Chapter 11
Knight Terrors
The stairs lead to a corridor that runs the entire length of the inn. Doors line either side. It’s quiet up here; only the uneasy creak of the floorboards cutting the silence as we walk.
My mind whirls.
If De Silva’s in as much trouble as I think he is, he’s gonna need all the help he can get.
I take a deep breath. Focus, Brad. Find our room – The Moon, Jeremiah said – make a plan, make it work.
Each door we pass has a picture on it, embossed in silver. The first a goblet, the second a harp. The third stops me cold: a vase exactly like the one near the grave in the tomb. There’s even a single stem of bell-shaped flowers carved into it.
“Is this one ours?” Alice asks. “Oh…that vase.” She reaches out and runs her fingers over the symbol.
“This must be De Silva’s room,” I whisper. “Remember Jeremiah said he could have The Vase.”
I bend to look through the keyhole and feel Alice’s hand on my shoulder. “Brad, don’t.”
“But we need all the clues we can get.”
She hesitates before nodding, then hunkers down next to me, her ear to the door.
I put my eye to the keyhole. For a moment everything’s just a blur of colour before it resolves. De Silva is sat at a table, fiddling with his foil. He sits back and runs a hand across his forehead. “You damn fool,” he mutters, shaking his head. He sighs heavily. “I should’ve acted sooner.”
Goosebumps rise on my arms. “Alice,” I whisper. “Did you hear that?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Sort of. What’s going on?”
“He just said he should’ve acted sooner.”
She pushes herself up. “We have to help him.”
De Silva’s chair scrapes across the wooden floor, setting my teeth on edge. I put my eye to the keyhole again, then stifle a gasp.
He’s gathering his things from the table.
“Go,” I hiss, pointing down the corridor. “I think he’s leaving.”
Alice’s eyes widen. She scurries off and stops by the next door along, bouncing on the soles of her feet. “This one’s got a moon on it. Quick, Brad.”
I follow after, heart beating like crazy, fingers sweaty on the cold metal of the key. The lock clicks loudly as I turn and push.
We step in and ease our door closed just as De Silva’s door opens.
Alice seems frozen to the spot, her fingers tight on her foil.
There’s a moment of silence before footsteps head off away from us.
I breathe out – long and slow – then open the door and peer cautiously into the corridor. De Silva is heading down the stairs, back to the inn. My eyes widen. “Alice, he’s going out and he’s got his foil with him.”
She looks around the door just as De Silva disappears from sight. “We’ve got to follow him!”
“No.” I take her arm, guide her back into the room, then close and lock the door.
“But Brad, we have to.”
I shake my head. “We can’t. Jeremiah’s downstairs with Fred remember. He’ll just send us back up.”
Alice taps her foot on the floor and looks around our room.
It’s small but homely. Two single beds sit either side of a circular wooden table with a candle burning on it. A chest of draws against one wall, a picture of an old, ruined tower above it. The only window is on the wall opposite, covered by a thin white curtain.
Alice places her foil on the table between the two beds. “Then we’ll climb out the window.”
She shifts the curtain to one side, unfastens the catch and pushes. The candle flame flickers in the breeze. Alice puts her head out then yanks it back, shuts the window and shivers.
Just looking at her reaction sends a shiver through me too. “You ok?”
She crosses her arms over her chest and rubs her shoulders. “It feels…wrong out there.” Her voice wavers. “I think our room overlooks The Cut.”
Crossing the room, I cup my hands against the glass. I can’t see a thing. A strange stirring in my stomach. “If that is The Cut – and no way I’m risking it – then we need to wait till morning.” It’s so annoying I want to scream but I push the feeling down into the bottom of my stomach where it wriggles and kicks. “We’re stuck.”
Alice seems to deflate, all the fire in her eyes gone. “I hope he’s ok.”
I try to give what I think is a reassuring smile. “I reckon Sir De Silva can look after himself.” I hate myself for not quite believing those words. “Come on. Let’s rest. He’s not going far tonight. He wants to send us home tomorrow.”
Alice sits on the bed closest the door. She places her hands under her legs and bounces gently. “He’s gotta let us help. When me and Mum needed him, he was there for us. It’s time I returned the favour.”
“We,” I say. “It’s time we returned the favour.”
She smiles. “Thanks Brad, you’re a real friend.”
The word friend makes my heart thrum. “Same.”
