The Icy Hand (7 page)
Authors: Chris Mould
They danced around the black carriage, crossing their blades as the snow and wind
whirled around them. And then suddenly, in a flash of a movement, Swift had Partridge right where he wanted him. The Admiral was backed up against the carriage door, but Partridge had dropped his sword and Swift had his piercingly sharp blade perched under Bastabelle's chin.
whirled around them. And then suddenly, in a flash of a movement, Swift had Partridge right where he wanted him. The Admiral was backed up against the carriage door, but Partridge had dropped his sword and Swift had his piercingly sharp blade perched under Bastabelle's chin.
The two of them were still and silent. This was it. The very moment had arrived. Partridge grinned a wide grin. Stanley thought he looked extremely calm, considering he was about to say goodbye to the world of wandering spirits.
Admiral Swift hesitated. And in that moment's hesitation, Swift found that Partridge was not alone after all.
Jackdaw McCormick was right behind the very door the Admiral was backed up against. Like the sting of a bee, McCormick's blade shot through the carriage door and straight through Admiral Swift.
That was all it took. Bastabelle Partridge stayed right where he was, and watched as Admiral Swift dropped to his knees and then fell flat on his face.
And that, I am afraid to say, was the end of Admiral Swift.
Stanley watched in horror. As he looked through the frosted panes of his window, the flickering colored light of the Admiral's spirit soared upward into the falling flakes and petered out toward the stars. He was gone for ever. Not far away, in the churchyard where he had been buried, his headstone cracked and crumbled to the ground in a million pieces.
Right there and then, Stanley's shock and horror were overshadowed by the
terrible danger. There was no Admiral Swift to look after the house anymore, and the evil figure of Partridge stood by the door to the Hall.
terrible danger. There was no Admiral Swift to look after the house anymore, and the evil figure of Partridge stood by the door to the Hall.
But Stanley had one stroke of luck. Admiral Swift had managed to wound his enemy, and Partridge could not stand without the aid of his long-legged sidekick, McCormick. They hobbled pathetically into the coach, vowing loudly enough to reach Stanley's window, that they would return. The blackened shape of the carriage disappeared into the night.
Stanley was wrapped in grief. He had barely gotten to know his Great-uncle, and now it was all over. He could not turn to Mrs. Carelli. She knew nothing of this and she would think him mad.
He stood staring from his room across the harbor and the tears cascaded down his face. The snow was piling up and he watched from
his bed until all he could see was white. Then he fell asleep.
his bed until all he could see was white. Then he fell asleep.
A Touch of Magic
At daybreak, Stanley ran to the Lighthouse and beat at the door until Daisy appeared. He was shaken by the death of his Great-uncle, and desperate for Daisy to know of the danger they would be in as soon as Partridge returned.
Daisy agreed to come back to the Hall with him, and they sat for hours talking of
plans and plots. It was no easy task.
plans and plots. It was no easy task.
Eventually Stanley fell asleep on his bed, weary after his long night.
Daisy wandered across the hallway into the room opposite. They had spent much time in here: it was home to a host of ancient books and papers, and the drawers and cupboards were filled to the brim with every kind of weird and wonderful object. Birds' eggs, butterflies, insects and spiders, all neatly labeled. Jars and bottles of colorful potions and lotions that had stood for years unused.
“Surely
something
here will help,” said Daisy to herself. She searched alone as Stanley slept, rooting through the parchments and papers and delving deep into the sinister contents of long-untouched manuscripts. In a corner, propping up the broken leg of a small table,
was a large book with a black cover. It had an intricately scribbled title:
something
here will help,” said Daisy to herself. She searched alone as Stanley slept, rooting through the parchments and papers and delving deep into the sinister contents of long-untouched manuscripts. In a corner, propping up the broken leg of a small table,
was a large book with a black cover. It had an intricately scribbled title:
Notes and Notions
Inside it were endless notes in elaborate handwritingâstrange ideas, spells, and magic filled the pages. Little drawings peppered the corners and spaces between the paragraphs. Daisy searched and searched.
