The Bonehill Curse

by Jon Mayhew

  ‘My father still talks of that bottle,’ Azuli murmured. ‘It was a fearsome creature.’

  ‘We didn’t want to make the same mistake, so Anthony Bonehill hit upon the idea of more than one person opening the bottle at the same time. Everyone who opened it would have a wish and the last person would wish the djinn dead in an instant.’

  ‘But the last person wouldn’t get anything out of the deal,’ Morris added, ‘so he had to be sure that the others would make it worth his while.’

  ‘So that’s how they did it!’ Ness whispered. ‘Uncle Carlos was the last one.’

  ‘I pleaded with Bonehill to just keep it between the three of us,’ Scrabsnitch sighed. ‘His wife could have wished the djinn dead and all would have been well. But he had bragged to too many of his fellow researchers.’

  ‘Did they all want a wish despite the danger?’ Ness said, pulling a face.

  ‘They weren’t the most . . . selfless of people.’ Scrabsnitch gave a cough.

  ‘Anthony was scraping the barrel when he came to Grossford,’ Morris murmured, tracing a finger along an old blunderbuss that hung on the wall.

  ‘The Bonehills weren’t blessed with a huge social circle,’ Scrabsnitch said, avoiding Ness’s eye. ‘Some found Anthony abrasive in his manner, shall we say. Nevertheless he ended up with seven participants.’

  ‘And Grossford wished the djinn back into the bottle rather than dead,’ Morris concluded.

  ‘He lost trust in the others,’ Scrabsnitch said. ‘I can’t say that I blame him. The djinn drove a wedge between us. He insisted on seeing each of the Seven separately. He was devious. He twisted your words and confused you. Anthony was going to make the last wish but when his wife came out of the cellar where the djinn was hiding, something wasn’t right. Anthony was furious, screaming at her. Then he insisted on going in to wish before Grossford, and forced Grossford to make the last wish instead.’

  ‘Grossford wouldn’t have been happy with that,’ Morris said, shaking his head.

  ‘No, he wasn’t,’ Scrabsnitch sighed. ‘But he was a coward. Anthony easily bullied him into it.’

  ‘My father wanted to wish for something other than the death of the djinn,’ Ness murmured. ‘I wonder what it was Mama wished for that so upset him.’

  ‘I don’t know but I do remember being terrified that nobody would wish the djinn dead and it would all go wrong,’ Scrabsnitch said with a sniff. ‘I suspect your father wished for great wealth because, shortly afterwards, your mother inherited a huge fortune – in rather tragic circumstances, as I recall. At least Carlos got the djinn back in the bottle.’

  ‘But he couldn’t resist taking advantage,’ Morris muttered, breathing on the barrel of the blunderbuss and giving it a polish with his cuff.

  Scrabsnitch nodded. ‘Carlos made everyone’s life a misery, blackmailing them with the bottle. He would say that if anything happened to him he had made arrangements for it to be opened then. His demands became more and more excessive.’

  ‘So somebody had him killed?’ Ness said, folding her arms.

  ‘It seems so,’ Scrabsnitch mused. ‘One of the Seven couldn’t bear it any more.’

  ‘You’re the last of the Seven who is alive or free,’ Azuli said, eyeing Scrabsnitch with suspicion. ‘What did you wish for?’

  ‘Incredible good fortune,’ Scrabsnitch said, giving a little laugh and waving around the emporium. ‘And it worked. I stumbled across amazing finds during my travels, frequently found money in the street. Even Grossford didn’t bother me. I was always out when he came to call or some coincidence kept him away. Having Grossford killed would have been pointless.’

  ‘But even your incredible good fortune won’t keep the djinn away,’ Ness said, frowning. ‘In fact, it’s incredibly lucky that you’re still alive as it is, given that the others are all either missing or dead.’

  ‘I suspected that the djinn was free again,’ Scrabsnitch said, shaking his head. ‘But what’s the point of hiding? I’ve had a long life, good health and great wealth. He will come for me and that will be the end of it.’

  ‘And you don’t care that he’ll be free to cause mayhem and chaos in the world?’ Morris asked, pulling down the blunderbuss and peering into the trumpet-like barrel.

  ‘The creature is spreading a devastating plague,’ Ness said. ‘All those infected by it become his slaves. Every day it claims more victims.’

