Читать книгу The Devil's Paintbox - Robin Jarvis - Страница 10

‘But you fell to pieces with all the other impossible gadgets, months ago!’ Verne declared. ‘How can you be here now?’

‘Begging your pardon, young master,’ the automaton replied, ‘but I did not fall to pieces; that would have been most undignified. Whilst the Nimius exists, so shall I. The coins that trigger my consciousness and motion ran out, that is all. The next thing I was aware of, I found myself in a scrapyard in the early hours of this morning.’

‘Who revived you?’ Cherry asked suspiciously. ‘And why’d they wait so long?’

The chains in Jack Potts’s neck rattled and he turned his hockey-mask face towards her.

‘There was a bent coin jammed in the slot at the side of my head,’ he answered smoothly. ‘Something must have jarred me and dislodged it.’

‘So what’d you come here for?’ Cherry pressed.

‘I was created to serve the Thistlewood family, yet I was compelled to come directly to this cottage, though I knew not why.’

‘This is Cherry Cerise; it’s her cottage,’ Verne said. ‘This is Lil Wilson. And this is my dad’s steampunk butler costume that the Nimius made real. Don’t ask me how. He’s called Jack Potts.’

‘“Potts” will suffice,’ Jack Potts told them. ‘I am but a biddable domestic mechanism. I am, however, enchanted to make your acquaintance.’

‘You sure it’s safe?’ Cherry asked Verne. ‘I don’t like hotshot appliances that answer back.’

The boy chewed his lip thoughtfully. ‘He was controlled by Melchior Pyke before, so he must be free of that now. I wouldn’t touch his toast though.’

Lil found Jack Potts fascinating. She had never seen any of the ludicrous inventions on that day of the town battle because she had been possessed herself.

‘A real, actual, thinking, working robot?’ she breathed in wonder. ‘That’s so galoptious.’

‘Galoptious,’ Jack Potts repeated. ‘An archaic word, meaning splendid, delightful, delicious. Why, I am none of those things, but I thank you most humbly.’

Cherry shrugged, unimpressed. ‘I skipped being excited about whizz-bang gimmicks back when they invented the pocket calculator. The world’s gotten dumber since people stopped workin’ things out for themselves.’

She stared at Jack Potts’s soiled clothes and the kitchen utensils that formed his hands. They weren’t just spattered with dirt, there were also dark splashes of blood.

‘Do not be alarmed,’ he explained. ‘Walking the country roads last night, I encountered an unfortunate sheep that had been hit by a car. I carried it gently to the verge and remained with it until the poor animal’s suffering was over. I am most anxious to divest myself of these grubby garments and shall attend to my attire as soon as I return to the home of Master Verne, where I trust there will be a quantity of ironing to do. A stack of neatly folded, crisply pressed linen cheers the soul.’

‘How would you know?’ Cherry muttered. ‘You ain’t got one.’

‘You can’t come home!’ Verne said quickly. ‘Mum’d have you up for sale in a flash.’

‘Well, the creepy heap of yappy scrap ain’t stayin’ here,’ Cherry said flatly. ‘I don’t want that contraption rifling through my frillies and looming over me at night.’

‘Then where am I to go?’ the automaton pleaded. ‘I beg you, do not turn me away.’

‘You can stay with us,’ Lil offered brightly. ‘Dad won’t mind a bit, ’specially as he’s been doing everything around the house lately. Mum might take a bit of convincing, but it’ll probably be OK.’

The impassive mask turned to her and the torch eyes shone on her eager face.

‘That is most generous of you, Mistress Wilson. I am overwhelmed with gratitude.’

‘That still doesn’t solve my problem,’ Verne said, holding up the Nimius. ‘What am I going to do about this?’

‘There is some difficulty?’ Jack Potts asked.

‘It’s why you ended up here,’ Verne explained. ‘I pressed a symbol for wealth and now I can’t go anywhere without people chucking money at me.’

‘And you do not wish for these riches? Yes, I can see that would be most distracting.’

‘What if you could block that gadget’s mojo somehow?’ Cherry wondered. ‘Hey, Lil, you’ve been searching for a project to test your gifts. How about knitting Verne a muffler for it?’

‘I could try,’ Lil said.

‘Remember, you gotta focus on what you want the spell to achieve and recite the intention with every stitch. The simpler the chant, the better.’

‘I do not comprehend,’ Jack Potts began. ‘You speak as if you are witches.’

‘You got a problem with that, Butlerbot?’ Cherry demanded.

