The Bonehill Curse

by Jon Mayhew

  Hafid silenced them both with a wave of his hand.

  ‘Although you have not proven yourself to be deceptive yet, the rest are, sadly, truths, young lady,’ Hafid said, shaking his head. ‘We want the djinn and the djinn has your parents. We must work together.’

  ‘I will go to my father’s friend, Mr Henry Lumm,’ Ness said, glaring at Taimur. ‘He’ll know what to do.’

  ‘And this Lumm will help you? Ha! We have fought djinns for generations,’ Taimur muttered. ‘What could he possibly do?’

  ‘Miss Bonehill,’ Jabalah said, bowing and casting an irritated glance at Taimur, ‘please, it is growing dark and you do not have anywhere to go. At least accept our hospitality for one night.’

  Ness looked from man to man. They were right. She didn’t even have the first idea how to get to Gladwell Gardens from this part of London – but she couldn’t tell them that. ‘Very well, I will stay tonight, but in the morning I’m going to Henry Lumm,’ she said stubbornly.

  ‘If it is acceptable, my wife and I will accommodate Miss Bonehill,’ Jabalah said to Hafid, who nodded in agreement.

  Ness followed the tall warrior out of the room. She could hear the muttering beginning as soon as the curtain swished back across the doorway.

  They strode silently through the streets. People were closing up their stalls and houses as night drew on. Finally they came to a row of well-kept whitewashed tenements. Jabalah stopped at one of the houses. A grey-haired woman in scarlet robes that covered her head met them at the door. Ness could tell that in her youth the woman would have been a great beauty. Even now, age hadn’t stooped her back or wrinkled her skin.

  ‘Necessity, this is Suha, my wonderful wife.’ Jabalah flashed a huge white-toothed grin and put an arm around Suha. Ness curtsied and Suha bowed, giving a little laugh.

  ‘You are very welcome,’ she said to Ness and beckoned for her to sit down. Suha gestured to Jabalah. ‘There is some fruit in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘Necessity will be hungry.’

  Ness felt the tension flow from her as she settled on to the cushioned divan. Soon the big man returned with a bowl of fruit. She glanced around the room. Jabalah’s home proved to be less sumptuous than Hafid’s. Wall hangings adorned the main room, with a divan and a few cushions scattered about. Through the rounded doorway Ness could see an adjoining bedroom and a small kitchen. On a table by the hearth was a small portrait of a young man dressed in the black garb of the Lashkars. He looked very proud and handsome brandishing his scimitar.

  Suha followed her gaze and gave a sigh.

  ‘My son,’ she said, with a sad smile. ‘He is with Allah now.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ness said, looking down at her hands.

  ‘It was some time ago.’ Suha smiled softly, walking over to the table and picking up the picture. ‘We lost him while fighting a djinn. Him and so many others.’ She gently replaced the picture and busied herself arranging a bed for Ness.

  That night Ness lay on a makeshift bed of cushions, listening to murmured conversation from Jabalah and Suha’s room. Suha had bathed her wounds and put a clean dressing on her head. Ness glanced down at the satchel by her side. She lifted the scorched flap and inched out the fragile leaves of paper. The smell of ash tickled her nose, reminding her of the charred ruin that had been her home. Most of the sheets were blackened and they flaked apart at her touch, but some more central ones were less damaged. Ness peered at the brown paper and gave a gasp. My name, she thought. It’s a letter. A letter for me.

  My dearest Necessity, I know you will never read this letter, nor the many hundred letters I have written before. I thought of posting them. Oh! How I dreamt of you receiving just one letter and knowing why I sent you . . .

  Tears blurred Ness’s vision. Singe marks ate into the paper, censoring whole paragraphs, giving her random morsels of sentences.

  I married for love . . .

  The fire had left tantalising fragments.

  I fear your father . . . I long for the day we can be free . . . I never wanted . . . I wish . . .

  The paper crackled and snapped in her shaking grip.

  My darling child, one day you’ll understand . . .

  Tears coursed, hot, down her cheek, salting her lips as she read the final vanishing words.

  I will always love you.

  So why send me away? thought Ness. Falling on to her pillow, she sobbed herself into a fitful sleep.

