‘I thought Crompton-Smythe was different from that rude girl we first met in the Waiting Room. Now I’m not so sure,’ Crafty said bitterly. ‘She still thinks she’s better than everybody else.’
‘Well, she’s a boffin, and we know she’s brighter than most. She probably comes from the sort of family that gets invited to castle banquets,’ Lucky said, ‘so I don’t think the likes of you and me could ever be her equals. But, tell you something, I wish it was me working with her and reporting directly to the new Duke. You’ve just got to be patient, Crafty. I reckon she knows what she’s doing.’
‘You’re probably right,’ he conceded as they started to make their way back to the castle. ‘I’ll just have to try and make the best of it. At least it’s better than working with Viper.’
‘It certainly is! Also, what you told me about Donna being buried in the Shole makes me feel better. I thought they’d just grind up her bones and mix them into a new gate. Now it seems that she might eventually be returned to us!’
Crafty smiled and nodded, not sharing his own troubled thoughts on the matter. Would that return – if it happened – mean that Donna would need to kill things in order to eat, just like Bertha? She probably wouldn’t be able to tuck into those juicy beef sausages; she’d have to eat her meat raw, even tearing at living flesh with teeth and claws. Under different circumstances, Lick might have been Bertha’s prey.
This dark thought led to others; thoughts that he’d always tried to thrust to the back of his mind. What had really happened to his mother? he wondered. When the Shole enveloped her, had she died? They’d never found her body, so it was possible that, as he feared, she had been changed. Maybe his father had found out the truth, but had kept it from him?
He and Lucky were just inside the castle entrance when there was a disturbance somewhere down the hill behind them. Crafty could hear shouts and cries of fear.
Lucky grabbed his arm. ‘Something’s happening. Let’s go and see!’
But before they’d taken two paces, the portcullis had begun to descend and guards were closing the heavy main doors to the courtyard. There was obviously some kind of threat and the castle was being secured against it. A few moments more and they’d have been left outside!
‘Let’s go up to the battlements and see what’s happening,’ Crafty suggested.
Lucky nodded and they ran up the nearest staircase. At the top they found a good vantage point looking south down the hill.
In the foreground Crafty could see people hurrying through the streets, and heard the sound of doors banging as everyone rushed indoors. Further down the hill, market traders were hastily packing away their wares.
Then Crafty looked down the slope – and immediately realized what had happened to cause such panic. The sun was still shining, but it no longer reflected off the waters of the canal.
Without warning, the dark wall of the Shole had surged north again.
‘We’d best report to the Waiting Room,’ Lucky said. ‘When something like this happens, Sundays become working days.’
They both headed back to their rooms. Crafty quickly dressed in his uniform, grabbed his coat and, after checking that the dagger was in the pocket, rushed down to report to the mancers.
He wondered what he and Lucky would be doing. There hadn’t been time to ask. But what could anyone do when the Shole advanced like that? The sudden surge had carried it forward about thirty yards, over the canal and towards the castle.
When Crafty entered the Waiting Room, Lucky was already there. Somehow he always got there first, however much Crafty hurried.
‘So what’s going to happen?’ he asked, but before Lucky could reply, the door opened. The Chief Mancer, accompanied by the large and portly Mr Humperton – who Crafty had still not worked with – strode in and approached them. Crafty and Lucky immediately came to their feet.
Crafty peered round the mancers to the far door, but there was no sign of Lick. Where was she? She’d told him that he’d be working with her from now on. Maybe she’d changed her mind? After all, they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. He wondered whether the search for his father had once again been abandoned.
‘You will no doubt be aware of what has happened,’ Ginger Bob began. ‘As far as we know at this stage, no occupied houses have been engulfed, but a few people will almost certainly have been taken. The loss of that southern section of the canal will have struck fear into the hearts of the inhabitants.’
He sighed. ‘There is no way of predicting when the next advance might take place – it might even swallow the castle itself – but it is your duty to remain calm and carry out your orders. You, Benson, will assist Mr Humperton. Proudfoot, come with me.’
Crafty followed Humperton down the steps to his office. The mancer gestured to a chair and Crafty sat down facing him across the desk. It was clear of papers and books, but in front of Crafty was a black leather case, opened to reveal a green felt lining and a number of small metal rods set in recesses within it.
‘We call these “locators”,’ Humperton said, pointing at the rods. When he spoke, he wheezed a little, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. Crafty realized that climbing the stairs to the Waiting Room must be hard work for him.
‘Each locator is numbered and is one half of its original length,’ Humperton continued. ‘The other halves were buried in the ground by the canal in the event that it was engulfed. New sections of the Shole are very unstable and therefore difficult to visit using the gate –’
‘Why are they unstable, sir?’
Curiosity had made Crafty blurt out the question, and he thought the gate mancer might be annoyed by his interruption. But instead Humperton paused and answered him patiently.
‘This is what our records of previous sudden engulfments show, but we haven’t yet determined the reason for such instabilities. Of course, there are theories, but it is vital to go into these areas as soon as possible to learn what we can. As I was about to say, these rods make things easier. We are particularly interested in the changes that take place in the first hours and days following an engulfment. Later, if the opportunity presents itself, we may attempt a snatch. However, we will begin with fieldwork, so put on your coat, Benson – it’s likely to be chilly.’
