The Phenomenals: A Game of Ghouls (5 page)

Folly went first, swinging her legs over the edge of the hole and lowering herself down.

‘It’s not a long drop,’ she called up. ‘Hand me my light.’

Vincent passed down the lantern and Folly held it out in front of her. ‘I’m in a tunnel,’ she said. Her echoing voice was eerily distorted.

Vincent followed eagerly, his shining smitelight picking out Folly’s figure ahead of him. Jonah waited for Citrine, who was collecting her Klepteffigium, and allowed her to go before him.
He had a little trouble squeezing through the space, but was relieved to find that it was slightly wider than he had feared.

The four now stood in a rocky passageway with curved walls and a flattened floor. The ceiling was high enough for them to walk upright, even Jonah. The air was cool but not stale, and there was
a definite breeze blowing in the direction of the Kryptos. The floor consisted of a mixture of gravel and damp, sandy earth. The only noise was the sound of the steady
drip, drip, drip
of
water. Here and there the walls glistened wetly.

The party made good progress along the tunnel’s gentle slope. Folly was striding ahead purposefully. Vincent was keeping up with her, partly because with Citrine and Jonah side by side
there was no room for a third person. They were lagging because Citrine kept stopping to use the Klepteffigium.

Jonah was intrigued. ‘How exactly does that . . . thing work?’ he asked.

Citrine handed him the small brown box and showed him where to insert a piece of stiff Depiction paper into a narrow slot at the back. ‘You look through here,’ she said, ‘and
line up what you want to capture within the frame. If they’re too far away or too close, just wind the proximus handle. Then, to take the Depiction, push up this toggle switch and stand
steady. After a few seconds you’ll see a flash and hear a click.’

Jonah took the contraption and looked through the small eyehole. His large hands almost covered the box. The lens distorted the figures up the tunnel, swelling them in the middle and thinning
them out at top and bottom. He made adjustments as Folly had explained, and framed Citrine and Vincent with a generous margin. Then, satisfied with his composition, he flicked the switch. There was
a bright flash, he waited for the click and handed the box back to Citrine.

‘Simple,’ she said with a smile.

‘But where’s the Depiction?’

‘On the paper inside,’ said Citrine, ‘but I need some chemicals to finish it. They’re in my bedroom. I wish I had thought to take them last time I was in the
house.’

‘What about Wenceslas?’ suggested Jonah. ‘He has all sorts in the Caveat Emptorium – he might sell you some.’

Citrine’s face brightened. ‘Of course!’ and the two continued, taking turns with the gadget as they went.

Further up the tunnel, hoping that Folly was no longer cross with him, Vincent had fallen into step beside her. ‘So, where do you think this leads?’

‘Presumably the slab was a way out for Lady Degringolade if she awoke from the dead,’ said Folly, and when Vincent looked sceptical she added with a grin, ‘We
are
in
Degringolade.’

Vincent knew then that he had been forgiven for his earlier behaviour. He looked over his shoulder at Jonah and Citrine. ‘Thick as thieves, those two,’ he said cheerfully,
‘even though they come from very different worlds.’

‘Do you think we have more in common?’

Vincent made a rocking motion with his head to indicate that he wasn’t sure either way, earning a rare laugh from Folly.

The tunnel turned unexpectedly, widening out into a small chamber with three other exits.

‘It’s a crossroads,’ said Vincent, and started patting his many pockets. Finally he produced a compass, but regardless of which way he turned it the needle just kept spinning.
‘It must be that stuff you told me about, the magnetic ore under the marsh.’ And to prove it he flicked the magnetic switch on his wrist. ‘There’s a very strong pull down
here.’

‘You’re right – impedimentium,’ said Folly. ‘You can see it.’ She pointed to long copper-coloured streaks that ran across the chamber walls like glittering
veins. Scattered about the ground there were pebbles of the same colour, varying in size.

Vincent pocketed a few of them and noticed at the same time that there were markings etched into the centre of the chamber floor. ‘Compass points,’ he said in surprise.

Folly looked where he was pointing. North, south, east and west were clearly marked, each pointing to one of the exits. ‘Could be useful,’ she remarked. They had come from the south,
she noted, as she sat on a broad ledge near the north exit. She took out her Blivet and started to wipe it clean with a rag from her satchel. ‘We should wait for the others.’

