Seven Sorcerers (29 page)

‘Look, I’d better get on. I sweep the Sunatorium in the morning, to get rid of the night’s leaves. Then I go over it again just before Mr Strood takes his afternoon walk. He likes it neat.’

‘The Sanatorium?’ said Nin, puzzled.

‘
Sun
atorium,’ corrected Milo. He stood and picked up a broom and sack that lay abandoned at his feet. ‘It’s where Mr Strood goes to get the sun, see. You can help if you like?’

So she did. She had nothing better to do. Toby was dead, she was sure of that. She was way too late to save him.

linor led Jik and Jonas through the twisting corridors of the hospital until they reached the cellar. There were a couple of lamps and some matches on a shelf by the door, so Jonas lit them both, handing one to Elinor, and they started down the stairs. Jik went first, his eyes cutting red holes in the darkness.

They came out in a cool, dry room stacked with bottles, boxes and sacks. Beyond that, two more held crates and large barrels. Finally came a fourth that held nothing but cobwebs and dank air.

‘I still can’t believe you have a tunnel right into his house,’ laughed Jonas.

‘Many years before Strood took over, even before it belonged to Gan Mafig, the House and its grounds were owned by a sorcerer. This building was where his mistress lived, protected from the eyes of his wife by magical spells. One theory is that he made this tunnel so that he could get here secretly. Of course, it may have fallen in by now. No one has passed this way for decades.’

At the far side of the cellar, Elinor pointed the lamp towards a flight of steps ending in a half-rotten door.

‘Remember, Jonas,’ said Elinor. ‘You aren’t free yet. We have loosened the Storm’s hold on you, but that is all. It is still there and in the end you will have to fight it alone. Hang on to what is yours, don’t let it take your heart.’

Jonas reached out and touched her hand, feeling her cool and slender fingers against his palm.

‘Thank you again,’ he said. ‘I’ll never forget.’ And then, with Jik close behind and the lamp held high, he walked down the steps and through the door into the unknown.

After a while they found some steps up to a low-roofed tunnel that sloped downwards.

There were several twists and turns and one very sharp dip before it rose again, but there were no forks so they had no decisions to make about which way to go. Then they ran into a roof fall. The pile of earth was thigh high, but easy enough to scramble over.

‘Great,’ Jonas muttered, ‘all this effort and what’s the betting it’ll be blocked further up?’

The second fall they came across was bigger. Jik pushed his way through easily, but Jonas had to crawl over it, half-smothered in loose earth and bruised by stones, until he slithered out the other side and fell with a thump on the hard ground. More earth and rocks fell as he did so, blocking the way back. He had lost the lamp as well.

‘Great! Brilliant!’

They paused to let Jonas calm down and get his bearings. Without the lamp they had only Jik’s eyes to rely on and they did not penetrate dark as far or a brightly as the lamp had. Jonas tripped once and bumped his head on a low-hanging bulge in the roof. He snarled under his breath and Jik sent him an anxious glance.

Fuelled by anger and frustration, the Hound inside Jonas began to pace. His eyes started to glow white and even though he didn’t notice, he began to manage more easily in the dark than a mere Quick should have. Jik noticed though and took care to hang back, following a few feet behind so as to keep out of the way.

The third fall fell on them. So did the fourth.

Jonas pulled himself out of the last pile of earth, the white light in his eyes glowing brighter. He growled, then cocked his head. Behind him the debris heaved slightly as Jik began to push his way out, the red lights of his eyes just beginning to show through the loose rubble. There was a rumbling sound as more soil fell, then stone, then more soil until the tunnel was blocked by a wall of earth and the two red glows had been buried completely.

Jonas barely noticed. Voices echoed up the passageway from the darkness ahead. Snarling, he faced the sounds and waited.

Floyd was looking forward to a sit down with a mug of mulled cider. So was his mate, Stanley. They had been on
duty all night and their shift should have been over, but Secretary Scribbins had sent them to investigate rumours of a crack in the wall of the east corridor on the graveyard level. As well as the crack, Stanley had spotted a suspicious-looking tunnel at the back of the graveyard and so they were doing more investigating as per instructions.

Stanley swapped his spear from one hand to the other. He wished he was the one holding the lantern they had borrowed from the gravedigger.

‘This ’ere tunnel’s goin’ on a bit,’ said Floyd. ‘Reckon we should go back an’ report it? We might’ve found that Secret Way what’s s’posed to be in the down ’ouse somewhere.’

‘Shhh! There’s somethin’ up there!’

Floyd got ready with his club and Stanley pointed his spear. They crept on further, treading as silently as possible for a goblin-Grimm. Suddenly something moved in the darkness.

Stanley screamed. He would spend the rest of his life trying to live it down. Guards weren’t supposed to scream.

The whatever-it-was snarled at them and Floyd waved his club menacingly at the creature. Its eyes glowed in the darkness.

‘It’s a Quick!’

‘Quicks don’ look like that,’ wailed Stanley. ‘Not yer normal sorta Quick anyway.’ He was pointing his spear at the whatever-it-was. The spear wobbled in his shaking hands.

‘Pull yerself together, mate,’ said Floyd in disgust.

Stanley would have liked to pull himself together, but he had never seen anything as eerie as the thing in front of him. It wasn’t the eyes filled with white lightning, or the savage snarl that unnerved him, it was the fact that both of these things were on the face of a Quick.

