Aberrations_The Beast Awakens

by Joseph Delaney

  And what deadly armour! It was covered in sharp spikes, as were her knee-high boots – sharp spurs curved upwards from each toe. Her gloves were similarly adorned, each finger terminating in a cruel-looking metal talon.

  The three ranks of aberrations had been facing her, but now they began to retreat, backing away towards Crafty.

  All at once he heard a whirring, whooshing sound. Bertha was swinging the chain in rapid circles above her head. That deadly sphere of spikes began whirling faster and faster. Crafty realized that it was the weapon she’d had made but was never able to use in battle.

  She gave a terrible cry – half scream, half howl, like a pack of wolves scenting their prey. It was a war cry; the challenge of the warrior queen of the Segantii.

  She stepped forward so quickly, she was almost a blur, and the whirling, spiked sphere made contact with the first rank of enemies that faced her. As it did so, a sickening squelching sound was added to the whirring and whooshing.

  Some of the aberrations remained standing for a few seconds after the weapon had made contact with them. They didn’t know that they were dead. They didn’t realize that they no longer had heads.

  It seemed to Crafty that the Segantii had made a big mistake in sacrificing their warrior queen in order to defeat the Romans. They should have let her fight. She would have battered holes in those shield-walls, and the Romans would have run for their lives.

  The chain and orb continued to circle Bertha’s head, and the second rank of aberrations suffered the same fate as the first. They hadn’t even had time to register what had happened to the previous row.

  Crafty looked around for Viper. He’d been at the back, out of the reach of the spiked orb, but surely he couldn’t last long. Though Crafty realized that Bertha was letting the spinning weapon slow and come to a halt before casting down the chain. She drew a sword, and now faced the remainder of her opponents with this and her long spear. Why had she relinquished the orb when it was so effective? Crafty wondered. There were still aberrations left – and he noticed the remaining ones beginning to regroup, snarling and hissing as they did so. Surely it would be harder to kill them with just a sword and a spear?

  But then Crafty saw why Bertha had chosen to attack as she did. Wielding her weapons to deadly effect, she drove the aberrations back, away from the double doors. And now, running towards him through those doors, Crafty saw two people he knew well – Lick and Lucky! Bertha had had to stop swinging the chain in order to allow them through.

  The glowing orb floating above her was beginning to fade, the shadows in the corners of the room growing ever bigger. Without even breaking stride, Lick threw up another one, which flared like sheet lightning before settling into a steady brilliance.

  ‘Cut the other man free!’ she shouted to Crafty as she picked his father up by the shoulders. Lucky gave him a nervous grin before seizing the legs, then together they quickly carried him towards the double doors and safety.

  Crafty couldn’t believe it. Lick hadn’t abandoned him after all! She’d gone back for Lucky and had somehow managed to persuade Bertha to come through the gate with her. Even the Bog Queen surely couldn’t have covered that distance so quickly by herself.

  The only thing that dented his feeling of relief was the realization that Lick must have left the gate unguarded – but there was no time to dwell on that. He set to work with his knife and soon had the top half of the other courier free of the sticky strands. He’d just managed to free the man’s legs when the first of the spiders attacked.

  It didn’t scuttle across the web towards him like the spiders in his nightmares. Instead, it dropped down like a stone, descending on a single silken strand extruded from its body. At first its hairy legs were curled up tight, but at the last moment it spread them wide, intending to grasp his head.

  But Crafty’s blade was waiting to slice it open, and it gave a cry, missed his head and ended up twitching and writhing on the flags, its black blood spraying around it on the floor. The next one he splattered with his hammer – though, looking up, he realized that there were more; lots more. Far too many to fight alone. But then he saw Bertha at his side; she was howling her war cry, slicing and jabbing at the spiders in a frenzy of slaughter.

  Moments later he and Bertha were retreating towards the entrance, holding off further attacks from the last of the aberrations while Lick and Lucky joined them, now carrying the other courier to safety.

