Bane of Brimstone (The Bill Blackthorne Chronicles Book 1) Page 10

  “Yes, yes, we know all about that,” said the Doctor. “But who was he?”

  “I don’t know. But he seemed to know me. I think he was called Percy.”

  Beryl, the Inspector and the Doctor looked at each other. They went into a huddle in the corner of the room and began whispering in urgent voices. Bill strained his ears and managed to catch some of it.

  “- we can confirm it by checking if the cask is still in Conatus Chapel.”

  “- using his blood means he’ll transform into an Iamia Daemonium.”

  “- he’s going to be an absolute plague.”

  “- will all of Middenmere fall?”

  “- we much act swiftly.”

  Beryl marched over to the bed, grabbed Bill by the shoulders and looked him the eye. “Listen darling, you’ve got the help us find those girls. They need to be questioned. We must force them to tell us the whereabouts of your monster.”

  “Force them?”

  “They are in his thrall now and will do everything they can to protect him, even if it means ending their own lives.”

  “I’m sure they wouldn’t want to protect a monster.”

  “Fool! Of course they do!” snapped Beryl, then took a breath to control herself. “Trust me darling they do. But here at Brimstone Manor we have ways of extracting information... from even the most reluctant of sources.”

  Bill didn’t want anything to happen to the girls. “But I’m sure they didn’t mean things to turn out like-”

  “Be strong! You are one of us now and must be ruthless. We believe in using the utmost violence when it comes to fighting evil. It’s a moral absolute. Those girls are evil and will suffer terribly, I promise you that my darling.”

  Bill looked at the three faces looming over him in the dim light – noticed their glaring eyes and pursed lips. He instinctively pulled up the bedsheets and shrunk down. He finally understood how serious these people were.

  Part Two

  In which those in the service of God fight evil by whatever means

  Chapter Eight - Meeting the Apostles

  Why worship beings from a higher plane?

  Why do acts of righteous pain, executed in thy holy name?

  What is this thing if not a weak man’s self-delusion?

  Shrivelled up excuses, a morass of gross confusion.

  – Religion

  – By Gerald Mann, Poet, 1968.

  Bill sat in the back of the family Rolls, gazing out of the window, watching the trees give way to weather-beaten stone houses as he entered Underwood. He was so glad his mother had agreed to let him go back to university.

  Brimstone Manor felt more like a prison than a home and he’d breathed a huge sigh of relief when Mordred had taken him off in the Rolls. The more he pondered it, the more mysterious the old house seemed. Why were rooms filled with complex looking laboratory equipment? Who were mother’s strange friends that seemed to come and go, day and night? Doctor van Devlin, Inspector Ferret and the others gave him the creeps, but the weirdest person in Brimstone Manor had to be his seriously deranged mother. She’d told him Lilith and Ophelia were evil and needed to be severely punished, tortured even. Was she mad? He resolved to keep the girls as far away from her as possible.

  The car went past the Unicorn pub, across the village square and stopped half way up the side street that led to Arthur’s house. Mordred opened the door and Bill sprang out and rang the bell.

  Arthur’s mother opened the door. She had on a floral dress and apron and had two Labradors either side of her, who stared inquisitively at Bill.

  “Hello Mrs. Small.”

  “You can call me Daisy you know. Arthur’s just getting ready, late as usual.”

  “I will Mrs. Small.”

  They went through the tiled hallway and into the messy kitchen lined with brass pots. Sitting at the large kitchen table was a middle-aged man with glowing red cheeks, a bulbous nose and bushy eyebrows. He was wearing brown corduroys, a battered tweet jacket and was pulling on a pair of wellington boots. It was Arthur’s father, Jim.

  “Got to get going my sweet,” he said to Daisy. “There’s a cow in labour down at Dale farm.”

  “But what about your breakfast? You can’t do a calving on an empty stomach.”

  Bill noticed an untouched plate of bacon and eggs and a hunk of doorstop toast on the table.

  “Sorry love. Sounds like complications.”

