‘I’d take my chances,’ said Leander. ‘Besides, Charlotte was loved by her uncle and you took her anyway.’
‘Pah!’ Pinchbeck spat. ‘Charlotte was better off with me than that old fool. He should have respected my talents. Charlotte’s fate rested in his hands, not mine.’
She shifted her position, sighing with the effort. Her hair was whiter than it had been that morning, and Leander hoped that meant Felix had managed to free Charlotte, that it was the weight of too many spirits draining Pinchbeck’s power. He wondered if Pinchbeck would sense when Charlotte was rescued, or if she’d blame the cold, cramped cell for her stiff, weary bones.
‘Don’t be frightened, Leander. Felix will save us. My faithful, loyal Felix won’t let me down.’ She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
Leander didn’t even know what to pray for. If the others opened the cell to save him, Pinchbeck would be free, too. But otherwise prison awaited Leander when he was hauled before the court as a thief. He couldn’t imagine what might happen if he and Pinchbeck were taken to different towns.
Would it hurt as they were pulled apart?
Leander blinked, fighting his drowsiness and fear. He tucked his legs beneath him, trying not to think about how rats would love a grim, dusty cellar like this, trying not to think about them running over his feet in the darkness . . .
Pinchbeck had started to doze in her corner and he watched her through sleep-sticky eyes. He was disgusted to breathe the same air as her. Yes, she was definitely getting older, but other things seemed different, too. Had her fingernails always been so long and sharp? There was a mole on her face he hadn’t noticed before, with three long grey hairs sprouting from it, like the witch in the storybook.
The candle stub in the room was burning low – soon the light would be gone and he’d be plunged into darkness with that monstrous woman The flickering light cast long, ghoulish shadows on to the walls. Tiredness tugged at his eyelids, but Leander’s mind was restless and he couldn’t give himself over to sleep. Pinchbeck’s head drooped and the candlelight transformed her shadow into something inhuman – the brim of her hat became a long, pointed nose, the feathers two little ears, until a giant black rat towered over them.
Leander gasped and the noise snapped Pinchbeck awake.
She straightened herself up and her shadow changed back into a woman. The illusion was broken. Just a trick of the light and his tired, anxious imagination?
‘What are you looking at, boy?’ she snarled. ‘Behave.’
Leander couldn’t explain, though, why the mole on her face was gone.
Felix led Charlotte to the cell. The walls were made from huge, heavy stones sunk into a large mound of earth. The door was tight-fitting and solid, and thick iron bolts were the proof it stored something more dangerous than vegetables.
The shape reminded Felix of a kiln and he imagined it filling with searing heat.
They kept a wary distance and watched the constable’s house. Two men said polite farewells at the doorway and headed off into the night, talking of the beer waiting for them after a long and strange day. Presently, the constable himself came to the door.
‘No more, my dear,’ Felix overheard him say. ‘There’s no one getting out of the lock-up, and I shan’t be long at the inn.’
A woman replied from within, but Felix couldn’t make out her words.
‘Settle before the hearth where it’s warm. Don’t be standing in a draught in your condition.’
The door closed and he left in the same direction as his men.
Felix whispered to Charlotte, ‘That woman almost caught Leander when he stole the commonplace book. The man said she thought Leander was a ghost.’
‘She’s probably heard what Pinchbeck does for a living. It’d make any sensible woman uneasy.’
An idea was beginning to take shape for Felix. ‘If the constable’s wife believes Pinchbeck can conjure ghosts, then let’s be ghosts. We’ll haunt her house, and she’ll open the cellar to be free of the witch!’
‘How will it work?’
‘She’s having a baby. There’s none more superstitious than an expectant mother.’ He felt a hot pang of guilt at his own suggestion.
‘Oh, Felix. That’s wicked.’ Charlotte was an oil painting in the shadows: all sharp lines and dark smudges. ‘Let’s do it!’
