Aberrations_The Beast Awakens Page 12

  Was it that which had caused the eruption? Or was it something else, as he suspected – Bertha herself, maybe?

  Then he realized something else. When Crafty had snatched the aberration from the orphanage, Ginger Bob had first summoned the guards. They had brought a cage to contain it. But Viper hadn’t bothered with that …

  There could be only one reason: he’d had no intention of snatching Bertha. Either he’d hoped that the so-called bog creature would drag Crafty through the gate into the Shole, or he’d intended to kill them both with the guillotine.

  Crafty couldn’t have been sitting there for much more than ten minutes when the far door opened and once again Viper strode into the room.

  He was wearing a clean white shirt and his face was full of purpose. Crafty groaned inside. Surely he couldn’t want him again so soon!

  But instead, without saying a word, Viper beckoned to Crompton-Smythe, who followed him through the doorway, taking her book, notes and pencil with her.

  Lucky returned just before noon.

  ‘How did it go?’ Crafty asked him, glad to have someone to talk to.

  ‘Ginger Bob wanted me to find your father and the other couriers who were carrying that sedan chair,’ Lucky said.

  Full of hope, Crafty lurched to his feet. Was there finally to be news of his father?

  ‘Don’t get your hopes up, Crafty – we still don’t know what went wrong with the mission, or why they left the chair and the Duke’s son behind. He’s still too traumatized to tell us what happened. I followed their tracks from the chair to the edge of the gardens, but Ginger Bob said it was too dangerous a venture to go beyond the wall. How about you? What did Viper want you to do?’

  Crafty told Lucky what had happened, and they both laughed about Viper’s shirt and face getting splattered with mud. But Lucky was suspicious of the mancer’s claim that he bore no ill will and that Crafty could trust him.

  Then Crafty told him his theory about the absence of guards or a cage and what it meant.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Lucky agreed. ‘He’s very sly. He still intends to kill you – make no mistake about that. Nothing has changed.’

  ‘I don’t trust him an inch,’ Crafty reassured him. ‘You should have seen the gloating expression on his face when he made me pick up the finger. He was definitely enjoying my discomfort.’

  ‘So you really think the finger belongs to the mud girl who used to visit you in your cellar?’

  ‘I’m sure of it. It was fortunate that I couldn’t find her. Soon after I came back he took Crompton-Smythe on a job. Surely he can’t have returned to the bog?’

  Before Lucky could answer, their juice and sandwiches were brought into the Waiting Room by one of the kitchen servers. They were ravenous, and tucked in. They had just finished when the Chief Mancer thrust his head in through the far doorway, not even bothering to enter the room.

  ‘Both of you! Come down to my room, now!’ he shouted. ‘It’s urgent. Bring your coats.’

  They scrambled to their feet.

  ‘Maybe it’s a combined op?’ Lucky whispered. ‘This could be our chance to deal with Viper!’

  If it was, there should have been another mancer, Crafty thought. But then, why else would Ginger Bob want to talk to them together?

  When they entered his office, he gestured that they should sit down, then went behind his desk and stood facing them.

  ‘There has been an unfortunate occurrence,’ he said. ‘What I am about to tell you is strictly confidential. Have I your word that you won’t tell another soul?’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ the boys said dutifully in unison, though Crafty wondered who he could tell.

  Ginger Bob eyed them both severely, then began to speak.

  ‘Mr Vipton took Miss Crompton-Smythe to the location that you, Benson, visited with him earlier today. They were hunting the same dangerous creature, the one which frequents the geographical aberration. It attacked them with great violence. Consequently Mr Vipton was badly slashed on the face and Miss Crompton-Smythe was dragged through the gate and into the Shole. She is now missing.’

  ‘Why wasn’t she strapped into the chair?’ Lucky interjected. Crafty had been thinking the same thing. This was typical of Viper.

  ‘Don’t interrupt, Proudfoot!’ the Chief Mancer said angrily. ‘There is no time for questions. We must do our very best to retrieve Miss Crompton-Smythe as soon as possible. It is vital to the well-being of the whole Palatine of Lancashire.’ He paused and looked up at the ceiling as if gathering himself to say something momentous.

