The Three Thorns

by Michael Gibney

  “Get off me. What is this?” the Inspector yelled punching at the thick wall of leaves that entrapped him.

  Lightning struck through the clouds seconds before it stood in front of him. The darkness shielded the monstrosity from his sight. Its terrible presence was felt yards away the instant it parted the swirling leaves. Its rancid stench swept across the entire playground, reaching the windows of the east block and causing every boy to cough and splutter and cover their noses.

  Dazzling light shone out through the leaves and briefly lit up the playground long enough for everyone watching to see the nine-foot creature’s scary form. The Inspector screamed for help prior to his whole body evaporating into a vanishing light that left behind his hat. The children gasped in horror as they observed the giant monster morph into a human man to mimic the Inspector. Changing from the feet up, the creature’s frame magically imploded. Its heavy chained armor rapidly transformed into the form and frame of the Inspector’s dark cotton suit and pocket watch. Its steel armored feet followed next, converting into shiny black shoes. The final stage was the beast’s face. It stepped out of the playground and into the lit entrance of Gatesville, still transforming into the Inspector’s facial features until its conversion was complete a few seconds later.

  A calm breeze carried the Inspector’s hat across the playground, rolling to the feet of his imitator.

  Now mimicking his victim, the monstrous imposter knelt down gently to pick up the black hat before giving a bow to his audience of children who stood aghast behind their bedroom windows. After shutting their curtains tight, every boy ran from their windows in fright. They weren’t to get a wink of sleep after they heard the imposter enter the building with thunderous steps that echoed through the corridors, all the way to the principal’s office.

  “Did you forget something?” Mr. Jennings grumbled, briefly glancing up from his desk with a raised eyebrow as he put down his calligraphy pen and dramatically crumpled up a letter he had been writing.

  “I think I am mistaken, Mr. Jennings. This map seems quite genuine. If we hurry, it should lead us straight to them,” the false Inspector said sharply.

  “My, my. You’ve changed your tune,” Mr. Jennings sniggered, fixing his glasses on his beaky nose. “Why, a second ago, you couldn’t have cared less.”

  “Like I said, I was mistaken.” The false Inspector’s eyes shot back a cold, emotionless gaze that unnerved and shook the old principal out of his comfort zone.

  “No harm done. I-I’ll arrange a meeting with you to discuss further action. I don’t want my runaways getting too comfortable. The sooner the better,” Mr. Jennings spluttered.

  “I was thinking sooner,” the dark-eyed Inspector hissed, approaching Mr. Jennings’s desk.

  “Blimey, you are keen,” Mr. Jennings tittered. “Alright, I’ll be at the station first thing tomorrow morning.” Mr. Jennings let out an impatient sigh, while he rudely continued to write. In one speedy move, the Inspector lifted the calligraphy pen out of the principal’s scarred fingers. It took Mr. Jennings a few seconds to take in the sudden odd behavior of the Inspector before he felt a little unnerved.

  “Much sooner than that, Mr. Jennings,” the Inspector replied.

  “How soon?” Mr. Jennings asked in a faint whisper, followed by a gulp.

  “Now,” the Inspector whispered eerily, slowly handing the pen back to him, revealing a silver glint in his eyes and an eager smile that was filled with bad intent.

  10

  Sebastian Cain

  The show was about to begin. The prop boy could tell from the thundering roar of the orchestra that the first set of curtains had been opened. He couldn’t see much ahead of the opera house floor. The heavy lights that stretched across the circular ceiling above the audience began to dim, setting the right atmosphere for the play to commence. Coughs and conversations from the audience died down and their attention turned toward the stage, addressed by the prop boy’s charming and charismatic father.

  “Greetings Ladies and Gentlemen,” the sharp-suited aristocrat bellowed, dramatically pacing up and down the stage platform. “What you are about to witness is the wonder and excitement of our fiftieth theatrical presentation. I assure that none of you will be disappointed, but rather enlightened, entranced, and above all else, inspired by this very unique portrayal of one civilization’s quest for absolute survival. Let me remind you that nowhere else in London, or England, or even the whole world and beyond will you find a play that entertains as much as this one does,” he rambled, building up the audience’s expectation. Viktor Cain was a great showman who knew his trade well.

