The Curse of Salamander Street Page 25

  Raphah slept fitfully, constantly aware of Beadle’s great agitation. He was conscious too of the growing warmth of the air. The cold frost had long gone and the night was now still. It also smelt dreadfully. Hanging in the air was a thickening mist with the odour of damp, rotting fur. He sniffed as the mist grew thicker and coated the earth like a blanket.

  He could not count the hours, but watched the moon cross the sky from east to west. Raphah looked to where the comet had hung like a Damoclean sword. He counted the stars as they travelled on and wondered how they hung upon the firmament. He had spent many nights as a boy looking at the stars. Now, far to the north and wrapped in a blanket, he was thankful that they reminded him of home. His mother had said when he looked at the moon he would see her face, and that she would stand upon the mountain above the village and look up. In the moon they would share a meeting. Raphah lifted his hands to the sky and closed his eyes. He knew she would do the same and that in Riathamus they would be made one.

  The carriage rolled on, the road becoming smoother and metalled. The woodland gave way to high hedges and open fields that slumbered from hill to hill as they journeyed south. The horses clattered as they cantered, sometimes slowing to a trot and then speeding on. Hounds ran quietly behind, their voices stilled by familiar roads.

  Beadle looked behind, wary that in the night Demurral followed. He wanted to speak, but feared the trees would hear his words and they would tell of his passing.

  ‘He’s near,’ Beadle said to Raphah as the coach rolled from side to side. ‘I can feel him, he’s watching us.’

  ‘Then we shall give him the fight he so desires,’ Raphah said.

  ‘Can’t we just give him the Chalice and be done with it?’ Beadle asked.

  ‘If he wants it, then he will have to snatch it from my dead fingers,’ Raphah said, nestling the bag closer to him. ‘It should not be kept in the world of men.’

  The carriage went on as the hours passed. Beadle kept watch, convinced that he saw all manner of beasts staring from the high hedges. The moon set behind the hills and the night became as dark as a locked vault. Stride by stride the horses slowed their pace until the carriage crawled on.

  ‘Can’t see,’ said the coachman, as with one hand he held the lamp above him. ‘You’ll have to go ahead,’ he said to the bugler reluctantly as he shivered in the cold.

  The bugler leapt from the driving plate to the ground and summonsed his hounds. Taking hold of the collar of the lead horse he walked ahead, blunderbuss in hand. All he could see was the broken stones beneath his feet that cut through his thin soles.

  ‘All’s well,’ he said every few yards until they had gone half a mile. One by one the hounds began to shiver. Their hair stood stiffly on end and dog after dog began to moan. Their growls began softly, tenderly, like the calling to a young pup. Then as they went further down the lane, their voices changed. Each hound sounded discontent, joining the chorus as their fear grew. The bugler tried to calm them, calling them by name until they clustered tightly around him. He knew they could feel a presence close by – someone or something was near.

  A large, lean dog with a severed ear came to him and nuzzled its head into his leg and pawed him as they walked on together. It growled a guttural growl and then, reaching up on its hind legs, wailed like a dying child.

  ‘What can you see, Hugo?’ the bugler asked the hound as it continued to cry, biting at the air, snapping at the darkness and bristling its fur as it leapt back and forth.

  ‘Steady ahead,’ he said nervously to the coachman. ‘Something’s up …’

  The coachman kept a tight rein. He could feel the horses pulling against the hot metal bits. They snorted wildly, wanting to break free of their bridles and run off into the night. It was as if they were being stalked from the hedgerow, that some great beast followed.

  The road dipped towards a bridge. Though the driver couldn’t see this he knew it to be there. Years of driving the road had ingrained each turn and twist upon his mind, and although blind to what was ahead, he knew that the bridge was there. From then on the trees and hedgerows would vanish and there would be open heath for twenty miles. At the ridge of the next hill they would see the distant lights and smell the fragrance of the city – London.

  The bugler walked on. His hounds stayed near and the horses blustered in the slow pace. With every step he looked behind as the hounds’ barks grew louder.

  It was then that a sudden, vociferous blast of light, brighter than the sun, exploded before the carriage. High to the right, a large sycamore was blown from the ground. Its branches scattered across the road as it ripped itself from the mud and crushed the earth beneath it. Several hounds were thrown through the air and strewn forlornly across the road. The bugler was knocked from his feet and fell to the mud, and the horses stood petrified.

