by James Erith
Dickinson listened, then replied. ‘Thick fog, sir. Visibility approximately ten metres. Not sure how much use the camera will be until we get close to the house. Scouting the perimeter area at this moment.’
Shortly, Dickinson’s radio burst into life. ‘Sir,’ came the metallic tone of one of the soldiers through the radio. ‘Footprints. One, two days old. Hard to tell – prints saturated by mud and water.’
‘What sizes?’
‘Some big, some small, sir.’
‘Can you tell where they lead?’
‘No, sir. Looks like they lead into the flooding. Impossible to tell, sir.’
Dickinson rubbed his chin. Maybe they’ve already gone, he thought, exactly as that girl Sue said. Perhaps they really had gone to find an electronic tablet. There was only one way to find out.
Dickinson buzzed his radio. ‘I’m coming over. We’ll wait for more light before we begin the ascent. No-one will see us in this stew.’ He paused and pressed the button again. ‘Reconvene at the boat in approximately five minutes.’
ARCHIE WOKE UP SWEATING.
He’d dreamt of Cain. Cain laughing from under a cloak with such bitterness that his blood boiled and pulsed in waves around his body. Then, Cain merged into Kemp, becoming a monster before spitting ash in his face like a fire-breathing dragon. Archie’s head throbbed. He sat up and wiped his brow, then opened his eyes and stared out from under the huge drape at the dark, silent room. His chin stung, from where the ghost had nicked him with the dagger only three nights before.
He rubbed the newest cut, a thin clear liquid moistening his fingers.
Archie checked his watch, then climbed out of bed and, treading lightly on the creaking floorboards, found his way to the table where he lit a candle and slipped down the stairs. In the bathroom, he held the candle up to the mirror and inspected the cuts. There they were – not more than a centimetre long, open, hot, angry and sore, and in exactly the same position either side of his chin. Cain’s doing – to remind him, perhaps?
And anyway, why, hadn’t Resplendix Mix cleaned it up, like it had with everything else?
Archie tried to forget about Cain but this was easier said than done. Those haunting words of his kept reverberating round his brain. ‘Courage, young man, so you are feared and respected,’ and ‘Your strength will be without doubt. I assure you these rewards will be genuine.’
The iciness in that cold, deep voice swished around his head. Archie needed to wake up. He splashed cool tap water over his face and looked back at his curious reflection. His crazy hair, gelled into wire-like points, were tight and strong and he realised that his follicles somehow appeared to reflect his mood. When he relaxed, a softness came to his spikes which might, in a very tiny way, be shaped or sculpted.
He prised open the most recent cut with his fingers, and then picking up a nail brush on the side of the bath, scrubbed the gash hard, as if it were an ink mark. He winced as the wound opened and blood dripped out, decorating the white ceramic basin with deep crimson drops, each one splashing over such a large area, fixating him.
He was snapped out of his daze by Daisy calling down the passageway. ‘Winkle, get a move on! I need to go!’
Archie grabbed a handful of toilet roll and pressed it firmly to the cut, hoping the wound would congeal. Daisy walked in, her hair in a gigantic mess stuck to her face.
‘What are you doing?’ she said, moving a clump of curly blonde strands from her forehead.
‘Random cut that needed a bit of a clean,’ he said.
Daisy screwed her face up and grunted. ‘Your hair’s still crap,’ she said, as she stared at her face in the mirror, moving closer and closer so that in the candlelight her eyes looked particularly ruddy.
‘Awesome. Wonder what else they’ll do today?’ she said, as she opened her eyes as wide as possible and oddly pretended she was a vampire, snarling and clawing randomly at her reflection.
Archie laughed. ‘Don’t be a fool. And hurry up. We’ve got Blabisterberry Jelly to find – or had you forgotten?’
‘Forgotten? Nah. I can hardly wait,’ she said. ‘Off you go.’
A COLD CHILL hung about them in the dark kitchen. Isabella lit three further candles to offer a bit more light and Archie scrambled around for some newspaper and kindling which smouldered before igniting on the old embers of the fire in the belly of the old range cooker.
Daisy sat in a heap next to the table. ‘What do you reckon it is?’ she said.
