The Phenomenals: A Game of Ghouls (12 page)

He and Folly had told the other two about their strange encounter with her Lurid brother, and the supposed whereabouts of the second Blivet. In return, Citrine and Jonah had passed on the
information they had garnered from Wenceslas and shown them the glasses. Citrine, always interested in anything novel, had delighted in them. Jonah had taken to wearing them around the Kryptos,
claiming that they improved his vision, and Folly, predictably, had murmured that they could be useful. At first Vincent had laughed at the unusual spectacles, but when he realized that they could
be used like a telescope he had to agree with Folly.

‘Very useful indeed,’ he murmured now as he folded them up, put them in his shirt pocket and climbed, as nimble as a monkey, back down the tower to the square.

It was already on the cusp of Nox as Vincent hurried to the Kryptos across the salt marsh. He didn’t have the Trikuklos because when he had left on his reconnaissance earlier Citrine and
Jonah were still varnishing it. Now that the marsh path had hardened enough to support the weight of the vehicle they had brought it all the way to the Komaterion rather than leave it at the broken
arch.

Vincent drew his cloak about his face as protection from the cutting wind and sleet, and aimed his smitelight directly ahead. Its narrow beam zigzagged across the ground in front of him, keeping
time with his footsteps. Tucked into a pocket of his cloak was a copy of the
Degringolade Daily.
In other pockets were food and bottles of fresh lemon water and ginger ale.

Despite his outward confidence, he had to concede (again) that Folly was right; it was not going to be easy to break into Leucer’s well-defended home, and not only because of the guards.
Vincent understood his father’s thinking, the importance of working alone, not relying on anyone else, but times were different then; the world made a little more sense. Now he had the others
to think of. Yes, they were a liability – the last thing he wanted was to end up back in Kamptulicon’s chair being interrogated about them and, worse still, possibly betraying them
– but he had finally admitted to himself that he needed them, and wanted them, around.

There was something else though, something that Vincent was almost afraid to acknowledge to himself. Ever since the visit to Degringolade Manor and his encounter with the wrinkled mummy, he was
filled with an unsettling unease that surged and ebbed within his veins. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was watching him. The lady’s face came to him every night just
before sleep and, when awake, he couldn’t forget the sight and sound and smell of Axel. He hadn’t realized how much it would affect him seeing the Lurid again after he had been in its
burning clutches.

Vincent dug his numb hands deeper into his pockets, keen to reach the warmth of the Kryptos, and in doing so he discovered a hole in the lining. Something hard and cold had slipped through into
a space between the layers of cloth, and his clumsy fingers took a few seconds to identify it. It was the compact he had taken from the dressing room in the manor.

He had forgotten all about it. He took it out and examined it again, running his fingers over the engraved surface of the lid. The pattern looked like some sort of maze, but when he traced his
index finger along the lines he realized that he couldn’t find a way out. He pressed the small button that released the lid and it rose slowly. Once again he noticed how the mirror seemed to
give off its own light, so he could see his reflection without using his smitelight. But the glass was cloudy and his face was not clear. He rubbed it with his finger and his heart near stopped.
There was someone behind him
. He whirled round, his treen dagger at the ready, but there was no one there.

This place! he thought, snapping the compact shut and quickening his pace.

He almost missed the Trikuklos even though it was parked outside the Komaterion gates. Citrine and Jonah had finished varnishing and the result was quite astonishing. Even Jonah, who had been
rather sceptical, had had to admit that the strange muted sheen did indeed cloak the vehicle in a confusing darkness. Citrine had lamented the loss of the high-gloss finish that had made the
Trikuklos so attractive, but equally marvelled at the effect.

Vincent wasted no more than a few seconds looking at the vehicle before hurrying on across the obstacle course that was now the cemetery. A movement a short way in front of him caused him to
instinctively duck behind a headstone. He tapped off his smitelight. The slivery waxing moon came out from behind the clouds for a moment, but he didn’t need its nominal light to see the
apparition ahead of him. It cast its own eerie glow. He couldn’t be sure what he was seeing. It wasn’t a Pluribus, being pale rather than green. Could it be a Lurid? The apparition was
motionless and, edging closer, he perceived that it was a person, a woman, dressed in a full skirt and a fur stole. The ladies of Degringolade wore narrower skirts these days. His heart quickened
as she slowly turned her head and stared in his direction. He blinked and she was gone.

