The Phenomenals: A Game of Ghouls (4 page)

In the middle of the black lake the Lurids huddled in uneasy anticipation. Above them the moon was now in its perigee phase, nearing the earth, and although men might gaze upon
it in wonder and awe the Lurids feared the silvery disc, and its ever-closer presence caused them pain.

But the moon’s increasing proximity was just one reason the Lurids were unsettled. The earthquake had greatly added to their agitation. And it was not only those who dwelt above the
shifting ground who had been disturbed, but also those below. Somewhere deep in the subterranean realms of the salt marsh, in a damp and pitch-black cavern, a creature of horrific appearance was
shaken and stirred by the earth’s seismic shift.

It was a devilish beast, no doubt about that. It could be likened to a dog, if a dog had scaly skin.. It had jaws like a dog and it opened these jaws in a huge yawn, drawing its lips back from
its yellow fangs and exposing its darkly red shining throat. When its mouth closed and the teeth came together, four fangs remained visible, sliding down beside each other so tightly not even a
flea’s leg would have fitted in between.

The creature stretched like a cat waking after a long slumber, its claws scoring the ground deeply and its broad rump pushing upward. It stood up to its full height on four thick-thighed bristly
legs. It was ill-tempered; it was hungry for sustenance; it wanted to be free.

Slowly, stiffly, it left the cavern and began its journey towards the surface.

Folly, still pondering her close encounter with the gelatinous Superent, was negotiating her way between the graves and monuments in the Komaterion when the earthquake struck.
The squat, grey Kryptos was already in sight when she became aware that something was up, alerted by the scores of rabbits fleeing their burrows and bounding away, paying her no heed at all.

At the onset of the tremor Folly crouched low and steadied herself against a tree. This was not something she had experienced before and it took a great deal of self-control to quell the fear
that surged in her veins. She was glad to be in the relative safety of the Komaterion rather than on the narrow marsh path where she could so easily have been tossed into the surrounding sucking
mud pools. Though it might not have been such a bad thing if she had; to be covered in salty marsh mud was marginally better than the slimy Supermundane residue that coated her at present.

After a long thirty seconds, when terra firma really was terra firma again, with her heart pummelling her ribs, Folly ran to the shelter of the Kryptos porch. From the outside the tomb looked
unscathed by the geological assault, but the door was stiff. She suspected that it had shifted slightly on its hinges. Once inside she leaned against it to close it and finally allowed herself to
relax, glad to breathe in the smell of what she considered home – the lingering aroma of slumgullion – and to hear the hum of the tar-powered Cold Cabinet (which Jonah had lugged from
the Capodel Townhouse).

Folly glanced at the clock on the mantel – a delightful Ansonia swinger clock with a dainty cherub-like figure (purloined by Vincent, of course) – and realized that she hadn’t
heard the Kronometer ring in the hour. Perhaps the grumbling earth had drowned out its chimes. The others had promised to be back by Mid-Nox. She was annoyed that they were late, but part of her
was glad to have the place to herself. Vincent wasn’t the only one who valued his solitude.

Keen to clean herself up, Folly struck a firestrike and lit the wall lamps. With a certain degree of trepidation she looked around the chamber. One of the flagstones had split, over by the
casket plinth they used as a table. Somewhat macabrely, Lady Degringolade’s own casket had been shaken from its niche in the wall and now lay on its side on the floor. The lid had broken into
four pieces and her disarticulated skeleton spewed forth in a confusion of bones.

Folly knelt to replace the bones in the casket and saw out of the corner of her eye that a piece of stone had been dislodged from the wall behind her pillow. She tutted. That was where she kept
Kamptulicon’s stolen Omnia Intum, in the cavity behind the stone. The small book was still there; she took it and put it in her pocket. Now that her hiding place was no longer secure, she
would have to find somewhere better. The other three didn’t know where she kept it, and that was how it should be. A Cunningman’s handbook was a volume that deserved respect. Within its
pages were centuries-old secrets, incantations and rituals of the Supermundane. She was certain that Kamptulicon would come looking for it before too long, and the fewer people who knew its hiding
place the better. Unfortunately, the Kryptos was not designed to conceal secrets.