‘In no way. I am, after all, a consequence of the occult studies of a seventeenth-century magician and natural philosopher. But perhaps if I may examine the Nimius? I might find a more straightforward solution to Master Verne’s predicament.’

He held out his metal hands and, before Cherry could stop him, Verne passed across the most powerful object in the world.

‘The Nimius,’ Jack Potts’s metallic voice sang softly. ‘How splendid it is.’

‘Do you know how to work it?’ Verne asked.

‘Like, is there an off button?’ Cherry said bluntly.

Jack Potts held it close to his face and the left eye flickered once more. The reels in his chest began to turn.

‘The glittering wonder-worker,’ he whispered. ‘After so many years . . .’

‘Hey!’ Cherry called. ‘Walking toaster oven – we’re speaking to you.’

The automaton twitched to attention.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I was wondering why this symbol of the lantern remains proud. Should it not have been pressed in conjunction with the one for wealth?’

‘What?’ Verne asked. ‘I could’ve sworn they all sank back down.’

‘Evidently not, Master Verne. See, here it is. I would hazard that you erred in pressing just one motif. Your command was not specific and that is why the result has been less than satisfactory.’

‘So pressing that as well would do what? People start giving me light bulbs?’

‘I cannot be certain, but I believe that the lantern is symbolic of more than mere illumination. Perhaps if pressed in tandem with the wealth rune, it could bring to light treasures that are normally hidden.’

‘Buried treasure?’ Lil asked. ‘Like pirate gold or a stash of Saxon coins?’

‘There are many things in this world prized more highly than gold,’ Jack Potts said.

‘If that thingamajig could sniff out a pair of size four Mary Quant ankle boots in bubblegum pink,’ Cherry put in, ‘that would be awesomeness in a bun.’

‘Do you think we should try it?’ Verne asked.

Cherry wrinkled her nose. ‘I wouldn’t fiddle with that doodad any more than you already have. It’s way too strong, way too unpredictable and I don’t like the vibes it gives off.’

‘But it might stop people shoving money at me,’ Verne replied. ‘I’ll never be able to go outside again if that carries on.’

Cherry threw her hands in the air.

‘OK, go ahead. Pull out the pin and blow yourself up – but don’t let Junkyard Jeeves do it. He’s had it in his chrome-plated paws too long already.’

Verne reached to take the Nimius from Jack Potts. Cherry watched closely. Did she detect a momentary hesitation? Was the automaton reluctant to part with it?

She couldn’t be certain.

The boy traced his thumb around the lantern’s raised image and glanced over to Lil, who nodded encouragement. He pressed the symbol down. There was a click and he felt a soft tremor within.

‘Is that it?’ Lil asked after a pause.

‘It’s four hundred years old,’ Verne said. ‘Give it a – Wait! Look!’

He held the Nimius up and they saw a circular design begin to rotate and rise. Beneath it, spiralling out on a slender octagonal rod, was a round jewel with a ruby fire blazing in its heart.

There was a dazzling burst of crimson light drenching everything in a vibrant glare. Like a magical X-ray it passed through everything. Verne could see the bones in his hands and Lil was a red skeleton sitting on a transparent chaise longue, next to an upright jumble of cogs, chains and wires. Behind them he could see through into the hall. Turning, he saw Cherry Cerise as another skeleton, albeit one in a wig and sunglasses, and at her wrist the ammonites on her bracelet were shining brightly. Then he noticed around the room that Lil’s crocheted flowers were gleaming with a faint light of their own.

Another fierce pulse from the jewel and Verne could look through into the neighbouring cottage, where Mrs Gregson’s elderly bones were clutching a photograph of her late husband. Raising his eyes, Verne gazed through the ceiling over his head and stared into the room above. Locked inside a cupboard, papers and books were glowing. He wondered what they were – magical secrets of the Whitby witch?

The Nimius shook in his grasp and his thumb slipped from the lantern symbol. There was one more brilliant explosion of ruby light. A picture fell from the wall and a pan crashed to the floor in the kitchen, causing Lil’s skeleton to jump. Then the jewel retreated and the gold disc screwed back in place.

The glare faded and everyone, except Jack Potts, scrunched up their eyes.

‘We should’ve taken it up to the abbey,’ Verne said. ‘Imagine what it might’ve found there!’

‘I do not think its efforts here have been altogether fruitless,’ Jack Potts replied. He pointed to the fireplace, and Cherry swore like a fishwife as she leaped from the wicker seat.

Scarlet flames were licking up between the tiles of the hearth.

