Robin Jarvis-Jax 01 Dancing Jax (33 page)

The Ismus tutted and placed the three objects on the workbench.

“I think not,” he said. “You see, you won’t be leaving this place without sampling some of the Queen of Hearts’ hard work. She’s been so industrious – I insist you try some.”

“Stick it!” Martin told him.

“You aberrants really are monotonously irritating,” the Ismus said, slipping a hand into the pocket of his tailed jacket and holding up a full jar. “Still, a small dab of this and you’ll be one of us. I wonder what role you’re best suited to in the Dawn Prince’s Kingdom? I do hope it’s Dung-Breathed Billy – the Midden-Man. He was cursed by the witch to receive fifty kicks a day, every day, from the villagers. You’ll suit those bruises, Mr Baxter.”

He unscrewed the lid of the jar and took a step closer.

Martin tensed. He wondered how long he would last in the imminent fight. Not long against the four of them, but he would do as much damage to that Ismus lunatic as possible before those black-faced minders dragged him off.

The Ismus read his intention and laughed scornfully. “Have you learned nothing yet?” he asked. “Aren’t you the one who teaches by repetition? You drill and drill the same things into those poor young heads every week and yet you refuse to be taught in the same way. So pig-headed. After everything you’ve heard. You’re a very stupid creature to even dare think of raising a hand against me. I am the Holy Enchanter of Mooncaster, the Ismus, the owner of this house, the author of Dancing Jacks – I am Austerly Fellows!”

“You’re insane!” Martin snapped back. “You’re not him!”

The Ismus’s grin became wider. “Oh, but I am!” he said. “I am!”

He threw his arms wide and Martin stared in horror as dark spots of mould blotched across the pale skin of the man’s face and hands. Thick streams of spores shot out from his sleeves, striking the boarded-up windows on his left and the bricks of the house on his right. Foaming waves of mould gushed upwards, racing high until they streaked across the pitched ceiling and met in the centre where they blossomed into a festering, clotted cloud that throbbed and pulsed above their heads.

The torch fell from Martin’s hand. The lingering vestiges of doubt were finally banished from his mind. The three bodyguards cast their eyes downward and bowed, calling out praise to the Holy Enchanter.

“I have been so very patient,” the Ismus said, but the voice was not human and seemed to emanate from the heart of that grotesque, swelling growth above.

“Waiting so long for the right time and the right person,” it continued. “But my Prince was right to make me wait. There was never a better moment than now. Your world is empty and starving, little man. Dancing Jacks will fill it – all of it. There will be no other Word but mine.”

Martin was too horror-stricken to move or say anything. The black mould spread across the windows and clustered over the cast iron, furring the girders, and fine, hair-like filaments formed branching webs across the gaps.

The Ismus turned his mould-bloomed face to Martin and held out the jar of minchet.

“Take it,” the cloud commanded. “Lick it.”

Martin was too terrified to refuse. His spirit was completely quashed. He could not fight this. Nothing in the world could. He reached out a tremulous hand and took the jar.

The mould frothed and bulged overhead and violent ripples surged over the encrusted wall and windows.

“Do it,” the voice instructed.

Martin scooped a large glob on his trembling fingers and lifted them to his mouth.

The cloud quivered and spores rained down. A curtain of mould stretched to each of the Ismus’s shoulders, forming huge, bat-like wings. “Join us,” the gurgling voice of Austerly Fellows cried.

Martin closed his eyes and took a last breath. He thought of Carol and wished he had been able to save her and Paul. He put the sickly grey-green ointment to his lips.

Then there was a smashing of glass and a roar of heat and flame. The bodyguards cried out and leaped back. Something had been hurled through one of the windows. The Ismus spun round. A pool of liquid fire was spreading over the floor. Another pane exploded inward and a second fiery missile crashed against the wall.

Martin thrust his hand under his armpit and wiped the disgusting minchet from his fingers. Someone was outside. Someone was saving him!

The Ismus yelled. Flames were crackling all about him. The bloated cloud above gave a fearsome rumble, then came streaking down, pouring on to the Holy Enchanter’s back. It flowed up over the velvet collar of his jacket and retreated down into his neck.

Outside the conservatory a loud voice let loose a mocking laugh. “Haw haw haw!” it sang into the night.

