by Caro King
Nin was running out of things to say. She smiled brightly and moistened her dry lips with her tongue.
‘You must have interesting stories to tell?’ she asked, hoping to stave off the inevitable.
‘Oh plenty,’ said Strood warmly. ‘I love stories. In fact,’ he leaned towards her confidingly, ‘I write poems, you know. Not the flowery sort with lots of unnecessary words, of course. I write ballads that tell a story.’
‘Aren’t they a sort of song?’
‘No! No! Well, sometimes. I did try having them put to music once. Ran out of musicians. They could never get the harmony quite right. Screamed very tunefully though.’
‘Um. Could I hear one?’ It might be worth it, if they were good and long.
Strood waved a hand. ‘Oh I don’t read them out loud! But you should try the Ballad of the Last, that’s a good one.’ He chuckled. ‘Except, of course, that you won’t get time before you die. Shame. I think you’d like it.’
Nin felt her heart turn over. She took a deep breath and tried not to panic.
‘The Last,’ she said. ‘Is it about the Seven Sorcerers?’
‘It is indeed! You really are quite an intelligent child, aren’t you?’
‘I met Nemus Sturdy,’ she said hopefully.
‘So have most Quick who travel this way,’ said Strood dismissively. He brushed an invisible fleck of dust from his black, silk suit.
‘Did you know them?’ she asked desperately.
Strood gave her a long, cool look.
‘Know them,’ he said.
Nin shivered at the tone of his voice. ‘Um, I mean, being one of the Fabulous I just thought you might have met them.’
Strood stared at her for a moment and then flung his head back and howled with laughter. Nin wasn’t sure if this was good or bad.
‘What makes you think I’m Fabulous? The fact that I have power? Oh no,’ he hissed, hunching forward in his chair. ‘The Sorcerers may have thought they would reign forever, but they didn’t as it turns out. Look at them now! An old oak, a few stone walls, a desperate vampire and a body-skipping madman. And those are the ones that survived! The rest are just so much dust. They can’t even rot to feed the flowers!’ His voice had become a savage snarl.
Nin stared at him. Even if she could have unstuck her tongue enough to speak, she wouldn’t have known what to say. She could have pointed out that Simeon Dark was supposed to be still alive, but she thought it would only make him angrier.
Strood settled back in his chair again. His voice went back to being mildly amused.
‘Oh no, girl. I’m not Fabulous,’ he said calmly, ‘I’m just immortal.’
23
Big Luck
trood picked up a silver bell perched on a shelf under the table and rang it. Almost immediately the door sprang open. A figure filled the door-way. It was wearing a chainmail shirt and carrying a spear.
‘Yessir!’
A shiver ran through Nin. He had sent for the guard and that could only mean one thing. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to put off what was going to happen next, but Strood got there first.
‘Take her away,’ he said.
The guard, whose emerald eyes showed him to be a Grimm, picked Nin up like a doll. He tucked her under one arm and tramped heavily out of the room.
‘You can put me down if you like,’ squeaked Nin breathlessly, her ribs crushed to breaking point. ‘I won’t try running away.’
The guard chuckled. ‘Not a lotta point!’ He dumped her on the ground, fortunately with her feet downwards.
‘Um, I’m Nin,’ she said in her friendliest voice. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Errol,’ said the guard cheerfully. He was about seven foot tall and nearly as wide. ‘Yer the one Bogeyman Skerridge jus’ brought in right? I ’eard,’ he glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice, ‘I ’eard as ya made a Fabulous!’
‘That’s me,’ said Nin. ‘But how did you know?’
Errol looked at her in awe. ‘Yer famous. Stories like that, they get about. And BMs are terrible gossips, y’know.’ He sighed heavily. ‘’s almost a pity I gotta frow ya to Mr Strood’s Deff.’
Nin was still having a problem with how anyone was going to throw her to Mr Strood’s death. Her own maybe, but someone else’s?
