Candleman (22 page)

Crane and his team could also see a rosy cloud arise from within the walled gardens of Empire Hall, just as a powercut plunged the whole mansion into darkness. Sergeant Crane’s radio burst into life and a babbled message made his eyes grow wider and wider.

‘It’s going crazy over at Southwark Cathedral,’ he told his men. ‘We’re to move in on Empire Hall now.’

As the astonished sergeant raced through the stone angels and smoking crypts of the great cemetery, he grinned to himself wryly.

‘Chloe
told
me there was something going on!’ he muttered.

‘At last,’ growled the Dodo as he loomed over his captives on the great stairway. ‘This time you will not elude me!’

Theo was slumped against the wall, a scrawny, bedraggled Caspian Tiger crouched before him. Mr Nicely, still unconscious, was guarded by a single, one-eared Siberian Wolf Rat.

The Dodo limped awkwardly towards Theo. The old man’s cloak was in tatters, and his hook-nosed face was spattered with blood. A hastily improvised tourniquet was bound around his thigh.

‘I have fought my way through half the Society of Good Works to find you,’ the Dodo said. ‘We have unconcluded matters to arrange.’

‘What – what’s happened to the garghoul?’ Theo demanded.

‘My trained condors – the formidable
teratorn
– are keeping him amused. Do not fear for him,’ the Dodo replied. ‘A garghoul is close to immortal. You, however, are not.’

Theo scrambled to his feet. The tiger backed away slightly, baring its gleaming teeth.

‘Now, Master Luke Anderson,’ the Dodo said, ‘perhaps you would care to introduce yourself correctly!’

Among all his troubles, Theo felt particularly aggrieved at having his ability to make an introduction called into question. After his extensive reading of etiquette, he had always felt it was one of his few strong points.

‘It’s not easy to introduce yourself when you don’t know who you are,’ Theo said with naive sincerity. ‘I didn’t really know my own identity when I saw you last. But now I do. I am Theo Wickland. The Candle Man.’

The Dodo winced and his body stiffened, as if he had just taken a dagger blow. His claw-like left hand made unconscious gripping motions.

‘Theo Wickland, great-grandson of Lord Randolph Wickland,’ the Dodo breathed. ‘Do you know what you did to me?’ he suddenly screamed.

‘I’m truly sorry for that, sir,’ Theo said with respect. ‘I didn’t understand my powers at all then. I doubt I understand them any better now.’

‘Understand
this,
Wickland,’ the Dodo said, almost spitting in Theo’s face as he drew close to tell his story. ‘I was just a normal man when I first met your ancestor. I was a zoologist and rare-breed collector, who trained certain dangerous creatures to be used – for a fee – by the underworld. Assassinations, poisonings, colourful threats and suchlike.’ The Dodo almost smiled at the memory.

‘I was not what anyone would call a
good
man,’ he mused. ‘I may have deserved a jail term of some kind,’ he said, his face darkening with bitter memories, ‘but I did not deserve
this
!’

He pulled back his torn sleeve to reveal his gnarled and stunted arm, and jerked a thorny thumb at his own gruesome, birdlike features.

Theo lowered his gaze. It was hard to meet the wretched stare of those sunken eyes. And he could guess what was coming.

‘Your ancestor did this to me – your great Candle Man! Shaped me like wax – misshaped me, I should say. With one touch he ruined me for life, gave me the appearance to match my obsession with rare and extinct animals. And he transfigured my cells, so that I could not die like other men, but live on – in an eternity of weariness!’

‘But when I met you –’ Theo began.

‘I had almost cured myself!’ Sir Peregrine roared. ‘With my own potions, my own decades of tedious research. I had at last learnt to control my disfiguration – until you came along!’

The Dodo turned away from Theo, his face tortured, his claw clutching at air.

And now the Dodo is going to kill me,
Theo thought.
Because of what my ancestor did. Because of my power. Because the world cannot afford to have a new Candle Man running loose, spreading fear and misery in his wake.

This was it. The Dodo lowered his huge head and stared into Theo’s eyes. Theo could smell his stale breath, see the trickling sweat dissolving the dark edges of the dried blood on his cheek.

‘Candle Man,’ he said in a voice of utter weariness, ‘I want you to kill me.’