‘Get a bucket of water!’ she yelled, stamping on the unnatural fires.

Verne and Lil sprang to their feet, but Jack Potts halted them.

‘It is not a consuming fire,’ he said. ‘It is merely a marker. See how it forms a perfect rectangle. The Nimius has exposed the hiding place of an object most intriguing. We must investigate.’

‘You wanna excavate my floor?’ Cherry asked. ‘What are you, Tindiana Jones?’

‘Could be a small coffin,’ Verne said ghoulishly.

‘Or a little chest of valuables,’ Lil argued, clinging to the romantic hope of treasure.

‘It would be but the work of moments to dig out,’ Jack Potts suggested. ‘My hands are the perfect tools.’

Cherry opened her mouth to object, but before she could speak there was a rumble underneath the hearth. The flames doubled in height and the tiles began to bubble and crack.

‘Didn’t I say that gizmo was too darned strong,’ the witch muttered. ‘Stand back, guys!’

The whole fireplace was juddering. The lava lamps on the mantel shook and soot came drizzling down the chimney.

The hearth bulged and the flames roared and leaped to the ceiling. Tiles split apart and dirt and rubble went flying across the room as something punched its way free. There was a wild crackle and spitting of sparks. With a sizzling hiss, the crimson fires were quenched, leaving a mound of stones and chips of broken cement. Lying on top, covered in grime and dust, was a rectangular bundle wrapped tightly in waterproof cloth.

‘Oh Lords!’ Cherry murmured. ‘What have we got here?’

‘A most disagreeable mess,’ Jack Potts observed. ‘Forgive me, Miss Cerise, I did not anticipate so violent and chaotic a consequence. I will of course put it all in order and clean up thoroughly. Where do you keep your vacuum cleaner?’

‘Chillax,’ Cherry told him. ‘Let’s see what this thing is first.’

Carefully she reached out and passed her hand over the strange discovery. Smudges of pink light flickered across her palm as Cherry’s pale blue eyes began to shine and the walls of the parlour moved through different shades of purple.

‘Whatever it is has been in this house over a hundred years,’ she murmured slowly. ‘I can see old wrinkled hands, human and something other – aufwaders? There’s friendship there, and trust. Yeah, but that’s just the wrapping. I can’t tune in to what’s inside – it doesn’t seem to have any vibes of its own. Nothing is ever that blank. Even a flowerpot has some sort of emanation. This is so clean it could squeak.’

‘Like wiping the fingerprints off a murder weapon,’ Verne said gruesomely and he felt the torch eyes of Jack Potts turn upon him.

‘Wait,’ Cherry said. ‘There is . . . something. Oh, that’s just too wacky.’

‘What is?’ asked Lil.

Cherry half closed her eyes and concentrated harder.

‘Best way I can describe it is like lookin’ into a mirror. I keep gettin’ my colours reflected back at me. Never had that before. So bizarre.’

‘But no malevolence?’ Jack Potts enquired.

‘If there is, then it’s buried way down deep and I can’t probe so far. That in itself scares me. Detective Verne might be right.’

She leaned back and gave her hand a vigorous shake. At the same time the mysterious parcel slid on to the carpet. A corner of the cloth flapped open and an envelope slipped out.

Cherry seized it and her blue wig shifted as her eyebrows shot up.

There was no name, no address, just a simple drawing of three ammonites.

‘Guess it must be for me,’ she said.

Using her fingernail as a paperknife, she opened the envelope, adjusted her sunglasses and removed the letter it contained.

‘Swanky,’ she said, admiring the quality embossed notepaper. There was a stylish letterhead depicting a slender woman in an evening gown, with an Airedale dog at her side, a biplane in the sky, a yacht on the sea in the distance, and the words Scribbled from the desk, dashboard, cabin or cockpit of Sylvia de Lacy.

‘Cop a load of this,’ Cherry began, and she read the letter aloud.

Whitby, 1932

Dear future darlings,

I’ve had to relocate this troublesome packet from a hidey-hole in the kitchen wall, where it looks like it had been stashed for simply yonks, and inter it under the hearth here. Some oikish bluenose has been making a pill of himself in regard to it, but Holly and I saw him off. I hope it’ll be safe in the new sanctuary, until you find it – or it finds you!

Bags of affection,

SdL

‘Who is Sylvia de Lacy?’ Verne asked.

‘Keep up, Columbo,’ Cherry said, handing the letter across. ‘She’s one of my predecessors and this changes everything.’

‘A Whitby witch?’ Lil asked.

