by Glenn Dakin
‘We might,’ said Chloe, reaching for the telephone. ‘Because there’s something I haven’t told you.’
Theo looked up at her, intrigued.
‘I’m also connected to another very secretive society,’ Chloe said. ‘We’re called the police.’
Chapter Thirteen
On the Case
‘Take that miserable look off your face,’ said Chloe.
Theo sank down in the threadbare armchair at the back of the coffee shop and glowered at the world around him. They were in a gloomy dive near Clapham Common. Chloe had brought them here in a taxi from St James’s Park, and Theo had sat agog at the sheer size of the city around him.
‘Just relax.’ Chloe smiled, throwing her big navy greatcoat on to a sofa with her bag. ‘Things are looking up. Wait here and I’ll get you a coffee.’
‘Are you stark staring crazy?’ Theo blurted out. ‘Just get me some water. Oh, and see if they’ve got pink cake.’
‘I get it – coffee is bad for you, and so is smiling and so is trusting people.’
‘The police aren’t just people,’ Theo said. ‘I know all about them. They’ve invented this thing called the Law. It can decide who is good and bad, and – get this – it can put you in a prison.’
‘Well, you’re used to that,’ Chloe replied, heading off.
She isn’t the Chloe I thought she was, Theo said to himself. She’s tricky. He peered around. A young couple in fashionable clothes were laughing and joking at a table by the window. Theo scowled.
‘Seen someone you know?’ teased Chloe, returning with a heavily laden tray. ‘Aha, here’s Mike now!’
A tall, skinny man with narrow eyes and a tiny moustache stepped into the café, looking around nervously. He seemed older than Chloe but younger than Dr Saint. He wore a lumpy brown suede jacket and super-shiny shoes. Theo smiled at the ugly jacket, but there was a hint of Empire Hall about those shoes. Theo realised now that smartness depressed him.
‘Who’s this?’ the man asked, diving into an armchair next to Chloe.
‘Luke Anderson,’ Chloe said.
‘Your friend who had the stuff nicked?’
‘Yes. Luke, this is Mike –’ Chloe lowered her voice to a whisper – ‘Sergeant Crane.’ The policeman went to shake hands but saw that Theo was sitting on his. Theo wasn’t surprised to see that Crane readily accepted a large coffee nudged towards him by Chloe. The Brown Death, Theo noted to himself.
‘Well, I’ve found Foley for you,’ Crane said. ‘Male, Caucasian, seventy-two. Professional safecracker and housebreaker, semi-retired, especially since they brought all that new technology in. Three stretches inside. No GBH, nothing hard core. He’s just a pathetic weasel. Now a pathetic old weasel. Had a younger partner, last we heard. Brady. Now he’s got serious form. Thirty-something, shaven head. Don’t go anywhere near him.’
We won’t, thought Theo.
‘So where can we find Foley?’ Chloe asked.
‘Can we speak in front of him?’ the sergeant asked, glancing at Theo.
‘Yes,’ said Chloe. ‘Luke knows everything.’
‘Everything?’
‘Ask him about Post-Diluvian extinctions,’ suggested Chloe.
Crane pulled a face. ‘What are you up to?’ he asked.
‘Ongoing investigation, sir,’ she said.
‘Investigation into how to bleed my department of funds for two years and produce nothing in return,’ Crane said, glancing around the room.
‘It’s called deep cover,’ Chloe said, a little frown knitting fine lines in her brow. ‘I’m being accepted, getting to know all these secret societies, before we assemble our case. I wouldn’t be meeting you if it wasn’t for all this smog and the fact that you insisted.’
Theo frowned. Was Chloe telling the truth? Had she really become involved with the Society of Unrelenting Vigilance simply to get evidence for her police case? Or was she just telling Crane that to keep him happy? Chloe’s fondness for weaving tales made his head spin. Was this what people in the outside world did all the time? No wonder he was always getting confused about what was real and what wasn’t.
‘I have to tell the boss I’ve actually seen you,’ Crane was saying uncomfortably.
‘How is our boss? I miss him,’ Chloe commented.
‘Oh, Finley. He’s never been happier. Just won some cream cake competition, lucky so and so. Face never out of a bun.’
‘Delightful,’ Chloe groaned.
