by Jon Mayhew
‘And kill him!’ Azuli hissed, his eyes aglow.
‘No, I need to know where my parents are first,’ Ness said. ‘If you kill him, how will I ever know that?’
‘Then what do you suggest?’ Azuli sneered.
‘Surely the djinn will fear the sword?’ Ness reasoned. ‘He may make some kind of deal, perhaps agree to be bound or return to his bottle rather than die.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Azuli snorted, wrapping the sword and thrusting it into his belt. ‘But we must certainly leave before we are missed.’
‘That may be easier said than done,’ Ness said, grabbing Azuli’s arm. ‘How do we get out through the main gate?’
‘We don’t.’ Azuli winked at her. ‘I know another way out.’
He led her through the silent alleys, their footsteps echoing as they went, until they came to a dead end. Barrels and old packing cases cluttered the passage.
‘This is a joke, I suppose?’ Ness grumbled. ‘How can we get out here? Do we climb over that wall?’
Azuli grinned and dragged a large barrel from against the wall to reveal a small square doorway about waist height to Ness.
‘I used to sneak through here as a small boy,’ he said, crouching down and pushing the rotten wooden door open.
‘Not very dignified,’ Ness muttered, bundling up her skirts and scurrying through after Azuli. If only she could wear her trousers, she’d be able to move about more freely.
She straightened up and dusted herself down. They stood in a similarly cut-off alley but the difference stunned her. This side of the wall stank of discarded rubbish and worse. The walls were black with slime and soot.
‘We keep our own homes clean.’ Azuli grinned. ‘It is healthier. Why your people cannot do the same is beyond me.’
‘Me too, but they aren’t my people,’ Ness replied. The whole place disgusted her. She was beginning to long for the wide-open skies and fresh air of the marshlands around Rookery Heights.
‘Where are we going then?’ Azuli said.
Ness pulled out the letter she had found at Lumm’s. ‘To see a Mrs Olwen Quilfy,’ she said. ‘And let’s just pray that the djinn hasn’t got to her first.’
Badenock Terrace was a row of prim houses that faced on to a neatly trimmed square. Anonymous and tucked away, it had taken them the best part of the day to find this innocuous line of red brick. Warmth glowed from every window and Ness found herself envying the families gathered together inside. In the darkening evening, the terrace looked commonplace but comforting somehow. Smart ponies pulled polished traps around the square and the few people walking the streets tipped their hats to each other.
‘This hardly seems like the home of someone who has dealings with a djinn,’ Ness said, wrinkling her nose.
‘The unrighteous take many forms,’ Azuli murmured, narrowing his eyes at the cheerful lamplight of Number Four. ‘And none can be trusted. We shall ask our questions and then move on.’
‘And who are the unrighteous?’ Ness arched her eyebrows at Azuli.
‘Any who deal with the djinn for personal gain,’ he said, not meeting her steady gaze.
‘Me, for example, or my father?’
‘Your father, yes.’ Azuli looked up, his eyes blazing. ‘Not you, I suppose. You didn’t open the bottle with full knowledge of what might happen. But we still don’t know what it was you wished for.’
A woman’s scream from Number Four cut Ness’s response dead.
The two of them ran up to the front door. Faces appeared at the other windows of the terrace and one or two passers-by stopped, glancing around. Azuli banged on the front door as Ness stared in through the ground-floor window.
A clergyman rocked on his heels in a smart living room, his shocked face and white collar spattered with blood. He looked wide-eyed and disbelieving at something on the floor. He glanced up and Ness caught a glint of recognition as their eyes met. Then the man dashed from view.
‘The back of the house,’ Ness yelled. ‘Quickly.’
‘What?’ Azuli snapped.
‘No time to explain! Just follow me,’ she cried.
Ness jumped down the steps and, clutching her skirts, sprinted the length of the terrace to an alleyway that snaked off behind the houses. She could hear Azuli’s heavy tread close behind her.
They rounded the back of the terrace and almost ran into the blood-splattered vicar. Azuli drew the scimitar and crouched, pointing the wicked blade at the man.
‘Whose blood is that, I wonder?’ Azuli growled.
‘I’ll wager it belongs to Mrs Olwen Quilfy, late of this parish,’ Ness hissed. ‘Recently demised, you might say.’
