Freax and Rejex. Robin Jarvis

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      The Ismus shook his head. “You are mistaken, Jangler,” he uttered. “One of those docile rabbits could be the greatest threat to the world of Mooncaster imaginable.”

      “You’re having a jest with me! Nothing can endanger the blessed Kingdom, nothing!”

      “One of those children back there… is the Castle Creeper.”

      The old man caught his breath and slowly removed his spectacles. “Are you sure?” he asked in a shocked, dismayed whisper.

      “Oh, most definitely.”

      “But Mr Fellows doubted such a personage could exist. Theoretically it’s possible, but…”

      “Yes, I doubted! There was a chance! Incalculably remote, but a chance nevertheless.”

      “But to have been found so soon, in this country… and a child?”

      The Ismus closed his eyes. The shadows of evening deepened in the hollows of his gaunt face. Beneath the enclosing trees it grew chill.

      “I have sensed the incursions,” he said with a slight shudder. “Felt every trespass, as keenly as a cold scalpel razoring through my skin. One of those children, one of those ‘harmless dregs’, has the ability to enter the Dawn Prince’s Kingdom, to insinuate him or herself into my wondrous creation, yet not become a part of it. Somehow they do not assume one of the prescribed roles. They appear in Mooncaster as they are here, whilst retaining a footing in this world and, with each fresh visit, their presence gains in strength.”

      “Then we must kill every child in the camp at once!” Jangler insisted – appalled by what he was hearing. “Massacre them! We can set up another bridging centre in the next country that falls. The Castle Creeper is a threat to the Realm – a deadly menace!”

      “Only if he, or she, strives against us. Have you forgotten what the Creeper is capable of? Must I remind you of what only they can do? What even I, even His Majesty the Dawn Prince, cannot?”

      Jangler blinked and groped through his memory for the relevant passage. Then, in a voice wavering with excitement and wonder, he quoted the hallowed text.

      “And who can hinder the Bad Shepherd’s wild, destructive dance? None but the unnamed shape; the thing that creeps through the castle and the night.”

      “Yes!” the Ismus declared. “Now do you see?”

      Jangler exhaled. His eyes were sparkling. “We must discover which of them is this Castle Creeper!” he said urgently. “There must be no delay!”

      “It is too soon!” the Ismus warned. “That would be the ruin of this one incredible chance. We must wait, we must watch, keep those aberrants close and under scrutiny. When the Creeper is grown in strength and conceit, they will betray themselves. Then we shall know.”

      “What are my Lord’s wishes?”

      “Live up to your name,” the Ismus instructed with a foul grin. “Be the gaoler of that place. When this weekend is done, you will remain. Keep the children under lock and key.”

      “It shall be just as you command and I shall report to you every day.”

      “No need,” the Ismus said with a low chuckle. “I will monitor everything, know everything, before you do, Jangler.”

      “My Lord?”

      The Ismus took three steps back and threw open his long arms.

      “Dancing Jax must go out into the world and do its glorious work,” he exulted. “There is much to be done and I, Austerly Fellows, must oversee the domination of every country. But I shall spare a part of me – leave a splinter of my essence – here. To observe and do what must be done.”

      As he spoke, dark blemishes broke out across his skin until his face was peppered with ink like spots of black mould. They bloomed and spread, foaming over his features until his head was a pulsating mass. Only his mouth was visible – a cave within a festering cloud. Mycelia branched through his hair, writhing and sprouting fresh growths. Then he arched his back and a flood of black strands and spores went shooting upward – into the leaves above. The putrid stench of decay and corruption rained down.

      Jangler watched, enthralled, and he fell on his knees to worship the true form of Austerly Fellows.

      The mould blossomed overhead, swelling and crackling softly, forming a thick, clotted web in the trees. And then, from within its dark heart, a malignant, bubbling voice spoke.

      “Rise, Jangler. Rise, grandson of Edgar Hankinson. For three generations your family have proven their worth and loyalty to me.”

      Jangler got to his feet and stared adoringly up at the frothing horror clogging the shadows.

      “It has been an honour to serve,” the old man answered, raising his hands in adulation. “You are the Abbot of the Angles, founder of the candle faith, author of the sacred text. When I was a small boy, I dedicated my whole being to your great glory and grandeur. All my life I have venerated you.”

      “This shall prove your greatest labour,” the voice told him. “I entrust to your safe keeping the smooth running of the camp. Fortify it. Make it a stronghold from which there can be no escape.”

      “Alone? Will you not guide me?”

      “You will not be alone. Help shall be sent, extraordinary help. It will support and assist you.”

      “But the splinter of yourself? May I not come here, to this place, and consult with it?”

      The mould cluster quivered as a gurgling laugh issued out. The sound filled the gathering gloom beneath the trees and the strands connecting the Ismus to the thing overhead vibrated wildly. Then they snapped apart. The hideous growths covering the Holy Enchanter’s face retreated back, disappearing into his pale skin. The disembodied laughter ceased, and was immediately taken up by him. He put his arm round the old man and pointed to the repulsive, throbbing mass above. It crawled higher up the tree and hid itself among the leaves.

      “I don’t understand,” Jangler said.

      “You won’t be able to consult with that fragment of myself,” the Ismus told him. “Because you won’t know where it is. One night this weekend, that little part of me up there is going hunting.”

      “Hunting? What will it hunt?”

      “One of those young aberrants. That fragment of me is going to wait, out of sight, and you, dear Lockpick, will drive them in here tomorrow evening. Make a game of it. Employ whatever ruse or method seems best to you. Just see that they are all roaming this woodland when darkness falls. I shall make my selection then.”

      “Ho! What an amusing scheme. And what will you do with the filthy scum, once caught?”

      The crooked smile appeared. “I shall hide within its body, possess it as I did the man Jezza – the previous owner of this host flesh.”

      “But what if your choice is the Castle Creeper? The child will be dead and its skill with it.”

      “One СКАЧАТЬ