They’d scare the woman into opening the cell door, then scramble for the woods before they were seen. Success was far from certain, but it was the best idea they had. After all, hauntings were what they were good at, what Pinchbeck had trained them for all these years.
To the carriage yet again. Though it had been home for years, Felix was beginning to hate the thing; it was tainted by suffering and loss.
‘Oh!’ Charlotte exclaimed.
He saw the devastation with fresh eyes through her reaction. However much Pinchbeck deserved it – And she does, Felix reminded himself. She kept Isaak prisoner all along – it was strange to see her precious collection destroyed. It would pain her to lose her treasures.
Good. It didn’t hurt her to cast Charlotte aside, or to keep my brother from me, or—
‘Do you think my uncle will come?’ Charlotte’s voice broke through his thoughts. She had found a candle stub to light.
‘The magistrate said he’d send word when they arrested her. They found a sugar bowl from your uncle’s house, but there was no sign of you. Will that be enough?’
‘If he doesn’t come, no one can help us. Once Pinchbeck and Leander are free . . .’
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. We’ll be back where we started – worse than where we started because she’ll know we betrayed her. We can’t stop her.
They gathered their tools. Strands of thread as fine as spider-silk. Fairy bells. Long, thin sticks meant for tapping and tipping.
‘I miss home,’ Charlotte said with a resigned sadness to her voice, like the change from a major to a minor key. Felix looked up, meaning to comfort her.
She leaned back on her heels and wiped a strand of hair from her eyes. Felix laughed. ‘You’re glowing!’
‘I’m flushed—’ she began. He took her hand and held it up to show her the eerie yellow sheen on her fingers.
He sifted cautiously through the debris for the container. ‘The phosphorescent powder, look. There’s still some left.’
The jar of yellow-grey powder gave off a mysterious light as it moved from the shadows to the candle beam. The glass was cracked and powder seeped out, colouring his fingers like an artist’s pigment.
‘Perfect.’
‘Are you ready?’ said Felix.
‘No – wait – one more thing. The book of fairy tales – is it still here?’ she asked, starting to search.
She found it under a blanket, undamaged. Holding it close to the candlelight, she opened the covers and twisted the papery middle to the side. A picture came into view.
‘What is it?’ Felix asked.
Flowers. A bundle of roses and forget-me-nots.
‘Oh,’ said Charlotte, crestfallen. ‘I was sure there’d be a clue, but it’s just a pretty painting.’
‘Marsh and Blight,’ said Felix, already searching for the heavy tome. ‘That’s got golden pages, too . . .’
They lifted it up, fanned out the pages.
Nothing. Charlotte bit her lip. ‘Try the other side. From the back.’
Flipping the book over, Felix spread out the pages again. There was something there.
It was old, faded, but beautiful and detailed. In the dim light, Felix could make out what looked like a row of boxes and bottles and jars. Beside every container was a drawing of a man, each one smaller than the last, as if he was shrinking. By the end of the row, the man had become a rat.
‘This is the answer,’ said Charlotte. ‘This is important. I know it is.’
‘But what does it mean?’
As Felix looked closer, he saw that the detailed border was decorated with flowers and v
ines and stars, and there, near the centre, was a violin. Beside it a lantern. ‘Our Cabinets,’ he whispered to Charlotte.
‘But how . . .’
The candle flickered and went out.
‘Come on,’ said Felix. ‘Let’s get Leander before Pellar finds them.’
Back outside, they surveyed the house. It was small – two rooms and a pantry downstairs. The office, with the small window Leander had climbed through earlier, and a kitchen. Peering through the keyhole, Felix saw the woman resting in the easy chair, knitting a tiny sock in the lamplight. A cheery rag rug lay between the coal-black hearth and a sturdy wooden table. Copper pans, shiny and bright, caught the light from where they hung on the wall.
It was a real home, cosy and safe – for now.
A small lean-to pantry led off the kitchen. It had a tiny window – it’d be difficult to squeeze through, but easy to disappear if their Cabinets waited outside. Another way to escape if things went wrong. They placed their Cabinets against the kitchen wall, propped open so they could enter and exit at will.
