Bane of Brimstone (The Bill Blackthorne Chronicles Book 1) Page 5

  – Extract from Out Walkin’ One Day

  – Old English Folk Song, Anonymous.

  Bill met Arthur outside their rooms. They'd unpacked and settled in and were now keen to explore. They went down the stairs and heard chatting and music coming from the Junior Common Room. They went through a set of open double doors and found a large wood panelled room with a high ceiling and a big stone fireplace. Leather sofas were scattered with cushions and set around heavy coffee tables. Every nook and cranny was filled with drooping plants in china pots.

  There were a number of students sitting in groups. The closest were three young men who were sprawled on a sofa, watching a football match on a black and white television set. Bill was amazed when he saw this wooden box of moving pictures – he couldn’t recall ever having seen one before.

  “How do?” said one of them, looking at Arthur. He had wavy blonde hair, wispy side burns and a denim jacket. “I’m Dean and this is George and Frank.”

  The other boys grunted or waved. They were dressed the same as Dean, so looked identical, except for Frank who was taller, fatter and grumpier looking.

  “I’m Arthur,” said Arthur. “And this is Bill.”

  “Cool T-shirt,” said Dean.

  Arthur was wearing a black t-shirt with a picture of a long-haired band posing provocatively, with their tongues sticking out and fingers in the air. On the back was a long list of Northern England cities and dates. “It’s the Crocodile t-shirt from their legendary 1970 tour, when Cheggers demolished their hotel with a Mini Cooper.”

  “Cool,” said George.

  The boys looked at Bill and said nothing for a few seconds. “I hope you don’t mind me saying mate,” said Dean, “but you look like a right dark pagan prat in that gear.”

  Bill had on his brown corduroy smoking jacket with a white shirt and paisley cravat. His thick black glasses looked far too big for his face.

  “A what?” said Bill. He was about to add that his mother supplied all his clothes but had learnt this probably wasn’t the best thing to say.

  “You know,” said George, “Hubble, bubble toil and trouble.”

  “You’re not going to score any chicks dressed like that,” said Dean.

  “Oh,” said Bill touching his cravat and thinking of Ophelia.

  “We’re second years,” said Dean, “so we can show you the ropes.”

  “Like where the best pub is,” said George.

  “Did someone say pub?” said Frank, suddenly becoming animated. “It’s nearly eight o’clock and I haven’t had my usual – four pints of heavy. Criminal.”

  “Frank managed to survive the whole of the first year on steak pies and brown ale,” said Dean.

  “And long may it continue,” said Frank patting his ample stomach.

  “Marvellous constitution,” said George.

  “Come and join us,” said Dean getting up from the sofa.

  “Thanks,” said Arthur and Bill in unison.

  The boys left Connaught Hall and went through a side gate in the tall iron railings, which was just around the corner from the main entrance. Across the road was a row of terraced shops, and on the corner was a big old-fashioned pub with etched glass windows. A battered sign hung above the door showing a picture of a duck holding a pint of beer with crosses for its eyes and the words ‘The Dizzy Duck’ written over its head.

  “The Duck’s where you’ll find all the action,” said Dean pushing open the door.

  Inside was smoke filled and noisy with chatter, with Crocodile’s The Girl in the Bar coming out of a jukebox. The floor was dirty dark wood and the walls were nicotine stained, with a stuffed owl in a glass case in the corner. Bill and Arthur walked forward, past a group of student girls in paisley tops and miniskirts. Dean said hello to most of them.

  As they made their way across the pub Bill saw something that puzzled, perplexed and scared the hell out of him. Most of the people sitting around the tables looked perfectly normal – chatting and laughing, drinking their beer – but occasionally someone had a faint halo of light around their head and what can only be described as beast’s eyes, yellow and shining – like the eyes of the professor he’d seen when he’d first arrived – and a pair of faint horns. Bill wondered if he was going mad because no one else seemed to notice anything unusual. The big chubby barman was a yellow-eyed nightmare but people were buying drinks, smiling and exchanging pleasantries. He’d have to tell his mother that he’d seen more of these strange creatures and try to get her to tell him what it all meant.