Maybe it was just a plain old ghost, thought Vincent, trying to reassure himself. ‘The sort from ghost stories Father used to tell me. Lonely, harmless dead spirits that you would expect
to find wandering about in a graveyard.’

In a place such as Degringolade Vincent logically considered that an ‘ordinary’ ghost would be the least malignant of the Supermundane entities that haunted the region. More rattled
than he wanted to admit, he hurried up to the Kryptos and slipped inside quietly. He smiled when he caught sight of the three-legged frog from the manor where he had balanced it over the door.
Citrine had laughed, saying how it just proved he was more of a Degringoladian every day.

Folly acknowledged his presence with a nod. She was at the slumgullion pot as usual, wooden spoon in hand. Citrine offered regularly to take over but Folly always declined; there was something
about the repetitive figure-of-eight stirring pattern that settled her mind and gave her a chance to think.

She paused briefly in her stirring to chide Jonah, who was pulling himself up through the hole in the floor. ‘Hurry up,’ she said. ‘The slumgullion’s been ready for ages.
And it’s cold enough in here without opening up that hole.’

Despite the recent improvement in his sleeping arrangements, Jonah had decided that he wanted to sleep in the large chamber along the tunnel. The Kryptos wasn’t big enough for the four of
them and he could sense that they were going to come to blows before too long. He lowered the slab into place and went over to the table, where Citrine was poring over a spread of cards.

‘So, do they make sense yet?’

Citrine shook her head. ‘Well . . . all things considered it looks as if you are going to encounter danger in a low place and a high place. Maybe the low place is the tunnel.’ She
gasped and her hand went to her mouth. ‘What if a Pluribus comes down the tunnel from the manor?’

‘Pluriba only exist above ground, remember,’ chipped in Folly. ‘It says so in the Omnia Intum.’

Citrine looked doubtful, but cleared away the cards.

‘Maybe it means Jonah is going to climb the Kronometer,’ said Vincent as he came down the steps into the chamber.

Jonah laughed. ‘There’s more chance of a fish climbing up there than me.’

‘You took longer than usual,’ remarked Folly.

‘I got waylaid.’ Vincent wondered if he should say something about the apparition, but decided against it. In truth, the way he had been feeling recently, he wasn’t sure that
he hadn’t imagined it.

‘Well, I hope you’ve got something to go with this slumgullion. That
is
why you went out in the first place.’

Vincent grinned, took a facetious bow and produced, in the manner of a conjuror, a long loaf from one pocket, bottles from another, a bag of flour and some butter wrapped in waxed paper from a
third. Folly broke into a smile as she accepted the haul. At the table, Vincent spread open the
Degringolade Daily.

‘Look at this,’ he said, and began to read:

‘My father was always talking about kekrimpari,’ said Citrine excitedly. ‘He said that if Professor Soanso ever came to Degringolade, he would take me to see
his demonstration. Oh, I would love to go.’

‘Maybe you can,’ said Vincent. ‘You can be sure practically the whole city will be there,
including Leucer
, which means the coast is clear for breaking into the
Governor’s Residence to get the Blivet. Domne, I can just imagine his face when he comes home to find it gone.’

Folly raised an eyebrow and returned to the pot. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for this? What do you know of the house?’

‘I’ve been watching it with these.’ He held up the glasses.

Jonah took them and his scars whitened under the strain of a frown. ‘I wondered where they’d got to. I suppose I should have known; if there’s a thief about the place . .
.’

‘Sorry,’ said Vincent.

Jonah shrugged, not one to hold a grudge.

‘Hmm,’ murmured Folly, in that non-committal way of hers that infuriated Vincent.

He ignored her and continued enthusiastically. ‘This is the chance I’ve been waiting for. If I am to stay in this city, I need a Blivet. It’s not just the Urgs any more.
There’s something weird going on, and I don’t mean all the shoulder-tapping and touchstone-rubbing and pavement-crack avoiding. Axel said it, and Wenceslas too.’