  In her dreams, Ness wandered the rooms of Bonehill House, a small child once more. The sunlit drawing room where her mother would sing her nursery rhymes, her room where she read bedtime stories, her father’s study where the bloodstone ring lay . . .

  Ness snapped her eyes open and sat up. She heard Suha’s soft weeping in the next room. A mother crying for her lost son. A mother who cared. Was her own mother crying for her somewhere?

  She lay down again and squeezed her eyes shut. The bloodstone ring sat on Father’s desk. It was the one thing in the study he let her play with. Why think of it now?

  ‘Take it, my Necessity,’ he used to say, grinning like the sly old fox in her stories. ‘Try it on. See its beauty, the deep red fire that glows within each vein?’

  It was the one time she had seen her mother stand up to her father.

  ‘Anthony, don’t,’ she had snapped. ‘She’s not one of your experiments!’

  ‘Isn’t she?’ her father had said and laughed. Not an easy laugh, full of good humour, but a harsh laugh that haunted Ness’s dreams all night.

  Better do it than wish it done.

  Traditional proverb

  Chapter Eleven

  Henry Lumm

  With a lurch of her stomach, Ness woke abruptly. She stared around the room, trying to make sense of the scattered cushions, the strange-looking furniture. Then she remembered where she was. Relief flooded through her.

  ‘You managed to sleep.’ Suha came into the room, carrying a tray of flatbread and fruit.

  Ness smiled and nodded. ‘Not at first but I must have drifted off eventually. What time is it?’

  ‘It’s mid-morning.’ Suha smiled. ‘You must have been exhausted after all you’ve been through.’

  ‘I was,’ Ness agreed, biting into a slab of bread.

  So much had happened, it was overwhelming. Why had the djinn taken her parents? Her parents . . . Ness hardly recognised them from the Lashkars’ description. And how could she stop the djinn? This was the second day. Five more and the djinn would come for her and then what? Ness shivered. Whatever happened, it would cost her everything.

  ‘You are full of dark brooding.’ Suha sighed. ‘Do you miss your parents?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ness murmured, chewing slowly. She tried to picture them. Her father proud and well dressed, black hair slicked back, eyes cold and blue. Her mother slim and anxious, her blonde hair pinned up, her lips pressed together. That was how Ness had always imagined them, as if sitting for a portrait. Ness shook her head. ‘I hardly know my parents.’

  ‘That is a great shame.’ Suha gave a sad smile and sat down next to Ness. ‘Children should be enjoyed and treasured. So soon do they grow up, so easily are they lost.’

  Ness remembered Suha weeping in the night. ‘Have the Lashkars lost many children?’ Ness wondered aloud, immediately regretting her thoughtless question.

  Suha nodded slowly. ‘Many, over the years,’ she said. ‘Our people are raised to fight against almost impossible odds and the last djinn we defeated cursed us in such a cruel way.’

  ‘He cursed the Lashkars?’ Ness gasped.

  ‘With his dying breath,’ Suha said, putting a hand to her mouth. ‘He banished our children and grandchildren. Every man, woman, child and babe in arms.’

  ‘Banished them?’ Ness said, stroking Suha’s arm. ‘Where to?’

  Suha shook her head. ‘Nobody knows,’ she sighed. ‘The djinn perished saying that our future generations would suffer as the djinn had but they simply vanished. Hafid believes they are trapped som
ewhere, in a vessel or something similar. Now only the grandparents are left.’

  There are no children! That’s what I noticed yesterday in Arabesque Alley, Ness thought. Apart from . . .

  Azuli appeared at the arched doorway, looking sullen. Suha stifled her tears and wiped her face, stepping back from Ness, who glared at the boy for his rude intrusion.

  ‘Hafid says I must escort you to this Lumm fellow’s place. He says it is a good place to start,’ he muttered. ‘Jabalah will meet us at the gate. I will go with you.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for an escort,’ Ness snapped. ‘I don’t need one. Just tell me how to get to Lumm’s house.’

  ‘My orders are to accompany you,’ Azuli snarled back.

  ‘Here,’ Suha said, handing Ness a sack. ‘Some food for later, just in case.’

  ‘Thank you, Suha,’ she said, trying to sound grateful and to glare at Azuli at the same time.

