Aberrations_The Beast Awakens Read online

  ‘Don’t think too much on my words,’ she went on, her voice much softer, almost wheedling. ‘I was only having a bit o’ fun. Maybe ye’ll live long lives, but it’s a dangerous job, being a gate grub. So I’ll send ye away with a kindly curse that will either help ye or make things worse. To all three of ye, I say this: May you get what you deserve!’

  And with that, they turned tail and scrambled up the stairs, Old Nell’s laughter ringing in their ears.

  Once back in the yard, they were quiet for a while, but as they wandered through the castle gardens, Lucky and Donna soon cheered up and started cracking jokes, mainly at Crafty’s expense – calling him the Lord of the Gates.

  ‘Is there actually a Lord of the Gates in the castle?’ Crafty asked.

  ‘No – not unless you count Ginger Bob!’ laughed Lucky. ‘You’re the only one we’ve got!’

  Crafty didn’t mind the jibes. He knew they weren’t meant unkindly, and he was beginning to think of Lucky and Donna as friends – and he hadn’t had friends in a very long time.

  Nobody really trusted Fey folk or wanted to get too close to them. Crafty and his two brothers had been the only Fey in their boys-only school, and Brock and Ben had been in a different class. As a result, he had often felt lonely, especially in the playground – though never as lonely as during his last few months in the cellar. It felt good to have someone to share a joke with.

  Although his friends didn’t refer to it for the rest of the day, Crafty knew that they were still thinking about Old Nell’s curse. He certainly was.

  Was it good to get what you deserved?

  Perhaps it depended on how you lived your life.

  That night Crafty found it hard to get to sleep again. There had been no sign of his father, and he resolved to ask a gate mancer about him the next day.

  His thoughts turned to his new friends. He’d been lonely for such a long time, he reflected – although that wasn’t quite true, he realized; he’d been forgetting someone.

  Bertha had been a good friend to him. They’d often sat cross-legged on the cellar floor, facing each other as they talked. Bertha’s slim golden crown sat perched on the dark coils of her hair, reflecting the light of the three candles. Beside them was the mud hole from which she had emerged. Although the candles kept aberrations out of the cellar, for some reason they couldn’t prevent Bertha coming to see him. This wasn’t something he had revealed to his father. He was afraid that he’d try to keep her out. He wouldn’t trust an aberration, no matter how friendly she seemed.

  Bertha had told Crafty all about the distant past. At first, she’d been happy as the warrior queen of the Segantii. They had defeated all the local tribes, but then a powerful new enemy had invaded their lands.

  ‘What were they like, the Romans?’ Crafty had asked.

  ‘They were big tall men with short swords, long spears and curved oblong shields – but they always worked together. They built long straight roads so that they could move their warriors from place to place very quickly. And when they fought, they stood shoulder to shoulder and locked their shields together to form a wall. We couldn’t break through it – lots of us died trying. But then I got an idea …’

  ‘Something to break through their wall of shields?’ asked Crafty, leaning forward to catch Bertha’s reply. She spoke very softly, her accent making it difficult to understand what she was saying.

  ‘Yes – I got the idea after watching a hedgehog curl up into a spiky ball when a dog tried to eat it. The poor dog got a sore nose and ran off howling. The hedgehog used those spines as a form of defence, but I saw how that shape could be used to attack. I designed a weapon and got our blacksmiths to make it for me. It was a heavy iron orb covered in sharp spikes and attached to a long chain. I practised using it. When I whirled it above my head, it made a strange whooshing sound; I could build up a tremendous speed and force. I knew I could use it to batter gaps in the Romans’ shield-wall, and my own warriors would then pour through and defeat them.’

  ‘Did it work?’ Crafty asked.

  Bertha shook her head sadly. ‘I never got the chance to try it out in battle. Our tribal priests were very powerful and, even though I was their queen, I was seized and slain. They thought that, by sacrificing me, giving up something that was important to our tribe, they’d win the favour of our gods. So they killed me and buried me in the bog.’

