Dawn of the Demontide (6 page)

Claire’s body drifted under the bridge and out of sight.

‘Poor boy.’

Quilp and his demon had made their way up the bank and now stood at the end of the bridge. At the witch’s words, Jake began to sense the first bright blade of emotion. His hands clenched at his sides.

The Pale Man turned to Mr Pinch.

‘Kill him.’

Jake could now see the demon fully. Its body was a mass of steely sinew, its arms roped with muscle. Six fingers sprouted from its hands, each ending in lethal talons. The thing did not possess a nose; instead a large hole, bubbling with green mucus, occupied the middle of its face. Mr Pinch’s tongue flickered between his teeth and slurped across his fat lips. He was hungry.

The creature crawled towards him, and Jake knew that he
should
be desperately afraid. The thing was quick, agile; he had no hope of escaping it. Soon enough it would tear him to pieces. Whatever was left after the feasting had finished would probably be tipped over the side of the bridge. There, in the murky depths of the Closedown Canal, he would be reunited with his mother.

Yes, fear was the emotion that should be pumping through him right now. Instead, all Jake felt was a fiery anger. Anger at the witch and the demon. Anger at himself for not being able to save his mother.

He turned to face Mr Pinch …

Demonic Mr Pinch hesitated. The creature looked back at its master.

‘He cannot harm you,’ Quilp said. ‘He’s just a boy.’

‘Hey, you there!’ A voice boomed from the far side of the bridge. ‘Stay away from him or you’ll have me to answer to!’

It was Simon Lydgate. He pointed a finger at Quilp while, with his other hand, gestured for Jake to join him. Jake rose unsteadily to his feet and shuffled towards Simon. Now standing at either end of the bridge, only twenty metres of gravel walkway separated Jake and Simon from the witch and the demon.

‘All right, kid?’ Often when Simon spoke, his words came out in short, dry barks. Usually these were softened by his crooked smile. Not tonight. ‘Come on, speak to me.’

Jake could not answer. The anger had faded, and now the pain of his mother’s death hit home. Great, shuddering sobs tore through him. He felt Simon’s arm wrap around his shoulders and draw him close.

‘What have they done to you, Jake?’ He switched back to Quilp. ‘If you’ve hurt him, I’ll … ’

‘I grow tired of this,’ said Quilp. ‘Kill them both.’

Mr Pinch pounced through the air. His powerful hind legs propelled him clean across the bridge. He landed at Simon Lydgate’s throat. Talons pierced the boy’s threadbare clothes and sank into the flesh beneath.

Both Simon and Jake tried to grab the ravenous demon, but compared to Pinch’s lightning reflexes their movements were slow and clumsy. Pinch lashed out with his paw and caught Jake a blow to the side of the head. Senses reeling, Jake stumbled back. He tripped and hit the ground with a dull crack. Flares of pain danced behind his eyes but he remained conscious. He glanced back to where his friend wrestled with the creature.

With Pinch’s talons around his neck, Simon’s words came out in a choked gurgle.

‘Jake, get—get out of here!’

Jake hauled himself to his feet. He wasn’t about to abandon his best friend, not after what had happened to his mother. He roared a cry of pain and frustration and rushed forward. He was within a few metres of Simon when a red light flashed from Quilp’s hand and hit him in the stomach. Jake fell again. The wind had been knocked out of him and a dull pain throbbed in his gut. Simon was now writhing on the ground, his hands clutching at Mr Pinch.

Helpless, Jake watched as the demon opened its jaws and tore into Simon’s neck.

‘NO!’

Blood sprayed into the air. Simon twitched like a harpooned eel. After a few seconds, the blood eased to a trickle and the boy lay still upon the ground. Quilp walked over and nudged the unmoving body with his foot.

‘Your friend is on his way to hobo heaven,’ he laughed. ‘And now, Master Harker, it’s
your
turn.’

There was nothing more Jake could do.

He staggered to his feet and ran.

The woodland between the canal and St Swithin’s passed in a silver blur. Jake’s feet cracked against the frozen ground and his heart juddered in his chest. Winter birds, nesting in the icy branches of the trees, exploded into the night sky, their cries like a thousand screaming voices.