She was interrupted by Mrs. Carelli. “Ah, there you are, poppet. I think you should stay here tonight.” The weather had grown so foul that even the short walk to the Lighthouse was treacherous, and Mrs. Carelli had already
shouted down to one of the villagers at the harbor to call on Mr. Grouse and tell him she was safe and warm for the night.
shouted down to one of the villagers at the harbor to call on Mr. Grouse and tell him she was safe and warm for the night.
Daisy was just down the corridor from Stanley, in a large room with a huge bed that had been unoccupied for almost as long as it had been in Candlestick Hall. She couldn't see the sea, but the window overlooked the churchyard and the bed was postcard-pretty under a crispy white covering.
She had placed the black book in her room, with the intention of reading it that night, clinging to the hope that she would find the answer she needed between its damp pages.
Late that night, sleepily turning over yet another page, Daisy was confronted with a short passage headed:
“Life and death and back again.”
She read it through once or twice,
then folded the corner of the page so that she could find it again. Soon after, she fell asleep, the book still laid out in front of her.
“Life and death and back again.”
She read it through once or twice,
then folded the corner of the page so that she could find it again. Soon after, she fell asleep, the book still laid out in front of her.
Some time further into the early hours, Stanley awoke from a light sleep and thought he heard something moving. He felt sure that there was movement in the corridor.
His door creaked and his heart leapt as he watched the gap open and a face stare in at him from the blackness.
“Stanley, are you awake?”
Thank goodness. It was Daisy.
“Yes,” he answered. “What's wrong?”
“Come quickly and take a look from my window.”
Stanley fired into action. He half-knew what to expect, and threw clothes over his nightwear as he went. They went into Daisy's room and drew close to the window.
Together they watched as the black carriage came into view, wading through the drifts. It was silent as it went, but the wind whipped up around it like a tornado.
The coach moved awkwardly, its huge bulk leaving a deep furrowed trail behind it, gliding right under their window. It almost disappeared out of sight and Daisy and Stanley pushed their frozen faces up to the glass to see where it stopped.
“The eye of the storm is here, Daisy.
This is it
. Somehow we are going to have to deal with this ⦠But I don't know where to start!”
This is it
. Somehow we are going to have to deal with this ⦠But I don't know where to start!”
Stanley didn't have to wait long. A smash of glass came from the dining hall, followed by a horrendous thud and crack. He and Daisy ran down the corridor and headed down the long staircase, bursting into the room.
A huge cannonball had been hurled through the window, splitting the grand table clean in two. The icy snow blew in through the hole, intruding on the warmth of the house. Through the darkness, a fat silhouette was forcing itself through the broken glass and pulling on the long drapes.
But it wasn't just Daisy and Stanley who'd been woken by the noise.
“GET YOUR FILTHY STINKIN HANDS OFF MY BEST CURTAINS, YOU BIG LOUSY LUMMOX!”
Mrs. Carelli bustled up behind Daisy and Stanley, rolling pin in hand. But Stanley knew that she was no match for Partridge and McCormick. He urged her to stay back.
“YOU'LL PAY FOR THOSE WINDOWS, YOU BEARDED OAF!” she cried as Partridge came closer.
McCormick slithered in behind his friend, holding a
long weapon close to his chest. He bent down to speak to Mrs. Carelli. He was massively tall: Stanley reckoned he must have been eight feet in height, and his face was desperately unpleasant. A patch covered his left eye and his long slope of a nose matched the contours of his chin. Stanley knew right there and then that Jackdaw McCormick had never had a good bone in his body for as long as he'd lived.
long weapon close to his chest. He bent down to speak to Mrs. Carelli. He was massively tall: Stanley reckoned he must have been eight feet in height, and his face was desperately unpleasant. A patch covered his left eye and his long slope of a nose matched the contours of his chin. Stanley knew right there and then that Jackdaw McCormick had never had a good bone in his body for as long as he'd lived.
“Now, now, miss. Let us not lose our heads. We don't all want to end up like Admiral Swift now, do we?” sneered Jackdaw.
