Читать книгу Time of Blood - Robin Jarvis - Страница 8

TIME-BURNED

In the shadow of the West Cliff, the fog lay thick over the broad sands, masking the margin between shore and sea. Its webbed fingers caressed the stone piers that reached out into the calm waters, coiling up around the lighthouses, absorbing the guiding beams from the great lamps and diffusing them in a wide milky spread before the harbour mouth.

The wooden bathing machines, which were stationed overnight at the foot of the cliff, appeared to float on the undulating mist like an armada of poky, white-washed sheds. On the beach before them, two small figures wended their way through the fog. One sported a broad-brimmed oilskin hat, the other a string of seashells about her brow; both wore ganseys of different designs. They were aufwaders – the half-forgotten fisherfolk of Whitby legend, who had dwelt on that coast long before humans settled there, but who now lived quietly and secretly in caves beneath the East Cliff.

Nettie Weever leaned against a large cartwheel of the end bathing machine and waited while her friend, Hesper Gull, caught up with her. Hesper was revelling in the fog, whisking and flailing her short arms through it, creating eddying waves. The deep wrinkles of Nettie’s brow bunched together as she watched her friend’s carefree play. Hesper had been so much happier these past few weeks – everyone in the tribe had noticed and the reason was known to all. Silas, her husband, was missing.

Silas Gull hadn’t been seen for over a fortnight. He had always been prone to wandering off and spending time away from the caves on some sly venture, but he had never been absent this long. He was such an unpleasant, scowling and untrustworthy rogue, it was a relief not to encounter him in the tunnels and the other aufwaders understood why his mistreated wife was starting to feel her old self again. There were of course those poisonous tongues who suggested Hesper had done away with her husband, but she was such a gentle creature that they weren’t taken seriously.

Nettie almost hoped, for her friend’s sake, that Silas had indeed suffered some fatal mishap. Hesper deserved better than that bullying villain for a husband and she wished she had done more to dissuade her from marrying him those many years ago. Silas had made her life wretched and, though he never struck her, no doubt fearing what her brother Abel would do to him, he crushed her spirit with more subtle cruelties. It was wonderful to see Hesper so cheerful and hear her laughter again.

Nettie lifted her wind-browned face to the night sky. Recently she had been reminded of those far-off days of Hesper’s courtship by the sound of chilling cries, high above the humans’ clifftop dwellings.

She started. There it was again, that horrible, unforgettable noise, like a wailing child. She had heard those mewling calls before, when a human magician called Melchior Pyke had stayed in Whitby, with his sinister manservant, Mister Dark. That servant had frightened the aufwaders; unlike most of the townsfolk, he possessed the gift of second sight and could see them. With a grimace, Nettie recalled how he prowled the midnight shore, often accompanied by a grotesque animal with bat-like wings. She gave a sorrow-filled sigh: that was also the time her human friend, Scaur Annie, had died.

She passed a hand over her face, grieved at the memory, then flinched when a gunshot echoed across the heavens.

‘Deeps take me!’ Hesper exclaimed, hitching up the cork lifebelt she wore over her gansey and joining Nettie by the bathing machine. ‘Rowdy doings up there this night. That’s the second of them stickbangers gone off – ear-achey loud they are. Why are them landfolk so fond of noise and riot?’

‘I think that flying beast we’ve been hearing lately is being hunted,’ Nettie guessed shrewdly. ‘I hope they catch it.’

‘There you go again. Can’t be the same one you’re thinking of, not after all this time. That’s dead and done with and washed away.’

‘I wish I could believe that. Much was left unexplained back then, and I am ill at ease. There is an evil abroad this night.’

Hesper shrugged. She took no interest in the affairs of humanfolk. The tribe was forbidden to have dealings with them. She was however fascinated by their bathing machines. When Nettie explained their function to her she fell about laughing. The idea that people would clamber inside via the back door, change secretly into different clothes, have the whole contraption pulled by a horse into the sea where those same people would emerge through the front door, step down into the water and immerse themselves, was the most absurd and overcomplicated ritual she’d ever heard.

Still, one thing was certain: Silas was not hiding inside one of them – they had checked.

Hesper resumed wafting her hands through the mist.

‘When the time comes,’ she said dreamily, ‘it’ll be on a night such as this that the moonkelp blooms.’

Nettie chuckled. ‘I haven’t heard you mention that old tale for many a year. It’s good to hear you –’

Her voice stopped abruptly. Above the nearby stone pier there was a rumble like distant thunder. The air shook and the surrounding mist began to boil and curl. It was sucked up over the stonework, then swirled and twisted with mounting force to form a whorling vortex.

‘Nine times bless me!’ Hesper declared, holding on to her friend in alarm. ‘What witchery is this?’

The coiling vapour stretched the length of the pier, becoming a wildly spinning tunnel that whipped and thrashed in every direction. At the furthest end, close to the lighthouse, a maelstrom of sparks and embers exploded into existence and roared through, igniting a pathway of purple fire. There was a dazzling blast of violet lightning and the uncanny corridor twisted faster and faster, branching with crackling, fiery veins.

‘Look there!’ Hesper cried. ‘You see?’

Nettie could only nod in answer, her large sea-grey eyes sparkling with reflections of that unearthly spectacle.

Within the tunnel a shape was forming. At first it was just an indistinct blur, but with every rapid pulse of light and peal of thunder it grew more solid and the aufwaders saw it was a human figure. Helplessly it tumbled forward, hurtling uncontrollably down the lashing tunnel, arms and legs dangling, head jolted from side to side. With dismay they realised it was little more than a child.

