The Phenomenals: A Game of Ghouls

by F. E. Higgins

  Jonah got up and fastened his Cachelot-tooth toggles. ‘We should away with ourselves. There’s too many Urgs around for comfort, like circling sharks.’

  Wenceslas led them back through the shop and Jonah marvelled at how the man kept track of all of his goods in the higgledy-piggledy mess. At the door, he nearly stepped on something and stooped to pick up a pair of odd-looking spectacles that were poking out from under a shelf.

  ‘Aha!’ said Wenceslas. ‘So that’s where they got to. Must have been the quake knocked ’em off. You have ’em. More use to you than to me. You can adjust the lenses using the screw at the side, to see near and far, like a ship’s telescope. An old feller gave them to me. He told me all about them at the time – I’m sure he said sumthin’ else too. Anyhoos, I put them on the shelf and forgot about them. And he gave me another thing. Now, what was it?’

  ‘You wouldn’t have a Blivet on board?’ asked Jonah. ‘My whale spear’s no match for a Pluribus.’

  Wenceslas started. ‘Domne! You met one of those nasty jelly beggars! That’s not good, not good at all! I have to tell Suma.’ Then he frowned. ‘Did you say Blivet? Few and far between they are. Only Supermundane hunters and the like would have one of them weapons. I reckon a Blivet’s more suited to your blonde friend.’

  He opened the door and looked out, gestured to them that the coast was clear, waved and closed the door after them.

  ‘I remember now,’ he mumbled to himself as he shot the bolts. ‘The other thing that old feller gave me, it was that metal arm.’

  CHAPTER 18

  KATATHERION

  Rested from its exertions, the beast got to its feet again and began to walk. Tar dripped from its haunches and head and with every step it left behind black sticky footprints that showed six clawed toes projecting from broad pads. The Lurids had watched in muted fascination as the beast scaled easily the ridge up to the salt marsh and disappeared over the edge.

  It went on, doggedly, snarling and snapping at the Puca lights which, though too quick to be caught, kept their distance. It ignored the path and travelled as the corvid flies. Even when it sank into the marsh it kept going, using its claws to get a hold in the mud and pull itself out. When the marsh became too deep, it swam, its paws like oars, propelled through the slime by its powerful thighs. It spat out the salty water and shook the mud from its scales. If it stumbled, it dragged itself upright again. Every few hundred yards it would stop and, its breath coming in a sinister rattle from the back of its throat, it would raise its giant head, black ears erect and to attention, and listen, like a dog being called by its master.

  Or mistress.

  Finally it reached the dense forest that had engulfed Degringolade Manor. Undeterred it ploughed on, head down, forcing its way through the thick bushes and trees until it was out of sight and all that could be heard of its relentless progress was the cracking and snapping of branches as it continued on its way.

  It approached the great doors of the manor and the multitude of trembling Pluriba. A few dared to challenge the beast and it ripped through their jelly bodies with its claws. After that the others moved away and let it pass.

  Now the beast hurled itself at the doors, which broke under its powerful force. Once inside, it started to run, up the stairs and along the gallery, straight to the master bedroom. It stopped to sniff the air before proceeding to the dressing room. It rounded the screen and caught sight of itself in the mirror. It lashed out at its reflection and the glass shattered into a thousand glittering pieces. Heedless of the sharp shards all over the floor, the beast entered the Ergastirion and went straight to the chair where the lady sat.

  ‘Katatherion,’ crooned the mummy. ‘I knew you would come.’

  CHAPTER 19

  COMPANY

  Vincent sat still and steady in his eyrie at the top of the Kronometer’s thirteen pillars. For a brief moment he had turned away from his real target – the Governor’s Residence – to look at the lighthouse. What the paper had said was true: it was at an acute angle now as a result of the earthquake. For the time being the powerful beam still shone out across the water at night, thanks to the innovative clockwork mechanism that kept the lens revolving, but if it wasn’t repaired quickly the oil would run out and the lens would become so dirty that the light would not be seen.

