by Jon Mayhew
Gradually the red cloud thinned to a pink haze. Ness frowned. The square seemed fuller. There were more Lashkars than before. Her heart leapt.
There in the centre of the square, standing bewildered, dusting themselves down, glancing at one another, stood a huge congregation of young men, women and children dressed in the same style as Hafid and his kin.
The old Lashkars stared in mute disbelief at their returned children. And then pandemonium broke out as both sides ran to greet each other. Father met son, mother ran to daughter. Tears flowed freely as children were raised up and hugged for dear life. Ness saw Jabalah and Suha with their arms wrapped around a young man she recognised from the portrait in their house. Hafid moved among the riot, grinning and shaking hands.
Tears stained Ness’s cheeks as she watched the reunion. Only Azuli stood unmoved, arms folded, watching the joyous reunion apart. He watched Taimur as he steered a young girl towards him.
‘His real daughter,’ Azuli murmured to Ness. ‘He won’t have any time for me now.’
But Taimur gathered Azuli and his daughter in his arms and hugged them together.
‘This is your brother,’ he said to the little girl.
The girl beamed up at Azuli.
‘Just remember, I’m the eldest so I’m in charge!’ Azuli said, narrowing his eyes at the girl but squeezing out a smile too.
The celebrations seemed to last all day. Tables appeared from within houses and goods on the market stalls found their way on to the tables, given with a free heart. Ness sat watching as music played and people danced. Braziers were lit as the evening closed in and still the Lashkars sat and talked and drank and ate together.
Ness watched as the years of separation within the families seemed to melt away. Children played in the passages and across the square, and Arabesque Alley was full of life. She watched as Hafid hobbled his way through the crowd towards her and sat down with a sigh.
‘We can never thank you enough, Necessity,’ the old man said with a smile.
‘I’m glad I could help,’ Ness muttered, blushing.
Hafid’s smile dropped for a moment. ‘You will always be counted as one of our number, Necessity Bonehill,’ he said, his voice shaking with emotion. ‘If you ever need our help or food or shelter you only have to ask and it will be yours.’
Ness swallowed back a tear. ‘Thank you, Hafid,’ she stammered. ‘That’s a great honour. And what will you do now the last of the djinns has gone?’
Hafid shook his head. ‘Who knows? Maybe one day we’ll move away from this cold country and return to the land of our forefathers. For now we seek other means of employment here.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ness said, frowning.
‘The Lashkars are skilled warriors,’ Hafid said, ‘experienced in fighting threats that are more, shall we say, unnatural.’
‘Is there a need for such services?’ Ness asked.
‘What do you think?’ Hafid stared blindly into the shadows.
Ness thought of all she had experienced: the djinn, the bloodsuckers, the Pestilents, not to mention her father. She nodded.
Azuli appeared, his eyes wide. Not far behind him, his sister, giggling, waved a broom over her head. ‘Help me,’ he cried. ‘The girl is a demon. She will kill me before the night is through!’
‘I think he needs rescuing.’ Hafid grinned.
‘I do too,’ Ness said, smiling back.
She unrolled the carpet and climbed on. Bidding Hafid goodnight, she swooped after Azuli, flitting over his sister’s head and scooping him up on to the carpet. It bucked and flickered against the new weight but kept level.
‘What are you doing?’ Azuli yelled. ‘I should have pinned you down when I had the chance.’
‘You never had the chance. I should have knocked you out,’ Ness said. ‘Arrogance is a terrible quality in a person. Believe me, I know.’
‘Me, arrogant?’ Azuli said. ‘Hafid, help! This mad girl is kidnapping me!’
Ness grinned and steered the carpet up towards the full moon. All she had to do was teach this boy a few lessons in humility. And time was on her side now.
Turn the page for a spine-tingling bonus story!
Mr Grimhurst’s Treasure London, 1855
Josie stood glowering at Alfie, her arms folded. The moonlight shone brightly through the embalming room window, making everything stark and tinging it blue. The body had been brought in earlier that day. An old man, well-dressed. Fallen down the stairs, apparently.
‘I don’t know what yer worryin’ about,’ Alfie muttered, scratching his short-cropped blond hair. ‘I’m just goin’ to ask ’im a few questions.’
