Although he knew that it would get him into trouble, Crafty still couldn’t bear to do it. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t,’ he told him, shaking his head.
There was an ominous pause. ‘What did you just say?’ Humperton demanded, raising his voice a little.
‘This kitten doesn’t deserve to be tested and kept in the Menagerie. It probably saved my life back there! It gave me warning of the attack, sir,’ Crafty pleaded.
He knew that this wasn’t quite true: the blue-scaled water beast seemed to have been going for the kitten rather than him, but he didn’t care. There was no way it was going into that bag.
‘A gate grub may neither question nor disobey the legitimate order of a gate mancer!’ blustered Humperton. ‘Maybe your judgement has been affected by the danger you have just faced. I will give you one more chance, Benson. Collect that sample!’
‘No!’ Crafty shouted, not bothering to add the ‘sir’.
Humperton gave an angry bellow, then demanded that Crafty come back through the gate. Reluctantly he clambered through, afraid of what he was about to face, though relieved that the kitten was finally safe.
The mancer stared down at him, his face flushed and slick with sweat, his breathing rapid.
‘I will report you to the Chief Mancer first thing tomorrow morning. You clearly don’t belong with us, Benson. This is just the latest in a string of acts of insubordination. Oh, yes,’ he said, seeing the look on Crafty’s face, ‘the Chief Mancer told me all about your lack of regard for professional etiquette. And don’t think that because you were pardoned by the Duke and have his ear, it will make any difference. The Duke understands the need for discipline. All employees of the castle must be subject to it – our very survival depends on it. Go to your room at once.’
Crafty slumped on his bed, feeling very depressed. The server brought his supper, but he couldn’t eat it. The next day Humperton would make his report to Ginger Bob, and Crafty would be dismissed and returned to the Shole. Without his father’s help, he would have no protection against the aberrations.
He wouldn’t last long. He’d be killed within hours.
But Humperton never got the chance to make his report. He was dead before morning.
‘It is a terrible loss,’ the Chief Mancer said. Crafty and Lucky were sitting in his office to receive the bad news. He was evasive, and wouldn’t say exactly how he had died; just that ‘the security of the gate had been breached’ – whatever that meant. Crafty wondered if something had managed to get through the gate to attack him – that was a worrying thought.
He also had mixed feelings about Humperton’s death. On the one hand he was saddened by it – he had seemed pretty decent, certainly better than Viper. But on the other hand Crafty felt glad that he wouldn’t be able to report him. And then felt guilty about feeling glad.
‘Mr Humperton was a first-class gate mancer, with an excellent operational record, and he will be badly missed,’ Ginger Bob continued. ‘All gate activities are suspended for the day while a full investigation is carried out.’
They were dismissed, so Crafty and Lucky decided to go for a stroll to pass the time. It wasn’t much fun: it was typical Lancashire end-of-summer weather – depressing grey clouds, a blustery wind and rain. Not only that, thanks to the sausage rolls bought the day before, they’d already spent their meagre wages for the week – and it was only Monday!
Soon they were walking back up the hill towards the castle.
‘Ginger Bob never actually told us how Humperton died,’ Crafty pointed out to Lucky. ‘Do you think a breach of gate security means that something came through the gate and killed him?’
‘Something like that,’ Lucky agreed. ‘He must have been working without a grub, checking fixed locations. He was a big bloke – carrying all that weight no doubt made him feel tired, so perhaps he sat in the grub’s chair. You can’t work the guillotine if you’re sitting there. He must have been taken by surprise. Maybe his fat bum got stuck in the chair,’ he added with a grin.
Crafty didn’t smile back. Humperton might have been overweight, but he was dead. It didn’t seem right to joke about it.
‘We could find out, you know,’ Lucky continued. ‘I know an older lad who works in the Forensics Room. Although they work on aberrations, they also investigate any human deaths and maimings – they’ll probably have looked into Humperton’s death by now.’