  He turned his attention back to the house on the misty peak of Collis Hill. Carefully he adjusted the screws at the side of Jonah’s glasses, bringing the building nearer and nearer. He could see the wall and the gates and the two guards in the sentry boxes on either side of the gate pillars. The wall was about ten feet tall with a jagged top – from here it looked like broken glass jutting out from the bricks – clearly designed to wound. Governor d’Avidus made no secret of the fact that unexpected visitors were not welcome.

  He had often heard the clanking of the funicular railway, and now, with the glasses, he saw it quite clearly. It operated two small carriages, each just big enough to hold four people standing. The carriages acted as counterbalances for each other. They were both attached to the same steel cable and as one went up, the other went down. As he watched, the carriage at the top started to descend one side of the near-vertical parallel rails. He hadn’t seen anyone get into it so he deduced that someone must be coming up in the partner carriage below. There were control rooms at the top and the bottom, each with a guard.

  Tonight had been Vincent’s first visit to Degringolade since that terrifying meeting with Axel. In the intervening days, the four of them had stayed within the confines of the Komaterion on account of the weather. They had kept busy; when not stirring slumgullion, Folly’s head was buried in the Omnia Intum; Jonah sang shanties as he sharpened the points of his whale spear; Citrine practised her card-spreading and developed Depictions and, when she thought no one was looking, she looked at her locket, the one that never left her neck. Within it was her father’s picture, but behind that was the broken fingernail she hoped would one day prove that Edgar had killed Florian. As for Vincent, he had taken the opportunity to hone his skills with the impedimentium and his metal hand.

  He and Folly had told the other two about their strange encounter with her Lurid brother, and the supposed whereabouts of the second Blivet. In return, Citrine and Jonah had passed on the information they had garnered from Wenceslas and shown them the glasses. Citrine, always interested in anything novel, had delighted in them. Jonah had taken to wearing them around the Kryptos, claiming that they improved his vision, and Folly, predictably, had murmured that they could be useful. At first Vincent had laughed at the unusual spectacles, but when he realized that they could be used like a telescope he had to agree with Folly.

  ‘Very useful indeed,’ he murmured now as he folded them up, put them in his shirt pocket and climbed, as nimble as a monkey, back down the tower to the square.

  It was already on the cusp of Nox as Vincent hurried to the Kryptos across the salt marsh. He didn’t have the Trikuklos because when he had left on his reconnaissance earlier Citrine and Jonah were still varnishing it. Now that the marsh path had hardened enough to support the weight of the vehicle they had brought it all the way to the Komaterion rather than leave it at the broken arch.

  Vincent drew his cloak about his face as protection from the cutting wind and sleet, and aimed his smitelight directly ahead. Its narrow beam zigzagged across the ground in front of him, keeping time with his footsteps. Tucked into a pocket of his cloak was a copy of the Degringolade Daily. In other pockets were food and bottles of fresh lemon water and ginger ale.

  Despite his outward confidence, he had to concede (again) that Folly was right; it was not going to be easy to break into Leucer’s well-defended home, and not only because of the guards. Vincent understood his father’s thinking, the importance of working alone, not relying on anyone else, but times were different then; the world made a little more sense. Now he had the others to think of. Yes, they were a liability – the last thing he wanted was to end up back in Kamptul
icon’s chair being interrogated about them and, worse still, possibly betraying them – but he had finally admitted to himself that he needed them, and wanted them, around.

  There was something else though, something that Vincent was almost afraid to acknowledge to himself. Ever since the visit to Degringolade Manor and his encounter with the wrinkled mummy, he was filled with an unsettling unease that surged and ebbed within his veins. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was watching him. The lady’s face came to him every night just before sleep and, when awake, he couldn’t forget the sight and sound and smell of Axel. He hadn’t realized how much it would affect him seeing the Lurid again after he had been in its burning clutches.

  Vincent dug his numb hands deeper into his pockets, keen to reach the warmth of the Kryptos, and in doing so he discovered a hole in the lining. Something hard and cold had slipped through into a space between the layers of cloth, and his clumsy fingers took a few seconds to identify it. It was the compact he had taken from the dressing room in the manor.