  Crafty felt annoyed. What was so special about her? he wondered. The short time he’d spent here, working from the castle, had shown him that gate grubs were considered two a penny. How could the fact that she was missing affect the entire county?

  Finally Ginger Bob went on. ‘Miss Crompton-Smythe has been working as a gate grub in order to better appreciate the nature of Shole aberrations. The bog area and the dangerous creature that inhabits it are of particular interest to her …’

  The mancer reached into a desk drawer and got out a book, which he placed before them. It was the one the girl had been reading every day. There were still fragments of brown paper clinging to it, but most of it had been ripped away to reveal the cover and the title:

  TOWARDS AN UNDERSTANDING

  OF SHOLE ABERRATIONS

  by

  Leticia Crompton-Smythe

  ‘Leticia is an extremely clever young lady,’ Ginger Bob continued. ‘In fact, to say that she is a genius would hardly do her justice. She is at present revising and extending her own book in the light of new knowledge that she is gaining from her present investigations. I cannot overemphasize how important it is that we find and rescue her.’ His face was flushed pink and his left eye kept twitching. Crafty stared at him. He was clearly very worried.

  The Chief Mancer coughed and cleared his throat before continuing. ‘Leticia is a prodigy – she is one of the brightest of our boffins and the daughter of Myra Crompton-Smythe, who invented the silver gate. Sadly, her mother is no longer with us, but Leticia is following in her footsteps. It was Leticia who developed the impervious material that covered the sedan chair, making it possible to bring the Duke’s son through the Shole. If she still lives, we must get her back and save her from that dangerous bog creature.’

  Crafty felt a flare of annoyance at that final comment. He felt sure that Bertha wouldn’t harm anyone, but if he tried to tell Ginger Bob about her, he knew he wouldn’t be believed. After all, he hadn’t been believed about Viper. He wondered what had really happened to Viper and Crompton-Smythe; was there any chance that, being Fey, Leticia could survive in the Shole?

  Unless Viper had already killed her …

  Lucky repeated the question he’d tried to ask earlier. ‘Why wasn’t she strapped into the chair? Isn’t that a routine safety procedure, sir?’ he asked, with an edge to his voice. Crafty knew that he wanted Ginger Bob to acknowledge that Viper had once again been reckless.

  For a moment anger flickered across the mancer’s face; then he gave a deep sigh. ‘I was the only one who knew Miss Crompton-Smythe’s real identity. That was because she wanted it that way.’

  Crafty wondered why she’d decided to keep it secret. He was going to ask, but Ginger Bob quickly continued.

  ‘Mr Vipton thought she was just an ordinary gate grub. Unfortunately, Miss Crompton-Smythe can be somewhat highly strung and wilful – I believe that is often the case with those who have brilliant minds. It seems that there was a minor altercation between her and Mr Vipton. He was going to strap her into the chair. She refused. And while they were arguing, that dangerous aberration from the bog attacked them both.’

  Crafty glanced at Lucky. Was he thinking the same thing – that there was something fishy here? Why would Crompton-Smythe refuse to be strapped into the chair? She knew the dangers of the Shole. It looked like Viper had been up to his old tricks. The girl was rude and annoying, they both knew th
at. Perhaps she had simply annoyed Viper so much that he’d pushed her through the gate! After all, in his eyes she was expendable.

  ‘I’d had it in mind to conduct this as a combined field operation but, on reflection, I think that’s unwise,’ Ginger Bob continued. ‘We cannot risk you both, so you, Benson, report to Mr Vipton’s room immediately. In spite of his injuries, he has bravely decided to attempt to rescue Miss Crompton-Smythe. He now knows who she really is, and he is determined to bring her back.’

  Crafty reluctantly came to his feet, pulled on his greatcoat and started to button it up.

  ‘Let me go, sir,’ Lucky pleaded suddenly. ‘I have more experience than Benson – I can find her quicker.’

  No doubt Lucky was volunteering because he was worried about the danger Viper posed to Crafty. He’s a good friend, Crafty thought. I’m lucky to have him, in spite of all this.

