The Bonehill Curse (14 page)

Azuli stood gaping at Ness.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Ness snapped. ‘Have you never seen a girl in trousers before?’

‘I, erm, no,’ Azuli stammered, his face reddening.

‘Well, you’d better get used to it quickly. If we have to run or fight, I don’t want to be struggling with long skirts again,’ Ness said. ‘I had enough trouble persuading Jabalah to donate a pair. He looked even more horrified when I cut the legs short.’

Jabalah hurried back from the gate through the mist, sweat beading his brow. ‘It’s still quiet,’ he panted, revealing his age and lack of fitness. ‘It is unnerving, the way they stand so still. You must hurry. Who knows how long the djinn will take to recover.’

‘What are we asking this man for?’ Azuli frowned.

‘You have to be completely candid with him,’ Jabalah said, placing a hand on Azuli’s shoulder. ‘Tell him everything. Hafid trusts this man. He may be able to think of some way to defeat the djinn.’

‘And to rescue my parents,’ Ness added.

Jabalah sighed and shook his head. ‘Our priority has to be to stop the djinn.’

‘But if we can force him to release them . . .’ Ness said, narrowing her eyes.

‘We’ll find a way.’ Azuli nodded.

Ness didn’t miss the glance he gave Jabalah.
I’m not going to let you kill the djinn before I’ve found my parents
, she promised herself. Ness pulled a cap down low on her brow.

‘Let’s get going then,’ she said, leading the way to the blocked alley with the small gateway.

Azuli pulled the barrels out of the way and Ness scrambled through. The alleyway on the other side of the wall lay empty except for a few rotting barrels leaking something putrid on to the slimy cobbles. Ness stooped to help Azuli up as he scrambled through after her.

‘I bet all the djinn’s attention is focused on the main gates,’ he murmured. ‘We’d better get a move on before he realises we’re out.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Ness gasped, staring into the swirling fog. At first, all she could hear was the slip and scuff of boots on the cobblestones. Then a shadowy figure loomed out of the mist, moving towards them fast.

Azuli drew a sword. ‘You try to get past,’ he said, slashing at the air. ‘I’ll keep it occupied and try to catch up with you.’

‘No,’ Ness snapped. ‘We go together or not at all.’

Azuli frowned, his eyes burning, but then he gave a grin. ‘You are impossible,’ he said, starting forward. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘It has been mentioned.’ Ness grinned, following him.

Her grin froze as a man charged out of the mist towards them. She glimpsed a shock of grey hair, a khaki uniform and a bristling moustache.

‘Azuli, no! I think –’ she cried, trying to grab him and pull him back.

But he slipped out of reach. With a yell, Azuli ran to meet the figure, flailing the air with his sword. The man stopped and swung his rifle up to parry the blow, then swung the butt into Azuli’s stomach, sending him sprawling, helpless, to the ground.

A thousand regrets will not pay ba
c
k a single debt.

T
raditional proverb

Chapter Nineteen

E
venyule
S
c
rabsnit
c
h

‘I admire your spirit, sonny, but you need to be a bit more artful than that,’ the man grunted, poking the rifle barrel to Azuli’s nose.

‘Major Morris!’ Ness yelled, throwing herself at him. ‘Thank goodness!’

‘It’s good to see you, my girl.’ Morris dropped the rifle and wrapped her in his burly arms. ‘They couldn’t keep me locked up for long.’

‘What happened? How did you get away?’ Ness gabbled.

Morris’s face grew grim as he shook his head. ‘I managed to escape from those bumpkin constables but you’d taken my advice and jumped on a barge by then. I went to your house –’

‘I know,’ Ness cut in. ‘The djinn burned it and he took my parents.’

‘You think they’re still alive?’ Morris said, raising his eyebrows.

‘I know it,’ Ness said, remembering the words of the djinn in her dream.

‘Thank God,’ Morris muttered. ‘I thought the Lashkars might have caught up with you, so I decided to track them down first. Took me a while, I’ll confess. Well hidden, these blighters.’

‘Excuse me,’ Azuli groaned, scrambling to his feet and nursing his stomach. ‘But who is this man? And what gives him the right to attack me?’

