The House Called Hadlows

by Victoria Clayton

  Sebastian sat down on the chair that was offered to him.

  ‘Well,’ he began. ‘I’m looking for something —’

  ‘Aren’t we all? Yes indeed. I tell you what. I’ll show you what there is to choose from, that will make your decision much easier, won’t it? I’m sure we have something to suit you.’

  Before Sebastian could protest, his companion flung out a crimson arm and pointed a finger at one of the doors.

  It flew open and smoke belched through it into the room. There was a crackle of flames and a great heat wafted past Sebastian’s face.

  ‘Our furnaces. Traditional place for traditional minds. Stoking and roasting alternate weeks. Hm, not quite you, I think.’

  He clicked his fingers and the door swung shut with a loud bang. Fastidiously he brushed particles of ash from his black brows.

  ‘Now here we have something a little more imaginative.’

  He pointed towards another door. It flew open to reveal a landscape of hills and rocks. Sebastian could see in the distance a man toiling up a long steep slope, pressing his shoulder to a huge stone and pushing with all his might. Just as the man had reached the top of the hill, the boulder slipped away from him and crashed to the bottom. The man, with no sign of surprise or anger, turned round and began to walk back down the hill. As soon as he reached the stone he put his shoulder to it and once more began to heave it up the hillside.

  ‘Does something in that line appeal to you?’ the pleasant voice murmured in Sebastian’s ear.

  ‘Well, actually I’m not —’

  ‘Doesn’t suit you. All right.’ And the door slammed shut.

  ‘Now here we have a speciality for married couples.’

  Another door swung open and at once the room was full of the sound of uproar. Angry voices shrieked and roared and out flew a rolling pin, which narrowly missed Sebastian’s ear and fell through a hole in the floor which opened smartly to receive it.

  ‘Dear me. It’s strange how much they enjoy it. Engrained habit, I suppose. But then, you’re a little young for that, I think?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Sebastian hastily. ‘I don’t want to go through any doors, thank you.’

  ‘Really?’ The slanted eyebrows grew almost vertical in an expression of surprise. ‘Then may I ask what you are doing here? This is most irregular.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But the thing is, I’m not dead you see.’ And just as he said that, it occurred to Sebastian to wonder why it was necessary to explain that fact, as the boatman and Cerberus had known it without being told. A little dart of suspicion entered his mind.

  ‘Not dead? I see. Well this is unusual. I’m curious to know how you got here. A little hocus-pocus, eh? Magic perhaps. Dealings with the little people, no doubt.’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Sebastian, hoping that he wasn’t going to have to recount the whole story. But the patient expression on his companion’s face and the relaxed way in which he leaned back in his chair and crossed one crimson leg over the other, destroyed Sebastian’s hopes. He began an account of the events which had led to his arrival in the domain of dead souls. He tried to be brief and skim over as much as possible but he was constantly interrupted and questioned over minor details and it was a good hour before he came to an end, his temper considerably frayed by so much explaining.

  ‘Just so,’ said his companion, when he had finished. ‘Your style of narrative was charming in parts, but if I hadn’t already known the story, I should have been most confused by so many omissions.’

  ‘You knew already?’ Sebastian almost shouted with exasperation.

  ‘But of course. I know all the stories for I have a part in making them. Only indirectly of course, I’m not a main character. However, don’t let’s get philosophical. Your poor little brain will become strained and my great one is already wearied by a long day.’

  Sebastian silently ground his teeth at the irritation of it all, but he thought it wise to conceal his feelings for the moment. His companion smiled at him from his chair, his hands folded across his stomach, looking for all the world like a benevolent old gentleman.

  ‘Let us proceed to business. You want the Fire of the Elixir. I have it and have no particular use for it. I deal in death, not in life. But it is not in my nature to simply hand it to you and send you on your way. No, you must win it from me. If I lose you shall have the Fire of the Elixir. If you lose I shall have — well, shall I say, my usual prize.’ And he laughed gently.

  Sebastian went cold all over and beads of perspiration sprang on to his forehead. Surely he couldn’t mean — not his soul?

  ‘The stakes are high, are they not? It should add great zest to the game.’ And he rubbed his hands together.

