The Bone Snatcher

by Charlotte Salter

“Sounded like a big ’un,” he said. “I’d go check on it, if I were you.”

  “Pray for me,” Sophie said.

  It had been pouring for hours now, all through the night and into the morning. The rain was thick and gray like a nightmare, and the sky was dumping it on the island like it was trying to wash it away. Stepping onto the oyster beach was like walking into a wall of water. Her short hair was plastered to her face, and her clothes became so heavy she could hardly walk. The sack of bones that she’d left by the catacomb entrance was gone. All that was left was a sad slip of cloth.

  The culprit, a gelatinous, many-tentacled monster, flung a chunk of rock at her. It whizzed past her shoulder and smashed on the cliff face, spattering bits of black. It turned out the sea creatures didn’t like the rain much. A few hours into the deluge, they had started taking chunks from the side of the island, and they hadn’t stopped since.

  “I know you’re not really hungry,” she said. “You just wanted me to come out, didn’t you?”

  Something fell from the sky—something small and round and yellow-white—and hit her on the head.

  She collected the missile, a mouse skull, and looked up. Something was moving on the roof. She tried to call out, but got a mouth full of water and gurgled instead.

  As she got back inside, Gail slipped in behind her. He was soaking wet and looked pleased.

  “Did you throw this at me?” she said, holding up the skull.

  “Maybe,” he said, smirking. “I’m here to give you a message. Ralf says not to go anywhere near the top of the house, because we’re practicing our play and we’re sick of your slimy little face.”

  “I wouldn’t come anywhere near you if you paid me,” she said as he skipped away.

  Sophie went back to Scree and smashed the last of the chairs, using her scissors to hack off the lumps of yellow glue. She’d sharpened them earlier until they were as keen as razors.

  The rain continued its endless drumming. One of Laurel’s ceiling-dusting spiders floated out of a tunnel and washed up at Sophie’s feet, upturned and wriggling its legs. She put it back on its feet and it scuttled away, brandishing a set of small wire brushes.

  “Ain’t seen one of those working in a while,” said Scree. “I thought they were all wound down. But who knows what’s stuck in there?”

  “More horrible inventions, probably. I’d love to find one that chops bones.”

  “That’ll be why you were pokin’ around the clock room, is it? Don’t deny it. I heard you in there last night, moving things around.”

  “I didn’t go anywhere last night,” she said. “I don’t even know what the clock room is.”

  “You do,” he said. “Where the feeding bell is. I saw you. I saw you creep out of your room at midnight, all shadowlike, and I was awake so I followed, and then I lost you but I could hear you going in.”

  “I was asleep at midnight,” she said, her mouth going dry.

  “Is that so?” he said, winking conspiratorially. “Must be magic.”

  He nudged her in the ribs and cackled, then turned back to raking the bones into a pile. Sophie tried to keep chipping away with the scissors, but her palms were damp and they kept slipping through her fingers. One of the twins was in her room last night, making sure she wasn’t up to something. It felt like her skin was trying to crawl away from the backs of her hands. The image of Ralf’s or Gail’s face hovering over hers while she slept . . . ugh!

  But then they went to the clock room. Why would they do that, unless they were checking something?

  She slowly stopped scraping the bones and looked at her scissors, long-bladed and silver. She pushed them up her sleeve.

  “I’ll be back in a moment,” Sophie said. “I need to do something.”

  “What’s so important you have to do it right now?” Scree said. “It’s coming off your tea break. Not that you get one.” He cackled again, so hard he started wheezing.

  Sophie hurried out of the catacombs, splashing through the stream of water that was pouring over the floor. At the top of the stairs, at the entrance to the house, someone stepped out of the shadows.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Gail said, almost pleasantly.

  “Upstairs,” said Sophie, equally almost pleasantly. “You’ve obviously finished rehearsing.”

  She tried to walk past him, but he barred her way again.

  “We told you not to go upstairs,” he said. “What do you need up there?”

  Sophie sighed theatrically. The cold metal of the scissors pressed against her wrist.

  “There’s a huge wardrobe made out of bones up there, right?” she said. “Third floor. End of the west wing. I need to smash it up, so we can feed the sea creatures and stop them from tearing your heads off.”

  “You don’t have anything to smash it with,” said Gail.

  “I’m not going to drag an ax all the way up the stairs. I’ll use a sword. There are hundreds of them around the house.”

  “Ralf would push you over and stand on your head,” said Gail. “Maybe I’ll do the same.”

  “But you won’t, will you?” she said. Gail frowned, which made him look more sideways than ever. It’s not that there was anything wrong with his back, Sophie realized, only that he slouched, like he was trying to make himself small. “You’re not as cruel as Ralf. And you’re a little bit scared of him.”

  “That’s not true,” Gail said. “Why would I be?”

  “Because he’s nasty,” she said. “And you’re not. Well, not as much.”

  “I’m every bit as bad as Ralf is,” said Gail. “You’re just too stupid to see it.”

  “If you say so. But right now there are creatures outside waiting to be fed, and if you don’t let me get to this wardrobe they’ll come through the windows and suck you and Ralf into the sea. So do you mind?” She smiled at him.