It paused for a moment, eyeing them up. Then it went for Floyd.

Stanley jabbed at it with his spear and missed. Floyd roared and went over backwards, the thing at his throat. The dropped lantern rolled against the wall sending shadows everywhere. There was a struggle in which Floyd also dropped his club. Stanley grabbed it and whacked as hard as he could.

Floyd roared again.

‘Sorry, mate,’ yelped Stanley.

The bundle that was Floyd and his attacker rolled on the floor to a lot of hideous snarling. Blood spattered on the wall making Stanley gulp. He judged his moment and tried again. This time he got it.

Floyd staggered to his feet, gasping. ‘Blimmin’ thing nearly had me throat out!’

‘I got it!’ Stanley looked lovingly at the club. He was going to trade in his spear, he decided.

Floyd stared at the thing on the floor. Now it just looked Quick.

‘Crumbs. I think ya killed ’im.’

‘It was goin’ for yer throat,’ snapped Stanley. ‘Look at ya, covered in blood!’

‘Ya didn’ need to kill ’im.’

‘Yeah, I shoulda waited to see if it ripped ya t’ pieces first!’ said Stanley sarcastically. ‘Too late now, any’ow. Come on, we carn’ leave ’im ’ere. At least it’s not far t’ the graveyard!’

‘Dead Quick,’ said Floyd dumping one end of Jonas on the ground. ‘Nearly ’ad me throat out!’

‘I saved ’im,’ added Stanley, looking nervously up at the gravedigger towering over them.

The gravedigger raised an eyebrow. ‘What, two hulking great things like you couldn’t catch a Quick without bashin’ its ’ead in! Want me t’ bury ’im?’

‘Thanks, mate,’ said the guard, sounding more cheerful now the problem was off his hands.

Leaning on his shovel, the gravedigger watched them tramping away into the distance. Everything went quiet. Then he leaned over and prodded the corpse in its ribs.

‘You ain’t dead,’ he said. ‘I know dead when I see it and you ain’t it. Own up, or I’ll bury you anyway.’

Jonas rolled over and sat up on his elbows, turning the throb in his head into an agonising thud. Wincing in the light, he opened his eyes and looked to see what had rumbled him.

It was horrible. It was at least nine foot tall and would have been taller if it bothered to stand up straight. It had skin as dark as granite that looked hard and shiny, like a beetle. Its eyes were yellow with cat-like pupils and it
had talons. And teeth. Big talons and teeth. Its face would have looked fine as a Halloween mask and it was wearing a pair of sackcloth trousers topped by a huge T-shirt decorated with the words ‘Gardener of the Year’.

‘Fabulous,’ muttered Jonas.

‘Too right! One of the last goblins, me. Name’s Taggit Sepplekrum. And you are?’

Jonas tried to rise and bright lights flashed in front of his eyes. He flopped back again. ‘Jonas,’ he mumbled weakly.

He lay for a while, listening to Taggit digging. Eventually the pain in his head died down enough for him to drag himself into a sitting position. He thought he might be sick all over Taggit’s well-kept grass, but fortunately he wasn’t.

Although he was in a vast, underground graveyard – he could see the rocky ceiling above him – there seemed to be daylight. Turning his head slowly he saw huge arched windows cut into the rocky wall, looking out on to sky. Fresh air blew in through them. After a while he managed to get to his feet and wander, very, very carefully, over there.

Propped against the strip between two windows, Jonas breathed in the air and began to feel better. Now he could see that the windows were cut into the cliff face. Below, sea swirled against the rocks. He could smell the salt and hear seagulls crying.

‘Better?’ Taggit was standing behind him, carrying the shovel on his shoulder.

‘Much, thanks. I’ve … um … lost a mudman though. Have you seen one about anywhere?’

‘Oh we don’ ’ave Land Magics ’ere. Don’ need ’em, see. Got the servants.’

Jonas nodded, wondering what to do. He could go back and look for Jik, but the pain in his head told him he wouldn’t get far. The gravedigger hadn’t given him away to the guards, but even so, Jonas wasn’t sure he counted as a friend yet. Best to keep quiet about Jik. The mudman was perfectly able to look after himself and it meant that one of them was still free to search for Nin.

‘I expect he’ll have gone back to earth by now anyway,’ he said, as if it didn’t matter.

‘Right-oh. Come with me and we’ll brew a cuppa. Then you can explain all this glowin’ eyes and goin’ for the throat stuff.’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Jonas, following Taggit towards a wooden hut at the edge of the graveyard. He went slowly because his head was spinning.

‘We’ll just ’ave t’ brew a big pot, then, won’t we?’ The goblin pushed open a door and led the way in.

The room was a fair size, although with Taggit there it seemed small. There was a table with two chairs, a bed, a sink, a stove, a crate full of food, a crate full of china and pots, several shovels, a couple of pictures in frames, a vase of flowers (dead), a spare coffin and a lot of oversized cushions.

‘You’ve got a garden?’ said Jonas, nodding at the gravedigger’s T-shirt as he sank gratefully into a chair.

‘Just the graveyard,’ said Taggit, putting the kettle on and tracking down a couple of mugs. He tipped the old tea down the sink, gave them a rub on his T-shirt and set them on the table. ‘But I keep the grass nice and do a lot of plantin’.’