Authors: Marcus Sedgwick

Tags: #prose_contemporary

The Book of Dead Days (16 page)

BOOK: The Book of Dead Days

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Before Boy returned with the spade, Willow had made a full circuit of all the stones in the small yard.

Boy found her standing in a far corner of the graveyard.

“Which one is it?” he asked, clutching a long-handled wooden spade.

She shook her head.

“He’s got it wrong,” she said. “It’s none of them.” Boy stared at her.

“I’m too afraid to tell him.”

“You must be wrong. Let’s have another look.”

“Boy-”

“We can’t tell him that,” said Boy. He looked over at Valerian slumped against the wall of the church. “Let’s have another look.”

Boy felt a strange sense come over him as they searched the stones. A sense of being outside himself, of not needing to be there in the snowy village deep in the countryside. Yes, he was cold and hungry and miserable, but it was something more than that. It felt as if he was in the wrong place, going the wrong way.

Though they searched the graveyard until the light was nearly gone, Gad Beebe’s last resting place was not to be found.

When they got back to Valerian the snow had stopped but it was very, very cold. He looked old and on the point of freezing.

His eyes read their faces as they approached and they were spared the job of having to tell him.

“He’s not there, is he,” Valerian said. His head dropped.

Boy, still clutching the spade, opened his mouth.

“Don’t say ‘What are we going to do?’,” Valerian said without looking up, “because I don’t know.”

“We need to get inside somewhere,” said Willow.

“Yes,” Boy said. “Let’s get inside somewhere.”

“What about the church?” suggested Willow.

“Very well,” said Valerian hoarsely. “Help me up.”

Gratefully, Boy and Willow pulled and levered Valerian into a standing position. It seemed that his legs had practically frozen solid where he leant against the church. Boy put the spade under his arm for him to use as a crutch, and they crept slowly forward.

Once again they staggered through the graveyard, taking the path to the church door. It was not locked and they pulled Valerian out of the bitter, biting wind.

The heavy oak door swung behind them, pulled shut by a counterweight. A massive church silence descended.

They settled Valerian on a pew at the side of the aisle. There were candles burning all around the altar and in other alcoves. Having been lit for the festival, they would be kept alight for twelve days. Willow was mightily glad to see them.

“Come on,” she said to Boy, and started to collect them two at a time. They took about two dozen thick and tall goose-white candles back to where Valerian lay on the pew, and placed them on the flagstones in front of him. The effect of the flames from the tallow candles was impressive, like a small fire, and slowly Valerian came back to life.

Using the spade as a prop he pushed himself upright, until he was sitting more or less vertically on the pew.

“Well,” he said, “let me ask you two a question. What are we going to do now?”

“Don’t joke,” said Willow.

“I’m not,” said Valerian. “Everything I have tried has failed. I have been foiled at every twist and turn. All my decisions have turned out badly and now we are sitting in a freezing church in the middle of nowhere with no way of getting home and even if we did… my prospects are not good. So, I think that
you
may as well decide what we do next.”

What is there to do?
thought Boy miserably.

“We ought to find something to eat,” he said. “We could ask at one of the houses. The driver must be staying in one of them. Maybe he’ll help us.”

“Him?” said Valerian. “That swine!”

“Well,” said Willow, “we can’t just sit here.”

She looked at Valerian, who was staring into space behind her head.

“Non omnem videt molitor aquam molam praeterfluentem!”
he said.

“Valerian!” Boy cried. “Stop it! You’re scaring me!”

But Valerian rose to his feet and pointed at the wall. “
Non omnem videt molitor aquam molam praeterfluentem!
”

“Stop it!” Boy shouted.

“No! Look!
Non omnem videt molitor aquam molam
praeterfluentem.
‘The miller sees not all the water that goes by his mill.’ Willow and I have seen that before!”

There on the wall behind them was a huge shield, a coat of arms, painted onto the stone. Its central image was a waterwheel, just like the sort frozen solid in the winter’s night outside the churchyard. Emblazoned across the top was the motto Valerian had read.