  Gail’s eyes narrowed and he let her pass. Heart pounding, she climbed the stairs with the curled oyster banisters and ascended to the clock room.

  After a few minutes she could hear floorboards creaking behind her, and the occasional scrape of shoes. She sped up, turning right down the corridor of portraits, and so did her pursuer, until she finally stopped and turned.

  Gail pulled back into the shadows, but he was too slow, and she hauled him out by the collar.

  “Why are you stalking me?”

  “You’re going the wrong way,” he accused, jerking out of her grasp. “I was checking you didn’t get lost, and you already have. It looks like you’re not going to the wardrobe at all. Why would that be?”

  “Get lost, you creep,” she said. “I don’t need you watching over me.”

  “Get lost,” he squeaked, his face pulling itself long and frightened.

  “Stop doing that!”

  He blinked, then smiled horribly.

  “You’re still going the wrong way. Off you go, before I do something that will really scare you.”

  After a moment of hesitation she started walking back the way she came. This time Gail didn’t follow her, but she knew he’d be watching, and soon he would go to the clock room to make sure she didn’t arrive a different way. She walked down the main staircase to the entrance hall, paused halfway down, and listened.

  Gail hadn’t come after her. She crept back up the stairs, checking at the top that Gail had moved on, and went left to Cartwright’s room.

  He was sitting on the bed, poring over old maps of the house. They were blurry and looked like they’d been chewed up.

  “These are useless,” he said as she came in. “I thought I might find a hidden room somewhere, but it’s impossible to tell. I think someone drew these with their eyes closed.”

  “Where’s Ralf?” she asked.

  “Standing around the corner. He’s been there for three hours. He might have the personality of
a psychotic toddler, but he’s certainly patient.”

  When she didn’t reply Cartwright looked at her properly. Sophie let the scissors drop from her sleeve into her hand. Confusion spread over his face, then panic. He let go of the papers.

  “Stay still, Cartwright,” she said calmly.

  She strode toward him. He stood so fast he knocked his chair over, but Sophie kept going until he was backed against the wall.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Run when I tell you to. Go as fast as you can, away from the clock room. Scream, that might help.”

  “I’m not screami—”

  “Do you want me to find your box?” she said.

  “Er . . . yes?”

  “All right,” she said, and she stabbed him in the arm with the scissors.

  Cartwright screamed, long and loud.

  “You’re insane,” he shrieked, clutching his arm, the scissors jutting from his jacket.

  “Go!” She pushed him, and Cartwright, in a state of shock, took off, fleeing down the hallway. She hid behind the door frame just as Gail came dashing past and careered straight into Ralf. They saw Cartwright, and the blood on his jacket, and the scissors hanging from his arm, and goggled. They were frozen as he ran around the corner. They looked at each other.

  “It can’t be,” said Gail, his fingers wriggling like he’d seen a bowl of ice cream.

  “The scissor-maker’s ghost!” cried Ralf.

  They gave a whoop of delight and took off after Cartwright, their coats flapping behind them. Sophie gasped with laughter for five seconds, then raced toward the clock room before she could change her mind. She heard Cartwright and the twins running around above her, the chaos as furniture fell over.

  “Here, ghosty-ghosty!” the twins called, laughing. “Give us our wishy-wishy!”

  At the entrance to the clock room, Sophie rattled the door handle, looking around desperately. There was a suit of armor by the window. She wrestled its sword out of its fist and used the hilt to smash the lock on the door, once, twice, three times, and already her arms were aching. The door budged slightly, but the lock didn’t give. The chase passed above her, and now it was coming down the stairs, about ten seconds away. She tried again. The door shook. She hit it one more time, feeling her shoulder crack with the effort, and then the door was open, the lock in bits on the floor.

  She dodged into the cavernous, dark room and slammed the door behind her, wedging it shut with the sword. Sophie stood there, her back against the door, and breathed. She could feel things moving around her, the air thick with low trembling and ticking.

  She was on a thin bridge. There was a huge void right beneath her, and catching on a thin sliver of light from the door, a sea of flashing cogs and wheels and levers. The inside of the clock room was full of sharp, brassy teeth like you’d find on a mechanical mincer.

  Just as she was wondering what to do next the lights turned on, and she saw Laurel waiting for her.

  Chapter 18

  The Clockwork Man

  Laurel was standing on the middle of the bridge, as straight as a curtain pole, watching her with his thin lips pressed together. The light above illuminated him and the grinding machinery below, but the rest of the room was swamped in darkness, making it dizzyingly huge and unknowable. Just as Sophie thought Laurel must be frozen, he blinked with a little clicking sound.

  She moved forward, feeling the bridge sway beneath her, and without breaking Laurel’s gaze she felt around with her hands. There were no railings on either side of the bridge, nothing to stop her from falling off the edge. She took a step forward, very slowly so as not to shake herself into the void. The bridge was about forty meters long and suspended by metallic ropes, ending on a large, junk-filled balcony on the other side of the room. Above the balcony was the greenish copper feeding bell, twice her height and as friendly looking as a beehive. Below her were the countless mechanisms of the monstrously huge clock. Cogs turned, pulleys glided up and down, and huge levers pumped and wheezed.

