The Beast Awakens Page 3

  The man behind the desk got up and took a couple of steps towards Crafty. His eyes bulged as he took in Crafty carefully. He looked like he needed a shave, and there were food stains down the front of his black gown.

  If this is the Chief Mancer, he’s surprisingly scruffy, Crafty thought.

  The man’s hair was black too, but greying at the temples; although he was by no means an old man, he was definitely well past his prime.

  At last the man spoke.

  ‘Well, young man, has the cat got your tongue?’ he demanded. ‘You’d better ask your first question before I start to get impatient.’

  ‘Question?’ Crafty asked. He was surprised – he’d assumed that he’d be the one to be questioned.

  ‘Yes, question! You must have some. How can you hope to find out what’s expected of you if you don’t ask any questions?’

  Crafty wasn’t sure what was going on, but he did have some questions.

  ‘Are you the Chief Mancer?’

  ‘That’s what it says on the door. Who else did you expect to find in my office?’

  ‘And what does a mancer do, sir?’ Crafty asked.

  The Chief Mancer raised his eyebrows as if Crafty was some sort of idiot, so he kept talking.

  ‘Oh, I know you deal with the Shole – but what are the practicalities of that, exactly?’

  There was a long silence while the man stared at him. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer.

  ‘Practicalities! That’s a big word for a little man. You’d be surprised what the practicalities are. But I’m afraid they’re Guild secrets, not to be divulged to the uninitiated.’

  ‘But I will be initiated if I pass your test, won’t I, sir? When I become your apprentice, won’t you have to teach me everything?’

  The Chief Mancer’s face went red. At first Crafty thought he was angry, but then he began to laugh out loud as he paced up and down. Eventually he pulled himself together and came to a halt in front of Crafty. He shook his head.

  ‘Foolish boy! Passing the test won’t qualify you to become my apprentice. There’s no way that you could ever become that. It takes the right breeding, the right lineage and a very special type of mind to become a gate mancer. Your father’s a good enough man and an excellent courier, but he comes from common yeoman stock – as, I believe, did your mother. The blood that runs through your veins is very ordinary, make no mistake about that – at least with regard to the social hierarchy of this city. You are a commoner – you could never become a mancer.’

  ‘Then what does my passing the test lead to, if not to becoming your apprentice?’ Crafty was struggling to be polite. He hated the way the Chief Mancer had called him and his family common. It reminded him of the teasing he’d suffered for being Fey – people always thought they were better than him.

  ‘You’ll find out tomorrow exactly what it entails but, to put it bluntly, you’ll be what’s usually called a gate grub. I’ve left it too late to do the test today, so I’ll administer it at midday tomorrow,’ said the Chief Mancer. ‘It’s the best time for it. By far the safest hour.’

  Crafty didn’t like the sound of his new title. Who would want to pass a dangerous test just to become a grub?

  ‘It can’t be that safe, sir,’ he told him. ‘It killed my two brothers, and I suppose I’ll be next.’

  But the mancer shook his head. ‘Oh, no. It wasn’t the test that killed them. They both passed with flying colours. The test just tells me whether you’re up to the job. It’s the work you’re being tested for which is dangerous – very dangerous; much riskier than the test. And it’s that experience which might kill you – or drive you mad …’

  With that Crafty was dismissed and escorted back to his room by the same silent guard. Once again, he was locked in and left to his own devices, the only interruption being a meagre supper of cold ham.

  Crafty wanted to get the test over and done with, and the longer he waited to take it the more nervous he became. Consequently, it took him a long time to get to sleep, but this time he didn’t dream.

  The following day, just before noon, the same guard delivered Crafty back to that same room, prodded him inside and closed the door behind him. It was just as dark as before and, once again, the Chief Mancer lit a single candle.

  ‘Why do you sit in the dark, sir?’ Crafty asked.

  ‘It’s one of the practicalities of my calling, young man. Now, come and sit over here, close to this curtain.’