  Just before they reached the doors, Crafty turned, suddenly sensing a malevolence that was like a sharp pain in his head. He glimpsed a figure standing staring at him from the far door of the chamber. It was Viper. He was no longer gloating, but his furious glare was filled with such hatred that Crafty could feel it like a force.

  Then they were outside in the chill air, with the blue circle of the gate in front of them – and through it Crafty was amazed to see the Chief Mancer surrounded by what looked like half the Castle Guard, armed to the teeth. He watched Lick and Lucky ease the unconscious courier through the gate, and checked that his father had been safely taken through. Behind him, he saw that none of the surviving aberrations had followed them out of the orphanage.

  Crafty turned to Bertha. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Bertha. You saved my life,’ he said. ‘Again!’

  The Bog Queen spoke in her strange rasping voice. ‘I enjoyed doing battle, Crafty. It was a good fight. One day soon we’ll do it again.’ Then she grinned at him – a strange, oddly chilling grin – and turned and walked away into the gloom, the spiked sphere dragging along behind her and making a deep furrow in the ground.

  Crafty strode towards the silver gate, where Lick was waiting for him. She smiled and gestured that he should go through first, and he saw that the floor of her office was covered in stinking mud. That was the price you paid when you were an ally of the Bog Queen – but he had a feeling that Lick didn’t mind.

  Then Crafty came face to face with the Chief Mancer. He wasn’t smiling.

  ‘Go to your room, Benson. Stay there until you are summoned!’ he commanded. ‘You’ll answer to the Duke at dawn.’

  Back in his room Crafty had plenty of time to think. He didn’t regret a thing – after all, he’d managed to bring his father back from the Shole! However, he knew that, in the eyes of Ginger Bob, he’d gone too far this time. He’d proved himself incapable of following orders; incapable of the behaviour expected of anyone who worked at the castle. At the very least he expected to be dismissed. At worst, he could end up in a prison cell. No – there was something even worse than that! He could be returned to the Shole, which would be a death sentence.

  His fears seemed to be confirmed when his supper was brought up not by a kitchen server but a guard. The food was steaming hot and tasty, far superior to the prison fare he’d had before. But ominously, when he left, the guard took his key and locked the door of Crafty’s room. It seemed he was as good as in prison already.

  He sat there, hoping for a visit from Lucky or even Lick – although if he was locked in, he probably wouldn’t be allowed visitors. If Lick did come, he intended to apologize for tricking and disobeying her. But nobody came near him.

  He didn’t sleep much. He lay there worrying about his father. Would he recover? Or was he dying? Might he even already be dead? He’d asked to see him after Ginger Bob ordered him to his room, but he was told he was still unconscious.

  Then he thought of his poor mother: she wouldn’t come out of that cupboard to talk to him because she didn’t want him to see the change in her. Yet he understood what it must have cost her. The thought brought a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes.

  At last, dawn light filled his room and the guard arrived to take him to the Duke.

  Crafty was admitted to the Ducal Chambers. To his surprise, he found that there were no guards present.

  He went forward to stand before the Duke, looking up at the grim, sombre face. He noted that the blond beard had grown even thicker and longer. The silk that covered hi
s lower half, flowing over the container that held his roots, had been changed from purple to green.

  When the Duke spoke, the warm voice Crafty remembered had gone. It reminded him of the tone in which the hanging judge had addressed him – though at least the Duke looked him in the eye.

  ‘You have deliberately disobeyed the instructions of a gate mancer. It was an act of open defiance. You lived up to your nickname, using guile and deceit to carry out what you had already planned in meticulous detail, risking not just your own life, but that of the gate mancer and another gate grub, who had to come to your aid.’

  The Duke paused, but when he spoke again, his voice sounded slightly milder.

  ‘However, your actions have also resulted in locating and retrieving two of the three missing couriers – something that nobody else in the Castle Corpus was able to do. Not only that, you have formed an alliance with a truly formidable entity, the bog creature. We are in desperate need of such allies. You have demonstrated initiative too. You are young, and – for better or worse – not constrained by tradition or protocol.’