  ‘Well, it didn’t work. The gods didn’t listen,’ Crafty told her. ‘The Romans conquered the whole land and stayed here for hundreds of years. Those priests would have done better to let you fight on.’

  Bertha’s big green eyes went wide, and she smiled at him. ‘But it all worked out for the best. If they hadn’t put me in the bog, I wouldn’t have been brought back to life, would I? And we wouldn’t be talking now.’

  Yes, thought Crafty. They’d had so many long, interesting talks like that. Bertha’s friendship had made it possible for him to endure those long months in the cellar. He owed her a lot.

  He wondered what she was doing now.

  Monday meant that they were back in the Waiting Room.

  ‘What would you do if you really were the Lord of the Gates and could tell all the gate mancers what to do?’ Lucky asked casually as Crafty sat down. He and Donna grinned at each other, and Crafty rolled his eyes. It looked as if the joke was going to continue.

  ‘Well, for one thing I’d give proper training to gate grubs,’ he replied, joining in. ‘And anyone who played silly, dangerous games like Viper would be sacked on the spot!’

  But before he could carry on, the far door opened and three mancers walked into the room. One of them was unknown to Crafty, and it made him wonder how many gate mancers there were.

  The Chief Mancer was in the lead, an unknown large, plump man came in at his heels, and Viper brought up the rear of the grim-faced procession.

  ‘We have an emergency,’ Ginger Bob announced solemnly, glancing at each of them in turn, ‘so this will be a combined operation. You, Henderson, will go with Mr Vipton; Proudfoot, you’re with Mr Humperton, and you, Benson, will come with me.’

  With that the three mancers turned on their heels and, carrying their heavy greatcoats, the three gate grubs followed. Crafty felt sorry for Donna. He was certainly glad he hadn’t been assigned to Viper.

  In Ginger Bob’s office he was invited to sit down by the desk. The mancer sat facing Crafty.

  ‘Now, young man. I want you to understand that what I am about to tell you must never be divulged to anyone other than those involved – by which I mean anyone other than the three gate mancers and the three gate grubs involved in this operation. Breaking that rule will have dire consequences. Give me your word that, whatever results from what we are about to undertake, your lips will be permanently sealed.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I give you my word,’ Crafty told him. What else could he say? He wondered what the punishment would be for breaking the rule. The Chief Mancer seemed to be taking this mission pretty seriously.

  ‘Well. You will have heard about the Duke of Lancaster’s eldest son – the one who was trapped on a small Daylight Island when the Shole surged about a year ago …’

  ‘No, sir, I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Ah, of course, I suppose it is understandable that you wouldn’t have heard … you would have been trapped in the Shole when it happened. Well, he was visiting a small village called Penwortham, west of Preston. When the Shole suddenly expanded, the village became a new Daylight Island. Since he is the son of our county ruler, his rescue was considered a priority. Not long ago, the very best people were sent to bring him safely through the Shole and back to this city.’

  ‘So the Duke’s son isn’t Fey, sir?’ Crafty asked. Some people didn’t like the Fey, others even had a hatred for them, but they had useful powers. The Duke liked power, so maybe, like Crafty’s mother, he had married a Fey – but then hidden the fact in order to be more popular? Crafty’s father had once hinted that such things were not unheard of.r />
  ‘Of course not, young man!’ Ginger Bob looked shocked. ‘That’s why the task was so difficult. He could not be brought through the Shole without risking death or change. But after months of effort and experimentation, our brightest boffins have devised a shielding material that offers protection against the Shole. It was fixed around a sedan chair …’

  Ginger Bob paused as he saw the bewildered expression on his gate grub’s face. Crafty didn’t know what a sedan chair was – he’d never even heard of such a thing. Nor had he known that they’d found a way to protect humans from the Shole – did this mean they could begin rescuing more people? He made a mental note to ask the mancer about it later.

  ‘A human passenger may be carried in a sedan chair,’ Ginger Bob continued. ‘This one has a door and a roof but no windows. It completely encloses its occupant – like a giant box. It has no wheels, but is supported by two long wooden poles that rest upon the shoulders of the bearers. In this case, the people entrusted with bringing the Duke’s son home were couriers, who could make it safely through the Shole. Three of our best men were given the job – two to carry, one to guard.’

