Candleman (19 page)

Theo was staggered to see his sober, straight-laced guardian presiding over such an extraordinary scene. What did it mean? What could Dr Saint be up to? And most importantly of all … how could it be stopped?

He assessed their chances. The enemies he had already seen, plus a figure at the door of the Otis shaft, made seven foes. That was encouraging – seven was not a multiple of the dreaded three. Maybe they could still stop Dr Saint somehow.

The enemy think I’m out of the way,
Theo remembered.
None of them suspect how close the Candle Man is.
But did Magnus have a plan? Or were the others waiting for Theo to do something?

Theo was aware that an impatient Magnus had crept up behind him and was peering at their foes too. The old man was fiddling with something in his coat pocket.
Not that brown bottle of smelling salts,
Theo hoped. It was usually a sign that Magnus was about to collapse into one of his wheezing fits. Now would not be a good time!

Theo’s thoughts were broken into by the sound of a familiar, arrogant voice.

‘We are on the brink of a new age!’ Dr Saint declared. It was hard to get a clear view of him, but it seemed to Theo there was something wrong with his guardian’s face. Suddenly Dr Saint sounded annoyed.

‘Where is Baron Patience?’ he shouted. ‘And Lady Blessing? This moment should be witnessed by the Board – to be recounted to future generations!’

‘Still no full report, sir,’ Mr Nicely replied. ‘I’ve just asked the captain of the guard about it. Some sort of malarkey in the upper tunnels.’

‘Malarkey?’ roared Dr Saint. He approached Mr Nicely with an urgency that bordered on menace. ‘That’s why I keep you around, you dolt – for your precise and useful reports!’

Mr Nicely stepped backwards and looked down at his own shoes. ‘Something about a tiger, sir, and some condors. Hard to confirm details. Didn’t want to bother you with it now – what with the Liberation, sir.’

‘Didn’t want to bother me?’ thundered Dr Saint. ‘It’s that fanatic, the Dodo! He’s out to spoil my victory! How serious is this report?’

‘Nothing – nothing to worry about, Dr Saint,’ the butler lied. ‘A mere skirmish – tunnel rights, that sort of thing.’ Mr Nicely no longer had the courage to bring bad news to his master.

‘Nothing to worry about?’ Dr Saint snorted. ‘Then why did you mention it? Don’t bother me again, you fool!’

Dr Saint returned to the control station, which sparkled with sinister purpose under its metal hood. A great roar like thunder from the furnace rooms deep below rocked the tower. Red needles trembled at the top of their dials. Ancient alchemical symbols clicked into place on a counting mechanism. The very air trembled with anticipation. Already the elements themselves hungered for the moment of consummation.

Dr Saint gripped a large iron lever.

‘This is it,’ he said. ‘No one can say I failed the memory of the original Philanthropist. When I throw this lever, the Liberation is unstoppable.’

That sounded pretty serious to Theo. He glanced around to see if Magnus felt the same.

Magnus evidently did. Theo could only watch helplessly as the old man suddenly pulled a revolver from his pocket.

‘No!’ screeched Magnus, leaping from cover. With a deafening blast, he fired a single, deadly shot.

‘H
elp me!’

There it was again. Tristus had not imagined it. Someone was crying for assistance in the ancient speech – the noble tongue – from the time of the First Moon.

Tristus had been battling his way through these infernal tunnels for hours. He had smelt the dangerous vapours from the Watch Tower above, those first telltale scents that revealed the beginning of a massive alchemical experiment. With the murder of Norrowmore, he had already suspected the worst. A dire plot was being concocted by the enemy, and might already be impossible to stop.

First the blocked tunnels had slowed him down. Then sealed hatchways had forced him to use all his strength to keep going. Now floods of steaming water made progress almost impossible.

‘Heeelllp!’

That desperate voice was the first sign of life Tristus had encountered down here. He kicked his heavy form towards the sound. The oily waters simmered as he looked around in the darkness. A feeble spark of light was provided by a cracked fungus globe further down the tunnel.

‘Heeelllp, you miserable, selfish, murdering swine!’

Tristus almost laughed. It was unusual to hear the old speech at all, let alone someone proficient in hurling insults in it while they asked for your help. He swam towards the small, struggling figure smeared against the rocks of the tunnel wall. A pocket of foul air had been just enough to keep this creature alive.

‘Tristus!’ gasped the smoglodyte in pain. ‘It’s me – Skun. You know me!’

