The Skeleton Clock

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The World of
The Skeleton Clock
Justin Richards
Braxiatek
www.braxiatek.com
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The World of The Skeleton Clock
First published in 2011
by Braxiatek Limited
6 Brooke Close
Warwick CV34 6PE
UK
Typeset and Encoded by Braxiatek Ltd
www.braxiatek.com
All rights reserved
© Justin Richards, 2011
The right of Justin Richards to be identified as author of this
work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
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After the flood…
Creatures stir in the watery depths,
and monsters stalk the night.
The City was once a thriving capital. Then the water rose and
the ground fractured.
At the ancient cathedral of Whispers, Jake and his friends
Sarah and Geoff witness a murder. Hunted by monstrous sea
creatures, they don’t realise they have found the key to an
ancient mystery.
Will Jake discover the truth of what they have discovered?
Will Sarah escape from the White Tower?
And who will unleash the awesome power of the Skeleton
Clock?
Everything has its Time
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The World of the Skeleton Clock
In these pages you will learn about the City where the strange events of The Skeleton Clock unfold.
Once it was called London, but by the time of these events it’s name has been all but forgotten. Visit
the dome of Whispers, the only part of the ancient cathedral still above the water. Look out at the
gutted, rusting remains of The Twisting, or the elegant stonework of The White Tower where the
Defeaters keep watch over the City. Find your way along the drywalks, or through the decaying
tunnels under the water safe in the knowledge that the Watch will be looking out for you.
But don’t stare too long or too hard into the depths of the muddy water – or else you might catch a
glimpse of things you would rather not know existed.
Once you know your way around, and what to look out for, you can read the first sections of the
novel itself. Buy the whole book to read on and discover what happens – if you dare...
Welcome To The City
The City is a very different place from the London you may have read about. Anyone who can afford
to has left and those who remain barely remember the City’s old name – now it is just ‘The City’.
With the floods came earthquakes and the shifting of the land now beneath the water, so if you ever
knew then you can forget how the topography of the City used to be. This is a city largely under
water. Life takes place in the top storeys of the surviving buildings. The streets are canals.
That might sound romantic and picturesque, but everywhere is the smell of the river, of decay… and
death.
There has been political as well as geographical upheaval. The City and other inundated areas of
Britain have been abandoned. Those with money, those with real; influence, and those who rule
have moved away. The City is cut off, ignored, all-but forgotten – an embarrassing shadow of former
glories and history. It’s on its own.
Society in General
Life in the City is cheap and fresh water expensive; what technology remains is starved of power.
The criminal gangs rule their areas of the City because they have the fuel for their ancient
speedboats.
The Government could intervene and send in the (few) troops they have – but why bother when the
gangs keep the peace as well as anyone else could?
Places to Visit
It is hardly a tourist resort, but if you have to spend time here, there are many places of interest in
the City. Some are open to the public, some are abandoned and derelict, some you approach at
your peril.
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The architecture may look strange, but remember that many of these old buildings extend well
below the waterline. You are probably just seeing the very tops of them. Remember also that over
the years the water and other elements have taken their toll.
For example, the misshapen skeleton of broken glass and rusted metal known as The Twisting was
once an elegant office building colloquially called ‘The Gherkin’. Now it is empty and abandoned,
ruined and falling to pieces… The structure is unsafe, but it is also home to some of the more
disreputable homeless and disenfranchised. A place to avoid.
Another place to avoid is the ancient castle now called The White Tower. While it remains largely
intact and above water, it is home to the Interim Government and its administration, set up during
the during the State of Emergency and yet to be replaced. Elections are promised soon, but that’s
nothing new. We’ve been expecting elections ‘soon’ for years and no one seriously believes they
will happen. The White Tower is one of the few places with reliable electrical power, and is under
constant camera surveillance. It has its own security force, red-uniformed guards nicknamed
Defeaters.
Places that you may find more inviting include:
Nelson’s Mooring – A statue of a great admiral that stands on the water. Don’t be fooled into
thinking the water is shallow here – the statue is actually mounted on a tall pillar. You will be lucky
to get an unobscured view of the statue. As the name implies, ferrymen often tie their boats up to
Nelson’s Mooring while resting, or waiting for a fare.
Whispers – The dome of an ancient cathedral jutting up out of the water. It is so-named as if you
speak or even whisper, your voice can be heard all around the gallery that runs round the inside of
the dome. Whispers is only open at certain times as religious observances are still held in other
extant parts of Whispers Cathedral by the Brotherhood of Anglicans.
Baby Ben – The famous clock tower that keeps time for the City. You may be lucky enough to see
one of the Official Time Keepers tie up their boat close to the tower to check their pocket watch.