  ‘And did the shielding material work?’ Crafty asked.

  The Chief Mancer looked a little shifty, as if he was hiding something. ‘It was tested extensively,’ he said. ‘The Duke himself was happy for the rescue attempt to go ahead. I am confident that whatever has gone wrong has nothing to do with the shielding material.’

  He was definitely looking a bit shifty, thought Crafty. He wondered if the shielding material had been his idea, and he was worried about getting into trouble.

  ‘Anyway – starting from a point west of the river Ribble,’ the mancer continued, ‘they had to go deep into the Shole in order to cross a bridge leading to the safest routes north towards Lancaster. Despite that detour, the couriers should have been back with the Duke’s son by now. But they aren’t. They are already almost twenty-four hours overdue. It seems that something may have happened, so we need to find them.’

  A frightening thought lurched into Crafty’s head.

  ‘Was one of the couriers my father, sir?’ he asked, his voice shaking.

  The look on the mancer’s face confirmed the worst, and he sighed. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that your father was indeed one of the couriers assigned to the task. But in finding the chair and the Duke’s son, I hope that we will also find your father and the other couriers.’

  The blood began to pound inside Crafty’s head and he fought to hold back tears. What if something had happened to his father? What if he never saw him again? He had already lost his mother to the Shole, and then his two brothers – he couldn’t bear the thought of losing his father too.

  But Ginger Bob clearly didn’t have any time to waste on sympathy. He pulled a silver watch out of his pocket and consulted it. ‘It’s nearly ten minutes to noon. Almost time to get you into the chair, young man. Before we proceed, have you any questions?’

  ‘Are we going to attempt a snatch, sir?’ Crafty asked. ‘Are we going to try and bring them all back through a gate?’ He wanted to help the Duke’s son, but his main concern was for his own father’s safety.

  ‘The first priority is to locate the chair and its occupant. Then, depending on the situation, we may indeed attempt a snatch. But this is more likely to be what we call a combined field operation. It will involve all three of you grubs going through gates into the Shole and working together. What happens after that depends on the situation you find. So initially I won’t be strapping you in. Leave your coat there for now,’ the mancer said, pointing at a chair.

  He led Crafty across to the curtain and pulled it back; Crafty took his seat, gazing into the opaque swirling clouds inside the silver gate. After once more consulting his watch, the Chief Mancer reached into his breeches pocket, pulled out a small scrap of black cloth and handed it to Crafty.

  ‘This is a piece of the shielding material that clads the sedan chair,’ he said.

  Studying it closely, Crafty could see that it wasn’t simply black. There was a background of dozens of tiny glittering specks that made him think of stars in a clear night sky.

  ‘Now concentrate, Benson. You should be able to find the same material. Find that, and you’ve found the Duke’s son – and maybe your father too.’

  Crafty concentrated as hard as he could, trying to sense the material within the Shole. The clouds in the gate cleared, and suddenly he was looking through the grey gloom towards some leafless trees. To the right was a low wall, and beyond it he could see a row of buildings maybe three storeys high. Nothing was moving. The ground by the trees was sparsely covered with grass and dead leaves … and then he noticed a large object lying on its side.

  He could see two poles on the grass beside it, and the black, glittering material covering it – it was a box that had a door but no windows. It was the sedan chair.

  But there was no sign of his father or the other couriers.

  Crafty suddenly felt very sorry for the Duke’s son. To have to travel like that, in total darkness, listening for any noises. It must have been terrifying. But then, he thought, it was no different to his own experience in the Shole, when his father had pulled a hood over his head.

  The Chief Mancer interrupted his thoughts. ‘Well done, young man. You’ve found the sedan chair, but things do not look promising. Note that the door is open, with no sign of the Duke’s son or the three couriers. And I know this location. At midday this area should have been without risk. Although the Shole is riddled with dangers, there are safe routes that couriers take through this part of Preston, which explains why they cut across these gardens.’

