The Demonata 1-5. Darren Shan

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      “On a hunch, old Bart severed connections with the demon master and avoided him for several months. When he finally crossed the divide to the Demonata’s universe again, Lord Loss was surly and irritable, eager to resume play.

      “Bartholomew refused.” Dervish chuckles drily. “It’s dangerous, riling a demon. They can be abominable angels of destruction when offended. Lord Loss could have unleashed all of his familiars upon old Bart, which would have been–”

      “He has others as well as Artery and Vein?” I snap.

      “Oh yes,” Dervish says. “They’re just his current favourites. He has hundreds of familiars. If he’d sicced them on Bartholomew, they’d have torn him limb from limb, and all the magic in the world couldn’t have repelled them.

      “But, as old Bart had gambled, Lord Loss didn’t send the demons in. As intense as his anger was, his fascination with chess proved stronger. Instead of crushing Bartholomew, he whined and complained and tried to bargain. So Bartholomew struck for gold. He told Lord Loss he wouldn’t play unless the demon master lifted the curse of the Garadexes.

      “No bite. Chess was an obsession, but it wasn’t that precious to him. So old Bart tried another approach. He proposed a series of contests in which he’d play for the lives of individual family members. After lengthy discussions, they agreed to stage a number of matches, best of five games per match. For each match that Bartholomew won, Lord Loss would cure a Garadex. But if Bartholomew ever lost, Lord Loss would take possession of his soul.

      “And so the contests commenced, two or three games per week — Lord Loss set the rate. According to Bartholomew’s records, Lord Loss hated losing. Like most of the Demonata, he’s despisingly proud. They consider themselves superior to humans, and to lose to one — at anything — is a great disgrace.

      “Yet lose he did.” Dervish chuckles throatily. “Bartholomew gave his time over entirely to chess, playing for hours on end each day and night, with the best opponents he could find, learning and improving. He lost six games in the first three months — then never again. He hit a fifty-nine game winning streak, which showed no sign of ending.

      “And then he died.”

      Dervish shrugs. “He was old, and his earlier battles with Lord Loss’s familiars had drained him. It was peaceful in the end — he passed away in his sleep.”

      “What happened then?” I ask, absorbed in the story.

      “For a long time, nothing,” Dervish says. “Nobody in our family knew of Bartholomew’s matches with Lord Loss. He never told them how he was affecting the cures. Several Garadexes were witches and wizards, but they were unable to unlock the secrets of his diaries, which he’d encoded with strong spells.

      “Eventually, almost forty years after the great magician’s death, Davey McKay — a distant relative who’d lost four of his five children to the curse — decoded the diary and discovered the demonic secret. He immediately contacted Lord Loss in an attempt to renew the contests and reverse the change in his youngest child, who was just starting to transform.

      “The demon master was slow to respond. Bartholomew had humiliated him. He was wary of suffering another string of defeats at the hands of a human. Also, Davey wasn’t a magician — his soul was of only minor interest to Lord Loss. But Davey was resourceful. He sought a twist to spike Lord Loss’s imagination, a challenge which would appeal to his warped sensibilities.”

      Dervish lapses into a thoughtful silence. He’s still playing with the hobbit chess piece. With his free hand, he pulls open a drawer and takes out a photo. Slides it across the desk. I look — Mum, Dad, Gret and me. A snap taken on one of Dad’s birthdays.

      “Davey’s solution was dreadful,” Dervish says as I stare at the photo, “but it had to be. Lord Loss wasn’t interested in anything less. The rules he proposed were — one match, best of five games, like before. If Davey won, his son would have his humanity restored, and both would be free. But if Lord Loss won, he could kill both Davey and the child.

      “Lord Loss was keen on Davey’s idea, but he added a few kinks of his own. When playing Bartholomew, he’d told his familiars to stand at bay. He refused to grant Davey that privilege. Somebody would have to partner Davey and fight the demons while he played. As long as Davey’s protector lived, the familiars wouldn’t attack Davey. But if his partner was killed they’d be free to slaughter Davey and his son too.

      “Another new rule was that the games had to be played simultaneously, in a single sitting — to heap the pressure on Davey and his partner. And his final clause — if Davey won, he’d have to enter Lord Loss’s realm and fight him personally for possession of his soul.”

      “What?” I mutter, not catching the meaning of the last part.

      “The games take place between the Demonata’s universe and ours,” Dervish explains. “You probably noticed in your parents’ room that there were bits of our world as well as bits of Lord Loss’s. That in-between state was where Davey would challenge Lord Loss. If Davey won, his son would be cured, and the boy and Davey’s partner could get on with their lives. But Davey would have to enter Lord Loss’s world and fight the demon master on his home turf. If he beat him, he’d walk free. But if he lost, Lord Loss would take control of his soul, and he’d live out his remaining days as a zombie.”

      “Sounds like a raw deal to me,” I grunt.

      “It was,” Dervish agrees. “But those were the terms. Davey had to agree.” Dervish pauses, then says softly, “Davey lost. His brother stood as his partner. The demons overwhelmed him. Davey was killed before even one of the games was decided. His son too. All three were ripped to pieces by the demons.”

      He takes the photo from me and gazes at it in heavy silence.

      “But Davey’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain,” he resumes. “Lord Loss developed a taste for this new contest. He approached Davey’s relatives — those with magical powers — offering them the chance to compete for lives as Davey had.

      “Most refused. But two — both with young children on the verge of turning — accepted the challenge. One was defeated — but the other won. His victory gave hope to others, and a series of Garadexes and Gradys have sustained the challenge over the long decades since. Some win, some lose. Most who win subsequently lose their souls in the ensuing battle in Lord Loss’s realm, but a few have made the journey back, proof that it can be done.”

      Dervish lays the photo back in the drawer and closes it slowly. He blinks owlishly and wipes a hand across his eyes — he’s fighting back tears.

      “Your parents didn’t win,” he says. “Gret was infected. Your father and mother challenged Lord Loss. One of them proved inadequate to the task. All three died as a result. I was meant–”

      His voice catches and he turns away, rubbing his eyelids, trembling with emotion. “Your father and I had an agreement,” he says bleakly. “If any of his children succumbed to the disease, I was to be his partner. I thought he was wrong to have children, but I loved him, and I loved the kids he fathered. I wasn’t going to stand to one side in their hour of need.”

      “Then why weren’t you there?” I cry, tears streaming down my cheeks.

      “He never told me Gret was changing,” he croaks. “Your mother must have convinced him СКАЧАТЬ