by J. R. Wallis
Ruby cleared her throat. ‘I’m very sorry I threw you. I won’t do it again. Ever.’ The gun remained silent as Jones clattered about with a pot, pouring in the tins of beans before selecting a wooden spoon. He hit the clicker on the gas stove and a blue flame sprang up round one of the rings.
‘Help us take on this Witch and you could be famous,’ continued Ruby. ‘We’re going to try and do something not even a great Badlander like Maitland dared to do.’
‘Which is precisely why you shouldn’t try it,’ the gun retorted. ‘You’re just kids. You wouldn’t even know where to start.’
‘Well, we already know who she is.’
‘Of course you do,’ said the gun.
‘Her name’s Mrs Easton. Bakes cakes apparently.’
Jones smiled to himself as he heard the gun grumbling. As the beans warmed, he cut some slices from a home-made loaf of bread and put them under the grill.
‘If I was to ever think about working together again,’ said the gun, ‘I’d expect you to look after me. Polish me. Clean me.’ Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘Looking after me instils discipline. And that’s vital for any Badlander. Even a girl one.’
‘Fine.’
‘And I expect you to listen to my stories too.’
‘About what?’
‘My great adventures. They’re educational.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Of course. What other reason could there be?’ Ruby bit her tongue as various answers came to mind. ‘Wait till you see a thirty-foot Spiny Ogre rampaging towards you or a gaggle of Brute Trolls coming at you from all angles. Their breath alone can turn a sunny day into a pea-souper in a matter of seconds, and then you really need your wits about you. It’ll be at times like that when you’ll remember my stories and won’t be afraid, because you’ll know I’ve been there and done it and survived.’ The imps cheered again. Ruby tried to shush them, but it was too late. The gun was in its stride now. ‘I remember I was up in Scotland once, on the moor with Maitland. On one of those warm summer evenings when the midges are as thick as mist.’
‘Is this going to take long?’ asked Jones as he pulled out the toast and started to butter it. ‘We’re about to eat.’
‘You eat, I’ll tell stories. I’ve got three in mind.’
Ruby shook her head as Jones raised his eyebrows and put down a plate of hot beans on toast in front of her. He shooed the imps away as they all leant forward to smell the food. Keeping an eye on them as they climbed back into their tin and pulled on the lid, he put down his own plate of beans and started to eat.
The gun cleared its throat and began to speak in an overly theatrical voice. Something about Scottish mist and moorland and one of Maitland’s earliest hunts which he’d written up in his journal as ‘The Case of the Cave Ents’. But Jones had already switched off. He’d heard it all before. And then something occurred to him and he put his knife and fork down and stood up.
‘There might be another way we can find out more about Mrs Easton without asking the gun.’
‘How?’ asked Ruby as the gun complained about being interrupted.
But Jones was already walking out of the kitchen.
The memory bush was still in the hallway by the front door where Jones had left it a few days before. The soil in the pot was dry. But even so the bush seemed to have thrived in its indoor environment. The leaves were still a rich, dark, waxy green.
Jones checked carefully for a fruit and when he found one his face lit up, but he didn’t take it straightaway.
‘I’m sorry I ain’t been around to look after you,’ said the boy, wiping a thin sheen of dust off the leaves. ‘Everything you showed me last time was brilliant. It’s helped me find out loads of things. So can I take the new berry? It’s really gonna help.’ The bush seemed to think about it for a moment and then it parted its branches to allow him to take the fruit.
Before Jones ate the small purple fruit, he announced very clearly, as he had done the first time, what he wanted to see. ‘I want to watch the best memory I have that’s to do with Angela Easton. One that can tell me most about her and what sort of Witch she is.’
Jones popped the fruit in his mouth and bit down and chewed and swallowed. As his eyes started to feel heavy and began to close, he fully expected to see his parents with Mrs Easton. But that is not what he saw at all . . .
He was lying in a cradle on Maitland’s desk and he could tell immediately that he was remembering a time from when he was just a baby again. To his right was Maitland, sitting behind his desk, and he was speaking to someone standing in front of him. It was Victor Brynn, not a skull this time but fully formed, pale and drawn, his teeth still as black and sharp as pencil points. His arms were clamped by their sides and it was clear that he was bound by some sort of charm that rendered it impossible for him to move as white sparks flickered round him.