  Ness followed Azuli through the narrow streets of Arabesque Alley. Passers-by eyed her nervously. Some shook their heads.

  ‘Rumours spread faster than fever,’ Azuli murmured. ‘They know what you have done. We have made some enquiries and your Mr Lumm lives in Gladwell Gardens.’

  ‘I know,’ Ness muttered. ‘I told you, I don’t need your help.’

  ‘So you keep saying,’ Azuli said, pushing open the blue gate to the outside world. ‘But we’re not giving you a choice.’

  ‘Nobody’s asking you to follow me,’ Ness yelled, balling her fists and stamping her feet.

  Azuli’s dark eyes flashed and his nostrils flared, making him look even more like his proud father. ‘Do you think I want to follow you? You’re impossible! I wish you could lose me in the crowd, then I could get on with the proper business at hand – killing the djinn – instead of nursemaiding –’

  Ness flicked her forearm forward, delivering a stunning blow to Azuli’s chin. He staggered backward through the gate and fell flat on his back.

  ‘Wish granted,’ Ness snorted, before turning on her heel and striding off.

  She glanced up and down the murky alleyway outside the gate, expecting at any moment to bump into Harmy Sullivan and his hooligan friends. The day before, Ness had hardly taken in the twists and turns of the alleys as she had followed Azuli but she seemed to know instinctively which way to go.

  She emerged on to a busy street. The brightness and bustle dazzled her after the dank closeness of the alleyways. Street sellers of all kinds called out their wares as people pushed past them. Carriages rattled across the cobbles. Someone yelled at a careless pedestrian who had nearly stepped out in front of a cab. Ness’s heart sank. London was so big and busy. She didn’t have the first idea where Gladwell Gardens were. It was all very well knowing an address, but another thing altogether trying to find it.

  She leaned against a shop window, watching all of London life pass by. She could hear her father’s voice echoing in her head.

  ‘The common herd,’ he used to say. ‘Remember, Necessity, you are better than them. You are my daughter. Mine.’

  ‘You are special,’ her mother had told her repeatedly.

  Then why dump me in the Academy and pretend that I died? she thought bitterly.

  A sudden movement caught Ness’s eye. Azuli stood only a few feet away from her, glancing around and scratching his head. He winced and put a hand to his bruised chin, making her smirk. He turned and stared right through her. Ness ducked into the crowd but Azuli still stood perplexed, scanning the passers-by for any sign of her.

  He must have seen me, she thought, hurrying along the street. He looked right at me.

  Something clinked in her sack as she bustled through the crowd. She stopped and frowned, opening it. A few pennies lay nestled next to the slab of bread Suha had put in. Ness shook her head. She didn’t think Jabalah or Suha could afford to give away money but she could hardly refuse it. Why are they so generous when they’re clearly so poor? Ness wondered. I’ll repay them when I find Mama and Father.

  Checking the drivers closely, Ness approached a cab stand and soon found herself rattling towards Gladwell Gardens.

  Henry Lumm’s house was grand and imposing. Black railings stood as sharp sentries along the front of the white stone building. The windows frowned out at Ness, daring her to set one foot on the steps that swept up to the shiny, black front door. Ness glanced around her. Her grubby skirt and stained jacket stood out in this street full of smart carriages and silken-clad ladies twirling parasols against the feeble spring sunshine.

  Lumm was a friend of her father’s but Ness had no real memories of him. Now she stood at his front door about to throw herself on his mercy. Would he even believe her? What if he thought she was dead too? Ness drew a deep breath. There was nothing for it but to knock.

  Clambering up the steps, Ness paused. The front door stood slightly ajar. Perhaps the last visitor had forgotten to shut it on their way out.

  ‘Hello?’ she called, pushing on the heavy door. It creaked ominously, making Ness catch her breath.

  The smell of polish and the ticking of a huge grandfather clock reassured Ness as she poked her head around the door. Her boots clicked on the woodblock floor as she glanced about. Doors stood to her left and right. A richly carpeted stairway led up into a shadowy landing. The hall lay deserted but a brass bell sat on a squat mahogany table. Stepping in, Ness closed the door behind her and rang the bell.