  Jim picked up a Gladstone bag. “Nice to see you my boy,” he said, giving Bill a quick wink as he marched out the kitchen.

  “Hungry?” said Daisy.

  Bill thought about his life at the Manor. His mother had slept in late, so hadn’t been up to see him off. He was too shy to ask Mordred for some breakfast, so he was pretty hungry. “Well... I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  Daisy slid the bacon, eggs and toast across the table and passed Bill a clean knife and fork. “You might as well have that, saves giving it the pig. I’ll put the kettle on.”

  As Bill tucked into a slice of thick bacon he realised it was one of the nicest things he’d ever ate. “Where is everyone, Mrs Small, I mean Daisy?”

  “Davy and Jimmy are over at Mick’s garage. They’ve both joined a motorcycle club – said they were now members of ‘The Pirates’ or some such nonsense – and are tuning up a couple of Nortons with Mick for some rally or suchlike. Rosie’s gone off to school early, rehearsing with the drama club.”

  Daisy poured the tea and sat down at the table, putting two steaming mugs down on the table.

  “Now then, how’s it going with you my lad? You look a little troubled. I know you came back home with Arthur in the middle of the night, after being gone only a day. Bit of nerves away from home? I’m sure you’ll settle no trouble.”

  Bill looked at Daisy sipping her tea, at her mess of curly blonde hair and kind ruddy face and felt like he could talk to her about anything. His past was a blank that nobody at Brimstone Manor wanted to tell him about, but maybe Mrs. Small could help.

  “I was just wondering,” he said cautiously, “if you know my mother?”

  “Well no, I don’t really know her. The folk up at the Manor keep themselves to themselves. I hope you don’t mind me saying but most people in the village think they’re a queer lot, but saying that, you seem like a nice lad.”

  “I must admit my mother does have some very unusual friends. Did you ever see me around the village when I was a kid? What did I get up to?”

  “What a strange question! No, I never saw you about so I thought you moved here recent. I’m guessing you lived with your dad?”

  “So I don’t come from Underwood?”

  “Not unless your mother locked you up in a cupboard for eighteen years,” said Daisy with a chuckle. “What a lot of silly questions!”

  Bill looked into Mrs. Small’s eyes and his lip trembled. “Daisy, I’ve got a problem. I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything. There’s something wrong with me.”

  Bill’s eyes filled with tears and Daisy gave him a tentative hug.

  “You don’t remember a thing?”

  “Nothing past six months ago.”

  Daisy looked at Bill in astonishment for a few seconds, then said. “Well I’m sure it’ll all come back. Trust Daisy.”

  Arthur came into the kitchen, wearing a denim jacket, an orange shirt with a huge collar, and bell bottom denims with a silver belt buckle shaped like a skull. “Hello there amigo,” he said with a grin.

  Bill quickly pulled away from Daisy and tried to compose himself. “Are you ready?”

  “I certainly am. Let’s split.”

  The boys went through to the hallway with Daisy following, carrying a small brown paper package. She handed it to Arthur. “Don’t forget your sandwiches, ham and cheese.” She straightened his collar and brushed his shoulders. “Now you be careful. And next time you come home can you make it a civilised hour?”

  “Bye mum.”

  Arthur stepped out the door and Daisy s
aid to Bill in a quiet voice. “Any time you want to talk, I’m here.”

  The boys went down the path and got into the back of the Rolls, waving at Daisy as the car pulled away.

  “Last night was insane,” said Arthur. “I’ll never trust a girl, or a dog again. What a beast!”

  “It had those horrible yellow eyes and a halo of light, like those beast people I keep seeing. Mother said that if I see another animal like that I have to ring her straight away.”

  “She doesn’t think you’re imagining things?”

  “She also wants to find the girls and question them. But we can’t let her.”

  “Why not? Crazy Lilith stabbed you in the gut, remember? Maybe your mum should give them a good telling off.”

  “No! You don’t understand.”

  “How is the gut by the way?”

  “It’s fine, but-”

  “Really? You heal fast.”