Tristus indeed recognised the elusive smog tracker. This one had survived the rooftop battle of the night before. Then, the smog had addressed him in vile smog-speech. This time the creature had been wiser in using a more respectable ancient tongue.

Tristus could see that Skun’s body had been ripped and punctured by some kind of human weapon. That meant there had been a battle down here. Now Tristus had a use for the smog: information.

He inspected the injured creature. Its heart and brain were still intact – they were both glistening through the shreds of transparent skin. Most of the rest of the body had been melted by the alchemical stream.

‘Who shot you?’ Tristus asked, still in the old speech. If the smog could keep up a whole conversation in the ancient tongue, then he was unusually wise and perhaps worthy of rescue.

‘Human intruders. One old man – and …’

‘And?’ Tristus frowned. He was in no mood to be played around with, and he had little time. His first duty was to stop the alchemical experiment.

‘Save me first and I’ll tell you. I must repair myself – I need good, dirty air. I just have to get out of this flood!’

But instead of helping, Tristus showed his fangs, as if preparing to feed.

‘It was the Candlehand!’ cried Skun quickly. ‘The one called Theo. He came this way, not long ago.’ Skun pointed with a slimy stick of a finger up the tunnel. ‘Killed everyone – then went that way.’

This was glorious news. The boy was still alive. Then the forces of evil were not yet triumphant. The garghoul did not reveal his great delight.

‘I can smell foul experiments,’ Tristus snarled. ‘What are the foolish alchemists up to this time?’

‘They’re bringing the warrior garghoul back to life!’ Skun cursed. ‘Dr Saint is reviving your rotten people!’

Now it was Tristus’s turn to curse.

‘Carramash!’
he growled. ‘The foul urughoul are not my kin.’ Hot drips from the tunnel roof landed on his horns and trickled down his face. ‘I am an
asraghoul
– of the high garghoul race. They are our bestial ancestors – a remnant of the volcanic age, doomed to act out the violence of their creation. They only seek a leader to point them at some unfortunate enemy.’

‘Well, they’ve got one. The one called Saint. A very nice saint, he is. Promising us freedom to be slaves, getting us to carry his chemical muck, block up tunnels and squeeze his enemies! Only then does he reveal that he’s going to awaken those monsters!’

Skun had worn himself out with his ranting. Smogs enjoyed a good moan even at death’s door.

‘Poor
nilfug,’
Tristus said, using the garghouls’ own word for the smoglodytes. ‘Your people never did get lucky! Always the first to start trouble, and the least likely to benefit from it.’ Tristus began to swim away. ‘Thank you, wretch, and goodbye.’

‘Aren’t you going to save me?’ Skun yelped. ‘It looks like you’ve woken right up now – out of your dream. You’ll be alive forever – in this disgusting Aftertime. You should think ahead –’ he smiled bitterly – ‘you might need someone to eat later!’

Tristus sighed. He tore away the rock that the stricken smog was fused to, carried the wretched Skun to the nearest shaft, and hurled him as far up it as he could, into the dirty air above.

The enormous, tattooed Foundling had just finished turning the great wheel in the centre of the control array. His task completed, he stepped backwards, away from his position. At that instant, Magnus fired from the observation post above.

The bullet meant for Dr Saint went straight through the tattooed man’s skull, killing him stone dead. Magnus didn’t get a chance to fire again. The guard captain spotted him through the mists and shot back, hitting the old man in the arm. The cemetery keeper spun and fell down the metal stairway, tumbling to the operations platform below.

‘No!’ Sam screamed, leaping down the steps to help Magnus. Moving like lightning, the other tattooed Foundling got there first. Meeting Sam at the foot of the stairs, he charged into him, crushing Sam against the iron railings at the barrier edge. Sam was so dazed, he hardly noticed the Foundling knock the blunderbuss out of his hand, down into the depths of the Well Chamber.

Theo hurled himself down the steps to help Sam. His hands were glowing, ready for action. But this time Theo was too slow. The Foundling brute whirled round and smashed him in the side of the head with a rock-hard fist. Theo’s slight form flew into an iron pillar and crashed back to the floor.

‘Theo!’ gasped Sam. He staggered towards Theo, but a guard appeared from the mists and struck him to the floor with his rifle butt. Dazed, Sam tried to struggle to his feet, but a powerful boot sent him back to the floor. He made a final attempt to rise but immediately felt the barrel of a gun in his back.

The guards dragged Magnus and Sam forwards and threw them into the centre of the control platform, for their master to see.