‘I may have been your apprentice once, Victor, but now I make my own decisions.’
Victor Brynn made a tutting sound. ‘Indeed. You’ve become everything I’d hoped. A true Badlander.’ The No-Thing’s tongue slicked between his teeth like a lizard testing the air as he spoke.
‘I tried my best,’ said Maitland. ‘I hunted down this Witch according to what little you told me about her and found her on Simeon Rowell’s æhteland in Hampstead. She’s a nasty one, like you said. Six-Toed and Goggle-Eyed too. Extremely rare. And the very embodiment of something evil.’
‘Well, you need only look at me to know that,’ hissed Victor Brynn.
‘You were a great Badlander, Victor, and a special Master to me too. I wanted nothing more than to kill this Witch and rid you of the infection she’s given you that’s poisoned the magic inside. What better way would there have been for me than to pay back everything my Master did for me?’ Maitland leant forward. Shook his head. ‘But you hunted her a long time ago. She’s grown far more powerful since she bit you and made you a No-Thing. There’s no way I can kill her. She’s made a Deorcan Flascan. She can’t be defeated.’
‘So, you’re giving up?’ Maitland’s jaw tightened as Victor Brynns tongue flashed between his black teeth. The angry No-Thing tried to move, but the white sparks around him flashed brighter and he cried out in pain. ‘You’re giving up on me! Your own Master! Me, who raised you from a tiny thing. A Deorcan Flascan can be found. I know a way. Go to St Crosse College in Oxford. Seek out the Lich, Du Clement, who the Order keeps locked up in the chapel crypt. Du Clement is the Order’s secret, an encyclopaedia of knowledge on all things and the greatest authority on Witches there’s ever been. If anyone can help you, he can. He’ll know how to find a Dark Bottle.’
‘Do you think the Witch won’t have her Dark Bottle well protected?’ said Maitland. ‘Even if I can find it, stealing it will be nearly impossible.’ Maitland shook his head again. ‘I haven’t trained one apprentice successfully so far. Who’ll carry on my name if I die trying to save you? I’m sorry, but I’ve made my choice. I’ve chosen this boy over you, my friend.’
‘You chose that thing over me!’ hissed Victor Brynn. ‘A child! The magic within me can still be mended. The Witch’s infection can be removed if you find the Dark Bottle and kill her.’
‘I need a future, Victor. That’s what this boy is. There’s something special about him. I’m sure of it and I’ve learnt from my mistakes with other apprentices. He’ll make us both proud. Carry on my legacy and yours. I’ll make sure of it. Everyone in the Order in years to come will know that the great Badlander, Jones, was taught by Maitland, who was himself taught by Victor Brynn. Our names will live on through this boy. We must be resigned to our wyrd. Me, as a teacher, and you as a No-Thing. There is nothing I can do to help you now except keep you charmed in the hope that, one day, this curse might be lifted one way or another if the wyrd allows. It’s either that or death and I don’t have the courage to kill the Master who brought me up. Who loved me like a son.’
Jones watched as whites sparks of magic shot out of Maitland’s
free hand and wound themselves tighter and tighter around Victor Brynn, making him cry out in pain. Victor Brynn cursed, snapping his teeth as he shrank away into just a skull with sharp black teeth that floated down onto the desk and settled on a pile of papers.
When Jones opened his eyes, Ruby was hopping about, waiting to see what he knew. ‘Well?’ she asked.
TWENTY-ONE
It was mid-afternoon the same day, as Jones and Ruby were sitting at the small drop-down table in the camper van, when Thomas Gabriel appeared from out of nowhere. He went flying down the central aisle of the van and slammed into the back of the vehicle before plopping down on his backside. He stood up quickly, rearranging his hair and snapping his herringbone coat around him.
Not even Ruby could think of anything to say. Jones was just staring too.
‘Compact spaces like this van can be difficult to materialize into with Slap Dust,’ announced Thomas Gabriel, trying hard to regain his composure.
‘As you’ve so clearly demonstrated,’ said Ruby, raising her eyebrows at Jones.
‘Which is why it’s good to practise. And what on earth is this?’ asked Thomas Gabriel, looking about, trying to move the conversation on from his embarrassing arrival.