The clergyman raised his hands, the red spots of blood contrasting with his thin, white face. ‘It wasn’t me, you have to believe me,’ he gabbled. ‘It was a demon, a thing not of this world. I’m a man of the cloth for goodness’ sake!’
Ness narrowed her eyes. ‘What happened?’ she snapped.
A police whistle sounded some distance away.
The vicar’s eyes widened. ‘Can we get away from here?’ he pleaded, his features crumpling with despair. ‘I don’t think the local constabulary will believe my tale any more than you will when I tell it, but you are unlikely to hang me.’
‘That is no concern of ours,’ Azuli said, scowling.
‘It will be if they catch you too,’ the vicar said, panic rising in his voice. ‘They might just believe that a minister of the church – and a gentleman – is incapable of murder but what of a Lashkar boy wielding such a fine blade?’
The whistle sounded again. Ness glanced over to Azuli, who looked back, his face a picture of indecision.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Thank the Lord,’ the vicar gasped and hurried past them back on to the street, mopping his face with a handkerchief as he went. ‘My carriage is waiting for me just around the corner.’
‘You weren’t planning on staying long then?’ Ness called as they hurried after him.
‘Think what you like,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘But I didn’t kill Mrs Quilfy.’ He nodded to the carriage driver and clambered in. Ness jumped in after him, followed by Azuli.
Heavy footsteps rang on the cobbles as the driver slammed the door shut and Ness caught a glimpse of blue uniforms and ruddy complexions flying past them towards Mrs Quilfy’s house. The clergyman slumped back in his seat and heaved a sigh of relief as the carriage lurched into motion.
‘Who are you and what happened to Mrs Quilfy?’ Azuli demanded, the scimitar still glinting free from its sheath.
‘My name is Cullwirthy,’ the vicar said, sweeping his lank, brown hair from his eyes and adjusting his spectacles. ‘The Reverend Cullwirthy. I minister – ministered – to Mrs Quilfy.’ He lowered his head and put his hands to his face.
‘So what happened, Reverend?’ Ness said. This man didn’t seem to pose so much of a threat now.
‘Mrs Quilfy was a troubled soul,’ he murmured, looking away from them. ‘The story of what happened to her is hard to believe. And it’s a horrible story.’
Save your tears for your pillow and let the dead slumber on.
Traditional proverb
Chapter Fifteen
Olwen Quilfy and Sweet William
‘Olwen wasn’t always so well-to-do. Her husband, William, died when he was quite young and they only enjoyed a few years of wedded bliss,’ Cullwirthy said. ‘The loss of her dear, sweet William tormented her and led her to investigate the darker pathways – the occult, witchcraft.’
‘So you killed her?’ Azuli hissed, raising his blade.
‘This was many years ago,’ Cullwirthy said, a spasm of irritation crossing his mild features, ‘before you were born. She fell in with a gentleman called Anthony Bonehill, a gentleman in the loosest sense of the term. He came from a wealthy family but he was a ne’er-do-well.’
‘How do you know that?’ Ness snapped. She could feel her face colouring.
‘Th
e name means something to you,’ Cullwirthy murmured, raising an eyebrow. ‘Bonehill had a bottle – so Olwen told me – a bottle containing a djinn.’ Cullwirthy stopped and scanned Ness’s face. ‘You don’t seem surprised.’
‘We know something of this djinn you talk about,’ Azuli said, keeping his face expressionless.
‘I thought as much, else why would you be at Olwen’s door at that very moment? Olwen told me that Bonehill’s research revealed that the djinn would grant one wish to whoever opened the bottle and then he would kill them,’ Cullwirthy continued. ‘But Bonehill had a plan. He chose seven people –’
‘Seven people would open the bottle,’ finished Ness.
‘Very clever, miss,’ Cullwirthy muttered, eyeing Ness. ‘Your mind works along similar lines as Mr Bonehill’s. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name in all the confusion . . .’
‘Never mind that,’ snapped Ness.
‘So seven people open the bottle,’ Azuli snarled. ‘Seven people die. So what?’
‘Not if the last of the seven wishes the djinn back in the bottle,’ Ness whispered, staring at Cullwirthy.
