The Whitby Witches 2: A Warlock In Whitby

by Robin Jarvis

  The boy hastened away, leaving them to mourn in private. They would not have much time to grieve, he told himself—something was waking.

  ***

  In the main entrance chamber, Nelda stood alone. Everything she had known was destroyed. The great stone doors lay sprawled over the rocks below and the black mist flowed keenly in, engulfing the broken fishing boats, creeping between the tangled nets and strangling the flame of the single lamp which had miraculously remained lit.

  Nelda stepped carefully over the snaking chains and shattered timbers. Then, directly above, the rusted mechanism gave a juddering creak and the girl fled from the cavern as immense cogs and pulleys fell, crushing the wreckage behind her.

  Out into the cloying dark she ran, climbing swiftly down the slippery wall of rock and landing soundlessly in the rippling mist.

  Pausing only to look back and pray that her grandfather was safe, she splashed through the sea and made for the shore behind the pier bridge.

  The rest of the tribe were still there. None of them knew what to do; they had nowhere to go—the caves had been their home for so long that nobody wanted to leave them, yet it was too dangerous to stay.

  Nelda saw them huddled in forlorn groups, shaking their heads and muttering grievously to themselves. They had endured much that day and she knew what intense emotions were wringing their hearts—yet she had suffered the deepest hurt. Pushing such thoughts to the back of her mind, the girl forced herself onward, there was still much to do.

  "Ben!" she shouted. "Wait!"

  The boy was walking over the sands, trudging wretchedly home. Quickly, he glanced round and saw the aufwader girl tearing towards him.

  "I have it!" she cried, brandishing the last guardian over her head for him to see.

  "How... how did you find it?" he asked when she pressed it into his hands.

  Nelda shivered and said quickly, "What matters now is we make certain the guardian is safe."

  Slipping the carving into his coat pocket, the boy glanced back at the darkened town where shrieks of panic came echoing from the fog. "I wish Aunt Alice was here," he said anxiously. "She'd know what to do next. And what about Jen and Miss Wethers? What if something's happened to them?"

  "Then that shall be our first action," the aufwader told him. "Let us be certain they are safe, but we must make haste."

  The two of them hared over the shore and plunged into the blanketing murk that smothered Whitby.

  High upon the cliff top, amid the tombstones and towering over the shore, a solitary figure stood, his coal-black eyes penetrating the mounting gloom.

  "So," Nathaniel softly uttered, "the cave maiden stole it, did she?" And a cruel smile flickered over his bearded face. "Then all is not lost, there may still be a chance for glory. The force that is stirring may yet be mine. But this time, I leave nothing to chance. If I have to risk the fury of the Deep Ones then so be it—the boy must die. I'll snap his neck myself." Hurrying through the graveyard, he leapt down the steps.

  ***

  "Jen! Jen!" Ben called, hammering on the front door. "Let me in!"

  "Hurry," Nelda said beside him. She pulled the neck of her gansey over her chin and shivered. The yard was almost pitch black, completely drowned by the eerie mist which, even as they waited, grew steadily thicker.

  "Jen!" the boy shouted again.

  The door rattled and was swiftly yanked open. "Benjamin!" cried the voice of Miss Wethers. "Where have you been? I'm at my wits' end!" The spinster's hand reached out and, catching hold of his coat, she hauled him inside.

  With a lurch, Ben tumbled into the cottage and Nelda nipped in behind—just as the postmistress slammed the door again. Miss Wethers fell to her knees where she proceeded to block up the gaps with a draught-excluder and a heap of cushions and pillows.

  "We've got to keep it out," she squeaked, "whatever it is! Goodness me, Benjamin, have you been wandering in these fumes all this time? What have you done to your lungs, child? As soon as this filth blows over we must rush you to the hospital." She stuffed the last of the pillows in place and flapped to her feet, eyeing the barricade doubtfully.

  "I've been going out of my mind with worry," she scolded him. "You should have come back as soon as the tanker exploded."

  "What tanker?" Ben asked.

  Miss Wethers fluttered her hands in consternation and her voice rose hysterically. "Well something exploded!" she declared, seeking a rational explanation for the chaos that had engulfed the town. "The whole house shook—I suppose this nasty smoke is the oil burning. Oh dear, it must be a gargantuan spillage, and there'll be all those poor birds clogged with oil."