Crafty did so, then seated himself in the chair facing the silver gate. Humperton handed him the first of the small rods, and Crafty began to concentrate. Immediately the clouds cleared and he could see that the rod had worked. He was close to the canal, with the towpath on his right and the grey water on his left.
‘I suggest that you go out and take a look around,’ Humperton said. ‘See if anything is alive out there. Don’t worry – it’s too soon for anything to have become dangerous. The process will only just be starting. But don’t go too far from the gate all the same.’
Crafty had no intention of doing so. Despite Humperton’s attempt to reassure him, he was taking no chances.
He clambered out and stood on the towpath, sweeping the area with his eyes, alert for any sign of danger. It was very gloomy and night was fast approaching. It was not a good time to enter the Shole – even if it was a new section and he was close to the edge.
The surface of the canal was perfectly calm. Once, Crafty thought, seventy years earlier, this stretch of water would have been busy with barges making the journey from Preston through Lancaster and on to Kendal. They’d carried coal, wood, ore, furniture, salt and food – anything people wanted and were prepared to pay for. But the Shole had put an end to all that.
To the south Crafty could see trees, with a few isolated buildings in the far distance. He knew that the largest one had once been a warehouse. In the middle distance was a single narrow barge covered with an old tarpaulin. No doubt it had been abandoned.
Suddenly he heard a little cry behind him. He turned and saw a small black-and-white kitten walking towards him across the grass at the edge of the towpath. It rubbed against his leg and made another pleading meow, so he
picked it up.
Immediately Crafty realized that this wasn’t a wise thing to do. Perhaps the kitten had been changed by the Shole and fancied some of his blood? But, as Humperton had said, it was probably too early after the engulfment for that – and besides, it looked harmless enough. He stroked the kitten gently and it began to purr.
All at once he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. Humperton was waving at him from the gate, trying to get his attention. Although a grub could talk to the mancer on the other side from nearby, sound didn’t carry very far out into the Shole. Crafty went back, still carrying the kitten, to hear what he had to say.
‘That was a foolish thing to do, Benson!’ Humperton shouted at him when he reached the blue circle of the gate. ‘Never pick up or touch any living creature in the field unless instructed to do so. You should know that by now!’
‘Sorry, sir, but it looked harmless enough –’
‘Appearances can be deceptive. But seeing as you already have it, we might as well take it – after all, the Shole hasn’t killed it, so the animal is probably undergoing the first phases of change. Here – put it in this,’ he instructed, holding open a small leather bag.
Crafty knew that once the kitten was inside, Humperton would tie the string, sealing it in. It would become a sample – to be studied in the Forensics Room or stored in the Menagerie. Crafty knew that it was something that had to be done – how else could they discover more about the Shole? But he couldn’t bear the thought of that friendly little kitten being submitted to all sorts of tests – maybe hurt badly enough to make it cry out in the night. He just couldn’t do it.
So, as Crafty held it out towards the bag, he pretended to lose his grip, allowing the kitten to slip through his fingers. It dropped on to the towpath, landing safely on all four feet, as cats usually did when they fell.
Crafty realized that he really wasn’t suited to this job. He found it very hard to take orders, as gate grubs had to, and he was just too soft-hearted.
‘Clumsy boy!’ Humperton snapped. ‘Pick it up at once!’
To Crafty’s dismay, instead of running away, the kitten began to rub itself against his ankles again. However, he was very close to the gate and realized that from where Humperton was standing he wouldn’t be able to see his feet, or the cat.
Then Crafty did something that seemed cruel, but he thought it was probably the lesser of two evils. He didn’t want that kitten to be caught. So he deliberately trod on its tail.
It squealed and ran off like the Devil himself was after it.
He turned to Humperton and grimaced. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said meekly.
The mancer shook his head in exasperation, then put down the leather bag and held out something else towards him. It was a green bottle with a cork in the end.
‘Get me a sample of the canal water,’ he ordered. ‘There might be all sorts of small life forms undergoing change in there.’
Crafty walked about five paces from the gate, knelt at the edge of the canal and eased the cork out. He submerged the bottle, tilting it up. The air surged out in an explosion of bubbles and then it began to fill with murky water. Once it was full, he replaced the cork.
What happened next almost made him drop the bottle – for suddenly he saw something lithe and sinuous moving below the surface of the water; something very big, like a gigantic blue eel. A huge eye stared up at him.
Crafty lurched to his feet in panic, but in an instant the creature was gone.
When he handed back the bottle, Humperton beckoned him back through the gate. Crafty sat down on the chair and told him what he’d seen lurking in the canal.
‘Something that big isn’t really of interest to us right now,’ Humperton remarked. ‘Its size probably indicates that it isn’t newly changed. It’s probably an eel that swam up the canal from Preston. Don’t worry about it.’
Don’t worry about it?! What a stupid thing to say, Crafty thought. Humperton was beginning to annoy him. He was very casual about it all, but Crafty had been the one in danger. It might have looked like an eel, but it was as big as a shark and no doubt had teeth to match. It could have leaped out of the water and snatched him from the bank in the blink of an eye. Crafty could have been ripped into pieces by now, digesting in its belly.
