The Whitby Witches Trilogy

by Robin Jarvis

  "Close that door," Nelda instructed, picking up a china vase and testing the weight of it. "We must attack as soon as he enters."

  Ben did as she said, and from the hallway, they heard the latch rattling.

  "He's trying to get in," breathed Miss Wethers in terror.

  The lock clicked and the footsteps strode into the hall.

  "Nathaniel," mouthed Jennet feverishly, her eyes blazing and her teeth glinting long and sharp in the candle-light.

  The others huddled into the corner of the room; Nathaniel Crozier, high priest of the Black Sceptre, whose very name was a curse and whose own hands had butchered many, had come for them.

  Nelda raised the vase above her head and Ben gripped the last guardian to his chest. Miss Wethers crammed her mouth with tissue and the parlour door swung open.

  Edith screamed as a black shadow flew into the room and Nelda flung the vase with all her strength. It hit the wall by the door and shattered with a great crash. Quickly the aufwader reached for something else to throw but was stopped by a commanding voice which cut through the air like a razor.

  "What on earth have we here?" it demanded.

  The anxious face of Alice Boston peered round the door in bemused astonishment and she gave the shattered vase a quizzical look. "I was rather fond of that," she clucked, then the old lady grinned at them all. "I don't suppose there's any tea in the pot?" she asked.

  The others gazed at her dumbfounded, then they relaxed and rushed over, wrapping their arms tightly about her plump body.

  "Goodness!" she woefully exclaimed. "I leave Whitby for a few days and all hell breaks loose. The town is in uproar, what with buildings on fire, people running about like headless chickens and this horrid, clammy fog." She squinted down at Nelda who, to her eyes, was slightly blurred. "You needn't tell me who's behind it all either," she added, "that I already know."

  Only Jennet had hung back from the heartfelt greetings. It was Nathaniel she wanted—nothing and nobody else was important to her now. Where was he—why had he not come? Brushing past the others, she ran to the hall and rushed into the billowing mist.

  "Where are you?" she called.

  "Jennet?" Miss Boston's voice came to her.

  The girl whirled round and saw Aunt Alice staring at her curiously. "What have you done with him, you old witch?" she screamed.

  Miss Boston flinched as though she had been hit. "Come in out of the cold, dear," she managed to say. "You're upset. Come back inside, there are those who love you more in here."

  But the girl turned to flee and the old lady hurried down the step after her. Raising her hand, she made a curious sign in the air. "Jennet!" she shouted. "Stop! In the name of all that is holy, listen to me!"

  "No," Jennet whined, but she wavered as her mind cleared a little and her legs buckled beneath her. Then the girl fell senseless to the ground.

  "Benjamin!" Miss Boston called. "Nelda! Come and help me! Oh, I hope it isn't too late. Please Lord, don't let her be lost to him."

  Presently Jennet was lying on the sofa and the old lady tutted in annoyance.

  "I should have foreseen this," she reprimanded herself.

  "Will Jen be okay?" Ben asked. "What did you do?"

  "Merely called for help," replied Aunt Alice mysteriously. "Don't worry, she's just fainted. If only I had come back sooner. Still I should be thankful I'm here at all. Praise be for drunken butlers is all I can say." The others stared at her, not understanding a word and the old lady shook herself. The dreadful memory of Judith Deacon's body lying broken on the marble floor and surrounded by the fragments of a port bottle reared before her again.

  Standing by the door, Nelda was impatient to leave. "The guardian must be taken from here," she insisted. "Crozier may still come."

  Miss Boston stroked Jennet's hair, then turned to the aufwader and held out her hand. "May I see it?" she asked.

  The aufwader showed her the jet serpent and the old lady studied it with a scowl. "I cannot allow this to continue!" she stormed, her fierce spirit raging within her. "This appalling man must be stopped—it's time I confronted him!"

  "But you can't!" Ben protested. "He's too powerful!"

  "Have faith," she told him, tucking the guardian into her blouse. "He must have some weakness or he wouldn't have sent me all the way to London. Besides, I have one or two little surprises left. I'm not totally defenceless."

  Suddenly the entire cliff shuddered and in the yard outside a chimney stack came crashing down.