‘I thought different departments weren’t supposed to talk to each other except through official channels? You said Ginger Bob doesn’t like us fraternizing!’
‘Guilds have strict guidelines about keeping secrets, and Ginger Bob is obsessed about fraternizing. He’s a stickler for the rules. But as long as we don’t get caught, it doesn’t matter, does it? Don’t tell me you don’t want to know what happened!’
Crafty did, though he suspected that the truth wouldn’t be nice. ‘Count me in,’ he said.
They couldn’t approach the lad from Forensics until his shift was over. It was well after dark by the time the boys walked down into the town again. The lad’s name was Doon, and he liked a drink, so Lucky led Crafty to Doon’s favourite watering hole – The Pendle Witch.
Crafty and Lucky were too young to be allowed in, but they could see Doon through the window, swigging ale and laughing and joking with a group of men playing dominoes. After a lot of waving Lucky managed to catch his eye, and he came out to talk to them, still clutching his tankard.
Doon was a big ginger-haired lad with an accent from somewhere a long way north of Lancashire. Crafty thought he was probably Scottish.
‘And what might you two wee scallywags be wanting?’ he asked, before taking another big gulp of ale. ‘Oh, let me guess! Ye want the dirt on the demise of poor Fatty Humperton! You and half the castle, lads.’
‘Go on, tell us what happened to him, Doon!’ Lucky begged. ‘Did something come through the gate and kill him before his fat arse could wriggle free of the chair?’
Crafty had expected Doon to laugh at this, but he suddenly looked very serious and shook his head.
‘No, and that’s why everybody’s so worried. No mancer would leave a gate open while he wasn’t working there. He was sitting at his desk when he was killed. It was splatted across all four walls of his office.’
‘The desk or his blood?’ Lucky asked with an evil grin. Crafty looked at him, surprised – where had this bloodthirsty streak come from? He was suddenly reminded of Lucky’s surprising venom when they’d gone to see Old Nell being hanged.
‘Well, it was no’ exactly angels’ milk!’ replied Doon. He must have been slightly tipsy – he seemed only too happy to talk to them. ‘It seems that something came through the gate and butchered him where he sat. There was blood and pieces of him everywhere. Not much flesh though – no doubt that ended up in the aberration’s stomach. I don’t envy you your job. None of you will be safe now.’
And with that, he staggered back into the pub. The conversation clearly over, the boys made their way back to the castle. Crafty was confused about what Doon had meant by none of them being safe now, but Lucky explained.
‘As you know, when a gate isn’t being used, it’s full of dark swirling cloud and you can see nothing of the Shole from this side,’ he said. ‘And when nobody’s using it, the gate shouldn’t be visible from the Shole side, either. Nothing should be able to see the blue circle of the gate or know its location. Humperton was at his desk, so we can assume that the gate wasn’t being used. Which means that some aberration from the Shole was somehow able to find and come through it, kill and eat most of him, and then escape back into the Shole. If it happened to Humperton, it could happen to anyone. It looks as though the gates are no longer safe. I don’t think we’ll be able to use them again. They might even have to be destroyed so as to prevent aberrations from coming directly into the castle and butchering everyone inside!’
Crafty was stunned. If Lucky was right, what did it mean for them?
He’d avo
ided being reported and sacked. But now he was redundant – without the gates, there’d be no need for gate grubs.
Perhaps he’d be going back to the Shole after all.
That night Crafty found it difficult to sleep; as he tossed and turned, he tried to recall happier times. He remembered that when he was young, he’d wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. His father had always been kind to him, and full of good advice.
‘Your mother tells me you have a few worries, Crafty,’ he’d said one evening, taking him to the edge of the garden, out of earshot of his two older brothers. Brock and Ben were sitting on the bench against the wall, talking to their mother. Crafty was about eight at the time and his head was full of worries about his future.
‘What did she say?’ Crafty asked in alarm. He hadn’t wanted his father to know in case he laughed at him.
‘That’s for you to tell me, son.’
