The Phenomenals: A Game of Ghouls (11 page)

He beckoned to them to follow him, and they did, down a short corridor and into a small back room. It was wonderfully warm and cosy and quite different from the dusty neglected shop. Wenceslas
gestured to them both to sit down on the fireside chairs. The fire was stacked high with logs and was giving out powerful heat. The shopkeeper stood between them, staring from one to the other with
his tiny eyes.

‘I remembers you,’ he said to Jonah. ‘I still has that Cachelot tooth you etched, very skilful.’ Jonah reddened; he was not proud of his whaling past.

‘And I believes you to be Citrine Capodel.’ Wenceslas shook out a rolled-up bill that had been propped against the fireplace. It was one of Chief Guardsman Fessup’s ‘At
Large and Dangerous’ posters. It showed the four of them, the so-called ‘Phenomenals’, drawn in bold black ink, with the words ‘Murderers’ and ‘Thieves’
screaming out from above their heads. But it wasn’t the words that were the most prominent aspect of the poster. Unusually for such ‘wanted’ bills, Fessup had instructed the
printers to use colour, specifically for Citrine’s russet hair. The facial likeness was certainly reasonable, but her hair was unmistakable.

Citrine managed a laugh and pushed back her hood to display a head of rather odd-looking hair, still a strange and tangled mixture of black and her natural red from the recent dyeing disaster.
Wenceslas raised a wiry eyebrow, but said nothing.

‘We don’t want to cause you any trouble with Fessup or his Urgs,’ said Citrine, ‘but Suma said you might be able to help us.’

Wenceslas laughed. ‘Urgs? Pah! Not a brain cell between them. I ain’t worried ‘bout Fessup’s claptrapulation and his bungling pantaloons. Suma told me to help you anyhoos
I can, and that’s what I’ll do.’ He pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small paper packet. ‘For you.’

Citrine read the label. ‘Hair dye?’

‘Won’t run in the rain, this one, Suma says.’ Wenceslas went out into the shop and the two exchanged a quizzical glance as they listened to his rummaging about. He returned
carrying a large can.

‘Now, you’ll be needing something for that Trikuklos of yours – stands out like a sore thumb, it does. Your father always did like quality; only the biggest and best for
Hubert.’

‘You knew my father?’

‘Oh yes. He came in all the time, looking for bits and pieces. You know what I say – sumthin’ for ever’one in here. Now, I set aside a tin of this for you. Try
it.’

‘Paint?’ queried Jonah.

‘The Trikuklos is black already.’ Citrine was rather taken aback at the revelation that her father was a customer of the Caveat Emptorium. ‘How will this help?

‘Not paint, varnish, and no ornerary varnish neither,’ said Wenceslas. ‘It dries to a special sheen that reflects what’s around it.’

‘Like a mirror?’ Jonah sounded uncharacteristically sceptical.

‘Sort of,’ said Wenceslas. ‘But it makes things much harder to see. It ain’t perfect – it’s no invisible paint, if that’s what you’re thinking
– but on a dark night it does a good job of foxing any nosy Urgs.’

‘Kew very much,’ said Jonah, and graciously accepted the tin along with a couple of paintbrushes. Wenceslas, declaring dramatically that he had forgotten his manners, left to make a
brew and soon returned with a tray carrying three steaming mugs and a plate of hard cakes. Citrine and Jonah realized then how hungry they were. If they had been in the Kryptos, by now they would
have been eating slumgullion. Citrine was also taking a little pleasure from the relatively soft furniture and the simple act of drinking tea. Folly’s tisane was wonderful, but its flavour
took a little getting used to. This tea reminded her of the good things about her old life. Wenceslas did not keep coffins and bones in his sitting room.

‘So, how else can I help youse?’ asked Wenceslas.

‘Well, Mr Wincheap . . .’ began Citrine.

‘Wenceslas, please,’ insisted the Caveat’s owner.

‘Well, Wenceslas, I wondered if you had some chemicals for my Klepteffigium so I can finish the Depictions.’

‘Indeedy, I can certainly provide that,’ said Wenceslas, and went and returned in a matter of moments with two blue, ridged-glass, cork-stoppered bottles, which he handed over.

‘Anything else?’

I don’t suppose you can shed any light on what Governor d’Avidus and Leopold Kamptulicon are up to?’ asked Jonah, not sounding too hopeful.