Mrs. Carelli
really
didn't like that. In a burst of temper, she lunged forward at him, but he was way too powerful and batted her off like a fly. He sent her hurtling into the corner of the room, where she lay gasping for breath.
really
didn't like that. In a burst of temper, she lunged forward at him, but he was way too powerful and batted her off like a fly. He sent her hurtling into the corner of the room, where she lay gasping for breath.
Stanley and Daisy ran to her and held on.
McCormick let out a sinister cackle. Stanley would have loved to punch him square in the teeth.
Partridge carried on as if nothing had happened, dusting himself down as he came nearer.
“I'm very sorry about Great-uncle Bart, Stanley. He was a noble manâbut I'm afraid our differences had become too great. No one lasts for ever, my dear. It was a fair fight but a tough one and now I bear a scar to prove it.” He pulled his coat open and revealed his horrendous wound to Stanley.
Stanley didn't answer. He just
stared and waited for the next sentence from the man who always made himself sound reasonable, despite what he was saying.
“There is only the small matter of the Ibis to be dealt with, and we can be on our way,” Partridge continued. “This weather will cease, and you can all get back to normal. How does that sound? I know it's here. I can feel it,” he said in a very matter-of-fact voice.
“I don't know what you are talking about,” Stanley said, shrugging his shoulders.
Partridge leaned forward so that Stanley could see each hair on his face. He grabbed Stanley's coat and pulled it close, bringing the boy with it.
The old pirate smelt disgustingâa most horrible whiff of ancient rotting bones and putrid flesh. “Listen to me, young fellow. When someone placed the Ibis in their hand
I'd been asleep for thirty years. I traveled three thousand miles along with Mr. McCormick here to come and take what is rightly mine. So let us not enter into lies and tall tales that don't make sense. There's a good lad.” He let go, patted Stanley on the head, and ruffled his long hair.
I'd been asleep for thirty years. I traveled three thousand miles along with Mr. McCormick here to come and take what is rightly mine. So let us not enter into lies and tall tales that don't make sense. There's a good lad.” He let go, patted Stanley on the head, and ruffled his long hair.
“I can feel the beating heart of that precious little bird. I know she is near, Stanley. Think carefully. Don't go losing everything you have for the sake of something you don't even need.”
Stanley knew that he was more at risk than he had been with the pirates he had dealt with last summer. There was something far more dangerous and cut-throat about Partridge and McCormick.
Partridge stepped out into the hallway as
Stanley and Daisy helped Mrs. Carelli to her feet. Stanley had never her seen her looking so crestfallen. They had really knocked the wind out of her sails, and he held on to her tightly in a bid to protect her.
Stanley and Daisy helped Mrs. Carelli to her feet. Stanley had never her seen her looking so crestfallen. They had really knocked the wind out of her sails, and he held on to her tightly in a bid to protect her.
The Stormbringers crunched their feet over broken glass, and their snow-caked clothes left muddy water dripping everywhere.
McCormick pushed past Stanley, grinning as he lifted his patch to reveal an empty socket. Stanley jumped sideways.
“Thank you kindly,” McCormick sneered. His lolloping frame hung awkwardly out of shabby clothes, and his enormous hands and feet seemed too big for his body. He carried a cudgel that looked like it had done some damage in the past.
“It is somewhere here,” Partridge whispered.
In seconds he had found the pike and stood in front of it, his eyes closed, as if in a trance. “Here, Mr. McCormick, she lies here, within this case.”
In seconds he had found the pike and stood in front of it, his eyes closed, as if in a trance. “Here, Mr. McCormick, she lies here, within this case.”
Before Stanley could say anything, Partridge took hold of the case and pulled it clean away from the wall, bringing dust and rubble down on himself and not caring one bit.
“No, it's here. In my hands,” he announced. “I feel it.”
The pike's eyes opened wider, in shock, but he did not speak a word. His instinct was to dart away through the water, but alas, it was not possible.
Partridge made his way to the front door with his friend in tow.
“We have what we were looking for, Mr. McCormick. Now that was quite simple, wasn't it, Stanley? Thank you for your hospitality. I
do hope to see you again, my dears.”
do hope to see you again, my dears.”
He made his way outside, leaving the door wide open for the blizzard to come sweeping in.
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