by J. R. Wallis
‘I zzeee. And can you prove eeet?’
Pindlebury laughed. ‘Of course he can’t because it’s simply not true.’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Ruby, taking off her baseball cap. She did a little bow in front of Du Clement. ‘Monsieur Du Clement, my name’s Ruby. I’m a girl. Me and Jones here Commenced together by accident and it means we can do magic together now too. We got The Black Book of Magical Instruction and both of us can read it.’
‘Rrrruuubbbeee. Oh, très jolie, ma fille. Showwww me uuur magic.’
‘We only know one spell.’
‘Zen show me zat.’
Thomas Gabriel and Pindlebury were both staring, mouths wide open, as Ruby plucked one of Du Clement’s bones from the pile and laid it in front of her on the floor.
‘How long would you like me to make it disappear for?’
‘Fiiive seccondsss, s’il vous plaît.’
‘Right.’ Ruby cleared her throat. ‘And how do you say that in Anglo-Saxon exactly?’
‘Fif brachwíla,’ said Pindlebury quietly, who seemed as much intrigued as amazed at the prospect of a girl using magic.
Ruby grabbed Jones’s hand and pointed at the bone on the floor, speaking as clearly as she could. ‘Andweardnes áflíeheþ fif brachwíla.’
When a white spark shot out of her fingers and the bone vanished through a blurry circle which had appeared, Pindlebury gasped and Thomas Gabriel cursed. But Du Clement just counted . . .
‘. . . Un . . .
. . . deux . . .
. . . trois . . .
. . . quatre . . .
. . . cinq . . .’
. . . the bone flew back through the blurry circle and landed on the floor, making Du Clement cackle a scratchy laugh.
‘Voilà,’ said Ruby, placing the bone back on the pile, followed by a curtsey.
‘Bravo!’ shouted Du Clement. ‘Bravo! So, girrrls are juste as gooood as boyyze.’
‘That’s what I keep telling everyone. The Ordnung’s all wrong,’ said Ruby.
‘It’s a trick,’ shouted Pindlebury. ‘The boy did it on his own somehow. Must have done.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ said Jones and he raised his hand and pointed at another bone and tried exactly the same spell. But this time nothing happened. Not even a spark from his fingers.
‘Yezzz,’ announced Du Clement. ‘Eeet mussst beee truuu. Yuuuu ’ave proved eet. But I would keeep it zeeecret, no? Ze Orrderrr eees not so-oo inter-essted in such thingzzzz as you knowww.’
‘But why?’ asked Ruby.
‘Beeecccauuuse sometimesss people don’t want to beliefff somefing if it scares zem. Zey must understand it feeerssst so zey are not so scared. But zis takes time. And for ze Order it will take a long time I zink. Noowwww I ammm to tell yuuuu somefing, no?’
‘About the Dark Bottle, yes,’ said Jones.
‘All Daark Bottelles arrre eeedden in a speshial place. A cerrtaine graveyard. Where ze earth is verrry powerful and draws creeetures to eeet. Very few people know zis place. And only ze mo-ssst braaave Badlanderrrs would ever go zere.’
‘Or possibly the most stupid,’ mocked Pindlebury.
‘Ahhh, yesss, Pindelberry, youuuu are saying you woold like to go zere, non?’ And Du Clement grinned as the research fellow tutted. ‘Nowww, to find ze Daark Bottelle youuu want, youuuu must go to eeeach graaaave and do a speshial theeng. You must get ze gravestones toooo tell you what iz beeerrried below. You know zis skill?’
‘No,’ said Jones.
‘Well, to make a graaavestone talk eess not so ’ard, no, Pindel-berry?’
‘You want me to tell this little tyke how to do it?’
‘Yesss, I want to know if youuu know. Uu are ze ree-search felllowww, no? And I beleeeeve I am ze one who hasss a say in whezzzer you earn your theees-is at ze end of your stay heeeere in ze coll-edge.’
Pindlebury sighed and looked up at Jones. ‘Louis Greizmann, born 1763, died 1845, discovered how to make gravestones whisper. It was considered a major breakthrough at the time because it meant being able to hunt through graveyards and burial sites much more easily. No unnecessary digging, you see? Just make the stones tell you what’s lurking below ground.’
