Marcus Sedgwick - The Book of Dead Days

Willow ran to him, Valerian not far behind.

“I can’t believe it!” said Valerian. “He really exists! Or he did exist, anyway. To see the name, written!”

“But where is he?” asked Boy. “He can’t be in the wall.”

Valerian turned and looked down at Boy, pulling one of his most devilish smiles. Then he raised a finger in front of boy’s face and turned it slowly so it pointed straight at where Boy was standing.

“Indeed,” he said. “He’s under your feet.”

Boy shrieked and jumped back. By the light from Willow’s candle they could see an inscribed stone in the floor.

“Fetch that spade, will you, Boy?” said Valerian. “Let’s get on with it.”

Boy brought the spade over.

“When was he-you know-put here?” he said.

“I have no idea,” said Valerian. “Why?”

“Well, I was wondering what sort of-what we might find.”

“Ah! Well, let’s have a look at the date.”

Valerian knelt down, wincing as he did so.

“Bring that candle a little closer, will you? Good. Now. There we are. Years ago, so no need to worry. It won’t be too foul. Anyway, it’s the book I’m after, not the man.”

Still Boy dithered.

“Get on with it,” said Valerian icily.

Boy shoved the tip of the spade along the crack between the stone with Beebe’s inscription and its neighbor. He levered it back and pulled. He went flying backward as the spade splintered on the stone, which had not moved.

Boy picked himself up.

“Are you all right?” Willow asked.

“Never mind him,” said Valerian. “We’ll have to find something else to prize it up. Quick. Someone could come at any time.”

They found a tall, heavy candlestick, its massive spike exposed when Willow removed one of the candles.

Putting the metal spike into the crevice, Boy and Willow both leant on it with all their weight. There wasn’t as much leverage as with the spade, but the candlestick was strong, and with a sudden lurch the slab lifted an inch or two.

“Quick!” said Valerian. “Get something under there!”

With his foot Boy slid the handle of the spade under the flag.

Still cold, and not having eaten since leaving the City, everything they did now exhausted them. They rested for a moment, panting after the exertion.

“What are you waiting for?” Valerian growled. “Get on with it!”

Wearily, they lifted the candlestick and shoved the top end as far as it would go under the small space they’d created.

Again they pushed down and the slab lifted some more.

“Lean to the side,” ordered Valerian, and they did. The slab rolled along the top of the candlestick and away from the hole. Repeating this motion a couple more times freed the stone completely.

“Now dig,” said Valerian, pointing at the patch of earth they had exposed.

Boy picked up the broken spade. Most of its face was still usable and he began to lift out the earth.

It came away surprisingly easily, and before even a few minutes had passed the spade hit the top of something else wooden.

Valerian could hardly contain his frustration. He hovered by the hole, grunting and cursing as Boy and Willow pulled at the dirt with their bare hands.

“Why do we always end up doing this?” muttered Willow as she and Boy once again scraped in grave soil.

“Shut up and dig,” said Boy.

And then it was done. They had exposed the surface of the coffin.

“Oh no!” said Boy. “Not again!”

“What is it?” asked Valerian, his voice tense.

“The box is broken.”

He leant down and with one hand was able to pull up the top section of coffin lid. Just like the one in which Valerian had nearly met his end, the top third of the lid had been broken, snapped off to leave a jagged edge of flimsy wood.

Boy threw the wood to one side and looked into the hole. Willow gasped. Inside lay a skeleton, mostly clean. Mostly.

Its arms were folded across the tatters and rags of its chest.

And that was all. There was no book.

“It can’t be!” cried Valerian. “Look further in! At the feet!”

Boy didn’t move. He looked down at the skeleton and knew he could not make himself get that close to it.

“Do it!” shouted Valerian.

“I-I-” Boy stammered. “I can’t.”

Valerian kicked the candlestick hard so it skittered away into some pews.

“I’ll do it,” said Willow. She held up a candle and peered into the depths of the grave.

She stood up. “Nothing.”

“Tricked!” Valerian said bitterly. “Yes. Yes. This looks rather like a dead end.”

“Can’t you just run away somewhere?” asked Boy. “Hide? Until after New Year’s?”

“If only it were that simple,” said Valerian, “I would already be on the other side of the world. The force with which I made my pact transcends time and space. It will come for me wherever I am on New Year’s Eve. The day after tomorrow.”

They were sitting in the church, by the candles, trying to keep warm.

“But there is something,” said Valerian suddenly. “How could I have forgotten… the motto? The Beebe family motto! Willow, I said we have we seen it before! Where?”

“At Kepler’s house. In the basement. But why?”

Valerian stood up.

“Why?” he said slowly. “Because Kepler must have known about Gad Beebe. He knew about his family motto. Perhaps he already has the book! Come!”

“What?” cried Boy. “Where?”

“Back to the City. To find Kepler. We must find him! He knows something. Find him and we may find the book.”

“Do you think he was here?”

“No. No, I don’t think so, but he knew about Gad Beebe. Now we just have to work out where he’s gone.”

“But how will we get back?” asked Willow.

As she spoke the clock in the tower of the church above them began to strike midnight.

“Willow,” said Valerian, “it’s time to steal a horse.”

But things were not to turn out that way.

“No!” Willow said for the fourth time, and Boy worried about what Valerian might do to her.

“No,” she said. “You can’t just take someone else’s horse!”

But Valerian did nothing. It almost seemed he was soft with Willow. Boy watched, amazed, as she argued in the persistent snowfall outside the village stable.

“I have no money left!” shouted Valerian. “We must get back to the City and there is no other way.”

Finally Boy at least managed to get them to have their argument inside. In the stable they saw why they had found no trace of the driver-his cart had gone and so had the beast.

But they could make out the shapes and smell of two young horses.

“These people have nothing!” cried Willow. “You can’t take their horses from them!”

“And if I don’t, I’ll be dead,” Valerian said, but it seemed there was less strength in his words than there might have been. Boy wondered if his arm was affecting him. At times he seemed delirious with pain.

“That’s not their concern, is it?” Willow said.

“No,” said Valerian, sounding exhausted. “No, it’s mine.”

He stared into Willow’s eyes and there was a standoff. Boy held his breath, and in the silence of the snowstorm they heard an angry cry.

It came from the direction of the church.

Boy stuck his head through the door and just as quickly pulled it back in.

“They’ve found our mess!” he hissed. “In the church! There’s at least three of them and they’re coming this way!”

Valerian looked at Willow.

“When this is all over I’ll come back and buy them a dozen horses,” he said. “I promise!”