Читать книгу The Darkening King - Justin Fisher, Justin Fisher - Страница 11

s the Demon’s face came out of the shadows, Ned caught his breath. He was wearing a red velvet suit with black collars. In one hand was a ceramic cup full to the brim with a tarry, burning liquid. It flamed gently as he sipped from its edge, but it was his face that made Ned wince.

The Demon’s hair was immaculately groomed, slicked back with oil that smelt like coal. Its skin in contrast was as frail as old parchment and stretched across high cheekbones and a deeply lined brow. Black veins crept across its pores as though the creature carried some terrible disease, yet even in its weakened state it brimmed with quiet power, like some deposed king unseated from its throne but still sure of its rightful place.

“You are late,” he breathed.

“There was some commotion in the bar,” began Ned’s dad.

The Demon responded with a smile that wasn’t a smile.

“There is some commotion everywhere.”

And the expression he wore was between sorrow and something else, some deep trouble that refused to reveal itself. The Armstrongs took their places at the table, Ned’s mum making sure that her son was furthest away from the creature that they had come to meet. The little sprite-light was clearly happy to have less frightening visitors and proceeded to glow with more of a spark. To Ned’s amazement, the perometer in his pocket was quite still but all the same he drew it out subtly and laid it on the floor under the table, its lid open. There was a rustling from his backpack, which he promptly thumped before sheepishly laying it to one side.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet us,” began Ned’s mum.

“Whether you thank Sur-jan later remains to be seen.”

The soft-spoken Demon they were talking to had never met Olivia Armstrong, which she was about to make quite clear.

“Demon, you are at a disadvantage. You see, I have come across your kind before yet this is the first time that you have come across me. I have always walked away in good health – those in my wake have been less fortunate. Do not mistake me or my family for cowering jossers. We know well how to deal with your kind.”

The hairs on Ned’s neck began to prickle uncomfortably. Picking a fight with a Demon was considered suicide no matter what his mum claimed. Coupled with the long arm of Mavis and her tea-stained fingers, a scrap of any kind at the tea room would not bode well.

The Demon’s eyes thinned and his cup rattled. Under the table the perometer’s needle turned briefly to Sur-jan before settling languidly again.

“I know well the Armstrong name wo-man. It is not I that would trouble you, but what I have to say.”

Terry Armstrong put his hand over his wife’s and she started to un-brittle.

“Sur-jan, many of your kind have fled the Demon strongholds at great risk, choosing to live amongst the jossers rather than remaining with their kin. If what I believe is true, you are not our enemy.”

The Demon’s face shifted angrily and Ned finally understood. In his eyes he saw something unique. It was fear. An emotion that Demons were supposedly unable to feel, yet there it was and Sur-jan did not wear it well. He sat at the table like a hot coal on ice, spitting and crackling, steaming and sparking with visible malcontent. All creatures, it seemed, no matter where they are from, become angry when frightened.

“I have risked much to be here. To be away from the earth in this nowhere-place. It has made me sick. But better to be sick than a slave.”

“I don’t understand – what are you saying?”

There was a rattling from under the table. Ned’s perometer had come alive quite suddenly, but not, as he had at first feared, because of the Demon. The needle was pointing away from the creature and towards the door.

“The Darkening King – it is not welcome by those of us that remember.”

And the more he spoke, the more the perometer’s needle twitched. First one way and then another, in quick jerks of frantic movement.

“If you feel this way then help us! Tell us where he is, how to defeat him.” Terry Armstrong was now more animated than Ned had seen him since they had started their mission, hope burning brightly in his eyes.

The needle spun now in all directions, faster and faster.

“Defeat him?”

“Dad?”

“Not now, son!” urged his father. “Go on, Sur-jan, what can you tell us?”

Down the corridor, Ned heard footsteps running at a pace and the needle was spinning so hard that the perometer started to rattle.

“DAD!”

“Ned, what’s got into you?” said his mum, and then her eyes fell to the floor and the Tinker’s device. “Oh, dear.”

Ned snatched it from the floor and slammed it on to the table, narrowly missing a now terrified sprite whose light crackled then dimmed. A spin of the perometer’s dial could mean any number of things. Barbarossa’s men? The BBB? What was left of the Twelve and its pinstripes was still after them too.

The Demon remained quite calm, his head turned to one side, and he closed his eyes as if listening to something that Ned couldn’t hear. Finally his skin began to glow a fiery red.

“Trouble is here – here for you.”

Ned and family were up on their feet in an instant.

“What trouble? What do you mean?!”

“Find the old one – he will give you what you seek. Now go. NOW. While there is still time.”

“The old …?” Ned began to ask, but a second later he was shoved out of the door by both Mum and Dad, with a fast-moving sprite at their heels, out into the corridor and back into the tea room, and that’s when Mavis made herself heard.

“HOW DARE YOU? THIS IS MY TEA ROOM!”