Read Online Dawn of the Demontide by William Hussey - Free Book Online
Authors: William Hussey
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Seer abilities, Grype had discovered that mother and son sometimes walked home together in the evenings. The other problem Esther foresaw was the chance that Claire or Jake might escape and tell Dr Holmwood what had happened. Tobias had reassured Esther on that score.
‘After we learn all we can about the machine, Mr Pinch will kill them both—then we can dispose of the bodies. No one need ever know what really happened.’
It had seemed a foolproof plan. So what had gone wrong?
Mother Inglethorpe turned out of the noisy street and into an alleyway cloaked in silence. A sign bolted to the wall proclaimed this place:
The street was long and narrow, the pavement slick with ice. The soot-blackened walls either side leaned in at such an angle that it seemed only a matter of time before the buildings tumbled against each other. Mother Inglethorpe looked up once or twice. She caught sight of a parade of strange figures watching her from their windows. Creatures with the heads of animals and the bodies of men; shapes with long, spidery limbs and glowing eyes; ghostly forms that evaporated as soon as they were glimpsed. In one window she saw the silhouette of an eight-armed woman painting her forty fingernails.
Esther reached the door of a grubby-looking bookshop and rang the bell. Her eye slipped across the sign:
A face appeared at the window. Mr Grype squinted. Almost amusing, Esther thought, that a Seer should have such bad eyesight. He ushered her in.
‘Step in, step in, quickly now.’ Grype glanced over her shoulder into the dark stretch of Yaga Passage. ‘There are things living in this street I do not trust.’
‘Your neighbours have always been somewhat strange,’ Mother Inglethorpe admitted.
‘Visitors from the borderland,’ Grype sneered. ‘Mangey half-breeds. Still, a witch need not necessarily fear them, as long as she has her magic about her.’
Esther sniffed. Her fingers went to her breast and sought out the place in which Miss Creekley, her demon, nestled. Reassured, she followed Grype into the shop.
The air was musty with the smell of old paper. In every corner, upon every surface, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, books had been stacked and balanced and wedged until it appeared that the shop itself was constructed from old, leather-bound volumes. Mother Inglethorpe scanned a few of the titles: A Practical Guide to Raising Demons ; The Devil’s Black Book—a Directory of the Damned ; Hair, Skin and Fingernails—Their Use in Transformation Spells ; Pyromancy—the Art of Reading the Future in Flames (partly singed).
The only feature of the room, besides the creaking bookcases, was a big old fireplace. A few coals glowed in the grate, giving the room what little light and warmth it possessed. A dusty, ugly-looking bird perching upon the mantelpiece watched Mother Inglethorpe as she crossed the room. This was Mr Hegarty, Grype’s familiar. It was a low-caste demon, its magic limited to the gift of Second Sight. In keeping with the bizarre humour of such creatures, it had managed to tear out its own eyes.
‘Tell that hideous thing to stop watching me.’
Grype stroked the demon-bird’s neck, ignoring the black beetles that fell from its plumage.
‘Be nice to Mr Hegarty. He is a great favourite of Master Crowden’s, and you need all the goodwill you can get after tonight’s mess … Well, we better not keep him waiting. Follow me.’
‘I know the way. You stay here and dust your books, librarian .’
Esther knew how much Grype hated that word. Librarian. It reflected his lowly position within the Coven. With his powers more or less limited to that of Second Sight, he had been given the job of cataloguing the Master’s vast collection of supernatural tomes.
The witch left her enemy seething by the fire and went to Grype’s small back office. This room was as crowded as the main shop, every surface cluttered with books. Mother Inglethorpe paused before a curtained doorway. The
‘After we learn all we can about the machine, Mr Pinch will kill them both—then we can dispose of the bodies. No one need ever know what really happened.’
It had seemed a foolproof plan. So what had gone wrong?
Mother Inglethorpe turned out of the noisy street and into an alleyway cloaked in silence. A sign bolted to the wall proclaimed this place:
The street was long and narrow, the pavement slick with ice. The soot-blackened walls either side leaned in at such an angle that it seemed only a matter of time before the buildings tumbled against each other. Mother Inglethorpe looked up once or twice. She caught sight of a parade of strange figures watching her from their windows. Creatures with the heads of animals and the bodies of men; shapes with long, spidery limbs and glowing eyes; ghostly forms that evaporated as soon as they were glimpsed. In one window she saw the silhouette of an eight-armed woman painting her forty fingernails.
Esther reached the door of a grubby-looking bookshop and rang the bell. Her eye slipped across the sign:
A face appeared at the window. Mr Grype squinted. Almost amusing, Esther thought, that a Seer should have such bad eyesight. He ushered her in.
‘Step in, step in, quickly now.’ Grype glanced over her shoulder into the dark stretch of Yaga Passage. ‘There are things living in this street I do not trust.’
‘Your neighbours have always been somewhat strange,’ Mother Inglethorpe admitted.
‘Visitors from the borderland,’ Grype sneered. ‘Mangey half-breeds. Still, a witch need not necessarily fear them, as long as she has her magic about her.’
Esther sniffed. Her fingers went to her breast and sought out the place in which Miss Creekley, her demon, nestled. Reassured, she followed Grype into the shop.
The air was musty with the smell of old paper. In every corner, upon every surface, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, books had been stacked and balanced and wedged until it appeared that the shop itself was constructed from old, leather-bound volumes. Mother Inglethorpe scanned a few of the titles: A Practical Guide to Raising Demons ; The Devil’s Black Book—a Directory of the Damned ; Hair, Skin and Fingernails—Their Use in Transformation Spells ; Pyromancy—the Art of Reading the Future in Flames (partly singed).
The only feature of the room, besides the creaking bookcases, was a big old fireplace. A few coals glowed in the grate, giving the room what little light and warmth it possessed. A dusty, ugly-looking bird perching upon the mantelpiece watched Mother Inglethorpe as she crossed the room. This was Mr Hegarty, Grype’s familiar. It was a low-caste demon, its magic limited to the gift of Second Sight. In keeping with the bizarre humour of such creatures, it had managed to tear out its own eyes.
‘Tell that hideous thing to stop watching me.’
Grype stroked the demon-bird’s neck, ignoring the black beetles that fell from its plumage.
‘Be nice to Mr Hegarty. He is a great favourite of Master Crowden’s, and you need all the goodwill you can get after tonight’s mess … Well, we better not keep him waiting. Follow me.’
‘I know the way. You stay here and dust your books, librarian .’
Esther knew how much Grype hated that word. Librarian. It reflected his lowly position within the Coven. With his powers more or less limited to that of Second Sight, he had been given the job of cataloguing the Master’s vast collection of supernatural tomes.
The witch left her enemy seething by the fire and went to Grype’s small back office. This room was as crowded as the main shop, every surface cluttered with books. Mother Inglethorpe paused before a curtained doorway. The
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