by Mike Mannion
Bill walked much more quickly now, he knew the book was in the library and wanted to get there without wasting any more time. He passed a stuffed owl, a mahogany statue of a veiled lady and was almost at an archway that led into the Great Hall, when he heard voices. They came from where he'd been, behind him and around the bend in the passage. He guessed it was the two blood soaked creatures who’d been playing snooker. Bill began to panic. He was about to be caught by a couple of evil pagans, who’d take turns feasting on his blood and converting his mind. The voices became louder and he knew it was only moments until the creatures turned the corner and saw him.
He moved forward and through archway – Bill knew he’d have to cross the Great Hall to get to the library – but his eyes widened with shock and he had to suppress a yelp of anguish. He could see that the Great Hall was crawling with bikers!
His panicked brain took in the whole scene in an instant. In the centre of the room he saw Arthur’s brothers, Jimmy and Davy, with an older biker, working on a black and chrome Norton – the wheel had been taken off and they were doing something with the engine. A number of a leather chairs had been pulled up around the massive stone fireplace and each one contained a sleeping biker. Stretched out languidly on a settle chair was a tall figure in black drainpipes and purple velvet jacket – Lord Percy Valentine. A girl in purple and yellow was curled up asleep on a chair by his feet. A large beast of a dog with black matted fur was sprawled on the hearth. Bill realised it was the same beast that had chased him and Arthur through the wood. One of its massive paws was draped over a thin girl in a white nightdress. This girl seemed oblivious to danger and was actually snuggled up to the beast like it was a cuddly toy. It was Arthur’s sister Rosie!
He stepped back into the corridor and looked around for somewhere to hide – the only place he could find was a suit of armour standing against the panelled wall adjacent to the archway. He stepped sideways and tried to get behind it, knowing it was a terrible place to hide as it didn’t conceal him at all. The voices from down the passageway were grew louder and he knew the boys were about to turn the corner and find him. What terrible things would they and the others in the hall do to him?
Suddenly, his fevered mind remembered something important. A couple of months ago, one day when he was studying with Miss Spital, he’d been rooting through some old books and found a large folder full of meticulously drafted plans to Brimstone Manor, dated from a couple of hundred years ago. He’d studied them carefully, trying to work out places he’d not seen. As he visualised one of the diagrams he clearly remembered a couple of faint dotted lines going off at right angles where the West Passage joined the Great Hall. This was where he was now! He guessed that dotted lines could mean only one thing. He began a close examination each of the nearby panels, trying to find some sort of hidden door. The voices were now very close and he knew he only had a couple of seconds.
He pushed on a wooden inlay and it turned slightly, so he pushed it again and heard a click. A portion of the wall, about five feet high and very narrow opened inwards. He’d found the secret passageway!
Bill rushed inside, finding it musty, dark and very claustrophobic. A spider’s web brushed against his face. He carefully pushed the door back into place, trying to make no sound. He could hear the biker’s voices very clearly, just inches away on the other side of the panel. He waited, not moving or daring to breathe, as footsteps passed and faded.
Bill had escaped by quickest piece of thinking and greatest streak of luck he’d ever known. He doubted his good fortune was last much longer. He blinked to get falling dust out of his eyes and realised he was in total darkness. Then he remembered the torch in his pocket so fumbled for it, hoping it wouldn’t fall on the floor, and switched it on. The walls were black wood and roughly made, heavy with dust and cobwebs. The passage led away into darkness so set off following it, glad at least to have escaped the bikers. He panicked when he heard the squeak of a mouse as it scampered unseen past his feet.
A minute later he found his way blocked by a wooden door. It creaked eerily as Bill pushed it open. Beyond was a small hidden room, which he examined closely. The ceiling was low and crossed with beams and there were no windows. The walls were roughly plastered and pale ochre in colour. There was a large black crucifix hanging to his right. The only furniture was an old wooden chair, an oil lamp set on a tall wooden table and a bookcase filled with many leather-bound books. Bill went over to the bookcase to have a closer look.
He pulled out one of the books at random – a fairly small, slim volume – and opened it. It contained a lithographic image that Bill found quite disturbing, depicting some poor soul strapped to a heavy chair, with a thick metal ring around their head and a row of long spikes pressed against their bleeding chest. He flicked over the page and saw a pair of what looked like black iron pliers pulling out a pointed tooth from a mouth forced open by a metal trap. Bill winced at the repulsive nature of the image and closed the book. He looked at the spine and read:
On thee Nayture and Methods of Extracting Most Holy Confessions from thy Cursed Pagan Creetures.
Bill shuddered as he put the book back and picked up another volume. This one was called:
Extinction of Life-force and the Storage of Residual Ceare.
He put it back without opening it, realising what Brimstone Manor was all about – the torture and murder of Pagans. He sat down slowly on the chair and put his head in his hands. A terrible thought was racing through his mind. It seemed like such an anathema to what he held to be right and proper but did his past self, the self he had no recollection of, know all about this? Was he somehow involved? Could he have even helped out? His memories were still a mystery so he had no idea what sort of person he was. If he was Beryl’s son and had lived at Brimstone Manor his whole life, then he must have known... He remembered the people he’d seen with haloed heads and yellow eyes, being taken away somewhere by Beryl and her friends. Contemplating these dark possibilities made him feel very uncomfortable.
