Candleman (7 page)

‘Well, if you really have got a terrible disease we need to know as soon as possible … so
I
can avoid catching it,’ Chloe said.

Theo’s heart sank. Chloe was more worried about herself than him. She didn’t seem to understand what a critical moment this was. Suppose this expert found out that Theo could kill people, and called the police to take him away? Suppose it turned out that everything Dr Saint had said was right, and Theo had to go back into the Mercy Tube tonight?

‘Luke Anderson,’ called a nurse’s voice from down a dark corridor nearby.

Theo arose, feeling as if he had just been summoned for execution.

‘B
ow down before me, you wretched creature!’ Dr Saint stood by the Memorial in the centre of the Empire Hall gardens and peered through the filthy smog at the small dark figure lurking on the edge of his sight.

The vapours had done their work. The forbidden substances locked in their rusting underground silos for over a hundred years had been released into the network’s canal system, where they had combined, smouldered and crawled to the surface to provide London with an experience it had not known for many long years – smog.

‘I am not fit to bow before you,’ said the creature in a sad voice as it made a deep, if rather lopsided bow. ‘Only to serve you and be gone from your sight. Why have my people been released?’

‘The Society of Good Works is preparing the day of Liberation,’ Dr Saint said, ‘when all who were betrayed and forgotten shall be released into honourable service.’

‘Freed to be slaves!’ cackled the figure suddenly. ‘It’s like the good old days!’

‘The lost, the pitiable and the vile have ever been the concern of my caring Society,’ remarked Dr Saint. ‘And there are none more deserving to be reviled than the smoglodytes – denizens of the foul fog.’

The child-sized figure grinned and stepped closer, not knowing whether it had been complimented or criticised. Through the murk Dr Saint could see the smoglodyte’s loathsome form. It had a bare, ugly head like a swollen fungus, a big, crooked gash of a mouth, slit-like eyes, and transparent skin through which a soft skeleton and pumping innards could be glimpsed. The creature lolled out its long tongue and tasted the toxic mist.

‘A delicious air today!’ it said. ‘But it comes at a price. What must my people do?’

‘An act of great charity – seeking a poor, stolen child and rescuing him from whoever has taken him.’

Mr Nicely appeared in the fog holding up a photograph of Theo’s face and several items of clothing. Seen through the vapours they created the bizarre illusion of Theo’s presence. The smoglodyte approached Theo’s articles like a wary dog. Other shadowy faces appeared from the mist, gathered close and reached up with eager fingers as if to absorb every detail of the articles.

‘Act quickly!’ ordered Dr Saint. ‘Infest this city as you did of old. Pry into every corner until you find this person! Go now, you miserable vermin!’

The figures dissolved into the dirty air. Dr Saint turned to Mr Nicely, who was looking at his employer in a curious way.

‘You have to know how to talk to these people,’ muttered Dr Saint, brushing past him.

Theo and Chloe entered Sir Peregrine’s old-fashioned consulting room. It was almost in darkness, with blinds covering the tall windows. The air was filled with a nasty odour and Theo was surprised to realise there were dirty dinner plates and stained cups in little piles all over the room. On the windowsill was a row of dead plants, and fallen leaves lay curled along the top of the radiator.

Sir Peregrine Arbogast was a huge, saggy-faced man with scant hair on his head and heavy eyelids. He wore a thick grey three-piece suit with a broad waistcoat – from which one button was missing – and a greasy, claret-coloured necktie. His face had an oily yellow complexion.

Chloe took off her big coat and hung it over the back of her chair. Underneath she was wearing a plain black dress and a string of pearls which made her look very respectable and almost glamorous, thought Theo. At least it made her look slightly less like someone who ran around sewer tunnels and burnt buildings down, which was probably important when arranging meetings with top doctors.

‘Enchanted,’ said Sir Peregrine, nodding vaguely at Chloe. He didn’t look enchanted though – his eyes looked tired and dull. ‘I don’t often take cases like this any more, but since you obviously have such impressive connections …’

‘All lies and illusion,’ Chloe said sweetly.

‘Well, the best connections are,’ commented the old surgeon heavily. He flicked through a card index, then seemed to forget what he was doing it for.

Person thirteen,
noted Theo. He had now met Dr Saint, Mr Nicely, Clarice, Robber number one (Foley), Robber number two (dead), Sam, Magnus, Mr Norrowmore (if skeletons counted), not-Clarice (Chloe), two Foundlings (possibly dead), a secretary and now the doctor.

