Citrine saw Edgar leave the box. She had watched him and the governor laughing and drinking and making merry, and the spectacle left a bitter taste in her mouth. It was odd knowing how once she had shared her life and her home with her heartless cousin. Blood is thicker than water, people said. Not in this case. She rubbed at her neck where the rough gallows rope had burned her skin. It would be a long time before she could forgive him for that, if ever!
The lights went down, the audience hushed and the curtains swished back to reveal Edgar and another man standing side by side on the stage, lit by the spotlight. Behind them was a large irregular shape concealed under a black velvet cloth. There was a great cheer and the pair bowed and nodded and smiled and waved.
Edgar stepped forward and held up the flat of his hand. Eventually the clapping died away and he began to speak.
‘Welcome, everyone, to the Degringolade Playhouse on this momentous occasion. No one will deny that the last few weeks have been difficult for both Degringolade city and her citizens. The Ritual of Appeasement ended in near disaster, and, shortly after, I buried my uncle, Hubert Capodel, such a great loss for me and the city.’
He paused to allow the murmur of sympathy to ripple across the crowd. The Degringoladians might be unsure of Edgar’s integrity, but they too had mourned Hubert.
Citrine listened, anger mounting at her cousin’s hypocrisy. She recalled only too well the empty casket in the Capodel Kryptos, the casket that Edgar claimed held the body of her father. His voice droned on.
‘And we have just suffered an earthquake. I have been asked to take this opportunity to stress again that, shocking as it was to us all, it was a natural phenomenon and its timing was merely coincidental. Although the lighthouse is still a place of peril, Governor d’Avidus wanted me to assure you all that the Kronometer will be working again very soon (cheering). He also wishes you to know that every guardsman in the city is hunting down the vicious foursome dubbed so aptly by the Degringolade Daily ‘The Phenomenals’ (booing and hissing). Indeed, they came very close only a few nights ago to capturing two of them. Rest assured, they will not remain at large for much longer. With Chief Guardsman Fessup’s men at every city exit point, and with the expected Gevran temperatures, they will not survive for long! (loud cheering)’
Citrine, acutely aware that she was one of the Phenomenals, felt a little shiver of fear at these words and folded her arms tightly as if to make herself less conspicuous. Edgar was enjoying the attention.
‘Now, on to the business of the night. I know that if my uncle was alive today he would have wanted very much to be here to witness this demonstration of modern science. So, without further ado, it gives me great pleasure to introduce Professor Arkwright Soanso and his amazing Kekrimpari Generator.’
Professor Soanso, a tall man with a large forehead and thick greying hair, came forward and took a deep bow to booming applause. Then, with a theatrical flourish, he stepped to one side and whipped away the black cloth . . .
CHAPTER 23
AN UNWANTED VISITOR
Folly ducked quickly into the alley, clapping her hands to ensure any lurking city Superents were scared away. For a moment she panicked, thinking the Trikuklos was gone, but then her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she could just about make out its faint outline. Without hesitation she climbed into the vehicle and pedalated after the Cunningman.
Folly had not piloted the vehicle as many times as the others and got off to a slow start. As her confidence grew, however, she allowed herself to glance out to see her reflection in the shop windows. There was little to see; the Trikuklos was little more than a strange ghostly blur passing along the street. Wenceslas’s varnish really was quite remarkable.
Soon they were on the unlit Great West Road out of Degringolade. Kamptulicon was still visible ahead, his manuslantern helpfully acting like a beacon. Folly didn’t dare to use her pedalator-powered front lights in case he saw them. He was moving at a reasonable pace, but certainly not in a hurry. Presently the horse veered off the main road and went through the derelict gates of Degringolade Manor, carefully negotiating the broken arch. Where was Kamptulicon going? Not to the manor itself, for man and mare turned and started on the icy path across the salt marsh, the path that led to the Komaterion.
Folly slowed and struggled somewhat to steer the Trikuklos over the hard ground. The going was tough, the road uneven, but the superior suspension – only available on this model – served its purpose well and, despite the ruts, the machine kept going noiselessly and with surprising comfort for the pilot.
