“It doesn’t matter,” called Keplen. “We just need to get to the side up ahead. That’s where we get out!”
The canal narrowed even more and the current turned into a powerful surge.
A few more yards and the canal plunged into a small tunnel, across which lay an ancient grille with gaps no wider than a man’s hand. The water hurtled through the grille at high speed. The boat smashed into the grille, tearing a gaping hole in its prow.
Willow nearly fell as the boat was pounded again and again against the grille by the relentless force of the water. At least they were going nowhere for the moment. Then, with horror, Boy saw that the grinding of the boat against the grille was starting to weaken it. If it gave way there would be no stopping them from plunging into an even blacker abyss.
Boy had always been led to believe that hell was a hot and fiery place, but now he knew that if hell existed it was this place, here and now. Cold, and wet, and very, very dark.
They clutched at the bank, and Willow scrambled onto the stone quayside, throwing the book ahead of her.
She rolled over onto her back and found herself staring up into Valerian’s eyes.
“Help them out,” he said to her.
She lay, frozen with terror.
“Help them out!” Valerian screamed at her, and Willow had no choice. In a few more seconds the weight of the boat would smash the grille away and they would be lost forever.
She stretched her arms and pulled Kepler out; then they both did the same for Boy.
They stood facing Valerian.
The book lay between them on the flags.
Valerian held Kepler’s light device. It began to weaken, and without taking his eyes off Willow, Valerian put it on the floor and, once again steadying it with his foot, wound the handle until it shone brightly.
He didn’t pick it up again.
“So, Boy,” said Valerian.
“Leave him, Valerian,” said Kepler.
“Silence! You traitor! You were supposed to be my friend!”
“I was once. I was. You taught me about betrayal long ago. Things are not what they once were. You have to admit defeat. You can’t take Boy where you should go instead. It’s your doing, not his.”
“But now we know what Boy can do for me,” Valerian said, smiling unpleasantly. “And in this case, I think it’s only fitting that he should go instead of me.”
“No!” cried Willow. “No! You’re evil!”
Valerian laughed at her.
“I am not dead! That’s all that matters. Now, Boy, come to me!”
Boy began to back away.
Willow and Kepler closed together in front of Boy, trying to keep Valerian from him, but he just laughed.
With his left hand he pulled a slim black tube from inside his coat. He shook it with a flick of his wrist. A spike, long and sharp, hissed out and locked in place with a click. He pointed it at them.
“All I want is the boy,” he said, coming forward again.
They began to circle, Valerian edging them backward, closer to the canal.
There were three of them against Valerian with only one good arm, but he had the knife. They stood near the canal bank, Valerian looking beaten, wounded and old. Seeing him like this, they approached, united in a common purpose.
Boy felt his heart stirring for his master. His end would come now, one way or another. He watched, as if in slow motion, as Valerian stuck his stiletto between his teeth, then reached inside his huge black coat.
“No! Stop him!” Boy began, but it was too late.
Valerian’s hand flourished back out from the coat in a way that Boy had seen before.
There was a brilliant flash of light that illuminated the whole underground room. The space was filled with purple smoke.
“Ho!”
The voice was dry and full of bitter humor.
“Ho! And away to fairyland!”
They choked on the smoke, could still see the flash of light even with their eyes closed.
The smoke took its time to clear, with little air to blow it away, but eventually it began to dissipate.
Willow, who had staggered into Kepler, looked around wildly. There was Kepler’s lamp device lying on the floor, its glow still strong. But that was all.
“He’s gone!”
“Valerian!” coughed Kepler, still trying to clear the smoke from his lungs and eyes.
“Oh no!” cried Willow. “Oh, please, no! He’s got Boy. He’s taken Boy with him!”
“Quick!” Kepler shouted. “We must follow!”
“But how?” she cried. “He’s vanished with his magic again. We can’t follow him.”
“Magic?” Kepler said. “Valerian has no such thing as magic these days!”
“But I’ve seen him vanish! And you saw what he just did!”
“No, we did not see what he did! That is only a trick. He must have discovered a way out. An exit to this tombland. A door. Look around, Willow! Look around!”
8
Boy felt himself being dragged along by the scruff of his neck. A familiar feeling. He shuffled along behind Valerian choking in the smoke, wondering how he had let himself fall for this trick when he had seen it before. He was dragged up a long twisting flight of steps and lost his footing many times, but Valerian seemed to have regained his incredible strength, and Boy felt as if he practically flew up the stairway.
He knew Valerian had no real magic anymore. Those days were past-he was just a theatrical showman. But there was a legacy from his dabblings with real magic that awaited them, that was in fact running to meet them with every passing second.
As the smoke and tears cleared from Boy’s eyes, he began to look around, and what he saw shocked him.
They were outside.
Not only that, but they were outside in the garden of the Yellow House.
“How-how did we get here?” coughed Boy.
“Simple enough,” said Valerian, “when you work out where you are. I knew a little, and guessed the rest. Took me longer than it should have. Now be quiet and do as you’re told.”
Boy felt the past tickle his mind, and he remembered days when he had sat in the garden and dreamt he could hear running water beneath him. It seemed he had not dreamt it after all.
He froze as he felt the point of Valerian’s knife at his neck.
“One more inch,” he hissed. “One more inch and it’s your last. Now get up the stairs.”
Valerian, fumbling with keys while holding the knife, shoved open the back door. He pushed Boy ahead of him into the kitchens.
“Hurry! There’s little time!”
They made their way into the halls as the clocks chimed a quarter to the hour.
But which hour?
“Damnation!” cried Valerian. “Midnight!”
He pushed Boy up the stairs, up, up, up, all the way to the Tower. He kicked the door open, thrust Boy through and slammed it shut behind him.
Locking the door, he put the key in his pocket and staggered over to the camera obscura. He began to adjust its controls, cursing when he was clumsy with his only usable hand.
“Valerian.” Boy stepped forward, but his master held up his hand.
“Shut your mouth, Boy!” Valerian whirled round to face him. “Shut. Your. Mouth. Say nothing. Do nothing.”
“But-”
“I said, be quiet!”
Valerian closed his eyes for a moment, then fiddled with the focus of the camera and began to scan the streets around the House. Boy heard him speaking softly to himself.
“The stars still move, time still runs,
The clocks will strike, the devil will come.”
After a while he gave it up.
“Perhaps Kepler was right,” Valerian said, turning back to Boy. “Maybe it was a waste of money, but I’m not beaten yet.”
He moved over to sit in his armchair.
“Now all we have to do is wait. In a few minutes, it will come. The time will come. Then you go instead of me, and I am saved. I hope that’s clear.”
It seemed to Boy as if Valerian was asking him a question.