by Ian Richards
‘Hello, kid. Welcome home.’
Though Tony’s cheek burned, it was nothing compared to the trembling nausea that afflicted the rest of him. I’m going to die, he thought. They’re going to kill me. He could barely stand upright. When Kepler released him he fell to the floor in a heap.
‘Right about now,’ Mr. Krook sneered, ‘you’re probably counting on your girlfriend to show up and rescue you, aren’t you? Tricksy thing, she is. Very wily.’
‘Unfortunately,’ Kepler continued, ‘that’s where the Rag-and-Bone men come in. You see Lord Firefox is in need of a bride—’
No …
‘—and he just so happens to have selected her for the honor.’
… Vanessa …
Tony forced himself to his feet and tried to run. He stumbled between two bookcases, spun off to the side, and ended up caught in a dead-end. Behind him stood a wall of solid brick. On either side, two towering bookcases.
And in front of him, approaching slowly, calmly, came Mr. Kepler.
‘We could have forgiven your interference at the auction,’ he hissed. ‘Perhaps.’ His hand shot out like a cobra, seizing Tony by the throat. ‘But those magical antiques you stole … they would have been very useful to us … and in taking them you made it personal … you made Mr. Krook and me angry.’
Tony could have started sobbing such was his despair. It had all gone wrong. He should have listened to Vanessa, they should have kept running, they should never have come back here.
‘We’re going to kill you now, child,’ Kepler said. His fingers contracted around Tony’s throat. It became harder to breathe. ‘But,’ he said, ‘before we do, allow me let you in on a little secret.’ He leant in closer. Tony could taste the foulness of his breath: the smell of decay and rot and blackened teeth.
‘Your—dad—says—hi!’
At that moment a brilliant flash of lightning lit up the insides of the shop. As the thunder boomed, Tony aimed the hardest kick he could manage straight at the Kepler’s shin. It connected perfectly—powerful enough to make the old man cry out in pain and loosen his grip. In an instant, Tony was free. Without hesitation he clambered to the top of one of the bookshelves and monkey-hopped down on the other side. Even in the darkness he still knew Martell’s Antiques inside and out. He barreled down an alleyway of second-hand furniture before sliding over the lid of an enormous grand piano and coming to rest amongst a collection of suits of armor. The sword was in his hands in seconds. It was a large, medieval blade, whipped from the nearest suit of armor and as familiar to him as an old friend. He thought of all the afternoons he had spent polishing swords just like this while listening to Martell’s stories about the Knights of the Round Table and King Arthur and Camelot.
A metallic slicing sound pierced the air—the noise of a knife being drawn from its sheath.
The dwarf. Where was he?
Where had he disappeared to?
Turning suddenly, he caught sight of his own reflection in a darkened mirror—a momentary glimpse that startled him such was its unexpectedness. From within the glass his reflection peered back, a dark doppelganger trapped in a thin prison of antiques and boxes. For a dreadful moment reality lost its footing. The real world and the mirror world became interchangeable—two sides of the same quickly spinning coin.
Vanessa.
Martell.
Dad—?!
He felt dizzy. Frightened.
‘You won’t win, you know’ he shouted, navigating the dimness of the room as best he could. ‘If you think I’m going to let you take her without a fight you’ve got another thing coming.’
Where was the dwarf? He didn’t like that he couldn’t see him. Didn’t like that he could be anywhere.
Kepler sneered. ‘Do you worst, boy.’
‘Oh, I intend to,’ Tony snapped back. ‘Don’t worry about that.’
He measured the weight of the sword in his hands. Tightened his grip.
His enemy was in his sights now. Kepler stood in front of him in the centre of the shop, the space cleared around him making it look as if even the antiques wanted to stay away. Tony cast a sideways glance at the door. It was perhaps fifteen paces away—maybe less. Kepler studied his face, trying to second-guess his intentions. Attack or run? Fight or flight?
‘I’ll get you for this,’ Tony said.
Mr. Kepler laughed. ‘Ah, I see the resemblance now. You really do have your father’s eyes.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Oh dear. Touched a nerve, have I?’