‘I thought you weren’t going to do this again,’ Josie replied, flicking her hair over her shoulder indignantly. ‘It seems to me that ever since the incident with Lord Corvis, you’ve been resurrecting more things, not fewer.’
‘Look, this cove actually asked me to wake ’im up,’ Alfie said, holding his hands out.
‘Don’t try and act all innocent – it makes you look like a frog,’ Josie snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. ‘Anyway, what d’you mean he asked you?’
‘Found this on ’im, addressed to me!’ Alfie said, pulling a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket. Josie snatched it away. She unfolded the note and read it aloud.
Dear Master Alfie,
I write to you with a strange request but it is under the direst circumstances that I impose such a burden upon you. Should I, by some misfortune beyond my control, end up on your mortuary slab, I would ask a favour.
Rumour is a terrible thing, I know, but I was an acquaintance of Sebastian Mortlock’s and so am open to the possibility that death is not the end. Within the circles I move I have heard talk that you may have certain ‘abilities’. Should this be the case, I would implore you to awaken me just once if my mortal remains end up in your tender care.
Yours respectfully,
Horace Grimhurst
Josie frowned at the letter. ‘If he moved in the same circles as Mortlock then he probably wasn’t the most desirable individual,’ she murmured. ‘Why would he want to be awoken?’
‘See, you wanna know too.’ Alfie grinned. ‘Well, I’ve done a bit of snoopin’. Horace Grimhurst wasn’t a nice chap. I mean, not speakin’ ill o’ the dead an’ all that, but he was a shocker!’
‘A shocker?’ Josie looked down at Mr Grimhurst. He looked sad with his grey face and silver hair, but the dead always looked a little pathetic to her. All their grand clothes, bows, ribbons and fancy haircuts counted for nothing once they lay on that table. ‘In what way?’
‘He was mean and cruel,’ Alfie said. ‘A terrible miser. Never gave anything to charity. Went through a whole load of wives.’
‘Met his match with the last one though,’ Josie said with a smirk. A hatchet-faced old woman who looked like sour milk had been smeared under her nose, Mrs Grimhurst had come in with her husband’s body. ‘Can’t bear to have him in the house,’ she had said, ruffling her black mourning silks. ‘The sooner he’s underground the better.’
‘So what does he want with us?’ Alfie raised an eyebrow, challenging Josie.
‘Go on then,’ Josie said and pursed her lips. ‘But I don’t like it.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Alfie winked. ‘Nothin’ to it.’
Josie frowned. Was this the same boy she’d first met in this very embalming room only months ago? The boy who was terrified of his power? Now he seemed so accepting of these abilities that he almost revelled in them.
Alfie splayed his hand over the body of Horace Grimhurst and closed his eyes. His fingers began to tremble.
‘Horace?’ Alfie whispered. ‘You there?’ Alfie’s body began to shake gently and he let out a long, rattling breath which was taken up by the corpse that lay before them. His shoulders jerked up from the table, making the head tilt back and the mouth swing open, but Horace Grimhurst’s eyes stayed tight shut.
‘I . . . am . . . here,’ Grimhurst hissed
. ‘Thank . . . you.’
‘Why did you ask me to summon you, Mr Grimhurst?’ Alfie said, his voice hoarse. Josie stared in horror as the corpse gave a gargling sigh. A tear stung her eye as she remembered the dark night when Alfie had awoken the Great Cardamom, her guardian. She could still see his bloody, eyeless sockets and the crimson tears that had trickled down his grey cheeks. She stared at her boots.
‘I . . . was . . . murdered,’ Grimhurst croaked.
Josie snapped her head up. ‘What?’ she gasped.
‘Mrs Grimhurst . . . pushed me . . . down the stairs,’ the corpse said. ‘She wants . . . my money . . . but . . . you . . . can . . . have it.’
‘That’s very generous, Mr Grimhurst, but –’ Josie began, horrified.
‘She mustn’t . . . benefit . . . from my murder.’ Grimhurst’s voice became clearer, more assertive. ‘You can . . . give the money to charity . . . I don’t care . . . any . . . more.’
‘Where is it?’ Alfie said, sweat trickling down his brow.
‘Most . . . of my wealth . . . is in gold coin,’ hissed Grimhurst. ‘In a secret chamber . . . in the wine cellar.’