Alice yawns and stretches. I place my foil next to hers on the table then lie back on the bed. It’s soft and comforting. I tuck my legs up to my chest, a small smile touching my lips. Despite all the uncertainty that lies ahead, I feel solid ground under my feet from which to jump into the chasm.
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Alice leans forwards and blows out the candle, plunging the room into the deep blue-black of night. “See you tomorrow, Brad.”
“Night.”
I shut my eyes and sleep wraps around me. In those last moments before consciousness fades, images barrel through my mind. A bone white hand reaches out of the darkness. A pearlescent claw closes around an emerald on a mountain side. De Silva walks from the tomb holding his foil. I’m there, inside the tomb; he shuts the door, trapping me in.
Josh! I yell.
But it’s Alice who’s there with me.
She walks down the steps that lead to the mirror room then turns and beckons:
Come on Brad. Forwards to get back.
I take her hand and the darkness swallows us whole.
###
I wake to a rhythmic tapping that fades as I push myself up in bed. I rub my eyes, roll over and check my phone. It says 10:25am. Some part of me thought I’d wake to find this strangeness a dream. But I’m not at home in Bledgley.
By how dark the room is it must be midnight or later here in Angelmere.
How bizarre to think that only a few minutes has gone by for my parents. Even so, it makes me feel better they won’t be freaking out.
As I roll back into bed a circle of light shimmers behind the white linen curtain casting a beam that flits hazily across the wall. The tapping comes again, a soft buzz filling the silence between.
Zzzz. Tak, tak, tak. Zzzz.
I pull the covers up and watch the little halo of light flutter up and down. Perhaps it’s the Lamplighter that tried to enter The Cut earlier. Perhaps it’s back to try again: its nightly dance. Always trying, always failing, but trying still.
I slide out of bed and creep towards the window, am halfway there when the light disappears, plunging the room into darkness once more. I blink, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
Alice’s gentle snoring buzzes behind me.
Then the halo of light returns.
Zzzz. Tak, tak, tak. Zzzz.
I creep forwards, my hands pale in the ghostly light. With trembling fingers, I reach up and ease the curtain to one side.
There’s a white moth, a big one – about the size of my hand – fluttering at the window. It shines like the full moon: soft and silvery; red, pin prick eyes gleaming in the darkness.
I tilt my head to the left and the moth follows. Amazed, I move my head to the right. It stays with me. I put a finger to the glass. “Wow.” Cupping my hands around my face I press my nose to the window. I can only see the moth which buzzes in front of me before circling away towards the alley, lighting the slate covered roof as it goes. It flutters over the edge and disappears.
Then a bone-white hand with long, long fingers extend out of the darkness below. A wave of cold travels through me, freezing me where I stand.
Am I dreaming?
The hand turns and offers itself to the moth, palm up. The creature flutters down and lands in the centre, its light revealing who’s there.
My heart hammers against my ribs.
His hair is like moonlight. His skin pale, like bone. He has a long, thin nose, a small mouth, and a strange cylindrical earring in his left ear.
I swallow noisily.
A Fae?
The stranger’s fingers close around the moth, trapping it inside before he opens his hand and blows. The moth explodes into tiny points of bright white light, throwing the stranger’s shadow long against the wall of the building behind. As the points of light shower down like the last sparks of a firework, he looks up at me and waves, his fingers waggling almost comically. A prickle of terror crawls across my back, sinks down to my toes.
Then the lights wink out and darkness descends.
I drop to the floor, my chest heaving with each breath.
“What you doing?” Alice says sleepily, sitting up in bed.
“Shhh.” I point to the window. “There’s someone outside.”
She slides out of bed and scurries over to me. “What, in The Cut?”
I nod.
Alice moves the curtain to one side and peeks out. “I can’t see anyone. You sure?”
I push myself up. “He was there. Looked just like the Fae in Fred’s song.”
Alice gasps. “Sir De Silva! We gotta go check.”
I take one last look out the window. The night is thick and treacly.
The Fae has gone. At least I think he has. But gone where?
The key clicks in the lock behind me as Alice opens the door.
The corridor outside is silent and empty. We tip-toe quickly towards De Silva’s room. The light is off now, the black that seeps under the door exactly like that that flowed from the tomb.
Goosebumps ripple down my arms. “This doesn’t feel right.”
Alice bites her lip and nods.