  Crafty saw a sturdy chair facing a black curtain which dropped from the high ceiling right down to the floor, covering the wall.

  Immediately two things worried him. Firstly, the chair was bolted to the floor, and two pairs of brown leather straps which appeared to be restraints were attached to it. The higher two straps would bind the chest; the lower two, the legs.

  Secondly, he didn’t like the look of that black curtain. At first glance it seemed ordinary enough – a screen that could be closed for privacy or to keep the light out. But this room was surely a long way underground. If there was a window behind that heavy black curtain, there could only be rock or soil beyond it –

  ‘Sit down!’ the Chief Mancer commanded, clearly tired of waiting.

  So Crafty obeyed, expecting the mancer to bind him with the straps. But instead he pulled the curtain aside, and Crafty gazed in astonishment at what was revealed.

  Within an alcove in the wall was the strangest contraption he’d ever seen. Four ornate iron legs supported what at first glance appeared to be a large circular mirror, about five feet in diameter. Its thick frame appeared to be silver, but within it there was no glass. Crafty could see no reflection – just a swirling darkness.

  ‘This,’ said the Chief Mancer, ‘is a silver gate. Each gate mancer is in charge of one. It is their main tool for exploring the Shole.’

  Suddenly Crafty noticed something else. Something very disturbing.

  On either side of the gate – just in front, between his chair and the silver circle – stood two shiny metal poles. They drew his eyes up to the sharp horizontal blade that seemed ready to descend.

  It was a guillotine.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ said the mancer. ‘I work it using this …’ He pointed down to a wooden pedal on Crafty’s left (and out of his reach). ‘At the moment it has the safety catch on and it’s locked in position. We won’t need it for this test.’

  ‘What’s it for, sir?’ Crafty asked, his mouth suddenly very dry.

  ‘It’s used to chop off appendages,’ the Chief Mancer replied calmly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  ‘What’s an appendage?’ Crafty asked.

  ‘You have the word practicalities in your vocabulary, and yet you don’t know what an appendage is? That surprises me, young man, so let me educate you. It’s an accessory – something attached to the body. It could be a human limb, or simply part of one, such as a hand or even a finger. It could also be a tentacle or a claw. Sometimes we find it necessary to chop ’em off!’

  Crafty was appalled, but the Chief Mancer went on.

  ‘I press that pedal with my foot, and the blade falls and does the deed.’ He smiled strangely at Crafty. ‘Believe me, it’s very sharp.’

  Crafty gulped. The guillotine was very close, and he felt his body begin to tremble.

  Crafty stared up at the mancer. ‘Are the straps for me, sir?’

  ‘They could certainly be used to keep you in the chair – and they may well be, if you pass – but not on this occasion. Don’t worry, young man. Everything will be explained to you later. But I am not going to waste my time teaching you until I’m sure that you will become a gate grub – so let’s get started.’

  He moved round to the side of Crafty’s chair. ‘Now, concentrate! Stare into the centre of the circle and tell me what you see.’

  Trying to ignore the guillotine, Crafty did as he was instructed. Though what was he supposed to see?

  ‘All I can see is darkness,’ he
replied. ‘It seems to be moving.’

  ‘Concentrate and look more closely!’ the Chief Mancer commanded.

  Crafty stared hard into the circle – and now, to his surprise, he saw that something had changed.

  ‘The darkness is swirling,’ he reported; ‘it looks like dark clouds moving anti-clockwise.’

  ‘Good! That’s right. It’s moving in what we call a widdershins direction. Now, look more carefully. Try to see through the cloud. Can you see any claws or teeth? Or maybe big eyes staring back at you?’

  Crafty was immediately on his guard again. What on earth did that mean? Could something dangerous be watching him from within that cloud?

  Maybe, if he couldn’t see anything but the cloud, he would fail the test? he thought. But there was no point in lying. His father always said that it was better to tell the truth, no matter how painful it was. If you told one lie, it usually meant telling more of them to support it.

  ‘All I can see is the dark cloud, sir.’