‘You don’t know my father.’
His voice was shaking. The sword was becoming heavier by the second. The muscles in his arms burned.
‘I do,’ Mr. Kepler smiled. ‘We used to be firm friends with good old Thomas Lott, didn’t we, Mr. Krook?’
Silence. Total silence. Not even a creak of floorboard.
‘You’re lying.’
‘Why should I lie? What could I possibly have to gain by lying to you in these, your final moments?’
No. It was a trick. He was trying to distract him while Mr. Krook got himself into position.
‘Let me guess,’ Kepler continued, ‘the Black Magician told you that your father ran out on you? That he disappeared into thin air? Lies. All lies designed to stop you from following the same path he did. Martell distrusted magic. Your father embraced it. It didn’t ruin him. It made him. He’s now more powerful than you could ever imagine. How else would he have been able to orchestrate all of this?’
‘No … No, I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s such a pity he’s doing so badly at the moment. The poor man, he really isn’t himself.’
‘Shut up.’
He couldn’t hold the sword any longer. He tossed it down, where it clattered loudly against the floorboards. He looked again towards the door. Fifteen paces. Time to go.
‘This isn’t over,’ he called out.
‘Yes,’ Mr. Kepler said. ‘I’m afraid it is. Mr. Krook?’
Tony didn’t even see the dwarf coming. He stepped out of the darkness like a living shadow—lithe and graceful and at one with the night.
Then, in one fluid movement, he drew back his knife and plunged the blade deep into Tony’s heart.
29 - The Inferno
It took him a moment before he realized what had happened. Mr. Krook moved so quickly. He hadn’t even seen him coming, hadn’t heard a sound until the grotesque schlick of the blade slipping between his ribs. Staggering backwards he became aware of a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. Oh God, it hurt. It hurt so much. He touched his fingers to the point where the pain was most intense and they came away moist and sticky. He realized that he was struggling for breath. He could feel his knees buckling.
Mr. Krook stood in front of him, assessing his kill with a cruel curiosity. The knife in his hand remained still. Blood coated the blade.
‘I’ll give you credit for making a chase of it,’ he said, his voice barely audible beneath the ringing in Tony’s ears. ‘But you never stood a chance, really. We knew you’d come back here. And falling for a glamour? Tch, tch, tch. Very sloppy.’
Tony’s head spun. By now blood was dripping from him in penny-sized drops, a steady rain of red that sounded out loudly against the floorboards. Already the space around his feet had come to resemble a field of flowering poppies. Soon it would become a butcher’s shop floor. Then finally, inevitably, a charnel house. He tried to breathe but each time his lungs sucked in air the pain stabbed him again. The blood. The pitter patter of dripping blood. It had been only seconds—and yet to have lost so much already. He pressed his hands against the wound in an attempt to staunch the flow but the cut was too deep. The blood seeped through his fingers, soaking into his clothes.
He understood then.
He was dying. This was really happening.
‘Vanessa—’ His voice was barely a whisper. ‘Martell …’
The only reply was the slow, steady sound of approaching footsteps. As he drop
ped to his knees he looked up to see Kepler standing over him.
‘Don’t worry,’ he smiled. ‘You’re not going anywhere yet. It will take at least ten minutes for you to bleed out. Mr. Krook is very precise when it comes to his work. He knows just how to drag out a death for as long as possible.’ He leant in closer. Tony could smell the coppery taste of his breath. ‘There isn’t a surgeon in the land who can help you now, boy. You’re going to bleed to death right here on the floor of your beloved little shop and best of all, you’re going to do it slowly.’ Disdainfully he prodded a finger into Tony’s chest. It felt like lightning—a pain worse than any other. ‘Come, Mr. Krook’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘We’ve got a wedding to prepare for.’
Then, with the sound of laughter rattling off the walls, they were gone.
*
As soon as the door to The Gnarled Wand crashed in, Vanessa’s instincts told her to run. She sprinted up the staircase as Rag-and-Bone men piled into the shop, filling the night with shouts, groans, the thunder of advancing footsteps, the fury of the storm outside. There was no time to think. How had this happened? Where was Tony? Questions flashed through her mind but she couldn’t even contemplate answering them. Her heart raced, pumping the blood through her veins so forcefully she felt physically sick.
