The Demon Curse

by Simon Nicholson

  “Follow me,” said Billie.

  Jumping off the bottom step of the fire escape, she ran down an alleyway and took a shortcut through a graveyard filled with whitewashed tombs. They burst out through the gate and hopped over another wall, and Harry saw their own boat waiting at its wharf. They leaped into it, and with a push of an oar, they were out onto the river.

  The sail rustled up. Billie’s hands raced around the boat’s ropes even faster than they had before, and foam churned up around the boat’s prow as it gathered speed. She gripped the rudder with one hand and, with the other, pointed ahead to where, further up the river, the skiff with the two men could be seen. Harry tried to make it out more clearly, but the light was fading, and he looked up to see that, out of nowhere, gray clouds were swelling in the sky, blotting out even the New Orleans sun. Gloom spread over the river. Harry heard thunder rumble, and he saw the clouds’ edges flicker and grow dark again.

  The boat sailed on. The clouds kept swelling, and a fine rain fell from them, coating Harry’s clothes and skin with tiny droplets. He wiped them away, but they gathered again. Up ahead, he saw the skiff with the two men alter its course and head for a muddy stretch of shoreline, where a rickety boathouse was built on stilts over the river.

  The skiff’s sail lowered. The two men, tiny shapes in the distance, splashed into the water and pulled the boat up onto the mud. They hurried up some steps and disappeared into the boathouse. Harry made out other boats clustered nearby. Almost all of them, he noticed, had fishing nets piled in them.

  “What is this place, Billie?” Arthur whispered.

  “Can’t say,” Billie replied. “We’re quite a way down the river. I’ve heard they’re fishing folk down this way—guess that’s what these men are too. I suppose that would make sense of that massive, jagged iron hook you saw…”

  “Although they’re not just fishermen, that’s for sure—not from what you’ve told us.” Arthur’s face was pale and tense. “Burying something under the bed of a man who, even according to Dr. Mincing, seems to be gripped by some kind of demonic force…”

  “We’re going to find out more.” Harry kept watching the rickety boathouse, but no sign of the men could be seen. “Not now. It’s still too light. There’s too much chance of being seen, even for me. But later, once it gets properly dark, we’ll come back and go inside and—”

  “Billie! Billie!”

  Voices, faint and high, floated through the rain. Harry swung around and saw a shape moving toward them over the water. He watched it, waiting for it to become clear.

  It was a boat the same size as theirs. In it were two small children, digging into the water with their paddles. Harry recognized them from the jetty the previous day, when they had been some of the first to run forward and greet Billie. They were waving at her now.

  “Fire! Fire at Fisherman’s Point!”

  Chapter 9

  Billie leaped out of the boat even as it glided up to the jetty. Harry tied up the ropes, jumped out with Arthur, and ran after her. Everywhere, he saw the Islanders shouting and waving their arms, their faces tight with fear. He ran on, following Billie toward the smoking remains of one of the huts.

  It was one of the smaller ones, out on the edge of the village. Its roof had collapsed and smoke still billowed from it, thick and black. Some of the Islanders were throwing buckets of water onto the wreckage, and Billie ran to help them, only to stop and turn toward Auntie May, who was running toward her, arms outstretched.

  “I saw them, Billie! I saw them!”

  “Who?” Billie embraced her old friend, even as she glared at the blackened remains of the hut.

  “Men from the town! Members of Oscar Dupont’s mob.” Auntie May shook her head. “I was near the jetty when I saw them. They were running down it and then leaped into their boat. Taunted me, they did, and waved one of their placards too. I thought they were blustering at first, just trying to frighten us—but then I saw the smoke! Their work was done.”

  “Anyone hurt?” Harry grabbed a bucket and hurled water onto the smoking ruins.