Bill decided to leave this horrible little room as quickly as possible. He searched with his torch until he found another door on the opposite wall. He grabbed the handle and turned it slowly. Pushing on the door he found it was very heavy but with a bit of an effort it began to swing slowly open. There was a loud creaking sound and the room was flooded with what seemed like dazzling bright light but was in fact only moderate sunlight.
He stepped through, checking no one was around, into Brimstone Manor’s library. This was a room he was very familiar with – having studied here many times with Miss Spital – but he never knew one of the bookcases was a doorway into a secret room. He pushed the bookcase back and it locked with a soft click and was sealed – he found he couldn’t open it. He looked around the library, with its old table, brass lamps and wilting aspidistra, gazed at the familiar leather chairs and Indian rug on the dark floor, and realised Brimstone Manor was more mausoleum than family home.
He went to the mantelpiece and pulled a key from a pot. This was the key to the writing bureau in the corner where William Whitebeam’s journal was kept – Beryl had often interrupted his studies with Miss Spital by retrieved the journal and insisting he study its pages. Taking it out of the bureau, he opened it and flicked through a few pages. It was full of complex diagrams and obscure scientific writing so cryptic he couldn’t begin to understand what it all meant. If this book did contain the secret of curing the Arddhu curse then its mysteries were locked away in a language way beyond his comprehension. Why had Beryl shown it to him so many times? Why had he taken such a big risk in coming here to acquire such a nonsensical book?
He tucked it under his arm and left the library, making his way down a passage that led to the hallway. He stopped halfway along and peered through the leaded windows, conscious of being visible to anyone outside. There was the line of black and chrome motorbikes he’d seen when he came in and beyond that the tangle of Bogmire Wood with the lane he’d walk down cutting a p
ath through a clearing. He looked left and right until he was sure there was nobody outside – he didn’t want to leave the house and run straight into someone.
He continued through an archway that led into the hallway. There was a heavy staircase at the far side and hung around the walls were portraits in ornate frames of stern looking men and woman in old fashioned clothes.
Bill was about to make a dash for the front door, but suddenly remembered why he, Arthur and Ophelia had come to Underwood in the first place – to rescue Professor Jareth. How could he forget about that! She said in her note she was being taken to Brimstone Manor and he knew exactly where she was. He recalled an event from a couple of months ago, when he'd been woken up in the middle of the night by screams drifting through the night air... He remembered getting out of bed, lighting a candle, and wandering off to find the source of the sound. He’d gone downstairs, with the screams getting louder by the minute, until he found himself here in the hallway. The screams came from somewhere in the subterranean depths of the house. He'd approached the cellar door and had even been brave enough to try the handle, but found it locked...
He gazed at the cellar door now, a black square in the shadowy archway under the stairs, and felt his heart start to pound. He thought again of the book he’d flicked through in the secret room, with its diagrams of tortuous contraptions, and knew why he’d heard such pained screaming. He was sure Professor Jareth was down there somewhere – how could he possibly leave her in the jaws of some terrible device? She’d been kind, helping Ophelia get Vita Dantis, and seemed to know an awful lot about combating the Curse of Og. He wondered if she could even help him understand William Whitebeam’s journal.
Bill crossed the hallway and approached the cellar door. He pulled back a bolt that clanged noisily and tried the handle. It was locked. Then he noticed a long brass key hanging on a hook in the darkest recess under the stairs. He tried it in the lock and it turned with a click. He pushed on the handle. The door opened...
Bill looked into the darkness and listened for anything that sounded like a distant scream or moan, but there was only silence. He took a deep breath and stepped through the door into a small room. He could just about see a flight of stairs leading down into total inky blackness on the far side. He groped around for a light switch but couldn’t find one, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out the torch. As he waved it around the beam cast eerie shadows on the brick walls.
Bill put the journal on the floor and approached the stairs, feeling cold air waft out of the darkness. He was very reluctant to go down into what looked like a black pit, but took a deep breath and stepped down onto the first step.
He kept going, taking one careful step at a time. Eventually he came out into a cold cellar. The torch didn’t show much of anything but he managed to pick out a line of arched columns and a few wooden chests. He had no idea how large it was because he could only see a few feet ahead. There were gas lights on the walls but he decided not to try and light them.
Then Bill heard a strange voice, disembodied, floating in the darkness.
“Leave us...” it moaned.
The voice was soft and rather quiet but made his flesh creep. He felt an overwhelming urge to turn and run back up the stairs but forced himself to stay where he was.
“Leave us...” it moaned again.
He shone the torch and gazed intently to where he thought the sound was coming from and saw the faint glow of a tiny spot of light, puncturing the all-pervasive darkness. Bill shuffled towards the light, hoping the voice belonged to Professor Nox – but it didn’t sound like her.
“Hello,” he said tentatively.
“Please! No more...”