  The Duke gave a wry smile, and Crafty couldn’t help but wince at the reminders of his recklessness.

  ‘I believe I need more young people like you to join our cause. Come here!’ the Duke commanded, beckoning him up the steps.

  Crafty climbed up until he was almost on the same level.

  ‘Bend forward!’

  When Crafty did so, he felt something being eased over his head. He looked down – and, to his surprise, saw that it was a silver key on a chain.

  ‘This key represents the freedom of the castle,’ the Duke said, smiling properly for the first time. ‘Show it to anyone responsible for a department or a room, or guarding a door, and they cannot refuse you admittance. They may not like it, but I suspect that, because you are but a boy, they will not feel too threatened. This is to be our greatest advantage, Crafty.’

  Crafty wondered what he meant, and looked questioningly up at the Duke.

  ‘If you continue to be as crafty as you were in the Shole,’ he continued, ‘then you will soon gain access to all their secrets. For too long we have been a secretive operation – clogged by bureaucracy, constrained by jealous guilds, with departments refusing to cooperate and share knowledge with each other. They even withhold information from me. That is no doubt why Vipton was able to escape detection for so long. Whatever you discover you will bring directly to me. Do you understand? You will also be alert for any evidence of the presence of that vile cult, the Grey Hoods.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Crafty said. It seemed that he was to be a spy – he wondered what Lucky and Lick would have to say about that.

  ‘Do you know what some people call me, Crafty?’

  ‘No, sir,’ he replied.

  ‘They call me the Wooden Duke.’

  Crafty remembered that those sensitive roots enabled the Duke to listen to anything that was said in the castle. No doubt it was useful, but in a way it was terrible to have to hear such tittle-tattle.

  ‘Of course, that’s only half true,’ he went on with a sad smile, ‘but I’d prefer another nickname. One day they’ll call me the Iron Duke, because that’s what I intend to be. I plan to fight the Shole with every means at my disposal. I cannot yield – for my people’s sake, and indeed literally. I cannot move from this spot because my roots continue to grow. They have penetrated the floor of this chamber and run deep into the foundations of the castle, spreading ever wider.

  ‘When the Shole engulfs this place, as it will surely do in the not-too-distant future, I will remain here, and I want others to stay and fight by my side. You have friends, Crafty. They came and begged audiences with me. Each one extolled your virtues and pleaded for clemency on your behalf. The first was young Miss Crompton-Smythe, closely followed by the gate grub you call Lucky. Finally even Mr Wainwright, the Chief Mancer, spoke up for you. They will also be part of the team fighting that final battle. For now, watch, listen, and learn what you can. Go back and continue your work as a gate grub. Maybe one day you will become much more than that. Maybe that is what you deserve.’ He smiled as he said this.

  But Crafty’s heart skipped a beat on hearing this last phrase.

  May you get what you deserve!

  Before her hanging, this was the curse Old Nell had thrown at him, Lucky and Donna. It had happened before the Duke had been returned to the castle, so he couldn’t have overheard her with his sensitive roots.

  It was probably just coincidence. But Crafty thought about it all the same.

  Did he deserve to get his father back, returned to full health? That’s what he wanted.

  Did he deserve a mother who never wanted him or his father to see her again? Crafty hoped not. Surely nobody deserved that. He’d experienced some terrible things in recent weeks, but that had been the worst.

  Still, he wasn’t alone in the cellar but living in the Daylight World, working with friends – Lick and Lucky. And the Chief Mancer, apparently.

  And Crafty found that he was grateful.

  As soon as he could, Crafty went to visit his father. He had been told that he was conscious, as was the other courier they’d rescued, though still very weak.

  His father was in one of the sick rooms where patients stayed while they recovered from illness or injury. He was not in the bed, but sitting in a big chair with a rug over his knees, staring into the embers of the fire. He turned and, seeing Crafty, gave him a tired smile.

