by Ian Richards
The crowd laughed, but there had been nothing in the auctioneer’s delivery to suggest that this was a joke.
‘Before we begin with our first lot, an antique knife presented for sale by Sir Roderick Black—’ —Sir Roderick stood up, bowed to the audience, then sat down again —‘I should like to make a couple of announcements. Firstly, as I say every year, bids are to be made in the form of money only. We will not accept souls, bargains, or unwanted children. And I’m looking at you here, Mr. Fargus.’
More laughter. A weasel-faced man a few rows in front of them raised his hands guiltily.
‘Secondly,’ the auctioneer continued, ‘the rules of the house are binding. Agreements made tonight cannot be reneged upon. Anybody found guilty of doing so will be severely punished.’
This time there was no laughter. Tony noticed several people shift awkwardly in their seats.
‘Thirdly,’ the auctioneer said, ‘and most importantly—’
But he got no further. Suddenly a knife winged its way through the air, spinning handle over tip towards him. It planted itself in his chest with a deep thud, and before Tony had time to realize what had happened the auctioneer was dead. He fell with a crash, then lay motionless on the stage, the blade protruding from his chest like a miniature Excalibur.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.’
The voice came from the back of the room. Tony turned to see two men standing in the doorway. The first was tall and dark. He wore a long, black coat and had wet grey hair that fell to his shoulders.
The second was a dwarf.
‘My name is Mr. Kepler,’ the tall man said. ‘This is my associate, Mr. Krook. And in case you hadn’t realized yet, this is a robbery. We want wallets, watches, purses and jewelry. Hand them over now and we’ll spare your lives. Cause us trouble and we won’t. Is there anything I’ve forgotten, Mr. Krook?’
‘Antiques,’ the dwarf said.
‘Antiques,’ Kepler smiled, ‘yes, of course. We’ll be taking those, too. All of them. Get to it.’
8 - Bandits
To Tony’s surprise a roar of laughter filled the room. It wasn’t the reaction he expected. There was a dead man on the stage, after all—a human being who moments ago been a living, breathing thing, just as alive as he was. Why was nobody concerned by this? Why was nobody upset? As a stream of men in black jackets began pouring into the room—some sort of security force presumably, given their uniform appearance—he felt Vanessa’s hand snake into his.
‘Come with me,’ she whispered.
‘But Martell—’
‘Come on, idiot.’ She dragged him out of the hall as the last members of the security team hurried in. Each one, he noticed, brandished a wand. Almost at once the doors slammed shut behind them. Tony cried out in dismay. He was cut off from the hall now, a prisoner of an empty corridor. The sudden change in atmosphere was jarring. From bustle and chaos to echoing silence in a matter of seconds. He tried the door but it was locked tight.
‘I can’t get back in.’
‘Of course you can’t,’ Vanessa said. ‘The whole hall is in lockdown. Why do you think I pulled you out of there? They always seal the doors if there’s any trouble.’
‘But Martell is still in there. What if something happens to him?’
‘Don’t get angry with me, chimney sweep. I’ve just spared you the sight of seeing those idiot intruders torn asunder by some of the most dangerous criminals in the world. Honestly, who thinks of holding up a midnight auction? They must have a death-wish.’
Tony tried the door again. ‘But Martell is in there on his own. He’s an old man. What if he gets hurt?’
Vanessa laughed. ‘He won’t get hurt. Do you think a shabby man in a raincoat and a dwarf pose any threat to a room full of magicians and master criminals? And that’s not even taking into consideration the house security team. Most of them are as tough as they come.’
He had to concede that it did sound a little improbable.
But all the same, being cut off from Martell, not being able to see what was happening inside the hall. He couldn’t forget the awful sound the dwarf’s knife had made as it had plunged into the auctioneer’s chest. That thick, meaty schtick played again and again in his head.
It was no use. He had to get back inside.
The next time Vanessa spoke he was already on his way down the corridor.
‘Where are you going now?’ she shouted after him. ‘Chimney sweep. Come back.’
But it was no use.
Tony was gone.
*
As soon as the doors had slammed shut, trapping him amongst an audience of thieves, braggarts, occultists and thugs—none of whom were likely to take demands to hand over their belongings lightly—Martell had known that he was in trouble. He recognized Krook and Kepler from back in his Black Magician days. They were bad news. A couple of cold-blooded killers if he remembered rightly, and far more cunning than most gave them credit for. Back then they had been content to loiter in the shadows, rarely speaking to anyone but observing the comings and goings of the occult community with an almost predatory curiosity. Their paths had crossed tangentially. A nod of acknowledgement here. Shared goodbyes as they left whatever auction or lecture they had both been attending.
He remembered holding a conversation with them only once. This had been at a trade fair in Brighton, when the guest speaker had been one of the top experts on eighteenth century magic in the world. He had been talking with friends at the buffet afterwards when he had seen Krook and Kepler standing by themselves in the corner of the room, exchanging whispers and nods whilst repeatedly checking the time on their pocket-watches. He would have thought no more about them had he not looked up again a short while later to see that they had been joined by a pale, thin figure in a tatty suit. A very familiar figure.