  ‘Mr Vipton has specifically asked for Benson,’ the mancer replied. ‘Besides, Proudfoot, we must hold you in reserve precisely because you are the more experienced of the two. You cannot be risked. Here, Benson, take Miss Crompton-Smythe’s book – it will help you to locate her.’

  Without a word, Crafty took it and left the room, his mind awhirl. Why had Viper asked for him? He could think of only one reason. He planned the same for him as he had for Crompton-Smythe.

  Bertha would be his excuse for killing them both.

  Crafty made his way to Viper’s room, the book in his hand, his stomach churning with anxiety. But what could he do – refuse to go? Run away? If he did so, the Chief Mancer would surely send him straight back into the Shole. If that happened, he might never find his father. And without the help of his father, there was no way he’d survive out there.

  Crafty’s mind whirred as he tried to think what to do next. If Viper tried to push him through the gate, he wouldn’t be able to stop him. Viper was bigger than Crafty – he’d most likely win in a struggle. And even if Crafty successfully resisted him, it didn’t take much imagination to predict what the Chief Mancer’s reaction would be. He would always believe Viper’s version of events over Crafty’s, and no doubt Viper would try to make out that Crafty had attacked him. So it seemed Crafty had no choice but to accept his fate.

  The moment he saw Viper, he realized that he was right to be scared. The mancer had four deep scratches on his right cheek, and his white shirt was ripped and streaked with blood. This puzzled Crafty. Viper was usually very fussy about his appearance, so why hadn’t he changed? But his thoughts were interrupted by a barked command.

  ‘Sit!’

  Crafty slowly made his way to the chair facing the silver gate, and sat down, reluctantly staring into the dark swirling cloud.

  ‘This is a field operation, Benson. We are going to a fixed location, but not the one in the bog. Miss Leticia Crompton-Smythe was far better at seeking than you, poor girl. She found the creature I asked you to locate in a wood near the western edge of the marsh. Unfortunately, it launched a ferocious attack and, after injuring me, carried her off. So we are going to the scene of the attack. The creature will have left tracks. I want you to follow them.’

  Crafty looked at him defiantly, knowing that he was lying. ‘I don’t need to follow her tracks. I can use this book to find her and save precious time,’ he said. ‘That’s why the Chief Mancer gave it to me.’

  But Viper snatched the book away, his face livid with anger.

  ‘We’ll do it my way, Benson!’ His voice was dripping with poison. He stared at Crafty and pointed to the gate. ‘Look!’ he shouted.

  For a moment Crafty hesitated. Then Viper’s gaze shifted to the gate, as if it had already cleared – and, on instinct, Crafty glanced over to see what had happened. But the moment he turned away he felt a terrible blow to his left temple, and doubled over.

  Tricked! he thought through the haze of pain. I need to get out of here …

  But as he tried to stand, Viper hit him again in exactly the same place. Crafty’s mind whirled; he felt numb and sick to his stomach.

  He must have lost consciousness for a few seconds, as the next thing he knew he was being dragged out of the chair.

  Then there was cold air on his face, and he found himself lying on his back on the grass; he had passed through the gate. He managed to clear his head, and struggled into a sitting position, staring back at the gate. He saw the usual shimmering blue circle; within it, Viper was staring out at him. The mancer looked pale but satisfied; his usual sneer had returned.

  Then he threw something through the gate after Crafty, and the blue circle winked out.

  Crafty saw that it was the book. Now Lucky wouldn’t be able to use it to find the girl either. That man is such a snake, thought Crafty, and he wondered what Viper’s story would be this time. He’d probably failed to change out of his blood-stained shirt to make his account more convincing; he’d simply add some rips to fake another encounter with the Bog Queen.

  Crafty staggered to his feet and looked about him. He was standing on a slope, surrounded by trees. Could this be the wood at the edge of the marsh that Viper had talked about? Did that mean he was close to home?

  It was gloomy in the Shole, but it wasn’t yet dark, so Crafty hoped that he was in no immediate danger from the aberrations. The cat-like beasts in Winckley Square had only appeared at night, but there might be other aberrations that were active earlier. Nothing was certain here.