Bill kept moving forward and the light grew stronger. An object appeared out of the darkness, eerily lit by the torch beam. It was a wooden table and on it was a pair of pliers covered in dried blood. Next to the pliers were a number of pointed teeth, also matted with dried blood. Bill gazed at the teeth with fascination and horror.
“I can't do it again...”
The voice was so close it made Bill jump. He lifted the torch and saw something that made him gasp. It was a young woman – her nightdress was spotted with black stains and her arms were outstretched and tied to a large crucifix. The halo of light around her head was dim and broken.
“Lilith!” exclaimed Bill, rushing forward. “What have they done to you?”
“No more,” moaned Lilith.
He pointed the torch up at her face and could see it was swollen and covered in dark bruises. The horns on her head were only faintly visible and her skin was white and streaked with blood. Bill hesitated. She was in the grip of Og but surely she was much too ill to think of trying to curse anyone. And how could she possibly bite with a mouth so damaged...
“Let me get you down from there.”
As Bill fumbled with the ropes he thought of the Vita Dantis back at Arthur’s house and was annoyed with himself for not bringing it with him. It was a long way back and he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to carry Lilith. Eventually he managed to untie her and lift her down. Her body felt cold and hard. She sat on the floor for a while, her legs tucked up against her chest, touching her mouth and sobbing.
“My beautiful teeth... they took out my teeth,” mumbled Lilith.
“I'm going to get you out of here.”
“Thank you. I thought I was going to rot down here.”
“You’re free now.”
“I want to go home. I want mum and dad.”
“We'll leave soon, but I need to find Professor Jareth. Do you know where she is?”
“In there,” she said, pointing a pale trembling hand.
Bill shone the torch and peered through the gloom. He picked out a metal construction that looked like a pillar box. He moved forward to get a closer look. Its surface was flat, featureless and felt icy cold to the touch. He noticed a horizontal slot like a letter box at eye level. Bill craned forward to take look into the slot and got a bit of a shock. Staring back at him was a pair of yellow eyes.
“Who’s in there?” said Bill.
The eyes darted around for a moment but then fixed themselves on Bill.
“Who’s in there?” he said again. “Professor Jareth?”
“Pull the lever,” said a weak voice.
“What?”
The voice suddenly became more forthright. “Don’t just stand there lad, open this blasted thing up.”
Bill search the box and noticed it was hinged on the left and had a stubby lever on the right. He pulled the lever and heard a click. The door began to open. Inside he noticed the lid was lined with dozens of sharp metal spikes. They’d penetrated poor Professor Jareth. She was covered with regularly spaced wounds full of dried black blood and looked older and more decrepit than ever. Bill grabbed her as she collapsed into his arms, then carried her over to where Lilith was sitting.
“They had someone else,” she said, “an older man.”
“That was the Bishop of Middenmere,” said Lilith. “The old man died and they put the ceare in a pot.”
The Professor's thin wrinkled face became full of anger. “Wait until I get hold of that woman, she’s pure evil. She’ll regret what she did to me. I knew the Apostles did unspeakable things, but I never imagined... they seem to take a great deal of sick pleasure from it.”
“They kept asking me about Lord Percy,” said Lilith, “kept saying I was going to help destroy him. But he's my love.”
“They asked me about Lord Percy too,” growled Professor Jareth. “I wanted to stop that man as much as they did. I told them the address – Number Four, Courtyard Cottages – I confess I intended to destroy him myself. But they sent people there and couldn’t find him, so thought I was lying. That’s when it got really nasty and they put me in that box.”
“I wouldn’t tell,” said Lilith, with a toothless blood soaked grin. She seemed to be much stronger and was coping with her ordeal with a strange sort of cheerfulness, whi
ch Bill found very disconcerting.
“He’s here,” he said, “at the Manor, with a gang of cursed bikers.”
“I sensed him,” said Lilith, “and tried to reach out, but he ignored me. He has a girl companion, just some young kid. But she’s not going to have him!”
“Foolish girl,” snapped the Professor. “You are still gripped with Amor Lepore. You must shake it off.” She turned to Bill. “Have you brought Vita Dantis? I am in desperate need.”
Bill once again felt foolish for not bringing it with him. “Sorry, not here. But I have your box of phials and hex box back at the village. It's not far. Come on, I’ll take you both there now.”
“I can hear the voice Bill,” said Lilith, giving him a hungry look. “It says it wants you.”
“Be quiet girl. You must fight it,” said the Professor with furrowed brow. “You will be fine until we get to Underwood.”
They made their way very slowly out of the cellar, with both woman hanging onto Bill. When they got to the stairs, Bill helped the Professor climb up, pointing the torch at each step. She was shaking badly and had great difficulty moving her legs. Eventually she got to the top and was panting for breath and in a cold sweat. Bill went back down and helped Lilith up, who never spoke but also never took her eyes off Bill.
When they were finally done, Bill picked up the journal. “Let me check if the coast is clear,” he said, opening the cellar door very slowly. Outside the hall was quiet and empty, with beams of light streaming in through the front windows.
“Looks like we’re okay,” he said turning around and getting a terrible shock. Lilith and the Professor were side by side, both standing up straight and looking suddenly much stronger. They both looked at Bill with a sort of desperate yearning.