Hearing that, the Ismus vaulted over the flames and jumped on to the workbench. He stared through the broken panes and searched the darkness outside.

“Jockey!” he shouted. “I know you’re there!”

Martin didn’t know what to do. The bodyguards had removed their coats and were thrashing the flames with them. He was cornered with no escape. Suddenly, behind him, the boarding was prised clear of the windows. A brick came flying through the glass, followed by a caramel-coloured boot that kicked the remaining shards away.

“Haw haw haw!” the unknown man guffawed again and then, in a falsetto voice, he sang, “I rode you, I rid you. I flamed you, I fled you! Hoo hoo hoo!”

Martin saw a glimpse of someone in a leather costume, the same colour as the boot, skip away from the freshly made hole. The figure darted over the tumbledown wall of the kitchen garden and vanished into the dark.

The maths teacher hesitated only for an instant. Then he seized his chance and squeezed though the empty frame.

“My Lord Ismus!” one of the Black Face Dames shouted. “The aberrant is escaping!”

The Holy Enchanter was still staring at the spot where the Jockey had disappeared. “Why hasn’t he come forward?” he raged. “He’ll pay for this when he does. I’ll make him sing a sorry song. I won’t be ridden! I won’t! He’ll dance to my tune, not his own.”

“The aberrant!” the bodyguard repeated. “He’s getting away.”

The Ismus leaped from the bench. The fire was almost out. Leaving one of the Dames to finish the job, he took the other two and ran through the house.

“He won’t get far!” he promised. “There’s no saving the teacher now.”

Martin charged around the building, down the side alley and dashed for the driveway. They’d be coming after him. He had to jump in the car and tear out of here. He’d drive to Ipswich and head straight for the police station. He would have to do everything he could to convince them while trying not to sound like a crazy person. They had to be made to believe and understand just how dangerous and real this was. The situation here had grown so big. They might even have to call in the army.

But, haring over the weed-covered drive, he saw a sight that made his heart sink and dashed any hopes of escape. The Ismus’s camper van had pulled up right behind his car. Reaching the vehicles, he found the car completely blocked in. With the tree directly in front and the van almost touching the back bumper, there was no way he could get it out of there.

“Dammit!” he cursed, glaring at the Volkswagen and thumping its rusting side.

Suddenly a ferocious, bestial clamour sounded within the van. The camper juddered and rocked wildly from side to side. There was a tremendous crunch and a dent punched up into the roof.

Martin jumped backwards. What the hell was in there? A wild bull? An angry rhinoceros? The van lurched and jolted. Then a curtain was torn from one of the windows. Martin yelled out loud.

A grotesque, oversized face pressed against the glass. Two bright yellow eyes with small, red-rimmed pupils fixed on him. The window clouded over as steaming breath snorted up from the creature’s flattened nostrils. The van’s side banged and pounded as wide shoulders lowered and the head bent down. Two curling horns battered against the sliding door.

Martin did not see them. He was already stumbling down the drive, running for his life.

The Ismus and the men who had been Tesco Charlie and Dave sprang from the house. The bodyguards were about to set off after the terrified maths teacher, but the Ismus held them back.

“No,” he said, observing the van’s violent shaking. “Let us be generous and give Mauger something bigger than rabbits to catch this night.”

Darting to the camper, he wrenched the buckled door open and the monstrous shape leaped out. It gouged the grass with its claws and bellowed a horrendous roar.

“After him, my pet,” the Ismus commanded. “Go, hunt him down. He is yours!”

The horrific beast snapped at the air then bolted down the driveway.

“That’s the best way to deal with aberrants,” the Holy Enchanter laughed.

In the darkness of the overgrown drive, Martin heard the bestial roar and knew the creature was chasing him. The maths teacher had never been good at sport, his mind and imagination were the most active and agile parts of him, but at that moment he ran faster than he ever had in his life.

He didn’t dare look back. He didn’t have to. He could hear the nightmare pursuing him. He could tell it was gaining. The snorts and growls and clashing of teeth were quickly growing louder. Martin pushed himself harder than ever, but it was no use. Then, in that tree-enclosed gloom, his foot hooked under the arch of a protruding root. A cry of dismay burst from his lips and he crashed to the ground.

