Lord Loss

THE LONGEST DAY

My bed. Curled into a ball on top of it. Weeping. Shaking. Fingers over my eyes. Peeping through them at fitful intervals, waiting for the demon master and his cohorts to come.

Hours later. Footsteps on the stairs. My heart almost stops.

Panting. Eyes wide. Remembering the carnage—Mum, Dad, Gret. Praying it’s quick. I don’t want to suffer. Maybe I should take the blade of the axe to my throat before the demons…

Whistling—Dervish!

I moan with relief. The footsteps stop, then start towards my room. I scurry underneath the covers and draw them up around my chin.

Dervish opens the door and sticks his head in. “You OK, Grubbs?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer weakly. “Just a bad dream.”

“I can sit with you if you want.”

“No. I’m fine. Really.”

“See you in the morning then.”

“’Night.”

He only half-closes the door when he leaves. I want to rush to it and slam it all the way shut, but I don’t dare step off the bed—afraid Vein or Artery might be lying beneath, waiting to snap at my ankles and drag me off into their world.

Dawn takes an age to come, but eventually the sun rises and burns my fears away with its cleansing rays.

As the sun clears the horizon and chases the shadows of night westward, I crawl out of bed, over to the window, and throw it open. The morning air is chilly but welcome. I gulp it down like water, my head clearing, my shakes subsiding.

Did the painting really talk to me or did I just imagine it?

I honestly don’t know. I think it was real. But I was extra tense. Overreacting to everything. It could have been a hallucination.

What was definitely real—the werewolf photos. I didn’t imagine them. They’re what I must focus on. The Lord Loss mystery can wait. I went down the cellar to find evidence of a werewolf. And I believe I found it.

Time to call in the expert.

“Paging Bill-E Spleen…”

I phone while Dervish sleeps. Ma Spleen answers, even grumpier than usual. “It’s seven twenty-three!” she snaps. “He’s still asleep and so was I!”

“Please,” I say calmly. “This is important. I want to catch him before he goes to school.”

“If you tell me, I can give him a message,” she sniffs.

“No,” I insist. “I have to speak to him in person.”

She grumbles some more, but eventually goes to wake the snoozing master Spleen.

“This had better be life-or-death,” Bill-E yawns down the line a minute later.

“You’ve got to come over,” I tell him directly. “Pretend you’re going to school, then come here.”

“What?” he grunts. “Have you lost your mind? I can’t fart in these parts without Gran knowing. Skipping school is out of—”

“There’s a full moon tonight,” I hiss. “I don’t want to be trapped here alone with Dervish.”

A cautious pause. “What’s happened?” Bill-E asks.

“Come over. Find out.”

I put the phone down before he can ask any further questions, confident that his curiosity will entice him. Start thinking about what I’m going to tell Dervish to explain Bill-E’s being here.

He arrives at 09:17, schoolbag slung across his back, left eye squinting suspiciously, black hair slick with sweat—he must have run.

“Couldn’t come any earlier or Gran would have been suspicious,” he says, entering by the huge front doors, which I hold open for him like a butler. He looks around like a detective. “Where’s Dervish?”

“In his study. I told him you were coming to work on a school project with me.”

“He believed that?” Bill-E snorts.

“He’d no reason not to. He doesn’t know we know about him.”

Bill-E looks at me smugly. “So you think I’m telling the truth now?”

I lead him through to the kitchen before answering. “Yes.”

“Coolio! What changed your mind?”

I sit down. So does Bill-E. “I’ve seen his lair,” I mutter, and proceed to tell him everything about the deer, my exploration of the wine cellar and the sub-cellar beyond (only leaving out the section relating to Lord Loss—that’s personal).

10:15. Bill-E arguing that Dervish doesn’t pose a threat.

“Don’t you see?” he groans with exasperation. “The cage is for him! He knows the change is upon him. That’s why he caught the deer and stuck it in there. Tonight he’ll lock himself in, and when he changes he’ll feed upon the deer and stay caged there until morning.”

“How will he get out?” I ask.

“Meera. That must be why she’s here. She knows about his sickness and probably comes every month to help him.”

“Think back,” I urge him. “You say you’ve been watching Dervish every time there’s been a full moon. Has Meera been here? Or anybody else?”

Bill-E shifts uncomfortably. “Well, no, not every time. But—”

“So how does he get out?” I interrupt.

