The Chronicles of Jonathon Postlethwaite: The Seed of Corruption (5 page)

“Come on boy, don't you want me? You'll soon be taken by the Tans and then you'll have to pay the whores of the city to have you" she purred, as pleasure surged through her body in anticipation of the thought that she would have to force herself upon him.

                            She pushed him roughly to the hard cobbles and leapt astride him, throwing back her filthy mane of long, lank and matted hair, her large almost black eyes thanking the night for this precious gift she would defile.

“Mine all mine. I never thought I would find one such as you." she groaned. She leaned down towards him, her sore riddled mouth seeking his, her foul breath suffocating him as her gritty nails bruised and tore his soft skin.

Jonathon Postlethwaite struggled to avoid her scabby lips, shock and fear had almost petrified him yet he still struggled avoid her touch.

                            He screamed, yet knew that the few that heard his cries would probably ignore them. Yet what scared him most was that something inside of him yearned for this woman, it burned deep and furiously screaming for her, but he refused to submit to it. He struggled with it and with this wild woman.

                            In   the    darkness    behind    Jonathon's assailant something moved. Jonathon saw it, but she did not, intent on as she was on her prize. The shadow of a man loomed up and hung like a spectre over her, his large,  powerful  shoulders   and   pock-marked   mien all too real the struggling boy. Jonathan knew him instantly…

                            The shadow man smiled and his nostrils flared wide as a sharp, shining blade flashed and crunched into the unwary woman's spine. Her eyes blazed in pain and fear, anger even, yet no sound left her lips  as  a  large hand clamped itself around her lower face and jaw.

                            She the predator was now the prey. She struggled as violently as she could, but her assailant lifted her effortlessly from Jonathon and hurled her like a rag doll to the floor beside him. She struggled into a sitting position, her legs paralysed by the initial knife wound in the spinal cord just as her attacker had calculated.

                            The beast stooped and his inky eyes, hanging astride an enormous beaklike nose, burned darkly. The dim light glinted on his saliva coated teeth as the knife flashed down again into her stomach, a warm spray of blood covering her intended victim. She slumped back subdued and the man bore down on her tearing at her hair for a hand hold, a knee across her hips to hold her still.

                            He produced a hatchet and began to hack at her form, each bone chipping blow calculated to inflict the maximum pain, but avoid killing her. Flax would drag out the assault as long as possible, prolonging her agony as long as her body could take it. She screamed and moaned with each blow and he fed on her pain, consumed her agony. But she was not strong and quickly expired, too soon for Flax, he was still hungry, still unsatisfied. His searing eyes turned now to the boy who had raised himself against the wall. The axe- man smiled. Here was the main course. Yes, this innocent young creature, this beautiful boy was his, he would satisfy him.

                            Flax inched closer to him, the aroma of acute fear hung around Jonathon. Flax drooled. He moved closer. Bringing his face so close he was almost touching his petrified prisoner.

                            Jonathon could not move, could not even focus his eyes, his warm, shallow, panting breath drying the saliva and blood on Flax's lips. Flax chuckled softly. He could kill this beautiful creature here and now, but he knew that he could extract greater satisfaction if he dragged him away to some safe spot and tortured him at leisure. What a feast it would be, it would last for days, a long feast on this delicious whelp's sweet pain and fear. Jonathon was now a mere spectator, his body no longer his to command, the shock of the past minutes had numbed his  senses.  The  violence  and suddenness of both attacks was too much for him to comprehend. His mind was recoiling and, as much as he willed his arms and legs to move, they refused to respond. He could only sit  and  watch  distantly detached into the eyes of the shadow of a man who now had him in his grasp, at his mercy, except knew nothing of the word.      

                            Jonathon felt his consciousness drawn into the Flax's, sick mind. It was a bottomless seething pit of corruption. He was repelled from it as he had been before and vomited involuntarily into beast's face which withdrew.

                            Flax swore as the acidic vomit tore at the lining of his nose and drew back his arm preparing to strike his prize into unconsciousness and facilitate a convenient journey to his Upper City lair. But the blow never came.

                            The helpless Postlethwaite watched dumbly as a house  brick  sailed,  as  if   in   slow   motion,   out   of the darkness above him and struck the back  of assailant's head with a sickening crack. Flax  keeled over backwards, his eyes rolling upwards as he plummeted into a senseless oblivion.

                            A strong, hand reached down from above Jonathon and, grabbing him by the collar, lifted him upwards toward the top of the wall under which he had found himself at Silus Flax's mercy. As he rose upwards towards safety he heard a voice speak,

"Erm, sorry we were late young 'un, but better late than never they say, eh?”

Jonathon fainted.

Chapter Four

Jonathon awoke, but did not open his eyes. The paralysis of fear  had  left  him   shaken,   but   he had recovered enough to realise that the threat had passed. His  dreams,  during  unconsciousness,  filled with terror. Over and over again they repeated those scenes he had witnessed on his journey here. His experiences with the wild woman and the Black Gaffer, Silus Flax, returned with such a clarity that they would have driven  a lesser  person insane, but for Jonathon the repetition had lessened the severity of the effect that the original events had on him.

                            Now,   as   he   ran   over   these   memories   in his conscious state, he was able to examine the unfortunate and terrible episode in perspective. He had been unwary, numbed by the countless and  shocking new experiences he was having on the streets without his Grandfather to guide and protect him. The intensity of depravity on the surface streets of Dubh had caught him by surprise. He  now  realised  the  extent  to which Cornelius had sheltered him from the reality of life and corruption of the city which, when he had come face to face with it, had caused him to freeze.

