Jonathan Stroud - The Creeping Shadow

“Tell DEPRAC what?” George said. “They clearly have plenty of evidence about what’s been going on.”

“Well, no, I mean about the circle—about the man in armor going through. It’s very important. We’ve got to, haven’t we?”

Lockwood grunted. “Tell old Barnes? I don’t know….We have never been the flavor of the month with him at the best of times. Think he’ll believe us?”

“Probably just clap us in prison,” George said. “Arson, burglary, general assault…Let’s face it, he’d have some tasty options.”

“I think we have to tell him anyhow,” I said. “Holly’s right. It’s just too big a thing to keep quiet about. When we stood in the graveyard that first night, we saw the way the Creeping Sha—that armored guy—stirred up the ghosts just by passing by. And then, last night…” My voice trailed off; I shivered, despite the fire. “We did exactly the same ourselves. There are so many implications….”

“Implications that DEPRAC aren’t likely to believe, I fear.” Lockwood put down his hand of cards. “But maybe you’re right. I guess we better had tell Barnes, if we get the opportunity.”

Part of the problem about telling Inspector Barnes, or even talking about events among ourselves, was that what had happened to us was so overwhelming. Lockwood and I in particular found it difficult to talk about our time on the other side of the circle with any clarity. We knew what we thought had happened. We knew that we had crossed over to a place that seemed very like the world we understood, except that it was inhabited not by the living, but by the dead. In that place we were the interlopers, and our presence had roused the inhabitants to action, just like the Creeping Shadow’s had. That much we sort of knew. But coming to terms with even that knowledge was like standing on the edge of a terrible precipice, and trying to take a step forward into space. The step could not easily be taken. The mind simply rebelled.

When, on our return to the inn, Lockwood and I described our experiences to the others, everyone had gone very quiet. Even George had not said much, though his glasses gleamed as he stared long into the fire. “Fascinating,” he said, over and over. “That’s fascinating ….This is going to need a lot of thought….”

Holly’s immediate focus had been quite different. “If this is true,” she’d said, sitting alongside us and looking intently at our faces, “what I want to know is how you’re feeling. Do you feel well? Are you both okay?”

“We’re fine,” Lockwood said, laughing. “Don’t worry yourself. The capes did a great job of protecting us, didn’t they, Luce?” And I’d smilingly agreed with him.

Glancing in the mirror later, however, I’d thought I looked more pale than usual. It was hard to be sure, just as I couldn’t really tell if the weakness I felt was the normal end-of-case exhaustion. Probably it was. I didn’t have the energy to care either way.

The one individual who certainly did have plenty of energy that first morning was the skull in the jar. Much to its chagrin, it had been locked up with our equipment in the inn’s storage closet. Holly had refused to let it into our bedroom when we got back, and to be honest, I couldn’t blame her.

“What’s the point of rescuing me,” it grumbled when I popped my head around the door, “if you lock me away in a damp cubbyhole like this? I haven’t got a nose, but I can tell just by looking that it smells of onions and pee.”

“It so doesn’t.” I stepped in, and took a hearty sniff. “Well, there’s certainly no trace of onions. And it’s a lot better than being incinerated like all those other Sources back at the facility, so you’d better be thankful.”

“Oh, I’m doing backflips of gratitude.” The hollow eyes narrowed as it looked at me. “And while we’re on that subject…Is there anything you’d like to say to me?”

I scratched my nose. “Should there be?”

“You’re here for a reason.”

“Actually, I’m here to get potatoes for lunch. George is cooking fries….But I suppose, while I’m with you…”

“Come on. Spit it out.”

I took a deep breath. “It was you, wasn’t it?” I said. “On the Other Side. When we were lost and couldn’t find the iron chain. You showed me where it was.”

The face grinned. “Saving your life? Now does that honestly sound like me?”

“Well, whoever it was, I am grateful. And I think I understand something else. ‘Death’s in Life and Life’s in Death,’ you keep telling me. And now I know why. Because ghosts have entered the living world, while…while living humans have entered…”

I broke off. I couldn’t quite bring myself to say it. Plus, the face in the jar was doing something off-putting with its tongue.

There was a short silence. “Finally!” the skull said. “Finally we’re getting somewhere! All these months, and you never figured it out. Yes, last night you were the walking proof of my words. And perhaps now you see why you and I get along so well. Because we both inhabit two worlds. You sense the other one all the time; you’ve always had glimpses of it all your days—and now you’ve actually been there, too. We’re caught between life and death, Lucy, you and I. And that’s what makes us the perfect team.” It gave me a companionable nod. “Hey, remember my suggestion? Carlyle and Skull? The offer of a partnership still stands. I’ll even let you put your name first.”

“You seem to be forgetting about Lockwood.” I felt the conversation had gone far enough. I located the sack of potatoes and carried it to the door.

“Oh, Lockwood, Shmockwood. He’s more drawn to death than either of us. You know that. He won’t be lasting long. A partnership with me is a much better bet….Wait, where are you going? Are you insane? We’re on the verge of something special here, and all you’re thinking about is fries ?! Come back!”

But I was out the door. Sometimes fries are the only way to keep you sane.

The weather that day was unseasonably warm, so we ate our lunch under an awning in the pub garden. From time to time, DEPRAC vehicles sped by. Danny Skinner, roused to a crescendo of excitement by the events of the night, hovered near, asking questions that we couldn’t or wouldn’t answer. Eventually he left us to swing like an ape from the gate and stare at the cloud of smoke beyond the trees.

A big black car drove out of the woods and came to a halt outside the Old Sun Inn. Out stepped Inspector Montagu Barnes, looking wearier and more rumpled than ever. He pushed open the gate, with Danny Skinner still attached to it, and walked over the grass toward us. Here he stood for a while, appraising our bruised and battered faces.

“Morning, Inspector,” Lockwood said.

George held out a bowl. “Want a fry?”

Barnes said nothing. He regarded us for a long time.

“Had a difficult night?” he said at last.

“They certainly have.” That was Mr. Skinner, bustling out from the taproom. He, at least, was in good spirits; it had been the busiest day at the inn for many a year. “Mr. Lockwood and his friends have been hard at work ridding Aldbury Castle of its ghosts, sir. Only been at it two nights, and there’s a noticeable improvement everywhere. Cleared my house, and many others. Helping us all sleep soundly in our beds. Young heroes they are, sir, every one.”

Barnes’s mustache curled doubtfully downward. “Really? First I’ve heard of it.” He said nothing further, but stood with his hands in his trench coat pockets until the innkeeper had returned inside.