‘But we can’t –’ Josie started again.
‘Remove . . . the third bottle of port from the left . . . on the bottom row . . .,’ Grimhurst’s lips barely moved, ‘. . . and place it on the . . . first available space on the top row.’
‘Third from left on the bottom row,’ Alfie repeated. ‘First on top row.’
‘Alfie, surely you’re not thinking –’ Josie stuttered.
‘This will open . . . a compartment behind . . . the bottle of port five spaces to the left . . . on the bottom row.’ Grimhurst’s face twisted and grimaced as he spoke. ‘Put this bottle . . . in the third space and take the gold . . . but do not replace the original bottle.’
‘But won’t someone notice?’ Alfie frowned, shaking with the effort of thinking and keeping Grimhurst awake.
‘I . . . hope so.’ The corpse gave a ghastly chuckle. ‘Then . . . she’ll know. Promise me . . . you’ll . . . do this . . . Alfie . . .’
‘Yeah, I promise,’ Alfie murmured.
‘Alfie, no!’ Josie gasped. ‘You can’t!’
But Alfie had slumped to the floor, exhausted after using his powers, and Mr Grimhurst was back in another place.
Throughout the day following Alfie’s promise to steal Mr Grimhurst’s treasure, Josie kept tight-lipped, refusing to talk to him. An icy silence stopped any conversation at the dinner table. But then Mr Wiggins spoke up, making Josie choke on her cup of tea.
‘I have to pay a visit to Widow Grimhurst this evening to finalise the arrangements for her husband’s funeral,’ he said, standing at the table as if he were addressing a meeting of the Most Worshipful Order of Undertakers.
‘Can we come, Mr Wiggins?’ Alfie chirped straight away. ‘I learn so much watchin’ your way with the customers, like.’
Wiggins gave a proud smile. ‘Why, of course, young Alfie. I was going to suggest such a thing myself. And what about you, Josie?’
‘Very well,’ Josie muttered. At least then I can keep an eye on Alfie, she thought.
Now the three of them walked briskly through the thick mist that shrouded the London streets. The grey fog of a freezing January evening created haloes around the yellow gaslights that dotted this well-heeled part of the city.
Josie dragged Alfie back from Mr Wiggins. ‘You can’t be serious about this, Alfie. If you get caught you could be put in jail,’ she hissed. ‘Mr Wiggins could be implicated too!’
‘Make sure I’m not caught then.’ Alfie grinned. However, his face became sober as he nodded over at Wiggins. ‘Look at ’im, Josie. He ain’t gettin’ any younger an’ what’s he got to show for it? Business ain’t what it was, an’ so many younger chaps are gettin’ into the undertakin’ trade that old Wiggins barely makes a livin’.’
‘I know,’ Josie sighed. It was true. Times were hard and any ne’er-do-well from the Seven Dials could traipse up to Wiggins’s Funeral Parlour with a sob story guaranteed to earn them a cheap funeral for their loved one. Josie had seen Wiggins forgo supper to pay for the hire of black horses so as not to pass the cost on to poorer customers. It was madness.
‘Think what we could do with that treasure,’ Alfie said. ‘Mr Grimhurst wants us to ’ave it!’
‘But –’
‘All you ’ave to do is distract Mrs Grimhurst an’ I’ll slip downstairs,’ Alfie whispered. ‘It won’t take a minute an’ then we’ll be rich.’
‘Here we are,’ Wiggins called to them as he mounted the steps to the Grimhursts’ front door.
Mrs Grimhurst herself answered the door. ‘We don’t keep servants if we can do the work ourselves,’ she observed, indicating that they should hang their coats up on the coat stand.
She was every bit as forbidding as Josie remembered. A bonnet of black silk emphasised her long face. Her thin mouth betrayed no emotion. She reminded Josie of Aunt Mag, tall and predatory as she stared down at them.
‘Nothing fancy,’ she said. ‘Horace didn’t set any money aside for fripperies and fancies. A grave, a box and a parson will be sufficient.’
‘Are you all right, Josie?’ Alfie suddenly piped up.
Startled, Josie glanced around. ‘Who, me?’ she said.
‘Yeah, you look a bit . . . peaky,’ Alfie murmured, squinting at her. ‘Want me to get you a drink of water? Would you mind, Mrs Grimhurst?’