‘Pardon me, sonny, but you charged at me swinging that sword,’ Morris grunted, squinting at Azuli. ‘You were lucky I didn’t blow your bloomin’ head off.’

Azuli glared at Morris. ‘My name is Azuli,’ he muttered, ‘and I am not your son.’

‘I know who you are, sonny,’ Morris growled. ‘An’ I know all about your Lashkars. I fought alongside some of them in India.’

‘If you know all about us, then you should treat me with more respect,’ Azuli said, holding Morris’s gaze. ‘Besides, in this evil mist, how are you even still alive?’

‘That’s enough,’ Ness snapped. ‘We can talk on the way but we must get to Jesmond Street before the djinn recovers.’

‘It’s a fair question, Ness,’ Morris said as they set off. ‘Let’s just say that my time with the Hinderton Rifles taught me a thing or two about warding off poisonous magical miasmas.’

The three figures drew some curious gazes as they strode along the London streets; a tall military man, dressed in khaki, with a bristling moustache and ruddy features, followed by a boy in a turban with a sword buckled to his belt and what looked like a ragged street urchin in cut-down trousers and a battered cap. As they went, Ness gave Morris a garbled account of all that had happened while also trying to explain to Azuli who this strange, imposing old man was.

The mist had confined itself to the immediate area of Arabesque Alley so that everything seemed normal on these streets. Housewives scurried among the street stalls, haggling with the fruit sellers; butchers’ boys hurried through the crowd with legs of meat over their shoulders; people called and waved to each other. Ness felt a sudden pang of sadness.
How could anyone want to end all this life?

‘I’ve known your parents for many years, Ness,’ Morris said as they weaved in and out of the crowd. ‘I served under your father in India but it was your mother who showed me special kindness when I lost my daughter and grandchildren. I’ll not reopen old wounds, if you don’t mind.’ Morris coughed roughly and Ness detected a twinkle of moisture in his eye. ‘Suffice to say, she became like a second daughter to me and so when she asked me to watch out for you, I was more than happy to.’

‘Mama asked you to teach me to fight and shoot?’ Ness frowned, incredulous. ‘Why would she do that?’

‘She didn’t ask me to.’ Morris gave another cough. ‘That was my idea. I could see what a free spirit you were. I knew I couldn’t protect you for ever so I decided to give you the skills to defend yourself.’

‘But you pretended to be mad?’ Azuli said, trying to keep up with Morris and with the story.

‘Was I pretending?’ Morris said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Mrs Bonehill was very particular that I didn’t reveal that I was there to watch over Ness. It was a perfect cover.’

‘But why?’ Azuli shook his head.

‘How do you think Ness would’ve reacted to the news that I was keeping an eye on her?’

Azuli grinned. ‘She probably would have shot you with your own rifle.’

Morris grinned back at him. ‘Something like that, I dare say. But your parents were also worried about Grossford finding you.’

‘Uncle Carlos?’ Ness said. ‘But why wouldn’t they want him to find me?’

‘He sent you the bottle, didn’t he?’ Morris said. ‘Carlos was a dangerous man by all accounts and often demanded money from your father, threatening him with the bottle and the djinn. I hate to say it, Ness, but the people your father mixed with weren’t very pleasant and, well, neither was he.’

Ness bit her lip and then looked at her shoes. ‘I know that, Sergeant Major,’ she mumbled.

‘Mrs Bonehill told you all about the djinn and you believed her?’ Azuli said.

‘I saw enough horror and mystery in the Hindertons to convince me that there’s more to this world than meets the eye.’ Morris’s ruddy complexion paled. ‘And I’ve learned to be careful what
I
wish for.’

‘Well, it wouldn’t do any harm to wish we were in more salubrious surroundings,’ Ness said, wrinkling her nose as they turned into Jesmond Street. ‘I fear this place has fallen on hard times.’

Jesmond Street had indeed seen better days. Costermongers bellowed their wares across the ragged crowd that seethed along its cobbles but the shops that lined the street sagged against each other. Roof tiles slipped to reveal the skeleton of beams beneath and paint peeled from window frames, the panes of glass grimed and opaque.