  To Crafty’s surprise, the mancer seemed pleased with his answer.

  ‘That’s good. Excellent! It means that you are difficult to detect. That’s vital in our line of work. Some potential grubs can find things but are visible to anything that’s hungry. Were you easy to find, they would have found you by now.’

  ‘Who would have found me, sir?’

  ‘The aberrations of the Shole – who else?’ The Chief Mancer seemed annoyed by Crafty’s ignorance.

  Crafty knew that the term ‘aberrations’ referred to those who had been changed by the Shole – but he didn’t know much more about them than that.

  The mancer went on. ‘Being detected is one of the biggest dangers of using the gate. However, the creatures will have dined last night and are always at their most sluggish at midday, which is why it’s safer to conduct the test at this time. So now we’ll move forward to the next stage. You’re hard to detect, but can you find things? Let’s see …’

  ‘Find what?’ Crafty asked.

  ‘Well, some things are easier to find than others. In general, finding things is a skill that gate grubs can develop with practice. But all the practice in the world won’t help unless you have a basic talent. Do you have that spark of ability? Your brothers had it, so you should be the same. If you do, you’ll have inherited it from your Fey father.’

  Again, Crafty didn’t know very much about being Fey – his father had kept saying he’d tell him more when he was older – except that most Fey inherited some kind of magical potential. And it was just that – potential. There was no guarantee that a Fey would develop a useful gift, but as a rule the Fey were immune to the effects of the Shole: they couldn’t be killed or changed by it. Although they were at risk from the creatures that dwelt there, for some reason they were less visible than other humans. This was why couriers were always recruited from among the Fey.

  The only useful Fey gift Crafty was aware of was his ability to hear the whisperings of his dead brothers. He realized that the Chief Mancer had to perform the test in order to check that he had the same talents as his brothers and father. It suddenly occurred to him that he might fail. He could still be returned to the cellar – and if he was, without his father’s wards and magic he would face certain death.

  ‘You had a family pet, I believe?’ the Chief Mancer asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  Crafty was taken aback. What did that have to do with anything? He simply nodded – and felt a pang of loss as he did so. He had loved that dog.

  ‘Yes, we had a dog. She went missing,’ he told the mancer. ‘The Shole took her. She was called Sandy.’

  It was on the terrible day he’d also lost his mother to the Shole.

  ‘So try to find it,’ said the Chief Mancer. ‘It would be easier if you had a piece of its fur, but as it was your dog, you should be able to use the emotional bond you once had with it. I gave your brothers the same task and they both succeeded. Let’s see what you can do!’

  Crafty stared doubtfully into the swirling cloud within the silver frame. He was starting to get annoyed. The Chief Mancer wasn’t giving him much help.

  ‘How?’ he asked.

  ‘This is the second part of the test!’ he was told sternly. ‘What you see through the gate is the Shole. You are looking at a random location somewhere within it. It could be on the very edge – say, south of the canal – or it could be deep inside it, somewhere near that cursed place called Preston where all our troubles first began. You can change the location with your mind. You can move it to find your lost dog. Just think about your dog. You can either do it or you can’t. But find it, and you’ve passed.’

  ‘How long have I got to find it, sir?’

  ‘I’m a busy man. The most I can allow you is five minutes. It begins … now.’

  Crafty stared into the cloud again, trying to block everything else from his mind and concentrate on Sandy. It wasn’t easy. He was nervous, and his mind kept drifting back to his fate if he failed. Then he remembered his last game with her. They’d been playing in the garden and he’d just thrown a stick for her to fetch. He’d thrown it too far and it had gone over the hedge into the field beyond. Sandy had burst through the hedge and dashed after it, barking delightedly.

  Then Crafty’s father had started shouting at him through the open door. ‘Get in here! Get in here now!’

  He had stared at him, dumbfounded – until his father had pointed at the dark curtain racing towards them.

  Crafty had just managed to get into the house before the Shole reached them.