‘And so did Suma,’ reminded Citrine.

‘And if we aren’t properly armed we’ll end up stuck in this Kryptos for good. We won’t make it across the salt marsh alive. Black beans and Natron and stunners, they
might work on Lurids, but they’re no good against Pluriba. And who knows what else will come for us? What if next time it’s not killer jelly but real Phenomenals? Everyone seems scared
witless of them. How would we fight them off?’

‘We won’t have to fight off anything if you’re not careful. We’ll all be in the Degringolade Penitentiary, waiting for the Carnifex to loop us with his noose,’
replied Folly drily.

‘If anyone can break into that place, I reckon Vincent can,’ said Jonah quietly.

Vincent looked gratefully at the thoughtful sailor and suddenly the tension that had been growing was broken.

Folly held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘All right, all right. But I think you should take someone with you.’

‘You mean yourself,’ said Vincent. ‘Look, I’m the one who burgles, you bliv the Superents. Let me do what I do best. I know what I’m looking for. I’ll be
quicker on my own.’

‘I could be a lookout. And how do you know Leucer hasn’t got a Lurid up there, hidden in a Cold Cabinet? He’s done it before,’ Folly protested. ‘You haven’t
always worked alone. What about when you were with your father?’

Vincent blinked slowly. Folly had a point. What would his father have done? And to have a lookout made sense. Now it was his turn to yield.

‘OK. It’s a deal.’

‘We need a plan then,’ said Folly without missing a beat.

They all began to talk at once when suddenly Citrine hissed, ‘Shh! What’s that?’

A distinct scratching sound was coming from near the door.

‘Mice?’ whispered Citrine. ‘Or rats?’

Vincent curled his lip at the thought, and the sound stopped.

‘I hope there’s not going to be another quake. The
Degringolade Daily
said that the animals were behaving strangely just before it.’

‘I don’t think it’s a quake,’ said Folly. ‘Maybe it’s time we made sure the Kryptos was a little more secure.’

Vincent thought again of the apparition. ‘Do you think someone was out there?’

Folly shrugged, deadpan as usual. ‘Now back to the plan.’

Vincent was dreaming. And in his dream he was holding the compact in his hand and staring into the mirror. He could see his reflection, as before, but this time he allowed his
eyes to relax and look into the distance, and gradually something else came into view. It struck him that the mirror was like a window and he could look through it to see what was on the other
side. Now it was clear it was a room. A room he had seen before. It was the Ergastirion in Degringolade Manor.

By moving the mirror, Vincent found he was able to scan around the room. He saw again the shelves, laden with objects of thaumaturgy and, revolting as they were, he was compelled to keep
looking. Fearfully, he noted the chair where he had seen the desiccated lady. She was still there, sitting upright, but she was no longer a brown, leathery hag. Now her face was fleshed out, and
her dead eyes were shining, and Vincent could see that she was unbound. The straps lay on the floor at her feet, shredded.

‘Vincent? Is that you?’

Vincent started at the silky voice. He moved the compact back up to the lady’s face and stared straight into her eyes.

‘Come here.’ Her voice was smooth, so beguiling. She beckoned with her hand. ‘You know the way.’

Vincent obeyed, naturally, as one would in a dream. He dropped down into the tunnel on to the crate that was now positioned beneath the hole and hurried away, straight through the crossroads
chamber and on up the north passage until he came to the trapdoor. But how was he to get up through it without help?

There was something in his hand. He looked down and saw that he was carrying the crate. He didn’t recall picking it up. He stood on it, opened the trapdoor and pulled himself up into the
larder. Quickening his pace, with only the glowing compact to light the way, Vincent ran through the kitchen, up the servants’ stairs and out into the main hall. The fallen curtains and the
rotten carpet looked familiar, but now the corridor was marked with a trail of black footprints. He remembered the Pluriba and looked towards the door, only to see that it was hanging off its
hinges. The jellified creatures were nowhere to be seen. He breathed in and licked his lips. He couldn’t taste them on the air. His heart was bouncing around his chest like a rubber ball, but
he knew he had to keep going.