The Giant Key, page 5
Algernon looked happy enough to burst. His lips peeled back around his jaw, revealing teeth that were rotten and sharp. He raised his paw, staring at Anna with glowing eyes; then he slapped the paw down even harder, smashing Anna against the floor. Anna whimpered, her organs squishing together, the tiniest breath squeezing out from her lungs. Her new skin wasn’t thick enough to withstand another hit. If Algernon struck her again, her life would be over.
‘He knows they’re our enemies,’ cooed Mrs Stone, from somewhere far above. ‘He’s defending the coven. I always thought his whiskers looked blue!’ She shrieked with delight. ‘Why don’t you bite off her pretty little head?’
Algernon purred, his fur rippling like an earthquake as Anna wriggled helplessly. Max was still frozen to the spot. He stared desperately at Anna, his dead hand twitching, his tail coiled like a noose. Anna had seen paralysed mice before. She had watched feral cats herd mice across the attic, or through the garden; seen the way the cats would play with their food, letting the mice run away only to pounce on them again and again. She knew Algernon wanted her to flee.
But Anna didn’t want to run. Whatever the wand had done – whatever terrible magic had been wrought upon their bodies – Anna’s brain remained her own. She was a mouse who had fought vampires, slain trolls, stepped boldly into a dragon’s mouth. These were the things she told herself as the cat’s weight crushed down upon her, the stench of fear bleeding from her every pore.
Algernon raised his paw. He nudged Anna with his nose, his breath hot, daring her to run. Anna tensed every one of her tiny muscles. She stared into the fireplace, remembering how her book of fairy tales had been burnt to cinders.
And then, just as Algernon reared back to strike her again, Anna whirled around and grabbed onto his whiskers, yanking them as hard as she could.
Algernon howled in anger. Anna held on tight as the cat swung its head back and forth, trying to shake her loose; her stomach flipped as Algernon jumped into the air, bucking like a bull in a rodeo. Anna scurried up a whisker as a witch’s boot swung into the fray; the kick caught Algernon in the stomach, making him yowl even louder than before.
Mrs Stone cried out in dismay. ‘Don’t hurt the cat,’ she shouted. ‘Kill the boy instead!’
Max squeaked in terror. He ran closer to Algernon, cowering beside the cat’s paws as the man with the forked beard raised his boot again. Algernon snarled as Anna scrambled over his nose, poking him in the eye as she slid down the next whisker.
‘Here!’ she yelled to Max. ‘Take my hand!’
She might not have spoken any words, but Max heard her squeaking. He reached up in panic as Anna swung below Algernon’s chin – and then Anna caught hold of his arm, and Max was hoisted up beside her, grabbing a whisker of his own. Anna almost grinned as Algernon began scratching his own face, unable to catch the mice climbing up and down his whiskers. She didn’t know how much time she had bought them, but it felt good to fight back.
But now a change had come over Algernon. Having one mouse pull on his whiskers had been indignity enough; having a second mouse swing beneath his nose was more than he could bear. Anna and Max trembled as Algernon came to a sudden stop, his ginger fur standing on end. Firelight radiated from his eyes.
‘Careful,’ said Mrs Stone in alarm. ‘He’s going to lose control –’
Algernon roared. The man with the forked beard stumbled back as the cat whirled about – and then Algernon was rocketing away, crashing through the room like a tornado, spitting and swiping at everything in his path. The woman with the eyepatch screamed as Algernon bowled through her legs, sending her staff thudding to the floor; the girl with the bone doll went down in a tangle of limbs and shrieks, her parents tittering in fear as Algernon blazed past. Anna and Max hung on as Mrs Stone dived onto the carpet behind them, narrowly missing Algernon’s tail; then the cat was racing down the corridor, and Anna’s bones were rattling in their sockets, and the old, dark house was passing by in a blur.
‘Max!’ she tried to yell. ‘Let go on three! One – two –’
BANG!
The world crashed to a stop as Algernon ran headfirst into a wall. Anna wheezed in pain as she smashed against the wood, finally losing her grip on the whisker. She slid down the wall, slumping against the skirting board, blood dripping down from a gash between her ears. Max tumbled to the floor beside her, a deep cut gouged into his mousey belly.