‘But not, it seems, the emporium.’ Ness frowned as she squeezed between two portly gents. ‘Number Thirteen, there it is.’

The Emporium of Archaic Antiquities stood out on the row of crumbling shops like a lord visiting a workhouse. Its frontage gleamed, with artefacts lined up behind the shining window panes. It stood tall and proud as if turning its nose up at the desolation that surrounded it.

‘It’s a long time since I’ve been down this way.’ Morris raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Things have changed. It was always the emporium that struggled in the past.’

‘You know it?’ Ness stared at Morris, almost knocking a woman over in the crush.

‘I brought a few . . . items back from my travels.’ Morris looked rather shamefaced. ‘Temple bowls and statues and such. The owner would buy them off me, polish them up and sell them on as something exotic and special.’

The bright ping of a brass bell heralded their arrival as they heaved open the door. The interior of the emporium was vast; it made Ness think of a cross between a church and a library. Bookshelves lined the walls, disappearing up into the shadows near the ceiling. Display cases stood in rows, full of curious objects and stuffed animals. Old chairs and suits of shining armour were dotted about the room. Light streamed in through the huge display windows at the front of the shop.

Across the room a fire crackled merrily and next to it, in a huge leather armchair, sat an ancient-looking man smoking a long-stemmed pipe. He wore a brightly coloured smoking jacket and a pillbox hat that balanced on top of a mass of wispy, white hair.

‘Welcome to the Emporium of Archaic Antiquities,’ the man said, his voice sonorous and dramatic. ‘I am Evenyule Scrabsnitch, purveyor of the bizarre, the macabre and the downright inexplicable. How may I help you?’

‘Is that you, Ted?’ Morris said, squinting at the old man. ‘Ted Oliver?’

‘That
was
a name I used to go by,’ he replied, and squinted back at Morris through a small pair of spectacles. His long face was exaggerated by a walrus moustache. ‘Good Lord! It’s Morris, isn’t it? Charlie Morris.’ He pulled himself to his feet and grabbed the sergeant’s hand.

Morris shook it so vigorously that Ness worried the old man would fall over. ‘I thought you’d be long gone.’ Morris beamed, then his expression fell. ‘Do pardon me, I didn’t mean . . .’

Scrabsnitch laughed. ‘No, no, I haven’t gone yet.’ He eyed Morris. ‘I’ve had incredible good fortune.’

‘Indeed.’ Ness looked around her and chewed her lip.

‘Forgive me.’ Scrabsnitch struggled to his feet again and bowed to Ness and Azuli. ‘Welcome to my emporium. Charlie calls me Ted Oliver but these days I’m known as Evenyule Scrabsnitch – something of an affectation I adopted in times gone by.’

‘Before your incredible good fortune?’ Ness murmured, raising one eyebrow at him.

‘This is Necessity Bonehill and Azuli of the Lashkars of Sulayman,’ Morris said.

Ness noticed Scrabsnitch flinch at the sound of her name and he spluttered on the smoke from his pipe.

‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ Scrabsnitch said, recovering himself and taking her hand. ‘I knew your father.’

‘I can tell,’ Ness said, fixing him with her eye. ‘And what was it
you
wished for, Mr Scrabsnitch?’

One ounce of good fortune is worth ten pounds of wisdom.

T
raditional proverb

Chapter Twenty

T
he
T
hing in the 
C
upboard

Scrabsnitch heaved a long sigh and seemed to sink further into his armchair.

‘I’m not proud of what we did,’ he said at last. ‘1854 was a bad year for me. Times were hard and so when my research with your father into the existence of the djinn came to fruition, I was only too happy to participate. Especially when your father came up with what seemed like a foolproof plan.’

‘Plan?’ Ness repeated.

‘Yes. Our research had shown that the djinn gave a wish to whoever opened the bottle but that there were dangers. We read of an event in the 1830s in Spain in which a djinn slew the bottle holder after granting his wish.’

‘My father still talks of that bottle,’ Azuli murmured. ‘It was a fearsome creature.’