Wild Boy and the Black Terror (12 page)

Wild Boy stared at her, his mind flooding with conflicting emotions – relief that she was safe, and confusion at what she’d just said. Relief won and he grabbed her in a tight hug.

She shoved him away. “What’s wrong with you? I waited for you in the drawing room, like your note said. Bet I missed dessert an’ all. If it was anything with custard, I’ll kill you.”

“Clarissa,” Wild Boy said. “What are you talking about? What note?”

“The note the servant slipped me. Said to meet you in the…”

Her mouth stayed open but no more words came out as she finally saw the corpses.

“Clarissa,” Wild Boy said, “where’s Marcus?”

“Wild Boy … what’s happening?”

“Where is he, Clarissa?”

“This way!”

They ran to a door at the end of the corridor. Clarissa rattled the handle. “Why’s it locked? It wasn’t locked before.”

She grabbed her picks from her boot and began to work on the door.

A wisp of black smoke floated through a gap around the frame. It curled like an eel, twisted up to the ceiling, thinned, disappeared. As Wild Boy watched it, a knot in his stomach pulled so tight that he could barely breathe. Right then he didn’t want to go inside that room. Because he knew what he would see…

11

I
t was like a vision from a nightmare.

Wild Boy was so horrified that at first all he could do was stare. Candles flickered on a long dining table, illuminating the faces of two figures sat at the end. One was an old lady with rings on most of her fingers and a string of pearls around her neck. Her skin was as white as the china plates, but shattered with black veins. The dark lines shot down her arms too, and over her hands, one of which still gripped the table, even though the lady – Lady Bentick – was clearly dead.

Next to her, at the side of the table, was…

“Marcus!” Clarissa cried.

Black veins throbbed across his face. His hands were raised, ripping silver clumps of hair from his scalp. Muscles twitched and tugged in his cheek. His golden eyeball had slipped from his face and fallen to the floor. Candlelight glistened in the empty socket.

Rushing to him, Clarissa tugged his hands from his hair and took them in her own. Marcus’s fingers gripped hers so hard that one of her knuckles cracked, but she let him hold on.

Tears slid down Clarissa’s cheeks. “Wild Boy? We can help him, can’t we? We have to help him.”

Wild Boy’s mind was flooding with panic, and his legs suddenly felt so weak that he gripped one of the chairs for support. He stepped over another victim – a servant with his face buried in the rug – and crouched beside Marcus.

Drool slid from Marcus’s mouth and dripped to the tablecloth. His single eye danced with madness.

Clarissa wiped the spit from his lips. “Marcus?” she said. “Can you hear me? Me and Wild Boy are gonna fix you. We’re gonna fix you right up. Ain’t that so, Wild Boy?”

Wild Boy remembered what Dr Carew said at the palace. Prendergast had survived for so long in that state because his mind was strong, able to fight the horrors it saw. Marcus was fighting them too, but for how long?

No, there had to be something they could do. What had Marcus taught them the previous night?
Control your emotions. Concentrate. Think
.

Dr Carew had said that if they found out what caused this, he could make a cure. Whoever had poisoned Prendergast – whoever killed him – had also been here. He’d slipped Clarissa a note. There had to be some clues to help catch him.

Think!

Wild Boy stepped over to the French windows at the back of the dining room and looked into the moonlit night. In the garden, statues of Indian gods glistened with ice, and peacock-shaped holly bushes shivered in white blankets. Beyond rose the green and white wall of a hedgerow maze. The snow was thick and undisturbed, with no trace of footprints. Judging from the seal of ice around the frame, these windows hadn’t been opened in days. No one had entered or left that way. It didn’t make sense. That was the only other exit.

Think. Think!

His breathing slowed. Despite his panic and heartache, Wild Boy felt the thrill he needed to feel as instinct kicked in and his senses began to work.

He moved around the table, his eyes roving among candlesticks, crystal glasses and plates of lamb chops. Marcus and Lady Bentick must have been talking after Clarissa left the room; neither had touched their drinks or eaten anything.

Wild Boy stopped beside Lady Bentick, his eyes drawn to her hands. It seemed strange that only one hand gripped the table. The other was curled and stiff, as if it had been torn from its grip. A small scratch broke the skin on one of her knuckles.

“A ring,” Wild Boy realized. “The killer took only one of Lady Bentick’s rings.”

But this wasn’t just theft, or her pearls would be gone too. This was a very
particular
theft.

Wild Boy grabbed a candle from the table and turned to the wall above the fireplace. An oil painting showed Lady Bentick and her husband seated in an Indian palace, surrounded by turbaned servants. Lord Bentick wore a ceremonial robe and a chestful of medals. The Lady wore even more jewels – necklaces, earrings, bracelets.

He raised the candle higher. Despite all her jewellery, Lady Bentick wore just one ring, as if to draw attention to its brilliance. It was set with a single, very large gemstone.

“A black diamond,” Wild Boy said.

The killer had taken one of those rare stones from Queen Victoria, and now from Lady Bentick. It was a link between the crimes. But he sensed something else here, a clue he’d not yet seen.

“We have to get Marcus to the palace,” Clarissa said.

Wild Boy stepped over the dead servant, returning to Marcus. Clarissa didn’t know about his fight with Lucien. “We ain’t welcome at the palace no more,” he said.

“What? Then what are we going to do?”

“We gotta get the killer, find out how he’s done this. Dr Carew said if he knew what caused it, he could make a cure.”

He could hear the desperation in his voice. But they had a clue now, a link between the crimes. Black diamonds. “Dr Carew’s around here somewhere,” he said, “and Gideon too. They’ll get Marcus some place safe.”

They each put an arm around his shoulder and lifted him from the seat. Marcus was over six feet tall, but somehow they found the strength. Their guardian’s feet dragged along the floor as they pulled him from the dining room and along the corridor, weaving around the dead servants. Exhausted from the effort, they sat him on one of the marble thrones.

Clarissa reached to open the door, but Wild Boy held it shut.

“Wait,” he said.

He’d just seen something important. He turned, looking back down the corridor. His lips cracked open and a small gasp came out.

“That servant,” he said.

One of the servants in the corridor was missing his tunic. Wild Boy had noticed before, but had been too horrified by the man’s appearance to see the clue. It didn’t make sense; no servant would remove his coat in the middle of service. Someone had taken it from him after he died.

The killer
. But why?

The answer struck Wild Boy like a whip crack. He charged back along the corridor, crying out. “He’s still there. The killer’s still in the dining room!”

He heard glass smash. Cold air rushed at the hair on his face. He reached the dining room in time to see the candles go out as wind swept through the shattered French windows.

He stepped inside, trembling all over with anger.

A white tunic lay on the floor, but no servant. The man who had been there, face down, was gone. He had hidden right next to them, listened to their every word.

Clarissa rushed in. She saw the tunic and immediately understood. She shoved Wild Boy in the chest. “How could you not see?”

Instinct urged Wild Boy to retaliate. But the real fight wasn’t yet lost. The killer couldn’t be far away. He stepped through the broken windows and onto the patio, scanning the snow for prints.

The moon emerged from behind the clouds. The peacock bushes threw long shadows across the silver snow. A crow settled on the hedgerow wall of the maze and cawed loudly into the night.

A hunched figure darted from the side of the house.

“There!” Clarissa said.

Barging past Wild Boy, she leaped the patio steps, landed in a roll and charged towards the maze after the killer.

12