Once they are certain their watch is correct, it is their job to go round the official institutions of the
City and adjust their clocks to exactly match Baby Ben. This is called GMT – Government Mediated
Time.
The Atherton Archive – A privately-owned museum. Vistors are admitted by appointment only.
Amongst the more interesting things collected by William Atherton over the years are several
miniature figures. Two foot soldiers, a cavalryman, and a commander or ‘king’. Made from bone or
ivory, these intricately-carved figures can actually move of their own accord be means of internal
mechanisms that no one yet understands. Another remarkable artefact in the collection is the
Skeleton Clock – so called as it has no casing, so the internal workings are exposed to view. It is said
that the clock has a perpetual movement, and never needs to be wound up. But as with the
miniature figures, Atherton has resisted all attempts to examine or understand the clock.
Mandrake’s Rare Books and Manuscripts – When the weather is bad, which is sadly often the case,
and you would rather be indoors than brave the acid rain, then you need a good book. There is
nowhere in the City quite like Mandrake’s. The owner, Gabriel Mandrake, will be happy to show
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round the extensive stock of rare and old books and manuscripts – many of which he has recovered
from under the waters and restored himself. Don’t be put off by the forbidding atmosphere of this
bookcase-lined former warehouse, by the strange noises that come – apparently – from the water
ebbing and flowing into the basements, or the large wet footsteps that appear from time to time
around the book stacks… And rest assured that there is absolutely no truth in the local rumour that
more people go into the shop than ever come out again...
The Toymaker’s Shop – Everyone in the City knows Jasper Hickson’s shop on Shaft Street. They
know it as the Toymaker’s – a toy shop where you can buy the very best hand-crafted wooden toys
and games. Whether you want a doll or a ball, a set of farm animals or a boat, the Toymaker’s is the
place to go. If Hickson is not there himself, his daughter Sarah will be pleased to help you find the
toy you are looking for.
There’s ample mooring at the end of Shaft Street, as it rises out of the water. And for the grownups, there’s a pub opposite – The Last Drop – which is open until late.
Getting around the City
Small pieces of land have been thrust up by the earth movements and remain as islands, the
inhabitants of the City clustered here. What remains of the Government looks down on its dominion
from the higher sections of The White Tower, which is on its own tiny island.
Some of the streets are navigable above the water level, or shallow enough to wade through. But do
be aware that the water is tidal – just because you can wade down a road one morning doesn’t
mean you won’t be out of your depth by lunch time.
To get between the islands and across deeper water, you will need a boat or launch. Public and
private ferries are available. Fares vary – always check with the ferryman before you start you
journey. People who cannot pay are described by the ferrymen as ‘dodgers’ and dumped at the first
possible landing point – sometimes in the middle of nowhere, having to wait hours (or even days) for
help getting back to land.
Most of the ferrymen having rowing boats. If you are lucky enough to find someone with a motor
launch willing to ferry you round the City, be aware that this may be fast, but it will also be hugely
expensive. Fuel – like the electrical power it can be used to generate – is rare, and very valuable.
Fuel is power in many ways, and men have died for a few precious litres of petrol or diesel…
As well as the ferries, there is a tunnel system that runs under the water and connects the larger
islands. Based on an old railway system, certain tunnels have been pumped-out and are kept
reasonably dry. But while the main thoroughfares are usually busy, you use the tunnels at your
peril. They are old and in disrepair. There is no guarantee that the crumbling roofs will continue to
keep out the water above, or that the power to the pumps won’t fail.
In the event of pump failure, make your way as quickly as you can to the nearest Rising Point before
the flood doors seal the tunnel. It will be pumped out as soon as power is restored, but it is not
unknown for tunnels to flood completely in the meantime – drowning anyone who didn’t get out in
time and was sealed inside by the flood doors.
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Law and Order
There is a police force, of sorts, struggling to keep the peace alongside the remnants of the armed
forces. But society is in meltdown – the whole City is more like the slums of Victorian London,
abandoned and ignored by the rest of Britain as life there goes on as best it can.
Because of the shortage of Officers of the Law, only the most serious – or politically-sensitive –
crimes tend to be investigated. But if you can afford it, you will find that almost all Officers are open
to financial incentives (ie, bribery) in pursuing your interests.
Caution!
There is life under the water too. Not just in the lower levels that have been pumped out and kept
dry. There is something else – creatures washed up from the depths of the ocean, clawing their way
towards the light.
