Sentinel

by Joshua Winning

  “Not only the world has changed,” Isabel noted, scrutinising the girl at the window.

  “Five hundred years will do that to a person.” Jessica smiled sadly. “Let me tell you about Nicholas.”

  *

  Nicholas yawned and stretched out on the sofa. He rubbed at his eyes. How long had he slept for? The clock above the fireplace read five past six. He’d been out for almost three hours. That was strange even for him. The house seemed to have that effect, though – it was so hushed here that it was easy to nod off. It almost invited it.

  As Nicholas pulled himself up, he knocked something off the sofa onto the floor. It was a volume of The Sentinel Chronicles. Several other books were scattered around the boy. He’d taken them all from the library that he’d stumbled across after his encounter with Jessica and the cat. Each tome was full of strange tales that he found almost impossible to believe, tales of battles and monsters. The detail was almost forensic.

  Stranger still, despite the library being filled with volumes of The Sentinel Chronicles, there only seemed to be one period of time not covered by the dusty digest. The Sentinels seemed to have commenced recording their history in the year 1600, and that massive library was rammed with row upon row of leather-bound tomes, some spanning entire years, others mere months. From 1600 until present day, though, only August 1997 was missing. Nicholas wouldn’t have noticed, except for the fact that he was born in that very month.

  At first, the boy had shrugged off the coincidence, but he couldn’t let it lie. Why that month, out of all the months since 1600? What could have happened in August 1997 to cause a sudden break in the records? Of course, it was possible that particular volume had simply gone missing, lost to time. But the coincidence felt significant somehow.

  Nicholas pushed a hand through his dark, curly hair and yawned again. What now? He was bored of reading. Maybe he’d go find the cat – though he didn’t fancy another tongue-lashing. He didn’t remember ever feeling so tired in his life. He needed fresh air.

  Except Jessica had forbidden him from leaving the house. Where was she now, though? He’d not seen her since the garden, an encounter that had left him unsettled and confused. She hadn’t seemed herself at all – right down to that strange, child-like voice. Being under Jessica’s care suddenly didn’t feel quite so safe. Nicholas was annoyed; more oddness, more secrets and more things that he wasn’t being told. Maybe it was time he had a few secrets of his own. Maybe he’d go outside and simply neglect to tell Jessica. It was only fair.

  Energised by this new, insidious idea, Nicholas left the parlour and went to the entrance hall. Without hesitating, he moved to the oak front door and went to draw back the bolts.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  A prickly voice rang out behind him.

  Nicholas froze. He turned slowly and there was the cat, perched on a small mauve armchair in the corner, squinting at him with sallow eyes as sharp and bright as that detestable voice.

  “There’s something–” Nicholas started, then realised there was no point in lying. “I fancy a bit of fresh air is all.”

  “Out of the question,” Isabel retorted. “You’re not to leave the house, I’m sure you’ve been told.”

  “You going to stop me?” Nicholas challenged. He reached for the door handle.

  “Ungrateful urchin!”

  Nicholas cried out as claws raked into his ankle, and he fell away from the door, rubbing at his leg where the cat had scratched him.

  “You– you scratched me!” he yelled at the animal, which had now seated itself directly in front of the door.

  “You gave me no option,” Isabel replied indifferently.

  “You can’t do that! You can’t just attack people for no reason!”

  “You’re not to leave the house,” Isabel repeated.

  Nicholas clenched his fists, barely able to control his anger.

  “In my day, children did as they were bid,” Isabel maintained gravely.

  “At least I’m not a bitter old woman who spent her entire life locked up in this house hating everybody and everything!” Nicholas jibed back.

  The cat faltered. “How did you–?” Isabel began, but Nicholas had seized on her surprise and pushed past her, shoving her aside with his foot as he drew back a big, heavy bolt and flung the front door open. A freezing flurry of air blasted him in the face, but Nicholas didn’t stop, rushing out to meet the twilight world.

