Authors: Kieran Larwood
Freaks (13 page)
“But the tides aren't right tonight.” The painted man's voice rumbled like a brewing thunderstorm. He had a thick, foreign accent; it was not one Sheba could remember hearing before, but for some reason it seemed familiar.
“Very well, Baba Anish. Tomorrow, then. At low tide â just as with the others. Within hours, we shall have what we most desire. And how long we have waited . . .”
That woman
, Sheba thought. And to think she had felt sorry for her. There clearly was no lost son. And Mrs. Crowley was no grieving mother.
“Yes, but something happened to the puppet maker,” the doctor said. “And there's that bunch of freaks looking for one of the childrenâ”
Sheba caught a strong waft of Mrs. Crowley's peculiar scent as she jerked forward in her chair. “The puppet man owed money to some nasty people,” she snapped. “Why do you think he was so keen to take our coin? They must have lost patience with him in the end. And as for those irritating snoops, they are nothing to worry about. I met them, don't forget. And they were just as stupid as I expected. The woman was clueless, and as for that hideous little girl . . . my Indian friend here has a cure for her.”
The painted man gave a deep chuckle that sounded more like a panther growling. It was followed by the sound of something sharp and metal being drawn from a scabbard. Sheba could suddenly smell dried blood â human blood. Without meaning to, she let out a tiny squeak of terror.
“What was that?” came Mrs. Crowley's sharp whisper.
Heavy footsteps began to approach the door. The metal-and-blood stink drew closer and closer. Sheba wanted desperately to run, but for some reason her feet were rooted to the floor.
The door handle began to move, she could see it from the corner of her eye, but still her legs were stuck like stone.
Run, you stupid girl. Run!
she shouted to herself. Where was the wolf when she really needed it?
Just as the door began to creak open, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked around.
It was Sister Moon.
Life returned instantly to her limbs. Sheba scampered along the landing and into the room where Monkeyboy was hiding.
Behind her, the door continued to open.
Mrs. Crowley called out, “It's probably just a floorboard, Baba Anish. This dismal place is falling to pieces. Little wonder they left it behind to rot.”
Sheba crouched behind the door of the dark room she had dashed into. Monkeyboy jumped into her arms and she held him in a tight squeeze. She was so scared, she almost didn't notice the smell. Beside her, Sister Moon had dropped to a fighting crouch and was drawing her swords from their scabbards slowly and silently.
Out in the corridor, she heard the man Mrs. Crowley had called Baba Anish taking careful steps forward. She imagined his eyes sliding from shadow to shadow like a hawk's, that bloodied weapon ready to slice whatever he found.
She could feel the spicy scent grow stronger and stronger as he approached.
We should have closed the door behind us
, she thought.
We might as well have put a sign outside saying “We're In Here!”
As the fear and adrenaline built up inside her, Sheba could feel the fur thickening on her face. Claws started to poke from her fingertips, digging into Monkeyboy's back where she held him. He gave a little yelp of pain.
Immediately, the footsteps halted. Baba Anish's breathing paused as he listened. After the longest ten seconds in the history of time, he began to move again. This time there was no doubt he was coming toward their door.
Sister Moon had her swords out now. She gave Sheba a grim look, the slits of her pupils gleaming in the light from the hallway. Sheba's mind raced. Would Moon be able to take Baba Anish on her own? What could she and Monkeyboy do to help?
She was finding it hard to think as the wolfish instincts started to take over. She couldn't help feeling the urge to rush out and launch herself at Baba Anish, but she knew she would last less than a heartbeat.
Maybe we could escape out of the window,
she thought.
Or Monkeyboy could climb down and get help. . . .
But before anything could happen, there was a squeaking sound at her feet. Her first thought was that she had stepped on a wonky floorboard, but then something black and furry ran across her toes. It dashed past Sister Moon and out through the open doorway, causing Baba Anish to shout in surprise.
One of Mama Rat's babbies!
Sheba felt a brief surge of relief. Until she heard the sound of something sharp swishing down.
Thunk.
There was a shrill squeak, then silence.