  ‘Bring up a chair, Crafty, and sit beside me,’ he invited.

  Crafty would have liked to hug his father, but Brian Benson had never been one for hugs or any kind of fuss. In any case he didn’t look like he had the strength to stand up.

  Crafty brought a small chair from beside the bed and placed it next to him. ‘You’re looking better, Father,’ he said as he sat down. ‘You’ll soon be on your feet and back to normal.’

  His father gave him another weary smile. His appearance was much improved since he’d been freed from the spider’s web, but it was clear that he had been changed forever. His hair was newly grey at the temples and his face was thinner, the lines on his forehead deeper. Crafty felt very sad. He knew that his father would never be quite the man he’d been before.

  However, the doctor had said that, given time, both couriers would recover. That doctor belonged in the Optimists’ Room. Crafty could only hope.

  ‘Thanks for saving my life, son,’ his father said. ‘But for you I’d be dead now. You were brave, and I’m proud of you.’

  Crafty didn’t know what to say. He felt choked with emotion. So instead of acknowledging his father’s thanks he asked a question.

  ‘Please say if you don’t feel like talking about it, Father, but I’ve been wondering – what happened when you were carrying the sedan chair, taking the safe route through Preston? Someone told me that there was probably some sort of malign magic used – a compulsion that lured you towards the heart of the Shole. What was it like?’

  For a while Crafty’s father neither spoke nor looked at him – it was probably too upsetting for him to think about, Crafty thought. But then he replied, speaking slowly and choosing his words carefully.

  ‘It was as if my will had been snatched away,’ he began. ‘I remember releasing the chair, just letting it fall, and striding away up the hill. It was as if I was a puppet and someone was using strings to move my arms and legs. I knew it was my duty to turn back, but I was powerless. It was as if I was walking in a dream … no – more like walking in a nightmare.’

  ‘Did you know where you were going? I was told you headed directly towards the centre of the Shole – the most dangerous place of all. The location where it first began.’

  His father nodded. ‘Yes, I knew exactly where I was going, and I was terrified. Something was summoning me, moving me, and I was powerless to resist. When I got there, I knew there’d be something terrible to face. Something that wanted to eat both my body and my soul. Somehow I knew that – and
I’d never been as scared in my life. The terror was overwhelming.’

  ‘That orphanage was a terrible place all right,’ Crafty agreed.

  ‘Oh no! That’s not where we were heading,’ said his father, turning to face Crafty. ‘We just passed by – and those fierce little creatures ran out and dragged us inside. For weeks we were locked in a stinking cellar with just water and stale bread to keep us alive. Then, just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, they gave us to the spiders …

  ‘I didn’t expect to survive. When they tangled me in their sticky web and injected their poison into me, I cried like a baby. But, believe you me, being taken into that orphanage was a blessing in disguise. You see, we’d been heading towards something far worse – towards the very heart of the Shole, the lair of some terrible beast. It would have been impossible to rescue us from there, I know it …’ His father’s voice trailed off, and he stared blankly into the fire again.

  Crafty had other important things to discuss with his father. He wanted to tell him that he’d been able to hear his dead brothers, and that his mother was still alive. But for now he didn’t want to upset him any further. Maybe he’d wait until he was stronger, he thought. Maybe he should tell him all these things another day.

  But the decision had been taken out of his hands. His father’s chin was now resting on his chest, and he was snoring.

  The first thing Crafty did after getting out of bed on Saturday morning was look through his narrow window. That was his routine now. He always went to check that the Shole hadn’t surged nearer during the night.

  The sun was shining, though it no longer glinted off the surface of the canal, which was now hidden by the dark curtain of the Shole. As far as he could tell, it hadn’t advanced any nearer.

  It had been a week since the Duke had given Crafty the silver key. He’d had time to reflect on what had happened and plan for the future. Tomorrow was Sunday and he intended to use that key for the first time.