  “So without further ado, it is my great pleasure to announce to you, the Royal Opera House’s newest attraction, The Reigning Masks.”

  Elsewhere, backstage, another worker the same age as the prop boy turned to him behind the curtain.

  “Wasn’t that your idea, Sebastian?” he asked, cupping one hand in a loud whisper across the stage.

  The prop boy looked embarrassed and bobbed his head.

  “That’s another one ol’ Viktor’s stolen from ya. When are ya gonna learn, eh?” With a mop in hand, the worker continued his leftover duties, leaving Sebastian his words to ponder over.

  The stage lights faded until the entire auditorium was pitch black. Squeaking noises from the apparatus that lifted the main dark velvet drapes caused many audience members to shudder at the uncomfortable sound. Viktor swiftly marched to the backside of the stage and pushed his son out of the way to roll back the heavy wheel himself. Music erupted from the orchestra in sync with the moving curtains until the stage set came into view. Sebastian was on the floor nursing a cut on his dusty knee when Viktor’s large hands grabbed hold of him.

  “Can’t you do anything right, you little pest?” he rasped. Viktor’s face was grubby and rugged, sprouting a pier styled moustache that accompanied his cropped black hair.

  As the play continued through its first act, Viktor and his son Sebastian walked past several prop assistants and workers along the backstage hallway. The man pushed staff members to the wall and slapped a few on the head with his hat for blocking the way.

  Charging through one of the dressing rooms, the large man threw the skinny boy into a couple of barrels that were rusting in the dampness of the corner. “I’ve told you time and time again, boy, to oil that blasted curtain lever,” Viktor yelled, loosening a horsewhip prop from his side belt.

  Raising the horsewhip high above his shoulder, the despicable man was about to strike his son across his back when an old coarse voice ordered him to stop.

  “You do realize we have the company of the Mayor after the show, Viktor. What would he say about us if he were to see our son all black and blue?” she asked, after taking a long drag from her cigarette holder. Smoke surrounded the wrinkly and bony woman like a veil.

  “My grand opening was almost ruined because of this incompetent little weakling, Greta,” snarled Viktor, spluttering from the stale smoke that irritated his nostrils.

  “Punish him later, we have enough work to do and more money to make tonight.”

  Viktor grunted at his acquisitive wife who kept puffing at her cigarette holder by the doorway. The woman wore heavy makeup and a lot of expensive jewelry on top of a feathered animal skin coat that covered her tall body in an attempt to disguise how unattractive she really was.

  Giving another grunt, Viktor stormed out of the dressing room. Sebastian turned to his mother, hoping for some sign of empathy.

  “Don’t look at me like that. You’re in enough trouble, Sebastian,” Greta snapped after inhaling another mouthful of smoke. Gripping his chin between her bony fingers, she pulled his head up from staring at the ground.

  “Look at me! I don’t need you ruining your Father’s big night,” she said scornfully.

  Sebastian concurred, hoping his cruel mother would leave him alone in the dressing room without any further scolding.

  �
��Clean this mess up and then wait for me until after the show,” she instructed as her smoke trail followed her out the doorway.

  ***

  Sounds of huge applause filled the theater several hours later at the massive crescendo of a heroic soldier boy defeating an evil king and liberating all the creatures from the king’s wicked spells.

  Viktor and Greta had not expected such a positive and successful response. Photographers gathered around both theater directors to take pictures of the actors and stage crew.

  Sebastian stood behind the scenes and watched miserably at his cruel parents taking the credit and adulation for his play. As they soaked up the attention, posing for the press and boasting to their admirers, Sebastian picked up his broom and duster and faded into the background, pushing through the stage curtains.

