Dawn of the Demontide (3 page)

He was dressed in an old-fashioned style: shiny leather shoes with pointed tips, pinstriped trousers and waistcoat. A scarlet tie had been fastened to his shirt with a flashy diamond pin. His clothes were immaculate and tailored perfectly to fit his emaciated body. Jake had immediately thought of him as the ‘Pale Man’ because of the deathly shade of his skin. In fact, now that he looked closer, it seemed that the skin was almost translucent—that the brilliant white of the man’s skull could be seen shining through.

‘Who are you?’ Silas said, his voice quivering.

Blue eyes shifted between the boys.

‘I am a friend of young Master Harker.’

‘I don’t know you,’ Jake said.

‘Not yet,’ the Pale Man agreed. ‘And now, Master Silas, as there are grown-up things to discuss, I bid you goodnight.’

Silas’s face flushed red. He looked as if he was about to attack the stranger.

The Pale Man shook his head and wagged his finger. ‘Now, now, I wouldn’t try anything if I were you. My friend Mr Pinch is waiting in the car. He is my—how shall I put it?—my guardian angel.’

He nodded towards a long black limousine parked a little way down the road. Its tinted windows reflected Silas, Jake, and the Pale Man, but kept the mysterious Mr Pinch hidden from view.

‘Best you run off home, Silas, or my “angel” will come out to play.’

A silhouette moved against the glass of the windscreen. It was a small form, no larger than a cat. Its movements struck Jake as odd—smooth, stealthy, and then suddenly ragged and sharp, like a string puppet being jerked this way and that. What was it? he wondered.

Jake glanced to his right and saw that Silas was watching the shadow, too. All the ferocity had drained from him and he looked like a frightened little boy. Without a word, Silas turned and shuffled away down the street.

When he reached the end of the road, the Pale Man smirked and called after him. ‘Now be a good boy, Silas, or one day I might come looking for you.’

Silas put his head down and walked on.

‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ the man said, and held out his hand to Jake. ‘Very pleased to make your acquaintance, young Harker.’

Jake tightened his grip on the straps of his backpack. Sweat sprang out at the nape of his neck. There was something very wrong with this man, he could feel it.

‘Come now, I am sure your parents have told you that it is impolite not to shake hands when a stranger introduces himself.’

‘My parents told me not to talk to strangers.’

‘Very sensible. Indeed, I should have expected nothing less from Adam and Claire Harker. But tell me, how are your parents?’

‘Fine.’

‘I am relieved to hear it. And they are both still happy in the employ of the Hobarron Institute? I wonder what fascinating projects they are working on these days … ’ Eyes dazzling, he closed in on Jake. ‘If you tell me, I could make it worth your while. Whatever your heart desires could be yours. Money, clothes, the latest gadgets. If there’s some girl you like, I could arrange things so that she looks favourably upon you. Or that boy just now—would you like something
unpleasant
to happen to him?’

Jake took a step back. ‘I have to go.’

‘What a pity.’ The Pale Man looked genuinely saddened. ‘But perhaps you will do me
one
favour before we part—if you are now on your way to the Institute, I wonder if you would place this at the memorial?’ He took a scarlet flower from his buttonhole and handed it to Jake. ‘In memory of the tragedy. And now, as we have nothing left to say to one another, you had best go on your way, Master Harker.’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘Your father and I are old, old friends.’

The Pale Man smiled and fear wriggled in Jake’s gut like a ball of worms.

‘What … ’ Jake’s breath shortened. ‘What’s your name?’

Spots of rain started to run down the stranger’s face and into the hollows of his eyes.

‘Quilp,’ he said. ‘Mr Quilp, at your service. And I am sure we shall see each other again, young man. Very soon, in fact.’

Rising to a height of over a hundred and fifty metres, Hobarron Tower, headquarters of the Hobarron Institute, dominated the landscape. A thin structure of steel and glass, it resembled a great shining needle that had been driven into the fabric of the countryside. One road, running out from the town, provided the only point of access.

