Aberrations_The Beast Awakens Read online

  Crafty began to run towards the tree; he seized the spade and turned to sprint back towards the gate. He’d only taken three steps when he halted in horror.

  The gate had vanished!

  Trying to control the panic that tightened his throat and stifled his breathing, he headed for the point where he thought he’d last seen it. But there was no sign of it at all. Had he made a mistake? Set off in the wrong direction?

  He lost track of time as he paced backwards and forwards, searching for the blue circle, always keeping the tree in sight. Had it been minutes or only seconds since he’d heard that awful cry? He was getting colder and colder: his fingertips were already numb and he could feel the cold like pinching fingers busy working on his nose, lips and cheeks.

  Then it began to snow. It was heavy snow too; huge flakes whirling down so that he could hardly see the tree in the distance.

  There must have been a problem with the gate, he thought. Perhaps the dial had slipped … But then he remembered that this wasn’t possible – that ratchet locked it into position.

  Viper would sort it out, wouldn’t he? He’d come back for him. Surely he would. With that in mind, Crafty decided to head back towards the tree again. If he wandered too far afield, Viper would never be able to find him, but he’d see him next to that tree.

  Crafty leaned against the trunk anxiously, still gripping the spade. He looked down and saw that his fingertips were turning blue. If the gate didn’t open soon, he would die here, he thought. If the cold didn’t get him, whatever it was that had made that sound would.

  His body and his mind were now both numb. Neither was working properly. He was shaking violently, and finding it difficult to think. He had no idea how long he’d been out there.

  Then, suddenly, there was a shimmer right in front of him. To Crafty’s astonishment, the gate reappeared close to the tree. He remembered vaguely that Viper had said he couldn’t move the gate, but he had certainly done so now.

  Thank goodness, he thought, relieved at the thought that his ordeal was nearly over.

  Still carrying the spade, he was about to clamber through the gate when he heard Viper shout, ‘Put the spade back against the tree. We won’t be needing it.’

  Crafty thought he’d heard him wrong. But, when he hesitated, Viper shouted even louder. ‘Do as I command!’

  Numb with cold and disbelief, Crafty walked stiffly over to the tree and left the spade there. Then he turned, came back to the gate and, with great difficulty, pulled himself through.

  Viper was standing beside the chair, smirking down at him. ‘Feeling a little chilly?’ he asked.

  Crafty nodded slowly, still dazed. He stamped his feet weakly to get the circulation going again; snow dusted the floor around them.

  ‘Well, let that be a lesson to you, Benson. Next time I expect you to report in full uniform. Now get back up to the Waiting Room.’

  So he knew my name after all, thought Crafty.

  Back upstairs, Crafty joined Lucky and Donna in the warm Waiting Room. He was still shivering violently.

  Both stared at him, waiting for him to speak, but Crafty was too cold and exhausted to even open his mouth.

  ‘What happened?’ Lucky asked. ‘What did you have to do?’

  Crafty grimaced, and told them about the spade.

  ‘Ugh! It’s his idea of a joke,’ Donna said angrily. ‘I was afraid of that. I’m really sorry you had to go through that – especially without a coat!’ And she gave him a warm smile that animated her whole face.

  Crafty’s heart jolted with emotion as he remembered his mother giving him that same sympathetic smile. In fact Donna did look like his mother might have looked as a young girl – from her lips to her soft brown eyes.

  ‘I had a really bad time of it,’ Lucky told him. ‘I got frostbite and ended up losing two of my fingers,’ he said, holding out his left hand. ‘Some joke, eh?’

  ‘I’m sorry about your fingers,’ Crafty told him. ‘I thought that was because of an accident with the guillotine.’

  ‘An easy mistake to make,’ Lucky said, his grin turning into a grimace. ‘Viper is reckless with that guillotine. The last two grubs who died working with him met their end under his blade. One boy’s arms were chopped off at the elbows and he died from blood loss.’