A glance back revealed some of the creatures chasing up the staircase after her.
After her.
They were coming after her.
But why? Why was this happening?
Ebenezer stood on the landing, shouting down towards the bottom half of the shop. ‘Trina! Trina!’ He had been upstairs when the door had smashed in, gone to check on Pushkin while his wife and Vanessa discussed the next stage of their plan. Now he found himself stuck at the top of the stairs, looking down at a scene of unbridled horror. The scurrying Vanessa, the pursuing Rag-and-Bone men. ‘Trina!’ His voice sounded shrill and desperate. He was shaking, too: trembling hopelessly. ‘Vanessa, hurry, they’ve almost—’
Too late. The first Rag-and-Bone man was upon her. A wet, corpse-like hand grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her towards him. She screamed but it was in vain. He wrapped his arms around her— the smell—lifted her into the air and began carrying her back down the stairs.
Ebenezer picked up a gas-lamp that cast fiery light across the walls. He squinted into the darkness.
‘Vanessa. Hang on, I’ll get help.’
But she didn’t need help. Oh no. This one was all hers.
Closing her eyes, she muttered something under her breath and worked her fingers into precise, intricate shapes.
Ice magic. Once used to entertain the local children back in Crete—make another polar bear, Miss Vanessa—make us a slide into the sea, oh, please do.
Now it was her best hope for getting out of here alive.
The temperature plummeted in an instant, a sub-zero blast of Arctic cold that immediately sent tendrils of ice spreading across the floor like silver ivy. In moments the stairs had transformed into blocks of solid ice. The Rag-and-Bone man holding her lost his footing and released his grip. He fell hard and fast, bones breaking as he tumbled down. At the bottom of the stairs his face connected with the ground in a final, sickening crack. When he next looked up at Vanessa his nose was a mushy pulp of cartilage and bone. But he would come again, she knew that. So would his companions. Even now they were barging past him and trying their best to climb the ice-slicked stairs.
Vanessa found herself positioned midway down the staircase, stranded in the middle of the ice. She had fallen hard when she had been dropped and spikes of pain stabbed at her wrist; a pulsing, angry pain that seemed to be getting worse by the second. A cautious glance at the injury revealed a lump of what could only be bone protruding from her skin.
A break.
A bad one.
‘Vanessa, hold on, I’ll try and reach you.’
Ebenezer started creeping down the stairs as cautiously as he could. Though Vanessa did her best to pull herself towards him the ice was too slippery.
‘Ebenezer, this spell only lasts for a few moments. The staircase is going to become wood again very quickly. Get out of here.’
He shook his head, still pale and shaking.
‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘Trina’s down there.’
Suddenly a great commotion broke out downstairs. The sound of shouts, groans and thuds rang through the building. Vanessa looked down to see Trina standing in the doorway that led through to the shop, yelling at the Rag-and-Bone men and pelting them with books she had snatched up from the shelves.
‘No!’ Vanessa shouted at her. ‘No, don’t! You have to get out of here. Run!’
‘Not a chance, sweetheart’ Trina shouted back. She launched a particularly hefty hardback that flew across the room like an overweight bird, pages fluttering. It caught one of the Rag-and-Bone men on the side of the head. The creature staggered back a few paces, moaning, but didn’t divert its attention from the staircase. Though none of the Rag-and-Bone men could climb more than a few of its sparkling steps before tumbling down again, often snapping an ankle or two in the process, their focus remained absolute. Even worse, Vanessa realized, not being able to reach her seemed to be working them into a frenzy. The moment the spell wore off they would come again, harder and faster than ever before.
Trina lobbed another book, a black hardback that missed its target and exploded against the wall in a shower of pages.
‘I’ll distract them,’ she shouted up at her. ‘You just make sure my Ebenezer is all right.’
There were tears in Vanessa’s eyes now. She couldn’t help herself. Why was nobody listening to her?
