Thief of Always (11 page)

      He rattled the handle, but the door was locked. Turning to look for Stew-Cat, he found her rubbing her arched back against the leg of a small table set nearby. On the table was a carved wooden box. In the box was a key.

      He went back to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. There was a flight of wooden steps in front of him, leading down into a darkness from which a sour, dank smell rose. He might have declined to descend had Stew-Cat not hurried on past him, down into the murk.

      With his fingers trailing on the damp walls to the left and right of him, he followed Stew-Cat to the bottom of the flight, counting the steps as he went. There were fifty-two, and by the time he had descended them all his eyes had become reasonably accustomed to the gloom. The cellar was cavernous but empty, except for a litter of rubble and a large wooden box, which lay in the dust maybe a dozen yards from where he stood.

      "What is it?" he hissed to Stew-Cat, knowing the creature had no way of replying, but hoping for some sign nevertheless.

      Stew-Cat's only answer was to run across the floor and leap nimbly up onto the box, where it began to claw at the wood.

      Harvey's curiosity was stronger than his fear, but not so much stronger that he dashed to pull off the lid. He approached as though the box were some sleeping beast, which for all he knew it was. The closer he got the more it resembled a crude coffin; but what kind of coffin was sealed with a padlock? Was this where Carna had been laid, perhaps, after the beast had dragged its wounded body back home? Was it even now listening to Stew-Cat scratch on the lid, waiting for release?

      As he came within a yard of the casket, however, he laid eyes on a clue to its contents: an apron string, left hanging out of the box by whoever had locked it. He knew of only one person in the House who wore an apron.

      "Mrs. Griffin!" he whispered, digging his fingernails under the lid. "Mrs. Griffin? Are you in there?"

      There was a muffled thump from inside.

      "I'm going to get you out," he promised, hauling on the lid as hard as he could.

      He didn't have the strength to break the lock. In desperation he began to search the cellar, looking for some tool or other, and found himself two sizable rocks. Hefting them, he returned to the casket.

      "This is going to be noisy," he warned Mrs. Griffin.

      Then, using one stone as a kind of chisel and the other as a hammer, he assaulted the lock. Blue sparks flew as he struck at the metal, but he seemed to be making no impression until, all of a sudden, the lock gave a loud crack and fell to the ground.

      He paused for a moment, a feather of doubt brushing his brow. Suppose it was Carna's coffin? Then he threw the rocks aside and hauled off the lid.

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      XVII

The Bitter Truth

      He almost shouted out loud, seeing the terrible state that poor Mrs. Griffin was in. She was staring up at him with wild eyes, her hair pulled out in clawfuls, her face purple with bruises. A foul rag had been stuffed into her mouth. Harvey carefully removed it, and she began to speak, her voice a hoarse whisper.

      "Thank you, my sweet, thank you," she said. "But oh, you shouldn't have come back. It's too dangerous here."

      "Who did this to you?"

      "Jive and Rictus."

      "But he ordered it, didn't he?" Harvey said, helping her up. "Don't tell me he's dead, because I know that doesn't matter. Hood's here in the House, isn't he?"

      "Yes," she said, holding on to him as she climbed up out of the box. "Yes, he's here. But not in the way you think..." She began to weep, the tears clogging her words.

      "It's all right," Harvey said. "Everything's going to be all right."

      Her fingers went up to her face, and touched the tears. "I thought...I thought I'd never cry again," she said. "Look what you've done!"

      "I'm sorry," said Harvey.

      "Oh no, my sweet, don't be sorry. It's wonderful." She smiled through her tears. "You've broken his curse on me."

      "What curse?"

      "Oh, it's a long story."

      "I want to hear."

      "I was the first child who ever came to Hood's House," she said. "This was many, many years ago. I was nine when I first walked up the front path. I'd run away from home, you see."

      "Why?"

      "My cat had died and my father refused to buy me another. And what do you think Rictus gave me the very day I arrived?"

      "Three cats," said Harvey.

      "You know how this House works, don't you?"

      Harvey nodded. "It gives you whatever you think you want."

