The Parliament of Blood (29 page)

‘Perhaps,' I said, thinking I perceived the real source of his discomfort, ‘I should speak with this Miss Radnor.'

‘Then I hope you are still on good terms with the
Almighty,' Carr told me. ‘For her soul is no longer on this earth. And her body …' He held out a trembling hand, and I refilled his glass without comment. ‘Her body was found in the street three days ago. They say her heart gave out, but I know the surgeon who examined her.'

‘And what does he say?' I asked. Though somewhere deep inside, I think I already knew his answer.

‘He says that if her heart gave out it was through a lack of work. A lack of anything to pump round her body. He said that the poor woman was completely drained of blood.'

In spite of my rising trepidation, I assured Carr that I would visit the house. He apologised for not coming with me, but asserted he would no more set foot in that house before it was exorcised than he would drink the ocean. Though the way he was now going at the brandy, I wondered if he might not be preparing to give it a try.

My fears growing with every moment, I resolved to visit the house the next day. I dared not venture out there at night, and I prayed that tomorrow would be sunny and bright.

In fact it was dull, with a miasma of smog hanging in the air. But I determined not to wait.
With my Book of Common Prayer, a Bible, a flask of holy water from the church font, a silver crucifix and several other items I felt might be of value, I set out for Mortill Street.

If ever a house had been designed to look haunted, this was it. The place was in a sorry state. The windows were broken and boarded, the front door rotting away. The steps to the porch had collapsed and the garden was overgrown with nettles and brambles.

I could tell as soon as I was inside that this was a house of evil. I do not use the word lightly, but the whole place resonated with the fear and oppression that I had come to know so well while staying with Klaus the village elder.

It is hard to describe the events that took place that afternoon and evening. But suffice it to say I soon discovered that the whole house was infested with the creatures of the night. They rest, sleeping like dormant animals, for much of the time and had made this place their own. It was as if the very walls breathed with their foul presence.

I stood in a circle of chalk and holy water in the hall of the house, holding my crucifix and my Bible as I recited the words of power. I said the
Lord's Prayer and took communion. I repeated the words I had learned from Klaus in his library and I listened to their shrieks and screams as I bound them to that place. Their hands clutched and tore at me, but in my circle and my faith I remained secure.

Klaus had told me he believed the words of power worked because they believed them to be a powerful restraint. But that belief would soon wear off. If I was to entomb them, I would need more. I would need a more physical restraint to make this house a prison for ever.

Carr was happy to be rid of it. He accepted the small amount I could afford, and I had Mr Jenkins of Jenkins and Mallerby draw up a covenant so that the house would stand for as long as there is a legal process and justice in the world.

All the time, all that week, I worked. I had brought back what I needed from my travels – as a curiosity as much as insurance. I had barely sufficient for the task, but as the years passed, there would be more. I knew from Klaus of the Great Lie. I dare not speak it here. But now I turned that Lie against them as I set my trap.

If ever they woke, that would be their destruction.
They were safe only while they slept. They could survive for all eternity, but only if they lay dormant, entombed with their evil.

All but one. All but the one who broke the circle. That last night, as I laid the traps and performed the rites again, he came at me out of the gathering night, stronger than the rest. Perhaps he had not slept. Perhaps he was a guardian of some sort. That might explain his rage, if he knew he had failed his fellows and allowed a mere mortal to defeat them. And if he must account for that failure. He railed at me like a man possessed – which in a sense he was. When that failed, he pleaded. He said when the Coachman found what I had done, how I had imprisoned his sister, we would all pay a heavy price. A life for a life. Undeath for undeath.

Time and again he came at me. Time and again I beat him back. Until, at last, he fled into the darkness. And as he went, his coat spread behind him like the wings of a bat, I knew that of all of them he was the absolute worst, most pernicious and evil. I had let him escape, and for as long as I lived he would be forever in my mind, colouring my thoughts and judgements. Waiting for his revenge. Only vaguely remembering how he had mentioned a sister …

It was gone midnight by the time I stumbled home, exhausted and terrified. But the work was done. I washed the dust of that house from my body, and I stared into the mirror hoping to find some glimmer of satisfaction at what I had achieved. Or at least, to reassure myself I still reflected in its surface.

An old man stared back. Sapped of his life energy, with sunken eyes and greying hair. I knew I had paid a price. And I knew also that for what I had bought, whether it be an end to the evil or merely a little time for the world, it was a small price to pay.

I had no idea of the price that would be exacted so soon after. I had dismissed from my mind the threats and entreaties made that night, and forgotten all mention of the mysterious Coachman and his sister – trapped within that house.

Until the following week. Until I met the train that was bringing my own sister to me. And found that she was not on it.

A life for a life. Undeath for undeath.

Oh what have I done?

Her cloak was like a bloodstain in the swirling colourless mist. Clarissa made her way eagerly through the graveyard,
her anticipation increasing with every step. Soon, so soon, he would be waking – he might even be awake already. If she could have come here earlier she would, but the Coachman had delayed her. He of all people should have recognised her hunger.

Hunger that turned to trepidation as she found the splintered door. Turned to anger as she saw the broken body lying on the ground. Turned to heartbreak as she knelt beside the lifeless corpse and tore the stake from his chest.

Clarissa buried her head in the cold flesh, her cloak pooling round them both. She had felt no sadness, no fear, no grief for almost thirty years. Now she felt them all, as she wept for her dead brother.

