The Fatal Strand. Robin Jarvis

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СКАЧАТЬ gaped at the bird, but anger swiftly overcame his astonishment. Lurching forward, he grasped hold of the raven and Quoth bleated in fright as he tried to escape. Neil’s father, however, held him firmly and marched to the door – holding the wildly flapping bird at arm’s length.

      ‘It’s come from upstairs hasn’t it?’ the man shouted. ‘For God’s sake, Neil – isn’t it bad enough having to live in this asylum without you fetching the freaks down here?’

      ‘Let him go!’ Neil protested, trying to grab his father’s outstretched arm.

      But it was no use. Quoth was flung out of the apartment and ejected into the corridor.

      For a brief instant, the raven found himself tumbling helplessly through the air. Then he crashed into an oil painting, slid down the canvas and fell to the floor with a loud squawk of dismay.

      Sprawled upon the cold wooden boards, he glared at the now firmly closed door, looking like a tangled clump of half-chewed feathers which an idle cat might have abandoned. He puffed out his chest indignantly.

      ‘Toad-frighter and donkey-wit!’ he mumbled to the expanse of peeling green paint. ‘Clodpole and besom steward!’

      Picking himself up, the bird shook his tail and inspected his wings before waddling closer to the door where he waited for it to open again.

      ‘Master Neil?’ the raven cawed expectantly. ‘Master Neil?’

      Within the caretaker’s apartment, Neil Chapman struggled to barge past his father, but Brian pushed him backwards.

      ‘If he can’t stay, then I won’t either!’ the boy fumed.

      ‘Go to your room!’

      ‘You haven’t even asked where I’ve been or what happened!’

      ‘I’m not interested!’ came the cruel reply. ‘I’m sick to death of having to live in this nut-hutch with that old bag upstairs bossing me around all day. Well, it won’t be for much longer.’

      Neil stared at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

      ‘Time we left,’ Brian said with uncharacteristic resolve. ‘I’ll find another job.’

      ‘You can’t do that!’ his son cried. ‘Not now!’

      Running a hand through his lank hair, the man grunted with exasperation. ‘Blood and sand!’

      Neil turned away from him and stomped towards the bedroom he shared with his younger brother, Josh. ‘You never stick with anything,’ he muttered resentfully.

      Barging into the room, the boy threw himself on to the bed and miserably wondered what he would do if his father tried to make him leave The Wyrd Museum.

      ‘I can’t go now,’ he told himself. ‘This place hasn’t finished with me yet I’m sure – and what about poor old Quoth?’

      But his wretched reflections would have to wait, for all his energies were utterly spent and the softness of the bed proved to be too potent a force to resist. In a moment, his eyes were closed and he felt himself drifting off to sleep.

      In the living room, Brian slumped back into the armchair and gazed fixedly up at the ceiling, insensible to the dejected chirrups sounding from the corridor outside.

      ‘Not long now,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Then I’ll be free.’

      In the main hallway, still clasping Miss Veronica’s hand, Edie Dorkins knelt upon the hard floor, arranging the dead woman’s dyed black hair about her shoulders, whilst brushing the mud flecks from her shrivelled face. Miss Celandine was still yowling, but she had buried her head into her spade-like hands and so the shrillness was muffled and less unbearable than before.

      At her side, Miss Ursula’s countenance was fixed and immovable as any stone. Upon Miss Veronica’s breast, Edie had placed the old woman’s cane, and at her side was the plastic bag containing the rusted spearhead.

      ‘It is well that you brought it here,’ Miss Ursula observed, her flinty aspect vanishing when she saw the gouts of blood which smeared the vicious-looking weapon.

      Visibly wincing, she cleared her throat. ‘In all creation there are few artefacts which can do us injury. This, the Roman blade which pierced the side of He who perished upon the Cross, is one of the most lethal. I ought to have accepted it within the confines of the museum long ago, when first it was offered unto my keeping. Veronica is the price I have paid for that folly and most bitterly do I accept it now.’

      Clasping her hands in front of her, Miss Ursula bowed her head and the jet beads which hung in loops about her ears gave an agitated rattle.

      ‘We gonna bury ’er?’ Edie asked. ‘I’m good at digging ’oles.’

      Miss Ursula straightened. ‘No need,’ she said. ‘Celandine and I shall take her down to the cavern. In the Chamber of Nirinel, beneath the surviving root of Yggdrasill, Veronica will sit out the remaining span of the world. That hallowed place shall be her tomb and no corruption will touch her. Now come.’

      Striding to a section of panelled wall, the woman held up her hand and gave the wood three sharp raps.

      With a clicking whir, the wall shuddered and slid aside, revealing a low stone archway and a steep, winding staircase beyond.

      ‘Edith, dear,’ Miss Ursula began, ‘take up Veronica’s cane and the oil lamp if you will, and bring the spearhead also.’

      Inhaling great, gulping breaths, Edie hurried to obey. The stale air which flooded out of the darkness into the hallway was perfumed with a hauntingly sweet decay. Holding the lamp in one hand and the ivory-handled cane under her arm, she took up the bag which contained the hideous weapon and carried it warily. When she accidently touched the metal, the power within it prickled and hurt her, even through the polythene.

      ‘Celandine,’ Miss Ursula said tersely. ‘You must aid me in this.’

      The woman in the grubby nightgown peeped out at her elder sister through a chink between her fingers. Then she blew her nose upon its large collar and shuffled reluctantly closer to the stretcher.

      ‘I want to be nearest her pretty little head,’ Miss Celandine muttered. ‘I shan’t be able to talk to her if you make me carry the feet.’

      Miss Ursula indulged her. ‘Very well,’ she sighed. ‘Grip the handles soundly, I don’t want you to let go.’

      ‘Oh Ursula!’ her sister objected. ‘I wouldn’t – you know that, you do, you do!’

      She pulled a face as if she were about to cry once more, but Ursula was already lifting and so Miss Celandine quickly forgot the offending remark and assisted her in hoisting their dead sister off the ground.

      ‘Why, the dear darling’s no weight at all!’ she exclaimed.

      ‘Come,’ Miss Ursula said. ‘We must bear her down the great stair.’

      With Edie Dorkins treading solemnly at their heels, the despondent trio were quickly swallowed by СКАЧАТЬ