  “No, thank heaven! And the hut can be rebuilt—although I fear there may be little to gain from that.” Auntie May pointed back toward the river and the city across it. “They will be back, I am sure. The more Dupont’s mob rages, the braver they become! They will be back, and in greater numbers.” She gestured to everyone nearby. “That is what we must prepare for, as best we can. Follow me, my fellow Islanders! To Brother Jacques’s hut! He will do for us what he can. Billie, you and your friends must come too. Follow!”

  She hurried off, and the Islanders did as she asked, following her toward a dark, looming shape nearby, the large hut that Harry recognized as the one he had visited the day before. He heard chanting coming from it, the sound of hundreds of voices, and then he noticed a familiar figure standing by it too, just by the doorway.

  “A calamity! Une catastrophe!”

  It was Madame Melrose. She was shaking her head and walking forward to comfort Auntie May. Harry saw that the elegantly dressed lady’s face was flushed and that she too was holding a bucket of water, like the Islanders dousing the flames. Her voice was broken and distressed.

  “I know, Auntie May! I saw them too, as they fled from their vile act. How can it be? I come to help you, as acting head of the council, but I have no sooner arrived than I find myself standing powerless while you deal with this outrage! Unbearable!”

  “You must not blame yourself, Madame.” Auntie May placed an arm on the lady’s sleeve.

  “But I do! I do—why, mes enfants! We meet again!” Madame Melrose had noticed Harry and his friends drawing near. She peered at them. “What brings you to Fisherman’s Point at this terrible time? Do you not have to set off for Tobermory Swamp?”

  “One of us has friends living here.” Harry gestured at Billie. No need to lie; the truth can do just as well. “Thought we’d stop here and say hello before going back.”

  “Friends with the Islanders?” Madame Melrose wiped away a tear. “You choose your friends most wisely. These are fine people—Mayor Monticelso was not the only one to think so. I too have taken a great interest in them, have I not, Auntie May?”

  “Yes indeed! A great help to us over the years! Now if you’ll excuse me, ma’am—” Auntie May curtsied and headed toward the hut’s doorway.

  “Yes, of course.” Madame Melrose curtsied back and turned to the children. “I believe I told you that I was coming for a meeting here? And I did not come alone! For all its hopelessness, no one can say I have not done what I can to help these noble citizens. Come, let me introduce you to these gentlemen here…”

  Clutching her bucket of water, she set off toward the burned hut. Harry saw that a small group of men had gathered there, dressed in coats and top hats. Several of them had grabbed buckets and were pouring water on the ruins, rain dripping from them as they worked. Madame Melrose walked up to them and emptied her own bucket onto the smoking timbers.

  “I asked these gentlemen to come down here several days ago, as soon as this business broke,” Madame Melrose continued. “They are professeurs d’anthropologie sociale, that is to say, professors of social anthropology, the study of human culture. From the University of Chicago. My plan was to use their expert opinions to construct a defense of the Islanders—a clear explanation of why their practices are in no way deserving of these accusations!”

  She gestured at the men, who nodded at Harry and his friends. Some carried on dousing the fire, and others were writing in notebooks as they stared around at the Islanders’ huts. All had grim expressions, and Madame Melrose’s face was troubled too.

  “Terrible, that such a plan is even necessary. The Islanders are strong, intelligent people and are perfectly capable of making a defense themselves, but no one, in these terrible times, will listen to them, will they? Indeed, I wonder if anyone will even listen to m
y anthropological friends. The mob does more than make accusations now, mes professeurs! Attacks on the Islanders’ homes indeed! Where will it end?”

  “An unfortunate business, ma’am.” One of the gentlemen tipped his hat; the others shook their heads.

  “I am powerless! I see the criminals flee in their boat and can do nothing. That Oscar Dupont and his inflammatory speeches—I can do nothing about him either. What hope do we have of stopping this fury, the anthropologists and I?” She turned toward the main hut, from which the chanting could still be heard. “They are at their rituals, the Islanders. I fear that may be the only hope that remains for them…but I shall continue to do what I can. Come gentlemen, we must fetch more water…”

  She hurried off with her bucket, and the top-hatted gentlemen followed. Harry watched them go, Madame Melrose stopping to comfort Islanders as they passed. The anthropologists were doing the same. Harry felt Billie tug at his hand.