As he ran, Jake started to see faces between the trees—ghostly images of his mother and Simon Lydgate. Whether they were real or an illusion conjured by Quilp, it did not matter. In those spectral faces he saw the truth of his situation: no matter how hard he ran he could not hope to escape the jaws of the demon. Soon enough Mr Pinch would overtake him. He would be dragged to the ground and devoured. The ghosts nodded sadly, as if to confirm the hopelessness of these thoughts.

Just give up
, they said.
It won’t hurt for long, and then you can join us. You can be at peace
…

Jake heard a skitter of claws behind him. No longer running, he shuffled onwards. At any minute he expected to feel the sting of the monster’s bite.

And then the bells of St Swithin’s rang out.

A terrified scream cut through the woodland. Jake looked over his shoulder. It was Pinch. Hands clasped over his ears, the demon rolled in an agonized ball. Jake remembered a story from one of his horror comics in which a vampire had been tortured by the toll of a cathedral bell. Perhaps the sound of something sacred could ward off demonic forces as effectively as the sight of a crucifix or a splash of holy water. If so, that
must
mean that sanctified ground would provide a safe haven.

The bells stopped. It did not matter. Jake was now within a hundred metres of the church. He jumped over the graveyard wall and dodged between the headstones. There was no light behind the stained glass windows. He prayed that the solid oak door was unlocked.

He reached the church steps, and was about to rush the door, when a hand caught at his leg and tripped him to the ground. Jake’s head smacked against the stone step and his vision fractured into whirling shards. Through this kaleidoscope, he saw Mr Pinch’s mouth stretch wide and lock down on his leg. His scream shattered the silence of the old churchyard.

The shadowy form of Mr Quilp appeared from between the trees.

‘Your mother died trying to save you.’

The Pale Man stepped over the graveyard wall.

‘Your friend choked to death on his own lifeblood. Again, an attempt to save your pitiful life.’

Wicked little teeth sank deeper into Jake’s flesh, tearing muscle away from bone. His vision continued to reel in loops and spirals. He could see Quilp coming towards him. It appeared as if the man glided between the headstones.

‘All that sacrifice for nothing. If only your mother had told me the Elders’ secret, she might have saved you. Never mind, my boy, I’ll tell Mr Pinch to make it quick.’

Quilp stood over him. Jake felt the witch’s fingers rake through his hair. At his master’s instruction, Pinch let go of the boy’s leg and scampered up his body. Hot, meaty breath filled Jake’s senses. He saw those jaws open once more. Soon they would close upon his throat.

‘Please … ’ Jake murmured.

‘Goodnight, Jacob Harker.’

Light flooded through the church doors. Jake heard an exclamation of surprise and horror—then the sound of a gun being loaded with lightning speed. A second later, two shots rang out and grey gunsmoke billowed overhead. Pinch screeched and dropped to the ground. Quilp staggered back, his hand clamped on the bullet wound at his shoulder. The slightest movement hurt like hell, but Jake managed to twist his head around and look up at his saviour.

Through dimming eyes he saw Dr Saxby—Rachel’s father—slip the revolver back into its holster.

Dr Saxby flipped his mobile phone shut.

‘We’ve had word, sir. They’ve found Claire’s body snagged in bramble under the canal bridge. The … um … the head was found further downstream.’

‘Thank you, Malcolm.’

Dr Holmwood approached the examination table. Saxby joined him, his round, sweaty face a picture of concern. Jake stared up at the doctor and a small part of his brain wondered how someone so ordinary-looking could be the father of Rachel Saxby. The thought occupied a split second before grief and confusion overwhelmed it. His mother and his best friend were dead—murdered by a witch and a demon. He had almost suffered the same fate but had been rescued by Dr Saxby and brought … where exactly? The questions came thick and fast: how had he got here? Had Quilp and Pinch been captured? Why was Dr Holmwood here? And, most puzzling of all, why did he seem unable to move or to speak? Jake knew the answer to only one of these questions. This was the Hobarron Institute. He would recognize these grey walls anywhere.

Apart from the surgical examination table on which he had been laid, the large, high-ceilinged room appeared to be featureless. People in white coats went in and out, checked their flipcharts and stole glances at Jake.

‘Poor child,’ Holmwood said.

‘Can he hear us, sir?’

‘Perhaps. Hypnotism is a tricky art, more magic than science.’

A faint look of disgust crossed Dr Saxby’s features.