  Crafty didn’t reply. What a horrible story! He was glad to be out of the cellar, but had he stepped out of the frying pan into the fire? Viper seemed capable of turning his life as a gate grub into a nightmare.

  ‘How did the other two grubs die?’ he asked.

  ‘One supposedly went missing – he simply didn’t return to the gate. It’s not impossible, but we never venture more than fifty yards away – we’re usually in view of the mancer the whole time. I expect Viper abandoned him. The other was caught by aberrations and ripped to pieces.’

  ‘I suppose they could all be accidents,’ Crafty mused.

  ‘Oh, he killed them all right!’ insisted Lucky, raising his voice. ‘But according to the castle, there was no evidence. The guillotine deaths were written off as accidents too. Viper claimed that an aberration came through the gate in pursuit of the grub, so he had to stop it getting into the castle. They were very close together and, when the blade came down, it killed the gate grub along with the aberration. It’s happened twice though. At best Viper’s reckless; at worst he’s a killer. My instinct tells me it’s the latter.’

  ‘I wish I’d been brave enough to tell Viper to go through the gate and get the spade himself,’ Crafty fumed, angry at himself.

  ‘That would have done no good. He’d have just reported you to Ginger Bob and done his best to get you the sack. As for Viper going out into the Shole, he couldn’t even if he wanted to,’ Donna told him.

  ‘That’s right. Viper and the other mancers can’t go through the gate. Not even Ginger Bob can risk it,’ Lucky confirmed.

  ‘Why’s that?’ Crafty asked.

  ‘It’s part of our talent – that’s why we’re chosen as grubs,’ Donna answered. ‘It’s because we’re Fey and have the abilities that come with it. We can be trained to do magic and are good at finding things with a silver gate. More importantly, the Shole itself doesn’t kill or change us. It’s something we’ve inherited from our parents – that’s why your dad is able to be a courier, Crafty. Anybody else who stepped through would be dead – or worse – within seconds; there would soon be nothing left but their bones. Either that or they’d slowly start to change into something terrible. You know what? I think we have a great deal more ability than the mancers, despite what they say. Some people believe they can only control the gates because of what’s mixed into the silver of the frames.’

  ‘I heard it was the ground-up bones of dead gate grubs,’ said Lucky, grim-faced.

  But Crafty shook his head. ‘That can’t be true. My father brought back my brothers’ bodies and buried them in our cellar.’

  He didn’t mention that he could hear them whispering. He’d told nobody about that – even keeping it a secret from his own father. He didn’t feel ready to discuss it with anyone. In any case, he didn’t know Lucky and Donna well enough to trust them just yet.

  ‘They wouldn’t need to use them all! Besides, your father’s a courier. I bet they wouldn’t dare do that to his dead children.’

  Crafty winced at the thought of his brothers being ground up to make gates for people like Viper to use. He still had no idea how they had died. His father had never discussed it and Crafty had been too upset to ask.

  Donna sensed his pain, and tried to cheer him up. ‘Look on the bright side, Crafty – tomorrow’s Saturday. Survive that, and then Sunday is our day off, and we’ll get paid! We’ll show you around the city and then the castle.’

  ‘Well, the parts of the castle they allow us to visit,’ added Lucky. ‘Whole sections of it are out of bounds and heavily guarded.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Crafty with a smile. Things were definitely strange here, but he liked this pair, and felt
that they might become good friends.

  None of them were called again, and the afternoon passed quickly. But when Crafty got back to his room, he began to brood about his father. He was very surprised not to have heard from him by now. After all, he’d promised to check up on him soon; Crafty guessed he was busy with his courier duties, and would visit as soon as he returned. Other dark thoughts churned through his head: of his once happy family, he reflected, his two brothers and his mother were dead, his father constantly away on dangerous missions.

  The following day, when Crafty went down to the Waiting Room, he made sure he brought his heavy coat and draped it over the back of his chair. He wouldn’t be caught out again.

  The three grubs were left alone all morning, and even managed to play a few games of draughts. But just after lunch, which they ate in the same room, the far door opened.