      "And I wanted cats, and a home, and-"

      "What?"

      "Another father." She shivered with fear, remembering the horror. "I met Hood that night. At least, I heard his voice."

      Stew-Cat had come to her feet, and she paused to stoop and gather the creature into her arms.

      "Where did you hear him?" Harvey asked.

      "In the attic at the top of the House. And he said to me: If you stay here, forever and ever, you'll never die. You'll grow old, but you'll live until the end of time, and never weep again."

      "And that's what you wanted?"

      "It was stupid, but yes, I did. I was afraid, you see. Afraid of being put into the ground like my cat." A new wave of tears came, running down her pale cheeks. "I was running away from Death-"

      "-straight into its House," Harvey said.

      "Oh no, child," Mrs. Griffin said. "Hood isn't Death." She wiped away her tears, so as to see Harvey more clearly. "Death is a natural thing. Hood isn't. I would welcome Death now, like a friend I'd driven away from my door. I've seen too much, my sweet. Too many seasons, too many children.

      "Why didn't you try and stop him?"

      "I have no power against him. All I could do was give the children who came here as much happiness as I knew how."

      "So how old are you?" Harvey asked her.

      "Who knows?" she replied, laying her cheek against Stew-Cat's fur. "I grew up and old in a matter of days, but then the passage of time seemed to lose its hold on me. Sometimes I've wanted to ask one of the children: What year is it in the world outside?"

      "I can tell you."

      "Don't," she said, putting her finger to her lips. "I don't want to know how the years have flown. It would hurt too much."

      "What do you want, then?"

      "To die," she said, with a little smile. "To slip out of this skin, and go to the stars."

      "Is that what happens?"

      "It's what I believe," she said. "But Hood won't let me die. Not ever. That'll be his revenge on me, for helping you to escape. He already had Blue-Cat murdered, for showing you the way out."

      "Hood's going to let you go," Harvey said. "I promise. I'm going to make him."

      She shook her head. "You're so brave, my sweet," she said. "But he won't let any of us go. There's such a terrible emptiness inside him. He wants to fill it with souls, but it's a pit. A bottomless pit-"

      "-and you're both heading for it," said an oily voice. The speaker was Marr. She was oozing down the stairs. "We've been looking for you up and down," she said to Harvey. "You'd better come with me, child."

      She extended her arms in Harvey's direction. He remembered all too well her transforming touch. "Come! Come!" she said. "I might still get you out of trouble, if you let me make something humble of you. He likes humble things, does Mr. Hood. Fleas; worms; scabby dogs. Come to me, child! Quickly!"

      Harvey looked around the cellar. There were no other ways out. If he was to get Mrs. Griffin up into the sun it had to be by way of the stairs, and Marr was standing in front of them.

      He took a step in her direction. She smiled toothlessly.

      "Good, child, good," she said.

      "Don't," Mrs. Griffin said. "She'll hurt you."

      "Hush, woman!" Mary said. "We're going to have to nail that lid down next time !" Her Greasy green eyes swiveled back in Harvey's direction. "He knows what's good for him. Don't you, boy?"

      Harvey didn't reply. He simply kept walking toward Marr, whose fingers seemed to be growing like a snail's horns, reaching out to fix upon his face.

      "You've been such an obedient boy," Marr went on. "Maybe I won't turn you into a worm after all. What would you like to be? Tell me. tell me what's in your heart..."

      "Never mind my heart," Harvey said, reaching out toward Marr. "What about yours?"

      A puzzled look came over Marr's face. "Mine?" she said.

      "Yes," said Harvey. "What do you dream of being?"

      "I never dream," she said defiantly.

      "You should try it," Harvey told her. "If you can change me into a worm, or a bat, what could you do for yourself?"

      The defiance on her face became bafflement, and the bafflement turned to panic. Her outstretched fingers began to retreat into themselves. Harvey reached for them like lightning, however, interweaving his fingers with hers.

      "What do you want to be?" he said to her. "Think!"