An awful shape loomed above them. Algernon was smiling again, his whiskers quivering, his body swollen with excitement. A lump was already growing on his forehead, but as the cat opened his rotten-toothed mouth, Anna knew he didn’t care. The mice had been defeated. The kill was his.
Anna closed her eyes. A whisker tickled the side of her face, sending shivers through her fur. Anna gritted her tiny teeth as she waited for her life to end.
But the bite didn’t come.
Anna looked up.
Algernon had taken a step back. His tail was whipping hard against the carpet, his body crouched low to the ground. His eyes were fixed on something beside Anna’s head.
The whisker tickled Anna’s face again. Anna gasped in fright, looking over her shoulder – and then she was grinning a mighty grin, reaching up with a squeal of pure delight.
A little black cat was standing in the corridor beside them. Its fur was dark as midnight, and its whiskers crackled an electric blue, sharper and brighter than lightning. Its eyes were as brilliant as the moon.
‘We’re in trouble, kitty,’ wheezed Anna. ‘We need to get out of here.’
For one moment, the black cat’s eyes flicked down, surveying the two mice sprawled on the carpet. Anna flinched as she heard the squeaks coming out of her own mouth. In the past, the black cat had always rescued them from danger – but Anna and Max had never looked like tasty rodents before. Would their friend recognise them now?
‘Please,’ said Anna. ‘It’s us. It’s Anna and Max –’
Algernon pounced. He flew forward, paws swinging, teeth gnashing – but the little black cat was faster. Anna squealed as the black cat darted forward, grabbing onto her and Max’s tails with a single bite – and then the cat was running, sprinting along the corridor too fast for Algernon to follow, the two mice swinging helplessly from its mouth.
8
INTO THE WOODS
THE HOUSE WAS IN A STATE OF UPROAR. WITCHES roamed the corridors, wands at the ready; Cassandra screamed orders from the top of the stairs, marshalling search parties from room to room. Mrs Stone stood behind her in silent shame, nursing Algernon in her arms. The lump between his ears was the size of an egg.
But for all their efforts, Anna did not think the witches would ever find the little black cat. The cat leapt like a panther between bookcases, jumping gracefully from shelf to shelf; it sat atop hunting trophies while the witches searched below, its blue whiskers suddenly dim, hiding in the shadows cast by horns and antlers. The witches never saw a thing.
After what seemed like an age, the witches reconvened in the parlour. Anna, Max, and the black cat watched from the next room as Cassandra held up her hand, dismissing Mrs Stone’s garbled apologies.
‘Your cat’s incompetence matters little,’ she said. ‘The touch of verminwood is death enough.’ She frowned. ‘What of their father? Will he rise before morning?’
‘I slipped a strong pill into his teacup,’ said Mrs Stone quickly. ‘He’ll sleep until dawn.’
Cassandra’s eyes glinted. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Let him rest. We’ll kill him in the morning.’
A chill ran through Anna’s veins. Max whimpered pitifully, only stopping when the black cat bit down on his tail.
‘That was a bad business,’ said the woman with the eyepatch. ‘Verminwood is unreliable.’
‘My knife would have been better,’ grunted the man with the forked beard. His eyes were still red. ‘Chupacabra spines are far more potent.’
Silence fell as Cassandra surveyed the crowd. Fury had made her face ugly; now she smoothed her features again, attempting a smile. She pointed at Mauve and Elspeth.
‘Find the children’s things, and bury them in the forest,’ she said. ‘Leave no trace of them for anyone to find. There is no more time to waste.’ Cassandra licked her lips. ‘The girl and her knife would have been a fine asset, but there is power enough in this room to complete our business. All of you who have answered my call this night will walk away with treasures unimaginable. None of your scars will have been for nothing. None of your blood will have been spilled in vain.’
There was a murmur of assent. The witches still looked upset, but there was greed in their eyes as well. For a moment, the smell of the severed toe seemed to steal through the house again, charging the air with a perverse excitement. The witches shivered in anticipation.