‘Greizmann whhas a drinkerrr,’ laughed Du Clement. ‘We gotttt in trubbbble in Paris wun night. Mon Dieu!’
‘How do we make the gravestones speak to us?’ Jones asked Pindlebury.
‘A certain symbol inscribed on each stone will make it tell you what’s buried there. Greizmann was an artist—’
‘Eeee always liked to draw. He doodled somefingg on a gravestone one night when ’e was drunnnk and got ze shock of hisss life when eet whispered to ’im!’ Du Clement cackled. ‘Eeeee showed me. Eeeee said listen to zis, Charlie! Now I show you. Give me one off migh ’ands, si’l vous plaît. La droite. Annd a pen and papier.’
Jones searched in the pile of bones for a hand and found the right-handed one. When he noticed a pen clipped to the front pocket of Pindlebury’s jacket, he plucked it free and took a chapel service sheet from the one of the pews.
‘Nowww, hold ze papier, s’il vous plaît.’ Jones held up the paper and the skeleton’s hand scratched a symbol on the paper. ‘On-ly a few peeeple in ze world kno-ww of what I am tellingg youuuu nex-t. Ze Daark Bottelles of Eeenglish Weeetches are heeden in ze graveyarrd of zee church in the village called Ingoldsby in ze county of Hereforrdshire. Go zere and youuuu vill find ze Daark Bottelle you waaannnt, ze one zat beeelongs to ze Witch youuu know. But eeet weel be gurd-ed. Ze gravestone will tell you what else lurks zere, with ze Bottelle. Be careful, mes petits. Be verrrry careful. Zere weel be dangerous foe protecting eet for sure. A Wee-tch will not give up her Bottelle easileee.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jones.
‘No, zank uuu,’ laughed Du Clement. ‘A girl who can doo magique. Mon Dieu! I zought I kneeew everyzing.’
Du Clement asked for all his bones to be taken back down into the crypt, saying he would put himself back together. When Pindlebury informed them a carefully wrought piece of magic prevented any Badlander except him, the fellow, into the crypt, Ruby simply sauntered through the doorway with a handful of Du Clement’s bones in her arms.
‘You mean any male Badlander?’ she announced without looking back.
Ruby returned all of Du Clement to the crypt, locking him back into his small cell which she’d opened with the key hanging on the wall that she’d spied when first going down there. Meanwhile, Thomas Gabriel and Jones spoke together in hushed voices, as they studied the Memory Leech, with Thomas Gabriel rifling through a copy of the Pocket Book Bestiary.
‘You don’t need to use that on me,’ said Pindlebury. ‘I won’t say a word. Not even about the girl.’ But it seemed the two boys had made a different decision as they shut the book and came towards him, the Leech wriggling in Thomas Gabriel’s fingers.
‘It’s all right,’ he said as Pindlebury whimpered. ‘We’ve read up how to do it.’
Pindlebury looked into Jones’s eyes as the Leech snapped its tiny teeth. ‘I could show you and the girl how to use magic. No one need know.’
‘I ain’t doing magic.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Cos I just want to be an ordinary boy.’
Pindlebury tutted. ‘Impossible. Not after Commencing. You’ll never be an ordinary boy now.’
‘I will too,’ and Jones nodded at Thomas Gabriel to use the Leech on Pindlebury to shut him up. Thomas Gabriel whispered to the creature how many minutes it was to extract from the man’s memory and then fed it into Pindlebury’s ear as the Pocket Book had instructed, making him cry out. When the Leech had vanished, the man quietened down and went still. His eyes closed, but Jones could see them moving beneath their lids.
Thomas Gabriel consulted the Pocket Book. ‘Once the Leech is done, it’ll wriggle back out.’
‘What do we do with it then?’
‘I’m going to keep it. It’s a rare one. A slipigne smeawyrm. It’ll be really useful in
London for anyone who sees things they shouldn’t.’ Thomas Gabriel nodded at the unconscious Pindlebury. ‘He’ll wake up after we’re gone and think he slipped and fell and knocked himself out. The Leech is a clever creature, being able to create a story like that. It even gives its host a headache to back it up. Pindlebury won’t remember a thing. Not even that you and Ruby can do magic.’
Jones looked warily at Thomas Gabriel. ‘You can’t tell no one about me and Ruby doing magic together,’ he said.