  The coachman looked into the dark night, still seeing the brightness of the explosion burning into his head.

  Raphah pulled the blanket from his face and gouged the splinters from the back of his neck. Beadle cowered, not daring to move as a burning torch was held before the coach.

  Lady Tanville held on to Barghast, who peered through the wooden shutter to see a man on horseback approaching through the gloom.

  ‘STAND!’ shouted the man. He held a tallow lamp and pointed a pistol at the coachman’s head. ‘DELIVER YOUR MONEY OR I’LL TAKE YOUR LIVES!’

  His words echoed like the explosion. They were harsh and cold; he cared not for them or what he would do.

  ‘ONE MOVE AND MORE GUNPOWDER!’ he shouted again.

  The bugler stumbled around beneath him, abandoned by his dogs and unable to see as the flash had blotted out the world. Clumsily he picked his way like his lost dogs through the dirt and fumbled with the blunderbuss.

  ‘We have no money – we are just travellers,’ cried the driver as he tried to make out who stood before him.

  ‘No one journeys without the fare,’ said the highwayman as he approached the carriage. All around, the sound of the frightened hounds faded in the distance. ‘I’ll take all you have and be gone. No one will get hurt, just cooperate.’

  There was a yelp of a hound as Hugo leapt from beneath the carriage and took hold of the man by the leg. The hound pulled at his boots as he bit and twisted, spinning in the air as he held fast with his teeth.

  ‘Damn the dog!’ the highwayman shouted.

  ‘Hugo, no!’ yelled the bugler, clambering blindly to find his hound.

  There was a click, then a flash and a sudden crack. The dog fell to the floor, dead. The highwayman calmly slid the gun into a saddle holster and pulled another from his belt.

  ‘No need to kill my Hugo,’ the bugler cried as he touched his hand from stone to stone to find his pet.

  Raphah looked down from the carriage. In the lamplight he could make out the shape of a large-framed man sat upon a jet-black horse. He wore a riding cape, and his face was obscured by a silk scarf that covered his mouth.

  ‘Blagdan?’ asked the coachman, as if he knew the man’s voice.

  ‘Who asks me that?’ the highwayman said, pointing his gun at the bugler who grovelled beneath him. ‘It is I and I am proud to say that I will take every penny you carry and make your journey lighter – Blagdan, the most wanted man in England, nothing to lose and all the world to gain.’ He laughed as he spoke. ‘Who or what are you?’ he said as he looked up at Raphah.

  ‘He’s a traveller, got no money, on his way to London,’ interrupted the driver, who held his calloused hands to his face.

  ‘Then I’ll have him do me a trick,’ the man said as he kicked the coach door. ‘Get yourself down and let me see you dance. In fact, I would have you sing me a song. Sing well or I’ll shoot you dead, and doubtless no one will ever mourn your passing.’ Blagdan looked to the driver. ‘Better you be going – I’ll spare your life this time but be sure to tell the magistrate it was me.’

  The coachman leapt from his seat and ran across the bridge as the bugler
stumbled on, half-blind.

  Raphah stepped down from the carriage and stood on the ground before him. ‘I’m not a puppet or a jester and I won’t dance for you,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Saw a bear dance once, he didn’t complain,’ Blagdan said as he pulled the hammer of the pistol. ‘And where I’m from, a bear has more right to live than the likes of you.’

  ‘Leave him,’ said Lady Tanville from inside the carriage. ‘I have something you can take that is worth more than watching the lad dance.’

  Blagdan stopped and turned as if to listen intently to the voice. ‘A woman?’ he asked merrily, unable to see within the coach, as his thick chin rubbed against the collar of his coat.

  ‘I’ll dance and sing for you,’ said Raphah, ‘but leave her alone.’

  ‘You had your chance. I’d rather dance with the woman. Hold my horse. If it’s not here when I’ve finished I cut off your ears and post them through your mouth.’ Blagdan spat the words as he got down from the horse and went to the carriage door.

  ‘Don’t do it, don’t open the door. It’s not what you expect,’ Raphah pleaded.

  Blagdan laughed as he belted his pistol and took a long, slender knife from inside his coat.