‘It’s like this, Chlo’,’ Crane said, draining his cup. ‘I’m going to need some results soon, or the department will just kill the whole case.’ Crane sounded more anxious than angry.
‘Give me Foley then,’ Chloe said.
Theo held his breath as he heard the slow footsteps clump up the stairs. It had been a simple matter for Chloe to force the cheap lock of this dingy one-room flat, and now they waited in the darkness for their quarry to arrive.
The door was shoved open and the old man entered. Flicking a switch on the wall, he cursed when the light failed to come on. Muttering, he felt his way towards the kitchen area and bent down to rummage around in a cupboard under the sink.
‘Police!’ Chloe shouted.
‘Ow!’ The man leapt up, cracked his head on a hanging saucepan, and staggered forwards into the room. He tripped over a coffee table and landed in a heap on the carpet.
Theo and Chloe were sitting side by side on the sofa. The street lights outside the tatty curtains threw just enough light to cloak them both in shadow. That was how Chloe had planned it.
‘Special Detective Cripps,’ Chloe said, using a lighter to reveal a glimpse of her identity card. ‘We just want to ask you a couple of questions.’
Foley pushed himself up from the floor and sat kneeling, still rubbing his head.
‘How did you get in here? Why all the cloak and dagger stuff?’ he asked, trying to sound defiant.
‘Door was open, light’s on the blink,’ said Chloe, fingering the bulb she had pushed deep into her coat pocket. ‘Didn’t think you’d mind.’
Foley stood up shakily.
‘I’m not answering nothing. It’s all highly irregular!’ he moaned.
‘Cooperate with us,’ Chloe said, ‘and we might be lenient over the Empire Hall job.’
‘Em – Empire Hall?’ stammered the old man. He was blustering but sounded ready to crack. ‘That wasn’t me! Now you get out of here!’
‘I was there, Mr Foley,’ said Theo quietly.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Chloe calmly held her lighter under Theo’s face so Foley could recognise him by the single yellow flame.
‘It – it’s Weirdy!’ Foley gasped, and fell back to his knees. ‘Don’t – don’t let him near me!’
Chloe glanced at Theo. ‘You obviously made a big impression.’
‘It’s, err … nice to see you again,’ said Theo politely.
‘Have you come for me?’ Foley asked Theo in a shaking voice. ‘Is it my – my time?’ he quavered.
‘It will be your time if you don’t pull yourself together,’ Chloe snapped, helping Foley into a chair. ‘Do you need a drink?’
‘Yes, yes,’ rambled the old man, staring at the dark shape of Theo. ‘My – my last drink!’
Chloe sighed. Her eyes had long ago adjusted to the gloom and she soon found a bottle of Foley’s favourite tipple. The haggard, terrified figure knocked back a quick glass before looking up at Theo with imploring eyes.
‘I knew you’d find me. The legend says there’s no escape. I’ve pretty much just sat here waiting for you. You’re not going to do that thing to me, are you?’ he sobbed.
Chloe looked at Theo with new respect. Somehow he had inspired dread in this cynical old villain.
‘I want you to tell me what you know about the Candle Man,’ said Theo.
Chapter Fourteen
Out of Print
‘Some sort of ritual, is it?’ the old man said, grimacing.
Chloe topped up his
glass to make him more talkative. The darkness hid the burglar’s pimpled skin and broken teeth, erasing the years and giving a glimpse of a more vigorous man.
‘First heard about him when I was a lad,’ began Foley.
‘Is this the long version?’ interrupted Chloe rudely. ‘We haven’t got all night!’
Theo elbowed her.
‘I knew about it from my grandad,’ Foley carried on. ‘He owned the shop below here, the engraving business. He loved pictures. Especially horrible ones. Like the scenes of murders they used to run in the old picture papers.’ An ugly relish lit up Foley’s face.
Theo held his breath and let the burglar ramble on. He didn’t mind the long version.
We’re going back into the secret room, Theo thought, his mind picturing the hidden study in Empire Hall, filled with the forbidden things. He knew that what he was about to hear would affect his whole destiny.