Still sticky with the Superent’s goo, Folly put a large pot over the fire to heat some water. The door scraped open and Vincent, Citrine and Jonah came hurrying in.

‘Sorry we’re late . . .’ began Citrine, and then she put her hand to her mouth in shock. ‘What in Aether happened to you?’

Folly did indeed cut a rather bedraggled figure. ‘I was attacked,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘but the other one came off worse, believe me. I just need a wash.’

‘Domne, so you felt it here too,’ said Jonah, stepping into the chamber, carefully avoiding the crack in the floor.

‘You clean yourself up,’ said Citrine, taking the slumgullion pot from the Cold Cabinet. ‘I’ll sort some food. Did you know the Kronometer’s stopped?’

Folly looked at her sharply. ‘Stopped?’

‘Yes, the quake . . .’ started Citrine, but Folly talked over her:

‘Oh goodness, the prophecy! I had forgotten all about that,’ said Citrine.

‘Prophecy?’ Vincent looked astonished at Folly’s spontaneous performance.

‘It’s associated with the Kronometer,’ said Folly.

‘Yes,’ said Citrine. ‘Everyone knows it here, but I haven’t heard mention of it for years.’

Vincent laughed. ‘A Degringolade will rise from the dead?’ He pointed to Lady Degringolade’s fallen casket and the bones within. ‘I don’t think there’s much
chance of that.’

Folly went to the trunk in the corner and pulled out some clean clothes. Jonah righted the coffin, replaced the lid as well as he could, like a badly fitting jigsaw, and shoved it up against the
wall. He contemplated lifting it back into the niche. He knew he could, but he thought perhaps the cavity would make a good sleeping place for him. He couldn’t get used to the floor and,
though nothing would match the gentle swing of a hammock on a ship, the niche would surely be preferable.

Vincent was still in a state of exhilaration after his latest narrow escape. Luck was definitely on his side tonight. Not only had he escaped Leucer’s bullet – admittedly the
earthquake had played a part in that – but with remarkable serendipity he had entered Mercator Square just as Citrine and Jonah were taking off in the Trikuklos. What a shock he had given
them when he had jumped out from behind a stall and asked for a ride. He was starting to think that being in a city as riven with superstition as Degringolade might not be such a bad thing.
Certainly he had done well thieving. There was something about the atmosphere of Degringolade too, not just the wailing Lurids and the oily stink from the Tar Pit, that made him feel he could take
chances he wouldn’t normally. Jonah had called him foolish; he preferred to think of himself as daring and courageous.

He noticed, with a small sound of dismay, that the wall mirror was shattered. ‘What happened here? Did you look in the mirror, Folly?’ He enjoyed teasing the serious girl.

Folly, combing goo from her hair, was in no mood for levity. She gave him a withering look. ‘Very funny. We’re not all so concerned with our looks.’

Citrine shot an anxious look at Jonah, but he was busy investigating the damage and hadn’t heard. She tried to catch Vincent’s eye, but he was too wrapped up in laughing at his own
joke.

It was no secret that he liked to look at himself, and Folly had scolded him more than once about his habit of leaving the mirror exposed. ‘You know it’s bad luck to leave mirrors
uncovered at night,’ she had said. ‘You’re just inviting Superents to come through.’

Vincent scoffed. Although he had become more accepting of the Degringoladians’ superstitious way of life, and now agreed that Superents really did exist, he found this particular taboo
tedious. Citrine, sensing Folly’s irritation, tried to defuse the growing tension. ‘So what exactly attacked you? A Lurid?

Folly shook her head. ‘No, not a Lurid, something else. My father came home once covered with this muck. It’s called “ghouze” and it’s poisonous to eat. He told me
the creature’s name, but I can’t remember it. I’m sure I saw a picture of it in the book.’

Folly ran her fingers through her damp blonde hair one last time, then took out Kamptulicon’s book and flicked towards the end. Here there were many pages devoted wholly to creatures of
the Supermundane, a gruesome litany of Superents.

‘My word, but it’s like Homer’s catalogue of ships,’ commented Citrine, and spent a few sombre seconds reminiscing about her schoolroom days. Folly pointed to an ink
drawing of what could only be described as a shapeless blob. ‘It was this one.’

‘It doesn’t look like it was ever a person. I always thought Superents were the shades of dead people.’