“What is it?” came Mrs. Crowley's muffled voice from the next room.
“Just a rat,” said Baba Anish. His voice was so loud; he must have been inches from the door where the Peculiars were hiding. “A very big one.”
“A rat? There are no rats in my house!”
More footsteps as Baba Anish returned to the study. Evidently he had taken the rat's body with him, as there was a scream, which Sheba thought was Mrs. Crowley.
“It's hideous!” yelled the doctor in a high-pitched voice. “Take it away this instant! I can't stand rats!”
“I think we should be departing, anyway,” said Mrs. Crowley. “I'm sure you have final preparations to put in place, and I have some guards to bribe.”
“Yes, yes,” said the doctor. “Everything will be ready for tomorrow night.”
Footsteps could be heard leaving the room and walking down the main staircase.
The Peculiars didn't move a muscle until they heard the front door shut. There was silence then, but they waited another few minutes to make sure the house was empty. Only then did Sister Moon put her swords away, and Monkeyboy reluctantly peeled himself out of Sheba's arms.
“That poor rat,” whispered Sheba. She felt her eyes begin to prickle with tears. “Which one was it?”
“It was only a flipping rat,” said Monkeyboy. “She's got loads more of the creepy things.”
“They very special rats,” whispered Sister Moon. “They follow us from penny gaff. They take care of us. I think that one might be Matthew. He the ringmaster.”
“What are we going to say to her?” Sheba knew how upset Mama Rat would be. The rats were like her babies. And it had been her stupid idea to come here. It was her fault one of the rats had been killed. In fact, she had nearly got them all killed.
“Not worry now. We get back for show, or there be even more trouble.”
Sister Moon led the way back down the stairs, the others tiptoeing after. Somehow they made it out through the back door in silence, then began the frantic dash back to Brick Lane.
That evening's show was the most dismal ever. Gigantus, still under the effects of Farfellini's poisoned dart, couldn't lift his own feet, let alone anything else. Monkeyboy could barely bring himself to fart a tune, and Sheba spent the entire time trying not to cry. Mama Rat managed to get her rats to put on some semblance of a performance, but there was no ratty ringmaster, and every time she thought about it she burst into sobs. Sister Moon even missed the target with one of her throwing stars and nearly took a customer's nose off.
Sheba felt too guilty to even try to apologize. After the show was done, after Plumpscuttle had gone, she would find a way of expressing her sorrow to Mama Rat. But before then she had to sit through two long hours of being stared at.
To make matters even worse, Plumpscuttle's nephew made the unfortunate mistake of letting an old lady in for half price.
“I don't care if someone has actually been
chopped in half
â you still charge them the same as everyone else! Do you understand, you sniveling little snot stain?” Plumpscuttle stomped about in the front room, spittle flying, venting his rage on the Peculiars. His face went a shade of purple Sheba had never seen before.
“I'm sorry, Uncle. Can I go home now?”
“Home?
Home?
I'll send you flipping home!” Plumpscuttle grabbed his nephew by the ear and hoisted him to the front door, which he yanked open with his other hand. Then he booted the boy in the buttocks, sending him flying into the street. There was a fading squeal, followed by a thud. Plumpscuttle slammed the door.
“And as for you
lot
, what in the name of Queen Vic's pajamas do you call that? Performing rats that can barely do handstands? A strongman who can't even lift an eyebrow? A
ninja
who can't throw straight? A grotesque hidden under a pile of straw and a wolfgirl without so much as a wet nose? I'll tell you what: After I've had my second â no, third â dinner tonight, I'm going to start making inquiries about a new lot of freaks. Ones what do what's flipping well asked of them!”
He gave them all a final glare, then stormed out of the house, banging the door so hard that the windows shook in their frames.
There was silence in the front room for a good few minutes after that. Finally, they moved to huddle around the fireplace. Sheba went to Mama Rat, the tears spilling out of her eyes and soaking into the fur on her cheeks. Getting Matthew killed was the worst thing she'd ever done. Grunchgirdle had beaten her for much less.
Whatever Mama Rat does to me, I deserve it
, she thought.