  Bill gave Arthur a serious look through his thick black glasses. “Arthur, listen to me. She’s a nut and so are her friends. They’re all in some sort of weird cult. I think they want to lock the girls up in the cellar and torture them.”

  “I know your mum’s a bit odd but-”

  “They want to find that monster I saw in the church. They think the girls are protecting it.”

  “And this weird cult thing, are you in it?”

  Bill pulled up the sleeve of his purple velvet jacket, revealing the tattoo of the writhing salamander. “I guess I am. One night mother made me put on a big white robe and took me down to the Great Hall. I saw about twenty people standing in a circle, also wearing robes and clutching bibles. There were red candles and a crucifix chalked on the floor.”

  “That is so awesome.”

  “I had to stand in the middle of the circle, holding a bible, and repeat a pledge to God keep the human race safe from dark pagans, or the ‘Devil’s Bane’ as they called them. Then some mad looking old woman gave me the tattoo.”

  Arthur looked impressed. “So, you’re a pagan hunter. Cool.”

  “I don’t want to hunt anything. I just want to go to university, remember who I am and have a nice normal life.”

  “That sounds a bit boring. You’re better off hunting pagans.”

  The Rolls went through the suburbs of Middenmere and on into a maze of streets lined with medieval buildings. They got to Conatus College, drove under the stone arch and up the driveway.

  “Mother made me promise I’d ring her later,” said Bill. “She also said that if I don’t go and see Professor Nox straight away then Mordred will fetch me.”

  “Fetch you?”

  “And take me to Brimstone Manor, where I will not be allowed to leave.”

  “They can’t do that.”

  “I’m starting to think my mother isn’t how mothers are supposed to be, not like your mum.”

  “She can’t lock you up, that’s child cruelty.”

  “I don’t ever want to go back to the Manor. It’s a horrible place.”

  “You can stay with us. We’ve got a spare room in the attic.”

  “I think I’d like that.”

  “And forget all about seeing this Nox dude, he sounds as nutty as your mum. Let’s just get to our rooms and have a think about what we want to join.”

  “Join?”

  “Don’t you remember? Fresher’s Fair starts today.”

  “What about Ophelia and Lilith? Mother said they are evil and have to be punished.”

  “If we see those two crazies we’ll avoid them as well.”

  An image of Ophelia’s pretty face appeared in Bill’s mind and he felt butterflies in his stomach.

  *

  Later that day Bill and Arthur left college and made their way to the top of High Street, where they found a large red-brick building – The University of Middenmere Sports Hall – with a sign pinned to the door that said:

  UMSU Fresher’s Fair – here all week!

  They went inside, followed signs to the gymnasium and found dozens of stalls attended by undergraduates in appropriate costume. The place was packed with hundreds of bustling noisy students.

  As Bill and Arthur pushed through the crowd, having a good look round, they were amazed at the sheer number of societies they could join. There was the Prison Reform society, four dramatic societies, the Gilbert and Sullivan Appreciation Society and the Young Conservative Club. They passed a showcase of up and coming college balls, the Tap Dancing Revue and a group in red jackets at the Hunt stall. They stopped at The University of Middenmere Debating Society and Arthur argued with a tall, thin and snooty looking undergraduate on a number of disparate topics then signed up.

  After an hour of wandering around they spotted a familiar face. George – one of the boys they’d had a drink in the pub with – was behind a stall dressed in a white t-shirt and black leather jacket with the collar turned up. His hair was combed into a large quiff.

  “Hello,” he said. “I’m supposed to be James Dean, but I haven’t got to gut for it. This is my girlfriend Sally, or should I say Marilyn.”

  A very pale thin girl was standing beside him in a white dress, with red lipstick and a blonde wig. “Are you gentlemen joining the Film Club?” she said.

  Arthur and Bill both signed up. Arthur had seen many films but Bill wasn’t even sure what a film was – unlike the Junior Common Room, there was no television at Brimstone Manor and he couldn’t remember if he’d ever been to a place Arthur called a cinema.

  “Frank’s been looking all over for you,” said George to Bill.

  “For me?”