  "Morgawrus," Nelda murmured. "He wakes."

  Miss Boston swept a tweed cloak about her shoulders. "The time has come," she declared. "Edith, you stay with Jennet. Ben and Nelda, come with me." And the three of them hurried from the cottage.

  "Take care, Alice," Miss Wethers called as they disappeared into the mist. The postmistress wiped her forehead then buried her face in her hands, failing to notice that Jennet was beginning to stir. A hellish light welled up behind the girl's eyelids and they snapped open—glaring at the oblivious Edith.

  ***

  Tarr gazed about him. It had been a difficult task rounding up those who had fled from the fish demon, and they had barely escaped with their lives.

  Now he stood awkwardly on the sand, missing his staff, and surveying the grim scene before him.

  Whitby was completely covered by dense layers of mist that muffled the frantic clamour of shrill alarms. Occasionally, through a break in the smothering screen, tongues of flame shone out and the buildings that burned blazed furiously. The townsfolk were crowding the streets, trying to escape the black fog by hurrying as far inland as they could. Only the church and the abbey remained unsullied by the creeping dark and they reared over the town like proud beacons surrounded by a sea of night.

  "'Tis finished," he muttered. "Everything is ended."

  "Shrimp," cried Old Parry waddling up to him. "Look there, your granddaughter approaches, and with two of the landfolk—has she no shame?"

  Tarr ignored her. Obviously she wasn't going to let the fact that he had rescued her change her cantankerous ways.

  Over the sands charged Miss Boston, her cloak flapping and flying. At her side were Ben and Nelda and the young aufwader ran ahead to hug her grandfather.

  "Oh, lass," Tarr cried in delight, swinging her round and holding her tightly. "Ah feared ah wouldna' sithee again."

  "Mr Shrimp!" Aunt Alice cried sombrely. "Take your people away from here, lead them into the town—the shore is too dangerous."

  Tarr gaped at her. "They'll not set foot in yon stinkin' place," he said flatly. "If'n we're to die we mun do it here, where we have allus lived."

  "Then they are sure to perish," Miss Boston rapped back. "Look!"

  She pointed out to sea and there, on the outermost spur of the East Pier, stood a solitary figure.

  Nathaniel Crozier was silhouetted against the dismal horizon and his arms were raised in exultation as the water bubbled and thrashed wildly.

  "A storm is coming," warned the old lady, "the worst there has ever been."

  "Deeps take me!" muttered Tarr, realising what was about to happen. Calling to the rest of the tribe, he cried, "Follow me, we mun clear out from here and seek shelter in the town of the landfolk."

  There was surprisingly little resistance from the others. The tribe now looked to him for guidance and even Lorkon, the only surviving member of the Triad, accepted his decision without rancour. Only Old Parry objected, but they were all too weary and afraid to listen to her. Tarr was their leader now and he started shepherding them along the shore towards the town.

  "And you go with them, Benjamin," Aunt Alice told him.

  "No," the boy cried, "I won't leave you—you don't know what Crozier is capable of."

  "On the contrary," she said bitterly, "I am only too well aware of his deceit and cunning. Now, please, do as I ask."

  Nelda took hold of Ben's hand. "Come," she said, "your aunt is right. We have done our part."

  The old lady sm
iled at her gratefully. "You see," she murmured, "it's up to me now—this is my battle, not yours. From here I go on alone."

  Ben gazed at her anxiously. "But... but," he spluttered.

  Miss Boston bent down and kissed him. "Goodbye, Benjamin," she said. "Take him away from here, Nelda dear."

  "I shall," the aufwader replied. "Farewell."

  Aunt Alice pulled the brim of her hat over her eyes and the tweed cloak swirled madly about her as she marched towards the stone pier and ascended the steps.

  "She has great courage," commented Nelda, "I could not face what she must. Hurry, we have to catch up with the others. The tide is already racing in." And she pulled him gently towards the town.

  Ben twisted round and saw for the last time the old lady's indomitable figure as it hurried along the pier. Then the mist closed and he saw no more.

  ***

  The sea was angry now and violent waves crashed against the square stones of the pier, lashing the full might of its rage upon them in a frenzy of destruction.