Cassandra walked across the parlour, throwing open the mansion door. The storm roared into the house, the doorway leading out into a world that was angry and black.
‘It is time,’ said Cassandra. ‘The Sabbath commences. Our key awaits.’
It was only when the last of the witches had exited the parlour that the black cat released Anna and Max from its mouth. The children slumped against the nearest bookcase, blood matting their fur, trembling as the mansion door slammed shut. In the distance, Anna could hear Mauve and Elspeth flapping around in her bedroom, gathering the children’s meagre possessions.
Anna had never felt so powerless. On any other adventure she would have charged into the night, doing whatever she could to stop the buried giant from rising out of the earth. Now, in the shadow of a leather-bound atlas, Anna curled into a ball, hugging her tail to her chest. She sobbed as she touched her furry pink nose, her ears flicking about with a mind of their own. In every direction, Anna could hear danger.
Cassandra was right. Algernon hadn’t killed her – but the curse of the verminwood wand was a fate worse than death.
The black cat waited patiently as Anna cried. It turned its head this way and that, tracking Mauve and Elspeth as they moved through the house. Anna shuddered as she heard the witches pass the Professor’s bedroom, picturing how close they were to her father’s bed.
We’ll kill him in the morning.
Anna stopped sobbing. She slowly stood up, still unsteady on her paws. She patted Max on the back, gently coaxing him out of his paralysis. They didn’t have time to feel sorry for themselves. The Professor’s life was in danger.
They needed a plan.
Anna flinched as Mauve and Elspeth blustered back into the parlour. Elspeth was carrying the clothes the children had shed beside the fireplace, while Mauve hauled a bundle filled with everything the siblings had left in their bedroom. The women huffed and panted as they met beside the staircase.
‘Is that everything?’ said Elspeth. ‘Oh, do hurry. We’re going to miss the reanimation.’
‘They were carrying backpacks when Cassandra found them,’ said Mauve. ‘Run up and grab them, quickly!’
Anna groaned as Elspeth climbed the staircase. If only Mauve hadn’t remembered their bags! All of their treasures were sitting upstairs – everything they could have used to keep the Professor safe. With relish, Anna imagined driving the headache twig into Cassandra’s ankle. The thought filled her with vigour.
‘New plan,’ she squeaked. She stared up into the cat’s glowing eyes, her paws on her hips. ‘We need to get those backpacks before the old hags can bury them. We’ll follow them into the woods – bite their ankles – whatever it takes. Got it?’
The black cat stared at her impassively. Anna gritted her tiny teeth, hoping the cat would understand her. It had never had any problems understanding English. Could it understand mouse?
Elspeth reappeared on the landing, both of the children’s backpacks slung over her arm. Mauve kicked open the front door, dragging her bundle out into the storm. She scowled as the rain dampened her frizzy hair, slicking it to her forehead.
‘Please,’ begged Anna. She grabbed onto the black cat, pulling its fur. ‘This is our only chance. We need to follow them, right –’
She squeaked in fright as the black cat leant down, nipping her on the back of the neck. Anna twisted around as the cat threw her into the air, her paws flailing about; and then, with a tiny thump, she landed softly on the cat’s furry back. Max cried out as the cat grabbed him as well, tossing him beside Anna – and then, with a flick of its tail, the cat was away. The children held on tight as the cat whisked across the parlour, its back legs flying through the doorway just as Mauve slammed it behind her.
The night was cold. The rain fell in icy drips, drenching clothes and fur alike. In the cemetery, puddles pooled together in the mud, shining like a thousand impossible oceans.
Mauve and Elspeth stumbled through the storm, muttering and cursing at the sky, completely unaware of the three animals following behind them.
By the time the witches left the cemetery and entered the woods, Anna felt as if her body had been soaked all the way through. She nestled into the cat’s black fur, grateful for the warmth.
The mice-children relied on their hearing to keep track of the witches ahead. The woods were alive with movement, and Anna and Max’s ears flicked about to note every plopping raindrop, every tweeting bird, every rustling leaf. Anna tried to focus, listening out for scraps of conversation as the cat carried them beneath the trees.