  “Yeah, he was kicking up a right fuss about it, said it was very important. He even knocked at your room early this morning but couldn’t get an answer.”

  Bill wondered why Frank, who he’d met only once before, would want to see him so desperately. “Where is he?”

  “Over at the Choral Society. He might drink beer by the bucketful and love eating pies but you should hear him sing. A veritable nightingale! Over there.”

  George pointed to the far side of the gymnasium. Bill and Arthur said goodbye and jostled their way through the crowd. When they got to the stall they found a collection of well-scrubbed young men and women in black suits, with Father Figgs, the tubby bespectacled Chaplin, sitting in the corner.

  Frank was behind the stall and when he saw Bill he looked very pleased with himself. He tapped Father Figgs on the shoulder and whispered something into his ear, then looked at Bill and twisted his chubby face into a smile.

  “There you are my lad! Found you at last,” he said, coming over from behind the stall and slapping a meaty hand on Bill’s back. Frank was much large and fatter than Bill. He loomed in a slightly overbearing manner.

  “Err, hello Frank,” said Bill. He glanced at Arthur and exchanging a puzzled look.

  “Our newest recruit,” said Frank.

  “Welcome aboard,” said Father Figgs with a beady-eyed smile at Bill. “I’ve heard you’ve been a bit of a disobedient boy. Supposed to go and see Nox and you haven’t. This will not do at all!” Father Figgs got to his feet and said to Frank, “I am going to make a few telephone calls – let them know we have our little prize. You take him to the Doctor’s house.”

  Bill’s heart sank has he remembered Beryl’s words the day she’d dropped him off at college – an insistence that he join the Choral Society.

  Frank nodded at Father Figgs then pushed Bill away, shoving with a firm hand in his back. He moved so fast Bill couldn’t even say goodbye to Arthur. They jostled through the crowd, out of the gymnasium and onto the street.

  “Where you taking to me?” said Bill.

  “Don’t tell Dean and George about what you’re going to see,” said Frank. “In fact, don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”

  Frank marched him along the road in silence for a couple of minutes. Bill wanted to escape and find Arthur but he could see that Frank wouldn’t let him.

  “Where are we going?”

  “U
p here.”

  They turned up a quiet street filled with crumbling three storey Victorian terraces. Bill looked at the street sign and saw it said, ‘Laburnum Grove’. He was forced roughly through a gate to a front door with chipped red paint and a gilded metal number nine screwed into the wood. Frank knocked four times, paused then knocked twice.

  The door opened and Bill saw a thin man dressed in black, with high cheek bones, a goatee beard and greasy swept back hair. He recognised him as Doctor van Devlin, one of mother’s friends from Brimstone Manor.

  “Nice to see you again,” said the Doctor. “Come inside.”

  The house looked run down and smelt musty. Bill didn’t want to go in but Frank was looming right behind him, blocking his escape.

  The Doctor was staring at Bill with a look of weird intensity. He stuck out a bony finger and prodded his stomach. “How’s the wound? I take it there have been no complications?”

  Bill stepped back to stop the Doctor from touching him, bumping into Frank. “Fine thanks.”

  “Professor Nox is so very desperate to see you.”

  “Ah yes, that thing. I suppose I did promise mother.”

  “He’s very keen to see our special boy.”

  Bill was a little perturbed at being call a ‘special boy’. “Why does he want to see me?”

  “Come in and all will become clear.”

  Frank gave him a hard shove in the back, forcing Bill to step forward. He went through a shabby hallway and into one of the strangest rooms he’d ever seen. The furniture was old and threadbare and the dark wooden floor was spread with a large Indian rug. Many brass lamps had leaded shades that were full of spider webs. An entire wall was lined with wooden display cabinets filled with dozens of small figures. Each had a smooth white face that stared out through the dusty glass with very creepy eyes. Bill took a closer look and saw that each of the figures was dressed in petticoats and had tiny ribbons or bows in their straw-like hair.

  “Please forgive me,” said the Doctor, “but I am very proud of my Victorian doll collection. They provide company at night.”