a snake coiled into a spiral, with its head at the centre. He looked more closely and saw that the last section of tail crossed the spiral and was in the snake’s mouth. It was eating its own tail! That was weird. If he ever saw Bertha again, Crafty decided, he would ask her about it.

  He pushed the knife into his coat pocket and reported to the Waiting Room. It was very strange – all those days stuck in a cell had made him keen to get back to the job, and to see his friends. He wanted to thank Lick – he realized he hadn’t a
sked if she was well enough to resume work yet – and he couldn’t wait to see Lucky.

  Lucky was sitting in his usual place. Crafty smiled broadly at him. ‘May I sit down?’ he joked.

  ‘It’s good to see you back, Crafty!’ Lucky leaped to his feet and clapped him on the back, grinning. ‘And I’m really sorry I didn’t manage to come and see you. I tried, but they said you were being kept in solitary confinement and no visitors were allowed. But last night Ginger Bob told me that you were going to be pardoned.’

  They’d a lot of catching up to do, but just then the far door opened and the Chief Mancer strode in.

  ‘I have a job for you, Proudfoot,’ he said, appearing to ignore Crafty.

  Lucky shot him a look, then came to his feet and headed for the door. But as they were about to leave, Ginger Bob suddenly turned and fixed Crafty with his stern gaze. Crafty wondered if he was still angry with him because of what had happened to Viper. Did he still feel some loyalty to his colleague, even though the Duke now considered Viper to be guilty?

  Eventually the mancer spoke. ‘Welcome back, Benson. We have had to reorganize work allocations in your absence. From today you will be working with a new gate mancer …’ He paused. ‘Everything will be explained later.’

  Then he and Lucky were gone, leaving Crafty to wonder what he’d meant.

  It wasn’t long before he found out. Five minutes later the door opened again and the new mancer entered, giving him a look stern enough to rival Ginger Bob’s.

  ‘I have a job for you, Benson. Come with me and bring your coat!’ she commanded.

  It was Leticia Crompton-Smythe.

  Crafty wondered if he was still allowed to call her Lick.

  Miss Crompton-Smythe – as Crafty supposed he’d have to call her again – led him to the door of Viper’s old office in silence, with no hint of their former friendliness. A brass plaque with her name on it had now replaced Viper’s.

  Once inside she sat behind her new desk and pointed Crafty to the chair opposite. Looking around, he saw that the room had changed. There were three large bookcases filled to capacity, and Viper’s white shirts had gone. Even the walls had been painted a tasteful pale green.

  Suddenly Lick’s expression softened and she smiled at him, and Crafty found himself smiling back. Perhaps they were to be friends after all?

  ‘Thank you for saving my life, Crafty,’ she said. There was a large bruise over her left temple, but it was fading. ‘Thanks for bringing me out of the Shole alive, and for trying to help me after Viper hit me. I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through. I only woke up two days ago, and for a while I didn’t even know who I was or what had happened to me.’

  ‘I’m glad I could help,’ he said. ‘I’m just sorry that I couldn’t prevent Viper from hitting you. But things seem to have moved fast since you woke up,’ he said. ‘Why have they appointed you a gate mancer? I thought you were a boffin?’

  ‘As a boffin, I’m qualified and trained to do all sorts of other jobs, such as gate grub, mancer, and roles you’ve probably never even heard of. Boffins are researchers and inventors who are vital to the fight against the Shole; we are allowed to work within a variety of different guilds. Although, as you can imagine, we’re sometimes far from welcome! It was my idea to become a gate mancer for a while, so we’ll be working together from now on.’

  ‘But you don’t really need a gate grub, do you?’ Crafty interrupted. ‘You’re Fey, so you can operate the gate and find new locations by yourself.’

  Lick nodded and smiled. ‘That’s true, Crafty, but it’s better with two of us working as a team. In any case, I couldn’t go out and leave the gate unguarded. Anyway, most of the time we won’t be working for the Chief Mancer, although we’ll consult him as a courtesy. We’ll be reporting back to the Duke himself. It’s not for nothing that he’s chosen to take up residence in what was the Pessimists’ Room, ousting its gloomy inhabitants. His father was very conservative in his methods of governance, but the new Duke has shown himself to be radical and innovative.’

  Crafty didn’t understand. What she was saying didn’t make sense – if the Duke was a pessimist, then surely he’d be more likely to be cautious like his father?

  ‘But then, why is he a pessimist?’ he asked. ‘Does the Duke think we’re going to lose our fight against the Shole?’

  ‘No, Crafty. We’re going to carry on the fight in ways never attempted before – we’re going to take risks. The Duke is pessimistic in just one regard. He thinks that things will get a lot worse before they get better. He believes that the castle will soon be engulfed by the Shole. But some of us won’t abandon it. We’re going to stay and fight from within the Shole to find out exactly what it is and why it began. Eventually we will win!’