Theo staggered back, utterly astonished. The Dodo stood still, devoid of menace, calm and composed. A tiny bat dropped like a flake of soot on to the rough skin between the old man’s frayed shirt collar and his neck, and nuzzled there. The tiger let out a low, dismal, melancholy growl.

‘When Lord Wickland transfigured me,’ the Dodo said, ‘he affected all my cells. I can age somewhat, yet I cannot die. I should have been dead and gone for over eighty years now. Life has become a sick joke to me – a pointless shadow theatre – with no end to give it meaning.’

Theo didn’t know what to say. Yet in his heart a spring of hope was rushing up.
Maybe I’m not going to die today after all.
That surge of hope was more painful than any of the suffering he had been through in the last two days.

‘Lord Wickland was an arrogant devil,’ continued the Dodo. ‘He loved to hand out his punishments to those he defeated. But you – I sense – are not like him. You do not find the Dodo amusing, do you?’ he asked, shambling awkwardly to parody his own misbegotten shape. ‘Would you mock me, sir?’

Theo’s answer came readily. ‘I would not – I do not mock you, sir.’

‘That is wise,’ rumbled the Dodo. ‘And only you control the energy. Only you can destroy the work of your ancestor and allow me to die as all other men do. After my unnatural preservation I now long for the mystery of extinction.’ With his claw he caressed the head of the Caspian Tiger. ‘I want to go where my beautiful friends are going,’ he said. ‘I beg you, sir – end my horrible existence.’

Theo looked gravely up at the haggard, dejected old man, and paused to reflect.

‘My whole life,’ Theo said in reply, ‘I only saw three people. Those
Three
controlled my every moment. I came to hate that number, and even all its multiples in the three times table.’ Theo smiled, realising he sounded a little crazy. ‘You were Person Thirteen,’ he continued. ‘Before you, I had only ever met twelve people. When you examined me, I had a feeling that number thirteen might be a lucky number for me. So, Person Thirteen, I suppose you’re OK – deep down.’

‘I am
not
OK, deep down,’ growled the Dodo. ‘I’m looking for death, not salvation.’ He rubbed his thin hair, bemused. ‘Anyway, how could anyone possibly dislike the number three?’ he muttered. ‘I should have remembered what a peculiar boy you are.’

Theo put his hands together in a wise gesture of prayer, then yanked them apart, fearing he should turn into Dr Saint.

The Dodo awaited his answer.

‘I want
you
to help
me
,’ Theo requested. ‘Please. Help me understand my power. When I can control it without fear of creating further tragedy, then I will do what you ask – if you still request it. I need to know there will be no more horrors, and only a man like you can help me. Is it a deal?’

T
he garghoul clawed at the creatures upon him – he even flew straight into a wall to crush them between his body and the ancient stonework. Still the
teratorn
raked at his skin, blotted out his sight with their numbers, tormented him with cruel beaks.

And yet they did not really try to kill him.

‘This is all delay and distraction,’ Tristus told himself, ‘a tactic to separate me from my charge.’

‘Theo!’ he suddenly cried aloud. In a desperate manoeuvre, he swooped downwards. Closing his eyes, he plunged into the raging fires that only he could survive, igniting the feathered creatures upon him like fireworks. Trailing sparks, he soared upward.

When Tristus landed back on the stairway he saw the astonishing sight of Theo raising a hand in a parting wave to the Dodo, who, with his wounded and silent creatures, passed silently away into the shadows.

‘Who
are
you?’ Theo asked. He was still deep in the network, fires raging below, the surface a long way above. But now, in the presence of the garghoul who had rescued him twice, he felt he must be close to safety at last.

Seeing the creature clearly for the first time, Theo was struck by how much like a man it was in appearance. Despite its horned brow, leathery wings and stony skin, it still looked and felt very close to human.

Silently the garghoul bent down to study the unconscious Mr Nicely. The creature checked that the human was in no immediate danger of death, then turned to Theo. The exhausted teenager was sitting on the steps, his head bent low, his dark hair wild, a slight smile on his lips.

‘I mean, guardian angels don’t exist, do they? And you don’t look much like a fairy godmother.’

Tristus looked grim. His eyes flashed pure blue for an instant, then his face cracked into an unexpected and beautiful smile.

‘My name is Tristus,’ he said. ‘I am an asraghoul, a noble garghoul, one of the high race from the time of the First Moon – an era long before your civilisation. I do not usually wish to befriend humans, but you are an exception,’ he added. ‘Come.’