Thirteen was not an unlucky number to Theo. Because his life had been entirely dominated by three people in three rooms, he only hated the number three and anything, by association, that turned up in the three times table. Thirteen wasn’t one of these contaminated numbers, so he felt strangely hopeful at meeting Sir Peregrine, person thirteen.

‘Are – are you all right, Mr Arbogast?’ Chloe asked.

The old doctor had been staring into space blankly, but snapped out of it and looked at his visitors. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Do you know,’ he added, scrabbling about in an ancient leather bag for some instruments, ‘when people cannot sleep, they begin to lose the faculty to separate fantasy from reality?’

‘Perhaps there isn’t any difference,’ Theo said.

Sir Peregrine stopped and looked up at the patient as if seeing him for the first time.

‘Perhaps there isn’t any difference,’ he repeated to himself as if to sound out the merit of the words.

‘I’m sorry, you’re catching me at a bad time,’ he added quickly, rubbing the white bristles on his chin. He stood up and stumbled on more cups and plates which had been stacked behind his desk.

‘You should fire your cleaner,’ said Chloe cheekily.

‘Never let them in here!’ he rumbled. ‘Privacy is all-important …’ His voice trailed away and he stood staring into space again. There was another awkward silence.

‘Perhaps we’ve offended you,’ said Theo. ‘I notice that Chloe didn’t use the correct mode of address for a Knight of the Realm. I think that got us off to a bad start. Maybe we should leave.’ Theo stood up but Chloe forced him back down in his seat.

‘Call me Sir Peregrine,’ the old man said, shoving the dirty plates aside with sudden energy and spilling spoons all over the carpet. ‘Now, let’s begin properly.’ He pulled out a small lined card and poised an ink-stained fountain pen above it. ‘What was your name again?’

‘My real name or my pretend name?’ Theo asked.

‘I’m sorry, Luke is slightly confused,’ said Chloe, smiling through gritted teeth as she kicked Theo in the ankle. ‘The fact is, Luke Anderson has been told for many years by an, err … private doctor, that he has a rare skin condition. We want you to either confirm or deny that.’

Sir Peregrine motioned for Theo to stand.

‘Take off your shirt,’ he said, ‘and your gloves.’

‘Don’t touch me!’ Theo suddenly shouted.

Sir Peregrine stepped back.

‘I mean, in case I’m … I’m contagious,’ Theo collected himself.

The doctor’s face flushed an angry purple. ‘I have been in this profession for more years than I care to recount,’ he said. ‘And I believe I know how to conduct an examination! Now you take off your gloves and I will put on mine, and I will undertake to look at you without dropping dead on the spot!’

An unexpected sense of relief flooded through Theo as he held his thin white arms up to be studied. Unfortunately, the nearer Sir Peregrine got, the more obvious it became that the old man stank. The collar of his white shirt was frayed to a fine haze, as if it had been worn out decades ago. Silver stubble grew patchily on his heavy cheeks, looking as if it had been randomly hacked at by a disinterested party.

Theo stood like a pale reed awaiting a winter blast as the doctor inspected him from all angles.

‘I suppose you think I’m a disgusting, decrepit, foul-smelling old monster of a man,’ Sir Peregrine muttered.

Chloe smiled. ‘I’m told the best experts are often rather, um … unique people,’ she said.

The doctor shone a light in Theo’s left eye.

‘Head circumference fifty-nine centimetres,’ interjected Theo helpfully.

‘Why did you say,’ Sir Peregrine began, ‘that perhaps there is no difference between reality and fantasy?’

Theo frowned and ignored the fact that Chloe was making frantic faces at him and waving for him to shut up.

‘Well, I’ve only been in the world a couple of days and it seems like everything that I believed was true actually isn’t true, and some things I was told were just fairy tales are actually –’

‘Luke is a very unusual young man!’ Chloe butted in.

Sir Peregrine straightened up. He replaced his instruments in his bag and took off his surgical gloves. He walked over to the blinds, touched a cord and let a tiny glimmer of daylight into the room.

‘I suppose,’ he said, vaguely addressing them both, ‘that when you woke up this morning, the fresh new day dazzled you with the infinite wonder of its possibilities?’ There was a moment’s silence.