  The ring sounded shrill and far too loud in the quiet house, making her wince. She waited, twisting her fingers nervously. Where is everyone? Surely Henry Lumm would have an army of staff, judging by his house. Ness wanted to call out again but the thought of her voice drifting up into the seemingly empty house stopped her. She pushed open the side door to her left and peered into the room.

  It was a study of some kind. Books lined the shelves and a huge globe stood in the middle of the room. With a jolt, she realised that a figure sat with their back to Ness.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Ness began as she edged over to the figure. ‘I’m sorry for the intrusion but the door was open.’

  The figure didn’t turn around. Ness could see a shiny scalp through thinning grey hair as she approached.

  She spoke again. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I was looking for . . .’

  Ness couldn’t finish her sentence. The sight of the chair’s occupant stole the words from her mouth. A burly man with a walrus moustache sat staring into space. His skin was grey, the rims of his eyes red. A look of sheer terror twisted his face and a single line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  There was no doubt in Ness’s mind that Henry Lumm was dead and that he had met a violent end.

  Because we kept an eye on the snake, we forgot the scorpion.

  Traditional proverb

  Chapter Twelve

  Whispers of the Dead

  One hand still held a pen. Ink leeched into the blotter on which it rested and pooled across the lacquered surface of the desk.

  Ness felt cold, her heart thundered against her ribs. I should get help, she thought, but she stood immobile, her hands clutched together.

  Her eyes were drawn to a half-written letter that lay pinned under Henry Lumm’s other hand.

  My dearest Olwen,

  I fear our past has caught up with us. Grossford is dead. Bonehill and his wife are missing. The fiend is out, I’m sure of it. Hide yourself. Use whatever defences you have. Be certain that he will come for us all . . .

  Ness’s head pounded. The fiend? Did he mean the djinn? An envelope lay next to the letter with an address.

  Mrs Olwen Quilfy, 4 Badenock Terrace, Kensington, London.

  With a grimace, Ness snatched up the letter and envelope. Maybe this Quilfy woman would have some answers. She clearly knew something more than Ness did. Ness turned to go but stopped. I can’t just leave, she thought, glancing back at Lumm. Every fibre of her body wanted to run headlong out of the house but surely the alarm should be raised.

  The house lay silent. Was the
re anyone about? Ness tiptoed out across the hall and clambered up the first few steps of the staircase.

  ‘Hello?’ she called to the rooms upstairs. Her voice sounded weak and her throat felt dry. ‘Is there anybody there?’

  Nothing.

  Ness bit her lip. She glanced down the hall to where a door stood ajar. Steps led down to the kitchen. The smell of carbolic soap and cooking replaced the polish and cigar smoke of the upper floor as Ness descended the whitewashed steps.

  She peered into the scrubbed kitchen. A tap dripped, the sound deafening in the quiet. The small room looked unremarkable, with its red tiled floor, a sink and a blacked range built into the chimney breast. But a woman lay collapsed over the bleached wooden table. She wore an apron and mob cap, clearly the cook. Ness gave a gasp. The woman’s red-rimmed eyes stared blankly across the room. She was dead. Boils covered her skin. Her hair hung down under the cap, plastered to her blue-tinged face.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Ness could see another body sprawled across the floor into the tiny pantry. A striped trouser leg and shiny boot told her it was a butler or footman of some description. She glimpsed more ulcerated flesh.

  Images of Mollie, Sarah and Hannah gasping for breath fought their way into Ness’s mind. She remembered them wheezing as the sweat drenched their nightclothes. Shaking her head, Ness stumbled back out of the kitchen. No one in this house could help her. She turned and scurried up the steps, her feet sounding like thunder in the deathly hush.

  A crash from the kitchen below brought Ness skidding to a halt on the cool tiles of the hall. At the same time a movement from Lumm’s study caught her eye. Something had lurched from her field of vision.

  Lumm’s chair was empty. A shadow shifted from behind the half-closed door.

  With a cry, Ness threw herself at the front door. Her fingers felt like rubber as she fumbled at the door latch.

  A long, groaning breath hissed out of Lumm’s study followed by a heavy footfall. Below, a chair scraped across the tiles as if someone was standing up.