‘What is?’
‘Blab-ista-stuff, or whatever it’s called?’
‘Blabisterberry Jelly?’ Isabella said smartly. She turned her head skyward as if deep in thought. ‘By the sound of it, it may well be some kind of fungus or tree-growth or pus-filled plant. Or perhaps the “jelly” refers to a kind of gelatine mineral deposit, like oil.’
Archie lowered four plates onto the table. ‘What if it’s some kind of jelly fish? A weird creature from out there in the flooding.’
Daisy looked horrified. ‘Oh God, I hope not. I hate jelly fish. It’ll be full of disease and dead stuff. Bells, can I have an extra helping of cheese on my MPS and a double egg? I’m starving.’
‘Give me a chance,’ Isabella shot back. ‘The oven’s not hot enough. Anyway, stop being a slob – get some apple juice out and lay up,’ she ordered. ‘Has anyone seen Old Man Wood?’
‘I heard him snoring from Mum and Dad’s room earlier,’ Archie said. ‘He’s moved in.’
Isabella sliced the thin loaf of crusty bread that Mrs. Pye had left out, added ham and several slices of cheese to each, followed by a chunky wedge of tomato on top. ‘You’d better go and get him. Make sure he hasn’t gone mad or died again.’ She dripped three drops of sauce on top. ‘Anyone know where Mrs P is? Very odd that she’s not put in an appearance.’
Daisy smiled wickedly. ‘I’ll go and kick a ball around in the courtyard. If that doesn’t wake her up, nothing will.’
Archie tore off up the stairs in one direction as Daisy shot out of the back of the house and on to the courtyard where she found a ball and began to kick it against the wall right beneath Mrs. Pye’s apartment.
As the water boiled, Isabella turned into the kitchen where she realised the quiet wasn’t in her imagination. She was on her own, so she opened the oven door and slipped the first of the Mrs. Pye Specials onto the top shelf, and soon the smell of melting cheese made her mouth water like crazy.
BENEATH THEM, in the courtyard, Kemp could hear a ball being kicked; its thudding reverberating annoyingly through the window panes.
Kemp stared at the plump woman waking in front of him. She tossed from side to side and groaned. Could this odd looking woman really be his mother? He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, to scream with annoyance or with delight, as a horrible doubt lingered. No – impossible. She couldn’t be. Suddenly Kemp wanted to be as far away as possible, not in this room, not even within a hundred miles of here. Kemp stood up and gingerly crept towards the door.
He turned his head back to the woman, just as she stretched her hands out, drew them together and fanned them out, flexing her pink digits in front of her face. A snapping, cracking, popping sound came out of each little joint, but one thing caught Kemp’s eye.
He stared hard at Mrs. Pye’s hands. There, again. As she did it, now he did the same.
One odd, strange movement.
He pushed his arms out and flexed his fingers and then pushed his thumbs together, which, just like Mrs. Pye’s, bent back at a quite extraordinary angle.
He’d never met anyone who could get even close to this level of dexterity, this bendiness, the way the thumbs pushed flat on their pads at ninety degrees.
Mrs. Pye opened her eyes, stared at his thumbs, then at her hands, doing the same motion. Slowly, she fixed her gaze at him, her initial reaction betraying shock and fear and now curiosity.
Kemp stared back, mid stretch, his thumbs bent back and for what seemed like an eternity, the room filled with silence.
‘Please, don’t scream,’ Kemp implored.
Mrs. Pye scrunched up her face and eyed him curiously.
Kemp stood stone still, not sure what to do next.
‘What do you want?’ Mrs. Pye forced out.
‘I just wanted to see you.’
‘You’re Archie’s friend, now, aren’t you?’ Mrs. Pye finally said, and she shifted up the bed to see him better.
Kemp nodded.
Mrs. Pye tutted. ‘And you’ve lost your lovely hair. If I remember, it was bright—’
‘Ginger,’ Kemp butted in. ‘Just like—’
‘Mine,’ she said and, as she did, she smiled, although it looked every bit like a scowl to Kemp.
‘Yeah,’ he said.