  They made their way over to a battered wooden table in the corner and sat down.

  “Drink?” said Frank to Bill and Arthur.

  “Pint of heavy,” said Arthur.

  The closest Bill had got to drinking alcohol was when Arthur and his family had invited him to the Unicorn for lunch and a glass of shandy one Sunday afternoon. He’d kept it a secret from his mother because he knew she’d have forbidden it. For the first time in his short recollection, Bill felt like a rebel.

  “A pint of heavy for me too please,” he said, wondering what ‘heavy’ was.

  “Are you going to Fresher’s Fair on Monday?” said George.

  “I’m hoping they’ve got a film club,” said Arthur. “I love Rita Tushingham and Shirley Anne Field.”

  “Tasty birds yeah. I run the film society with my girlfriend. I tried to get Fellini but we mostly do musicals.”

  Frank arrived back from the bar laden with beer on a tray. A glass of thick foaming brown liquid was placed before Bill and he took a tentative sip, unsure if he actually liked the taste.

  He looked up and saw Frank staring at him. “What you joining Bill?” he said.

  Bill remembered what his mother told him about the Choral Society, but he didn't want to join this, it sounded creepy. “I was told to join the Choral Society, but I'm not too sure.”

  “What?” said Dean. “They’re all bible-bashing loonies. You’re not one of them are you?”

  “No,” said Bill not sure if he was or wasn’t. He knew his mother was very keen on the bible.

  Frank looked directly at Bill and unnerved him a little. “I'll make sure you do the right thing,” he said cryptically.

  The boys sat for a while chatting about silly things and joking around. Bill eventually got to the end of his pint and realised his head was swimming. He was about to say he couldn’t drink another drop when another pint of beer was placed in front of him. Forcing the gloopy brown liquid down his throat – mainly because the other boys seemed to have no such trouble, in fact they were positively enjoying the evil brew – he managed to get half way through when his stomach wretched and he knew he was about to be violently sick.

  “Got to go the toilet,” he said jumping up.

  “You alright mate?” said Arthur.

  “Looks a little green around the gills,” said Dean laughing.

  Bill made his way quickly across the pub, pushing through the crowd with his hand clasped tightly over his mouth. He went through an archway at the far end of the bar and into another set of rooms.

  As he opened the door to the gents an older man with a pipe and flat cap was coming out. Bill barged right into him. He looked at the man to mumble a quick apology and got the fright of his life. The man was surrounded by a halo of shimmering light and Bill found himself staring deep into a pair of glaring yellow eyes. A vicious animalistic presence almost overwhelmed him and he let out an involuntary whimper. The man grunted his disapproval, mumbled something about rude kids and quickly stepped aside.

  Bill dived into the toilet, stuck his head down the nearest lavatory and was copiously sick. After spending a while recovering – groaning and wiping his cold clammy head with a handkerchief – he went to wash his hands. Trying to compose himself, he put on his glasses and looked in the mirror at his pale face and wondered what was going on. Who exactly were these yellow-eyed creatures? Why were they stalking the pub? Why did no one else see them? Bill knew he had to suppre
ss any whimpering or scared looks. He thought that if he gave them away they might attack. As he dried his hands he noticed they were trembling quite badly.

  Bill came out of the gents very cautiously, looking left and right to see if he could spot any beasts. Over in a small side room he saw Lilith and Ophelia sitting at a table having a drink. He couldn’t help but stare at Ophelia’s beautiful face and her figure-hugging black dress. He saw Lilith turn and notice him, say something to Ophelia then beckon him to join them. Bill went over, grinning at the girls, realising he still felt ill and was blushing quite severely.

  “Hi there,” said Ophelia. “Still got the Arddhu clothes. Like it.”

  “Hello there,” said Bill. His mind went completely blank, so he gazed at her dumbly for a few seconds.

  “Out for a drink?” she said.

