Marcus Sedgwick - The Book of Dead Days

“You will go and tell the Master that Valerian is here to see him. Tell him I can make his animals live.” Boy and Willow watched amazed as without a word the old woman shuffled off her stool and went to do as she was bid. It was just as if Valerian had cast a spell on her.

Five minutes later a small door within the main door opened, and they hurried inside.

Valerian and the Master stood facing each other in the grand entrance hall, sizing each other up. The Master was a short man, only a little taller than Boy. He was not quite as ugly as Green, but it still made Boy uncomfortable to look at him. His nose was pushed back; his eyes were small and overshadowed by huge hairy eyebrows. His hair was thin and greasy. He smelt terrible; his clothes were stained and, despite their original quality, were now little better than rags.

“Valerian! How strange to see you again.”

“A pleasure to renew your acquaintance. How long has it been?”

“Never mind that,” the Master snapped, his brow creasing. “How do you know of my work?”

“All the City knows of your work,” lied Valerian.

Good start, thought Boy.

“I myself have admired your noble and valuable… investigations into this… subject,” Valerian went on.

He’s losing it, Boy thought. He doesn’t really know what to say .

“And I believe,” Valerian concluded, “that I may be able to help you.”

“Do what?” said the Master of Burials.

Valerian opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again.

“You said you could make them live,” said the Master.

Valerian shifted a little where he stood.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I believe I can.”

“Believe?” shouted the Master of Burials, furiously striding right up to Valerian. Though Valerian towered a foot or so above him, Boy was amazed to see that the Master seemed to intimidate him. Boy had never seen anyone do this.

“Believe?” cried the Master again. “I thought you said you could do it! If you can’t, you can get out of here and stop wasting my time. This is important work. Important! I have history to think of! How will my name be written across the pages of history if I cannot achieve this… masterpiece!”

He stared up at Valerian, then turned and spat on the floor. “Get out of here! Be away from here!”

Valerian stepped forward.

“No!” he cried. “No, I can do it. With my two assistants here, I shall do it. Show me your animals. In return all I want is a little of your knowledge.”

The Master of Burials spun back to Valerian and held his gaze steadily for a long time.

“You had better be serious,” he growled, “or you will visit one of my cemeteries very much sooner than you had planned.”

He beckoned them forward, opening the door to the Dome.

“I already have,” said Valerian under his breath, and looked at Boy and Willow. “Pray we get this right.”

Boy looked up to the roof of the Dome, where a few hours before he had clung to the frosty glass like a human fly.

Boy and Willow, who had spent all of their fragile lives in the City, were used to disgusting sights and noxious smells, but nothing could have prepared them for this. Even Valerian put his hand to his mouth and nose.

The inside of the Dome was the most ornate, richest, most extravagantly decorated slaughterhouse. Under the glass Dome above their heads the whole room was one vast experiment. Solid wooden workbenches of elaborate design formed a semicircle. The top of each was finished with a thick marble surface. There the horror began.

Animals, normal ones, lay dead all over the room. Larger beasts rotted in boxes on the floor, while the smaller specimens hung from hooks or lay in trays on the worktops. From the darkest corners whimpers and howls came from various unknown creatures.

Bits of bodies were lined up on other workbenches. A pair of dog’s legs, a row of crows’ wings and four cats’ heads were just some of the foul sights they took in with their hasty glances.

The Master was at the far side of the room, at the workbench where Boy had observed him through the glass late the previous evening.

“Come on then,” he snarled. “Come and see my beautiful creations!”

He waved them forward.

Boy and Willow stared at each other as they walked behind Valerian to the Master. They tried not to look around them, but they were fascinated and repelled in equal measure by what they saw. They were used to seeing carcasses and hunks of animals hanging in butchers’ shops, but this minute and precise dissection of dogs, sheep, cats, birds-all still furred and feathered-was something else. Seeing this display of muscle, brain and bone made Boy wonder why things lived and then died, and what the difference was.

Then it got worse.

Boy and Willow caught up with Valerian, where he stood inspecting the Master’s lifework.

“This is what I saw!” Boy whispered to Willow, but Willow had covered her mouth with her hand, either to stifle a cry or to stop herself vomiting.

On the ranks of marble slabs in front of them lay the animals. A creature the size of a cat lay in a glass tray. Its body seemed to be that of a weasel, but it had a long cat’s tail and its head had once belonged to a large bird. There was no sign of any joins; the Master had evidently become a good craftsman.

Next to the bird-weasel, in a tank of some foul chemical, a large fish with the head of a dog floated obscenely on its side. Further along the workbench were dogs with cats’ heads and bird-headed cats.

And then there were the dragons. At first sight there seemed nothing else they could be but dragons-baby dragons. The largest was perhaps a foot long. It had the body of some greenish-gray lizard and seemed to have its own tail, and possibly even head. Large, powerful, beautiful wings with feathers the color of a golden sunrise adorned the creature’s back.

As they looked closer they could just see a hint of some fine gut thread hanging down across the dragon’s belly from where the wings were attached.

Valerian was hard at work now, praising the Master’s genius, his insight and his skill.

“And I curse the evil luck that has dogged you,” he went on.

“You are right!” cried the Master, his eyes glowing. “It is bad luck. What else can have prevented every single one of my fine creations from living?”

“Indeed,” said Valerian.

“I do not merely throw these bodies together,” the Master went on. “Oh no! Look!”

He took them to another table and lifted the skin over the haunches of a small deer to show where he was attaching an eagle’s legs.

“See? I link all tendons and tissues and fibers just as they should be. Every organ and vein and artery is thought of! I put back all the blood they lose. Why should they not live?”

“Why indeed?” echoed Valerian.

Boy and Willow looked at each other.

“None of them are sick,” the Master rambled on, “before they come here. They are all well. I only allow the healthiest animals to go under my knife! Why then should they not live?”

“Indeed,” Valerian went on. “Unless…”

He paused for effect.

“What?” the Master cried breathlessly.

“Unless… I have some small knowledge in Natural Philosophies. It may be the case-it may be that there is some small but vital spark that is required to set life in motion.”

“And what is this vital spark?”

Valerian’s onstage again, Boy thought. Acting a role, exhibiting his magical skills, as he had done at the Great Theater every night for years.

And now the Master was snared. Valerian turned to Boy and Willow with a flourish.

“The apparatus!” he declared, and Boy and Willow set their canvas sacks on the floor, carefully lifting out the things Valerian had given them to carry.