Read Online The Phenomenals: A Tangle of Traitors by F E Higgins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: F E Higgins
Ads: Link
noise in her head.
‘Edgar,’ she managed to whisper, ‘help me. There’s something wrong with me.’
But Edgar was unmoved. He watched as Citrine fell to the floor. And the last things she saw, she saw in great detail: the long white hair on his trouser leg and the ragged nail on the middle
finger of his right hand.
C HAPTER 11
A L OSS
Vincent gave one final push at the unyielding trapdoor before sinking to the steps in defeat. Obviously someone had put something heavy on top. He had brought the key as a
matter of habit, but there was no way he could push up the trapdoor. He thumped the step in frustration.
‘How could I have been so stupid?’
He knew he had acted rashly and he was paying the price. He groaned as the realization of what had really happened dawned on him. Kamptulicon had obviously shut him in. But why hadn’t he
come down to confront him straight away? That alone was very worrying. And now all he could do was to wait for the ersatz oil vendor to come back and hope he could then somehow escape.
The tunnel was so short and narrow he could not conceal himself there, so he had no choice but to return to the chamber. He had a plan, of sorts; as soon as Kamptulicon appeared, he was going to
run at him, knock him to the floor and get the Aether out of there. With this in mind he spent another few minutes looking for a suitable weapon. He had his treen dagger of course, but he hoped to
avoid bloodshed. He was a thief but not a violent one. Finally he settled on a short thick baton he found near the humming cabinet.
He took up a position crouched near the chamber entrance, then changed his mind and crept under the table, before finally scooting to the far side of the room and hiding in among a collection of
tea chests. Briefly he thought about going into the humming cabinet, but sense prevailed. Apart from the fact that it would have been a squeeze, facing up to Kamptulicon was far preferable to death
by freezing.
If he had had the advantage of foresight he might well have changed his mind.
He settled down, alert and armed, truncheon in hand and a dagger on his belt. And so, berating himself all the while – his father would never have been caught in such a trap – he dug
in for an uncomfortable wait.
Vincent smelled their arrival before he heard it. A rotten stench rolled down the tunnel and filled the chamber. He had to hold his hand over his nose. Spletivus, what could
stink like that? he wondered.
He reached for the gas mask, but to his dismay it was no longer on his belt and there was no time to look for it. He readied himself for the confrontation. He felt the truncheon in his hand, but
his palm was sweating. His father had maintained that planning, wit and agility meant there was no need for weapons.
As Kamptulicon’s shadow filled the doorway he started to rise, but then he saw that the incomer was not alone. A man, at least he thought it was a man, followed Kamptulicon into the
chamber, and he was undoubtedly the source of the smell. Vincent swallowed hard in disbelief. The fellow looked as if he had been dug up from the grave. Then, to compound his horror, Kamptulicon
headed straight for the tea chests and smiled.
‘Come out, boy, come out! I know you’re there! Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.’
Vincent knew he had no choice but to show himself. He sheathed his treen dagger, tucked the truncheon under his coat and stood up. ‘Mr Kamptulicon, sir,’ he began, ‘I
didn’t mean any harm.’
Kamptulicon wasn’t one for excuses. Barely had he acknowledged Vincent with a nod of his head than he flicked out the fingers of his right hand. Instantly Vincent felt a burning liquid
spatter across his face. Frantically he tried to wipe it away, but when he managed to stop blinking he realized that he couldn’t see. Blinded, he was now at Kamptulicon’s mercy. His
legs were kicked from under him, he crashed to the floor and then there was nothing.
Vincent opened
‘Edgar,’ she managed to whisper, ‘help me. There’s something wrong with me.’
But Edgar was unmoved. He watched as Citrine fell to the floor. And the last things she saw, she saw in great detail: the long white hair on his trouser leg and the ragged nail on the middle
finger of his right hand.
C HAPTER 11
A L OSS
Vincent gave one final push at the unyielding trapdoor before sinking to the steps in defeat. Obviously someone had put something heavy on top. He had brought the key as a
matter of habit, but there was no way he could push up the trapdoor. He thumped the step in frustration.
‘How could I have been so stupid?’
He knew he had acted rashly and he was paying the price. He groaned as the realization of what had really happened dawned on him. Kamptulicon had obviously shut him in. But why hadn’t he
come down to confront him straight away? That alone was very worrying. And now all he could do was to wait for the ersatz oil vendor to come back and hope he could then somehow escape.
The tunnel was so short and narrow he could not conceal himself there, so he had no choice but to return to the chamber. He had a plan, of sorts; as soon as Kamptulicon appeared, he was going to
run at him, knock him to the floor and get the Aether out of there. With this in mind he spent another few minutes looking for a suitable weapon. He had his treen dagger of course, but he hoped to
avoid bloodshed. He was a thief but not a violent one. Finally he settled on a short thick baton he found near the humming cabinet.
He took up a position crouched near the chamber entrance, then changed his mind and crept under the table, before finally scooting to the far side of the room and hiding in among a collection of
tea chests. Briefly he thought about going into the humming cabinet, but sense prevailed. Apart from the fact that it would have been a squeeze, facing up to Kamptulicon was far preferable to death
by freezing.
If he had had the advantage of foresight he might well have changed his mind.
He settled down, alert and armed, truncheon in hand and a dagger on his belt. And so, berating himself all the while – his father would never have been caught in such a trap – he dug
in for an uncomfortable wait.
Vincent smelled their arrival before he heard it. A rotten stench rolled down the tunnel and filled the chamber. He had to hold his hand over his nose. Spletivus, what could
stink like that? he wondered.
He reached for the gas mask, but to his dismay it was no longer on his belt and there was no time to look for it. He readied himself for the confrontation. He felt the truncheon in his hand, but
his palm was sweating. His father had maintained that planning, wit and agility meant there was no need for weapons.
As Kamptulicon’s shadow filled the doorway he started to rise, but then he saw that the incomer was not alone. A man, at least he thought it was a man, followed Kamptulicon into the
chamber, and he was undoubtedly the source of the smell. Vincent swallowed hard in disbelief. The fellow looked as if he had been dug up from the grave. Then, to compound his horror, Kamptulicon
headed straight for the tea chests and smiled.
‘Come out, boy, come out! I know you’re there! Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.’
Vincent knew he had no choice but to show himself. He sheathed his treen dagger, tucked the truncheon under his coat and stood up. ‘Mr Kamptulicon, sir,’ he began, ‘I
didn’t mean any harm.’
Kamptulicon wasn’t one for excuses. Barely had he acknowledged Vincent with a nod of his head than he flicked out the fingers of his right hand. Instantly Vincent felt a burning liquid
spatter across his face. Frantically he tried to wipe it away, but when he managed to stop blinking he realized that he couldn’t see. Blinded, he was now at Kamptulicon’s mercy. His
legs were kicked from under him, he crashed to the floor and then there was nothing.
Vincent opened
Similar Books