They had been walking for ages down a wide, high-ceilinged corridor. Nin realised that the House was seriously huge, even bigger than she had thought when she saw it from the garden. Finally they reached some stairs that led down to another long hallway. As far as she could work out, Mr Strood lived on the first floor and they were now going back down to ground level. At the foot of the stairs was a large picture of an old man strapped into a carved wooden chair. The man looked hideously crazed and the great staring eyes seemed to follow Nin as she walked past.
‘Tha’s Gan Mafig, that is,’ said Errol conversationally. ‘Used ter own the ‘Ouse, long ago, afore the Seven Sorcerers ’appened and Mr Strood did what ’e did to Mafig an’ took over.’
Nin didn’t ask. She had a feeling that Gan Mafig’s fate had been a horrible one and felt she would be better off not knowing what it was.
‘Mr Strood’s Deff lives in a kennel right next to the inner garden,’ went on Errol. ‘The ’Ouse is built round the garden, like. Nobody’s allowed in there, ’cept to walk the Maug round the lake. Sometimes Mr Strood goes t’ look at the roses, though.’
At the end, the corridor turned at right angles to itself and kept going. About a third of the way down they arrived at a plain door with a key on a hook next to it. Errol unlocked the door and pulled it open. Somewhere, a bell began to toll, its heavy sound rolling over Nin like waves and making her skin prickle.
‘It’s jus’ the Evebell,’ said Errol, raising his voice over the reverberation. ‘It rings every day, right at the moment the sun begins to sink.’
Nin nodded to show she understood, though she didn’t. The bell stopped, its last bong echoing in the still air.
‘In yer go then, I’ll be right behind ya.’ Errol nodded towards the open door.
Cautiously Nin inched round the door, closely followed by the Grimm guard. She froze.
They were in a courtyard, enclosed on all sides, but open to the sky. Ivy covered the high walls except for the one to their left, which had a window one floor up. There was one arched exit through which Nin could see a path, a tree and some shrubs.
In the middle of the courtyard was a kennel as big as a garden shed. But it wasn’t the kennel Nin was staring at, it was the dog.
It turned its great head in her direction. Nin couldn’t see any eyes, although she knew they were there because she could feel them watching, and its fur wasn’t fur because fur didn’t drip darkness like water. It had been lying down but as soon as it saw them it got up on to its massive paws and stood waiting hungrily. It opened its mouth and let out a breath that turned instantly to frost in the warm evening air. Even its teeth were made of darkness. It bared them at her in a snarl that she couldn’t hear, but that sent a bolt of freezing fear right through her.
‘Yeah, tha’s it. Tha’s Mr Strood’s Deff. ’e calls it the Maug. Blimmin’ thing. Dunno ’ow many servants we’ve been froo wiv that. Thank goodness it only needs walkin’ once a fortnight, eh?’
Nin nodded automatically, not taking her eyes off the Maug for an instant. She was shaking.
‘Now, ’ere’s ow it goes. ’e’s on a chain that don’ stretch far, so I shove yer out inter the middle – just over that line there what we’ve painted on the ground at great risk t’ life an’ limb – an’ tha’s it really. It don’ take long. I’ll stay ’ere till yer gone, if ya like,’ Errol added kindly.
‘Th-thanks,’ muttered Nin numbly. ‘W-what will it do?’
‘Eat ya, o’ course. It likes to eat life. Only Quick life, mind, and the younger the better. Well, it’s been nice knowin’ ya.’ Errol stuck out a hand.
Nin shook it politely.
‘Yer so calm,’
Errol went on admiringly. ‘Not many Quick can stay calm in the face of the Maug. Mostly they jus’ scream an’ beg fer mercy.’
‘Thanks,’ said Nin. She didn’t feel calm. She thought her body was going to shake itself apart with fear. It was all over. Jik and Jonas were in the hospital and Skerridge had gone. What she needed now was some really big luck, but even that seemed to have deserted her. There was nothing she could do, nowhere to run and no one was coming to rescue her. This was it. The End.
The Maug threw back its head and howled. The howl was made of fear, not sound. It ripped through the air like knives of ice and it was only the barest edge of pride that kept Nin from screaming helplessly and begging for mercy. Darkness rose from it like steam. Even Errol had gone pale.