Mauger bounded towards him. The man lay there, winded and panting. The demon sprang and Martin knew it was over.

In that instant a glimmering missile came spinning from the trees. It was another of those fiery bottle bombs. It struck Mauger’s powerful back and erupted in flames. The monster shrieked and came thundering through the air. It landed back on the drive, barely missing Martin, then went rolling down the sloping way, writhing and bawling, engulfed in fire.

Martin lifted his face and stared at it, incredulous. The beast was thrashing about wildly, screeching and yowling.

Then, from the trees, a stern voice hissed, “Get up, man! Run – you idiot!”

Martin turned, just in time to see that same caramel-coloured outfit nip back into the shadows.

“Thank you!” he called. But the figure was gone and all he heard was a high “Haw haw haw!” trailing into the distance.

Mauger’s frantic struggles were almost over. The thick fur of its gorilla-like arms was now only smoking and the fires that burned across its back were almost extinguished.

Martin realised he had waited too long. He leaped to his feet and, with his heart in his mouth, he pelted past the smouldering horror. Mauger’s unwieldy head swung around and the glowering yellow eyes watched the man race by. Two great claws clamped around the last burning patch of fur and smothered it. A fearsome snarl drew its red lips back over purple gums and a loud, rumbling growl sounded deep in the drum of its chest. The eyes flicked momentarily at the trees. The smell of new leather was strong on the air and the river of that scent wound far into the woods and out again. The Jockey could wait.

Mauger lumbered on to all fours and shook itself. Singed and burned, it was even more horrific a nightmare than before – and now it was enraged beyond control or recall.

Shaking its horns, the demon roared louder than ever and leaped after Martin. Very soon it would be feasting on aberrant flesh.

Martin’s trousers were ripped at the knee and a deep cut across his shin was singing as he ran. Blood was running down his leg and he knew the creature behind could smell it. He tore down that forgotten driveway without a thought of what he would do next. Fear alone drove him now. Then he was clear. The drive ended. He flung himself forward, out on to the remote country lane beyond. The smooth surface of the road felt jarring under his feet after the rough slope of the drive. He staggered and slipped, but didn’t stop. The demon was closing.

Martin ran blindly, charging down the centre of the deserted lane. It was the middle of nowhere, with nowhere to run – and no shelter. In the far distance, he could see the lights of houses, but he would never reach them in time. Behind him there was an exultant cry and the fiend came rampaging out on to the road. Its claws clattered and skated on the tarmac for a moment then it wheeled around and the fury-filled eyes shone down the lane – on Martin’s desperate and hopeless fleeing figure.

The jagged fangs dripped in anticipation and Mauger stampeded after.

Martin heard it, and for no other reason than to drown out that awful approach, he shouted. “Help! Help me someone – help me!”

And then, to his undying relief, there was light and noise. A car horn blared behind them. Headlights dazzled and a car came racing up the lane.

Mauger spun about. The light blinded its eyes and it shrieked in pain. Its claws flew before its face to shield it from the glare and the demon stumbled sideways into the hedge. The car horn continued to sound.

Martin had not dared to stop running, but he looked over his shoulder, squinting into the harsh lights. The car was almost upon him. He jumped to the verge and the vehicle braked sharply. The passenger door was pushed open and the strident tones of Professor Evelyn Hole were telling him to get in.

Moments later Martin was inside, huffing and wheezing and clutching his stinging knee. Evelyn’s sensible brogue stamped on the accelerator and the car screeched away.

In the rear-view mirror she saw Mauger jump back into the road and give chase.

“So much for the thirty mile an hour limit,” she said as the speedometer nudged up to sixty, then seventy. The demon’s monstrous shape receded and was soon lost in the darkness behind. A desolate, bone-numbing howl of frustration echoed across the open fields.

Evelyn waited until Martin was ready to speak.

“Thank you,” he said eventually. “If you hadn’t turned up just then…”

“Did you really think I’d let you go off to that hellish place alone, dear boy?”

“Then it was you, dressed as the Jockey? You really had them fooled back there – and me!”

“I’m not with you.”

“You didn’t rescue me from the conservatory? You didn’t throw those Molotov cocktails? You weren’t dressed in that strange get-up?”