  "It isn't anything like that!" the boy tried to tell her. "This is Nathaniel's doing! He's destroyed two of the..."

  But the postmistress was not listening to him. "Come into the parlour, Benjamin," she said. "The windows are all intact there, thank heavens—you should see the kitchen and the front room! We must wait until the fire brigade come to rescue us, I've heard the sirens. Oh if only we were at my house—there's a gas mask in one of Mother's cupboards."

  She fluttered into the parlour and Ben threw Nelda an exasperated glance. "We must not tarry here," she told him, "the guardian must be taken to a place of safety."

  He nodded grimly and ran after Miss Wethers.

  In the parlour the curtains had been drawn and several candles burned brightly. On the armchair sat Jennet; the girl's face was sullen and she looked up briefly when her brother entered.

  "I heard what you said," she muttered coldly. "Haven't you stopped playing your childish games yet? Leave Nathaniel alone—he's out there too."

  "Oh Jennet," tutted Edith distractedly, "do stop thinking on it. Really, Ben, your sister's done nothing but talk about that Mr Crozier—she even wanted to go out and find him but I wouldn't let her."

  "Good," Ben cried, "he's evil, Miss Wethers."

  Edith lit another candle and bemoaned the lack of electricity. "Cut off when the tanker exploded," she told herself for the umpteenth time, "although I can't see how. I wonder if we should drink lots of milk—would it line our stomachs and protect us from the noxious stuff? Maybe we should sit under the stairs..."

  "Why won't she listen?" Ben hissed to Nelda.

  "Because she's frightened," the aufwader replied. "Deep down she knows there is more to this than she pretends, but she cannot face the horror. Perhaps if they could see me I could make them understand."

  "Jennet," Ben said, "Nelda's here, the tribe's been driven from the caves and most of the tunnels have collapsed."

  "Benjamin!" squeaked Miss Wethers in alarm as she taped the edges of the curtains to the wall just to make certain the room was securely sealed. "What are you talking about?"

  "The fisherfolk!" he told her, running out of patience and wanting to scream in frustration. "They live under the cliffs—or they used to, but I'm the only one who can see them. There's one here now."

  Edith stared at him, "Oh dear," she whined, "it's the pollution, it's affected his brain. Lie on the couch and be a good boy—the authorities will be coming soon, I'm sure they will." But the wailing engines were in the far distance and she gripped the chair arm distractedly.

  "We waste our time," Nelda said. "We must leave this place—show her the guardian, she will have to believe you then."

  "Look!" Ben cried desperately, taking the carving from his pocket. "This is the last protector of Whitby, made by one of the fisherfolk thousands of years ago."

  Edith gazed at the jet serpent and fiddled with her collar uncomfortably. Even Jennet leaned forward and she gave her brother a curious glance.

  "My," muttered Miss Wethers fearfully, "wherever did you find such a gruesome object?"

  "I didn't," he told her, looking across at Jennet. "Nelda did."

  Edith covered her eyes, confused and bewildered by his insane ramblings.

  "Crozier wants it," Ben continued. "He's already destroyed the other two. That's why all this is happening, don't yo
u see? Something is waking and it's all that man's fault—it'll destroy everything if it gets free. Crozier is totally insane!"

  That was too much for Jennet. She let out an outraged howl and pounced at her brother, knocking the guardian from his hand and shoving him to the floor.

  "How dare you!" she screeched, her face contorting into a ghastly mask. "Shut your stupid mouth! Nathaniel wouldn't hurt a fly—he's mine—I love him—he loves me!"

  "JENNET!" shouted Miss Wethers in horror. "What are you saying? Leave Benjamin alone at once. Just listen to you, child, what has that man been telling you?"

  The girl tossed her head and laughed. "You're only jealous," she barked, "jealous because he loves me and not a wrinkled old prune like you! Did you honestly think he would fancy a dried-up spinster who spends her days licking stamps and sorting postcards? Why should he even look at you when nobody else ever did?"

  Ben recoiled from his sister; that was not her voice speaking—it was more like Rowena Cooper's, even her face had changed and her mouth was drawn wide and ugly.