  “I tried this stuff called heavy. I can see why it’s called heavy. Very heavy, very heavy indeed. Yes... Well... Right...”

  Bill suddenly became tongue-tied. As his brain scrambled to think of something to say he remembered Ophelia’s book, about the girl who lived in Underwood. “That book of yours is very interesting. Brimstone Manor and all that.”

  “You really think so? I read some more, you know. Lord Percy came to find her at Briar Cottage but she hid in the hay loft, wouldn’t see him. She was ashamed of what she’d become.”

  “Ophelia!” snapped Lilith. “We don’t want chit chat. Remember?”

  Ophelia checked herself and her manner became more formal. “Of course... Would you like to come to a moot?”

  Bill looked directly into Ophelia’s large eyes and gulped. “What's a moot?”

  “By the Gods, you're so green! It's a very special sort of party,” said Lilith. “There’s a rather cool moot tomorrow night and we would very much like you to come.”

  Bill was amazed. “Me?”

  “If I wanted someone else then I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?” Lilith looked at Ophelia and rolled her eyes.

  “Well no... yes. I’d love to come.”

  “And you can bring your little friend, the Crocodile fan.”

  “Arthur. Well, yes. I’m sure he’d love to come.”

  Bill tried to imagine what a student party would be like. As far as he could recall, which wasn't very much, he’d never been to a party before. When it was Miss Spital's birthday a couple of months ago she'd brought him a cup cake, but he guessed that didn't really count. A proper student party would have loud music, a little bit like the music he heard Arthur playing in his room, and lots of drinking beer, like this heavy stuff, and crazy dancing. He imagined himself dancing with Ophelia then realised he didn’t know how to dance. He’d have to ask Arthur how it was done. Bill felt very excited.

  “But don’t bring anyone else. It’s just you and the other one who are suitable.”

  “Okay, anything you say.” Bill thought of something. “But you haven't told me where it is.”

  “At the back of college is a footpath that leads through Wych Elm Wood. Follow that until you go uphill. You’ll see an old ruined church called Saint Pius.”

  Bill was confused. “You want us to follow a path to a church?”

  “That’s where the moot is, got it?”

  “Okay, got it. What time?”

  “The main action is at midnight, tomorrow night, so you arrive fifteen minutes beforehand.”

  “Well that’ll be excellent. What I mean to say is... thanks,” said Bill with a nervous grin.

  Lilith turned to have a sip of her drink. Bill stood and looked at the girls for a few seconds. “Well run along then!” she said.

  Bill left the girls and made his way through the archway and into the main part of the pub. He couldn’t wait to tell Arthur the news.

  As he pushed through the crowd he could see that there was some sort of commotion. A plump, middle-aged woman... was attacking Arthur! Bill could see that she was one of the creatures. She had her hands out, trying to grab Arthur around the throat and was mumbling something under her breath. Bill couldn’t hear what she was saying because people were shouting. A couple of men grabbed the woman and tried to pull her away.

  “Not another one,” said the barman, then shouted angrily at the woman, “You need to take your drugs, regular like. I can’t have all this trouble.”

  Bill pushed his way forward until he was standing beside Dean, Frank and George.

  The woman had been dragged backward and was pinned down by the two men. She was gnashing her teeth, trying to bite them, fighting furiously to be free.

  “What’s going on?” said Bill.

  “Second one this week,” said Dean. “It’s getting worse. It’s all over.”

  “Really?” Bill looked at the woman’s ghostly-white face, threaded with tiny red blood vessels, her pointed eyes, curled horns, bestial eyes. “Can you see it? She looks horrible.”

  “She looks just like my mum,” said George. “Looks like she wouldn’t harm a fly. Who’d had thought she’d be a crazy? But you just can’t tell.”

  Frank had remained silent, but when she spoke his voice was earnest. “Satan has possessed her. We must do something before he takes us all!”

  George rolled his eyes. “Not that again. You promised you’re put a lid on it.”

  Bill looked at Arthur, who was sitting down in the corner. He looked a little shaken. A barmaid handed him a glass of water.