‘You betcha, and quite a gal by all accounts. A genuine adventuress, the type they don’t make no more – and hardly ever did back then. If she vouches for this, whatever it is, that’s good enough for me.’

Verne gazed at the confident handwriting, which looked as fresh as the day it had flowed from an expensive fountain pen, and he wondered if the drawing was in any way a good representation of Sylvia de Lacy. If it was, then she was exceedingly glamorous.

‘So who was the “bluenose”?’ he asked. ‘And Holly? Was that the dog in the letterhead?’

‘No idea,’ Cherry said, starting to unwrap the bundle that was now on her knee. ‘Holly might have been her cook or parlourmaid. Sylvia was seriously loaded. This cottage was her idea of a beach hut. Apparently her Rolls Royce was always blocking Church Street. Only rich witch I ever heard of and that’s because she was born into it. Now what’s this?’

She had removed two layers and only one remained, but sandwiched between the second and third was another note. This was a folded scrap of torn paper and had been there long before Sylvia had written hers.

‘It’s like pass the parcel,’ chuckled Lil.

Cherry gave the message her attention, which was written in thick black pencil.

‘You better read it,’ she said to Lil.

Puzzled, Lil took the tattered note and let out a cry of disbelief.

‘What is it?’ Verne demanded. ‘What does it say?’

His friend passed it to him and, though his mouth opened and closed, he was too stunned to speak.

Lil Wilson, this is for you!

‘Got to be a coincidence,’ Lil said. ‘It can’t mean me me.’

‘Don’t be daft!’ Verne said, giving it back. ‘Course it’s you. Check out the handwriting!’

Lil took another look and gasped even louder. ‘It’s not possible,’ she breathed. ‘But . . . but – it looks like mine.’

Cherry slumped back in the wicker chair and whistled through her teeth.

‘Dip me in glitter and throw me to a mob of roller-skating pixies!’ she declared. ‘This is turning out to be one head-fry of a day and it’s still not lunchtime. Here, Lil, this is undeniably yours, kiddo. A present out of the past to you, from you.’

Lil took the bundle almost fearfully, questions exploding in her head like fireworks. Carefully she unwrapped the last layer of protective cloth and gazed at the uncovered object.

It was a plain and shallow wooden box, with tarnished brass hinges and a simple clasp locking the two halves together.

‘P’raps there’s magic wands inside?’ Verne suggested. ‘You might’ve sent yourself a witch kit.’

‘We’ve got enough of those in the shop already,’ Lil reminded him. ‘Besides, Cherry says real witches don’t use them.’

‘A set of magic knitting needles then?’ he said. ‘Hurry up and open it!’

‘Yes,’ Jack Potts joined in. ‘I too am curious.’

‘Curious, my eye!’ Cherry cried. ‘I’m so stoked, I’m gonna need fresh underwear! Put me and my gusset out of our misery, for crying out loud!’

Lil fumbled with the clasp. It was stiff and took several moments of fiddly struggle before she could lift the lid.

Gazing inside, she gave a delighted laugh and angled the box around for everyone to see.

‘It’s paints!’ she exclaimed. ‘An antique box of . . . watercolours, I think. No wonder you thought your colours were being reflected back at you.’

The lower half was divided into seven compartments for the blocks of pigment and a narrow channel for the brush.

Verne couldn’t conceal his disappointment. He’d expected something far more dramatic and otherworldly.

‘Maybe they paint the future or something?’ he said.

‘They’ve never been used,’ Cherry observed. ‘Not so much as a spot of spit ever touched them.’

Lil prised out an ochre-coloured brick and examined it closely. It was slightly larger than a piece of Lego. Stamped on to the surface was a relief of a camel and, on the reverse, the pigment’s name – Sahara Sand.

‘They’ve all got little images on them,’ she said. ‘The white one has a cup and saucer; the red has a beetle; the yellow is a bit weird, looks like a starved cow – you can see the ribs.’

‘Might be Indian Yellow,’ Cherry suggested. ‘The way they used to make that was gross. They fed cattle nothing but mango leaves, which did them no good whatsoever, then they boiled down the urine to a stinky powder.’

‘Says Scourge Yellow,’ said Lil, reading the back.

‘Never heard of that one.’

‘What’s there, in the middle?’ Verne asked.

The brick in the centre space was wrapped in creamy linen, embroidered at the edges.

‘Looks like a hanky,’ Lil said, carefully peeling away the fabric.

‘Perhaps that colour is Bogey Green,’ Verne said, grinning.