  ‘But that’s not fair,’ cried Sebastian. ‘You don’t want the Fire of the Elixir anyway. It can’t matter to you whether you win or lose. But what you want from me — I want to keep more than anything else.’

  ‘Dear me. What an innocent you are. Who said anything about being fair? I’m never fair. That would be awfully dull. Come now, you have no choice anyway. I have laid out the terms. Do you accept?’

  Sebastian waved his hand, angrily. ‘As you say, I have no choice. What is the game?’

  ‘Do you play chess?’

  ‘Yes, a little.’

  ‘We shall have a little game, then.’ He clapped his hands and at once a door opened and two cloaked figures entered the room, one carrying a chequered board and the other a small box. They began to lay out the chess set on the floor between the chairs. They placed the pieces on their master’s side first. And what strange pieces they were; goblins, dragons, and serpents. There was one of a three-headed dog exactly like Cerberus and another of an old man masked like the boatman. Then they laid out the pieces on Sebastian’s side. He was astonished to see that one of the pieces was a small girl dressed in red, and instantly recognized Melissa. And there was Uncle Bertram too, and Aunt Augusta sitting in a bath chair. And a tiny orange cat — Mantari, of course. He also recognized Mrs Parkin who was their housekeeper in London, and Sarah the maid. There were two school friends of his and William, the coachman. This was not at all the sort of game he had expected.

  ‘You move first,’ said his companion. ‘No. There is no need to touch them,’ as Sebastian reached down his hand. ‘You must move them with your mind. I prefer a more subtle game of chess. It is a test of wills.’

  Sebastian rested his head in his hands and tried to concentrate. What exactly did that mean — move them with his mind? He looked at the figure of the maid, Sarah, and tried to imagine her sliding forward a square. Nothing happened. ‘Oh Sarah,’ he thought to himself. ‘You are far away in London. And if I told you where I was you wouldn’t believe me. But I do need your help, and I promise never to tease you again.’ Suddenly the tiny figure began to walk across the board, waving a mop fiercely in her hand.

  At once the goblin strode out to meet her. He pulled a dreadful face at Sarah and she stepped back with a little shriek. ‘Come on, Sarah,’ thought Sebastian to himself. ‘You can fight back. Don’t be frightened.’ And at once the tiny maid hit the goblin a mighty whack on the side of the head with her mop. The mop broke and the goblin was momentarily stunned. ‘Quick, Sarah! Over to the other side of the board.’

  She ran across at once and the moment her little foot touched the edge the goblin vanished in a puff of smoke.

  ‘Hm, you seem to have got the hang of the game quite well. You have won the first encounter. Proceed.’

  Sebastian thought quickly and then moved one of his school friends forward. At once a dragon bounded up to him and blasted him with a fiery breath from each nostril.

  ‘Back, Charlie,’ thought Sebastian desperately, and just in time the red-headed Charles nipped nimbly back out of the way. The dragon lunged again and this time Charlie drew out the Indian knife which was his most prized possession and had long been the envy of all the other boys at school. The dragon shrank back, afraid, and for a m
oment there was a desperate battle of opposing wills as Sebastian urged Charlie forward, brandishing the knife, and the dragon’s master fought against its cowardly nature. But at last the dragon gave way and ran back to its own side, Charlie running triumphantly after it. The dragon vanished.

  ‘Curse those cowardly dragons!’ The black brows drew together. ‘Next time you shall not find it so easy. Proceed.’

  Sebastian moved Uncle Bertram forward and the old man strove valiantly against a fierce looking satyr. But the satyr was most unsporting, kicking and biting viciously and at last Uncle Bertram was driven back and disappeared. Melissa went next, easily vanquished by a slimy serpent. And then Mrs Parkin was overcome by the boatman, though not before she had dealt a few resounding blows with her rolling pin. Sebastian began to get seriously worried. His opponent had obviously taken his early defeats in his stride and was determined now not to let Sebastian win. Sebastian doubled his concentration. He moved Mantari forward and a few seconds later was delighted to see the brave cat drag the limp body of Cerberus off the board. They were now equal. Two moves later they were still equal, each having made one gain. Now there was only one more move to make and the game would be over. Sebastian looked at the board and his heart sank. He had made one of the most elementary mistakes possible. He had played all his strong pieces and left his weakest piece for the last. Aunt Augusta, in her bath chair, sat waiting patiently for her turn. On the other side of the board stood an ugly giant, at least three times her size and holding a heavy spiked club. Sebastian’s opponent drew back his lips in a sneer. ‘Your move, I think.’

  Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Aunt Augusta was moving, her tiny arms spinning the wheels of her chair for all they were worth. The clumsy giant took a step forward and lifted his club above his head. But before he had time to bring it down, Aunt Augusta shot between his legs and flew off the end of the board. The giant’s club missed her by a millimetre and buried itself in the board. Then he disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

  ‘I’ve won!’ thought Sebastian to himself, so excited he could hardly resist shouting aloud, ‘The Fire of the Elixir is mine!’

  There seemed to be a great struggle going on in his opponent’s breast, for a multitude of expressions passed over his face before he smiled, and said pleasantly. ‘Well, you seem to have won. Tut, tut, tut — how careless of me. Still, no help for it. I shall summon the Fire of the Elixir and we shall have a drink together before you go.’

  He pointed to the floor, and the board and remaining piece were swallowed up by a convenient hole. Then the space reopened and this time an arm was thrust through it, the tips of the fingers on fire. It held a small ebony casket, black and shining like a piece of coal.

  ‘Take it. It’s yours.’

  Sebastian leaned forward and gingerly extracted the casket from the outstretched hand, not without burning his fingers quite painfully.

  He nursed his throbbing fingers while gazing with delight at the thing which lay in his lap.

  ‘Why don’t you open it?’

  Sebastian did so. The casket was lined with glass and in the centre was a plume of fire, curving like a bird’s wing, and shooting out silver sparks against the glass.

  Sebastian’s heart thrilled with gladness as he looked at the beautiful thing. As he gazed at it, two servants entered bearing two green glasses filled with a bubbling liquid. A table rose from the floor and the drinks were set on it. From the position in which he held the casket Sebastian could see them clearly reflected in the glass. And then his heart gave a leap of fear. Hovering above one of the glasses was a crimson hand and from its fingertips dripped several drops of some liquid which smoked slightly as they fell into the bubbling drink. Then the hand was withdrawn. Sebastian looked up. A faint trace of smoke lingered above the glass nearest him.

  ‘Your good health,’ smiled his companion, raising his glass to his lips.

  Sebastian began to panic. Thinking quickly, he decided to knock the glass over. ‘It’s probably poisoned,’ he thought to himself. ‘He’s determined to have my soul after all.’ He took hold of the glass and then let it slip from his fingers. Quick as a flash a crimson hand shot out and caught it. Only a few drops of liquid fell through a hole in the floor which had opened up to receive it.

  ‘Butter fingers,’ admonished his companion playfully.

  ‘I — I thought I saw a door open just then, over there. It distracted me.’ Not a very brilliant ruse but it had its desired effect. His companion looked around for just one second. Time enough for Sebastian to change the glasses.

  ‘I think you were mistaken. No door was opened. Your nerves are on edge after the strain of the contest. Now let us drink.’ And he raised the glass once more to his lips. Sebastian raised his, and their eyes met. Then to Sebastian’s horror, a slight but perceptible wisp of smoke rose from his companion’s glass and hovered directly in their line of vision. The black eyebrows contracted and beneath them the eyes shrank to pinpoints of anger. He put the glass down, slowly.

  ‘Oh help!’ thought Sebastian, in alarm. ‘I’ve been rumbled!’

  THE SILENCE was broken by the clanging of a bell, and Sebastian, not daring to take his eyes from the two glasses, heard the gates creak open and shut behind him.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ said his companion with surprise. ‘It seems we have the honour of a visit from a friend of yours.’

  Still Sebastian did not dare to turn round. A dignified miaow-w-w brought a smile to his face though and when the orange cat stalked into view, Sebastian forgot the unpleasantness of his situation for a moment as he greeted his old friend. Mantari was looking glossier and livelier than ever and he submitted to being stroked under the chin with royal condescension.