Bill-E thinks a moment. “He must hang the key nearby,” he says. “He lets himself out when the change has passed.”

“Then what’s to stop him using it when he transforms?”

Bill-E rolls his eyes. “Have you ever heard of a wolf that can use a key?”

“He used it the other night. When he brought the deer back.”

“But he hadn’t transformed then,” Bill-E notes. “You said he looked the same as always.” He stands and paces around the kitchen as he outlines his thoughts.

“This is the way it must work. During the lead-up to the full moon—and for a few nights after— Dervish’s hormones are all over the place. I don’t think he physically changes, but he isn’t in full control of himself, which is why he wanders about the forest, hunting animals. At the same time, he’s human enough not to attack people. He doesn’t kill.

“On the night of the full moon, it’s different. The beast comes to the fore. It takes over. He can’t risk loosing it on the world. It would kill at random—animals, humans… whatever it found.

“So he chains himself up.” Bill-E clicks his fingers with excitement. “He locks himself in the cage, ensuring there’s a live animal for the beast to rip to pieces and feed on. He stays there all night, howling, transformed, wild. In the morning, when the phase passes, he lets himself out and carries on as normal.”

Bill-E stops and smiles warmly. “I’ve always admired Dervish, but never as much as I do right now. He’s dealing with his curse. Living as normal a life as he can, yet protecting the world from the monster within him, locking himself away when he must, enduring the loneliness and hardship…”

“Stop,” I remark sarcastically. “You’ll make me cry.”

Bill-E whirls on me angrily. “What did you call me for?” he barks. “If it was just to sneer, I can leave as quickly as I came!”

“It wasn’t to sneer,” I mumble. “I asked you here to help.” I stare miserably at him. “I’m scared. If he changes tonight and comes after me…”

“He won’t,” Bill-E says confidently. “The cage is there to prevent that.”

“Maybe,” I nod. “But I’m not sure I want to run the risk. I was thinking I could maybe come stay with you for a night or two…?”

Bill-E blinks. “I’ve never had a friend over to stay,” he says. “I don’t think Gran and Grandad would like it. Especially not after you woke them up this morning.” His face brightens. “Tell you what. I’ve a better idea—I’ll come and stay here!”

“What will that achieve?” I frown.

“I’m fatter than you,” he laughs, patting his stomach. “If the werewolf gets free, it’ll go for me first, since I’m so tasty-looking. That’ll give you a chance to run for freedom.”

“You’re crazy,” I huff.

“Of course I am,” he smiles. “After all, I’m a Grady!”

A long, tense day. Bill-E, despite his good-humoured assertions that we have nothing to be afraid of, is just as nervous as me. In some ways he’s worse—he looks very pale and has been sick a couple of times. He says it’s some bug he’s had for the last few days, but I’m sure it’s nerves.

“Maybe you should go home,” I suggest as he returns from his latest vomit trip to the toilet. “You won’t be much use throwing up all the time.”

“Don’t be too sure,” he smiles thinly. “Perhaps I can repel the werewolf with puke.”

“That’s one I never saw in the movies!” I laugh.

Bill-E has to leave in the afternoon, to check in with Ma and Pa Spleen and pretend he’s been to school. “I’ll have a quick meal, do some homework, then tell Gran I’m coming here for the night— I’ll say it’s part of a nature project, that I’m doing an essay on the habits of nocturnal creatures.”

“Not so far from the truth,” I grimace.

In my room. Alone. A knock on the door—Dervish. “Where’s Bill-E?”

“He had to go home.”

“That’s a shame—I was going to cook pancakes. I’ve a sudden craving for them.”

I start to tell Dervish that Bill-E’s returning to stay the night. Before I can, he says, “I have to head out later.”

“Oh?”

“I’m meeting Meera. We’re going to see some old friends. I could be gone all night. You’ll be OK by yourself?”

I nod wordlessly.

“I’ll give you a shout before I go,” he promises.

On the phone to Ma Spleen, asking for Bill-E. “He just got home from school,” she says frostily. “He’s eating.”

“It’s important.”

“Everything seems to be important today,” she grumbles, but calls him to the phone.

“When you return, enter by the back door and try not to let Dervish see you,” I tell him.

“Why?” he asks.

“He just told me he’s going out for the night. He thinks I’m going to be here by myself.”