  Crafty grinned at her, encouraged by her passion. Maybe one day they really could destroy the Shole! Then he had a crafty idea. If Lick was feeling grateful, perhaps she’d let him look for his father …

  ‘So what are we going to do first? I know that research is our key priority, but … I was hoping we could search for the three missing couriers? You’ll remember that one of them is my father … Could we search for them at the same time, Lick – I mean, Miss Crompton-Smythe?’ he asked eagerly.

  She nodded. ‘We certainly will – and please do still call me Lick. I promise we’ll make a start on our search before the day is out, but first I’d like to talk to that aberration from the bog – the girl who gave you the dagger.’

  Crafty was wary. ‘We could find her and see if she’s happy to talk to you, but I won’t try to snatch her,’ he said firmly.

  ‘How can you even say that to me, Crafty!’ Lick snapped, giving him one of her scowls. ‘I wouldn’t dream of trying to snatch Bertha. If she hadn’t given you the knife, we probably wouldn’t have survived. There are enough deadly aberrations in the Shole. We need allies there too.’

  ‘Sorry … you’re right,’ he said, embarrassed.

  Lick nodded, forgiving him. ‘Can I have a look at that dagger?’ she asked.

  He pulled it out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. She turned it over and over in her hands before pointing to the image on the hilt.

  ‘Have you looked closely at this?’ she asked.

  Crafty nodded. ‘Yes, it looks like a snake eating its own tail.’

  ‘It represents more than a snake, Crafty. It’s the great serpent called Ouroborus. It’s sometimes called the Earth Dragon, and the fact that its head is joined to its tail is a symbol of rebirth. It would no doubt have been important to ancient tribes like the Segantii. It’s interesting when you think that, in a way, Bertha has herself been reborn!’

  She smiled and handed him back the dagger before reaching into her desk to pull out a little box.

  Crafty already knew what it contained. He picked up Bertha’s cold brown finger and went across to the chair while Lick drew back the black curtain to reveal the silver gate.

  As he sat down, he realized that he might finally get an answer to some of his questions. ‘Do they really mix the ground-up bones of grubs into the silver frame?’ he asked.

  Lick nodded grimly. ‘I’m afraid so. That’s part of the Fey magic. Without that, the gates wouldn’t work.’

  Crafty felt sick, and could hardly bear to ask his next question. ‘There was a gate grub called Donna – a friend of mine and Lucky’s. She was killed very recently. Will … will they use her bones for a new gate?’

  Lick shook her head and began fiddling with the ratchet-dial. ‘They only need a very small amount of bone. Usually they take just the end of the little finger of the left hand. After that, the bodies of most gate grubs are taken to a special experimental graveyard inside the Shole – in the hope that one day the Shole will bring them back to life, as it did with your friend Bertha. We could learn more about life, death and the Shole, and even gain new allies. Why do you think your father buried your brothers in the cellar?’

  ‘I have no idea. I don’t even know
how they died. And why was my father allowed to bury them in our cellar rather than the graveyard?’ Crafty asked.

  ‘Your father is a well-respected courier, and he made a special plea to the previous Duke. He wanted to keep his family together, even in death. In view of what happened to your mother – yes, I know all about her, and I’m sorry, Crafty – the Duke decided to allow it. Of course, your father hopes that one day your brothers might live again …’

  This was what Crafty had always wanted. Their whispering had made them seem close – almost close enough to return at any time. He knew that Bertha had been returned from the dead – but might Donna one day come back to life too, along with his brothers? He hardly dared to hope.

  But Lick was as brisk and businesslike as ever. ‘Now – let’s concentrate on finding Bertha,’ she said.

  Crafty settled himself further into the chair, then pointed up at the sharp blade of the guillotine. ‘That thing still makes me nervous,’ he told her. ‘You’re a boffin. Couldn’t you come up with something better and safer for gate grubs?’

  Lick gave a small sigh of annoyance, or perhaps just of impatience. ‘I’m not Viper, so at least try to trust me, Crafty. And yes, I will put my mind to finding a better defensive system, but for now we’ll have to put up with what we have. We have other priorities.’

  Crafty nodded and began to stare into the dark swirling clouds inside the circular frame of the gate. He concentrated, and moments later he was looking at the edge of the bog. The light was dim, but in the distance the three houses, with his house in the middle, were just visible through the gloom.

  So where was Bertha? Would she come out, or would the presence of the gate put her off?

  Crafty stared at the surface of the bog. It was bubbling gently and steam was rising from it. There was no sign of the Bog Queen. Would she know that he was here? he wondered. She must have known who he was when she gave him the dagger – he had to hope that she’d sense him again.