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Authors: Chris Mould

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BOOK: The Icy Hand
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As McCormick turned to leave, he grabbed Stanley by his waistcoat and lifted him up with one hand till they were face to face. He smelt just as bad, if not worse, than old Partridge. “If you ever try to cross Partridge and McCormick again, young Buggles, I will squash you like a fly.”
An overwhelming rush of anger surged through Stanley. Who on earth did this long-legged louse think he was? His right arm was squashed against the door, but he raised his left and landed the sweetest hook right into McCormick's only eye.
“Aaaarrrrgh!”
McCormick dropped Stanley immediately,
wailing in pain. He took his cudgel and swung it blindly as tears leaked from under his eyelid.
Stanley dodged and the nail on the end of the weapon embedded itself in the doorframe, leaving the cudgel stuck in midair.
Partridge had seen the tussle, but his hands were not free and he was growing impatient. “Come now, Mr. McCormick. We have what we need. Let us not waste our energy on extending the battle we have already won.”
McCormick cursed at Stanley and made his way blindly outside, holding on to the coattails of Bastabelle Partridge.
They climbed into the carriage, snow blowing into their faces. Partridge shouted in foul temper at the black mare and they bolted up onto the moor.
Stanley, Daisy, and Mrs. Carelli stood breathless in the doorway, the blizzard spinning around them, as the carriage moved off. Finally they dragged themselves away and forced the door shut against the storm.
Back inside they shook with fear and fever. They were frozen to the core of their bones, and they perched in front of the hearth to catch the last of the heat from the embers.
“Who on earth were they?” asked Mrs. Carelli, nursing her injuries and shaking like a leaf.
“I'm afraid that they were more old enemies of Admiral Swift's,” said Daisy.
“But what on earth did they want with Stanley's sardine?” she quizzed.
Stanley promised he would explain in the morning, but right now he felt that she should be wrapped up in bed. She would be
sore when she woke and would need a day of rest.
Daisy and Stanley hurried her upstairs and made her comfortable—and for once Stanley felt good that he had taken charge. But when he was sure she was fine for the night, he climbed back into his woolens and headed out of the door. Daisy was close behind. It was bitterly cold but they were both moving so fast they were sweating profusely.
Daisy caught up with Stanley. “Can you see them yet?” she asked.
“No, but I've picked up the tracks and they're heading this way.”
They pressed on together. “What are we going to do, Stanley? They're too powerful for us.”
“Let's worry about that when we get there,” Stanley said. His brow was knitted:
what grated on him the most was not the loss of the Ibis, but the way McCormick had treated Mrs. Carelli. Stanley was hell-bent on revenge, on something far more punishing than a sock in the eye.
Back inside Candlestick Hall, Mrs. Carelli felt sure that Stanley had crept out. She knew him too well to think otherwise. She pulled her aching body from the bed and wandered down the corridor. Perhaps she was mistaken, and they were in their beds after all. But no, Daisy's room was empty and so was Stanley's.
Mrs. Carelli walked from room to room, looking out through the windows and trying to catch a glimpse of them. Finally she entered Daisy's room again, strained to see out through the snow, then groaned at the pain in her side.
She collapsed on the bed and gave a huge sigh. “That boy will be the end of me,” she gasped.
She lit the candle that was perched on the small cabinet beside the bed and spotted the book Daisy had been reading before she went to sleep. At the top of the page, in a handwritten script, she read:
“Life and death and back again.”
Mrs. Carelli knew those kids had been up to something. But this just sounded like nonsense! She read on, glancing through the endless notes and diagrams. The subject had no fascination for her, yet something made her continue.
Suddenly, out on the moor, Daisy glimpsed the black shape of the carriage ahead. Stanley's heart leapt. They had reached the top of a hill, and from their lofty viewpoint they could
see the coach twisting and winding, struggling in the snow.
The carriage lurched forward: a front wheel had bashed into a snow-covered boulder! The wheel came reeling off and fell in pieces to the ground, spokes everywhere.
“Aha,” gasped Stanley. “A stroke of luck! Come on, Daisy, there must be a way for us to win this battle.”
Daisy pulled her hat down over her forehead and shoved her freezing hands deep into her pockets. Something jabbed at her hand and she took it out.
It was the tooth that she had found out on the moor. She wrapped her fingers around it and held on tight. Perhaps it would bring them luck.
