Read Online Wild Boy and the Black Terror by Rob Lloyd Jones - Free Book Online
Authors: Rob Lloyd Jones
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palace’s smallest courtyard. He’d never been here before. Judging from the waist-high brambles that filled the courtyard’s small central garden, nor had many others.
He crept around the cloister, through stripes of moonlight and shadow. It wasn’t hard to follow Lucien’s path anymore, a lonely trail of wax drops that led to an arched door in the corner of the courtyard. Wild Boy’s heart thumped from the thrill of the chase, but he wished Clarissa was there. Sneaking about wasn’t as much fun without her.
The door opened with a creak that echoed around the darkness beyond. Wild Boy stepped through it, eyes scanning for danger. Shelves rose on every wall, each crammed with leather-bound books and ancient-looking scrolls. Sheets of cobwebs hung like net curtains across the stacks. Cockroaches scurried across spines.
“A library,” he whispered.
From the reek of stale breath that lingered in the air, it was obvious that Lucien had just been here. Wild Boy followed another drop of wax, and then another. His frosted breaths hung in the air like ghosts, and his trembling hand caused the candlelight to skitter across the stone-flagged floor. He heard footsteps and stepped back against one of the bookcases.
The steps grew louder, echoing around the cold stone gloom.
And then –
thud
. The library door slammed shut.
Wild Boy released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Lucien was gone, but why had he come here in such a hurry? Lowering his candle, he followed the trail to the rear of the library, where multicoloured moonlight streamed through stained glass.
Four wax drops dotted on the floor, marking the spot where Lucien had stopped. It wasn’t hard to see which book had interested him: the only one with its dust unsettled. It was halfway up the shelf and bound in pigskin.
Wild Boy moved closer, reading the title on its spine.
He drew a sharp breath.
“Demons?” he breathed.
He pulled the book down, setting his candle into its space on the shelf. Slowly, he turned the pages. What he saw made his fingers tighten. The book was full of monsters. Strange, unearthly names flicked past –
Abbadon, Behemoth, Gamigin, Leviathan
– with descriptions and drawings of grotesque creatures. Parts of different animals melted into each other, faces twisted with pain. There were lions with serpent’s tails, goats with wings, misshapen toads with claws as long as kitchen knives. Each drawing was surrounded by magical symbols, pentagrams and ancient scripts.
Wild Boy felt sicker and sicker with each page.
He stopped at one that was stained with Lucien’s wax. Here was the most terrifying drawing yet: part crow, part man. The beast had ragged black wings, curling talons and eyes that beamed black light in every direction. Its lips were peeled back, revealing vicious barbed-wire teeth. The creature was screaming.
No, Wild Boy realized with a shudder: it was laughing.
Its name was printed in thick black type.
He comes sometimes as a crow, sometimes as a man, and sometimes in both forms at once. Destroyer of cities. Bringer of plagues. He makes his enemies witness the blackest memories of all things past
.
Wild Boy read the entry again, his fingers growing so tight around the page that they crinkled the parchment. He didn’t believe in demons or anything like that. He’d seen enough horrors in real life. But he remembered Prendergast’s face. The terror in his eyes, the invisible horrors that tormented him in those moments before he died…
“No,” he said, firmly. “I don’t believe in demons.”
He tore the page from the book and stuffed it in his pocket. He reached to take the candle from the shelf, but stopped. His detective instincts took over, and he saw something he wasn’t looking for. Spiders had spun homes in the space behind the book, but the cobwebs were broken. It didn’t make sense; why would Lucien have reached that far back on the shelf?
Rising to tiptoes, Wild Boy slid his arm
He crept around the cloister, through stripes of moonlight and shadow. It wasn’t hard to follow Lucien’s path anymore, a lonely trail of wax drops that led to an arched door in the corner of the courtyard. Wild Boy’s heart thumped from the thrill of the chase, but he wished Clarissa was there. Sneaking about wasn’t as much fun without her.
The door opened with a creak that echoed around the darkness beyond. Wild Boy stepped through it, eyes scanning for danger. Shelves rose on every wall, each crammed with leather-bound books and ancient-looking scrolls. Sheets of cobwebs hung like net curtains across the stacks. Cockroaches scurried across spines.
“A library,” he whispered.
From the reek of stale breath that lingered in the air, it was obvious that Lucien had just been here. Wild Boy followed another drop of wax, and then another. His frosted breaths hung in the air like ghosts, and his trembling hand caused the candlelight to skitter across the stone-flagged floor. He heard footsteps and stepped back against one of the bookcases.
The steps grew louder, echoing around the cold stone gloom.
And then –
thud
. The library door slammed shut.
Wild Boy released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Lucien was gone, but why had he come here in such a hurry? Lowering his candle, he followed the trail to the rear of the library, where multicoloured moonlight streamed through stained glass.
Four wax drops dotted on the floor, marking the spot where Lucien had stopped. It wasn’t hard to see which book had interested him: the only one with its dust unsettled. It was halfway up the shelf and bound in pigskin.
Wild Boy moved closer, reading the title on its spine.
He drew a sharp breath.
“Demons?” he breathed.
He pulled the book down, setting his candle into its space on the shelf. Slowly, he turned the pages. What he saw made his fingers tighten. The book was full of monsters. Strange, unearthly names flicked past –
Abbadon, Behemoth, Gamigin, Leviathan
– with descriptions and drawings of grotesque creatures. Parts of different animals melted into each other, faces twisted with pain. There were lions with serpent’s tails, goats with wings, misshapen toads with claws as long as kitchen knives. Each drawing was surrounded by magical symbols, pentagrams and ancient scripts.
Wild Boy felt sicker and sicker with each page.
He stopped at one that was stained with Lucien’s wax. Here was the most terrifying drawing yet: part crow, part man. The beast had ragged black wings, curling talons and eyes that beamed black light in every direction. Its lips were peeled back, revealing vicious barbed-wire teeth. The creature was screaming.
No, Wild Boy realized with a shudder: it was laughing.
Its name was printed in thick black type.
He comes sometimes as a crow, sometimes as a man, and sometimes in both forms at once. Destroyer of cities. Bringer of plagues. He makes his enemies witness the blackest memories of all things past
.
Wild Boy read the entry again, his fingers growing so tight around the page that they crinkled the parchment. He didn’t believe in demons or anything like that. He’d seen enough horrors in real life. But he remembered Prendergast’s face. The terror in his eyes, the invisible horrors that tormented him in those moments before he died…
“No,” he said, firmly. “I don’t believe in demons.”
He tore the page from the book and stuffed it in his pocket. He reached to take the candle from the shelf, but stopped. His detective instincts took over, and he saw something he wasn’t looking for. Spiders had spun homes in the space behind the book, but the cobwebs were broken. It didn’t make sense; why would Lucien have reached that far back on the shelf?
Rising to tiptoes, Wild Boy slid his arm
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