  ‘Keep it shut, boy,’ he said blithely, gripping the door handle and giving it a slow twist.

  ‘It’s not worth your life,’ Raphah pleaded. The coach rocked from side to side as if someone was desperate to escape. Raphah let go of the horse and stepped quickly away from the carriage. Beadle wrapped himself within the blanket, not wanting to see what he knew would come.

  ‘You little tiger – can’t wait to see me?’ Blagdan shouted as he undid the buttons of his coat.

  It was the last thing he ever said. The door to the carriage was blasted from its hinges. Blagdan fell backwards as the door smashed his face and Barghast leapt from within. The villain was gripped by the throat. He screamed momentarily. By reflex, he fired the pistol into the air. Barghast scragged him back and forth with the strength of ten men. He pulled his throat until he breathed no more. Blagdan was dragged to the ground as the remaining hounds scattered.

  ‘Leave him,’ shouted Raphah as Blagdan was dragged away. Barghast stared back, his eyes unwilling to give up his prey.

  ‘Barghast, no!’ screamed Lady Tanville as he pulled the body of the man towards the heath. Far in the distance, the screams of the coachman cried out as he ran into the night.

  All fell deathly still. Lady Tanville stepped from the coach.

  ‘The explosion knocked Ergott from his seat. He still sleeps,’ she said.

  From out of the darkness, Barghast stumbled back towards the coach. He came quickly from the shadows and into the light of the lamps. As he walked, he wiped the blood from his mouth. His eyes swept from side to side before focusing on Raphah and then on Beadle.

  ‘I couldn’t help it,’ he said as he bent to the ground and picked up Blagdan’s pistol from the dirt. ‘Shoot me now, Raphah – let me taste death.’

  ‘It would be no use, Barghast. This is not the time or the place and our troubles are not yet over, are they, Beadle?’

  Beadle looked to the ground. ‘Not yet,’ he whispered, as if he didn’t want to speak.

  ‘What does he mean?’ Barghast asked.

  ‘Demurral follows us. He was at the Green Man. You are now a part of the mystery, Barghast, and you too, Tanville. We should have been more plain in our journey.’

  Tanville Chilnam looked at Raphah as if she didn’t understand. ‘Demurral?’ she asked.

  ‘A magician and a thief, a collector of trinkets that he thinks will bring him power,’ Barghast said. ‘I took from him a piece of the true Cross. I heard that he even searched for the Keruvim – it was I who told him of its presence. I had been offered the Keruvim in Paris. It was enough to pay the ransom of a king and I had no reason to have such a device. I told Demurral in exchange for the true Cross.’

  ‘You?’ Raphah asked. ‘I am the guardian of the Keruvim. A guardian who lost it to the sea.’

  ‘Then it cannot be charmed by fish and will never be seen again,’ Barghast said.

  ‘Never,’ repeated Raphah.

  ‘So why does he still pursue you?’ she asked.

  ‘Why do you search for a lost portrait?’ Raphah replied.

  ‘Because I have to. It has to be taken home before it does more harm.’

  ‘And Demurral seeks that which in his hands will cause harm. It is his intention to kill me. Whilst I am the guardian of the Keruvim, its power is within me. If I am killed then he will have his desire and the power of God will be his.’

  ‘And he wants to kill Thomas and Kate and turn them into begging spirits,’ Beadle said.

  ‘And this is your journey?’ she asked.

  Beadle nodded, a smile on his face as if he knew what she would say.

  ‘Then we travel together. This is not by chance that we have met. I now know that my quest lies in Salamander Street. In the carriage, Ergott dowsed for the hiding place of the children. I looked upon his map whilst he slept – there is no such place as Salamander Street, it doesn’t exist. Yet Bragg had business there with a man named Galphus.’

  ‘Salamander Street is the road for which I search,’ Barghast said. ‘It is the last road I shall walk and if it is your destination then it is mine also.’ He looked at them and smiled. ‘I fear that a greater hand plays each one of us. Salamander Street cannot be found easily, only those invited will find the way.’

  ‘Bragg was invited,’ Tanville said. ‘He was to take that cup to the man called Galphus.’

  ‘Galphus?’ asked Barghast as Raphah listened. ‘The man is an alchemist, a dabbler, and if he has the key to Salamander Street, then a greater force possesses him.’