‘Anyway, he liked grisly stories too. He especially liked the old Victorian stuff. Hound of the Baskervilles, that kind of thing. But Grandad had his special favourite. True-life murder mysteries. Based on the exploits of Lord Wickland, scourge of the underworld. The legend went that Wickland’s body would glow if he was in the presence of a murderer. That started up his name – Candle Man. But there was another side to it – more awful …’ He raised his glass for a refill.
Theo held his breath. He could guess what was coming. He knew only too well that there was more to the power than just glowing in the dark. But now at least he had a name to conjure with – an intriguing name: Lord Wickland.
‘Anyway, some of the stories was like that,’ Foley continued after another swig. ‘Wickland takes on the underworld. But others were more far-fetched. The Candle Man had enemies – the Dreadful Dodo and the Terrible Taxidermist. Dr Pyre was another one – the Incinerated Man, they called him. I think my favourite book was Slaughter of the Gargoyles – now that was a creepy one.’
Theo and Chloe exchanged a glance, remembering the garghoul imprisoned under the Dodo’s house.
‘Grandad had the complete set. Then we heard someone was collecting them all, buying them up. They quickly vanished off all the bookshelves. You never even saw them in jumble sales. The publisher suddenly went out of business. It was funny – one minute Candle Man was as popular as Sherlock Holmes, the next, not a trace.
‘Well, some people in the trade knew about Grandad’s collection. A posh bloke came round to see us one day. Pulled out a roll of notes in front of us all, and offered to buy the whole lot. Grandad was well chuffed. “I’m sitting on a gold mine,” he says. I was pleased, cause we never had much money. Hoped he might buy me some lead soldiers.
‘But Grandad wouldn’t sell. He said the Wickland stuff had got so rare the price could only go up and up. The posh bloke was furious. Told us he was from some kind of important charity. Was Grandad going to stand in the way of vital charity work? Well, Grandad told him to sling his hook.
‘About a month after that we had a funny letter from the government. Department of Toxicology or something. It said all picture magazines from a certain period had accidentally been printed with toxic ink. Dangerously poisonous. It said men would be calling around to check.
‘Well, just a day later, these blokes forced their way in. Couple of brutes and a toff in a hat and scarf lurking behind them, directing operations.
‘Grandad was furious. “It’s you, isn’t it?” he said to the posh geezer looking through all his stuff. “You’re that bloke who was here before!” Then one of the brutes knocked Grandad to the floor. I didn’t understand it. I was only a nipper and I burst into tears. They found his precious collection and took it away.
‘“You’re just after my Candle Man books!” Grandad shouts. This made the posh gent come back for a moment. “That name is unlucky,” he says. “Breathe it again, and it’ll be your last breath.”
‘Grandad died not long after. Poison from them old magazines, a doctor came and told us. Said Grandad should have given them up years before.’ Foley fell silent. Time seemed to slow down as Theo waited for the old man to continue. Suddenly Foley leant forwards, becoming more conspiratorial.
‘Before Grandad died, he told me the whole truth. One evening he was sitting up in bed as if he was going to get better. He called me in, just for a chat like. But when I shut the door he looked all serious. Said there were important things that had to be remembered. He said the reason he had hung on to them Candle Man stories was because they were part of his life – they were all true!
‘Grandad said he had been in one of the gangs when he was younger. He had guarded some prisoner, run some guns, delivered some livestock for the Dodo. That’s right – all them grisly characters was real.’
‘Wait!’ Chloe stepped lightly to the window and twitched the curtain back. There was nothing outside but the fog and the glare of traffic crawling by in the street.
Don’t stop him now, thought Theo. With every word he could feel his destiny drawing closer. He had always guessed, throughout his long, dreary childhood at Empire Hall, that life in the outside world could never be as dull and matter-of-fact as his guardians had led him to believe. Foley was right – the things that people said were just stories could all turn out to be true.
Chloe turned away from the window, frowning. ‘Ignore me,’ she muttered. ‘I’m getting paranoid.’
‘I didn’t hear nothing,’ Foley said, looking around for the bottle. But Chloe didn’t give him any more. ‘We’re two floors up anyway.’
‘I know,’ said Chloe quietly. ‘Go on.’