‘A van, like you just said,’ replied Jones, and Ruby stifled a laugh.
‘I meant, what are you doing here? I went round most of the house looking for you until I found the gun in the kitchen and it told me you were cooped up in here.’
Ruby shut the book that was open in front of her on the small drop-down table, without saying a word. The embossed silver title on the front read The Badlander Encyclopaedia. Next to it sat an open road atlas. Thomas Gabriel squinted at the page before Jones shut that too.
‘What’s in Oxford?’
‘Lots of things, probably,’ said Ruby. ‘Houses. Pigeons. Dogs.’ She shrugged. ‘So I guess dog po—’
Thomas Gabriel looked at her down his very large nose. ‘Bang goes your job at Deschamps & Sons once I tell Simeon you’re slacking off. You’re supposed to be busy cleaning the house.’
Ruby’s face puckered up and it looked like she was going to cry. ‘Oh, please don’t tell him, Thomas Gabriel. I’d . . . Well, I’d be . . .’ Thomas Gabriel actually thought she was about to burst into tears. Ruby looked him straight in the eye. ‘I’d be devastated,’ she said with a smirk. Jones tried not to laugh as Ruby smiled.
Thomas Gabriel’s ears turned pink. ‘You should be treating me with a little more respect.’
‘What, cos you’re Simeon’s boy?’ asked Jones.
‘Because I came here to tell you something about the Witch in Hampstead. I’ve found out her name for starters.’
‘Oh, you mean Mrs Easton?’ said Ruby.
Thomas Gabriel opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
‘Jones, help him out before his brain explodes,’ she said and pointed to the jam jar sitting on the counter beside the sink. Jones picked up the jar, unscrewed the lid, and thrust it under Thomas Gabriel’s nose.
The Gást’s face appeared in the thick translucent jelly in the neck of the jar and laughed when it saw Thomas Gabriel peering down. ‘So! The idiot with the stupid hair, we meet at last. But only because someone else passed Simeon’s test before you did.’ The Gást smiled. ‘Loser. Looks like someone else found Simeon’s Gást before you did.’
Thomas Gabriel looked up at Jones, his bottom lip wobbling ever so slightly. ‘You . . . you captured the Gást I told you about.’
‘I thought it might be useful.’ Jones grinned. ‘It’s seen Mrs Easton coming and going to my parents’ house. I’m gonna kill that Witch and free my parents.’ He slapped on the lid and handed the jam jar to Thomas Gabriel. ‘I was gonna hide it in one of the van’s cupboards so you and Simeon wouldn’t know. But it’s yours if you want it. Just tell your Master you caught it and he’ll Commence you. That’s what you want, ain’t it?’
‘I can’t give it to him now, can I? The Gást will tell him the truth.’
‘Then tell it not to.’
Thomas Gabriel looked at the jam jar, weighing it up. ‘I’ve got a better idea. I’ll help you kill the Witch. Simeon’ll have to Commence me then.’
‘No thanks,’ said Ruby.
‘You’re going to need all the help you can get. Especially as you haven’t got much time.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Jones.
Thomas Gabriel paused, enjoying the fact that for once he knew something the others didn’t, and then he reached into his pocket and brought out what looked like a small tube of glue with a white cap screwed on.
‘I copied something from Simeon’s journal on to this Imitator. I’d say it’s pretty useful.’ Thomas Gabriel pointed the tube like a finger at Jones. ‘Simeon hasn’t been telling you everything. Your parents haven’t got long to live.’
Thomas Gabriel unscrewed the lid and squeezed the bottom of the tube. Lines of words shot out of the nozzle and arranged themselves in rows in the air, and Jones and Ruby started to read.
Journal Entry 18th June
I have encountered many strange things, but now my eyes have truly been opened. Maitland is dead, cut down a few days ago by the abomination of a Wédorcnéus. His apprentice, Jones, survived and has Commenced but not of his own accord. Now, through circumstances I can still barely comprehend, Jones Commenced with a girl he rescued on the night of Maitland’s demise. Of course, the Magic rejected them both, given the girl’s involvement.
But there is more.