  Sandy hadn’t.

  As those painful memories filled his head, Crafty continued to gaze into the swirling cloud, the image of his dog clear in his head.

  Then he heard a distant barking. It was coming from inside the circular gate! Suddenly the clouds cleared, and he found himself looking through the gate at what appeared to be a deserted farmyard, with a barn and a surrounding fence. Everything was dim and grey, but he could see big, bare animal bones lying on the ground. Then a dog was bounding towards him, barking madly.

  It was Sandy!

  Crafty leaned forward eagerly as she came into view – then jerked back and glanced at the Chief Mancer. The alarm on the man’s face matched Crafty’s.

  If the dog bounding towards him was Sandy, she was barely recognizable as the border collie bought as a pup from a local farmer. She’d been mainly black, with a broad white stripe running down the centre of her face. This dog had the same markings, but that was where the resemblance ended. This creature looked ferocious, and at least three times Sandy’s size. Its jaws were wide open, revealing three rows of sharp killer teeth, angled back like those of a shark. Crafty had never seen such terrible teeth in any kind of dog.

  If this was Sandy, she had been dramatically changed by the Shole, transformed into a monster.

  Crafty could see saliva dripping from the dog’s jaws. It looked hungry, its eyes fixed on him. It was almost upon him now, and he began to edge backwards in his chair. Could it leap through the gate? Could it bound into this room?

  Crafty heard a click and looked at the Chief Mancer again. He’d pressed something with his left foot. He must have taken the safety catch off that contraption! Now his right foot was positioned over the pedal that released the guillotine.

  ‘Sit well back!’ he was told. ‘Don’t worry – I’ve never missed!’

  Crafty suddenly realized what was going to happen. When his dog leaped through the gate, the mancer would bring that sharp cruel blade slicing down into her. Sandy would be cut in half.

  She had changed, but Crafty felt sure that, underneath, she was still Sandy. He couldn’t let this happen to her.

  ‘No!’ he cried, leaning forward towards the gate. He had to stop Sandy leaping through to her death.

  Without thinking, Crafty reached forward into the chill air of the Shole, towards the dog’s huge jaws and sharp teeth. Then terror struck him like a spear of ice penetrating his heart. Sandy’s eyes wer
e full of hunger and rage and her jaws were widening, ready to bite off his hands at the wrists.

  But then, suddenly, her eyes softened in recognition and she began to lick Crafty’s hands. He stroked her flank and patted her head and started to push her back.

  He glanced round at the Chief Mancer, who was looking furious, his foot still positioned over the pedal.

  Crafty could see his knee trembling.

  The blade of the guillotine gleamed in the candlelight. Crafty looked up at it fearfully – it appeared to be trembling in time with the Chief Mancer’s knee.

  Crafty leaned further forward, his head now partially through the gate too: he could feel damp, chilly air on his face. If the blade fell now, it would cut off his head.

  He patted Sandy, saying hello, then tried to push her back again.

  She resisted. She wanted to come through the gate, and she was too big and strong to push away.

  Then Crafty suddenly had one of his clever ideas.

  ‘Fetch, Sandy! Fetch!’ he cried, making a throwing motion with his arm.

  He’d played that trick on Sandy before, and she’d always gone after the imaginary stick, returning moments later to play the game again.

  It worked! As she turned and bounded away, Crafty withdrew his head from the gate, leaned back in his chair and thought of the cloud. Nothing but that dark cloud he’d seen swirling in the circle. The farmyard was quickly obscured, so he relaxed and let out a deep breath. Crafty realized that he’d instinctively worked out how to leave a location within the Shole. He wondered if the Chief Mancer would be impressed.

  He wasn’t.

  ‘That was an extremely reckless and dangerous thing to do!’ he shouted. ‘It is vital that a gate grub obeys the commands of his mancer instantly.’

  ‘That was my dog, sir. I knew she wasn’t going to harm me. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t allow her to be cut by that blade!’ Crafty said, pointing upwards.