  Trudging into the snowy countryside, Nicholas’s heart hammered in his chest. He’d been cooped up for so long that the fresh air made him dizzy. It felt good, though; so good that he nearly didn’t feel the cold. Pulling the sleeves of his jumper down, the boy clenched them in his fists and stomped off into the countryside. He knew he was being foolish, that Jessica had warned him against leaving the house, but he couldn’t stand it any longer. The house made him tired and lethargic, and he felt like he was forgetting things. Important things like his parents, his life before this madness.

  Now that he was outside he felt instantly better, like he could breathe again.

  After a while, Nicholas became aware of a soft pitter-patter as tiny, tentative paws traced his footsteps. He didn’t acknowledge the noise, didn’t care if Isabel was following him. He wound his way between two fields, cheeks burning in the bitter air. A twig cracked on the ground behind him and, out of the corner of one eye, Nicholas caught sight of a black shape moving alongside him.

  Without moving to face his unwanted companion, the boy said: “You didn’t have to follow me.”

  “You gave me no choice,” Isabel returned. She sounded out of breath, but her usually snooty tone had evaporated. She would never admit it, but getting out of the house had probably done her a world of good, too. “Where exactly do you intend on going?”

  “Nowhere,” Nicholas shrugged. “Anywhere. Just out of that place.” He felt himself inexplicably softening toward the pitiful creature. He shouldn’t have shouted at her like that. He’d never shouted at anybody in that way before. His voice had sounded tight and strange.

  “What was wrong with Jessica today?” Nicholas asked the cat. No reply came. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “No,” Isabel relented finally, confirming his suspicions. Nicholas should have revelled in the haughty little animal’s inability to explain Jessica’s behaviour. Instead, her sudden ignorance – after previously having an answer for everything – only deepened the boy’s concern for his godmother.

  They continued on, the odd duo. A boy and his cat, pressing between bushes and moving across the snow-clad land. The dusky countryside seemed to greet them merrily, the sky blushing hot pink as the sun sank behind the trees.

  Moving past a little outcrop of greenery, Nicholas found himself suddenly bathed in artificial light. He’d stumbled upon a suburban street.

  “Orville,” Isabel said, hopping up onto a stone wall and trotting alongside him.

  “What?”

  “The village, it’s called Orville, or was in my time,” the cat explained. “I’m surprised it has survived the years.”

  Up ahead, the sound of laughter trickled into the evening air, and Nicholas wandered toward the cheerful hum. Eventually he reached what must be the village’s small high street. Here, the shrieking and whooping poured out from an old-fashioned pub called The Red Lion, which was nestled at the heart of Orville.

  The village was a twee place with shops that still bore hand painted signs and took pride in bijou window displays. In the snow, it looked like the kind of place that usually featured on biscuit tins, with its old-fashioned lampposts and bright red post boxes. It reminded Nicholas of some of the little hamlets that surrounded Cambridge. Except instead of comforting him, there was something about the village that unnerved him.

  “The tavern’s altered none,” Isabel remarked, eyeing The Red Lion with ill-concealed contempt.

  “You mean you weren’t a drinker in your time?”

  Isabel shot him a glare
. “Filthy beggars,” she condemned. “Shameless what they got up to in there. I wouldn’t pass its threshold if the Trinity themselves bade it.”

  “What is it with this Trinity?” Nicholas asked. Before Isabel could reply, the boy gave a grunt as a man bowled into him. Nicholas staggered backwards, but the stranger kept walking as if nothing had happened. He pretended he hadn’t even seen the boy.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Nicholas called after him.

  “What did I tell you?” Isabel gave a satisfied sniff. “The people of Orville always were too big for their boots. At least their neighbours in Fratton had manners, basic though they might’ve been.”

  “Can’t say I disagree,” Nicholas mumbled. He stared about the picture perfect hamlet with its antiquated buildings and frosty veneer. He didn’t like it. There was a disquieting ambience about the place. It was too neat, too quiet, too perfect. Though the notion seemed ridiculous, it felt almost like the village itself was watching him. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Wait.”

  Nicholas looked at the cat, which was perched motionless on the wall, her fur prickling. She sniffed the air, her small head darting this way and that as she picked up an assortment of scents.