‘You should take one of my bags,’ complained Elspeth loudly. ‘My arms are too thin to carry all this.’
‘I’m carrying my share,’ said Mauve. ‘We needn’t go much further.’
An owl swooped down from the treetops, screeching; the cat took cover behind a mossy rock, hiding them all from view. Anna felt awfully aware of how many forest creatures might like to feast upon a mouse. For a moment, she imagined her and Max’s future lives: an endless series of chases and narrow escapes, of raids through garbage dumps just to scrape a crust for dinner. The thoughts were too terrible to entertain. Anna didn’t even like cheese.
‘Stop a minute,’ said Elspeth. She threw the children’s clothes into the mud, dropping the backpacks at her feet. ‘I want to see what the maggots were carrying. I’ve half a mind they’ve packed this bag full of bricks.’
The black cat laid low as the witches halted. Anna stood up for a better view, feeling slightly woozy. She gingerly touched the cut on her head, wondering how much blood a mouse could lose before it died. She didn’t think it could be much.
‘Mauve!’ said Elspeth sharply. ‘Come and look at this.’
Anna’s heart thumped as Elspeth’s wrinkled fingers reached into her backpack. She scrambled over the cat’s fur, grabbing onto Max.
‘This is it,’ she said. ‘Our only chance. We need to find the headache twig and get back to Dad before the witches can hurt him. Are you ready?’
Her voice was still a squeak, but she could tell Max had understood. He was shaking, his fur a bloody mess – but still he nodded, firmly meeting Anna’s eye. Anna breathed out, steeling her nerves. Then, before she could change her mind, she leapt off the cat’s back, scuttling quickly through the grass.
The two witches were standing side by side, their backs turned away from the discarded bags. Elspeth trembled as she showed Mauve the object in her hands. Anna’s insides went cold as she recognised the craggy shape of the troll’s stone heart.
‘It can’t be,’ said Mauve. ‘They were only children. It must be a fake.’
‘It’s real,’ hissed Elspeth. ‘You know it is.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Do you think the others know?’
Mauve cast a dark look over her shoulder, as if suddenly afraid of being watched. Anna took the chance to run closer, Max scurrying close behind her. The siblings dived as one behind the backpacks, curling into the shadows with mousey ease. Max began to gnaw at the base of one of the bags, using his teeth to cut a hole in the fabric.
‘That sounds like heresy, Elspeth,’ said Mauve cautiously. ‘The lady would come looking for us.’
‘Let her come,’ said Elspeth. ‘Let her try to follow us, with this in our hands. The others can pocket as many wands as they like.’ She cooed softly, holding the heart aloft. ‘None of them have ever touched a trophy like this!’
The backpack split open. Anna wiggled into the hole, her feet treading on something hard and cool. The coin. She sniffed urgently as Max wormed in beside her, her whiskers tingling. The headache twig was nearby. Anna could smell its power.
‘I won’t do it,’ said Mauve meekly. ‘She’s killed people for less. We’ll hand over the heart, and that’s final.’ She stepped towards the backpacks. ‘Let’s see what else those children had squirreled away.’
The backpack lurched. Anna squeaked in panic as her notebook tilted forward, squishing her against the side of the bag – and then the bag was tipped over, and Anna and Max and all of their treasures were spilling into the mud. Anna played dead as Mauve appeared above them, leaning down to pick up the shining coin.
‘Fairy gold,’ she said, squinting. ‘Good for a secret or two. What do you make of it, Elspeth?’
Elspeth didn’t say anything. Anna tried not to sneeze as rain splattered into her nostrils, her mouth pressed firmly against the earth. Were the witches looking at her? Was now the time to find the twig and run? She dared herself to turn her head, dragging her ear slowly through the dirt.
Elspeth had stepped far away from the backpacks. She was clutching the troll heart to her chest, her eyes more bloodshot than ever. In her other hand she was holding the black claw from her necklace, pointing it towards Mauve like a dagger. The hooked end glinted wickedly in the starlight.
‘I’m taking it,’ she said breathlessly. ‘All of it. I’ll go back to Greece, or somewhere even further. You don’t have to come with me. Just put those things back in the bag, and pass them over.’