  Crafty’s heart sank – until he saw that it was ‘Ginger Bob’.

  The Chief Mancer approached them with a serious expression on his face. ‘Benson, come with me. I’ve a task for you.’

  Crafty got to his feet and reached for his coat.

  ‘You won’t need that. It’s a chair job,’ he was told, so he left it behind.

  He followed the mancer down the steps and through the open door of his untidy study. As usual, it was gloomy, lit by a single candle.

  The black curtain had already been drawn back, away from the gate, and Ginger Bob simply nodded at the chair. As soon as Crafty sat down, the mancer started to bind him with the leather straps: first his legs and then his chest.

  ‘Not too tight, are they?’ he asked.

  ‘The one across my chest is a little uncomfortable, sir,’ said Crafty, though he was more uncomfortable about the fact that he was being strapped in for the first time. What was all this about?

  ‘Is it restricting your breathing?’

  Crafty shook his head.

  ‘In that case, we will leave it as it is. Those straps have an important function. A little discomfort is preferable to being dragged out of the chair and through the gate into the Shole by something that wants to eat you – as I’m sure you agree.’

  Crafty did, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

  ‘Our next task is dangerous, but provided you do exactly as I tell you, all should be well. We are about to carry out what we refer to as a snatch. You’re going to grab something in the Shole, and then drag it back through the gate so that our experts can examine it and increase our knowledge about the Shole and its aberrations. Here, put these on …’

  Ginger Bob handed Crafty a pair of black leather gauntlets. They were tight but supple, and he had no difficulty in easing them on. Now he understood why their uniforms had short sleeves. The gloves reached as far as his elbows, and the palms had rubber grips.

  ‘Now, do you know what a fixed location is, young man?’

  In the nick of time Crafty managed to stop himself from using Viper’s nickname.

  ‘Mr Vipton explained it to me.’

  ‘Good. I’m pleased to see that your training is already progressing well. Now, I will take the gate to a fixed location within the Shole, near the centre of Preston. As you know, this is where the Shole first began, and so it is very dangerous. However, because you won’t have to worry about finding the place, you can simply focus your attention on making a successful snatch.’

  Crafty didn’t think there was anything ‘simple’ about it, but refrained from saying so. ‘What am I going to snatch, sir?’

  ‘We’ll be going to the site of what was once an orphanage. You’re going to snatch a child and drag it back through the gate into this room so that it can be studied.’

  Crafty’s heart sank. He didn’t like the sound of this at all. ‘A child, sir?’ he asked.

  The mancer saw the dismay on his face. ‘Look – don’t think of it as a child. It’s been changed by the Shole and is no longer human. That’s why we want it. Our experts want to study the changes and learn more about this particular aberration.’

  There was a yellow rope hanging from the ceiling directly above the Chief Mancer’s desk. He reached up, tugged at it, and somewhere in the distance a bell rang.

  Crafty heard boots hurrying down the stairs, and then there was a triple rap on the door.

  ‘Enter!’

  Two large guards came in, carrying between them something that looked like a huge birdcage. They supported it on their shoulders, using a long metal bar that went through a ring attached to the top of the cage. The guards carefully lowered it to the floor and, after removing the lock, one of them opened the barred door.

  Crafty eyed it up. It would be uncomfortable, but he reckoned he could have just about fitted inside if his knees had been touching his chin. He wondered about the creature they were going to be snatching. How much would it have changed?

  ‘Prepare yourself, young man.’ Ginger Bob snapped his fingers to get Crafty’s attention and pointed towards the gate. Crafty sat back and stared through the swirling cloud, uncomfortably aware that the guards had taken up position on either side of his chair. They were clearly getting ready to grab whatever it was that he was snatching. However, he was happy to note that the guillotine foot-switch was still locked. That sharp blade made him very nervous.

  He heard the ratchet-dial behind him click three times, and suddenly the swirling clouds parted so that, within the frame, he could see a narrow cobbled street. At the end was a large stone building. The sign above its metal gate read:

  MOUNT STREET ORPHANAGE

  It doesn’t get much grimmer than this, thought Crafty warily.