‘Lurids are,’ said Folly, ‘but there are plenty of other Superents that were never human. This is a Pluribus. Listen.’ She proceeded to read from the book:

‘“Green in colour, a Pluribus (plural Pluriba) is composed of ghouze, a semi-liquefied Supermundane substance, created from invisible atmospheric particles called minuscules (thought
to be the fifth state after solids, liquids, gases and plasma), which are attracted to each other whenever there is a disturbance of significance in the Supermundane world. Pluriba exist overground
and are generally thought to be a harbinger of disaster or a malevolent event.”’

Vincent snorted, annoyed that he hadn’t yet had a chance to tell his story. ‘Are you sure about that? I mean, this is Quodlatin after all. It could mean anything.’

Folly ignored the jibe, which referred to the time she had mistranslated the deceptive language. ‘It’s not
all
in Quodlatin. Some of it is quite straightforward. It’s
the secret stuff, the rituals and mysteries, that can be confusing.’

‘I wonder if it’s all connected to Kamptulicon summoning the Lurid,’ mused Citrine aloud, stirring the slumgullion. Folly continued to look through the book and Jonah was still
on his hands and knees by the plinth. Vincent took out the bottles of wine from his pockets and set them down rather loudly on the table. ‘Rather more appetizing than your ghoul goo,’
he said.

Citrine was impressed. ‘They look very good.’ She noted the labels. ‘I’ve seen ones like them in my father’s cellar.’

‘Only the best for Leucer d’Avidus.’

Folly closed the book. ‘Leucer? Don’t tell me you’ve been in the Governor’s Residence.’

‘No, at the wine merchant’s, Salmanazar’s. I’ve just had the narrowest escape ever.’

Jonah raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Another one?’

‘Leucer and the merchant came in. I had to fight them off.’

‘You mean they saw you?’ Folly sounded increasingly incredulous.

‘I escaped just as the quake struck.’ This wasn’t exactly how it had happened, but Vincent was not going to allow Folly to spoil his moment of glory.

‘He’s not the only one to have had a narrow escape,’ said Citrine. Unlike Vincent, her face reddened as she told Folly about the near miss with the Urban Guardsman.

Now Folly looked aghast. ‘Are you sure you weren’t followed? If the Urgs find us here, we’re in big trouble. And you, Vincent, you’re just reckless. You keep telling us
how skilled you are, but next time you might not be so lucky. Nine lives ’n’ all that.’

‘Oh, crunk,’ said Vincent rather rudely. ‘I know what I’m doing. And you all benefit from the fruits of my little escapades: lanterns, food, drink. Who put you in charge
anyway?’

‘We
are
grateful for the things you bring back,’ Citrine said quickly, and diplomatically, seeing the look on Folly’s face, ‘but we’re a team now –
that’s all Folly’s trying to say.’

‘Some team! You’re ganging up on me.’

‘Well, what do you expect when you say you like to work alone,’ said Folly, barely able to keep her temper.

‘I don’t have to stay here. I can leave any time.’

‘Well, why don’t you?’

‘Fish-guts!’ interrupted Jonah opportunely. ‘I think these are hinges.’

He had taken up one half of the broken flagstone and was kneeling over the gap. The others crowded around him. He lifted the second piece and they all saw quite plainly what lay beneath: a
smooth, hinged stone slab, covered in years of dust and dirt. Folly rubbed the flat of her hand over the exposed surface and uncovered what looked like a recessed iron ring. She tried to prise it
out, but it was stuck. Vincent flicked a switch on the wrist of his artificial hand and held it flat over the ring, which began to rise, drawn towards his hand by the powerful magnetic force. He
smiled triumphantly, gripped the ring and pulled. But to no avail. He knew his limits and stepped back to allow the sailor to take over. Almost effortlessly Jonah pulled up the slab, raising a
cloud of dust. All four leaned over the opening and peered into the darkness below.

‘A secret passageway!’ said Citrine, her eyes shining with excitement. ‘Imagine, if the quake hadn’t cracked the flagstone – we would never have found
it.’

‘Well,’ said Folly, forgetting her irritation, her face for once suffused with astonishment, ‘we have. And I say let’s investigate.’