  He had forgotten all about it. He took it out and examined it again, running his fingers over the engraved surface of the lid. The pattern looked like some sort of maze, but when he traced his index finger along the lines he realized that he couldn’t find a way out. He pressed the small button that released the lid and it rose slowly. Once again he noticed how the mirror seemed to give off its own light, so he could see his reflection without using his smitelight. But the glass was cloudy and his face was not clear. He rubbed it with his finger and his heart near stopped. There was someone behind him. He whirled round, his treen dagger at the ready, but there was no one there.

  This place! he thought, snapping the compact shut and quickening his pace.

  He almost missed the Trikuklos even though it was parked outside the Komaterion gates. Citrine and Jonah had finished varnishing and the result was quite astonishing. Even Jonah, who had been rather sceptical, had had to admit that the strange muted sheen did indeed cloak the vehicle in a confusing darkness. Citrine had lamented the loss of the high-gloss finish that had made the Trikuklos so attractive, but equally marvelled at the effect.

  Vincent wasted no more than a few seconds looking at the vehicle before hurrying on across the obstacle course that was now the cemetery. A movement a short way in front of him caused him to instinctively duck behind a headstone. He tapped off his smitelight. The slivery waxing moon came out from behind the clouds for a moment, but he didn’t need its nominal light to see the apparition ahead of him. It cast its own eerie glow. He couldn’t be sure what he was seeing. It wasn’t a Pluribus, being pale rather than green. Could it be a Lurid? The apparition was motionless and, edging closer, he perceived that it was a person, a woman, dressed in a full skirt and a fur stole. The ladies of Degringolade wore narrower skirts these days. His heart quickened as she slowly turned her head and stared in his direction. He blinked and she was gone.

  Maybe it was just a plain old ghost, thought Vincent, trying to reassure himself. ‘The sort from ghost stories Father used to tell me. Lonely, harmless dead spirits that you would expect to find wandering about in a graveyard.’

  In a place such as Degringolade Vincent logically considered that an ‘ordinary’ ghost would be the least malignant of the Supermundane entities that haunted the region. More rattled than he wanted to admit, he hurried up to the Kryptos and slipped inside quietly. He smiled when he caught sight of the three-legged frog from the manor where he had balanced it over the door. Citrine had laughed, saying how it just proved he was more of a Degringoladian every day.

  Folly acknowledged his presence with a nod. She was at the slumgullion pot as usual, wooden spoon in hand. Citrine offered regularly to take over but Folly always declined; there was something about the repetitive figure-of-eight stirring pattern that settled her mind and gave her a chance to think.

  She paused briefly in her stirring to chide Jonah, who was pulling himself up through the hole in the floor. ‘Hurry up,’ she said. ‘The slumgullion’s been ready for ages. And it’s cold enough in here without opening up that hole.’

  Despite the recent improvement in his sleeping arrangements, Jonah had decided that he wanted to sleep in the large chamber along the tunnel. The Kryptos wasn’t big enough for the four of them and he could sense that they were going to come to blows before too long. He lowered the slab into place and went over to the table, where Citrine was poring over a spread of cards.

  ‘So, do they make sense yet?’

  Citrine shook her head. ‘Well . . . all things considered it looks as if you are going to encounter danger in a low place and a high place. Maybe the low place is the tunnel.’ She gasped and her hand went to her mouth. ‘What if a Pluribus comes down the tunnel from the manor?’

  ‘Pluriba only exist above ground, remember,’ chipped in Folly. ‘It says so in the Omnia Intum.’

  Citrine looked doubtful, but cleared away the cards.

  ‘Maybe it means Jonah is going to climb the Kronometer,’ said Vincent as he came down the steps into the chamber.

  Jonah laughed. ‘There’s more chance of a fish climbing up there than me.’

  ‘You took longer than usual,’ remarked Folly.

  ‘I got waylaid.’ Vincent wondered if he should say something about the apparition, but decided against it. In truth, the way he had been feeling recently, he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t imagined it.

  ‘Well, I hope you’ve got something to go with this slumgullion. That is why you went out in the first place.’