  ‘That’s a remarkably nice pussy cat,’ said the pleasant voice, almost oily with good humour, and he leaned forward to tweak Mantari’s whiskers. Mantari wrinkled up his fine nose and spat.

  ‘Appalling manners, even for a cat,’ he said, wiping his face. ‘Never mind, drink up and then you can be on your way. And take your little furry friend with you.’

  Sebastian was puzzled. Surely the glasses had not been changed round again? Had his deception passed unnoticed after all? He took hold of the glass nearest him. Mantari began to howl loudly and furiously shook his head.

  Sebastian put down the glass hastily.

  ‘Very well,’ said the man in crimson, harshly, all pleasantness quite gone. ‘I see you are not going to co-operate. Drat that wretched animal!’ And he glared angrily at Mantari. Mantari managed, as far as his furry face would allow, an equally nasty look.

  ‘I have other far less pleasant methods to detain you until the hours of darkness. Then your soul will be mine. It was merely a sleeping potion in your glass to keep you until the bell tolls seven times seven. Then the gates of Hell are closed and you will be an inmate. I shall make you my servant, in charge of reception I think — or perhaps boots.’

  ‘So you can’t make a bargain and stick to it,’ said Sebastian scornfully. ‘I think that’s awfully weak. And you expect me to be afraid of someone like you.’

  There was a certain hollowness in his words, however, for he was very scared.

  ‘Fine words, young man. But Fear is my servant too, and he is as constant as I am false. I know that he stands behind you now and your spine thrills to the touch of his icy hand.’

  Sebastian turned round in alarm.

  ‘No, no, no. I was speaking figuratively. How annoying to have one’s attempts at lyricism taken literally. I might as well not bother.’

  He was evidently growing irritated by the thwarting of his plan. ‘Now, let me think how I can entertain myself until the bell begins to toll. Ah yes, I have it! How amusing that will be.’ And he began to laugh quietly to himself.

  Suddenly Sebastian felt he could bear it no longer. He got up and took the casket which was lying on the table.

  ‘I’m going now,’ he said. ‘And taking what is rightly mine. I thin
k you’re bluffing and I’m going to call your bluff. Come on, Mantari.’ And he strode purposefully over to the gates. His host laughed more and more, and made no effort to stop him. Sebastian took hold of the latch. Then he gave a cry of pain and snatched his hand away. A shudder ran through him. The latch had twisted itself round his hand as he touched it, and squeezed it with iron teeth until he felt it must be severed from his wrist. He looked at his throbbing hand. Yes, there were actual teeth marks scored across his knuckles, deep gouges welling with blood. And the skin around them was rapidly turning black.

  ‘You — you devil!’ shouted Sebastian, mad with pain.

  The Devil laughed so hard that he fell from his chair and rolled, helpless, on the ground. But his laughter was cut off in a piercing scream. Mantari had sprung like a savage beast and was tearing at his face with his claws and gripping the pointed nose with his fine white teeth. Sebastian watched in amazement. He had never seen Mantari in a rage before. Every whisker bristled and stood on end and he lashed his tail and howled furiously as the two of them rolled across the floor, fighting like tigers. A crimson hand reached up and clutched at the orange fur, squeezing with all its might. But Mantari closed his teeth with a snap and the pain from the bleeding nose forced the hand to let go. Mantari sprang from his victim and ran across the room. Sebastian wasted no time but leapt in pursuit as fast as the slithering floor would let him, past the shrieking figure writhing on the ground and through a door which opened before them. It closed with a bang and he found himself in complete darkness.

  ‘Mantari!’ he called. ‘Where are you?’

  Almost at once two yellow beams from the cat’s eyes shone out before him and lit the rocky chamber in which he stood. Mantari growled low and padded quickly to a low archway leading out of the chamber. Sebastian followed him and then skidded to a standstill. On the other side of the arch, towering over him in the dim light, was a sentry. He was clad in armour and a surcoat of silver rings fell almost to his feet. A tall helmet, with a sharp spike on its crown, rested on his broad forehead. His eyes held Sebastian’s sternly and his sword was pointing at Sebastian’s throat. Sebastian stood quite still, not knowing what to do. The sentry neither moved nor spoke.