“So?”

“Let’s quit with the seen it all, done it all act,” I snap. “If Dervish is what we think, there could be trouble tonight—real trouble. If he doesn’t know you’re in the house, he won’t expect to find you if he gets free later. That might work in our favour in case of an attack.”

“There won’t be an attack,” Bill-E insists.

“Maybe—but come in by the back anyway, OK?”

A moment’s pause. Then, in a subdued tone, Bill-E mutters, “OK.”

Bill-E sneaks in without Dervish spotting him. Hides in my room. We keep the door shut and our voices low when we speak—which isn’t often. I keep a firm hold on the axe I’ve been lugging about for the past few nights. Bill-E still doesn’t believe we’re in any danger, but he has a short sword lying on the bed close by, which I fetched for him from downstairs.

He’s in a terrible state, white and shivering. He’s been sick three times in the space of the last couple of hours. I see now that it isn’t nerves—he really is ill.

“You should be home in bed,” I whisper as he wraps blankets around himself and gulps down a glass of warm milk.

“I feel like death,” he groans, eyes watering.

“Do you want to leave?”

He shakes his head firmly. “Not until morning. I’m going to see this through with you, to prove that Dervish isn’t a killer.”

“But what if—”

He stops me with a quick cutting motion. “He’s coming!” he hisses, and tumbles off the bed, dragging his blankets and empty glass with him, lying flat on the floor, holding his breath.

I sit up in bed and open a comic, which I pretend to read.

Moments later, Dervish knocks and enters. “Coming for dinner?”

“No thanks—not very hungry tonight.”

He sniffs the air, nose crinkling. “It smells of sick in here.”

“Yeah.” I laugh sheepishly. “I threw up earlier. Think it was something I ate.”

“You should have told me.” He walks over and lays the back of his hand against my forehead. If he bends forward just a few centimetres more, he’ll spot the prone Bill-E Spleen…

“No fever,” Dervish says, stepping back.

“Of course not. Like I said—something I ate.”

“I hope that’s all it is.” He looks troubled. Checks his watch, then glances out the window. “If you get sick again later, I won’t be here to drive you to the doctor. Maybe I should take you into the Vale for the night.”

“That’s OK,” I say quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

I cross my heart and smile blithely. “Never felt better.”

“Hmm…” He doesn’t look happy, but takes me at my word. “Want me to drop you up anything from the kitchen?”

“No thanks—I’ll wander down later and grab something light.”

“See you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow,” I smile, and hold the smile in place until he exits.

“Phew!” I gasp when the coast is clear. “You can get up now.”

Bill-E rises from behind the bed like a ghost, grinning sickly. Then his face blanches, he clutches his stomach and rushes for the toilet.

I raise my eyes to the heavens and sigh. Of all the nights he could have picked to be sick, why this one!

Night. The moon rising. A roar from the corridor—“I’m off!”

“Bye!” I shout in reply. A quick shared glance with Bill-E, then we both rush to the room behind this one—with a view of the rear yard—and press up against the circle of stained glass, watching to see what Dervish does.

“Bet he heads straight down the cellar,” Bill-E says confidently.

“I hope so,” I sigh.

Moments later Dervish emerges and walks to the sheet of corrugated iron close to the sheds. He carefully removes it, unlocks the chains and casts them aside. Bill-E’s smiling knowingly—but the smile fades when Dervish drags the sheet of corrugated iron back over the doors, turns and heads off in the direction of the forest.

“What do we do now?” I ask quietly.

“He might just be going to…” Bill-E starts, but hasn’t the heart to finish.

“Two choices,” I growl. “We let him go—or we follow.”

“You want to go into the forest after him?” Bill-E asks uncertainly. “If he transforms out there and the beast spots us…”

“At least we know what to expect, and we’re prepared,” I grunt, hefting my axe. “Nobody else knows what he is. If we let him go and he kills…”

Bill-E rolls his eyes, but says sullenly, “We’ll follow.”

Hurrying from the room. In the hall downstairs, Bill-E stops to grab a sword, longer and sharper than the one I gave him earlier. While he’s at it, he plucks a couple of knives, sticks one in his belt, hands the other to me. “Double security,” he says.

“I like your thinking,” I grin shakily.

Then we’re gone—frightened, courageous, crazy—tracking a werewolf.