  Vincent grinned, took a facetious bow and produced, in the manner of a conjuror, a long loaf from one pocket, bottles from another, a bag of flour and some butter wrapped in waxed paper from a third. Folly broke into a smile as she accepted the haul. At the table, Vincent spread open the Degringolade Daily.

  ‘Look at this,’ he said, and began to read:

  A Demonstration of Modern Science:

  The Power and Potential of Kekrimpari

  All of Degringolade is in a fever of excitement at the arrival of Professor Arkwright Soanso, the most eminent physicist in Antithica and beyond, who is here at the invitation of Governor d’Avidus and Edgar Capodel. Professor Soanso discovered kekrimpari, a new and alternative energy source, which he believes will change the world. Tomorrow he will be staging a demonstration of his Kekrimpari Generator at the Degringolade Playhouse and all citizens are warmly invited to witness this exciting phenomenon. Entry is free, funded by Governor d’Avidus, and the show starts promptly at 8 Nox.

  ‘My father was always talking about kekrimpari,’ said Citrine excitedly. ‘He said that if Professor Soanso ever came to Degringolade, he would take me to see his demonstration. Oh, I would love to go.’

  ‘Maybe you can,’ said Vincent. ‘You can be sure practically the whole city will be there, including Leucer, which means the coast is clear for breaking into the Governor’s Residence to get the Blivet. Domne, I can just imagine his face when he comes home to find it gone.’

  Folly raised an eyebrow and returned to the pot. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for this? What do you know of the house?’

  ‘I’ve been watching it with these.’ He held up the glasses.

  Jonah took them and his scars whitened under the strain of a frown. ‘I wondered where they’d got to. I suppose I should have known; if there’s a thief about the place . . .’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Vincent.

  Jonah shrugged, not one to hold a grudge.

  ‘Hmm,’ murmured Folly, in that non-committal way of hers that infuriated Vincent.

  He ignored her and continued enthusiastically. ‘This is the chance I’ve been waiting for. If I am to stay in this city, I need a Blivet. It’s not just the Urgs any more. There’s something weird going on, and I don’t mean all the shoulder-tapping and touchstone-rubbing and pavement-crack avoiding. Axel said it, and Wenceslas too.’

  ‘And so did Suma,’ reminded Citrine.

  ‘And if we aren’t properly arm
ed we’ll end up stuck in this Kryptos for good. We won’t make it across the salt marsh alive. Black beans and Natron and stunners, they might work on Lurids, but they’re no good against Pluriba. And who knows what else will come for us? What if next time it’s not killer jelly but real Phenomenals? Everyone seems scared witless of them. How would we fight them off?’

  ‘We won’t have to fight off anything if you’re not careful. We’ll all be in the Degringolade Penitentiary, waiting for the Carnifex to loop us with his noose,’ replied Folly drily.

  ‘If anyone can break into that place, I reckon Vincent can,’ said Jonah quietly.

  Vincent looked gratefully at the thoughtful sailor and suddenly the tension that had been growing was broken.

  Folly held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘All right, all right. But I think you should take someone with you.’

  ‘You mean yourself,’ said Vincent. ‘Look, I’m the one who burgles, you bliv the Superents. Let me do what I do best. I know what I’m looking for. I’ll be quicker on my own.’

  ‘I could be a lookout. And how do you know Leucer hasn’t got a Lurid up there, hidden in a Cold Cabinet? He’s done it before,’ Folly protested. ‘You haven’t always worked alone. What about when you were with your father?’

  Vincent blinked slowly. Folly had a point. What would his father have done? And to have a lookout made sense. Now it was his turn to yield.

  ‘OK. It’s a deal.’

  ‘We need a plan then,’ said Folly without missing a beat.

  They all began to talk at once when suddenly Citrine hissed, ‘Shh! What’s that?’

  A distinct scratching sound was coming from near the door.

  ‘Mice?’ whispered Citrine. ‘Or rats?’

  Vincent curled his lip at the thought, and the sound stopped.

  ‘I hope there’s not going to be another quake. The Degringolade Daily said that the animals were behaving strangely just before it.’