‘Did you use that to kill the Pluribus?’ asked Vincent, sitting beside her. He smiled inwardly at the question. Eminently practical, his father’s son, he had never imagined
words like Pluribus would trip off his tongue so easily, as if he had known them all his life. He had not intended to stay so long in Degringolade, but when Folly had called his bluff he’d
realized he wasn’t so sure he wanted to leave after all. Apart from the fact that he didn’t want to travel through Antithica in the coldness of Gevra, he had to admit, though
begrudgingly, that he was beginning to enjoy the company of the others. Like Citrine, he also wanted to find out more about Folly’s past.

‘I didn’t really kill it,’ she was saying. ‘The Blivet disperses things like that, but it doesn’t get rid of them. You can’t ever get rid of Superents
completely – they will always exist in one form or another. They’re all made up of Supermundane particles, but some have more sticking power than others, I suppose. You could say the
Blivet neutralizes them. It’s temporary, though some stay neutralized longer than others.’

She gave the now gleaming tines another careful sweep of the cloth. Beautifully crafted and strange to behold, it was hard to believe the Blivet was a weapon. It was more like some sort of tool.
Folly held it up to examine it with a critical dark-blue eye and just for that instant Vincent saw her in a completely different light. Now she really did look like the Supermundane hunter she
claimed to be. Her hair, white-blonde, had dried slicked back, and her mouth was set in a determined line. The hood of her leather coat framed her pale face and the angle of her jaw gave her an air
of grim resolve. Vincent thought he understood why she was so upset about his recklessness. Everything that had happened to him since he had come to Degringolade – the danger, the close
escapes, Kamptulicon – it was all an adventure for him, but for Folly it was a way of life. He should respect it.

‘Have you another?’ he blurted out.

Folly’s head jerked, taken aback by the question. ‘You want a Blivet?’

Vincent suddenly felt a little embarrassed by his request. ‘You never know when it might come in handy,’ he mumbled.

‘Traditionally they’re passed down within families, from one Supermundane hunter to another. This belonged to my great-great-grandmother.’

‘What about your father? He must have had one.’

Folly hesitated. ‘It was lost when he died.’

Vincent thought for a moment. ‘And Axel?’

Folly looked at him coolly. ‘Yes, he had one, but I don’t know where that is either.’

Vincent broke the awkward silence. ‘Where do you think that Pluribus came from?’

‘Don’t worry, we should be safe here,’ said Folly, second-guessing him. ‘Superents avoid places like this, crossroads, because they can be summoned here against their
will.’

‘Oh.’ Vincent changed the subject. ‘So anyway, you should have seen the look on Leucer’s face in the wine merchant’s.’

Folly’s face darkened and Vincent oathed silently at his stupidity. He held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I know, it
was
stupid to be seen, but honestly, I was
out of there before they knew what had happened.’ A white lie, but it seemed to work and Folly visibly relaxed.

‘I suppose there’s no harm done really,’ she admitted generously. ‘I’m sorry if I have been a bit . . . stern. I haven’t quite recovered from that whole
business with Axel. Vincent, have you ever thought what
would
happen if you were caught? I mean, would you expect us to rescue you?’

‘There’s no cell can keep me. I can open any lock, believe me!’

Folly was no longer paying attention and the Blivet hung loosely in her hand. She was sitting very still, rigid almost, and her pale face was distinctly grey.

‘Folly?’ he said quietly. ‘Are you all right?’ He looked into her face and was unnerved to see that her eyes were fixed and staring, the pupils huge and black, almost
engulfing her indigo irises. She seemed to be listening to something, but the chamber was silent. If Vincent didn’t know better, he would have said that someone had hypnotized her. He was
relieved when she stirred and came back to life. She looked briefly confused and gave him a terse smile.

‘Just tired,’ she said, and before he could enquire further a shadow darkened the floor.

‘Codfish! What a great room!’ declared Jonah, his huge frame filling the entrance. ‘I could live here quite happily. Of course, the Kryptos is wonderful,’ he added
hurriedly, ‘but sometimes it feels as small as a mermaid’s purse.’