My fingers reach out to try the handle then stop. A low snoring comes from within. I cock my head and listen. “Do you hear that?”
A small smile touches Alice’s lips. “Yeah. Seems like he’s ok.” She looks down the corridor. “We best get back.”
“Wait.” Kneeling, I put my eye to the lock once more.
It’s so dark in the room, I can’t see a thing. My eye feels cold, like ice is creeping over it. I pull my head away then stand. “Something feels weird.”
A big snore from inside the room makes us both step back.
Alice grins at me. “He seems fine. You’re worrying over nothing.”
“Maybe.” There’s still a pebble of uncertainty in my stomach. “So why was that Fae here then?”
Alice shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough. Do you want to wake Sir De Silva?”
I shake my head.
Alice nods. “Me either. Let’s tell him first thing tomorrow.”
We head back to our room and lock the door. I pocket the key before checking The Cut one last time. Nothing but darkness. Climbing into bed I pull the covers tight around me.
De Silva called the Fae wise, proud, and cruel.
I reach out and pull my foil into bed with me.
When me and Josh talked of adventures it was always with a feeling of shivery excitement. I was never scared or uncertain. But I guess that’s the difference between thinking about something and actually doing it.
###
I wake to find Alice sat at the table, staring intently at a piece of paper.
She looks up. “Morning sleepyhead.”
I groan. “What time is it?”
“Who knows, but it’s 10:27 back in Bledgley.” She waves her phone at me.
My stomach rumbles. “I’m starving.”
Alice grins. “I’m sure Jeremiah can whip you up a Lamb’s Stomach.”
I groan again. “What you looking at?”
“A map of Angelmere. Come and check it out.”
I roll out of bed then pull up a chair and sit next to her. The map is beautiful. Hand drawn, full of colour. The writing curls and weaves. I stare at some of the names: Gracedieu Avenue, Saturn House, Hammond’s Folly.
My fingers lightly touch the paper. It’s soft and leathery. “Where did you find this?”
“In the drawer. There’s a few of them.”
I study the map: the odd names; the places I’ve been and the ones I might.
Alice’s eyes lock onto mine. “We should go and tell Sir De Silva what you saw last night.”
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
As we approach De Silva’s room a creeping dread overtakes me. From under his door seeps the same black I saw last night. From within comes the same gentle snoring.
Alice points a trembling finger. “How can it still be so dark in there.”
I shake my head, feeling a shiver head down my spine.
Reaching out I slowly twist the handle and push. Light spills into the room like water rushing over a weir, exploding the darkness within into fine strands of silky-grey smoke; the snoring gone, replaced now by a sound like the tinkle of broken glass.
“What the…” Alice says tightly.
“I don’t know,” I say, pushing the words past the knot in my throat. “Some kind of spell maybe?”
The strands of smoke twist and writhe like floating earthworms, before they thin to nothing. Dank, earthen smells flood my nostrils. Wet bark, mushrooms, damp, and decay.
One cycle ends. Another begins.
Click! Alice’s fingers snap in front of my face, separating the strands of smoke, evaporating them. “Yo, Brad. Wakey, wakey.”
I feel like I’ve landed back into my head from a great height. I shake the feeling away. “I’m ok.”
Alice flicks her chin towards De Silva’s room. “Let’s take a look.”
As I step through the doorway, a gasp escapes me.
The table lies upended in the middle of the floor. A picture of bluebells hangs at a strange angle on one wall, the glass in its frame cracked and splintered. Under the open window a broken chair lies on its side, the white curtain flapping above.
Alice pushes past me. “Sir? Are you there?”
Silence.
“Sir De Silva?” she says again, doubt creeping into her voice.
Nothing.
Heart in mouth I move further into the room. It’s definitely empty. I turn and shake my head. “He’s not here.”
Alice’s voice is high and thin. “Then where is he?”
“I don’t know. Do you think…”
Her eyes widen. “But if the Fae came for him…”
My stomach knots. “Let’s take a look around.”
“Maybe we should tell Jeremiah?”
I shake my head. “No way. He’d just send us back to our room.”
I step around the upended table and a wave of pure cold travels through me.
“No,” I whisper. “It can’t be.”
My breath catches in my throat. I shut my eyes for a moment, hoping beyond hope that when I open them again the scene will be different. But when I do, nothing’s changed. De Silva’s foil, Ërlosung, still lies broken and abandoned on the floor, its blade cracked clean in half.