Punching through the seething fog, the figure went rolling on to the ground and lay there motionless. The blazing tunnel behind flared, and a blizzard of sizzling cinders whooshed over the pier. There was a snap of light, then all was dark and the vortex dissipated. The mist shrank back and the night was still once again.

Hesper slapped her face and rubbed her eyes.

‘By the Three ’neath the waves!’ she spluttered. ‘What were that?’

Nettie did not know, but she pulled away from her, anxious to investigate.

‘Leave it be!’ Hesper hissed.

‘They must be hurt!’

‘But it’s a maggoty landbreed!’

Nettie shook her head in disappointment. ‘You sound just like Silas when you say words like that.’

Hurrying on to the pier, she ran to where the figure was sprawled on the ground.

At first Nettie thought it was a boy because of the trousers it wore – human females were always in skirts or dresses. But brushing the hair from its face she saw it was a girl, no older than twelve or thirteen. The unusual clothes were singed and smoking and the girl’s skin was peppered with weird, glowing blisters.

Kneeling beside her, Nettie felt for a pulse. It was weak, but the stranger was alive. Then the aufwader made another discovery and she caught her breath in shock.

‘Come away!’ Hesper pleaded, having followed her. ‘They’re not our concern.’

‘I can’t leave her!’

‘Esau would demand you do just that! You can’t disobey the elder!’

‘Esau isn’t here and you’re not going to tell him. She’ll die if I don’t help her! Besides, you should see this.’

Hesper approached reluctantly. She gazed down at the child’s face and her kind heart pitied her.

‘Here,’ Nettie said, directing her friend’s attention to something around the girl’s neck. It was a string threaded with three ammonites. Hesper recognised them immediately and her mouth fell open.

‘They belonged to Scaur Annie!’ she cried. ‘But how? We buried them with her.’

‘I don’t know, but I believe we just saw a doorway, and this poor child was flung through it.’

‘A doorway to where?’

‘Or when. ’

‘I don’t like this. We shouldn’t get caught up in it.’

‘Too late wishing for that. Now, will you help me? We must bear this child to a place of safety where she can be healed, if healing is possible.’

‘You’re not thinking of smuggling her into our caves?’

‘No.’

‘Where then?’

‘There is only one place. These snake stones are the sign of the Whitby witch; we must take the girl to her.’

Hesper frowned in puzzlement. ‘But how do we know who that is?’ she began, before the truth dawned on her. ‘Oh, Nettie! You’ve been disobeying Esau all this time! You consort with these humans!’

‘Only one of them. The witches of this town have never been our enemy. Help me carry this poor child to her door.’

‘Me and you walk through them people streets? Have your wits leaked out your ears?’

‘No one will see us two.’

‘Just so! To prying eyes she’ll look like she’s floating, lighter than a fleck of sea foam! Nothing strange about that!’

‘The fog will conceal her. I can’t do this without you. Please.’

Hesper chewed her lip fearfully. She glanced over at the many huddled buildings of the human town and shook her head. Then she saw how earnest her friend was and she groaned with resignation.

‘We’ll rue this, I know it,’ she muttered.

Between them, they gently lifted the unconscious girl and carried her from the pier. Even though the mist still clung to the town, Hesper’s nerves were on edge and she looked about her constantly. When they crossed the bridge into the cramped lanes of the East Cliff, she was sure every dark window held a pair of hostile eyes and felt hopelessly vulnerable.

‘How much further?’ she whispered.

‘Almost there,’ Nettie answered. ‘There’s an opening yonder – through that and we’re done.’

It was with great relief that they entered one of the many yards leading off Church Street and were able to lay the girl on the ground.

‘Now, let’s go!’ Hesper urged, eyeing the cottages around them suspiciously.

‘A moment more,’ Nettie replied, removing the string of shells from around her brow and throwing them, one by one, against an upstairs window.

Hesper folded her arms impatiently.

‘Who’s that stood standing down there?’ a stern voice called suddenly. ‘If that’s you, Eli Swales, I’ll learn you to chuck stones at the casement of a respectable widowed lady’s boudoir – I’ll give you such a clout round the lughole you’ll have to wear your hat backwards.’

The aufwaders stared up at the annoyed face leaning over the sill above.

‘It’s me,’ Nettie answered. ‘You must come down!’

All anger vanished from the voice and was replaced with an almost girlish excitement.

‘Ooh, it’s you, is it? And who’s that there with you? Brought a friend? What must you think of me? I’ll be down in two rattles of a sheep’s whatsit.’

The face withdrew and moments later the front door opened.

‘Fetch yourselves in – don’t be shy. Why didn’t you let me know in the usual way, or use the passage? If I’d known you was coming to visit I’d have spruced the place up a bit and flicked a duster about, and here I am with curling papers in my hair.’

‘I’m not going in one of them stone boxes!’ Hesper refused, stepping away.

‘Don’t be like that. I’ve got fruit cake keeping fresh in a tin. Happen you’ll not have had fruit cake before. Ooh, you don’t know what you’ve been missing.’

‘Nannie Burdon,’ Nettie greeted sombrely. ‘See what we bring – a human child, spat out of the darkness. I fear there’s only a gasp of life left in her.’

The woman on the doorstep peered through the mist at the girl lying on the ground.

‘Get her inside,’ she said sharply.

And so the Whitby witch and Nettie carried Lil Wilson into the cottage.