  Through battering walls of stinging spray, Miss Boston struggled. The brutal strength of the breaking waves almost knocked her off her feet, but she steadied herself and pressed on.

  The salt rain hammered down and the old lady shielded her eyes from its merciless onslaught. Not far now; she could see the small lighthouse at the end of the pier and before it—Nathaniel.

  The warlock crowed triumphantly, leaning into the growing storm, revelling in its savagery and defying it with his laughter. The waves smashed into his legs, but his fists were locked about the railing and though the sea plucked and tore at him he resisted and clung on tenaciously.

  Turning his head, his dark gaze fell upon Miss Boston as she tottered towards him and he hooted. "The end has come!" he cried. "Even though one guardian still remains, the enchanted sleep is over. No need to murder that detestable child after all."

  Aunt Alice grasped the rail as the sea burst over the side. "You revolting creature!" she shouted, her mouth filling with brine. "You killed Patricia."

  "Don't forget that old fool Roper," he interrupted with a vile chuckle.

  "Ernest?" she cried. "Him too?"

  But the warlock had turned back to the sea, where the water had turned a disgusting, inky green.

  "Spare me your tiresome grief," he snapped, "there's nothing you can do now, old hag. You're too late, it's too late for everyone. Only I understood, only I realised what my stupid and greedy wife failed to comprehend."

  "Aren't you a trifle too sure of yourself?" Miss Boston scorned, raising her voice to be heard against the roaring waters.

  Nathaniel grinned. "No one knew except me," he bragged. "Who would have guessed it? Not a dabbling amateur like you, you with your precious tea parties, wart curing and furtive seances." He stretched out his hand and in an arrogant sweep of his arm, encompassed the darkness that was Whitby. "The whole town," he grandly announced, "was founded and built on the back of Morgawrus, a serpent so huge that it can swallow the contents of the entire harbour in one vast gulp. The enemy of all living things it was called in the beginning of days and the coast was laid waste for miles around, choked by its poison and blackened with its fires."

  "And you've woken this unclean spirit!"

  "How else could I dominate and control it?" he cried.

  "Benjamin was right," Miss Boston declared, "you are insane!"

  The warlock laughed at her. "We'll see," he exulted, "for the head of Morgawrus is already free."

  Miss Boston stared at the boiling surface of the waves. "But, surely," she cried, "if it leaves the underground caverns, Whitby will be utterly destroyed!"

  Nathaniel did not answer, for at that moment the sea exploded, mountainous spouts of water soared into the heavens and putrid brown froth erupted from the depths as a hideous shape slowly rose.

  Miss Boston opened her mouth and called out in fear, but her voice was drowned by the roar of the waves and the monstrous head of Morgawrus burst from the raven deep.

  The pier shivered, dwarfed by the ghastly nightmare which reared up beside it, and Aunt Alice dropped to her knees in horror.

  "The enemy of all living things," Nathaniel rejoiced. "Was there ever such a diseased, malignant vision of disaster?" he screamed with joy.

  Two golden eyes blasted upwards, searing the night like great furnaces and plumes of steam screeched into the sky around them. The head was massive, encrusted by barnacles and the reeking scum of millennia. It was a repulsive aberration that shamed nature and mocked the symmetry of creation. An endless torrent of stagnant water gushed from the immeasurable jaws and stained the pier black.

  A deafening screech issued from three huge nostrils as Morgawrus breathed, and the row of gills that gaped below the eyes yawned wide—like a hideous range of grinning wounds.

  High the fetid apparition reared, towering far into the sky, the five, tortured horns that crowned its head raking the clouds and tearing the canopy of the world.

  Miss Boston balked at the stench that beat from this perilous nightmare. She was soaked to the skin and wept in bleak despair as the warlock raised his arms to begin his evil work.

  "Now!" he cried. "While the drowse still lies heavy on it—I seize my chance!" He clenched his teeth and summoned the dark forces at his command. "Aid me!" he ordered. "Give me the strength to conquer and control!"

  The air about his fingertips shimmered and a livid green flame flickered into existence. For a moment it crackled feebly, then snaked across his palms and swiftly grew brighter. Down the warlock's outstretched arms the energy twisted, entwining him in a glowing spiral of magical force.