Theo noticed that Chloe had stopped baiting the old man. It seemed Foley had been touched by the bad luck too. His grandad had obviously been robbed of his Candle Man books by the Society of Good Works, then killed to keep him quiet. As Foley continued his tale, Theo began to feel they were no longer speaking as enemies. They were falling under the same shadow – all in it together.
‘In those days there were more blokes around who knew this stuff,’ said Foley, ‘men who had been through the war, met the bigwigs. My grandad had it confirmed from one or two lads who had seen it first-hand. They all lived in terror of Lord Wickland. His name alone was worth more than a hundred men to the police. He wasn’t just called the Candle Man because his body would glow in the presence of a murderer. He had a death touch. He only had to put his hand on an enemy and their skin and bones – even the clothes they were wearing – would bubble up and melt away. There was this saying: Evil melts like wax at the hands of the Candle Man.’
Foley stared up at Theo, ghostly white. ‘I only ever half-believed it until, until …’
‘Until what?’ pressed Chloe.
‘Until I met him.’ Foley gulped, shrinking away from Theo so much he nearly fell off his chair.
Theo could feel Chloe’s curious gaze burn into him. She must know now that he had used his deadly powers. He didn’t mind. He looked at his own hands in awe. He gazed down at the old robber, a hardened villain, who cringed at Theo’s mere presence. He experienced a strange, not unpleasant sensation – one he had scarcely known before in his life – a feeling of power.
I am not Theo Saint, he told himself. I am Theo Wickland. Last descendant of the original Candle Man.
‘Look,’ Chloe butted in, ‘do you want to help get revenge on the people – the so-called charity – that helped to murder your grandad? We can help you. But only if you tell us everything you know.’
‘Already have,’ sighed Foley. ‘Never witnessed none of it myself. Just heard the legends from time to time. Now and again, someone in the burglary trade would whisper one of the old myths – that if the Candle Man crossed your path, you would soon be snuffed out.’
Wind rattled the window. Chloe and Theo both jumped, then relaxed.
‘We’d better go,’ she said.
‘No, not yet!’ Foley suddenly begged them. ‘This is my chance – to get it all out of the house!’ He gave them an ingratiating grin. ‘I’ll show you the
stuff,’ he said. ‘Come down to the shop!’
Chapter Fifteen
Closing In
Unknown to the people inside the room, a grey figure was clinging to the wall outside, crouched just above the window. The thick, dirty fog concealed him from human eyes. Flin, a smoglodyte spy, had been following the events within. He scampered back up to the roof, where his leader, Skun, was awaiting his report.
‘They’re moving!’ hissed Flin. ‘Reckon we should strike now!’
‘Not yet,’ whispered Skun, the chief smoglodyte tracker. He narrowed his tiny eyes in thought, his face resembling a shrewd, shrivelled turnip.
‘Let’s see where they go. We could learn some secrets here.’ Skun wasn’t like the average smoglodyte. He didn’t believe in just following orders – he wanted to know why. Most smogs never bothered with that part. The tribe had been told by the illustrious Society of Good Works to grab Theo. Skun had been watching this strange boy – he looked weak, bewildered, half-asleep most of the time. Why was he so important?
Skun crept up the rooftop and spoke to a group of surly, wrinkled smogs huddled at the top under a big chimney pot.
‘Our target is on the move,’ he said. ‘I’ll need one of you under every ledge and above every doorway.’ Skun surveyed the ragged mob. He distrusted every one of them. He alone, the great hunter, had tracked the boy Theo all the way – by scent – from the graveyard, in a slow, painstaking pursuit. He had been forced to gather these scum along the way, as reinforcements.
‘Let’s just kill him now,’ said Frub, a bloated old smog. ‘That’s what the Society really wants. It’s what it always used to want, anyway.’ The other smogs leapt to their feet. They were all ready to follow Frub. They wanted to score a quick man-kill and then live off the reputation for years.
‘They’re in the downstairs shop now,’ reported Flin, the spy smog, popping his head back up over the roof edge. ‘Make your move, Skun, or someone else will.’
It was looking bad. Skun’s glorious hunt for the boy – across a London that had grown to a stupendous size – should be a tale enjoyed by smoglings for years to come. Capturing the boy was the real task. But if this rabble didn’t get to see some action soon, they would first kill Skun, then Theo – and take all the credit for the hunt.