A lonely figure on the road, Jake hobbled towards the tower. The whole left side of his body ached from Silas’s attack and it felt as if his face was ballooning. The cool rain on his skin eased the pain a little.

‘Welcome to my lair, Mr Bond.’

He always made this joke when approaching the Institute, because it
did
look something like the hideaway of a James Bond villain. Jake’s eye ran around the chain-link fence that circled Hobarron Tower. Coils of barbed wire twisted along the top of the fence while a dozen or more security cameras craned their necks around the perimeter.

Jake approached the cabin at the gate and waited for Brett, the guard, to look up from his newspaper.

‘Afternoon, fella!’ Brett beamed. ‘How was school?’

‘A big pile of crap-ola.’

‘Hey, you kiss your mother with that mouth?’

‘No, just your wife.’

It was the same old banter. As usual, Brett guffawed as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. The guard folded his paper and stepped out of the hut. He caught sight of Jake’s face and did a double take.

‘Whoa, what the hell ran into you?’

‘Sports accident. Footy practice.’

‘You’re sure that’s what it was?’

Jake nodded. Although obviously not convinced by the lie Brett didn’t press the point.

‘OK then, big fella,’ he said, his tone more serious. ‘You know the drill. Assume the position.’

Jake walked towards the cabin, spread his feet apart and rested his hands on the wall. The guard took a moment to look through his schoolbag. Then he patted Jake down, checking, presumably, for weapons. It was odd. Jake had been coming to the Institute once a week after school for the last four years. The security staff, the science boffins, even the tea lady, knew him. Dr Holmwood, the chief egghead here, never failed to say hello and ask about his homework. All the same, he was never allowed through the gate without having to go through this rigmarole. The strangest part of it all was the final check.

Brett pulled on a pair of latex gloves and turned Jake’s neck from side to side. Sometimes Jake would sneak a sideways glance and was always amazed by Brett’s intense concentration. Maybe the Institute was scared that a rival company could implant surveillance bugs under the skin. Seemed farfetched, but what else could the check be in aid of?

Brett snapped the gloves from his hands.

‘Clean as a whistle,’ he said. ‘Go on through.’

He ducked into the cabin and pressed a button. A second later the gate rattled into the air.

An open-plan plaza in the shape of a horseshoe surrounded Hobarron Tower. It was filled with sculptures, flowerbeds, benches, and fountains. Nowadays the plaza was only ever used at lunchtimes as a place to eat, to smoke, and to exchange office gossip. Up until eight years ago it had also provided the setting for the Institute’s annual summer gala. The Hobarron Fete had been legendary in the local area. There had been fairground attractions, circus performers, animal rides, and food of every kind.

All that was before the murder.

Jake walked to the monument that stood at the centre of the plaza. It took the form of a stone table upon which flowers could be laid. He took out the scarlet flower given to him by Mr Quilp. It felt wrong to leave it here, but he could think of no logical reason not to do as the stranger had asked. As he placed it among the other floral tributes his eye ran over the inscription on the plaque.

Jake still had the nightmares.

From early morning, the weather had seemed to be toying with the crowds. As soon as umbrellas were unfurled the rain would stop. The moment they were packed away again, the sky would rumble and a thunderous downpour would break over the Hobarron Fete.

Jake was too young to be bothered by a little rain. He ran through the crowds, calling over his shoulder as he went. Annoyed at his dad’s slow pace, he dashed back, grabbed hold of his hand and dragged him between the stalls and sideshows. Jake’s excitement mounted with every fresh sight. There were contortionists bending themselves into impossible shapes and acrobats cartwheeling through the crowds. In one corner of the fete, he found a dog that could bark the national anthem and a woman sporting a white Father Christmas beard.

After trying his luck on the hook-a-duck stall, and winning a goldfish in a bag, he caught sight of the face-painting booth. Jake and his dad waited in the queue, debating between them which face it should be: Tony the Tiger or Scooby Doo.

‘If you want my opinion, Jakey, I think Tony the Tiger would be grrreat!’