  ‘I am old,’ Scrabsnitch sighed, shaking his head. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘We Lashkars wear our age like a badge of honour,’ Azuli snorted. ‘We would be ashamed to be so resigned to fate.’

  ‘Hafid said you were wise, Mr Scrabsnitch,’ Ness pleaded. ‘He said you might have some answers. Please, is there anything that might aid us in defeating the djinn and saving my parents? You’re our last hope!’

  Scrabsnitch heaved another sigh, looking from Morris to Azuli and then to Ness. ‘Necessity, you go to that large cupboard over there,’ he said finally. ‘The least we can do is look through some of the papers and books we amassed while researching this cursed djinn.’

  Ness hurried around glass cabinets and bookcases to a huge cupboard. She stopped and frowned. Was it her imagination or did it shudder a little every now and then? It was only slight but she could sense a tremor as if something were inside, trying to get out.

  ‘Is it safe?’ she whispered, reaching a trembling finger towards the door of the cupboard.

  ‘What?’ Scrabsnitch squinted at her and then slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Of course, I’d forgotten. Don’t worry, my dear, it’s just a curiosity your father and I collected. It’s been dormant for years.’

  ‘Well, that doesn’t reassure me,’ Ness muttered but pulled the door open.

  An avalanche of papers, documents and dust rained down on Ness, knocking her flat. But there was something writhing around in the midst of it all. Something black and tattered like some hideous giant grub bound with thick rope, twisting and wriggling. Ness scurried backward on all fours in her haste to get away.

  ‘What is it?’ she gasped.

  ‘Step aside, Ness. I will deal with it,’ Azuli said, drawing his sword.

  ‘No!’ Scrabsnitch yelled.

  It was too late. Azuli’s blade bit down on the strange black mass. The rope sprang into the air as if under great tension. It flicked back, whipping Azuli in the face and making him fall back with a cry. In an explosion of dust the thing seemed to unroll and flatten out into a rippling cloud of dust.

  Gradually the years of dust dissipated into the air, leaving a ragged black carpet floating about their heads. It rippled and flapped in some mystical breeze that Ness couldn’t feel. It looked torn and filthy, with no discernible pattern, just the coarse weave of ebony, rope-like material.

  ‘Steady now,’ Scrabsnitch whispered, crouching as if he were getting ready to dive for cover. ‘Don’t make any sudden moves.’

  ‘What is it?’ Ness hissed.

  ‘A flying carpet?’ Azuli said, his jaw slack.

  ‘Look out!’ Scrabsnitch yelled as the carpet launched itself towards Ness. Ness threw herself to the floor as it flashed past her, crashing through three display cabinets and disappearing up into the dark shadows of the high ceiling.

  ‘Here it comes again!’ Morris shouted, throwing himself under a table. The carpet came whistling back, knocking Scrabsnitch’s hat from his head and sending the frail old man tumbling to the floor.

  ‘It’s deadly,’ he croaked. ‘Bonehill brought it back from the Hindu Kush. He got it from a tribal elder there. The elder had lost three sons trying to control it and was more than glad to be rid of it.’

  As if to illustrate Scrabsnitch’s point, the carpet made another low pass over them before punching its way straight through the back of the leather armchair he had been sitting on only moments before.

  ‘Good Lord,’ Morris shouted. ‘How are we going to stop it from taking our heads off?’

  ‘We were much younger men whe
n Bonehill and I managed to tie it up tight,’ Scrabsnitch panted. ‘And even then he got a broken arm for his pains. It’s been bound up for years. I wouldn’t recommend getting in its way now.’

  ‘We can’t just lie down here,’ Ness snapped, jumping up and then throwing herself flat on the floor again. The air snapped by her ear as the thing shot past her. ‘Then again, maybe we can.’

  ‘If you distract it,’ Azuli whispered to Morris and Ness, ‘then I can jump on it and pin it down.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, sonny,’ Morris grunted. ‘There’s nothing of you; it’ll throw you off in an instant.’

  The carpet hurtled around the emporium, whipping books from the shelves and sending them crashing to the floor.

  ‘It’s just like old times,’ Scrabsnitch muttered, watching his shop being destroyed. ‘But I really am too old for this now.’