  Laurel was holding the end of a piece of string, which disappeared through a gap in the ceiling. There was a piece of paper sticking out of his top pocket. The way he was poised, arms tensed, Sophie knew that he was there to stop people from getting across.

  She edged closer, holding her arms out for balance, going farther and farther until she was right in front of him. She watched his face and searched for tics and twitches. Not one thing moved; not even his nostrils flared. His old-fashioned clothes stirred in the breeze from the clockwork, but there wasn’t so much as a shudder from his raised hand. She reached out and touched his arm.

  He was made of metal, a pale, cool sort that made him look alive. But his body was all wrong. It was too tall, its features too wide, its clothes cut in exaggerated flares and angles. She plucked the piece of paper from his breast pocket and opened it.

  Laurel’s Patent Automatic Light:

  Perfect for hotel lobbies and grand houses!

  Wonderful for scaring unwanted intruders!

  Impress your guests with a piece of magic!

  ~Made to order in your own likeness~

  As soon as someone opened the door, Sophie realized, it triggered the clockwork man to pull the light switch. The surprise of seeing the dead Laurel could send anyone tumbling to their death if they weren’t expecting him. He—it—was clean and almost glowing, like it had recently been polished. Sophie had the distinct feeling that it had been placed there just for her.

  She ducked under Laurel’s arm, careful not to touch his uncannily cool body. His rigid arms looked tense and full of unused movement. Although his back was turned to her, she felt like Laurel was watching her with his huge, mechanical eyes. Suddenly, something swung below her with a hissing noise, and she looked down to see a pendulum the size of Manic whizzing through the void. Its passing rocked the bridge like a hammock. She took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on the distant balcony.

  It was piled high with more of Laurel’s contraptions, each with a small brass plate bolted to its side. Among the jumble were things that distantly looked like brass dogs, small ovens, and even a guillotine, all piled up like flotsam against the wall. Visible through a narrow passage in the junk was a door that went back into the house.

  As her eyes searched the chaos her hair lifted from her neck, fluttering in the unnatural breeze. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she was unnerved. She guessed she had ten minutes at most before the twins realized what she’d done and came running. She had to find the Monster Box before they followed her.

  But there must have been thousands of boxes around the house in all shapes and sizes. Was the Monster Box black or blue or red? Large or small? Why hadn’t she asked Cartwright what the box looked like? Come to think of it, he might not know either, which is probably why he’d completely failed to find it. He was so useless he probably hadn’t even wondered.

  She walked forward, knees bent awkwardly to keep her balance. Her stomach felt like it was falling out of her body with each step. Maybe she was imagining it, but the rocking seemed to be getting worse. Carefully, she looked over the side of the bridge.

  The pendulum was swinging higher and higher. The last feeding was about five hours ago, which meant the next one was very soon. She could always tell when it was due, even if she’d lost track of the time, because the trembling of the house grew and grew before the bell rang.

  She started forward again, knowing that when the bell struck she would be in terrible danger. Her foot immediately caught on something and she fell over. Her hands automatically reached for the sides of the bridge as her chin hit the wood.

  There was a click, and she heard Laurel jerk his arm with a great grinding noise. The light turned off. Sophie clung to the bridge and fumbled around in the utter darkness, trying to work out what she’d tripped on,
and came up against a loose plank. She hammered it down with her fist, silently praying to herself, and the light clicked back. There was a wire beneath the plank running all the way back to the clockwork man, and the decking had been loosened to make it easier to fall over. Sweeping the surface of the bridge with her eyes, she crawled toward the balcony. In front of her more planks were torn up, their edges raised to catch people, and under each one was a crudely made wire running beneath the bridge to the light switch. This must be why the twins had tampered with so many of their father’s machines, to pull out all the useful bits. She thought of all the missing arms from things she saw in the Room of Remains and tried not to imagine what they could have been made into.

  Whomp.

  Sophie looked up to see a flat brass pendulum, bigger than the one below, cut through the air above her like a knife. She fell flat on the bridge, trying to make herself as thin as a piece of paper as it hissed toward her. The cold pendulum grazed her back, then rocketed back into darkness. She scrambled forward, clutching the bridge and sweating.

  Now she couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t scared, because every fiber of her body was screaming at her to get out, and her chest ached with something that she realized was complete and utter terror. Box or no box, she was sitting inside a giant clock as the bell was about to strike. When it rang the vibrations would be so strong that she’d be thrown down and crushed. Scree wouldn’t know what had happened to her until he found her white, splintered bones.

  Whomp.

  Another pendulum fell from the sky. It skimmed the surface of the bridge inches from the end of Sophie’s nose, just as the first pendulum returned behind her. She was trapped between them both.

  Whomp. Whomp.

  Another swung down from the ceiling in front of her. And another. And another. Four of them in a row, released from some mechanism high above. They were swinging in time, causing the bridge to rattle like a badly tuned car. The hammer that was going to strike the bell clicked higher and higher, the sound of a roller coaster before a drop. Sophie felt the same pang of fear that she had on the tidal path, with the sea closing behind her. Her only option was to carry on.