  More than ever, Crafty wished he knew more about the Shole. His lack of knowledge was probably going to cost him his life.

  What would Father do now? he wondered.

  Unfortunately his father hadn’t talked about the Shole very much – it was as if he wanted to keep that part of his life away from his family. And then, when the Shole had engulfed their house, he’d worked alone, not sharing with Crafty and his brothers the secrets of the magic he’d used to protect the cellar. It was guild knowledge, he had explained, and he couldn’t divulge it even to his own children.

  Viper obviously wasn’t going to open the gate for him – so how long could Crafty hope to survive here? Certainly not through a whole night. Would Ginger Bob use Lucky to try to effect a rescue – if not of Crafty, then of the important Crompton-Smythe? He glanced at the book. Now that they couldn’t use it to find her, it was useless. He might as well chuck it away.

  Then something occurred to him. Crafty quickly flicked through the pages, but the notes were no longer inside. That gave him a little surge of hope. Had she been wearing her coat when she went through the gate? If so, they might just be in her pocket, in which case they were at a dead end again. But if they weren’t, there was a chance Ginger Bob might have them – and if so, they could surely use them to find her again.

  Which meant that Crafty had to be with the girl when they found her. That way they would find him too. He had to find her first.

  But his hopes were dashed again when he realized that he didn’t even know if this really was where Viper had abandoned her. Viper could well have been lying – Crafty could be miles from anywhere.

  He looked around for footprints to follow. He wandered to and fro, studying the ground, but soon saw that this wasn’t like the muddy area where they’d found the sedan chair. This was grass and it was quite short, in places just moss. There was no detectable trail.

  Think, Crafty! he told himself. Where might she go?

  He thought about it carefully, trying to be logical. Crompton-Smythe was feisty and strong-willed. She wouldn’t just sit down and wait to die. She was also a researcher and, given what Ginger Bob had said about her, she probably wouldn’t be able to resist seeing at first-hand one of the aberrations that so interested her. She would head straight for the bog.

  How would she find it? he wondered. How could he find it – even if he was where he thought he was? Crafty got to thinking again, and then realized that it would probably lie downhill from him – where enough water could pool to soften the ground and form a bog.

  So, with nothing to los
e, he began heading down the slope.

  After a few minutes of careful walking – always keeping his ears open for the sound of potential predators – Crafty was relieved to see that the trees were giving way to soft ground covered in tussocks of grass. Water began to squelch under his boots. He was approaching the bog!

  At least that’s something, he thought. Perhaps he’d find Crompton-Smythe, and they could formulate a plan together.

  As he walked, Crafty passed heaps of bones. Some were those of small animals, probably rabbits and hares. Others were larger, from cattle or deer. He tried not to look too closely at the ones that might have been human.

  It was strange how the Shole killed some creatures yet changed others, Crafty thought. It also brought some back to life, like Bertha. What was the reason for those different outcomes?

  He wondered if Crompton-Smythe knew the answer. How much did the castle boffins really know? He was certain there were many things that were kept secret from ordinary people; things that would cause panic if they got out. But were the boffins also struggling? Did they also have more questions than answers?

  When he finally reached the bog, it didn’t take him long to spot the girl. She was sitting on a grassy bank, staring intently into the bog, which was bubbling gently and giving the occasional faint belching sound, as if struggling to digest a meal that had disagreed with it.

  She looked up as Crafty approached. ‘You took your time. Where’s the gate?’ she demanded.

  Unbelievable. Despite their situation, she hadn’t changed one iota, he thought.

  ‘Took my time about what, exactly?’ he asked, sitting down on the same bank, but not too close to her.

  ‘Coming to get me after that madman pushed me through the gate.’

  ‘I’m not here to get you. He did the same thing to me,’ Crafty replied.

  She stared at him hard – but she didn’t seem quite as unfriendly as before. Maybe the time she’d spent alone in the Shole had made her think about how she’d behaved – or maybe she was capable of sympathy, now that they were in the same boat.