  ‘I’m going for it,’ Azuli yelled and sprang up, grabbing hold of the carpet as it flew over him. For a moment he hung in the air, the look of terror on his face almost comical. Ness gasped as the carpet veered left and sent him smacking into a bookshelf and tumbling to the floor under a pile of heavy, leather-bound tomes.

  The carpet executed another fly-by just as Azuli struggled, dazed, to his feet. Ness screamed a warning. It would cut him in half if she didn’t do something. With a yell, Ness leapt up on to the cabinets that filled the middle of the room, running along their frames, desperate not to put her feet through the glass. The carpet flew close; Ness could see the rough weave rippling like black flames. She threw herself at it, gripping the sides and tucking her legs into herself so she knelt on the carpet.

  It felt strange underneath her; warm and alive but slightly unpleasant. Ness had ridden horses at the Academy, had enjoyed their strength and that feeling of oneness as they rode together. But this wasn’t like that at all. It was powerful, yes, but grudging, malevolent. She could almost smell the carpet’s desire to throw her off and crush every bone in her body.

  Feeling Ness’s weight, the carpet swirled upside down, its corners snapping and whipping at her face. Ness kept her grip as she felt gravity drag at her body. Her shoulders and waist ached as she struggled to keep her body in a tight ball. Her knuckles cracked as she gripped the coarse fabric. The carpet righted itself, then performed a series of rippling bucks. Still Ness held on.

  The room spun around, a dangling chandelier scraped her back and then crashed to the floor. Bookshelves and suits of armour rushed by in a dizzying circle. Bile rose in Ness’s throat as the carpet somersaulted and weaved in and out of the cabinets, trying to dislodge her.

  Morris’s alarmed face went flashing by them at one point. Then she heard Azuli calling out.

  ‘Ness, jump! It’s going to . . .’

  Ness’s eyes widened as the carpet flew straight for the shop windows.

  If wishes were horses beggars would ride.

  Traditional proverb

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Magic Carpet Ride

  Gritting her teeth, Ness dragged at the edges of the carpet, using them as a shield as they hit the glass. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass deafened her. Cold air hit her face as the crowd in the street screamed at the sudden appearance of Ness and the carpet.

  Hats and white faces flashed past her, then the dilapidated brickwork of the shops on the other side of Jesmond Street were quickly replaced by roof tiles rushing by. Ness’s stomach lurched as the carpet increased speed. The smoke and smog of the city choked her as the carpet whisked her above the rooftops. She screwed her eyes shut, her fingers aching as she gripped tighter.

  Higher and higher they flew. Ness panted for breath in the freezing air. For a moment she hung weightless. She opened her eyes and stared in amazement. The whole of London sprawled below her. Straight-line bridges crossed the river, which was dotted with tiny ships as it wriggled its way into the distance. Church spires poked up above the slates and chimneys. A thick, sulphurous yellow fog clung to the south bank, where factories, tanneries and workshops clanked and pounded out their wares. Ness glimpsed the Houses of Parliament, the dome of St Paul’s, streets intersecting each other and running into wide squares.

  Ness almost let go but then the carpet began its descent. Closer the rooftops hurtled, the wind whipping her face. The city spiralled and careered towards them and Ness felt a cry of exultation forcing its way out of her heart. She didn’t care if she died. She didn’t care what happened. She wasn’t afraid of anything.

  ‘D’you hear me, you scrappy old rag?’ she screamed as the slates and chimneys, the bricks and coping stones came rushing towards her. ‘You can never beat me!’ Ness tugged at the weave of the carpet. Did she feel it flinch? She dug her nails into the ropy fabric. ‘And you must do as I say! Now take me back to the emporium!’

  Apparently sensing a worthy adversary, the carpet flew up again, narrowly missing the shop roofs, skimming archways and gateways, making Ness both curse at the carpet and cackle like a witch at the screams of pedestrians they nearly mowed down.

  Gradually they circled closer to Jesmond Street and the carpet whisked her back through the jagged window and stopped abruptly in front of the gaping Morris, Scrabsnitch and Azuli.

  Ness jumped off, just managing to land on her feet but keeping tight hold of the carpet.

  ‘Rope, quickly!’ she panted. Morris threw her the rope and she tied one end loosely around the middle of the carpet and the other around the leg of an upended display cabinet. The carpet tugged and shuddered against the rope but was tamed for the moment.