  The congested air cleared up, as did the crowds, until the grand theater was nothing more than rows of empty seats again. Their new stage hit had sent Viktor and Greta into a celebratory mood, which relieved Sebastian, for his punishment had been forgotten.

  After a loud pop, Viktor showered his actors and crew with fresh bubbly champagne, followed by a victorious toast to a job well done.

  “Here’s to theater, and to us, the real showmen…and women, of course,” he said, adding a glorious “Hear, hear.”

  They all drank and laughed in celebration of their success while Sebastian watched angrily from behind the stage curtain. Viktor went on to make another boastful toast when it was abruptly interrupted by loud bangs on the theater’s side doors.

  “What in blazes is that racket?” Viktor yelled, in love with the sound of his own voice. “Where’s the boy?” he snapped at Greta, who showed no sign of being in any way intimidated by the Russian’s threatening demeanor.

  “Where he should be,” she replied casually, lighting herself another cigarette.

  Hearing his name called just the once, the obedient prop boy arrived at his father’s side in seconds.

  “Get the door,” Viktor ordered in the softest tone Sebastian had heard his father speak.

  The scruffy weakling pushed the large rusted bars down to unlock the double iron doors at the side of the theater. The left door was pulled open hard from the other side, almost tripping Sebastian to the ground. A dark figure loomed over him, casting the boy in his shadow.

  “I say, what the devil is going on here?” roared Viktor.

  Gazing up at the dark-eyed man, Sebastian appreciated the strong sound of his father’s voice more than ever before.

  “Away from me, brat,” Mr. Jennings snapped, motioning with his gloves for Sebastian to get out of his way.

  Sebastian followed the blunt order of the elderly stranger and hurriedly took a step to the side, behind a row of theater seats.

  Mr. Jennings and Mr. Porter arrived accompanied by several police officers, including a mysterious Inspector who entered the theater’s side door at the same time.

  Viktor was clearly outraged at the sudden intrusion on his celebration. “Who in blazes do you think you are? I demand an explanation for this unlawful trespassing,” he rambled, carrying his weight toward the wide-eyed principal and the Inspector who stood side by side.

  “Quiet, Mr. Cain. We are not intending to cause you or your family any problems,” replied the Inspector, raising a glove covered hand to silence Viktor’s ranting.

  “Not yet anyway,” Mr. Jennings threatened.

  “We are investigating several runaways belonging to this gentleman,” the Inspector said. Clicking his fingers, the Inspector ordered a constable to stand behind him, ready to take handwritten notes.

  “What makes you think I know anything about missing runaways?” Viktor sniggered, puffing at his lit cigar and crudely blowing smoke rings in the Inspector’s face.

  The Inspector smiled, taking off his spectacles to wipe them clean. “Because you recruit them, Mr. Cain. They are your actors, your cleaners and your workers. We have turned a blind eye to your cheap labor for far too long,” the Inspector explained, stepping closer to the large man.

  “Surely a man of your copious wealth and status wouldn’t want to have an unexpected visit from the taxman, let alone the press. You know how reporters are, always itching for a scandal,” the Inspector teased.

  “What do you want from me?” Viktor replied, unable to take his eyes off of Mr. Jennings’ glare.

  “Just some simple co-operation. These runaways managed to slip past my men…twice,” the Inspector informed, slowly walking back and forth to gaze upon the grandness of the theater’s interior. “They’re of great importance to this gentleman.”

  “And this is?” Viktor sighed.

  “Mr. Jennings, he runs the borstal home for boys at Gatesville,” the Inspector replied, fixing the wire-rimmed legs of his spectacles around his ears.

  This time, a large smoke ring fell across Mr. Jennings’ face, from Greta, who walked slowly over to her husband’s side to involve herself in the conversation.

  “Tell me…what is so special about a bunch of runaway strays, Mr. Jennings?” asked Greta, raising her cigarette holder up to her lips once more, her eyes filled with morbid curiosity. “Surely this isn’t the first time a child has escaped that prison you call an orphanage.”