Jake rolled his eyes. ‘Dad, that’s
so
lame. I reckon Scooby D—’

An unwelcome voice cut in—

‘Hello, you two.’

Jake looked up to find Dr Gordon Holmwood, the head of the Hobarron Institute, smiling down at him. Unfortunately, the old man’s smile always looked more like a sneer.

‘Is this fine fellow I see before me really Jacob Harker?’ Holmwood said in mock surprise. ‘Growing into a proper little gentleman by the minute! And where’s your good lady wife, Adam?’

‘Claire’s working.’

‘Working on the day of the Fete?’ Dr Holmwood cried. ‘But I won’t have that! I must go and find her—drag her out of that damned laboratory.’

‘Good luck,’ Adam murmured.

Holmwood frowned and glanced at Jake. ‘Everything all right at home, is it? Between you and Claire, I mean?’

‘Sure, why shouldn’t it be?’

‘No reason … Well, she’s a silly girl, cooping herself up indoors when you two are out enjoying yourselves. By God, what a day! Have you seen the elephant yet, Jacob?’ The doctor snapped his fingers. ‘Sharon!’

One of his eager young personal assistants appeared out of nowhere.

‘Yes, Dr Holmwood?’

‘Ah, Sharon, my dear. Could you take Jacob here to see the elephant? Get him a ride, let him feed the brute. I just need a quiet word with Dr Harker about his work in the psychology department.’

The assistant’s face fell.

‘Come to the Hobarron Institute, the job ad said,’ Sharon grumbled, leading Jake across the plaza. ‘Enjoy the challenge of working for a world-leader in scientific research, the ad said. Some challenge, babysitting a snot-nosed brat … No offence, kid.’

Jake didn’t reply. He glanced back to find both Dr Holmwood and his father watching him. Holmwood looked thoughtful while his dad appeared lost and a little sad.

Jupiter the elephant occupied a patch of ground just outside the plaza. It was late in the day and most of the kids had already had their ride. An exhausted-looking Jupiter sank her trunk into a bucket of water and took a well-deserved drink. A thick chain had been tied around her neck and secured to an iron peg driven deep into the ground. Jake looked into the beast’s tiny eyes.

‘She’s unhappy,’ he observed in a solemn voice.

‘Ain’t we all,’ Sharon sighed.

‘I need a pee,’ Jake said.

Sharon nodded towards a block of toilets that stood next to the big circus tent just outside the plaza.

‘Knock yourself out.’

Jake traipsed towards the toilet block, his heart heavy in his chest. Jupiter had given pleasure to dozens of kids that day. Now, her purpose served, she was left all alone. It wasn’t fair. If he were a character in a book, he guessed that he would probably creep back here during the night and free the elephant from her captivity. Then they would travel the byroads of England together, making friends and having wonderful adventures. He shook his head sadly—he knew deep down that such ideas were just childish nonsense.

Jake’s hand was on the toilet door when he heard the voices.

‘And tell me, Olivia, does your father work at this magnificent institute?’

‘Yes!’ Olivia Brown cried. ‘Now, please will you let me go?’

‘All in good time.’

The voices came from inside the big top. The large red-and-white striped tent had been put up earlier in the day to host the circus entertainment. An hour or so ago, Jake and his father had sat on the tiered wooden benches and watched the various acts: clowns and tumblers, tightrope walkers and trapeze artists, lion tamers and jugglers, all performing under the careful eye of the ringmaster. Now, pulling aside a section of the canvas drape and peering into the vast empty space of the tent, Jake saw that it was the ringmaster himself speaking to Olivia. They stood alone in the centre of the sandy performance area.

It was dark in the tent. The only illumination came through a hole in the cone-shaped ceiling. The shaft of light gleamed against the ringmaster’s top hat and black leather boots. His burgundy tailcoat looked like a smear of blood in the gloom. The man held Olivia firmly by the hand while she strained with every muscle to break free. As she turned her head away from her captor, Jake saw that Olivia had visited the face painting booth. She had chosen to be a clown. Her white face and bright red lips were set in an expression that made Jake’s blood run cold.