A creeping feeling of doom came over her as Kamptulicon dismounted at the gates, tied his horse to the railings and entered the Komaterion. Leaving the Trikuklos out of sight she followed cautiously. He too appeared to be proceeding with some caution and Folly was rather perturbed at this. Did he suspect that he might meet someone here? Did he know about their hideout?
Hoping to get ahead of Kamptulicon and warn Jonah, Folly decided to skirt the outer edge of the Komaterion. But it was a mistake. She had not reckoned on the density of the tangled undergrowth and the low spreading branches, and she struggled to get through. Finally the Kryptos came into sight. The burial chamber looked abandoned and there was no evidence from the outside of their comings and goings – Folly had always been meticulous about covering their tracks – and the door was so well-sealed it did not allow any light to escape.
At least that was how it used to be.
Not any more. Folly’s heart plummeted when she saw the smallest chink of light between the door and the frame. ‘It must be since the earthquake,’ she thought. ‘Oh, why didn’t I check!’ And worse still, she didn’t know if the light was on because Jonah was in there or Kamptulicon.
A deep rumble filled her ears and the earth beneath her feet began to shake. ‘Not again!’ She grabbed a branch to steady herself.
Kamptulicon had only recently considered the Kryptos as a possible Ergastirion. Then, when he had come that night to investigate it properly, he had seen the light from the door and knew that something was not as it should be. In his experience, the dead rarely needed the benefit of an oil lamp.
Tonight, unaware that Folly was behind him, he had reached the Kryptos vital minutes ahead of her. There was no sign of life, but still he took no chances and listened at the door for some moments. Then, using the skeleton key so helpfully provided (at great cost) by Will Van Clefhole, he had let himself in, his blinding spergo liquid at the ready in one hand and a drawn dagger in the other.
Having satisfied himself that the chamber was empty, he had barely rasped a Fulger’s Firestrike down the rough stone wall and lit a lamp before the earth had heaved and knocked him to the floor for the second time that week. He cursed loudly. Luckily the tremor proved to be a short, milder aftershock lasting only a matter of seconds, and when it was over he stood up, dusted himself off and took a proper look around.
Kamptulicon was quite delighted with what he saw. The building was eminently suited to his needs: it was out of the way, deceptively spacious, and the fireplace – a traditional feature in Kryptoi – was pleasingly large. There was a pot hanging over the glowing coals and he smelled the distinct aroma of stew. Of course, he would have to get rid of whoever was living here, a vagrant no doubt, but no one would miss such a person.
He sheathed his knife, pocketed the spergo and descended the steps. He noted Lady Degringolade’s damaged coffin on the floor, a casualty of the earthquake, but apart from that he saw the unmistakable accoutrements of not the dead but the living: clothing, cutlery and crockery.
He picked up, examined and carefully replaced various objects. He looked at the empty wine bottles and was astonished at the labels. He noted the quality of the crockery and the gleam of the silverware and the thickness of the blankets so casually thrown across the bedrolls. ‘Feather pillows?’ This was the hideaway of a vagrant with refined tastes and a penchant for the finer things in life.
It was then he was struc
k as if by a bolt of Professor Soanso’s kekrimpari.
‘I’m in the lair of the Phenomenals!’
It was patently obvious now that all these things had been stolen by Vincent Verdigris. Kamptulicon felt a grudging admiration for the metal-handed thief, the bane of his life. He counted only three bedrolls, so one of them was living elsewhere, most likely the Capodel girl, the cousin of that fop Edgar. He could understand why a rich, sophisticated girl like that wouldn’t want to rough it in a place like this. Perhaps an ally of hers was hiding her somewhere in the city. Whoever it was, they would swing for it. He took three short blonde hairs from one of the bedrolls, Folly’s, and put them carefully on to a piece of newspaper and folded it twice to contain them, then he searched the chamber methodically but quickly, fully aware that Vincent and his gang could be back at any moment. He was hoping to find his Omnia Intum, though he suspected Folly probably carried it with her. Whatever these kids were, they weren’t stupid. To have evaded the Urban Guardsmen for this long was proof of that. Kamptulicon wondered, and not for the first time, if they really did have the Supermundane on their side. But there was no evidence of that here. Maybe they had just been lucky.