But Mama just took her by the shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug. Sheba was overcome. It was the first ever hug she could remember. Being so close to someone was overpowering to begin with, but warm and safe as well. She snuggled farther into Mama Rat's arms, breathing deep the smell of pipe smoke, lavender, and rodent.
“I'm so sorry,” she sobbed into Mama Rat's shoulder.
“It's not your fault, dearie. I know you didn't mean him to come to harm.”
“But you shouldn't have gone off on your own like that,” said Gigantus. “These are evidently dangerous people we're dealing with.”
“They weren't to know that, were they?” Mama Rat said.
“Even so . . .”
“It my fault,” said Sister Moon. She bowed her head in shame. “I tell them I know what to do.”
“But it was my idea,” said Sheba. “If anyone's to blame, it's me.”
“I'd just like to point out that I was against it all along,” said Monkeyboy.
“It doesn't matter whose idea it was,” said Mama Rat. “The only people to blame are that Crowley woman and her henchmen. How that coldhearted cow could use the idea of a dead child to trick us . . . Anyway, that's beside the point. The next time you get it into your heads to do something like that, we all go together. Understood?”
The three young Peculiars all nodded their heads sheepishly, before each went to help take down the paraphernalia from the show. By the time they had finished, Sheba felt too tired to think about what they'd learnt at Mrs. Crowley's house, too tired even to worry about Till. She left the others sitting around the fireplace and trudged up to the bedroom.
She sat on the edge of her mattress, not knowing what to do with herself. Crawling into bed was tempting, but she knew it would be a long time before she fell asleep. Time which her mind would spend replaying horrid scenes from the evening: the painted man creeping toward her hiding place, the awful sound of his blade slicing through poor Matthew. . . .
She needed a distraction. Then she noticed that Gigantus had already rolled out his bedding. Beneath it, the telltale lump of his book could be seen. Perhaps a spot of Agnes Throbbington might cheer her up. Before she could even convince herself it was a bad idea, she had slid the heavy book out and was opening it to a new page.
Agnes strolled along the High Street on a beautiful summer's morning. Her head was dizzy with thoughts, mostly about how extraordinarily beautiful she was. “I really do deserve to be married to someone incredibly handsome and wealthy,” she said to herself. She was growing bored of Jeremy Gristle. She had been madly in love with him for three whole days now, and she was beginning to tire of the smell of pig.
She scanned the crowds that filled the street. She was looking out for someone worthy enough to admire her. And then she saw him.
Stepping out of a coffee shop, he positively gleamed in his bright red captain's uniform. He had a magnificently manly set of whiskers, and his manly hands had probably slaughtered hundreds of savages.
Agnes's heart did a backflip. She knew without a trace of doubt that this man was the one true love she had been searching for all her life. She almost swooned when she saw him walking toward her, but she conveniently managed to control herself until he was near enough to catch her in his manly, manly arms.
“My lady,” he said, “you seem to be suffering from the summer sun. Permit me to assist you.”
“Why, thank you,” Agnes gasped. “Gosh, you're awfully strong, aren't you?”
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain Cederic Spingly-Spongton of the 3rd Light Dragoons.”
“A captain, you say,” sighed Agnes.“You must be the son of a very rich and noble lord or something?”
“Alas, I am afraid not, ma'am. My family are but poor farmers from Dorset. But now that I have drunk of your beauty, I count myself amongst the richest men in theââ”
“Yes, yes, all right,” said Agnes, pushing him away and checking he hadn't ruffled her perfect hair. “If you don't mind, I have dresses to buy; I don't have time to stand about talking to paupers. Kindly bog off, you countrified oaf.”
Sheba managed a little smile as she tucked the book back under Gigantus's mattress. The writings of Gertrude Lacygusset had helped a little. For a moment, she even considered letting Gigantus know she had enjoyed it. But then she realized he would probably be furious at her for prying. She had caused more than enough upset already that evening. With a sigh, she began to get ready for bed.
It was only when she took off her cape that she realized something was missing.