  Beyond the gate he saw the open wooden door to the orphanage. It was hanging off its hinges, and broken glass littered the entrance. Peering through, he could only really see darkness, but he thought there might be something moving in the shadows.

  ‘They’re watching us.’ Ginger Bob confirmed his thought. ‘Hopefully one of them will come out to investigate. Then you can snatch it.’

  ‘Can they see me?’ Crafty asked, dropping his voice to a whisper.

  ‘They see what they most want to see,’ replied the Chief Mancer. ‘I am deploying what we call a lure. From their side of the gate, the magic makes the silver gate take on the form of their heart’s desire. They’re probably very hungry, so most likely it’ll be their favourite food – probably raw meat, dripping with blood. That’s what most aberrations are after.’

  Almost as soon as he’d finished talking, something small scurried out through the dark doorway, emerging into the dim light. At first Crafty couldn’t see what it was. It had two arms, two legs and a head that looked human, but there was something strange about its jerky movements. It scuttled forward like an insect, then halted; moved, then halted again, coming directly towards them all the time.

  Was it really seeing raw meat dripping with blood? Crafty shuddered at the thought.

  The mancer was suddenly very businesslike. ‘Be ready to make the snatch! When it gets close enough, grab it by the forearms! Don’t let go, whatever you do.’

  When it was very near the gate, the creature lifted its head, apparently staring right into Crafty’s eyes. Ginger Bob had told him what they were going to snatch, but nothing had prepared him for this. He jolted back in shock – for though this had clearly once been a child, it was horribly changed.

  Its eyes were red, the pupils thin vertical slits. It opened its mouth, and Crafty saw triple rows of sharp teeth inside – smaller than Sandy’s, but no less deadly. Had this creature really once been a human child – an orphan, taken by the Shole? Was he really supposed to grab it? It was no larger than a five-year-old, but as soon as he got close, those teeth would surely tear hungrily at his flesh?

  ‘Now! Do it now!’ the Chief Mancer ordered.

  Terrified of the consequences if he disobeyed, Crafty thrust both arms through the gate and attempted the snatch. Although his left hand missed its target, his right closed around a thin forearm and he gripped it as hard as
he could.

  The creature whipped its head round faster than he could blink. It hissed horribly, and then bit hard into Crafty’s hand, the jaws bearing down on it with incredible strength. Crafty yelped with pain, but still managed to jerk the thing towards him, through the gate and into the Chief Mancer’s office.

  The two guards obviously knew their stuff. They were fast and efficient, and it took them only a couple of seconds to drag the screaming beast off Crafty and hurl it, screeching, spitting and snarling, into the cage.

  Once the door was locked they bowed politely to Ginger Bob and, without saying a word, carried the yowling creature out of the office by means of the long pole balanced on their broad shoulders. Now Crafty could see why they needed it – the cage was kept well away from them as the thing inside reached out through the bars.

  Crafty examined his right gauntlet. His hand was throbbing, and there were tooth marks in the leather. When he removed it, he saw that the skin was red, but the bite hadn’t drawn blood.

  ‘That will turn into a nasty bruise, but it could have been worse.’ There was genuine kindness in Ginger Bob’s voice, but then, to Crafty’s surprise, he changed the subject completely. ‘Do you like biscuits, young man?’

  Crafty nodded, dazed.

  After carefully drawing the black curtain across, the Chief Mancer unstrapped Crafty, then beckoned him towards his desk. He gestured to the smaller of two chairs facing his. Crafty noticed that, as well as being cluttered with books and papers, the desk was covered in crumbs – as was the floor surrounding it. Ginger Bob was a mouse’s best friend.

  The mancer rooted through a pile of manuscripts until he found a blue tin. He eased off the lid and then handed Crafty a large ginger biscuit.

  ‘This is a custom I always observe,’ he said, taking a biscuit for himself. ‘After the successful completion of a mission my assistant and I always celebrate by nibbling ginger biscuits.’