The long silence returned. Kemp stared at the woman, her funny scars, her fat lips and her slightly long nose and, in particular, those sharp, light blue eyes. It was like looking at a distorted mirror.
Maybe Cain was right.
‘I need to get up, young man,’ Mrs. Pye said. ‘So unless you’ve other business ...’
Kemp hesitated. ‘Yes. I mean, no. I mean—’
‘What’s the matter? You got a problem with one of my lot?’ She shot a look towards the desk with the scrapbook and photos of the de Lowe children.
‘No, no. Not them,’ Kemp said.
‘Well then, be off with you. Don’t know what you’re thinking, creeping into people’s houses. I’ve a good mind to telephone them police.’
But Kemp’s feet remained glued to the floor. ‘Mrs. Pye,’ Kemp stuttered, trying to find the right words and then, summoning every ounce from a place deep within him, he said: ‘How did you, er, how did you get those scars?’
Mrs. Pye shot him her most dastardly look. ‘None of your business.’
‘The thing is,’ he replied, as tears filled his eyes. ‘I do believe it is.’
NINETY-EIGHT
A SIP OF WATER
If his theory was correct, and the virus was being spread by something in dreams, Solomon thought his chances of survival were probably greater than most. After all, he’d been a light sleeper for years and he rarely, if ever, dreamt.
He woke before dawn, dressed and headed outside to find Dickinson with his team preparing to take a Land Rover down to the water. From there they would motor across the Vale of York to the edge of the Yorkshire Moors and then climb up to Eden Cottage.
They exchanged pleasantries.
‘Dickinson,’ Solomon began. ‘Please keep me updated. If they’re not around, I’d like to drop in as soon as I can to tie up some of my research.’
The Corporal nodded. ‘We should be in and out in no time. With any luck we’ll be back at lunchtime.’
‘I’ve been given a radio. What frequency are you on?’
The Corporal gave him the information and gathered his protective helmet.
Solomon smiled. ‘Good luck. Let’s hope they haven’t caught the Ebora virus, huh?’
As they departed, Solomon went back to his lodgings and then on to find Sue in the room above his. He knocked on the door. When he knocked again, the noise told him a good deal of scrambling was going on. Sue wasn’t alone.
‘It’s Solomon, Sue. Can you let me in?’
More scrambling from inside. Finally the door opened. Sue’s head peeped round the door. ‘Morning, sir,’ she said gaily, a twinkle in her eye.
Solomon moved in and shut the door behind him. ‘Stone’s obedient dog has gone to sniff out Eden Cottage,’ he began. ‘He reckons he’ll be back by lunchtime, so we’ll need to be ready to go.’
Sue looked up from her perch on the bed. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘What do we need to do?’
‘First get your hands on some of the protective suits. Three of them.’
‘Three?’
‘Yes. One for you, one for me and one for Gus.’
‘Gus?’
‘Yes. Gus who is hiding in the cupboard.’
Sue reddened. ‘Sir?’
Solomon smiled at her. ‘You must think I was born yesterday,’ he said. ‘Besides, I’m a schoolmaster. Come on out of there, Mr. Williams.’
The door swung open and the large figure of Gus tumbled out over the floor in a muddle of arms and legs.
Solomon helped pick him up. ‘Right now, I am your friend, not your headmaster,’ Solomon said. ‘So let’s be a little grown up about this.’ Gus sat down beside Sue and stared, red-faced, at the floor. Solomon moved over to the radio and turned up the volume. Then he sat down next to them on the bed.
‘We know,’ he began quietly as the song crashed into the chorus, ‘that the de Lowes are on to something quite astonishingly important. There are clues littered everywhere; in the old books in the library, the stained glass and, I’m sure, in their house, but what it is they have to find, I don’t know.’
Solomon rubbed his hands. ‘However, the world is falling apart at an alarming pace and until they get hold of this thing, I have a terrible feeling that this deterioration will continue swiftly and without mercy.’ Solomon looked from Sue to Gus and back again. ‘From the chaos out there, they may already be running out of time.’