‘You’re kidding me!’ Lil blurted, but she wasn’t talking to him. She was staring at the object that had been cocooned in the handkerchief. It wasn’t paint at all. It was a badge, made of polymer clay, one of the handmade badges that she made for the shop and often wore herself.

‘Wow,’ was all Verne could say.

‘That settles it then,’ Cherry declared. ‘Remember that old sepia photograph of Victorian Whitby I showed you, with a girl in it who looked like you? That’s the very badge she was wearing.’

‘So I do go back in time,’ Lil whispered, trying to take it in and convince herself this was real. ‘But how? And why? And why do I send myself this paintbox? Why didn’t I write a proper note explaining it all? Am I supposed to do something special with it?’

Cherry gazed at the Whitby witch brooch and clicked her fingernails, lost in thought.

‘When did you make that particular badge?’ she asked abruptly. ‘Was it recent?’

‘I haven’t made any for months,’ the girl answered. ‘And I’m sure I’ve never made one quite like this before.’

‘You must have,’ Verne said. ‘It’s absolutely one of yours – a green-faced, goofy witch.’

His friend shook her head. ‘I’ve never made one holding a turnip lantern,’ she said firmly.

‘Could you make me one?’ Cherry asked. ‘Just the same as that? Exactly the same, in every detail?’

‘You can have this if you want. I’ve got lots at home.’

‘No, you have to keep that, it’s been waitin’ for you a long time. I just want a copy.’

Lil nodded vaguely. She was more concerned about what all this meant.

‘What if,’ she began. ‘What if this is a warning? Do I get stuck there, back in the past? I might never be able to get come back here – to now. What happens to me? I might die decades before I’m even born.’

‘Hey,’ Cherry said sharply. ‘Quit the hysteria. I told you being a witch came with a hat full of curve balls. So you go back in time, big deal; some witches are always skippin’ in and out of the centuries, that’s their job. It’s gonna happen to you and there’s nothing you can do to change that; it’s part of established history now so get over it. Whatever you do has already been done. Start thinkin’ too hard about this stuff and it’ll melt your mind. You know what, I’ve had a bellyful of kooky dramatics for one morning. This old broad needs to clear this mess up and groove out to some Bolan and Bowie.’

‘You want us to go?’ Lil asked, taken aback by the sudden switch of mood. ‘But I need to talk about this!’

‘Later maybe,’ Cherry said, and Lil was astonished at the coldness in her voice.

‘Did I say something wrong?’ she asked. ‘If I did, I’m sorry. But this has knocked me sideways. I’m scared.’

‘Welcome to my world,’ was the terse answer. ‘Goes with the territory. Now, you kids, scram and take Captain Clankaroo with you.’

‘All right,’ the girl muttered, feeling hurt. ‘Verne, come back to ours – and you too, Mr Potts.’

‘Just Potts,’ the automaton reminded her as they rose and left the parlour.

Cherry saw them to the front door, arms folded. ‘I’d leave off usin’ them paints,’ she cautioned sternly. ‘They’ll be packed with toxic gunk. The white’s gonna be chock-a-block with lead for a start, and some of the others might contain arsenic.’

‘I’ll be careful,’ Lil assured her, hugging the box tightly as she stepped outside.

‘Thank you for a most interesting time,’ Jack Potts said politely, his voice muffled by the parka he had zipped up to conceal his face once more.

Cherry ignored him.

‘And don’t you go pressin’ no more buttons on that bauble of yours,’ she told Verne.

Verne scowled in reply. It was unsettling – she had practically swept them out of the cottage. Walking away in thoughtful silence, he pushed Mrs Gregson’s wedding ring and pension money through her letter box as they passed.

‘Hey!’ Cherry called after them. ‘Lil, that badge – don’t forget. I want it exactly the same.’ And she slammed the door.

‘Does anyone have a clue what just happened?’ Lil asked. ‘Why’d she go all weird?’

‘She’s always been weird,’ Verne said.

‘One cannot predict a witch’s humour,’ Jack Potts said. ‘They are as sleeping tigers.’

‘Nah,’ Verne disagreed. ‘That’s just girls.’ And he yelped when Lil punched him on the arm.

Inside the cottage, Cherry Cerise slid down against the front door. The colour of the hallway drained to an arctic blue.

‘Curse you, Cherry,’ she uttered in a cracked and anguished voice. ‘You shoulda seen this comin’. That’s what you’re here for! This could be the biggest disaster this town has ever faced.’

And she buried her face in her hands.