They drew nearer. They could see Bastabelle Partridge was enraged.
McCormick was fumbling around trying to fix the wheel, but all to no avail.
Partridge began to unfasten the horse.
“Quick, Daisy, look. They're going to get away!”
Daisy held the tooth more tightly, so tightly that it almost cut into her hand.
Back at the Hall, leafing through the book, Mrs. Carelli came across a passage decorated with silver swirls. Almost in a trance, she read out loud to herself:
By grip of claw
or hair or bone,
And with these words
outspoke alone,
Through icy blizzard wind of east
will tread the blackened midnight beast.
And as she spoke the words, a terrible gust took the page and whipped it out from the book, whisking it out through the window.
“Aah, these blasted windows need seeing to as well,” cried Mrs. Carelli. She slammed
the book shut. “Wait till I get my hands on that pair of ruffians!”
Her candle flickered out, and the page flew across the moor.
Even the mighty Partridge was struggling to withstand the gale that was blowing up. His mare was spooked by the storm and, breaking free of the coach, it bolted across the moor. The pirates' chance of a quick escape had just disappeared.
“Wait, Stanley, something is … happening,” said Daisy.
“What do you mean?” said Stanley, hopping from foot to foot in confusion.
“I don't know!”
They ran behind a huge rock for refuge, and not a moment too soon. A strange light was circling the ground before them. A
cracking and sparking began, followed by a clap of thunder.
Suddenly, the hulking frame of a werewolf appeared right in front of them through a whirling mist. The very werewolf that Stanley thought he had defeated all those months ago!
The two friends were so frightened that neither could move a muscle.
Through his terror, Stanley looked into the wolf's eyes.
Something was different.
Daisy managed to whisper, “Stanley,
run
! Run as fast as you can.”
But Stanley found that he was no longer afraid. Surely if the wolf had wanted to savage them, it would have already done so.
“No,” he hissed. “Stay right there.” He grabbed the sleeve of Daisy's coat. “Don't move an inch.”
Stanley crept closer to the beast, so close that he could see the scar left by his very own silver bullet. Like Admiral Swift and the pirates, this must be a ghostly apparition of the wolf's former self. But that didn't make it any less fearsome. Saliva dribbled from its teeth and its blackened silhouette was the image of pure evil. It made a low rumbling sound.
This thing could swallow him whole if it wished.
“Stanley, what are you doing?” whimpered Daisy.
“Stay calm,” he answered. “I don't know how on earth our werewolf got here, but I am sure that he has come to help us.”
The wolf eyed him closely, tilting its head at him. Stanley still had the stink of McCormick and Partridge about him and he could see that this troubled the beast.
As the werewolf approached Stanley held his breath, slowly opening his coat. The stench left on his waistcoat by McCormick was so strong it made him feel sick. The beast sniffed at the musty places where McCormick had been. A grumbling growl emanated from deep within, but still it did not move toward the pirates.
With growing confidence, Stanley set off toward Partridge and McCormick.
“I'm right with you, Stanley,” cried Daisy, trotting on behind. And through the corner of her eye, she could see the shape of the beast keeping close to them. It moved catlike among the pines, slinking from tree trunk to tree trunk, weaving among the stones and boulders.
Stanley knew they didn't have much longer. They were nearing the evil pair, and he knew that if they saw them out here on the moor the pirates would surely finish them both off.
Finally, the beast picked up the pirates' scent from the ground and raced ahead of Stanley and Daisy.
Stanley let out a shuddering sigh of relief, as McCormick spotted the wolf and froze for a second.
Partridge grasped at the rifle strapped to his back. In a flash it was in his hands. He blasted two shots at the wolf, but they simply made no difference. The beast continued. Partridge reloaded and fired again.
Stanley and Daisy were stuck in the field of fire, crouching low behind rocks, dodging the whistling bullets. But soon the wolf was so close that the pirates' swords were drawn. It was two on one … but surely they wouldn't win against such a ferocious beast.
McCormick and Partridge were swinging their blades wildly while the monster tore at their arms and legs.
Stanley wondered how he had ever overcome the beast. Partridge was wounded again, and the beast had tossed McCormick like a rag doll. Partridge took another snap from
the great powerful jaw—and the pair was down and out.
Little by little, their spirits wisped up into the air, ghostly spinning shapes shooting like fireflies up into the black of midnight.
BOOK: The Icy Hand
12.72Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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