‘Better not keep it waitin’. ’ere,’ he went on gently, ‘I’ll come wiv yer up t’ the line, ’ow’s that?’ He led her towards the red strip painted across the paving stones. The line was sloppy and had lots of breaks and smudges. He stood just on the outside of it.
‘D’ya wanna go by yerself or shall I give yer a shove?’
Nin thought that she would go by herself, if she could, but she took a last moment to look up at the sky. It was dusky blue and perfect and empty of everything but for a tiny black speck that might have been a bird. The Maug howled again and the shockwaves reverberated out and up making the servants shiver in their quarters, the guards stop halfway through their tea and the bird overhead drop the snail it had been carrying and swerve sharply off to the left, never to come this way again.
Errol wiped his brow. ‘Time ter go,’ he said.
Nin stared, shivering, as the snail hurtled down through the air faster and faster gathering speed until …
‘Ouch!’ Errol staggered. He was far too big and solid to be hurt by a snail, even one travelling at velocity, but he was already unnerved by the Death Dog and so the blow from above startled him. He jumped back a couple of paces and dropped his spear.
Nin looked at Errol and Errol looked at Nin. Then they both looked at the red line, which was now between them. He had one breath to try and get to the right side, but goblin-Grimm weren’t known for speed and the Maug was already in the air.
‘Bum,’ said Errol, as the Death Dog landed on him, taking him down with a crashing thud that shook the ground. His voice rose to a howl. ‘Run fast an’ never ferget the Eyes …’
It had been waiting far too long for its dinner and though it would have preferred the young one to the old half-Fabulous one, right now anything would do. There was Quick in it, the Maug would just have to eat round the Fabulous bits.
Nin hurtled backwards and crouched against the wall beneath the window with her fingers in her ears to block out the tearing, sucking sound of the Maug at its dinner. There wasn’t a lot of screaming from Errol, just the first howl of terror followed by a horrible gurgling sound and then nothing.
When it was all over, Nin unravelled herself, feeling numb and strangely cold. She stood up, shaking helplessly. In front of her the Maug turned its horrible eyes her way as if wondering about dessert. It licked its lips and dribbled darkness mixed with blood. Between its paws lay what remained of Errol.
All the Quick in him had been sucked away leaving only the Fabulous part. The leftovers of shrivelled, beetle-like skin and bone struggled feebly where it lay before it finally dissolved into a bluish goo.
With her back to the wall for support, Nin edged towards the door on jelly-legs. The Maug watched, its body tensed ready to spring.
‘Nice dog,’ murmured Nin pointlessly.
The edge of the doorframe was under her fingertips. She slithered over it until her back was against the wood. The Maug crouched.
Nin screamed just as the Death Dog leaped at her. She scrabbled at the door and it fell open beneath her, pitching her through into the corridor beyond. At her back the Maug, brought up short by its chain, let out silent howl that shook the Terrible House right down to its fearsome Engine.
Strood’s study was a large, comfortable room with one big window that looked out over the courtyard. A minute ago, Strood had left the desk where he had been sitting, mulling over his next poem, and had gone to the window to watch the Maug feed. He had missed the incident with the snail by a split second and all he saw was his pet enjoying its dinner.
Normally he would have stayed to watch right to the very end, but today Strood was inspired and wanted to write down all the words swimming around in his head as quickly as possible. So by the time Nin moved from beneath the window where she had been safely out of his range of vision, he was back, sitting at the desk in his study staring into space with a smile playing about his horribly scarred lips.
Strood selected his favourite pen. He had thought for a while about how to tell the story and now it was time to begin. Solemnly, he dipped the nib into the ink and leaned over the waiting page to write the title of his next great work. It was:
The Ballad of Ninevah Redstone
Within moments he was so absorbed in his writing he didn’t even notice his pet howling with rage and disappointment.
Nin followed Errol’s advice and ran fast. She hurtled silently down the corridor and past the stairs with the horrible picture. She didn’t want to go up them because Strood was that way, so she turned a corner and kept on running until she ended up in front of a door.