She searched every pocket in turn. She found hairpins, Farfellini's pistol, Till's chipped marble â but no sign whatsoever of Mrs. Crowley's calling card.
A wave of sick fear slowly spread outward from her stomach.
She could have dropped it anywhere along the way back from Paradise Street. She could have. But a part of her knew with icy certainty that she hadn't. She had dropped the card in Mrs. Crowley's house, behind the door where they had hidden.
She might not find it
, Sheba told herself.
She might never go in that room, never think to look behind the door.
But it was no use trying to convince herself. She had just announced to a murderous villain that she had been spying in her house as clearly as if she had strolled up and left a calling card of her own.
The Peculiars gathered around the breakfast table the next morning and glumly sipped their coffee. Somewhere in the yard Monkeyboy could be heard waking up. An unpleasant mixture of coughing, hacking, spitting, and scratching, followed by the clang of his cage door as he clambered out. Flossy and Raggety were making noises, too: whickering and bleating that meant their breakfast oats were long overdue. Sheba would have normally been out to them by now, but today she hadn't the energy.
In the tragedy of losing Matthew, nobody had mentioned what had been discovered at Mrs. Crowley's house. The information had cost a great deal, but it was important. Vitally important. Sheba was wondering about the most tactful way to bring it up when Monkeyboy jumped onto the kitchen windowsill, making everyone except Sister Moon jump and spill their coffee.
“So,” he said, “if we've all finished crying about the dead rat, what are we going to do now that we know creepy Crowley is the one what snatched the mudlarks?”
Gigantus looked as if he was going to slap him off the sill and across the yard, but Mama Rat raised a hand to stop him.
“Don't,” she said. “He doesn't even know what he's saying half the time, let alone how it makes other people feel.” Monkeyboy stared at everyone with a puzzled look, while Mama Rat mopped at the fresh tears leaking from her eyes. After a moment she took a deep breath. “I suppose he's got a point, though. We need to decide what we do next. I take it you discovered something worthwhile last night?”
“We did,” said Sheba. She put her coffee down, ready to give her account of the night.
Gigantus hurriedly snatched out his pen and journal.
“I'm going to make notes,” he said, bristling, when he realized everyone was staring at him. “Got a problem with that?”
Sheba began to talk.
Mama Rat nodded and Gigantus scribbled as she told them about the derelict house by the river and the sinister meeting that took place there. As she neared the end, it occurred to her that she could leave out the part about the dropped calling card. Nobody need ever know except her. But that would be a kind of lie: a dishonesty to her friends. She decided they deserved to know, so she confessed that also, even though it was almost in a whisper.
“Not worry,” said Sister Moon. “Card could fall any place. And even if she find it, Mrs. Crowley not know it you. She must give many cards.”
“But if she does turn up here to get us, it's
your
fault,” said Monkeyboy.
“So, to sum up what we've got,” said Gigantus, ignoring Monkeyboy and reading from his journal, “Mrs. Crowley isn't a grieving mother at all. And she's working with these two weird men for some reason we don't yet know.”
“If it involves an evil painted monster and some kind of doctor, it can't be anything good,” said Mama Rat.
Sheba nodded. “That doctor, if he even was one, didn't smell like someone who makes people better. He stank of death and rot and evil things.”
“Maybe he chop up bodies,” said Sister Moon. “Like doctor Large 'Arry talk about.”
“Well, whoever they are,” continued Gigantus, “they need several children and something important â whatever that is. They got Farfellini to build them a machine, and snatched a bunch of mudlarks that they thought no one would miss. Now all they need to do is get one more child and this thing they want, and they can do . . .” He paused, looking stumped. “Well, whatever it is they have planned.”
“Well done, Inspector Fatbottom,” said Monkeyboy.
“So many questions still to answer,” added Sister Moon.
“But I don't understand,” said Sheba. “What could they need the children for?”
“Best not to think about that at the moment, dearie,” said Mama Rat. “I have a feeling it won't be anything nice. Didn't you say it was tonight's low tide they were going to snatch another mudlark?”
“Yes,” Sheba nodded. “We need to stop it. And find out where she is keeping the others.”