Maitland, it seems, had told the boy he was an orphan with no clues as to the whereabouts of his parents. But, after discovering his Master had lied, Jones went looking for them. His search led him here, to Hampstead, where he discovered far more than he expected. That his mother and father are cursed by the witch Mrs Easton and beholden to her.
I have found out some of why Jones ended up as Maitland’s apprentice by forcing Maitland’s gun to tell me the barest of facts. It seems Maitland hunted down the Witch some twelve years ago with a view to killing her, although I failed to uncover exactly why he sought Mrs Easton out. Yet, when he discovered the extent of her powers (she is virtually impossible to defeat as I well know), he took a different course of action. According to the gun, Maitland stole Jones, who was then just an infant, as an act of mercy. He has done a decent job of raising the boy as far as I can tell. There’s certainly more about him than Thomas Gabriel who, I fear, will surely go the way of other failed apprentices and end up as a gift to Mrs Easton, given her taste for children.
Such, then, is the past, but what now of the present?
I will organize for the girl to work at Deschamps & Sons where she will be whipped into shape, and learn for herself that girls have no place in the Badlander order except to serve men. But it is Jones who presents the biggest problem. It had been in his mind to free his mother and father from the Witch to fulfil his vain hope of becoming a normal boy. A ridiculous idea of course and fortunately, through my powers of persuasion, he saw reason and agreed to be my Whelp. It means I will take ownership of Maitland’s house and possessions according to the Ordnung, which is a most satisfactory outcome!
In time, I expect Jones to forget about his parents and become a loyal Whelp if treated well. I have despatched him back to Maitland’s house for a week to clean and tidy. But it serves another purpose too. He will be busily engaged for the night of St John’s Eve which falls in less than a week’s time. His parents, being now her longest-serving and most devoted followers, are due to be eaten this year by Mrs Easton, such is the Witch’s custom. Once his mother and father are gone, LIFE WILL GO ON AS NORMAL, all this mess will be forgotten, and I will have Maitland’s house and all his possessions!
Jones said nothing for a moment and then swiped angrily at the shimmering words, sending them spinning into the air.
‘I can help you, Jones,’ said Thomas Gabriel as he squeezed the tube again and the words were swallowed back into it. ‘I’ll help you kill this Witch.’
Jones and Ruby glanced at each other. ‘Didn’t you read what it said? If I don’t Commence, Simeon will give me to the Witch like his other failed apprentices. This is my last chance to prove I’m really ready for Commencement. Jones, St John’s Eve is on the twenty-third of June,’ continued Thomas Gabriel. ‘It’s the nineteenth today. That means you’ve only got four days to save your parents. So let me help you.’
Jones was quiet as he weighed up the options. ‘Okay, then,’ he said eventually and tapped the cover of the road atlas. ‘We’re going to Oxford tonight. To St Crosse College.’
‘What on earth for?’ asked Thomas Gabriel.
‘Because we’ve got to find the Witch’s Dark Bottle if we’re gonna kill her.’
Thomas Gabriel’s face lit up. ‘Is that where it is, in Oxford?’
‘No. But there’s a Lich in Oxford who might be able to tell us where it is.’
Ruby cleared her throat. ‘Jones, I’ve been meaning to ask. What exactly is a Lich?’
‘Something that’s usually a bit mad,’ replied Jones.
‘And dangerous,’ added Thomas Gabriel. ‘All types of Lich are very dangerous, at least if you get on the wrong side of them.’
‘Right,’ said Ruby. ‘Of course they are. I mean, why wouldn’t they be?’ She slapped her forehead as if such a thing had never even occurred to her.
TWENTY-TWO
The interior of the chapel of St Crosse College, Oxford, looked gloomy in the moonlight. Ruby felt as if she was standing in a shipwreck at the bottom of the sea. Her hands were still tingling from the Slap Dust and she rubbed them, before turning her attention back to Jones and Thomas Gabriel, who were busy inspecting a large stone wall.
‘You’ve been looking for ages,’ said Ruby with a degree of annoyance. ‘Are you sure there’s a secret door?’
‘Yes,’ replied Thomas Gabriel. ‘If my One Eye says there is then there is,’ and he pointed at the creature flitting back and forth across the wall, scanning the brickwork with its one big eye. ‘I already told you. They can sense things like secret doors.’