Citrine looked down one of the other tunnels. ‘Which one shall we take? I’m intrigued as to where we’ll end up.’

‘Let’s go north,’ suggested Folly, getting to her feet as if nothing had happened. She was gone before anyone could object.

The northern passageway was similar to the one they had already travelled, but shortly after they entered it began to slope quite sharply upward.

‘Hey, my compass is working again,’ said Vincent.

‘It smells a little fresher here too,’ observed Citrine, but to everyone’s disappointment at the next bend the tunnel came to an abrupt and rocky end.

‘Well, that’s that then,’ said Jonah, unable to hide his relief. ‘We’ll have to go back.’

Folly came up behind him and pointed to the wooden trapdoor in the roof directly above his head. Admittedly it wasn’t immediately obvious, and Jonah gave a resigned shrug. He was tall
enough to reach it and pushed hard with the flat of his hands, but it didn’t give. Then Vincent noticed a keyhole and so Jonah hoisted him on to his shoulders from where, rather awkwardly,
Vincent picked the lock. The hatch was still stuck, however, so Jonah pushed harder and it gave suddenly, slamming noisily down on the floor above. Jonah gave Vincent a leg-up through the
opening.

‘Careful,’ warned Citrine behind him. ‘Knowing the Degringolades, there could be anything up there.’

Like what? wondered Vincent, then said aloud, ‘It’s some sort of storeroom. Do you think we’ve reached the city?’

Folly’s face creased with a knowing smile. ‘Not the city;
Degringolade Manor
!’

Vincent could hear Citrine protesting below as he stood and surveyed his new surroundings. His initial excitement waned somewhat when nothing of any great interest was
revealed. He was in a larder to be precise, but it had an air of long abandonment, smelling of mildew and dead mice and decay. It was patently obvious that not a soul had set foot in the place for
years. It was now the domain of spiders which, unhindered by humans, had patiently spun their thick sticky webs from point to point across the room and back again. A rat circumspectly emerged from
behind a bag on a low shelf and then quite brazenly stood on its hind legs and eyed the intruder. Vincent shivered. Rodents made his flesh crawl.

Behind him his companions climbed up through the hole (using Jonah as a stepping stone) and the air became thick with the dust raised by the newcomers’ feet. Citrine was holding her hand
over her mouth to avoid inhaling it. ‘We must be the first people in here for years.’

‘You mean decades,’ mumbled Jonah through his collar, once he had hoisted himself up to join the others.

Citrine noted that this larder was significantly larger than the one in the Capodel Townhouse. It was cool, as was to be expected given its purpose, and there was a small window, high up in the
wall, though no light came through its opaque pane. From a ladder-like frame attached to the ceiling there hung an array of copper pots and pans. The deep slate shelves were still laden with food
containers, tins and cartons and bags, their contents mainly unidentifiable and shredded by mice. On a large tarnished platter sat the skull of a hog and on the floor beneath the shelves there were
sacks of grain and flour and sugar, once full but now deflated and rotting away.

‘Could be useful stuff here,’ said Folly, eying the pots.

‘Later.’ Vincent was impatient to get going. He could think of far more useful things than pots to take away from a house this size. ‘Let’s explore.’

‘Maybe we should we stay together,’ suggested Citrine, ‘for safety.’

Vincent scoffed loudly. ‘There’s nanyone here. The place is derelict.’ He led them out of the larder and through the kitchen, between the wide food-preparation counters, past
the dusty grey range oven, now cold but once the warm heart of the house, and up to the ground floor.

In its day Degringolade Manor had been the finest dwelling for miles. Even in its current dilapidated state it still had a certain grandeur that instilled a sense of quiet awe in the four
explorers. The entrance hall was of enormous proportions with a vaulted ceiling that seemed a hundred feet above. Despite the dirt, it was possible, just, to see the painted mosaics on the coffered
panels. An enormous multi-tiered chandelier hung from a central rose, surrounded on three sides by the galleried landing. Jonah, never having seen such a sight, began to count the candles, but gave
up after three score and five. Tiny crystals strung on chains dangled from the chandelier hoops, but they no longer sparkled. As with everything, the pendulous centrepiece looked as if someone had
sprinkled it first with fine dust and then cast a net of gossamer cobwebs over it.