‘Of course,’ said Chloe, smiling.

‘Well, when I woke up I saw this,’ Sir Peregrine said. He jerked the cord of the blinds and revealed a horrible grey fog pressing at the windows. ‘Murk. I’ve lived so long now that day and night seem to sort of blur together and become one thing. A perpetual dreary gloom that never goes away or leaves you a moment’s peace.’

He turned and pulled a pained grimace at them, which could have been an attempt at a smile.

‘And I suppose,’ he continued, ‘that when you see people passing in the street, it would fill you with pleasure to meet them?’

‘I would be glad to meet anybody,’ Theo said eagerly. ‘There have been thirteen so far if you count a skeleton and don’t count – what does Sam call those flying things?’ Theo asked Chloe, remembering the garghoul.

‘Birds,’ snapped Chloe.

The doctor sighed. ‘It’s a world of miracles when you’re young,’ he observed. ‘But to me those people out there are a stream of rubbish. A pointless, annoying, spiritless tide of universal waste flowing through the sewer of existence. I’ve finished my examination.’

The huge figure heaved himself back towards Theo and sat on the edge of his desk, his enormous backside bulging out in all directions.

‘I’m glad you two came here today,’ he said, digging in a pile of papers for a big black notebook. He opened it and began writing. ‘I’ve been numb with boredom,’ he said. ‘Endlessly going through the motions of life. I thought I knew everything, had seen everything. But you are an unusual pair of youngsters. You’ve given me something I haven’t had in a long while. A feeling of … surprise.’

Chloe grinned.

‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Luke Anderson,’ the doctor said. ‘Nothing known to medical science anyway. Your rare skin condition is a figment – I would guess – of an oversensitive parent’s imagination. What I am a little concerned about,’ – here he placed a hand on Theo’s chest – ‘is a slightly underdeveloped chest, some muscle wastage, signs of too little physical effort and fresh air, so I would –’

Sir Peregrine let out an ear-splitting cry and fell to the floor. Theo and Chloe leapt back as the great man’s vast limbs thrashed about. Wracked with pain, the bulky figure rolled over and began to change.

His eyes sank into his head, dark circles of scaly skin forming around them. His nose protruded in a grotesque hooked lump. His skull seemed to shudder and throb, expanding into an ugly, immense dome. His clutching hands stiffened into hideous talons, while his body grew and twisted into a misshapen hulk.

As Theo backed towards the door, a shrivelled, grey claw pointed a crooked finger at him.

‘It … it’s
you!’
he gasped. ‘What a fool I’ve been! Why didn’t I realise that it was you?’

‘G
o! We’ve got to get out of here!’ shouted Theo, grabbing his shirt and rushing for the door.

The grotesque shape of Sir Peregrine rolled itself on to its side. A claw-like hand hammered down on a red button built into the side of his desk. An alarm bell shrilled through the enormous old building.

‘Get them!’ the doctor screamed into a large box-shaped intercom. ‘Don’t let them escape!’

Chloe clutched at Theo’s shoulder as he darted into the waiting room.

‘What are we running for? We should help him!’

‘He’s – it’s the Dodo!’ blurted out Theo, tearing himself from her grip.

Chloe raced after Theo as he headed back the way they had entered.

‘The Dodo?’ Chloe’s jaw dropped and she clapped a hand to her head.

‘Theo, what the heck do
you
know about the Dodo?’ she shouted. Theo was now running through the reception area, not looking back. ‘Not that way!’ shrieked Chloe, over the din of the alarm.

Two men in white coats had appeared in the hallway ahead of Theo and were blocking their way out. From his surgery, they could hear the doctor roar, ‘Help me!’

‘This way!’ Chloe raced along a corridor that led towards the back of the house. Soon they were lost in a maze of featureless white corridors.

‘There’ll be a service entrance,’ she said. Rounding a corner they saw a white figure up ahead, with its back to them.

‘Down here,’ whispered Theo. They slipped through a side door that led to a flight of steps.

‘This is bad strategy,’ hissed Chloe as they descended. ‘We’ll end up trapped like rats.’

Theo ignored her and just kept going. The stairwell went deeper than he had expected. Finally they ended up in a dank basement. Here the alarm bell was a distant sound, forgotten. Theo raced off down the first subterranean corridor he found, but Chloe easily caught up with him.