  High above, the vast head opened its ravening maw and a hollow cry bellowed from the dark throat. The noise rent the heavens, buildings toppled and huge chunks of the cliffs crumbled into the sea.

  Minuscule in the serpent's shadow, tears streamed from Nathaniel's eyes as he quaked under the strain of his exertions. The power which channelled through him was treacherous, almost impossible to control and he shrieked in agony as the pressures intensified.

  "Concentrate," he howled. "Hold on until the forces reach their peak."

  The flames that weaved about him were dazzling now, flashing and sparking with jags of lightning.

  Miss Boston turned from the harsh green glare and frantically babbled words of protection and challenge under her breath. She had been wrong to come—just being near the serpent filled her with uncontrollable despair and Nathaniel's powers were far beyond anything she had ever encountered.

  "Now!" yelled Nathaniel and he threw back his hands. At once, the spitting flames leapt from his fingers and bolted upwards. The jagged stream of energy burst through the air, striking the ghastly head, which roared more fiercely than before. This time the pier rocked and the stones cracked, the railings buckled and the wooden extension broke away, collapsing thunderously into the sea. The breath of Morgawrus howled like a gale and tore inland—creating a whirlwind which sucked up the sand and fell viciously upon the town.

  Huddling at the bottom of the abbey steps, the remains of the aufwader tribe vainly tried to shield themselves from the deadly storm. It was as though the whole shore was screaming about them and the grit scored their faces and cut into their hands. Ben hid his face whilst Tarr grimly held on to his granddaughter as the tempest raged ferociously.

  On the pier, Miss Boston let go of her hat and it was snatched from her head as she clung for dear life to the twisted rail.

  The warlock's spells crackled furiously over the serpent and, though the beast tried to pull away, the dazzling flames held it securely.

  "Creature of the primeval dawn," Nathaniel proclaimed, "hear me!"

  The fires surged and the head shuddered, trying one last time to escape the terrible forces which gripped it. Down it plunged, sinking into the waves, churning the water and screeching in protest.

  "You will be mine," the warlock commanded. "You have no will of your own—obey my words, obey me!"
r />   The serpent froze, the enchantments scalded and blistered and Nathaniel's voice finally cut through—biting savagely into its mind.

  A triumphant smile flashed across the man's face as their two wills strove with one another. The brain of the creature was vast, yet the countless years of sleep had made it sluggish and his quick mind sliced in, jabbing through the defences like a keen blade. The contest was his; he was a master of domination and, as the serpent's mind peeled away before his razor-like senses, he knew he had won.

  Deep into Morgawrus the warlock delved.

  Projecting the essence of his warped being out into the dark labyrinth of the monster's drowsy memory, where fleeting images of swamps and desolation pulsed and glowed. But Nathaniel was ruler there now, and he enslaved the serpent—binding it to his service.

  Miss Boston watched the silent combat in disbelief—the awful man actually seemed to be succeeding. The eyes of the apparition dimmed, gradually glazing over and, in a trance-like stupor, the head swayed from side to side. In a steady, continuous stream, Nathaniel's power flowed across to the beast, quenching, conquering and controlling it.

  Her white hair plastered down by slime and frightful ooze, Miss Boston finally took a grip on herself. "What's the matter with you, Alice?" she cried amid the storm. "Get up there and stop that foul man!"

  Lumbering to her feet, the old lady rushed forward. "Stop!" she yelled, grabbing the man's arm and dragging him away.

  Nathaniel shrieked, his concentration was broken and the mental link between him and the monster snapped momentarily, sending him reeling backwards.

  "You imbecile!" he bawled. "You could have killed me!"

  "This has gone on long enough!" she shouted. "You must stop!"

  "Get out of my sight, you odious hag!" he cried. "Morgawrus is mine to command—and nothing on this earth will be able to stand against us."

  Turning his back on her in contempt, Nathaniel looked on his terrifying slave. "All will be ours," he laughed, "now and forever more. Heave out the rest of your coils my beautiful horror. Show the world how easily you can destroy. Let the town of Whitby crumble into the bottomless pit."