“Look!” said Willow. “There!” She ran over and pointed to the name beneath the crest.

William Beebe.

“Beebe! This is his family crest!” said Valerian. “It must have been a wealthy family. He’s not buried outside at all. He’s in here somewhere! Look! There’s another!”

He pointed.

A little farther down was the same coat of arms, with another name. Daniel Hawthorn Beebe.

“Quick!” Valerian cried, his strength miraculously returning. “Quick!”

But Boy was already scampering down the church.

Joseph and Sophia Beebe.

John Israel Beebe.

And then, there it was.

Gad Beebe.

“Here!” called Boy. “It’s here!”

Willow ran to him, Valerian not far behind.

“I can’t believe it!” said Valerian. “He really exists! Or he did exist, anyway. To see the name, written!”

“But where is he?” asked Boy. “He can’t be in the wall.”

Valerian turned and looked down at Boy, pulling one of his most devilish smiles. Then he raised a finger in front of boy’s face and turned it slowly so it pointed straight at where Boy was standing.

“Indeed,” he said. “He’s under your feet.”

Boy shrieked and jumped back. By the light from Willow’s candle they could see an inscribed stone in the floor.

“Fetch that spade, will you, Boy?” said Valerian. “Let’s get on with it.”

Boy brought the spade over.

“When was he-you know-put here?” he said.

“I have no idea,” said Valerian. “Why?”

“Well, I was wondering what sort of-what we might find.”

“Ah! Well, let’s have a look at the date.”

Valerian knelt down, wincing as he did so.

“Bring that candle a little closer, will you? Good. Now. There we are. Years ago, so no need to worry. It won’t be too foul. Anyway, it’s the book I’m after, not the man.”

Still Boy dithered.

“Get on with it,” said Valerian icily.

Boy shoved the tip of the spade along the crack between the stone with Beebe’s inscription and its neighbor. He levered it back and pulled. He went flying backward as the spade splintered on the stone, which had not moved.

Boy picked himself up.

“Are you all right?” Willow asked.

“Never mind him,” said Valerian. “We’ll have to find something else to prize it up. Quick. Someone could come at any time.”

They found a tall, heavy candlestick, its massive spike exposed when Willow removed one of the candles.

Putting the metal spike into the crevice, Boy and Willow both leant on it with all their weight. There wasn’t as much leverage as with the spade, but the candlestick was strong, and with a sudden lurch the slab lifted an inch or two.

“Quick!” said Valerian. “Get something under there!”

With his foot Boy slid the handle of the spade under the flag.

Still cold, and not having eaten since leaving the City, everything they did now exhausted them. They rested for a moment, panting after the exertion.

“What are you waiting for?” Valerian growled. “Get on with it!”

Wearily, they lifted the candlestick and shoved the top end as far as it would go under the small space they’d created.

Again they pushed down and the slab lifted some more.

“Lean to the side,” ordered Valerian, and they did. The slab rolled along the top of the candlestick and away from the hole. Repeating this motion a couple more times freed the stone completely.

“Now dig,” said Valerian, pointing at the patch of earth they had exposed.

Boy picked up the broken spade. Most of its face was still usable and he began to lift out the earth.

It came away surprisingly easily, and before even a few minutes had passed the spade hit the top of something else wooden.

Valerian could hardly contain his frustration. He hovered by the hole, grunting and cursing as Boy and Willow pulled at the dirt with their bare hands.

“Why do we always end up doing this?” muttered Willow as she and Boy once again scraped in grave soil.

“Shut up and dig,” said Boy.

And then it was done. They had exposed the surface of the coffin.

“Oh no!” said Boy. “Not again!”

“What is it?” asked Valerian, his voice tense.

“The box is broken.”

He leant down and with one hand was able to pull up the top section of coffin lid. Just like the one in which Valerian had nearly met his end, the top third of the lid had been broken, snapped off to leave a jagged edge of flimsy wood.

Boy threw the wood to one side and looked into the hole. Willow gasped. Inside lay a skeleton, mostly clean. Mostly.