  Then one of the men who’d been holding the woman shouted in surprise. The woman had managed to bite a fairly large chunk of flesh out of his forearm. He jumped back, shocked as the blood ran onto the carpet and down his jeans. Her chanting became much louder and more manic. She seemed to be speaking in an ancient language but there was uproar in the pub and Bill couldn’t hear her properly. The man fell to the floor, unconscious.

  The other man who’d been holding the woman released his grip for a moment, scared of also being bitten, and the woman took this opportunity to struggle free and get to her feet.

  “Coming through, move back,” said a loud voice from behind.

  Bill turned and saw three policemen coming into the pub. Each was carrying a long black rifle. The crowd parted to let them past. The woman, who face was now covered in blood, and was still mumbling strange words, was looked at people in the crowd, deciding who to attack next. Then one of the policemen took aim and fired. The woman screamed, convulsed and fell to the floor unconscious. She wasn’t dead, only stunned by electricity.

  “Thank God someone rang the coppers,” said Dean.

  Everyone in the pub visibly relaxed, began chatting about their ordeal, but Bill saw something. The man lying on the floor, the one who’d been bitten, had horns growing out of his forehead. He’d grown very pale and a shimmering light danced around his head.

  “Look at him,” said Bill. “He’s turning.”

  “Has he been bit, sonny?” said one of the policemen.

  “Yes.”

  The man got to his feet, but before he could say or do anything one of the policemen shot him with his electric rifle.

  *

  The next day Bill met Arthur in his room just before lunch and tried to explain what he’d seen.

  “And they all had really weird yellow eyes. It was scary.”

  Arthur gave Bill a puzzled look. “That beer must have really gone to your head.”

  “I don’t think alcohol causes hallucinations.”

  “Well I didn’t see any yellow-eyed weirdo. Just some soppy looking woman trying to strangle me, bite me, chanting something as well.”

  “Well I saw quite a few. But they weren’t attacking anyone. Mother said they won’t attack, so what happened?”

  “Next one you see you point it out and I’ll have a good look.”

  Bill thought hard. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, find out what the hell’s going on. They’re not just crazy people, they change.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but what you’re saying sounds impossible.”
r />   “It does. Maybe I’ve got special powers?”

  “Yeah! Like Spiderman or the Green Lantern.”

  Bill had no idea what Arthur was talking about. He was glad he’d told his friend about his strange sightings, but knew he couldn’t really help. When he’d seen them at Brimstone Manor and told Beryl, she’d said something about the time not being right. Maybe she meant he would find out after his 'treatments'? Maybe the university had some sort of expert in the field of beast spotting. Bill had no memories beyond a few months so didn’t know if beast spotting was something a lot of people could do.

  “Anyway, we have much more important things to worry about,” said Arthur wiggling his eyebrows.

  “Like what?”

  “Like a certain party you said we’re going to tonight. Can you believe it? Two gorgeous girls inviting us to a party. This could be our lucky night.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well you know, two cool girls, two cool guys. We’d better buy supplies. Follow me.”

  Bill nodded his agreement but had no idea what Arthur was talking about.

  They left the room, went downstairs and out of Connaught Hall. Crossing the path through the rose garden, they left college through the side gate in the railings.

  They stopped at a hardware shop next door to The Dizzy Duck and bought a torch.

  “’Cos it’ll be dark going through woods at night,” said Arthur.

  “Right,” said Bill.

  Going into town, they turned into High Street, which was filled with higgledy piggledy half-timbered buildings.

  They stopped at an off license and bought a bottle of wine.

  “’Cos it’s tradition to bring a bottle to a party,” said Arthur.

  “I see,” said Bill.

  They went into a chemist’s shop. Bill could see that Arthur was having a lot of trouble buying something. He kept skirting round the shop and giving the stern middle-aged woman who stood behind the counter embarrassed looks. When they eventually left, Arthur handed Bill a small white packet.

  “’Cos you never know your luck,” said Arthur.

  “What do you mean?”