‘Get out of here,’ she screamed. ‘Both of you.’
But they remained, Ebenezer hovering at the top of the stairs with his lamp and his quivering bottom lip. Trina downstairs in the shop, tossing book after book with such force that she almost took one or two of the Rag-and-Bone men off their feet.
Suddenly one of the creatures turned and swatted at her with a meaty fist. She flew back into a mirror that shattered and fell alongside her body, covering the floor in fragments of glass.
‘Trina!’ Ebenezer cried. He stood helplessly on the landing, looking down at the motionless body of his wife.
Vanessa rose uneasily to her feet. The smack of Trina skull hitting the mirror still reverberated in her mind. It complemented the sound of cracking ice perfectly. She didn’t have long now.
Think, she told herself. Think.
But it was too late. The ice was already beginning to melt—patches of brown spread across the staircase, a tobacco tumor corrupting a set of shining silver lungs.
‘Vanessa,’ Ebenezer said. ‘Get ready to run.’
It was at that moment, as the last of the ice disappeared and the Rag-and-Bone men began galloping up the staircase, howling with delight, that Vanessa realized what he intended to do. She barely had time to press herself against the hard wood of the stairs when the gas-lamp flew over her head and caught the nearest Rag-and-Bone man smack in the face.
There was a whooshing sound and a sudden flare of heat.
The Gnarled Wand began to burn.
*
Tony was creeping across the floor on his hands and knees, struggling for breath, when the explosion rocked the shop across the street. It sent several of the smaller antiques plummeting from their shelves, a suicide pact of china collectibles that shattered against the floor. He looked in horror at the still-shaking walls but they offered him no answers—only dozens of dark possibilities, all of which chilled him to the bone.
Vanessa.
Struggling to his feet, he stumbled towards the exit, bouncing blindly off anything that got in his way. Out in the street the rain greeted him sadly, almost in commiseration. Cool, hammering rain that soaked him to the skin in seconds. He stumbled onwards, each step seeming to rip his chest open a little further. It felt as if the knife was still in there, twisting its blade deeper with every movement he made. The Gnarled
Wand looked much the same as usual apart from the windows. They were filled with thick, black smoke. Beyond this blackness, distant flames flickered in and out of view. The fire had yet to reach the bookcases. When it did, Tony knew what would happen.
Whoosh.
He pulled open the front door and at once a blast of hot air sent him reeling backwards. Flat on his back on the cold, damp pavement—rain arrowing down from the heavens—a snake of black smoke twisting its way into the sky. Suddenly the pain in his chest became too much for him. He couldn’t get up. Couldn’t think. He touched his palm to his chest and it came away crimson. Slick and sticky and unnervingly warm. The dwarf had done a number on him all right. What was it he had said, ten minutes? And how long had it been now, six, seven? He closed his eyes to rest, just for a moment, just to get his breath back, just to stop everything from hurting as much as it did …
Accompanied by the crackle of fire and the smell of smoke the world faded to a delicious, all-encompassing black.
He knew nothing else.
*
‘Damn it!’ Vanessa shouted as she slammed the bedroom door and looked around for a way out. The options were threadbare. There were two windows, one overlooking Dover Street and one overlooking the alley that ran alongside the shop. Neither seemed a particularly inviting proposition. They were three stories up. Jumping would lead to broken bones, no doubt about it. Ankles, feet. If they were unlucky, maybe even pelvises, backs, necks.
Ebenezer had slipped into a state of hysteria. He kept mumbling to himself, grizzling, crying. There was no artifice about the man—no attempt to be brave. He had seen his wife struck down and it had devastated him.
‘I didn’t mean it,’ he sobbed. ‘I was so angry. I don’t know what I was thinking.’
Vanessa stood beside him, cradling her shattered wrist and keeping an anxious eye on the door. The exploding gas-lamp had sent the Rag-and-Bone men reeling; the burning oil plastered to their skin had turned them into real-life human torches as they staggered away in pain. But she knew that they wouldn’t be gone for long. Not them. She expected the door to fly of its hinges and a sea of fiery bodies to pour in at any moment.