Charlotte’s apron pockets were stuffed with supplies. In the woods behind them, nocturnal creatures stirred, and every snapping twig or rustle of wind reminded them Pellar was approaching.
It was time.
‘Now,’ said Felix.
He kneeled down and laced his fingers to boost Charlotte through the same window Leander had entered earlier. She crossed the room quickly and silently. Felix watched and listened for any sound of movement from the kitchen. He felt nervous and excited as he always did before a performance, though this one had far bigger stakes than a normal seance. Pinchbeck might even be proud of them for conjuring up a haunting by themselves.
On the opposite wall Charlotte daubed crude letters with a pot of grease, blowing the powder against it to leave smudgy, glowing words. Let them go. No harm will come, warned her uneven writing. It was rough but would do the job if the woman could read.
Felix waited until Charlotte had finished and tucked herself into a corner before picking up his violin and playing a high, sharp note.
*
The music of Felix’s violin felt like fresh water on a hot day to Leander. It began with a single drawn-out note, followed by a series of mismatched tones. Pinchbeck, who had been snoring softly, immediately twitched awake.
‘My boy,’ she purred. ‘I knew he would come.’
The gentle melody began to swell. A frantic hope filled Leander’s body and lifted him to his feet, head almost touching the ceiling.
The music was a message. Felix was letting him know he was near. Help was coming.
Pinchbeck evidently thought the same. ‘Felix has never let me down. He knows what side his bread is buttered. We shall be on our way in no time.’
21
Two of Wands:
Inspiration, Planning,
Progress
Charlotte heard Felix play a few more discordant notes and she waited impatiently for the woman to come and discover her message. Sounds of movement came from the kitchen, but the door didn’t open.
Charlotte sprinted over to the little desk and knocked over the chair, then darted back behind the door.
That did it.
The woman bustled in, wearing an expression of mild alarm and carrying a candle. Muttering and tutting, she stooped to pick up the chair, then gasped when she saw the ghostly message. Charlotte dashed into the kitchen. She did not stop to check if the woman had spotted her. Hopefully, if she had, Charlotte was nothing more than a swish of fabric.
She heard a sharp thud. Felix had thrown a hard rubber ball through the window to distract the woman. Charlotte pulled out a strip of what Pinchbeck called ectoplasm – spirit residue. Really it was fine white gauze, which Charlotte had frayed and dipped into the glowing powder. She draped it over the door frame between the rooms like cobwebs.
She ran for the pantry, but the door was locked, so she flung herself beneath the table. Her heart was racing. She was a little excited, despite her worry and guilt at their unkind plan. She crouched, ready to jump out and touch the woman if she needed more convincing.
An ominous grating noise seemed to come from the bricks themselves as Felix scraped a piece of slate over the outside walls. Charlotte heard creaking floorboards – the woman was pacing anxiously, but stayed where she was.
Three sharp knocks sounded. Their agreed signal. Charlotte took a great breath and, in unison, she and Felix screamed with all their might.
A clatter. Rapid footsteps. A thunk and a rattle.
The ectoplasm caught the light beautifully as the woman opened the door, candle in hand. Charlotte felt a flash of shameful pride in her handiwork. The ghostly threads brushed the woman’s cheek, startling her. She flailed wildly, and the flame of her candle touched the glowing gauze.
Whoosh!
The material burned faster than anything Charlotte had ever seen. The powder became fire in a bright white flash, then crumbled to ash in half an instant. Howling with terror, the woman dropped the candle and it caught on her skirt.
The flame lapped hungrily as though the powder had whetted its appetite. Charlotte scrambled out from her hiding place. The woman half fainted as Charlotte tried to bat out the flames which inched upward, threatening to consume her. Their eyes met in shared alarm.
The woman swooned to the ground, eyes rolled back. Charlotte threw herself on top of her, doing her best to smother the flames with her apron.