Tristus gathered Theo and Mr Nicely up, beat his wings and took to the air. The smoke was thick about them, and it was time to get away.

‘But how – I mean, why are you here?’ Theo asked. ‘Have you been following me?’

Tristus sighed. ‘First – tell me quickly, what happened below?’ The garghoul listened in wonder as Theo related Dr Saint’s downfall. At the end he said nothing, but his smile told Theo that he was deeply glad at the way this day had gone.

‘We have been lucky today,’ he said finally. ‘Now I suppose I must tell you a little.’ They were flying steadily up the main shaft, through the levels of the network. Theo was grateful to see the long stairway slip away below him.

‘A hundred years ago,’ Tristus said, ‘I was the first garghoul to be awoken by the Philanthropist. He found me sleeping among the ancient carvings deep in the network. He thought I would be grateful – an eternal ally! But I had been happy in my stone dream. I never forgave him for awakening me. He sought my help in his war with your ancestor. I, however, chose to side with Lord Wickland.’

They had arrived at the top platform. Tristus set Theo and Mr Nicely down. The butler suddenly coughed, his body jerked to life, and he rolled over on to his side.

‘Good,’ whispered Tristus. ‘This one is coming back from the brink.’

Theo sat on a fungus globe, his throat parched, his eyes sore. He still had so much to ask and was terrified that the garghoul would flit away.

‘Why did you side with Lord Wickland?’ asked Theo. ‘Were you friends?’ Theo had heard such dreadful things about his ancestor that he longed to believe he was a wonderful figure, lord of ancient mysteries, ally of garghouls.

Tristus pondered long before he spoke. It seemed to Theo that there was a dark cloud on the garghoul’s brow.

‘Now is not the moment to tell the tale of those times – times so dark I hope you never know their like. But I will tell you this much. The power that Lord Wickland carried – and the power you now hold – is sacred to my people.’

Theo frowned. He had seen the horrific effects of his rare gift. This remark from Tristus was, to say the least, unexpected.

‘Sacred?’ he echoed.

‘Yes,’ the garghoul replied. ‘It was recognised in the Beginning Time and called
tripudon.’

‘That’s what we call it!’ Theo said.

‘Because you are using our language when you do,’ Tristus retorted. ‘It is the energy of the
jump
– the power to change things. It is the force that brings life to a stagnant world.’ The creature’s beautiful eyes glimmered brightly and seemed to fill the dark tunnel with starlight.

‘In this cold universe it is the difference between
yes
and
no,
the reason life takes its chance over the barrenness of death. Theo, you have scarcely begun to understand your power. It is precious, and will grow with you as your wisdom grows. Use it well.’

Theo noticed that Tristus had grown gloomy again, his head hung low. He wondered what made Tristus so sad. Was it because he didn’t have the power? Did he miss his old friend, the original Candle Man?

‘Lord Wickland
was
a hero, wasn’t he?’ Theo asked.

‘Yes, he was,’ said Tristus. ‘And he was also terrible. Exactly what was needed in his time.’

Theo must have looked dismayed, for Tristus lay a consoling hand on his shoulder.

‘Your ancestor was a great man, Theo,’ the garghoul said. ‘You have a proud history to live up to.’

Theo smiled. He had always believed there would be something good about his terrible destiny. He had known it in his heart all along.

‘And you want to help me, because I’m the new Candle Man,’ Theo said, comforted.

But the garghoul’s eyes darkened to midnight blue. ‘It is not as simple as that,’ he replied.

‘Then why –’

Tristus interrupted. ‘Just because you can ask a question, it doesn’t guarantee that it has a good answer,’ he said mysteriously. ‘Or an answer that you would like to hear. Now, enough questions!’

Tristus supported Mr Nicely and helped the delirious butler to stagger along the passage. They were heading slowly upwards now. Theo felt he could almost smell the surface air.

They had reached the hatch. Memories began to flood back – of the last time Theo had stood at this secret doorway, and who he had been with, before the terrible events of the last day. He drove these thoughts away and, like an old campaigner, hit the central plaque lightly,
tip tap tip.

‘This is as far as I go,’ Tristus said, helping Theo support Mr Nicely on his own young shoulders.

‘So, will I see you again?’ Theo asked. ‘There’s so much more I want to know –’