‘You think anyone would believe me? Simeon would think I was mad and then I’d never Commence.’ Thomas Gabriel held out his hand and they shook silently. But, when Jones tried to let go, Thomas Gabriel held on. ‘Graveyards are dangerous places, you know.’
‘So?’
‘So what if you need to use magic in the one where the Dark Bottle’s hidden?’
‘There’s ways of staying safe without casting spells,’ and Jones pulled his hand away.
‘But why, if the magic’s in you?’
‘Maitland always said magic was dangerous unless you can learn to control it. He told me, if you can’t, it ends up controlling you, and I don’t want it ever doing that. I’ll only ever use the magic inside me if there’s no other way.’
TWENTY-FOUR
The following morning Jones was up early. He knew it would take a couple of hours to get the camper van ready for the journey to the graveyard to look for Mrs Easton’s Dark Bottle. He and Maitland would always check over the vehicle ahead of any long trip to ensure it would not let them down, so he wanted to make sure it was ready for the journey.
He inspected the oil level, topped up the window-washer fluid, and then made sure each tyre was pumped up to the correct pressure. He also checked all the lights were working too.
The petrol tank was half full, but there were three jerry cans full of fuel stored in the shed. Jones poured the contents of one into the tank and stowed the other two securely in the van. Using the road atlas, he’d already worked out there was more than enough fuel to complete the 250-mile trip to Ingoldsby and back again. Which meant that he wouldn’t have to face any difficult questions at petrol stations along the way.
As Jones prepared the van, Ruby packed all the things he’d written down on a list for her. It consisted largely of basic provisions they might need to cook with, such as eggs, butter and cheese, along with home-made bread, biscuits and various tins of beans, all of which were stored in cupboards in the kitchen. The items that needed to be kept chilled, like milk, butter and bacon, were in a very cold pantry and Ruby presumed it must have been charmed as she stood shivering, picking everything out.
‘Yep, no ’frigerators; the Ordnung doesn’t allow it,’ said Jones when she asked about it, after dumping the bags of food in the van and then stowing everything away in the cupboards under the boy’s direction. ‘Badlanders ain’t allowed to use certain things ordinary people do, cos of the Ordnung. They have to get round it using magic instead. It’s just the Rules.’ Jones shrugged because he didn’t know what else to add.
‘How come you’re allowed the van?’
‘The Ordnung lets Badlanders use vehicles. They’re a way of getting around without using things like Slap Dust, which some books say is bad for you if it’s used a lot. I ain’t sure that’s true but Slap Dust definitely ain’t practical during the daytime, that’s for sure. But what’s really useful about a vehicle, especially a van, is you can take everything you need with you.’ Jones opened a cupboard jammed full of jars and pots filled with all manner of things from pickled blue beetles to multicoloured beans. ‘Hunts can take days, weeks sometimes, so you need to have somewhere you can live with all your essentials. The van’ll be our home while we’re looking for the Dark Bottle and we can take everything with us we might need. Graveyards are dangerous places,’ he said. ‘Lots of creatures live there,’ he added, ‘so who knows what weapons we might need,’ and Ruby thought about that.
When Jones opened a cupboard at knee height, Ruby felt a blast of cold air and she figured it must have been charmed.
‘Where does all your food come from?’ she asked as they started to put away all the things that needed to be kept chilled.
‘Maitland had an arrangement with the local farmer. He delivers a box every week with cuts of meat and milk. As for everything else, we grow it ourselves, fruit, vegetables, we even have bees for honey.’
‘Isn’t that hard work, growing lots of things?’
‘Things grow by themselves. You don’t need magic for that.’ Jones looked out of the window at the sun and reckoned it was about midday. ‘We should leave soon so we’ve got all tonight for looking round the graveyard. There’s a couple of things we need to do first, though.’
Before leaving, they checked on the tiny black Scucca pup which had bitten Ruby on the finger. After opening the black metal box in which it had been placed, they peeked inside. The tiny Scucca was curled up on a bed of shredded paper. A caul covered its head, and a jelly-like membrane was growing over the rest of the creature too.
‘If a pup hatches too early,’ said Jones, ‘and they don’t eat, the ægg grows back round ’em, protecting ’em to give ’em another chance.’ After closing the lid, and making sure the clasp was secure, he locked the box and placed it back under his bed. And then he gave Ruby the key.