  Mr. Jennings’ smirk flumped when he fixed his sight upon an equal set of dark cold eyes. “Gatesville is not a prison, Madam,” he replied, forcing a smile.

  “There must be hundreds, if not thousands, of runaways in this city alone. Why on earth would you expect to find any answers here, Mister…?” asked Viktor impatiently.

  “Inspector will do fine.”

  The Inspector silently passed a piece of neatly folded paper to Mr. Porter who persisted to unfold it at a snail’s pace and then held it in front of his own face for the Cains to see. It was a carefully sketched map of routes from Gatesville to London’s city center and beyond, which included three distinctly marked destinations. One of the locations marked with the ‘X’ mark had the name ‘Gatesville’ written beside it. The other was a particular area in the north countryside that bore the name ‘Jacob’ beside the mark. In between the two marked areas was the biggest ‘X’ of all three and outlined by a circle around the name ‘Viktor’ written over the Royal Opera House.

  “My men found this in the coat pocket of one of the runaways when they caught him at the central train station, half a mile from here,” the Inspector uttered. “Do you have any idea why your name would be marked on this map, Mr. Cain?”

  Viktor snatched the map and held it up to the stage light so he and Greta could get a clearer look. “Of course I don’t,” he sneered, tossing the piece of paper back at Mr. Porter.

  “It looks to me your runaways are headed to the countryside, Mr. Jennings,” added Greta.

  Victor began to nervously titter under his breath.

  “Be quiet, you great oaf,” Mr. Jennings snapped as he took one step closer to the stubborn entrepreneur. “Make no mistake, they’re coming here for a reason, and we’re going to be here to catch them this time.”

  Greta ordered the rest of the cast and crew to leave the auditorium, including Sebastian, while the policemen searched the theater. Sebastian kept his head down passing his parents, but then looked around himself when he reached the safety of the stage curtains. Sebastian always liked to look at the grand architecture of the auditorium before going to bed, especially as this was the newest theater on this side of London that his parents had recently purchased.

  The Cain family never stayed in one place for too long. But Sebastian was rather fond of this building in particular. It didn’t seem cold like his previous residencies. The building’s interior design and the artwork on its ceilings were often the last things Sebastian gazed upon every night.

  But something suddenly appeared out of place this time. Something lurked in one of the top balconies. The troubling sight caught Sebastian so off guard that it demanded a second glance. An odd face lit u
p and peered out of the front row of the right balcony. It was the face of a boy his age. The face suddenly faded into the shadowy background as quickly as it had appeared.

  Sebastian had a creepy feeling that someone had been watching that evening’s events unfold.

  11

  New Friends of Warwickshire

  Awake! Finally awake.

  “Where am I?” Benjamin whispered to himself. The muffled sounds vibrating along the thin walls had stirred him from his deep slumber. A chesty cough echoed through the hall ahead of him. Maybe he had coughed without realizing it.

  He pondered for a while, rubbing his burning eyes to rid himself of blurred vision. Another husky cough came from the hall, louder this time.

  Benjamin sat up on the hardened suede sofa and felt the room begin to spin. Aches and pains ran across his winter-beaten body. He must have been asleep a long while for he was fully dry, and his wet coat and damp shoes were nowhere to be found.

  He stood up in an attempt to shake his dizziness off. The warmth of the prickly carpet tips brushing through his toes contributed discomfort to his soaring temperature.

  Still dazed and confused, Benjamin slowly gravitated toward the sounds along the hall.

  The hallway looked warm and cosy with a varnished wooden ceiling overhead. Peach wallpaper with patterns of gilded flowers covered the walls around him. It was obvious that a person of great wealth and taste lived here.

  When Benjamin drew nearer to the coughing noise, he thought of Peter and Tommy.

  Following the strange rabbit hunter across the cold countryside was the last thing he could remember. Or did he follow a kidnapper? Was the rabbit hunter the owner of that coarse smoker’s cough? There’s only one way to find out, Benjamin thought.