But their luck was about to run out.
Having exhausted, he thought, all the possible hiding places in the small chamber, Kamptulicon knew he had to leave. He could hear rather ominous rumblings below, like rocks moving, but he was not going without a souvenir of his visit. A sort of memento mori, he thought with a grin. He read the inscription on the side of Lady Degringolade’s coffin as he pushed apart the broken lid. ‘Rest in peace? More like in pieces!’ He laughed softly at his own joke. He sorted through the bones Jonah had so unceremoniously thrown back into the coffin, selecting what would be most useful – fingers, feet, a shin bone and some ribs – and put them in his bag. If the rumours about Lady Degringolade and her dabblings in the Supermundane were true, these bones could be powerful.
Finally he took the skull. He held it out in front of him and couldn’t help but stroke down the wisps of hair that still clung to it. It was then he noticed there was something inside the skull cavity. He probed with his fingers and drew out a small black object, and when he saw what it was, he laughed in delight. It was his Omnia Intum. He flicked towards the back of the book and scanned down a page on the right-hand side.
Jonah, having organized the crossroads chamber to suit his needs, was enjoying an impromptu nap in his hammock, completely unaware that Kamptulicon had gained entry above. He was rudely woken by the brief tremor and lay still, steadying himself against the rocky wall, fearful that the ceiling would fall in at any moment. There was a great deal of crashing and crunching from down the tunnel, and as soon as it settled he hurried off towards the Kryptos. He was in for a nasty surprise. The aftershock had caused a rock fall, and the tunnel was now blocked and the Kryptos inaccessible.
Undeterred, he set to clearing the rocks, but as he pulled them away more fell from above. Fearful that he might cause the whole tunnel to collapse, he stopped and sat down to consider his options, thinking idly that he would not be in this predicament if he had gone with the others and wondering how Vincent was getting on in his quest.
Outside the Kryptos Folly could only watch as her suspicions were confirmed and Kamptulicon came striding out. From the sounds she knew that he had a key. She remembered then the scratching at the door. The noise wasn’t made by animals. It was Kamptulicon. He must have been right outside. But why? Did he know they were in there? Probably not, or he would have brought the Urgs with him.
Barely able to contain herself and full of concern for Jonah, Folly had to wait until Kamptulicon was out of sight before she could run to the Kryptos and let herself in. She breathed a huge sigh of relief when there was no sign of the sailor. Good, he must have stayed below. But how had Kamptulicon not found the entance to the tunnel? Jonah couldn’t have covered the flagstone.
The answer caused her to smile. The aftershock had caused a bag of flour left on the table to fall and split, covering the hinged slab like dust. Kamptulicon’s footprint was slap bang in the middle, but he had not realized what he was standing on. Folly then went to the coffin and, as she feared, the skull was gone and with it the Omnia Intum.
Next she pulled up the trapdoor in a billowing cloud of flour and held her light over the hole, only to be met with another, different cloud of dust, that of the rocky heap directly below.
‘Jonah!’ she called, sticking her head as far into the space as she could.
There was a scrambling sound. A rock came loose from the top of the heap and Jonah’s dirty face was just visible on the other side. ‘Ahoy there!’ he called, remarkably cheerful. ‘I tried to clear it, but more fell,’ he said. ‘Maybe if I go slowly.’
‘I’m not sure you have the time,’ said Folly. ‘Kamptulicon was just here. He’s taken my book so he knows this is our hideout. He’s probably gone for the Urgs. He could be back very soon.’
Jonah frowned. ‘Fish-guts, then I’ll have to go on to the manor and find a way back to Degringolade through the woods.’
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Each knew what the other was picturing: the horde of Pluriba guarding the manor house.
‘Maybe we should come to you,’ suggested Folly. ‘Wait in the tunnel under the larder. The Pluriba won’t go below ground. I’ll cover up the trapdoor here so when Kamptulicon comes back – which I’m sure he will – he won’t see it. You fill the gap between the roof and the rocks, so that even if he does open it, it will look impassable.’