  Miss Wethers strode forward to give the girl a sharp slap, but her hand quivered impotently and she ran sobbing to her chair. "How could you?" she wept. "How could you say such foul and hurtful things?"

  Nelda stared at Jennet with understanding and took a deep breath. "She cannot help it," she told Ben gravely. "Your sister is consumed by a powerful enchantment. The Crozier man controls her now—she is his creature."

  "No," the boy whimpered, "she can't be."

  Nelda hurried to the door. "Now we must truly leave," she urged, "this place is not safe for your sister will betray us to him. She has no will of her own."

  Ben squirmed away from Jennet, then seized hold of the jet carving and hurried from the parlour.

  "Benjamin!" Edith called. "Where are you going? Come back."

  Jennet snarled and leapt after him, dragging the boy back by the hair.

  "Oh no, little brother!" she yelled. "You're not going anywhere with that. If my Nathaniel wants your piece of junk then I'll see he gets it."

  "Jen!" he shrieked as the girl pushed him into the wall and snatched the guardian from his grasp.

  At this, Nelda let out an angry shout and flew at her. With a surprised wail, Jennet felt an invisible fist punch her stomach and she doubled over—winded and shocked.

  Miss Wethers screamed in fright when the jet serpent seemed to fly from the girl's hands of its own accord as the aufwader wrenched it away.

  "EEEKK!" she squawked. "The girl's possessed! Benjamin, run for the vicar!"

  The boy was more frightened for his sister's safety than anything else. "Are you hurt, Jen?' he asked.

  The girl only growled at him.

  "We must go!" Nelda pleaded. "We must..."

  Her voice faltered as her keen ears heard something. Then they all heard it. Outside, ringing over the concrete of the yard, came the sound of quick footsteps.

  "We're too late," breathed Nelda.

  "It's him!" Ben cried. "He's come for the final guardian—he'll destroy everything!"

  The postmistress gave a small, terrified whimper and rose from her chair.

  Only Jennet was pleased; she laughed and fires danced brightly in her eyes. Running into the hall, she rushed at the front door and started to drag away the pillows and cushions.

  "No!" Ben yelled, as he and Nelda darted after her. "You mustn't let him in! He'll kill us all!"

  "Nathaniel!" Jennet called excitedly as she fought with the latch. "Nathaniel, they won't let me come to you. I'm in here!"

  "Miss Wethers!" Ben shouted. "We can't hold her."

  Dithering in the parlour, Edith threw up her hands and scurried to help them.

  "Let me go!" the girl screamed. "I must see him, I must hold him!"

  "No, Jen!" her brother bawled. "He's bad! Come away from the door. Miss Wethers—do something!"

  Edith grabbed the girl's waist and together the three of them dragged Jennet out of the hall.

  "You'll be sorry!" she snapped. "He'll hurt you for this!"

  Nelda picked up a cushion and threw it at the girl's head. "Tell her to pipe down," she said to Ben. "Sshh! The footsteps have stopped—he's right outside."

  "Is the door locked?" Ben whispered to Miss Wethers.

  The postmistress nodded hurriedly.

  "That signifies nothing," Nelda told him, searching the room for a weapon. "Once a man of power has been invited over a threshold there is no lock that can bar his entry, the way is always open thereafter. Crozier will come—he will reach us."

  "Then what can we do?" Ben cried. "We're done for!"

  "Close that door," Nelda instructed, picking up a china vase and testing the weight of it. "We must attack as soon as he enters."

  Ben did as she said, and from the hallway, they heard the latch rattling.

  "He's trying to get in," breathed Miss Wethers in terror.

  The lock clicked and the footsteps strode into the hall.

  "Nathaniel," mouthed Jennet feverishly, her eyes blazing and her teeth glinting long and sharp in the candle-light.

  The others huddled into the corner of the room; Nathaniel Crozier, high priest of the Black Sceptre, whose very name was a curse and whose own hands had butchered many, had come for them.

  Nelda raised the vase above her head and Ben gripped the last guardian to his chest. Miss Wethers crammed her mouth with tissue and the parlour door swung open.

  Edith screamed as a black shadow flew into the room and Nelda flung the vase with all her strength. It hit the wall by the door and shattered with a great crash. Quickly the aufwader reached for something else to throw but was stopped by a commanding voice which cut through the air like a razor.

  "What on earth have we here?" it demanded.