      She started to struggle, and he felt her magic surging through her fingers into his, attempting to work some change on him. But he didn't want to be a vampire bat anymore, and he certainly didn't want to be a worm. He was quite happy to be himself. The magic therefore had no hold on him; instead it flowed back into Marr, who began to shake as though she were being dipped in icy water.

      "What...are...you...doing?" she demanded.

      "Tell me what's in your heart," he said, returning her invitation.

      "I'm not telling you!" she replied, still trying to wrest her fingers free of his.

      But she was not used to having her victims resist her this way. Her muscles were soft and flabby. She pulled and pulled, but she couldn't escape him.

      "Leave me alone!" she said. "If you harm me Mr. Hood will have your head."

      "I'm not harming you," Harvey replied. "I'm just letting you have your dreams, the way you let me have mine."

      "I don't want them!" she yelled, struggling more than ever.

      He wouldn't let her go. Instead, he drew closer to her, as if to wrap her up in his arms. She started to spit at him-great gobs of slime-but he wiped them from his face and kept approaching her.

      "No..." she began to murmur, "...no..."

      But she couldn't keep the magic she'd intended for him from working on her own skin and bones. Her fat face began to soften and run like melting wax; her body sagged in its ragged coat, and a greenish gruel began to pour out onto the floor.

      "Oh..." she sobbed, "...you damnable child..."

      What dream was this, Harvey wondered, that was turning Marr to mush? She was growing smaller all the time, her clothes dropping off her as her body shrank, her voice becoming thin. It could only be moments before she disappeared altogether.

      "What do you dream about?" Harvey said, as Marrs fingers ran away between his own like brackish water.

      "I dream of nothing..." Marr replied, her eyes sinking back into her disintegrating skull, "...and that's...what...I've...become..." She was almost lost in the folds of her clothes...nothing..." she said again. She was no more than a dirty puddle now; a puddle with a fading voice. "...nothing..."

      Then she was gone, devoured by her own magic.

      "You did it!" Mrs. Griffin said. "Child, you did it!"

      "One down, three to go," Harvey said.

      "Three?"

      "Rictus, Jive and Hood himself."

      "You're forgetting Carna."

      "Is it still alive?"

      Mrs. Griffin nodded. "I'm afraid I've heard its shrieks every night. It wants revenge."

      "And I want my life back," Harvey said, taking her by the arm and escorting her (still carrying Stew-Cat) to the bottom of the stairs. "I'm going to get it, Mrs. Griffin. Whatever it takes, I'm going to get it."

      Mrs. Griffin glanced back at the heap of clothes that marked the place where Marr had vanished into thin air.

      "Maybe you can" she said, with astonishment in her voice. "Of all the children who've come here, maybe you're the one who can beat Hood at his own game."

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      XIX

Dust to Dust

      Rictus was waiting at the top of the stairs. His smile was sweet. His words were not.

      "You're a murderer now, my little man," he said. "Do you like the feel of Marr's blood on your hands?"

      "He didn't kill her," Mrs. Griffin said. "She was never alive. None of you are."

      "What are we then?" Rictus asked.

      "Illusions," Harvey replied, ushering Mrs. Griffin and her cat past Rictus to the front door. "It's all illusions."

      Rictus followed them, giggling insanely.

      "What's so funny?" Harvey said, opening the door to let Mrs. Griffin out into the sun.

      "You are!" Rictus replied. "You think you know everything, but you don't know Mr. Hood."

      "I will in a little while," said Harvey. "Go and get warm," he told Mrs. Griffin. "I'll be back."

      "Be careful, child," she said.

      "I will," he told her, then closed the door.

      "You're a strange one," Rictus said, his smile failing a little. His face, when his teeth no longer dazzled, was like a mask made of dough. Two thumb-holes for eyes, and a blob for a nose.

      "I could suck out your brains through your ears," he said, all the music gone from his voice.

      "Maybe you could," said Harvey. "But you're not going to."

      "How do you know?"

      "Because I've got an appointment with your master."

      He started toward the bottom of the stairs, but before he reached it a dark figure flitted in front of him. It was Jive, and he was carrying a plate of apple pie and ice cream.

      "It's a long climb," he said. "Put something in your stomach first."