‘What’s in it for the last man?’ Azuli said. Ness could tell he was cross that he hadn’t worked out the plan.
‘Nothing.’ Ness frowned. ‘Not unless the others rewarded him.’
‘What did Mrs Quilfy wish for?’ Azuli said.
Cullwirthy’s pale, waxy skin seemed to turn a more deathly colour as he spoke. ‘Not great wealth or health. She wanted her dear William back.’
‘And?’ Ness dreaded the answer.
‘Djinns are devious,’ Azuli whispered. ‘They will grant your wish but not always how you expect.’
‘It’s a tale as old as tales themselves,’ Cullwirthy said, his voice low. ‘William returned one night after years mouldering in his grave, decayed and screaming in agony. A monster driven insane by his newly given life and the putrefied state of his body.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Ness gasped.
‘Those who dabble with dark forces find themselves and those they love ensnared in a web,’ Azuli said. ‘A web that becomes more tangled and complex the more you try to unravel it.’
‘Olwen kept William in her cellar for many months, not knowing what to do, who to turn to,’ Cullwirthy continued. ‘He was a hideous, living corpse who begged to be released back to the afterlife.’
‘But surely my f— Mr Bonehill could have helped her,’ Ness said, colouring at the slip of her tongue.
Cullwirthy gave a humourless laugh. ‘Bonehill? Help? That man doesn’t have a charitable bone in his body. He told her it was a foolish wish that she should have considered more carefully and that he wanted nothing more to do with her.’
‘So what happened?’ Ness felt faint.
‘I took care of Olwen,’ Cullwirthy said, his face hardening. ‘I bought the house she lived in and made sure she had an income but the creature in the cellar wouldn’t just go away. One night, I took a pistol down there and put a bullet through its brain.’
‘You killed William?’ Azuli said.
‘He was dead already. I simply released him. It was a mercy that should have been performed months before,’ Cullwirthy said through gritted teeth. ‘But she never spoke to me again. After all I’d done for her. I loved her. But she wouldn’t even see me. Not until today.’
Ness glanced around the plush carriage. ‘You seem very comfortably off for a clergyman, Reverend Cullwirthy,’ she muttered. ‘This carriage is fit for a lord and you paid for Mrs Quilfy’s house.’
‘I made a sensible wish,’ Cullwirthy said, slipping a pistol from his pocket. The carriage had stopped. ‘Now get out. We’ll continue this conversation in the house.’
Cullwirthy’s vicarage stood shoulder to shoulder with similar imposing town houses, looming tall over the busy street. The Reverend draped his jacket over his arm, concealing the pistol as he stepped out into the street.
‘You distract him,’ Azuli whispered. ‘I’ll take his hand off at the wrist before he knows what’s happening.’
‘No,’ Ness hissed back, grateful that Morris had given her some training in small arms. ‘That’s a Smith and Wesson revolver. If you miss, he’ll have more than one bullet to waste on us.’
‘Just keep moving,’ Cullwirthy murmured. ‘And don’t try any clever sword work.’
They walked reluctantly up the steps to the front door and Cullwirthy turned a key in the lock.
‘I let my staff go home at night,’ he said, noticing Ness’s searching glances around the dark-panelled hallway. ‘My driver will have stabled the horses and gone by now. We’re quite alone. Place that sword in the umbrella rack, boy, and we’ll go into the drawing room.’
A cheerful fire cracked and spat in the hearth of the drawing room. Tables and chairs cluttered together busily as if a party had just finished. If it weren’t for the fact that she had a gun pointed at her, Ness would have been quite comfortable there.
‘So you were one of the Seven, Reverend?’ Ness said.
‘Yes, Miss Bonehill.’ Cullwirthy smiled. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? You are his daughter. You resemble your mother more although you’re somewhat darker. I never believed that silly tale about your death. It’s quite beyond me why they concocted it.’
‘To protect me from the likes of you, no doubt,’ Ness said icily.
Cullwirthy nodded as if rolling the idea around in his head. ‘He certainly had enough enemies who would do anything to hurt him but I never credited Anthony Bonehill with any paternal instincts. Necessity.’ Cullwirthy spat her name out. It stung Ness like an insult.
‘But what do you want with us now?’ Azuli said, glaring at Cullwirthy. ‘And why did you pretend not to know about the djinn when you were one of the Seven?’