  The anxious face of Alice Boston peered round the door in bemused astonishment and she gave the shattered vase a quizzical look. "I was rather fond of that," she clucked, then the old lady grinned at them all. "I don't suppose there's any tea in the pot?" she asked.

  The others gazed at her dumbfounded, then they relaxed and rushed over, wrapping their arms tightly about her plump body.

  "Goodness!" she woefully exclaimed. "I leave Whitby for a few days and all hell breaks loose. The town is in uproar, what with buildings on fire, people running about like headless chickens and this horrid, clammy fog." She squinted down at Nelda who, to her eyes, was slightly blurred. "You needn't tell me who's behind it all either," she added, "that I already know."

  Only Jennet had hung back from the heartfelt greetings. It was Nathaniel she wanted—nothing and nobody else was important to her now. Where was he—why had he not come? Brushing past the others, she ran to the hall and rushed into the billowing mist.

  "Where are you?" she called.

  "Jennet?" Miss Boston's voice came to her.

  The girl whirled round and saw Aunt Alice staring at her curiously. "What have you done with him, you old witch?" she screamed.

  Miss Boston flinched as though she had been hit. "Come in out of the cold, dear," she managed to say. "You're upset. Come back inside, there are those who love you more in here."

  But the girl turned to flee and the old lady hurried down the step after her. Raising her hand, she made a curious sign in the air. "Jennet!" she shouted. "Stop! In the name of all that is holy, listen to me!"

  "No," Jennet whined, but she wavered as her mind cleared a little and her legs buckled beneath her. Then the girl fell senseless to the ground.

  "Benjamin!" Miss Boston called. "Nelda! Come and help me! Oh, I hope it isn't too late. Please Lord, don't let her be lost to him."

  Presently Jennet was lying on the sofa and the old lady tutted in annoyance.

  "I should have foreseen this," she reprimanded herself.

  "Will Jen be okay?" Ben asked. "What did you do?"

  "Merely called for help," replied Aunt Alice mysteriously. "Don't worry, she's just fainted. If only I had come back sooner. Still I should be thankful I'm h
ere at all. Praise be for drunken butlers is all I can say." The others stared at her, not understanding a word and the old lady shook herself. The dreadful memory of Judith Deacon's body lying broken on the marble floor and surrounded by the fragments of a port bottle reared before her again.

  Standing by the door, Nelda was impatient to leave. "The guardian must be taken from here," she insisted. "Crozier may still come."

  Miss Boston stroked Jennet's hair, then turned to the aufwader and held out her hand. "May I see it?" she asked.

  The aufwader showed her the jet serpent and the old lady studied it with a scowl. "I cannot allow this to continue!" she stormed, her fierce spirit raging within her. "This appalling man must be stopped—it's time I confronted him!"

  "But you can't!" Ben protested. "He's too powerful!"

  "Have faith," she told him, tucking the guardian into her blouse. "He must have some weakness or he wouldn't have sent me all the way to London. Besides, I have one or two little surprises left. I'm not totally defenceless."

  Suddenly the entire cliff shuddered and in the yard outside a chimney stack came crashing down.

  "Morgawrus," Nelda murmured. "He wakes."

  Miss Boston swept a tweed cloak about her shoulders. "The time has come," she declared. "Edith, you stay with Jennet. Ben and Nelda, come with me." And the three of them hurried from the cottage.

  "Take care, Alice," Miss Wethers called as they disappeared into the mist. The postmistress wiped her forehead then buried her face in her hands, failing to notice that Jennet was beginning to stir. A hellish light welled up behind the girl's eyelids and they snapped open—glaring at the oblivious Edith.

  ***

  Tarr gazed about him. It had been a difficult task rounding up those who had fled from the fish demon, and they had barely escaped with their lives.

  Now he stood awkwardly on the sand, missing his staff, and surveying the grim scene before him.

  Whitby was completely covered by dense layers of mist that muffled the frantic clamour of shrill alarms. Occasionally, through a break in the smothering screen, tongues of flame shone out and the buildings that burned blazed furiously. The townsfolk were crowding the streets, trying to escape the black fog by hurrying as far inland as they could. Only the church and the abbey remained unsullied by the creeping dark and they reared over the town like proud beacons surrounded by a sea of night.