‘Promise you won’t laugh, Father …’
His father patted him on the back and smiled. ‘I can’t promise that, Crafty. If what you say is funny, I won’t be able to stop myself laughing, will I?’
Crafty’s face fell but his father grinned and knelt down so that they were eye to eye. ‘I’m only having a little joke, Crafty. I already know what your problem is, because your mother told me. We don’t keep secrets from each other, so whatever you tell to one, the other will know soon afterwards. When you grow up, you want to be a castle courier like me? Isn’t that so?’
Crafty nodded.
‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a dangerous job, but a vital one. But you’re worried about something else too – that you won’t have the special abilities you need.’
Crafty nodded again, still embarrassed. ‘Brock and Ben told me that because Mother isn’t Fey, we might not develop any gifts when we’re older.’
His father looked thoughtful. ‘There have been a few marriages between the Fey and non-Fey, and in most cases the children went on to have useful abilities. No, it’s nothing to do with your mother. It’s just how it is. Nobody can predict what will happen. The best thing you can do is stop thinking too much about the future. Things will take care of themselves.’
‘But what if I don’t have any abilities?’
His father had smiled. ‘You will, son, so don’t worry about that. And remember this: whatever happens, your mother and I will always take care of you.’
Crafty remembered how reassured he had been by those kind words – as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But now things had changed – he no longer had a father and a mother to look after him.
As for his gifts – he wasn’t sure. He must have some ability or he wouldn’t have been able to find things using the gate. Then there was the whispering of his dead brothers – was that a gift, to be able to hear the dead talking? One day he would ask somebody about it. Hopefully that somebody would be his father.
The following morning Crafty and Lucky both reported to the Waiting Room. They weren’t supposed to know the truth behind Humperton’s death, so they’d have to pretend it was business as usual.
Crafty barely had time to nod good morning to Lucky and sit down before the Chief Mancer came into the room.
‘Come with me, Benson! Bring your coat,’ he snapped.
It seemed that they weren’t redundant after all. Crafty was relieved, but also a little disappointed that Ginger Bob had demanded his services. He’d hoped that he would choose Lucky, and that Lick would come for him. Their special partnership hadn’t lasted long. So much for working directly for the Duke and helping Crafty to look for his father.
He followed the mancer down to his room, where he was ordered to sit down and face the silver gate. ‘Put your coat on. You’re going into the field,’ he was told.
After Crafty had done so, the Chief Mancer immediately used his foot to flick off the guillotine’s safety catch.
Crafty glanced up in dismay at the long sharp blade, and his bad mood was overtaken by nerves. They hadn’t used the guillotine when he was out in the Shole with Humperton. Noticing his alarm, the Chief Mancer spoke.
‘Calm yourself, Benson. As long as you act with alacrity and obey my every command, all will be well. As you know, there has been a serious breach of gate security. I’m going to take you into my confidence, and hope that in return you will reward me by staying calm. An aberration came through a gate from the Shole and killed poor Mr Humperton – and this was when he was at his desk rather than operating the gate. This is a new kind of security breach. A very disturbing one.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Crafty said, pretending that he was receiving this information for the first time.
‘However, there are two of us and we are working as a team. My guillotine skills are excellent, Benson, so you needn’t be afraid. We are going out into the Shole for a very simple, routine exercise – but of course we will be testing to see if it’s still possible to use the gate.’
The mancer went back to his desk and opened a leather case, taking out a rod. ‘Here – take us to this location,’ he said, handing it to Crafty.
Crafty gripped the metal rod and stared into the dark whirling clouds within the frame, concentrating on what he was holding. Instantly the view cleared, and there was the canal bank again. Once again, the towpath was on his right, the grey water on his left, but there was no sign of the barge or the body, so this was a different section of canal. The big abandoned warehouse was much nearer now.
The Chief Mancer handed over a small bottle. ‘Let us start with a sample of the canal water,’ he said. ‘Let’s see how microbial life is continuing to change.’