It could only have been moments. The flames had made an eight-inch path up the woman’s clothing and her underskirts were charred, but the fire was out. Tendrils of white, sulphur-smelling smoke hung in the air. Shaking, Charlotte rose to her feet, only to be knocked over again by Felix barrelling past her into the kitchen.
‘Charlotte! Your apron!’
She looked down, numb with shock, and dumbly observed the corner of her apron burning.
I’m on fire.
It registered slowly, as though she was reading it in a book and not watching it happen. Felix returned in a heartbeat and threw a jug of milk over her, dousing the flames.
He dropped the jug and was on his knees, scrabbling beneath the table, stretching to reach something in the dusty corner. Charlotte stared at the poor woman senseless on the floor.
‘Come on,’ Felix said, halfway out of the window already.
She hurried after him, sliding on the wet floor. The jar of powder had tipped over in her apron pocket and was spilling down her dress.
Scooping up their Cabinets, they ran for the trees.
Charlotte wailed. ‘Oh, Felix. We hurt her!’
Felix squeezed her hand but said nothing. His eyes were trained on the house, watching for any sign their plan had worked.
‘She was almost burned alive!’
‘So were you.’
The scorch marks on Charlotte’s apron stopped an inch or two from where the phosphorescent powder was sitting in her pocket. If the flames had reached the powder, she would have gone up like the ectoplasm, no chance of rescue. If Felix hadn’t acted so quickly . . .
She heaved and threw up what little was in her stomach.
‘We’re fools,’ said Felix. ‘We should have searched for the keys while the woman was in her faint.’
Another wave of nausea hit Charlotte at the memory of the woman’s motionless body. ‘But she has to be the one to open the door, or Pinchbeck will see us.’
‘And if she doesn’t wake?’
Charlotte had the sensation of a sudden fall. Surely they hadn’t—
‘I don’t think she’s dead,’ Felix added hastily. ‘But what if she doesn’t come round before her husband gets home?’
‘We left our message. Maybe he’ll release them.’
‘Leander’s punishment will be worse if the constable thinks he and Pinchbeck have been bewitching people. He’ll gather the men. We’ll wait a moment, then we have to go back.’
The next few minutes felt like torture to Charlotte, and she could se
e her anguish reflected in Felix’s face. Foolish! Why hadn’t they thought of the consequences if they failed?
And then . . . ‘She’s there!’ Felix exclaimed.
The woman was emerging from the back door of the house.
‘She’s alive,’ whispered Charlotte, a tingle of relief spreading across her back.
The woman held a small lamp over her head and glanced around. She took half a step, then stopped to check again, like a rabbit that has had an encounter with a fox. A glint of light reflected on something in her hand. A key.
The haunting had worked after all. The woman was going to release Pinchbeck and Leander. They had done it! Leander was saved from Pellar, at least. A moment of small victory.
But what next? Leander was still in Pinchbeck’s clutches and they had to stay close to the hideous woman because they had failed to break her spell.
A sob rose in Charlotte’s throat, so big it threatened to swallow her. All of this and they were not one step nearer to freedom.
‘Come on,’ Felix urged Charlotte. ‘We should move now, hide our Cabinets while the woman lets them out and then hurry back to get Leander away from Pinchbeck.’
He grabbed Charlotte’s hand and pulled her away from the house. Together they stumbled to the next street and Felix spotted a half-collapsed outhouse.
‘Here!’ he hissed and ran towards it.
Hastily, they put the lantern and the violin case inside, along with the sack they’d found in the hiding place. They jammed the door closed with bits of broken brick.
‘Should we gather up some feathers and herbs from the carriage?’ Felix suggested. ‘Try to make a magical barrier?’
‘No time,’ said Charlotte. ‘We’ll just have to hope that the walls and distance will stop her from ordering us back inside. We need to catch up with them, find a way to let Leander know we haven’t abandoned him.’
The Vanishing Trick Page 18