He had known that death and depravity were common place in Dubh, but he had never, until the events of the previous night, realised either the scale of such things or the depths to which human beings had fallen.  Jonathon  had  woken  on   this   morning   to the depressing enlightenment of his  own  isolated position and his purpose in this world.

                            The face of the insane murderer, who had violated the security of his naive world, still haunted him, though the events had become mere facts now without emotional content. The dark, leering mien of the beast, who had come so close to taking him on the street, haunted Jonathon in his dreams. His dark pit-like eyes had threatened to devour him, his physical death would have been a mere sideshow for this beast.

                            Jonathon knew Flax would have devoured his soul. His sensitive psyche had inadvertently touched Flax's soul and been scorched by it, but  he  knew  much  about him now, he knew exactly who he was and what he had done and what he planned to do.

                            This creature that called itself Silus Flax was the embodiment of evil itself in this city, was its emissary, a man manipulated by an ethereal, but sentient force which was at work here in Dubh. This man was the man who Cornelius called the Shadow Man or the Black Gaffer, this was also the man who had been responsible for the death of Jonathon's parents.

                            He would lead Jonathon out of this hell as Cornelius had said, fate had now introduced them and their destinies had become entwined. Yes, Flax might lead Jonathon way from this place, but the young Postlethwaite was now convinced that he must also destroy the monster that he knew as  Silus  Flax,  put  to  an end  to his foul ambitions  and  the  existence  of  the  corrupted  city of  Dubh itself. But as yet, he had no idea of how he would achieve this task.

                            Jonathon  opened  his  eyes.  He  was  still  in  the dark, but sensed that the Tallmens’ daylight had returned. He studied his surroundings in the dim light. He was in a small shack, constructed between the two adjacent tiled roofs. The roof of this dwelling was made of rough flat boards placed between them and covered by canvas. The far end of the shelter was closed by heavy dark curtains that were rippled by a breeze which attempted to push them aside. He found himself wrapped up in musty old coats and bolts of cloth and had been placed in a makeshift bed amongst three others. The place smelled dank and dusty, but was warm and reasonably dry.

                            As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light Jonathon realised that he was not alone. Towards the dwelling entrance, a pile of clothes shifted slightly and two wide round eyes blinked at him. Slowly the pile of clothes and blankets crawled towards him. Eventually he could make out the pale face of a girl of his age, her tired eyes giving the impression that she was about to fall asleep again very soon. She didn't. She spoke to Jonathon in a whisper that she synchronized with the buffeting gusts of the wind that blew around the shelter.

“Oh my master! You does look like your Granddaddy, you really does! " She  smiled  at  Jonathon's  surprised expression              and  continued to give half an explanation of how she knew Cornelius.

“So yes, we knows you's comin' here and where’s and  when’s to be findin’ you. Your Granddaddy makes sure we does master." she whispered then smiled again  and Jonathon smiled back, infected by the child in her personality.

                            His Grandfather had instructed him on how to get to the place in Bridge Street and where to wait, but Jonathon hadn't expected to be plucked to safety from the hands of Silus Flax, in the dire circumstances in which he  had found himself. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Who....." the connection between his Grandfather and his rescuers intriguing him, but the girl cut him short.

“Shush master Jonathon! " She hissed. " No speak hear like that, less they down below hear us." she moved her fingers from his lips. “Speak like us, whisper when the wind blows."

Jonathon waited for a convenient gust of wind to ask his rapidly multiplying questions.

“Who brought me from the street? Who are you?”

The girl seemed to laugh, although she omitted to make the sounds that would normally accompany her amused facial expressions. She seemed surprised.

“Your Granddaddy no tells you of the Whisperer, that we's the ones to be finding you?”

                            Jonathon shook his head. He was surprised that Cornelius had not mentioned these people. The girl looked slightly bemused.

“Well there's a funny boy, I mean master. I wonder why he's no telling you, perhaps......" she waited for the wind to rise again.

"Perhaps we not to tell either” she teased

                            She waited for Jonathon to react. He just sighed, but she noticed his eyes focused intently upon her, and felt his trained mind invading hers. The girl gasped and physically jumped backwards away from Jonathon. He withdrew and smiled apologetically. The girl looked at him open mouthed.

“Wow! You is special like he says you is." she whispered. Jonathon shrugged his shoulders modestly.

“Tell me your name." he asked.

                            The girl shook her head defiantly, but almost provocatively, a sly grin challenging Jonathon to repeat his mental intrusion. Jonathon cupped his hands together and pushed them towards her, cracking all his finger joints noisily, the distraction giving him the opportunity to slip in and out of her mind without her noticing. She shivered and gave him a disgusted look.

“Horrible master! Why you do that? "

He beckoned her towards her and waited for the wind to rise. “ the wind told me your name.........you're Milly aren't you?" he now teased her.

                            Milly leapt to her feet  and,  with  a  look  of  horror  on her face, bolted from the makeshift shelter. Jonathon followed, moving a little stiffly, his muscles protesting after  his  confinement.  He   found   himself   high above the labyrinth of tenements of the Lower City and alone amid a rambling maze of roof tops and chimneys. From here he had a panoramic view of the city, which sprawled out in all directions  in  a  patchwork  of irregular roofs, until it dissolved into  the  blue-grey clouds of smog that seemed to cling Dubh’s boundaries. The strong gusts of wind, which seemed to flow down to the streets below, surprised him with their chill and strength.