Crafty didn’t like the idea of going near the canal again.
‘There was a dangerous aberration in the water the last time I came here,’ he told the Chief Mancer. ‘It leaped up towards me. I cut it with my knife and it fell back. I think the canal is dangerous, sir.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, Benson. Indeed, the whole of the Shole is dangerous. Be vigilant and no harm will come to you. Now get me that sample!’
Crafty had no choice but to obey, so he handed him the metal rod, took the bottle and clambered through the gate. Staying close by and watching the canal carefully, he knelt on the bank and quickly filled the bottle. He was nervous – but surely, he thought, he’d see the approach of any danger along the canal and be able to make his escape; anything lurking in the dark water was a different matter. After his previous visit, that was what really scared him.
Moments later he was handing the Chief Mancer the corked bottle of canal water. Crafty could see things floating in it – maybe tiny fish, tadpoles or insects – they were far too small for him to be sure. Maybe some were alive. If so, it was exactly what Ginger Bob was looking for – early changes brought about by the Shole.
‘Excellent, Benson. That was easy enough, wasn’t it? Now for a sample of the fauna on the canal bank,’ the mancer said, handing him a small wooden box. ‘Try and find me something small – an insect will do …’
Crafty had to scour the bank on hands and knees, one eye constantly on the water, to find what he wanted. At last he spotted what looked like a small hairy spider – though on closer inspection he was no longer sure. For one thing, it had too many legs – he counted thirteen – and a strange round head that looked almost human in shape. This was surely something that had started to change. Imagine if it grew larger, he thought nervously. What if it became the size of a dog?
He slid the sample box along the ground, scooped up the tiny thing and put on the lid to trap it. Thinking of dogs, Crafty wondered what had become of Sandy: was she still alive, and would he ever see her again? He hoped the kitten wouldn’t turn up. It had probably begun to change by now, but he knew he still wouldn’t be able to take it as a specimen, and refusing to obey an order from the Chief Mancer would certainly spell the end of his time as a gate grub.
When Crafty handed over the box, Ginger Bob gestured for him to come back through the gate.
‘That’s enough for today, Benson. We have just proved that, in spite of Mr Humperton’s death, we can still operate safely in the Shole. We mancers had a crisis meeting late yesterday, and the majority opinion was that the killer would be waiting to intercept and slay anyone who used a gate. I did not concur. I thought it likely that some aberration had simply stumbled upon the gate by chance. Nothing was waiting for us today – and so we have just proved the others wrong. I believe that attack is unlikely to be repeated. You may congratulate yourself! I think it is worth celebrating with ginger biscuits!’ he exclaimed.
All at once he paused and frowned. ‘Unfortunately, because of the crisis, we don’t have time for that. Please return to the Waiting Room.’
Crafty was angry, but not because he’d missed out on a biscuit; he realized that, in order to prove his point, the mancer had just taken a massive gamble with Crafty’s life. But he also understood that it wouldn’t do any good to complain. As long as field trips continued, he’d have a job – and the chance to look for his father. Then he thought of something else.
‘Could I ask you a couple of quick questions, sir?’ he asked.
‘Yes, but do make it double-quick, Benson,’ the mancer said, sitting behind his desk.
‘Sir, are you and Miss Crompton-Smythe now the only mancers who are able to operate the gates?’
Ginger Bob looked up. ‘Of course not, Benson. We have several gate mancers at the castle, but most simply function in support capacities. I will summon one of them to replace Mr Humperton. As you know, Miss Crompton-Smythe now reports directly to the Duke but, given the circumstances, she has also agreed to cover some of our more routine work. It is in fact gate grubs that we are finding hard to replace at the moment. You are a valuable resource, Benson!’
The mancer dismissed him and Crafty left the office. A valuable resource! Is that what he was? Well, it certainly hadn’t seemed like that until now.
He returned to the Waiting Room to find it empty. Until the replacement arrived, the only other mancer on duty was Lick: she must have taken Lucky.