  Tatterdemalion and Galligaskins

  IT was only a matter of minutes before they reached the alleyway that led from the factory to Salamander Street. It appeared to twist and turn less than it had before – no longer a labyrinth in which they would be lost, but an avenue that led them to a destination.

  ‘She’s pretty,’ said Kate as she tramped morbidly, her shoulders sagged and hunched.

  ‘Who?’ Thomas asked, knowing well who Kate meant.

  ‘Isabella. I saw the way she looked at you in the factory. She’s pretty, even for someone who’s been dead a hundred years.’

  ‘Doesn’t she frighten you?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Frighten?’ Kate said in a voice that attempted to be soft and warm. ‘I’m not sure …’ She paused and shook her head. It was as if something was clinging to her skull, something dark, miserable and black. ‘Thomas, please, I need to have some Gaudium … Just a drop, let me moisten my lips.’

  ‘It’ll kill you. You heard Isabella. It’s poison,’ he replied.

  ‘Not if you’ve tasted it. It’s like honey and cream and it does things to your head, good things.’

  ‘And makes you want more,’ Thomas replied as he watched her warily. Kate appeared to hunch even further, clutching her guts and moaning slightly as if in pain.

  ‘Thomas, I need some – now.’ She looked at him pitifully, her eyes pleading. ‘Please Thomas. I will die without it, that’s what Galphus said, said I would die if I didn’t have one drop every day. What does a ghost know about it? She’s dead.’ Kate spoke quickly as she took a smouldering breath.

  ‘She’s seen things you haven’t,’ he said tersely.

  ‘She tried to kill me, drag me into her world, that’s what she wants to do. That hag wouldn’t care if I were dead. That’s what she wants, someone to share that picture and live in that rotting copse of stinking trees.’

  ‘A ghost couldn’t do that,’ Thomas protested.

  ‘Isabella tried to,’ she insisted as she stumbled on, falling over every tiny stone.

  Kate didn’t finish what she had to say. The sound of running echoed through the passageways like a pack of dogs pursuing them through the night. The shouts of several Druggles chilled their steps as the bea
ting of the Dragon’s Heart spread news of their escape through the factory. Thomas grabbed Kate by the hand and pulled her onwards. He ran faster, dragging her along the hidden lanes as the din of those who gave chase came ever closer.

  ‘I can’t run,’ she said as she pulled against him.

  ‘You have to, Galphus will take you,’ he pleaded, dragging her on.

  Kate thought for a moment. ‘Leave me,’ she said. ‘Galphus has more Gaudium – he’ll give it to me.’

  ‘I can’t – won’t,’ Thomas snapped. ‘Always together – remember?’

  ‘That was then, this is now. Leave me. You get away, find Crane and come back.’

  Thomas thought for a moment as the sound of the beating footsteps came closer still.

  ‘Look,’ he said pulling the Gaudium from his pocket. ‘Run with me and you can have a drop,’ he said as he ran from her.

  Kate followed. She ran faster than before, somehow managing to keep pace with him. Thomas pressed on, not knowing which way to flee. He turned every corner and followed his heart. From somewhere in the darkness the voices got closer.

  ‘They’ll have us if we don’t get faster,’ he pleaded.

  Kate slumped against the wall of the narrow alley and shrugged her shoulders. She stopped and looked around. In the light of the tallow lantern that hung from the stone wall, she saw the cuts to Thomas’s bare feet. ‘Let’s not go on. Take the Gaudium and die, be with Isabella … We’ll never escape. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you understand? This isn’t the real world, it’s all an illusion. We’re already dead and this is hell. Galphus is the devil and this is our punishment. That’s why you can’t get away from Salamander Street.’

  ‘I’ll not believe it. This is life and we’re alive.’

  ‘The Gaudium told me … We are dead. Dead as nails in a coffin lid,’ she said earnestly as she stared at him.

  There was a rushing sound from the alleyway as the sound of heavy footsteps beat on the stone. It was as if a thousand feet ran towards them. Thomas snatched Kate from the path, pulled her into a small ginnel and held his hand across her mouth to shut up the words. She struggled to be free as a herd of Druggles rushed by, staves in hand.