Thomas Lott.
The conversation that had followed, if he could even call it that, had been sharp and brief. He had tried to lead Thomas away, only for Thomas to shrug him off and insist that he be allowed to finish his discussion.
‘Thomas, you’re out of your depth, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you back in London with Emily?’
‘Mrs. Wilkins is looking after her. Anyway, I’m here because I’m trying to help Emily. Did you know there might be a way to cure her? Mr. Kepler here was telling me all about it.’
‘But that’s nonsense.’
‘That’s just the start of it, Martell. Apparently there’s a place where you can travel between worlds. There are spells to make people like us as powerful as gods.’
‘Mr. Lott finds magic fascinating, Black Magician.’ Even now he remembered the way Kepler had looked at him. That cool, cruel smirk. ‘As do I. And as for Mr. Krook? Well, let us say that he likes magic, too. He’s very good at making people disappear …’
He remembered it all. The subtle threats. The sneering dominance. It was only a matter of months after this confrontation when his life had finally fallen to pieces. Emily had died, Thomas had packed his belongings into an old suitcase and taken off for Sunderland, still dizzy with talk of magic and enchantments and a host of things that had lost their appeal for Martell as soon as Emily had passed on. Perhaps it was this association that now worried him. He associated Krook and Kepler with terrible tragedies. And to see them here, all these years later, he couldn’t help but feel afraid. They had been the harbingers of death once before, and he believed that they could very well be so again.
Yet no-one else in the hall shared his trepidation. If anything, the mood amongst the other attendees was a mixture of mild annoyance and wry amusement. They weren’t afraid of these strangers—far from it. Their only concern was who would have the pleasure of finishing them off?
The security guards had the would-be thieves surrounded. The tips of their wands glowed with blue light.
‘Stand down, gentlemen.’ The command came from an old man in a dark coat and sunglasses. Russian Mafia, Martell guessed, judging from the ac
cent and the towering bodyguards flanking his sides.
Somewhat reluctantly, the security guards stepped aside. The Russian nodded in gratitude to them. ‘Tell me,’ he said, pointing a stubby finger at Kepler, ‘do you really think I’m going to hand over my money to you two clowns?’
More voices struck up in support from throughout the hall.
‘You tell them.’
‘Picked the wrong people to rip off, didn’t you?’
‘That’s right. They don’t know who they’re messing with.’
Throughout these spirited barbs Kepler remained eerily calm. Finally, when the shouting had reached a crescendo of insults and threats, he looked down at his companion, raised a single eyebrow, and said the two words that would haunt Martell for the rest of his life.
‘Mr. Krook?’
That was all it took. Suddenly the dwarf was scuttling down the aisle and reaching for something inside his jacket pocket. Another knife. There was a flash of silver and then he leapt through the air like a grotesque brown toad, his body crashing into the Russian in the sunglasses and sending him tumbling backwards. He struck the deathblow so quickly that most people missed it. All of a sudden there was a red blotch in the centre of the man’s chest, a widening corona that turned his shirt crimson in seconds. Without a pause the dwarf turned in the direction the nearest security guard—an ominous mountain of a man who stood taut and tense, his wand pointed nervously at his stunted foe. At once the dwarf was upon him, slashing wildly, riding on the chest of this tumbling giant as he crashed to the ground, scattering chairs and people in all directions.
The other security guards followed in quick succession. Those who managed to use their wands to fire off blasts found that their target had already hopped out of the way, knife twirling in hand.
In a matter of seconds the entire security staff had been wiped out. The hall was silent but for the drip-drip-drip from Mr. Krook’s knife.
‘Anyone else?’ Kepler asked. ‘I thought not. Now hand over your belongings before Mr. Krook really loses his temper.’
A reluctant rain of jewelry, watches, and wallets began to fall at Kepler’s feet. He smiled cruelly and motioned for Mr. Krook to collect them up. The dwarf did so, stuffing handfuls of riches into an ugly brown sack.
‘You won’t get away with this, you know’ somebody called out from the back of the hall. ‘I work for one of the most feared criminal organizations in the world.’
‘Do you now? Mr. Krook?’
A cricketer’s throw sent his knife whizzing across the hall, where it struck the speaker straight through the throat. He fell back into his seat, dead before he had even sat down. The dwarf ambled out amongst the crowd and retrieved the blade with a stiff yank.
‘Enough silliness,’ Kepler said. ‘I shall bid you adieu, ladies and gentlemen, and leave you in the capable yet bloody hands of my associate. He will finish gathering up your belongings while I get started with the real treasures. The antiques.’
As he marched towards the door, Martell prayed that Tony and Vanessa were as far away from the house as possible. He didn’t feel good about being robbed, but the thought of something happening to the children was much, much worse. Not again. He couldn’t lose a loved one to this blasted auction for a second time. He’d never forgive himself. He felt like a gambler who had bet everything on red only to see the wheel deliberately stopped on black.
This feeling only intensified when Kepler stopped walking and pressed a finger to his chin in thought.
‘Ah, yes. I knew there was something I was forgetting.’