The headmaster raised his eyebrows. ‘I am increasingly certain that we must keep Archie and his sisters away from Commissioner Stone and his cronies. Officialdom will only hinder the children, and my instinct tells me is that it is up to the de Lowes, and only the de Lowes to find what they have to find. If not, then I am quite sure Isabella would somehow have managed to bring this to the authorities’ attention.’ The headmaster removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes.
‘I cannot begin to tell you how much pressure Stone is under. I’m talking pressure on a massive, global, governmental scale. And the problem is that he thinks finding Archie de Lowe is the answer to all his woes. As such, that man will not stop at finding them. He will continue on to extract every grain of information out of Archie or, indeed, Isabella or Daisy.’
The music went quiet as the song ended, and Solomon did the same.
‘Here’s what I think,’ he said as the next song burst into life. ‘We need to be ready for two situations.’
‘Two?’ Gus queried.
‘Indeed. The first is the eventuality that the children are at the cottage and are brought back here, in which case we’ll need to set them free, at all costs. The second option applies if they are not at home. If that is the case, then we need to get into Eden Cottage and find out whatever we can in order to protect them. But it is vital that we keep this from Stone and send him and his boys on a wild goose chase.’ He smiled at Gus and Sue. ‘And to that effect, to get you both to Eden Cottage with me, I have a plan.’
OLD MAN WOOD came downstairs holding a large bucket filled with water. He placed it in the hallway and made his way into the kitchen. ‘Stop eating!’ he shouted, waving his arms in the air. ‘Please! STOP, NOW!’
‘Why?’ Isabella said. ‘Is it the Havilarian Toadstool Powder?’
‘No, no. You must be ravenously hungry for Blabisterberry Jelly—’
‘You eat Blabisterberry Jelly?’ Archie said as he chewed on a combination of ham, egg and cheese. ‘Are you sure?’
‘YES!’
‘I hope it’s as good as this,’ Daisy said, forking in a huge mouthful.
‘NO!’ the old man begged. ‘Daisy ... please don’t.’
Daisy lowered her fork and fixed him with her red eyes. ‘So what does this jelly look like?’
‘That’s the thing. I don’t know,’ he began, ‘but you’ll find out, I can assure you. Believe me – but it really is vital you’re starving.’
‘I’m always starving!’ Archie said, as he made to help himself to more.
‘NO!’ the old man roared and he reached onto the table and tossed Archie’s plate into the corner of the room where it smashed into fragments.
‘Archie,’ the old man said firmly, ‘I am deadly serious. This is no game, it is not a joke. Blabisterberry Jelly is lethal, it will kill you.’ He turne
d towards the plate in the corner. ‘I am sorry about your wasted Mrs. Pye Special, though.’
Daisy stared at her plate, desperate for another mouthful, but instead she stood up and tossed her plate across the room where it too smashed into little pieces.
‘Daisy!’ Isabella cried.
Daisy shrugged.
‘Why couldn’t you put it in the bin like an ordinary human being?’
‘Bells,’ Daisy said, flipping her pink glasses from her forehead to the brow of her nose, ‘this is no time for rubbish bins. And besides, we aren’t ordinary human beings.’
‘Clear it up,’ Isabella demanded.
Daisy snarled. ‘Don’t you ever listen? We are about to go and eat Blabisterberry Jam or whatever it’s called and we may well die and you want me to clear up a plate?’
She grabbed Isabella’s plate and threw it like a Frisbee across the room, where it too smashed into tiny pieces.
Isabella’s face turned puce and she stamped her foot.
‘Enough,’ Old Man Wood roared.
The girls sat down, a little bit in awe of his raised voice.
‘I learnt about Blabisterberry Jelly from the Willows at the Bubbling Brook last night. It’s a good deal easier if you’re hungry, but impossible if you’re not.’
The children looked at him with concerned faces. ‘Now, my littluns, first things first, we need to find it.’
‘Find it?’ Isabella said. ‘Where? In the house, outside the house, by the ruin?’
‘Why,’ the old man began with a smile, ‘somewhere round here I’m reckoning. But first,’ and his face grew into a smile, ‘follow me. I’ve got a little something you’ll all be needing.’
They followed him out of the kitchen and into the hallway.