  ‘Where are we, sir?’ asked Crafty.

  ‘Somewhere called Winckley Square. Thanks to its proximity to the river Ribble, it used to be favoured by Preston’s wealthiest citizens – this was a large central garden owned by the gentry who inhabited those townhouses. Now it all belongs to the Shole, and its aberrations dwell within them. But fear not – they will not emerge until darkness falls. You have plenty of time to investigate.’

  Great, Crafty thought to himself. Just what I need – a chance to spend time in the Shole …

  The mancer walked across to his desk and returned carrying Crafty’s greatcoat. Crafty came to his feet, pulled it on and buttoned it up to the neck; he knew just how cold the Shole could be.

  ‘Check to see that – as I predict – the sedan chair is empty. If the Duke’s son is still inside, he could be either dead or terribly changed, so take care. If he’s not there, then the three of you must make a thorough search of the walled garden, but do not venture outside it. Then, young man, you must report back. Report back only to me. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Crafty replied as he clambered through the gate.

  ‘Speed is of the essence!’ Ginger Bob called after him. ‘If the Duke’s son is alive, there is a slim chance he may still be himself. We must rescue him before he starts to change!’

  It was not as cold as when Viper had played that trick on him, but Crafty was still glad of his coat. A chill breeze was blowing directly into his face, numbing his nose. In the distance, through the trees, he could see two circles of blue light. Lucky and Donna must have spotted the chair too.

  He reached it before they did, and cautiously looked through the door.

  Whoever had constructed the sedan chair had tried to make it as comfortable as possible. It had a soft leather seat and was lined with blue velvet. But it was empty.

  Crafty’s mind raced. What had happened here? Why had the door been opened? Where had the couriers gone? Where was his father? And where was the Duke’s son?

  Lucky and Donna joined him, and peered inside.

  Crafty told them what Ginger Bob had said to him. ‘One of the three couriers was my father. He’s missing with the others – he’s lost somewhere in the Shole.’

  ‘Oh, Crafty, I’m really sorry,’ said Donna, patting his shoulder sympathetically.
‘I know it must be hard for you to come searching for the Duke’s son when it’s your father you’d really like to find.’

  Crafty found he had a lump in his throat; he couldn’t reply.

  Lucky gave him a pat on the back. ‘It may not be as bad as it seems,’ he said. ‘Couriers have gone missing in the Shole before and found their way back.’

  For a moment there was silence – none of them knew what to say next. Crafty surreptitiously wiped away his tears, while Donna and Lucky pretended not to notice.

  ‘Well, we’d better begin our search,’ Donna said at last, assuming command. Four months’ service made her veteran. She had more experience than Lucky, and definitely more than Crafty.

  ‘If we split up, we could do it faster,’ Crafty suggested, looking at her.

  ‘No, Crafty, that’s the worst thing to do,’ she replied. ‘Sticking together and helping each other is the best way to survive here. Let’s see if there are any tracks.’

  The ground around the sedan chair was soft and muddy, and they quickly found four sets of footprints. It was easy to distinguish those of the Duke’s son from the couriers’. The men’s big boots left deep prints and showed that they had headed up the slope. The Duke’s son appeared to be wearing narrow, delicate shoes with slightly tapering toes, and his footprints led in the opposite direction.

  The group had split up. But why?

  ‘We’ll follow the tracks made by the Duke’s son,’ Donna declared.

  Crafty would much rather have followed those of his father and his companions, but how could he argue? Their duty was to find the Duke’s son. At least they knew in which direction the couriers had headed.

  When he glanced behind him, Crafty could see no sign of the blue circles that marked the positions of the three gates. He crossed his fingers that they could find their way back.

  Although this place had once been called Winckley Square, the garden itself was oblong in shape, and they hurried along it on a downwards sloping path. There were rustlings all around them, and Crafty’s eyes darted left and right. He felt as if they were being watched, and he could see that Donna and Lucky were nervous too. Their expressions were worried as they glanced around.