He turned around and marched over to Martell. Sir Roderick made a halfhearted attempt to fight him off, but he was pushed aside with ease. Suddenly Kepler had his hands around Martell’s neck. They felt cold and damp, and looking up at the face looming over him Martell saw so much hatred he felt certain he was about to die. A great swell of sadness consumed him.
Tony. My lovely boy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should never have brought you here. It’s Thomas all over again. If only I had had the strength to stay away. What was I thinking? Why didn’t I just—
‘I could crush you, Black Magician. I could wring the life from your body right now.’ He released his grip. ‘But fortunately for you, Firefox wants you alive.’
Firefox?
Who was Firefox?
The room seemed to be spinning. He felt weak and pathetic, older than he had ever imagined.
Kepler smiled. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘didn’t I mention it earlier? It’s not just money and antiques that are being taken tonight, Martell. It’s you, too.’
9 - The Cyclone
‘I have to say,’ Vanessa murmured, ‘the security guards are certainly taking their time in there. I would have thought they would have dealt with those crooks by now.’
They were descending a darkened staircase into the lower floors of the house. Attempts to find a way into the main hall through conventional methods had failed. Every door they tried had been locked shut, sealed tight by either magical charm or conventional deadbolt. Trying to get in from underneath had been Tony’s idea. He had hoped for a secret passage or some sort of trapdoor—there must be dozens of them in a place like this, surely—but instead found himself in a chasm-like room piled high with antiques. He realized where they were straight away.
‘We’re backstage,’ he said. ‘Or rather under-stage. This is where the antiques are kept before they’re presented to the auction.’
Vanessa looked around in wonder. He was right. Antiques surrounded them. There was something overwhelming about seeing so much history, so much gothic splendor gathered together in one place. The still, silent air leant the room an eerie grandeur. Each antique embodied a dark little corner of human history, and yet when taken all together—when assembled as one enormous collection—it created an impression of looming menace. Upstairs in the backstage area, their grim power had been neutralized by fussing owners, excited crowds, and the busy-bee bustle of the impending auction. But here, in the doomy darkness of the holding area, each antique wearing its lot tag like an untightened noose, their aura was undeniable. Both Tony and Vanessa felt it—the creeping chill of centuries past. An emptiness that formed in the pit of the belly and sent shivers up the spine.
He saw Anastasia’s doll resting on the same table as an Ouija board, an old book, a human skull, and a rusty revolver. Next to it stood the bullet-ridden piano he had seen earlier and a stone statue carved into the shape of a demon. At the back of the room a crisscross metal door marked the entry to a large elevator, presumably the link between the storage space and the auction upstairs. It was big enough to take the piano, and Tony’s first instinct was to slide back the door and step inside. For the second time that night Vanessa grabbed him by the arm.
‘Wait a moment. I don’t like this. Where is everyone? Shouldn’t there be handymen down here?’
‘Handymen?’
‘Yes, you know. Those grubby little men in brown coats who carry the antiques onto the stage and then off again. There are usually dozens of them.’
‘They’ve gone. All of them.’ The voice came from behind them. They spun round to find a pale woman dressed in black sitting on the bonnet of an old car. She shook her head. ‘Everyone else ran for it. I’m the only one left.’
‘Miss Maidstone.’ Tony hurried to her side, astonished to find her here.
‘Hello Tony. Hello Vanessa. You two got out all right then. Lucky you.’
‘What’s happening?’ Vanessa asked. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘They ran off. I can’t really blame them either. We’ve got a direct line to the surface. We can hear everything going on up there.’ She pointed to an old-fashioned push-button speaker on the wall. ‘I had to turn it off. The screaming was too much for me.’
The color drained from Tony’s cheeks.
Martell.
‘As far as I can tell it’s a robbery,’ Miss Maidstone continued. ‘How the devil they managed to pull it off I’
ve no idea, but it’s only a matter of time before they come down here and make a start on these.’ She gestured sadly towards the antiques.
Tony was barely listening. His thoughts were concerned only with his uncle, who remained trapped up there at the mercy of these powerful, wretched men. A great energy seized him, a need to defend Martell, to stop the bandits, to restore order to the world. It felt like a fire—a desperate, burning desire to help—to do what was right.
‘We have to stop them.’
‘How, Tony? They’re killers.’
‘Miss Maidstone is right, chimney sweep. What can we do?’
‘Us? Nothing. But this?’ He picked up a jar from a nearby table. The lights inside swirled and seethed like mist.
Poltergeists.
‘This could do quite a bit if you ask me.’
*
So much for the lockdown. So much for the magical spell that made sure no-one could get in or out of the hall. The door opened for Kepler so easily the hinges could have been oiled moments before. He led Martell through, smirking. Mr. Krook remained behind, happy to keep an eye on the rest of the audience. A few of them were beginning to get antsy now that the collecting of wallets and watches was complete and the antiques would be next. With so many dubious characters in attendance, many of whom had vast amounts of money riding on tonight, there remained the possibility of more trouble.
From Mr. Krook’s grin, he looked as if he were counting on it.