Everything was quiet. She pushed open the door and stared in amazement at the scene in front of her.
It was a wood. Growing right on the edge of the cliff and encased in crystal, but definitely a wood. There were trees, their branches rustling in the breeze, shedding the odd leaf on to the grassy path. There were smaller shrubs with pale flowers, glowing in the evening light that fell in splintered gold through the crystal walls, and there were even ferns and mosses that hid the ground with their soft covering. Nin crept inside. Then she half sat, half fell to the ground beside a tree and lay for a while, racked with sobs that shook her like a leaf, finally understanding how stupid she had been to hope she would see her brother again. Because if she had survived only by the wildest stroke of luck, what were the chances that Toby had made it past the Maug as well?
It was a long time before she fell asleep, worn out with fear and grief and loneliness, but fall asleep she did and peace, or what passed for it in the Terrible House of Strood, finally settled in for the night.
24
Skerridge Goes Rogue
he Lockheart Sanctuary was quiet and those of its patients who were not in too much pain had long gone to sleep. Only the sisters were still up, their thin, blue-clad shapes moving silently along the corridors going about their business of comforting and healing. And Jik. Jik was still up because mudmen did not need to sleep.
He had spent most of the night wandering Mr Strood’s moonlit gardens, looking for Nin. He had found two follies, an orchard, a stagnant lake, a grotto shimmering with gemstones, a peacock house, a cave full of blue spiders bigger than he was, a hothouse that had clearly gone insane and an overgrown maze. But there was no trace of Nin.
But he did find the note pinned to the sanctuary door with bloodstained splinters and now he was standing in a corridor that smelled of cool water, waiting for Jonas to be in a fit state to read it.
In front of Jik was a closed door and behind the door was Jonas, being cared for by three of the Lockheart sisters. From inside the room came the sound of singing. Listening to it made Jik’s mud tingle.
Through the window next to him, the outside world was beginning to grow lighter as the first flickers of morning touched the horizon. Then dawn ignited and flames the colour of blood blazed over the sky in ruby tongues, giving the Drift a distinctly doomsday look. At once the singing stopped, the door opened and the sisters came out. Jik wondered if he should go in or wait a while longer.
Inside the room, Jonas stirred, his eyes flickering, half-open. Three candles guttered around the bed. As the dawn flames burnt out, the sky grew clear and bright again, slowly filling the room with so
ft gold. The glow condensed into the form of a woman sitting by his bed. Her hair was shorn almost to her scalp and she wore a robe the same blue as a summer sky. She was made of light and she was so beautiful it hurt him to look.
She smiled. ‘Better now?’
Jonas tried to focus on her. He could feel cool air around him and soft sheets on his skin. He felt clean.
‘Much,’ he mumbled, his voice blurring.
‘We don’t have long to talk,’ said the woman. ‘I’m just a memory, you see, a kind of ghost. I can only speak to people at times like this, the instant between oblivion and consciousness.’
‘I’m waking up?’
‘Yes, but I can hold on to the moment for a little while.’ She smiled at him and his breath caught in his chest. ‘My sisters have been singing Pleads for you all night and the candles that you see there each have one drop of unicorn blood in them. They were the last drops of the last unicorn ever and we were saving them for such as you.’
‘For me?’ Jonas watched her, transfixed. Her voice sent fingers of silver into his heart and made him want to laugh or cry or both. ‘Why me? I’m not important.’
The woman looked at him gravely. ‘No. You are not important. But you are part of something that is. It would take months to chase the Hounds entirely from your heart, but we have only this one night to do the best for you that we can. And so we used the candles. They will give you the strength you need to fight the battle when it comes, but in the end it will be down to you.’
‘Thank you. But why only one night?’
‘That you will know soon enough.’ She smiled. ‘Always remember that the feeling of power never lasts. Those who run with the Hounds soon become desperate and unhappy, chasing across the sky, forever hunting their lost life. You have been saved from that fate in the Storm, don’t let it claim you on the Land.’
The woman was blurring in front of him, blending into the light.
‘Don’t go! I don’t know your name!’