Читать книгу The Devil's Paintbox - Robin Jarvis - Страница 7

TRIALLUM

Indistinct shapes, blacker than the eternal night that reigned over this furthest region of the sea, guided the shadowy figure to the place appointed. A pale luminescence glimmered from the mouth of an unseen cave and a monstrous terror of the uncharted abyss, with a forest of teeth, swam forward. The glow emanated from countless growths on its grotesque head and by that ghastly radiance the spirit of Mister Dark found he was standing upon a finger of rock at the edge of an immense trench that no light would ever reach.

The creature circled him and he could feel many hostile eyes spying from crevices in the surrounding stones. Foul voices, thick with slime, were gargling and whispering; distorted shells scurried and barbed tentacles reached towards him. The water seethed with resentment.

If Mister Dark had been a living man he would have been paralysed with terror, for beyond these attendant courtiers he could sense he was in the presence of Them.

The Lords of the Deep were watching.

Mister Dark’s nerve almost failed. Malignance crashed over him in violent pulses. Dropping to his knees, he waited for Their judgement.

He could feel Them invading his mind, shredding through the intricate plots and schemes and laying bare his most secret desires.

‘Forgive me! I humbly beg you!’ he cried. ‘Indulge me this one more chance. I swear this time I shall succeed.’

Shuddering, he shrieked in pain as he felt Them withdraw sharply from his thoughts and he fell forward, nearly plunging into the trench.

The sea grew even colder and he waited for a pronouncement.

In that remote region there was no concept of time, no way to measure the hours. He did not know how long he remained on that perilous outcrop.

Eventually he heard sounds approaching. Something was scuttling up the rock. Rising, he saw two crab-like claws rear over the edge, followed by the helmet of a Roman gladiator.

‘Emissary,’ Mister Dark greeted it. ‘What is the decision?’

The creature within the helmet poked its stalk eyes through the visor at him.

‘You are fortunate,’ came the gurgling voice. ‘Your scheme has found favour. The terms are agreed. If you succeed, your requests will be granted.’

‘Thank Their exalted Majesties!’ Mister Dark called out.

The helmet bobbed up and down on spindly legs and the pincer claws snapped in irritation.

‘Know this,’ the emissary warned. ‘Should you fail, there is no returning. You will suffer Their full wrath and endure torment – forever more.’

Mister Dark smiled grimly. ‘I shall not fail. I too have scores to settle with Whitby and its witch. When she is defeated, and I compel her to watch the destruction of everything she is pledged to protect, I shall offer up her overwhelming despair unto Them as sacrifice. Whitby’s doom is assured.’

‘It had better be,’ the emissary hissed.