‘I hardly imagine you would have followed me to my home had I said, “Oh yes, I killed Mrs Quilfy. Now could you just pop along with me – I have an idea.” ’ Cullwirthy sneered, smoothing his hair back over his forehead.
‘You did kill her then?’ Ness gasped, dismayed she had not trusted her instincts.
‘The djinn is coming.’ Cullwirthy’s voice cracked a little. ‘Your parents have vanished and I heard about Henry Lumm – horrible, simply awful. I wanted to save Olwen from such a fate. I wanted her to join me and find a way to stop the djinn. I told her I loved her. But she spat in my face, called me a murderer – me!’
‘So you killed her,’ Ness said, frowning.
‘Better that than the djinn getting to her.’ Cullwirthy licked his lips. The gun trembled in his hand. ‘I lost my patience. I grabbed the poker by the fire and hit . . . But then I saw you . . . the Bonehill family resemblance was unmistakable. And the Lashkar boy with a silver scimitar. I couldn’t believe my luck!’
‘What do you mean?’ Ness edged towards the door.
‘Keep still,’ Cullwirthy said, jabbing the barrel of the gun towards her. ‘The djinn will be more than interested in the two of you. Maybe I can catch his attention enough to strike a deal and, if not, then the silver sword with his name on it should be enough to slay him. Oh, don’t look so surprised, Lashkar boy. Bonehill told us all about your lot and their antics.’
The lamp grew faint and a chill fell over the room. The fire sputtered and began to smoke as if cold water had been poured over it. The smoke boiled and grew, filling the room, making Ness and Azuli cough.
Cullwirthy cackled, pointing at the shape that solidified in the fog before their eyes. ‘Talk of the devil and he’s sure to appear.’
Malice drinks its own poison.
Traditional proverb
Chapter Sixteen
Death Deals
The smoke swirled and twisted as the figure grew more substantial. Ness saw the same features of the doll-like creature in her dream but he had filled out and grown in height. Stitches still bound his eyelids together. A grin full of needle teeth spread across his skeletal face. A ragged loincloth was all he wore and boils punctuated the yellowing ski
n that stretched across his bony frame.
‘The Reverend Cullwirthy,’ the djinn hissed. ‘You look well. Has your life been all you hoped?’
‘I have no complaints,’ Cullwirthy said, sweat coursing down his brow.
‘I’ve just visited the Quilfy household,’ the djinn said, his reedy voice mocking Cullwirthy. ‘But there was no one at home. I was quite put out.’
‘She’s beyond your cruelty now, you demon,’ Cullwirthy spat.
The djinn inclined his head as if in agreement. ‘True, but then she hardly had much of a life with her beloved William. Still, you have problems of your own now.’
‘Perhaps,’ Cullwirthy said. ‘But then I thought we might cut a deal, you and I.’ The pistol shook in his grasp but he had pointed it away from Ness. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Azuli edging towards the door.
‘A deal?’ The djinn’s grin almost split his scabbed face and his topknot of hair shook as he laughed. ‘What have you got that I would possibly be interested in?’
Azuli had moved out of Ness’s vision now. Her heart hammered at her ribs. If he could make it to the hall and the sword, they might have a chance.
‘The girl, for one,’ Cullwirthy said, nodding in Ness’s direction.
‘Ah, Necessity Bonehill,’ the djinn said, bowing low and chuckling to himself. ‘We’ve already met, Cullwirthy. You’re too late on that score. She has four more days by my reckoning. Have you found your parents yet, Necessity?’ He laughed and turned back to Cullwirthy. ‘You have nothing to bargain with and my power is growing. Behold.’ The djinn waved his long fingers at the vicar, who gave a whimper and held up a hand as if to ward off the djinn’s attack.
Ness stared in horror as Cullwirthy’s hand stiffened and then turned black. The skin took on a polished hue then, with a sickening crack and squelch, the fingers merged into two long claws. Bristly hairs sprang from the skin. Cullwirthy’s jacket sleeve shrivelled into his arm as it became stick thin, black and shining. More bristles sprouted. With a crack, his left leg gave beneath him. Cullwirthy howled in agony as his body cracked and twisted, forcing him to the floor.