Wenceslas sat and steepled his fingers and drummed out a little rhythm, the chubby tips undulating quickly, rather as a caterpillar moves. ‘I know that Leucer d’Avidus, for all his
pretence at being a man for the people, is a sly fellow not to be trusted. He has ’em fooled if they think he has their interests at heart. But I ain’t fooled. You don’t have to
go far back to see that the d’Avidus family are a bunch of troublemakers. Used to be in cahoots with Lord and Lady Degringolade, and we all know what an odd end they came to, a very odd end!
Holed up in that big old manor, never seen or heard of again. I never thought I’d see the day a d’Avidus would be elected to run the city. I cannot say how he got elected, though it
helps when you have the money he has. Money buys votes.’

‘We know that Leopold Kamptulicon—’

‘The “lamp seller”,’ scoffed Wenceslas.

‘. . . and my cousin, Edgar, are colluding.’

‘Colluding? Call it what it is, lass – hatching trouble. From what I know, it looks as if their plan, whatever it was, has been held up by all the ruckus at the Tar Pit.’

‘I thought Kamptulicon just wanted a Lurid,’ said Jonah, wiping crumbs from his mouth. He had devoured three cakes with gusto. Dipped in tea, they softened to a wonderful sweet
mush.

Wenceslas looked thoughtful. ‘Suma reckons that was a test, to see if it was even possible to embody a Lurid. Leucer has taken advantage of the fact that the citizens think your friend
Folly is responsible for all the trouble at the pit. Ever’one saw that sulfrus smoke pouring out of her. All Leucer has to do to throw them off his scent is to keep up this witch hunt against
you lot. It’s no coincidence they’ve named you the Phenomenals, after the worst Superents around. It’s scared the people and stirred up their superstitious nature like a porridge
spurtle. You’ve seen how ever’one still carries a Brinepurse even though the Ritual is past. And they wear their browpins and talismans and all sorts of whatnots.’

‘We’ve seen the tokens on the Kronometer,’ added Citrine.

‘Strange things ahead, according to my cards. The quake really shook this city up. The lighthouse is on the verge of collapse. In my ’pinion, it’s just another sign that
something’s afoot in the world of the Supermundane.’

‘Did you suffer much damage?’

The big man shook his head. ‘Oh, lost a few bits and bobs. It’s the other stuff you should be worried about. The Kronometer and the prophecy. If you were a black-bean merchant right
now, you’d make a fortune.’ Wenceslas paused a moment, as if considering a change of career. ‘If our governor can persuade the people that he is helping them through this
dangerous time, then he has them in the palm of his hand for whatever he wants to do in the future.’

‘Which is what?’ asked Jonah.

Wenceslas shrugged. ‘Whatever it is, it will help that he has Chief Constable Fessup and the DUG in his pocket.’

Citrine spoke up, unusually gloomily for her. ‘I know what’s in my future. I’m still wanted for Florian’s murder. If I can’t prove my innocence, I’m for the
noose.’

Wenceslas made a clicking noise with his tongue. ‘There’s no denying you’re between a rock and a hard place. Who do you think killed him?’

Citrine found herself unable to speak. ‘We think it was Edgar,’ said Jonah quietly.

‘Family, eh – you can’t choose ’em.’

Jonah got up and fastened his Cachelot-tooth toggles. ‘We should away with ourselves. There’s too many Urgs around for comfort, like circling sharks.’

Wenceslas led them back through the shop and Jonah marvelled at how the man kept track of all of his goods in the higgledy-piggledy mess. At the door, he nearly stepped on something and stooped
to pick up a pair of odd-looking spectacles that were poking out from under a shelf.

‘Aha!’ said Wenceslas. ‘So that’s where they got to. Must have been the quake knocked ’em off. You have ’em. More use to you than to me. You can adjust the
lenses using the screw at the side, to see near and far, like a ship’s telescope. An old feller gave them to me. He told me all about them at the time – I’m sure he said
sumthin’ else too. Anyhoos, I put them on the shelf and forgot about them. And he gave me another thing. Now, what was it?’

‘You wouldn’t have a Blivet on board?’ asked Jonah. ‘My whale spear’s no match for a Pluribus.’