  “There’s a strange odour,” she said.

  “I’ve not showered for a while,” Nicholas quipped. He was uneasy, too, though. The hair on the back of his neck shivered and rose, and Nicholas’s stomach gave an uneasy twinge.

  Almost at the same time, the boy and the cat turned toward a poky alleyway on the other side of the road.

  An involuntary chill bristled through Nicholas.

  There, in the darkness of the passageway, a sinewy shape was tensed. Its gleaming red eyes were fixed intently on him.

  “There’s something–” Nicholas started, but before he could finish the thought, the thing in the shadows let out a blistering, inhuman screech and hurtled into the street.

  “RUN!” Isabel yowled.

  Nicholas didn’t stop to get a better look at whatever had made that nerve-shredding cry. Kicking snow up, he sprinted down the high street, righting himself as the ice endeavoured to slip him up. Behind him, colossal claws clattered against the cobbled road, and the sound was accompanied by the wheeze of massive lungs expanding and contracting. He spurred himself on.

  “Boy!” Isabel’s voice cried out nearby. “The tavern!”

  As the boy reached The Red Lion, one of the pub’s patrons stepped out into the street and Nicholas grabbed a hold of the man’s shoulders.

  “Help,” the boy panted. “You have to help us. Please, something’s after us.”

  But there was something wrong with the man. As Nicholas stared into his face, the stranger blanched. He stared blindly into Nicholas’s eyes, his mouth sagging stupidly.

  “Please!” Nicholas screamed, shaking him. The stranger let out a strangled yelp and collapsed backward into the pub, slamming the door shut. Nicholas threw himself against it, hammering on the wood with his fists. “Let us in!”

  Before he knew what was happening, there was a searing pain in his leg, and the pavement rushed up to meet him. Nicholas hit the ground with a thud that forced the air out of his lungs. Gasping, he pushed himself onto his back. But it was too late.

  There at his feet, an immense, muscular thing opened a mouth filled with razor fangs. It was the ugliest thing Nicholas had ever seen, somewhere between a giant dog and a hulking reptile, both scaly and hairy with big scarlet eyes that glistened as they glowered hungrily at him. It was an abhorrent, repulsive thing; something that shouldn’t exist, couldn’t exist. A massive, misshapen head extended into a snorting snout. The nostrils flared as they sucked up Nicholas’s scent, and a tremble rippled down the beast’s scaly back, all the way down to its thick, trunk-like tail.

  The beast snarled, a string of saliva escaping its snapping jaws as it climbed on top of the boy. Nicholas tried to squirm away, but the abomination was so heavy he could barely move.

  “No! NO!” Nicholas yelled.

  The creature pushed its dripping muzzle right up into the boy’s face, its hot breath steaming into Nicholas’s nostrils. He gagged, and the beast opened its massive maw, preparing to snap it shut around the boy’s head.

  “Nicholas!”

  As Nicholas squeezed his eyes shut against the rows of piercing incisors, he felt the monster shudder and convulse. It emitted an outraged squeal, then the weight was lifted and Nicholas was free. He clambered to his feet, seeing that the monster had rounded on Isabel; she had sunk her claws into its alligator-like tail.

  “Run child!” the cat urged. The beast thrashed at the irksome feline, and Isabel was flung into the snowy road.

  Gripped by some kind of primitive impulse, Nicholas leapt at the creature, kicking it in the side where he hoped its ribs were. The beast howled and a claw flashed in the lamplight, slicing into Nicholas’s arm. The boy gasped and staggered away, hurrying towards Isabel. Together, they stumbled down the street, a clatter of claws telling them that the creature was giving chase once more.

  Then, out of nowhere, a voice yelled: “In here!”

  A hand grabbed Nicholas by the scruff of the neck, dragging him backwards, in from the street, away from the gnashing jaws. The boy collapsed panting onto a wooden floor as his rescuer banged a door shut and hastily locked it.

  “Th– th–” Nicholas wheezed, “Thank you.”

  The newcomer – a short, stocky man – peered through a tiny window in the door. Scrabbling sounds came through the wood – along with a breathy snort – and then abruptly ceased.