Mrs Grimhurst peered at Josie and snorted. ‘She certainly looks a shade pale. Girls these days – no stamina.’
‘Come on, Josie,’ Alfie said, pulling her by the elbow. ‘Let’s get you a drink.’
‘What are you playing at?’ Josie hissed, once they were outside the room. ‘I didn’t say that I’d go along with this!’
Alfie winked. ‘Yeah, well, you didn’t say you wouldn’t neither. C’mon, it’s so simple. There’s no servants.’
They hurried across the hall and down the stairs to the kitchen and cellars. The wine cellar proved easy to find. Alfie picked up an oil lamp from the kitchen table and led Josie down a short staircase.
‘I’d forgotten how much I hate cellars,’ he said, shuddering, ‘after that business with the ghul in Corvis’s mansion.’
Josie edged closer to Alfie. She too hadn’t forgotten the creatures writhing about in the shadows of Rookery Heights. ‘There’s the wine rack,’ she whispered, pointing to a gloomy corner.
‘Now, let me see,’ Alfie murmured, passing the oil lamp to Josie. ‘Third from left on the bottom, then first on the top.’ He picked out a dusty, greenish bottle and laid it on the top rack. ‘Five spaces to the left on the bottom row,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Put this bottle in the third space and . . .’
A slight click echoed around the cellar.
‘Very clever – must be all kinds of pulleys and levers behind this wall. ’Ere it is – the secret compartment,’ Alfie said as he slid his hand into the hole and pulled out a long, thin bag that hit the dusty floor with a satisfying clink.
He held up the bag with a victorious grin. Coins bulged through the material.
‘I don’t think you’ll find a drink of water down here.’ Widow Grimhurst’s voice made Josie leap with fright. ‘But I see you’ve found something of mine.’ She held out her hand to receive the bag of gold, smirking triumphantly.
Mr Wiggins’s bright red face appeared over the widow’s shoulder. ‘Josie? Alfie? What’s going on? Why are you down here?’
‘It seems these children have got themselves lost, Mr Wiggins,’ Widow Grimhurst sneered. ‘Either that or they’ve developed a taste for fine wine.’
Wiggins fidgeted from foot to foot, twisting his fingers around each other. ‘Oh dear, this is so embarrassing. Please accept my apologies, Mrs Grimhurst. I don’t know what’s come over them.’ Wiggins blustered on as the widow just stood there, weighing the bag in her hands, a sour grin on her face.
‘I suppose young minds are apt to drift a
nd they seem to have done me a favour.’ She stared at Josie, then Alfie. ‘I’ll accept Mr Wiggins’s plea on your behalf and won’t call a constable. Now get out of my house.’
Widow Grimhurst almost skipped through the hall to the front door. Wiggins chased after her, gabbling apologetically.
‘Please accept my apologies once again, Mrs Grimhurst. They’re good children really. They’ve been through rather a lot lately,’ he chattered.
‘Just make sure my odious husband is buried deep as soon as possible,’ the widow muttered, ‘and don’t ever darken this door again.’
Josie and Alfie stumbled numbly down the front steps and into the street as the front door slammed shut. Josie just caught a glimpse of a triumphant leer on Mrs Grimhurst’s craggy face and then Wiggins looked down at them, hands on hips.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he grumbled all the way home. ‘Skulking around people’s houses for no good reason! I’ve never been so ashamed. Not only have you let yourselves down but you’ve let me down too.’
Alfie sat silently in the embalming room, staring down at Horace Grimhurst’s corpse. Josie shook her head.
‘You should count yourself lucky,’ she said. ‘It could have been a lot worse.’
‘Go on, say “I told you so” if it makes yer feel any better,’ Alfie muttered. He raised a hand over the body.
‘What are you playing at now?’ Josie snapped.
‘The least I can do is apologise,’ Alfie growled. ‘I promised ’im and I’ve failed. I’ll have to make it right.’
Josie glared as Alfie began to shake. Waking the dead is easier for him now. He’s getting better at it, she thought.
Horace Grimhurst suddenly lurched upright, his shoulders shaking. Josie stared, slack-jawed, as she realised that the corpse was laughing.
‘Mr Grimhurst, I’m sorry,’ Alfie said, downcast.