Wenceslas started. ‘Domne! You met one of those nasty jelly beggars! That’s not good, not good at all! I have to tell Suma.’ Then he frowned. ‘Did you say Blivet? Few and
far between they are. Only Supermundane hunters and the like would have one of them weapons. I reckon a Blivet’s more suited to your blonde friend.’

He opened the door and looked out, gestured to them that the coast was clear, waved and closed the door after them.

‘I remember now,’ he mumbled to himself as he shot the bolts. ‘The other thing that old feller gave me, it was that metal arm.’

Rested from its exertions, the beast got to its feet again and began to walk. Tar dripped from its haunches and head and with every step it left behind black sticky footprints
that showed six clawed toes projecting from broad pads. The Lurids had watched in muted fascination as the beast scaled easily the ridge up to the salt marsh and disappeared over the edge.

It went on, doggedly, snarling and snapping at the Puca lights which, though too quick to be caught, kept their distance. It ignored the path and travelled as the corvid flies. Even when it sank
into the marsh it kept going, using its claws to get a hold in the mud and pull itself out. When the marsh became too deep, it swam, its paws like oars, propelled through the slime by its powerful
thighs. It spat out the salty water and shook the mud from its scales. If it stumbled, it dragged itself upright again. Every few hundred yards it would stop and, its breath coming in a sinister
rattle from the back of its throat, it would raise its giant head, black ears erect and to attention, and listen, like a dog being called by its master.

Or mistress.

Finally it reached the dense forest that had engulfed Degringolade Manor. Undeterred it ploughed on, head down, forcing its way through the thick bushes and trees until it was out of sight and
all that could be heard of its relentless progress was the cracking and snapping of branches as it continued on its way.

It approached the great doors of the manor and the multitude of trembling Pluriba. A few dared to challenge the beast and it ripped through their jelly bodies with its claws. After that the
others moved away and let it pass.

Now the beast hurled itself at the doors, which broke under its powerful force. Once inside, it started to run, up the stairs and along the gallery, straight to the master bedroom. It stopped to
sniff the air before proceeding to the dressing room. It rounded the screen and caught sight of itself in the mirror. It lashed out at its reflection and the glass shattered into a thousand
glittering pieces. Heedless of the sharp shards all over the floor, the beast entered the Ergastirion and went straight to the chair where the lady sat.

‘Katatherion,’ crooned the mummy. ‘I knew you would come.’

Vincent sat still and steady in his eyrie at the top of the Kronometer’s thirteen pillars. For a brief moment he had turned away from his real target – the
Governor’s Residence – to look at the lighthouse. What the paper had said was true: it was at an acute angle now as a result of the earthquake. For the time being the powerful beam
still shone out across the water at night, thanks to the innovative clockwork mechanism that kept the lens revolving, but if it wasn’t repaired quickly the oil would run out and the lens
would become so dirty that the light would not be seen.

He turned his attention back to the house on the misty peak of Collis Hill. Carefully he adjusted the screws at the side of Jonah’s glasses, bringing the building nearer and nearer. He
could see the wall and the gates and the two guards in the sentry boxes on either side of the gate pillars. The wall was about ten feet tall with a jagged top – from here it looked like
broken glass jutting out from the bricks – clearly designed to wound. Governor d’Avidus made no secret of the fact that unexpected visitors were not welcome.

He had often heard the clanking of the funicular railway, and now, with the glasses, he saw it quite clearly. It operated two small carriages, each just big enough to hold four people standing.
The carriages acted as counterbalances for each other. They were both attached to the same steel cable and as one went up, the other went down. As he watched, the carriage at the top started to
descend one side of the near-vertical parallel rails. He hadn’t seen anyone get into it so he deduced that someone must be coming up in the partner carriage below. There were control rooms at
the top and the bottom, each with a guard.

Tonight had been Vincent’s first visit to Degringolade since that terrifying meeting with Axel. In the intervening days, the four of them had stayed within the confines of the Komaterion
on account of the weather. They had kept busy; when not stirring slumgullion, Folly’s head was buried in the Omnia Intum; Jonah sang shanties as he sharpened the points of his whale spear;
Citrine practised her card-spreading and developed Depictions and, when she thought no one was looking, she looked at her locket, the one that never left her neck. Within it was her father’s
picture, but behind that was the broken fingernail she hoped would one day prove that Edgar had killed Florian. As for Vincent, he had taken the opportunity to hone his skills with the
impedimentium and his metal hand.