‘Indeed. Well, I don’t suppose it matters. For now.’

‘Tell me again how you found him. Your earlier report was rather muddled.’

Saxby pressed a button on the far wall and a large video screen rose up out of the floor.
A Bond villain lair after all
, Jake thought. He watched the screen, aware that his eyes were the only part of his body still mobile. Perhaps that meant the hypnotic trance was wearing off. He strained to move the little finger of his right hand. Not a twitch.

‘I was attending the weekly meeting of the Hobarron Institute Bell Ringers’ Club … ’ Saxby began.

Holmwood raised an eyebrow. ‘We have a bell ringers’ club now?’

‘Afraid so. A few of us get together every Thursday night to … ’

‘Ring bells?’

‘Yes, sir. Anyway, I heard a commotion outside and thought I’d better take a look. Luckily, I had my weapon with me.’

‘Anyone outside the Institute see anything?’

‘Only the old vicar of St Swithin’s. We’ve worked our mojo on him. Now he thinks it was just a scuffle between a gang of louts.’

‘Good work. But who was our mystery assailant?’

Saxby clicked a pen-like device and a photograph of the Pale Man appeared on-screen.

‘Tobias Quilp. A witch of some considerable power. Fifty-three years of age, no living relatives. Since Tobias came to our attention in the early nineteen-eighties, we have interviewed most of the people connected with him. School friends described a malicious young boy, fond of tormenting animals. That aside, young Tobias was an excellent student. He attended the local grammar school and earned a place at Oxford University. He studied history, his special interest being the witchcraft trials of the seventeenth century. His book on Matthew Hopkins is still the most thorough history of the witchfinder … ’

Jake’s mind raced through his knowledge of horror, real and fictional. It did not take long to locate Matthew Hopkins within his dark catalogue. For a period of only two years, from 1645 to 1647, the self-appointed ‘Witchfinder General’ had tortured confessions from many suspected witches. Those convicted had been hanged by the neck until they were dead, after which Hopkins would claim his reward from the local community. He had been responsible for the murder of hundreds of innocent people.

Jake’s attention returned to Saxby.

‘It was while researching his book on Hopkins that Tobias met Esther Inglethorpe.’

Holmwood nodded grimly. ‘Mother Inglethorpe. And through her Tobias was introduced to the Crowden Coven?’

‘Yes. Inglethorpe was a professor at the Oxford college where Quilp studied. She saw that Tobias had a cruel mind, much like her own. Quilp was introduced to the mysteries of black magic and he never looked back. Within a few years he was third in command of the Crowden Coven, second only to Mother Inglethorpe herself.’ The picture zoomed in to focus on Quilp’s neck. An ugly black mark ran around his throat. ‘Here’s Quilp’s brand, given to him when he joined the Coven.’

Jake thought that the mark looked like a rope burn. Perhaps that was how witches identified one another. And then he remembered that strange ritual Brett made him go through every time he arrived at the Hobarron Institute. The security guard had always paid special attention to Jake’s neck.

‘And Quilp’s demon?’

Saxby pressed a button and the image on the screen switched to a pencil sketch of Mr Pinch.

‘This is our only image of the demon, an illustration from a sorcerer’s spell book from around the thirteenth century. He is a powerful creature that has been a familiar to many dark witches over the centuries. As you are aware, Quilp will have been assigned his demon when he was initiated into the Crowden Coven. We know that the witch has mastered many dark arts: levitation, hexes, voodoo enchantments … ’

‘And now we have them, this Mr Pinch and Mr Quilp. They are secured in the cells downstairs?’

‘And separated. I’ll be preparing a full report, of course, but my first impression is that Quilp and Mother Inglethorpe plotted this together. A kill-spell like the one performed tonight is very dark magic, difficult for even an experienced witch to pull off unaided.’

‘It’s all very strange,’ Holmwood mused. ‘Why would the Coven attack one of our employees?’

‘That is surely obvious, sir,’ Saxby said. ‘The Demontide . ..’

‘The Demontide is over six months away. Of course, we would expect an attack
then
, but what possible advantage is there in attacking
now
? We have fought the Coven once in every generation, but only ever at the time of the Demontide. Between those periods we do
not
engage with them. That is how it has been for over three hundred years, so why have they broken the pattern?’

‘There can be only one reason. They have heard about the weapon.’