  “Come on.” She started walking toward the main hut. The chanting kept drifting. “Madame Melrose is right—they’re doing one of their rituals. We should see it. Might even be useful to take part.”

  “How do you mean?” Arthur looked at her curiously.

  “They let me take part before, when I lived with them.” Billie shrugged. “Said it would protect me. I can’t be sure, but I reckon it might have. That journey all the way up to New York, all those scrapes I managed to get out of—do you really think I could have pulled that off on my own?”

  “That’s what you’ve always told us,” said Harry.

  “Who knows?” Billie shrugged again. “It won’t do us any harm, that’s for sure. Might even do a bit of good.” She looked back at the blackened remains and shook her head. “And I’d say we need all the help we can get, wouldn’t you?”

  They ducked through the doorway. It took Harry’s eyes even longer to adjust to the darkness this time, because only the murkiest light filtered through the hut’s windows, and that was blocked by the bodies gathered inside. Harry made out new odors, of burning oil, herbs. He saw that Billie and Arthur had sat down among the Islanders, and he sat down too, just by the door. Brother Jacques sat at the center of the hut, staring straight at him.

  “You have come among us again, I see. You are no longer so suspicious of our ways.” The old man lowered his face, and it disappeared into shadow. “Indeed, I hear from Auntie May that you, Billie, and Arthur seek to help us Islanders, to investigate this business, to clear our name. If so, then it is right you all join us now. You will have need of our spirits’ magic. Great need, I believe.”

  There was a scraping sound. Harry looked down to see Brother Jacques opening one of the engraved brass jars, his voice softer, just a whisper.

  “There is great evil abroad in New Orleans—no one can deny it. And so we call upon the spirits to help us, to protect us. Let us hope that they protect you too, as you delve into these dark matters…”

  “Let us hope,” said Auntie May, leaning out of the shadows. Her eyes shone, and Harry saw a small brass amulet swinging by a chain from her hand, on which birds’ wings and snakes were engraved.

  “The spirit of the earth.” Brother Jacques reached into the jar. “Let it move among us.”

  Auntie May held up a brand from the fire, and the rim of the jar danced with light. Brother Jacques lifted out the dried snakeskin, the coiled-up shape rotating in his grip. Auntie May leaned the brand closer, its flames just brushing the snakeskin. Only the very edge of it started to burn, but thick plumes of smoke spiraled. Harry blinked and saw Billie and Arthur were blinking too, as Brother Jacques reached into the jar a second time.

  “The spirit of the sky,” he said. “It descends and is with us.”

  He took out the hawk feathers. The flames brushed them, and more smoke spilled in the darkness, mingling with the smoke from the skin. Harry’s eyes stung harder, and his vision blurred, but he carried on looking as Brother Jacques reached into the jar again.

  “The spirit of the trees,” he said. “It grows within us.”

  He held up the branches. He took just one of the dried pods and tossed it into the flames, which shot up and turned bright green. Interesting, thought Harry as the smoke swept up around him, thick and swirling. An impossible amount for such a small seed. The plumes sprawled in different directions, and whatever had been making his eyes sting was far more powerful now, because the pain had become quite intense, and he could see nothing at all. But he could hear, and he sat in the swirling gloom, listening to the Islanders’ chanting.

  “The spirits will protect us… The spirits will protect us…”

  Maybe, thought Harry. But me, Artie, and Billie need to help too—and the sooner the better.

  Silently he gathered his legs underneath him. The hut’s door was just a few feet away, and his hand groped through the door and found its frame. He pulled himself up and stepped out into the fine rain that was still falling from the murky gray sky. He waited, blinking, while the stinging faded from his eyes and his vision returned. Then he walked away from the hut, smoke curling from his clothes, the Islanders’ chanting growing fainter. But something Brother Jacques had said lingered in his thoughts:

  There is great evil abroad in New Orleans.