It was yet another reminder that gate grubs were expendable.
Humperton gave him another of the metal rods to hold, and then Crafty moved the gate to the next location. It wasn’t very far away – about fifty yards west, beyond the barge he’d seen previously.
‘Take another little walk,’ the mancer told Crafty. ‘See what you can find. Don’t go too far and keep your eyes peeled for danger.’
As if he needed reminding!
It was really gloomy now; within half an hour it would be dark, but there was still enough light to see danger approaching. This time Crafty kept a careful eye on the canal, thinking that it was probably the most dangerous place. Something could lurk in the depths, waiting for him to get near enough to grab; something that would be invisible until it was too late.
As he was thinking this, he spotted a body lying close to the barge. Crafty approached it cautiously, then halted about five paces away.
The dead person looked like an adult and was wearing trousers and a shirt; it must have been a man. As far as Crafty knew, only girl gate grubs wore trousers, and even they would never go out into the city dressed like that.
In that moment Crafty learned something new about the Shole. It seemed that people killed by it died instantly and rotted quickly. It was only an hour or so since the surge had engulfed this area, but already the flesh had gone from this body, leaving only the skeleton, with some connective cartilage. The remains were slimy and the clothes were wet. It didn’t smell pleasant. Crafty gave it a wide berth.
He turned to look at the gate, and saw that Humperton was beckoning to him again. Crafty went back to see what he wanted.
‘What were you staring at? What did you find?’ he demanded.
Crafty glanced at the barge. The gloom was deepening and he realized that the skeleton couldn’t be seen from here. He quickly told him about the remains of the man.
‘Good,’ Humperton said, handing him a small sample box. ‘Get me a piece of bone to analyse. The body of someone freshly dead should tell us a lot. Here – use these … Just snip off a fingertip. Cut through the gristle that connects it to the next bone.’
He gave Crafty a small pair of pliers with sharp blades, and a wooden box. Crafty reluctantly accepted them and walked back to get the sample.
He knelt beside the body, feeling slightly sick. Just an hour ago this had been a person, walking around, going about his business, and now he was reduced to this. He didn’t want to touch the wet and slimy remains, but luckily for him one dead hand was lying flat on the ground, palm down. He positioned the blades of the tool on either side of the first knuckle of the little finger, and quickly snipped through the gristle to cut it off. He couldn’t suppress a small shudder. This was nasty work, whatever way you looked at it.
He opened the box and slid it along the ground to scoop up the sample of bone, then snapped the lid closed and pushed it into the pocket of his greatcoat before striding back towards the gate as fast as he could. He was only too glad to leave that skeleton behind.
All at once something halted him in his tracks. The little black-and-white kitten was standing on the towpath directly ahead of him. Treading on its tail clearly hadn’t been enough to drive it away. It meowed at Crafty plaintively. No doubt it was hungry.
‘Go away, you stupid little cat!’ he hissed, keeping his voice low so that Humperton wouldn’t hear. Crafty could see him staring at him through the gate, though thanks to the gloom he wouldn’t be able to see the kitten. If he did, he’d want Crafty to pick it up again – that was for sure. He was just about to chase it away again when –
Maybe it was instinct or some sense Crafty didn’t know he had. Whatever it was, he immediately felt
that something was wrong, that danger was nearby.
He stepped closer to the kitten, feeling tense and nervous, already gripping the dagger in his pocket.
The hairs on the kitten’s back suddenly stood bolt upright and it turned to look at the canal. That was all the warning Crafty needed.
Something big and blue and scaly burst out of the water, murderous jaws open wide.
The water beast’s three rows of sharp teeth were just inches from the kitten’s head.
But Crafty was there first. He struck in a rapid arc from right to left, slicing open the creature’s forehead just above the eyes. Black blood sprayed up into the air. The aberration gave a scream and fell back into the water with a huge splash.
In an instant it had vanished from sight, but its image was burned into Crafty’s memory. At first he’d thought it was like an eel, but now he’d seen that it was covered in blue scales, and had two thin arms projecting from the place where – had it been human – the shoulders would have been. The arms had ended in three long fingers with murderous talons.
But it was the eyes that were the most disturbing thing about it. They had been human. That creature had once been a person.
Nervously eyeing the surface of the canal, Crafty wiped the blade of the dagger on the grass at the edge of the towpath and returned the weapon to his coat. The frightened kitten had dashed away, but now, as he headed towards the gate, it began to follow him again.
‘Go away!’ he hissed, but it continued to follow closely at his heels. Being nasty to it didn’t work.
Crafty reached the gate and handed the sample box through to Humperton, who was impressed.
‘That was astonishing, Benson! I have never seen such fast reactions. I think it was a good idea to permit you to bear arms.’
Crafty didn’t reply. The kitten was rubbing itself against his leg and meowing. He cringed, knowing that Humperton would hear it.
He did. ‘Ah good, the little cat has returned.’ He opened the leather bag again, holding it out. ‘Put it in here,’ he told Crafty.