  ‘Are you all right, Ness?’ Morris spluttered.

  ‘Never better, why?’ Ness grinned, still catching her breath.

  ‘What did you do?’ Azuli said, staring at the carpet warily.

  ‘Just showed it who’s boss, that’s all,’ she said, putting her hands on her hips. ‘Now, these papers of my father’s, where are they?’

  All afternoon, they pored over the dusty documents that lay scattered on the floor – diaries, scrolls from ancient civilisations, maps – but nothing told them more than they already knew.

  ‘The bloodstone,’ Ness whispered, holding up an illustration torn from some long-forgotten book. The picture showed a hooded figure holding a glowing red stone above his head. Strange, horned creatures – half man, half beast – seemed to be being sucked into the stone in the figure’s hand.

  ‘The what?’ Azuli said, pulling a face.

  ‘The bloodstone,’ Scrabsnitch murmured. ‘A legendary gem that is said to be capable of finding spirits or demons, even unfortunate mortal souls. It is said that with the right incantation a bloodstone can imprison anything. Anthony became obsessed with finding it after Grossford took the bottle away. He searched for it for years.’

  ‘I remember it from home,’ Ness whispered, staring intently at the picture. ‘He had a bloodstone set into a ring. Is it valuable?’

  ‘Only to those who know how to use it. It’s a mere bauble otherwise,’ Scrabsnitch replied, running his gnarled fingers through his frizzy grey hair. ‘I never heard of him trying to catch a demon with it. Maybe he thought it would protect him against the possible return of the djinn.’

  Ness found her thoughts drawn back to her father’s study. The ring lying on the desk. His voice booming in her mind. ‘Take it, try it on. You love the bloodstone, don’t you? It’s beautiful. One day it will be all yours.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem to have helped him,’ Morris grunted, snapping Ness from her daydream. He sat some distance away, polishing the blunderbuss and oiling the firing mechanism. He jumped up, staring at the floor as his feet scrunched through broken glass.

  ‘No.’ Scrabsnitch shook his head. ‘If Anthony had bound the djinn into the ring then your father would be here now. I do hope Anthony and Eliza are all right.’

  ‘So do I,’ Ness murmured.

  ‘What’s this, Scrabsnitch?’ Morris said, scooping up a handful of shining metal from the debris on the floor.
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br />   ‘Do you want the truth?’ Scrabsnitch reddened a little. ‘It was labelled as part of a hoard of Druid silver but it’s actually just some melted sixpences.’

  ‘But silver, yes?’ Morris grunted.

  Scrabsnitch nodded and Morris poured it into the barrel of the blunderbuss.

  ‘This is useless,’ Azuli groaned, slapping a map down on the floor. The flying carpet bucked and rippled at the noise. ‘We don’t even know what we’re looking for!’

  ‘Anything that might give us a clue as to how to destroy this djinn,’ Ness said, whistling through her teeth with frustration.

  ‘Is this silver?’ Morris muttered, showing another handful of metal to Scrabsnitch, who looked shamefaced and shook his head. Morris cursed and threw it down.

  ‘The sword,’ Azuli muttered, rubbing his face. ‘That was the only hope. And I lost it.’

  Morris sat some distance away, making no comment as he laboriously scraped at the metal he had retrieved before.

  ‘Where do the djinns come from, Mr Scrabsnitch?’ Ness asked.

  ‘According to ancient wisdom, they are creations of God, just like men,’ Scrabsnitch said, stroking his beard. ‘But djinns are creatures of powerful magic. God is said to have made them first, before Adam. Some say that they lived in the Garden of Eden before mankind.’ The old man paused and rummaged through a pile of scrolls until he found a particular one and passed it to Ness.

  ‘A djinn can choose his way,’ she read aloud. ‘He can worship God or Satan, himself or nobody. The djinns are powerful but can be bound to vessels and objects by trickery or obligation. What does that mean?’

  Scrabsnitch shrugged. ‘Sometimes a djinn can be arrogant or ignorant and will enter a magic vessel just to prove it can or because it doesn’t know the danger. Or it can be bound if it feels it has to save a loved one or because it should obey.’

  ‘How could we trick Zaakiel?’ Ness wondered aloud.