  He walked past the remains of the hut and down to the end of the jetty. He stood there as the rain fell from the swollen clouds. He made out the buildings on the other side of the river. He turned and stared in the direction of where he knew the old boathouse waited, where he knew two men—one with a daggerlike beard, the other with yellowed eyes—would be found. He thought of all he had seen in New Orleans in the short time since he and his friends had arrived.

  The mob, their hate-filled placards thrust into the air.

  Mayor Monticelso’s face, stretched wide with terror.

  A man searching a room with a hook in his hand, its barbs catching the light…

  Once again, he felt his heart quicken. Pulses twitched, and he felt those flickering sensations creeping all over his skin. Just like before a trick—but I’ve never felt them quite like this before, he thought. His heart throbbed almost painfully, and the flickers were more powerful too, like little electrical jolts. He could feel trickles of perspiration making their way down his back, across his chest, down the backs of his legs.

  A little nervousness is a good thing, he told himself. Use it to focus. Use it to concentrate.

  And his heart kept throbbing, those flickering sensations kept gathering strength, the droplets of sweat kept gliding, as he stood there in the rain, staring at the city, and trying to work out what might lie ahead.

  Chapter 10

  The boat sailed through the darkening water. Billie gripped the rudder, and Arthur sat up in the prow, Harry crouched beside him. As the wharfs of the city drew near, Harry could still smell the scent of smoke in his friend’s clothes.

  “It was pretty much as I expected, that ritual,” Arthur was saying. “I told you, I’ve read about this voodoo business, and about all other kinds of magic too. All over the world, people use spells and charms to help people, to heal them, and sometimes it really does seem as if they have genuine power—people get better, their troubles vanish. Scientific proof or not.” He lifted the sleeve of his coat and breathed in the scent. “Anyway, it was good of the Islanders to offer us protection.”

  “They’re good people.” Billie narrowed her eyes as she guided the boat up to the wharf. “Here’s your stop, Artie.”

  “Ah, yes.” Arthur put one hand on the ladder at the wharf’s side. “I have to say, as far as protection goes, you’re the ones who are going to need it, far more than me. Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? Seems wrong, me heading off to the library when I think where you’re going. Back to that boathouse where—”

  “We’ll just spy on them. A quick look and we’ll be gone.” Billie cut him off. “And we’ve just agr
eed, haven’t we? The more we learn about demons and magic, the better. If it turns out that the men at the boathouse really are working some kind of evil curse on the mayor, well, we’ll need to know everything we can.”

  “It’s the only way we can clear the Islanders—by finding out the truth, every last bit of it.” Harry nodded. “And no one finds stuff out quicker than you, Artie.”

  He exchanged glances with Billie. Neither of them had said anything to each other, but he knew she felt the same about their younger friend taking part in their return to the boathouse. Anyway, it’s true, he thought. Artie really is good at finding things out.

  “If you’re sure.” Arthur clambered up the ladder and stood on the wharf. Gas lamps stood all along its length, making the misty rain glow. “I’ve got permission to enter the library after opening hours; it’s part of my special membership. I’ll start off in the magic and folklore section—that’ll have lots about curses and demons and the like.”

  “That’s the idea, Artie.” Billie pushed the boat off. “We’ll meet you there in a couple of hours.”

  “I’ll have gone through half the section by then.” Arthur took out his notebook and pen and waved them at his friends. “I’m already familiar with the cataloging system, remember?”

  Arthur headed up the wharf while Harry grabbed hold of an oar and stirred the water, swinging the boat around. Rope whispered, the sail billowed, and Billie pushed out the rudder, her gaze fixed ahead. Harry glanced back at Arthur, quite a small shape in the distance already, clambering up the steps at the end of the wharf.