‘What should I do with it?’
‘Keep it. The Scucca belongs to you now. He’s your hound. If we make it back and you still really want to be a Badlander then you can grow ’im up like me and Maitland were going to try and do.’
‘But Jones—’
‘Scucca pups are very difficult to find. Me and Maitland spent ages looking for ’im. Proper Badlanders would give their thumbs to have that one. The Pocket Book’ll tell you about Scuccan. And there’s a special book on Maitland’s shelves called The Training Manual for Scucca Hounds by Severin Lafour.’ As Jones blinked, waiting for her to say something, Ruby realized he was giving her a present, a big one.
‘Thanks, Jones,’ she said.
Jones grinned and his cheeks turned red as if someone had lit a tiny fire in his mouth. ‘Thanks for being my friend. And for showing me the Internet, and for saving my life an’ all. I ain’t really had a chance to say too much about it before.’
The final thing they did before leaving was to carry the chest full of Maitland’s Commencement gifts out of the house and place it in the van because Jones wanted anything that might be helpful with them for their trip to the graveyard.
Ten minutes later, he watched the cottage growing smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror. He glanced at Ruby to tell her he was glad he wasn’t alone, especially since Thomas Gabriel would only be turning up in the graveyard if he could sneak away from Simeon without making him suspicious. But Ruby was concentrating hard on the Pocket Book Bestiary, reading up on all the creatures he’d warned her they might encounter in the graveyard. The gun was in her lap as well, telling her all sorts of useful bits of information too. As Jones steered the van in silence, it dawned on him that if they did find the Dark Bottle and manage to defeat the Witch then he and Ruby wouldn’t be together for much longer, working as a team. And, the more he considered that possibility, the stronger an odd feeling in his stomach became, until he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Instead of trying, Jones hid all his thoughts deep down inside him and focused on the road, listening to the clink of jars and bottles in their cupboards, reassured that Maitland had been diligent in making sure the van was well stocked with all sorts of useful things.
Ruby’s head was full of facts about Ghouls, Wraiths, Demons and all manner of other creatures by the time they arrived in Ingoldsby. It was early evening as they drove into the village and the sun was turning the rooftops golden. Ruby placed the Pocket Book into the black backpack beside her feet, which contained the scrying mirror, and looked out of the window.
Cars were parked on either side of the narrow street with two wheels up on the pavement. Jones drove on an
d the road widened before they found themselves puttering through a square with a pub on one side. People were sitting outside on wooden benches, drinking and smoking. Ruby and Jones heard snatches of drunken laughter. As the VW engine gurgled and popped, the odd person looked up as they passed.
They followed the high street out of the square. There were gift shops and antique dealers as well as a delicatessen. Jones kept driving, on out of the village for about a mile, until they saw the graveyard. It was large, very old and pretty. A white gravel path ran from the lychgate to the wooden door of the small church, winding between the gravestones. Wild flowers grew in purple, red and yellow patches.
Jones pulled the van over and Ruby wound down her window. The grass had been cut during the afternoon and there was still a sweet green smell lingering in the air.
‘Looks quiet enough,’ said Ruby.
‘Now maybe, but there’s a Badlander rhyme about graveyards and cemeteries . . .
The Scucca is a vicious hound,
In deadland is it often found,
So on a hunt in blackest night
Expect a growl, and then a fight.’
It’s to remind you to be careful. Most graveyards have a Scucca and it’ll always defend its territory to the death. That pup at the house ain’t nothing compared to a full-grown one. It’ll bite off your head in a flash and chew it down, skull and teeth and skin an’ all.’
‘So how do we deal with an adult?’
‘Let’s find somewhere to park up and I’ll show you.’
It was a still, clear night when they returned to the graveyard. They walked down the lane with their shoes clicking and the stars burning bright above them, having parked the van in a side track a little way down the road, rested and eaten (Ruby had noted that beans on toast seemed to be Jones’s speciality). They lowered their voices as the church came into view and by the time they reached the lychgate and stood underneath its tiny roof on the flagstones they were silent. Even the gun which Ruby was holding had stopped talking about one of its greatest adventures in a graveyard with Maitland.