She gathered up some black beans, some stunners and Natron and passed them all down to Jonah. Then she closed the trapdoor and concealed it with the original broken flagstone. Hurriedly she packed her rucksack with anything she thought might be useful and then left the Kryptos, not even looking over her shoulder.
CHAPTER 24
LESS HASTE, MORE SPEED
Folly pressed down hard on the Trikuklos pedalators, desperate to get back to Degringolade as quickly as she could to warn Citrine and Vincent about Kamptulicon. They had agreed to meet at the Caveat Emptorium later that evening; Citrine was to go there after the kekrimpari demonstration. She and Vincent were to make their way there when they had stolen the Blivet. She felt uncomfortable about leaving Jonah, but time was against her, and the chances were he would be perfectly safe in the tunnel. At least as long as no other marauding Superents turned up. The problem now was that Kamptulicon had a head start. He could gallop across the salt marsh faster than she could pedalate. He was more than likely going for the Urgs, and the last thing she wanted was to meet him coming back.
She grunted with the effort of piloting the vehicle. The return journey was proving to be harder. Not only was it sleeting, but also the narrow path away from the Komaterion sloped upward, making it more difficult to get the machine going. Tsking in frustration, she pushed harder on the pedalators, managing to get a little momentum, but the next minute the Trikuklos jerked violently, turned from the path, then travelled across the marsh for a second or two before keeling over to land on its side in the salty, slushy sludge.
Folly lay quite dazed in a heap inside the vehicle. The Trikuklos was flat on its side. Dizzy, she got to her feet and stood on the door that now served as the floor. She felt for and found her manuslantern, but could tell from the smell that it had spilt its tarry fuel. Using the steering handlebars as a step, she managed to push open the door above her and clamber out on to the side of the vehicle. A blast of icy air caused her to breathe in sharply. The sky was full of snow clouds, and it was impossible to see which way she was facing – towards the path or away out on to the treacherous marsh.
‘Oh, spletivus!’
Somehow Vincent’s favourite expletive seemed eminently suitable for the occasion. Wishing for a smitelight, she sniffed the air and listened intently for any sound that might guide her back to the path. She couldn’t be that far away from it. The Trikuklos had only rolled a little before tipping over. She
climbed back into the vehicle and flicked the switch for the front lights, hoping that they had enough power stored up in the energy cell from her furious pedalating to last until she got back to the path. They came on, albeit weakly – affected no doubt by the cold – and with a silent thank-you to Citrine’s father for buying the very best Trikuklos that was available, she lowered herself on to the icy but reasonably solid ground. She took a tentative step forward – the light was behind her so she was walking in her own shadow – then another and another.
The lights flickered inauspiciously and Folly was grateful to see that she was almost at the path. Elated she hastened and took three quick steps forward, but with the fourth step her foot landed heavily. What she had thought was solid ground gave way to slushy water and she found herself plunging into a deep wet hole of freezing slime. Helplessly she flailed her arms about, her thrashing feet seeking purchase in the thick mud, but she kept on sinking. And then the lights went out and the last thing she remembered thinking before her head went under was how the slime tasted salty.
Jonah sat alone in the underground chamber, engaged in ponderous thought. He wasn’t sure how long it had been now since Folly had left, but it felt like an age. He considered his position. Was it really only a week or two ago that he had been happily – perhaps that was an exaggeration – working at the Degringolade Penitentiary, living a quiet life away from the public eye? How much had changed! Now he was sleeping underground, afraid to show his face for fear of being arrested and thrown into the very jail where he had so recently been employed. Was that, as Citrine might have said, irony?
‘And I regret none of it,’ he avowed to the emptiness. He had done what he had to do. He could not have left Citrine to such an unjust fate, facing death by hanging, betrayed by her own cousin whom she had treated as a brother.
That didn’t change the fact that he was now in a quandary. It was worrying in the extreme to know that Kamptulicon had found their hideout. Folly had said to wait at the trapdoor in the northern tunnel. So, he supposed, he should do that. But she seemed to have been gone an awfully long time.
The Phenomenals: A Game of Ghouls Page 11