  Finally, the stranger at the door relaxed.

  “I think it’s gone,” he said. “You’re safe now.”

  He went to Nicholas, reaching out a hand to help him up. Nicholas took it, pulling himself to his feet.

  “Are you hurt?” the man asked with concern, squinting at the boy from behind a pair of round spectacles. He was thickset and sturdy with an open, friendly countenance and a large belly that ballooned his knitted jumper out of shape.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Nicholas said, inspecting his arm through the tatters of his sleeve. “It’s just a scratch.”

  “And your furry friend?”

  Isabel was sitting on a counter, her eyes saucering with worry.

  “She looks fine,” Nicholas said.

  “You were lucky,” the man told him, moving to the counter and reaching out a hand to stroke the cat. Isabel hissed at the stranger and dodged the offending digits, pattering soundlessly over to the window to peer outside. “That thing’s killed here more than once,” the man continued, unfazed by the cat’s caginess. “It’s a good job I was working late.”

  As Nicholas’s breathing evened, he became aware that they were in a shop. This wasn’t any ordinary shop, though. A dreamcatcher display twirled and twinkled in the window, while giant peacock feathers filled an ornate ceramic vase in the corner. There were strange bowls and shelves lined with pestle and mortars. Tribal masks dangled from the dado rail. Behind the dark wood counter, yet more shelves reached right up to the ceiling and were stacked with row upon row of curious little jars. Next to Nicholas a tall cabinet was filled with jagged, glittering crystals of all shapes, sizes and colours. It was a hodgepodge of a place, so overstuffed with remarkable, curiosity-baiting objects that it felt somehow cosy.

  “What is this place?” Nicholas asked, touching a dried-out iguana that sat with its tongue perpetually flickering out of its mouth atop the crystal cabinet.

  “My little home away from home,” the man said. “My shop, Rumours.”

  “Is it a–” Nicholas paused, knowing it sounded stupid. “A magic shop or something?”

  “I prefer the term apothecary, but that’ll do,” the man said. He extended his hand again and smiled a wide, warm smile. “I’m Reynolds. Melvin Reynolds.”

  Nicholas went to the counter and shook his hand. “Nicholas.”

  “Well, Nicholas, let’s take a look at that arm of you
rs, shall we?”

  Nicholas nodded and placed his arm on the worktop, letting Reynolds peel the shredded jumper sleeve back. The boy winced as the drying blood pulled at the hairs.

  “Mind telling me what you were doing out after dark like that?” Reynolds asked, inspecting Nicholas’s arm.

  “I was–” Nicholas began, but a warning grumble from Isabel stopped him.

  “What’s got his goat?” Reynolds peered at the cat over the rim of his glasses.

  “I don’t know, and he’s a she,” Nicholas said. “Isabel.”

  “Right, yes. Funny name for a cat,” Reynolds observed genially. “You’re right, it’s just a scratch. Nothing a bit of warm water can’t put right. Wait here, I won’t be a tick.”

  The man disappeared through some curtains at the back of the shop.

  Isabel hopped back onto the counter. “We must return to the house,” she hissed at Nicholas.

  “Chill out,” Nicholas said. “We’re safe here. He’s nice, he saved us.”

  “We won’t be safe until we’re with Jessica,” the cat persisted.

  “Shhh, he’s coming back.”

  Reynolds emerged from behind the curtains carrying a yellow washing up bowl. He set it on the worktop and rolled his sleeves up.

  Nicholas froze. There, on the man’s forearm, was a raven tattoo. The boy looked at Isabel to see if she’d noticed, but the cat was busily watching out the window.

  “Here,” Reynolds said, dipping a clean cloth into the water and squeezing off the excess. “Let me.” Carefully he began to clean the scratches on Nicholas’s arm. The cloth came away stained red.

  “What was that thing?” Nicholas ventured. “The thing that attacked us.” His insides were trembling. This stranger who had saved him was another Sentinel. Had to be. Who else would have a raven marked on their skin? Especially a raven that matched exactly the design from the covers of The Sentinel Chronicles.