A few stray wisps of fog lingered like cobwebs. But the afternoon sun had burned off most of it and the day was clear and bright. Despite this, it was very cold, and Eddie's breath hung in the air with the remnants of the fog.

‘You don't think this place will still be there, do you?' he asked.

‘Why not?' George said.

‘Well it was back in 1858. That's …' He gave up trying to work it out. ‘That's years ago.'

‘Nearly thirty years ago,' Liz said gently.

‘Houses are built to last for a long time,' Sir William pointed out.

‘Except it was already falling down. Said so in that diary.'

‘True,' Sir William accepted. ‘But Liz's father also said he hoped his trap would last for a very long time. Perhaps for ever. It is imperative that we discover what this trap was, and as soon as possible. If we are to hold out any hope of defeating this evil – and I do not use that word lightly – then we must arm ourselves. And the only
weapon we have,' he said, turning to Liz, ‘is your father's knowledge and his trap.'

‘But we don't know anything about the nature of this trap,' George pointed out. ‘It may be nothing at all to do with the house.'

‘We'll soon find out,' Liz said. They had just turned into another street. She pointed to a cracked and stained sign attached to a broken fence. ‘This is Mortill Street.'

‘How will we know which house it is?' Eddie wondered.

Ahead of him, Sir William, Liz and George had all stopped.

‘I don't think that will be a problem,' Sir William said.

He stepped aside, and Eddie could see past him up the road. The houses on either side were typical terraced houses. A little run-down and neglected, but otherwise very ordinary. Distinctly out of the ordinary was the house facing them at the other end of the short street. Its windows were boarded over, and the steps up to the porch had rotted almost completely away. A section of the roof had collapsed, the brickwork was chipped and scarred.

Just looking at the house made Eddie feel nervous and afraid. They all walked slowly along the street, and he sensed that none of them wanted to be there.

‘Can we just walk in?' Liz wondered.

‘It's your house,' Sir William pointed out. ‘Held in some sort of trust I imagine, but your father bought it.'

‘I'm not at all sure that I want it.'

‘It looks about ready to fall down,' George said. ‘Eddie was right. It may not be safe.'

‘Oh, I'm sure it isn't safe,' Sir William said. ‘That, if you recall, is why we are here.'

The garden was so overgrown with grass and nettles that it was impossible to see where the path to the front door might have been. The fence had given way under the assault of the brambles that were entwined through it, and lay in a tangled line across the edge of the pavement.

‘Shall we?' Sir William asked. Even he was unable to keep the edge of trepidation out of his voice.

From behind them came the sound of a door slamming. Eddie turned to see a man coming out of the front gate of the nearest house. He was old and stooped, with a hooked nose and wispy grey hair. He hurried up the road towards them.

‘Come to complain to the owner,' George said quietly to Liz. ‘Thinks you might have let the place go a bit.'

‘Oh sirs, madam,' the man called out as he approached them. ‘Is it time already? I wasn't expecting you until this evening.'

‘I think you're making a mistake,' George said, confused.

But Sir William stepped in front of him. ‘A mistake,' he quickly clarified, ‘in your timing. We are here
now
.'

‘And I am honoured to meet you,' the man said. ‘Honoured. Truly honoured. The, er, other gentleman – is he not with you?'

‘Alas no,' Sir William said. ‘He has other matters to attend to. I'm sure you understand.'

‘Oh completely. Absolutely. Yes, indeed. A busy man. But I thought he'd be here. And …' The man hesitated,
suddenly nervous, ‘the promise he made me, all those years ago. That's today too, yes? He hasn't forgotten?'

‘Nothing is forgotten,' Sir William assured him.

The man gave a sudden nervous laugh and grabbed Sir William's hand, pressing it to his cheek. ‘Oh sir, thank you sir. He did promise me. “Bradby,” he said, “I'll see you all right. When the time comes you'll join us in … “' His voice tailed off. ‘I'm sorry, sir, you know all about that I'm sure.'

‘Of course.'

‘But I wasn't expecting you until after dark. Despite the fog.' Bradby was rubbing his hands together. ‘No one's been here, not for years. Not since. Well, since I was young and I was promised. Except the Coachman. He comes to visit her. Not often, maybe once a year. Never goes inside, of course. He kind of watches. Sits there on his coach for hours sometimes. If it weren't for the fact he's been told to wait, and not take any risks before the right time, well he'd have had me clear the place years ago. Make her safe, and all.'

Bradby led them up the road towards the house. ‘I've touched nothing,' he assured them. ‘Just made sure everything's as it was left. I haven't, you know …'

‘What?' George prompted. ‘What haven't you done?'

‘Well, sir, I've not removed them. I can go in and do it now. Make a start, anyway. I know exactly where they all are. Taken careful note, you see.' He tapped the side of his beaked nose with his index finger. ‘Won't take long, once I get started.'

‘We'll come with you,' Sir William said.

Bradby took a step backwards. ‘You can't go in there, sir. Not with the traps laid and … and everything.'

Sir William smiled. ‘We have protection.'

‘Protection? I thought sleeping was the only protection.'

‘Ask no more.'

‘Very good, sir. Madam.' He nodded at Liz. ‘One thing, sir.'

‘Yes?'

‘When he summons you, when the Lord of the Undead calls all his subjects to the assembly. Tonight …' He seemed to think they would know what he was asking.

‘Tonight,' Sir William echoed. ‘Yes?'

‘Well, I will be there, sir? Won't I? I mean as one of you? After I clear the traps and give my blood – for the awakening. I will be there?'