Its arms were folded across the tatters and rags of its chest.

And that was all. There was no book.

“It can’t be!” cried Valerian. “Look further in! At the feet!”

Boy didn’t move. He looked down at the skeleton and knew he could not make himself get that close to it.

“Do it!” shouted Valerian.

“I-I-” Boy stammered. “I can’t.”

Valerian kicked the candlestick hard so it skittered away into some pews.

“I’ll do it,” said Willow. She held up a candle and peered into the depths of the grave.

She stood up. “Nothing.”

“Tricked!” Valerian said bitterly. “Yes. Yes. This looks rather like a dead end.”

“Can’t you just run away somewhere?” asked Boy. “Hide? Until after New Year’s?”

“If only it were that simple,” said Valerian, “I would already be on the other side of the world. The force with which I made my pact transcends time and space. It will come for me wherever I am on New Year’s Eve. The day after tomorrow.”

They were sitting in the church, by the candles, trying to keep warm.

“But there is something,” said Valerian suddenly. “How could I have forgotten… the motto? The Beebe family motto! Willow, I said we have we seen it before! Where?”

“At Kepler’s house. In the basement. But why?”

Valerian stood up.

“Why?” he said slowly. “Because Kepler must have known about Gad Beebe. He knew about his family motto. Perhaps he already has the book! Come!”

“What?” cried Boy. “Where?”

“Back to the City. To find Kepler. We must find him! He knows something. Find him and we may find the book.”

“Do you think he was here?”

“No. No, I don’t think so, but he knew about Gad Beebe. Now we just have to work out where he’s gone.”

“But how will we get back?” asked Willow.

As she spoke the clock in the tower of the church above them began to strike midnight.

“Willow,” said Valerian, “it’s time to steal a horse.”

December 30
The Day of Unfailing Coincidence
1

But things were not to turn out that way.

“No!” Willow said for the fourth time, and Boy worried about what Valerian might do to her.

“No,” she said. “You can’t just take someone else’s horse!”

But Valerian did nothing. It almost seemed he was soft with Willow. Boy watched, amazed, as she argued in the persistent snowfall outside the village stable.

“I have no money left!” shouted Valerian. “We must get back to the City and there is no other way.”

Finally Boy at least managed to get them to have their argument inside. In the stable they saw why they had found no trace of the driver-his cart had gone and so had the beast.

But they could make out the shapes and smell of two young horses.

“These people have nothing!” cried Willow. “You can’t take their horses from them!”

“And if I don’t, I’ll be dead,” Valerian said, but it seemed there was less strength in his words than there might have been. Boy wondered if his arm was affecting him. At times he seemed delirious with pain.

“That’s not their concern, is it?” Willow said.

“No,” said Valerian, sounding exhausted. “No, it’s mine.”

He stared into Willow’s eyes and there was a standoff. Boy held his breath, and in the silence of the snowstorm they heard an angry cry.

It came from the direction of the church.

Boy stuck his head through the door and just as quickly pulled it back in.

“They’ve found our mess!” he hissed. “In the church! There’s at least three of them and they’re coming this way!”

Valerian looked at Willow.

“When this is all over I’ll come back and buy them a dozen horses,” he said. “I promise!”

Boy grabbed her arm.

“Willow! Come on!”

It would never even have occurred to Boy that it might be wrong to steal the horses. In the way he’d grown up first on his own and then with Valerian, he’d learnt that if you needed something, and you could get it without getting caught, you took it. Willow thought differently, and he could tell she was very serious about it.

“Willow!” he cried again. “We must!”

“All right!” she said at last. “Do it! But you have to promise! A dozen horses!”

“Yes, yes,” Valerian said. “Come!”

Boy pulled the stable door open to find a group of four or five villagers.

They were large men, and their burning torches and pitchforks and scythes looked ghastly in the darkness and the swirling snow.

Boy backed into the barn, trying to think fast but failing.

BOOK: The Book of Dead Days

5.14Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

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