‘What is this?’ screeched Dr Saint. The hot mists streamed around him as he stepped towards them. Magnus and Sam were held at gunpoint, but Dr Saint was oblivious to everything except the still figure of the pale-faced, dark-haired boy sprawled at the foot of the metal pillar.

‘Theo?’ Dr Saint staggered backwards. ‘But – but how?’ he gasped, his mind reeling.

Sam and Magnus gazed in horror as Dr Saint’s face appeared to shimmer. His skin slipped and crawled off his skull, revealing bright pink muscle, a glittering eyeball, and pulsing brain matter. An instant later, his features reverted back to normal.

Mr Nicely had crouched by Theo’s side, as if to check that the boy was all right. But under Dr Saint’s glare he rose stiffly and took a step back.

‘We – we thought he was dead!’ the butler mumbled.

Theo stirred, his eyelids flickered, then opened. Looming above him he saw his worst nightmare. Dr Saint, the man who had ruled over him his whole life, had captured him once more. His guardian’s cold eyes lit up with triumph behind his round glasses, and on his thin lips was that superior smile.

Despair clutched at Theo’s heart, but he refused to give in to it.
This man will never, ever control me again,
he resolved.
Even if it costs my life.

‘Get away from me, you liar!’ Theo cried. But trying to talk seemed to rip his head apart. He pushed himself up from the floor, but he was too groggy to stand. He remained on his knees, his head spinning.

‘Miraculously preserved after all your adventures,’ Dr Saint observed. ‘Perhaps the reports are right – you really do have a guardian angel!’

Theo thought of Chloe. She had been the one to get him out of most of his scrapes so far. Maybe she would turn up now with a hundred policemen to save the day. Then he looked up at Magnus, who was clutching his bleeding arm. There was Sam, battered and bruised, a gun at his head. Right now, a happy ending seemed a long way away.

‘It – it happened again, sir, by the way,’ Mr Nicely quavered, pointing at his employer’s face. ‘You, err – fell apart for a bit. Your brain was showing. Thought you might want to know.’

‘Silence!’ roared the doctor. ‘I did not ask you to speak!’

‘You fool!’ Magnus interjected suddenly, peering intently at Dr Saint. ‘Your body cells are unstable! What have you done to yourself?’

Dr Saint looked at Magnus with distaste.

‘Are you the head of this rabble?’ Dr Saint demanded. ‘Did you steal the Vessel away from me?’

Magnus inclined his gnarled old head in proud acknowledgement.

‘Never mind about me,’ Magnus wheezed. ‘Worry about yourself! You’re not a Wickland. You can’t have the true power. You must have experimented on yourself somehow!’

Dr Saint adjusted his tie and gave Magnus a disdainful look.

‘After you took the Vessel away from me,’ Dr Saint replied, ‘I had to find another source of power. Then I realised. It was lying there, awaiting me – in the memory coils of the Mercy Tube.’

‘You – you went in the Tube?’ Theo gasped. He had risen to one knee, but was still too weak to stand.

‘Oh yes,’ smirked Dr Saint. ‘It was never built to cure you of any illness. It was to siphon off your power!’

‘I know that,’ Theo snapped. ‘I’ve found out everything for myself!’ he added proudly.

For a moment Dr Saint looked taken aback.

Wincing with pain from his wound, Magnus managed to muster a lofty tone. ‘The power Theo possesses is one of nature’s most sacred gifts!’ the cemetery keeper said, seeming to swell with authority. ‘It cannot be transferred – you don’t have the cell structure! Even now, it’s eating away at you!’

‘Silence!’ screamed Dr Saint. ‘I have mastered the alchemy of the Philanthropist, and now I have assumed the mantle of the Candle Man. I need fear no one! I alone am the key. History waits upon
me
now!’

‘Well, you got it all wrong,’ Sam butted in bravely. ‘Theo’s face doesn’t fall apart like yours does! Your power isn’t right.’ The guard captain jabbed a menacing rifle into Sam’s back.

Dr Saint glowered and returned to the main control array.

‘Get them out of here!’ he ordered. ‘Baron Patience will know how to deal with them. I want everyone up on the surface now, except Mr Nicely and the Vessel – he may still be of use.’

There was nothing Sam and Magnus could do. They were marched to the lift by an armed guard. Theo, still kneeling, could only watch them go. He was helpless to act, still on his knees, dazed and weak, with the guard captain pointing a rifle straight at him. Only the weakest of glows flickered around Theo’s fingers, so faint the untrained eye would not notice it.