Perhaps they were always there – the origin of the legends of Sirens and Mermaids. Or perhaps they
have only recently evolved, mutated by the pollution in the City waters…
Instinctive, and shy for the most part, they can become dangerous if they feel threatened. They
could so easily be the final death of the City. Or if the scientists and schemers in The White Tower
have their way – it’s salvation. But at a terrible cost to everyone else.
The World Beneath the Water
And there is something else. When the waters rushed in and the seascape changed, the wreckage
and detritus of two thousand years was thrown together in an underwater graveyard at the lowest
point of what was the Thames. In amongst the wrecks of ships and debris of the past lies an ancient
treasure – a set of artefacts that separated mean nothing, but together are as valuable as life itself.
Someone is beginning to understand what the artefacts really are, and what they mean. Someone
who wants their secret for himself, whatever the cost…
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An extract from
The Skeleton Clock
By Justin Richards
How It All Begins...
Prologue
There could be only one survivor – and the Captain knew it wasn’t him. The wind tore at the
sails and the rain scythed down on the deck. The Captain’s oilskin was ripped and his skin
was clammy with a mixture of sweat and sea and rain and fear. Lightning split the darkening
sky and thunder roared like cannon fire.
An hour ago, the sea had been calm. The sky had been clear. After months of sailing,
the Captain had been looking forward to reaching their destination before nightfall. But the
weather changed so suddenly that the crew was muttering again about the curse.
The only curse the Captain understood was the changing weather that had brought this
storm. He had never seen anything like it. In the last months the Captain had witnessed the
most incredible things, but this storm from nowhere competed with them all.
‘Get those sails down before they’re ripped apart. What’s left of them,’ the Boatswain
was shouting. They all knew it was too late.
The Spirit of Azuras pitched and rolled. One of the lookouts was thrown from the
mast as he scrambled to get back down to the deck. He reached it sooner than he intended.
His neck snapped on impact. His body was washed away at once as another massive wave
crashed across the ship.
On the far side, where they thought the Captain couldn’t see, some of the sailors were
lowering a boat. As if that could survive the fury of the waters.
The Boatswain had seen them too. ‘We have to let them go,’ he shouted above the
wind and the thunder. ‘We should all abandon the ship.’
‘And go where?’
The Boatswain looked away. He knew as well as the Captain where they were all
going.
‘We have to try. Give the order, sir.’
The Captain nodded. There really was no choice. And perhaps – just perhaps – they
could survive away from the bucking, breaking ship. She’d been a good vessel, she’d
survived other storms. But this one was destroying her. One of the masts was cracking,
splitting, breaking. It fell like an old tree, men leaping from the rigging where they’d been
trying to untangle the sails. Tumbling into the churning waters and immediately lost to sight.
‘It’s not up to me,’ the Captain shouted. ‘You know it’s not up to me.’
‘You’re the captain – give the order.’
‘We both know who the real captain is.’
‘Then tell him,’ the Boatswain yelled. ‘Tell him we have to abandon ship.’
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The Captain slapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘Find Carlos and Magro. I’ll need
them to carry it to a boat.’
‘If they’re still here. If they’re still alive.’
‘We’re all dead already,’ the Captain said. But his words were swallowed by the
storm.
The cabin lurched. The light from an oil lamp hung from the ceiling flickered and
shimmered. The Captain staggered across to the red silk curtain – a splash of colour in the
drab surroundings. He stumbled, reaching out to grab for support.
His hand slid across the wet surface of a pale table. The top was a checkerboard, the
sides ornately decorated. But the Captain had no time now to admire the craftsmanship. His
hand knocked into a large metal box and sent it skidding off the edge. It crashed to the floor
and the top was jarred open, spilling some of the contents – small, intricately carved figures.
‘Is that you, Captain?’ The voice from behind the silk curtain was deep and resonant.
But it was barely audible above the roar of the sea.
The Captain took a deep breath. The thing behind the curtain scared him more than
the storm – more than the promise of death itself. He drew back the curtain and inclined his
head.
‘It is I, My Lord.’
‘Is the storm abating?’
‘No, My Lord. And the ship is breaking. Sinking. We must leave. Now.’ He said it
quickly, before he could be interrupted. He only looked up when he had finished.
There was no change of expression. How could there be? The golden Head was
standing on a wooden plinth. It stared back at the Captain through dark, empty eyes. The
statue’s lips seemed to quiver as it spoke – a trick of the light from the flickering oil lamp that
struggled to stay alight.
‘Leave? We cannot leave. We are so nearly there. I must reach London. I must find –
’
‘My Lord, the storm is getting worse,’ the Captain insisted. ‘The worst I have ever
seen. If we don’t go now, we shall all die.’
Water poured into the cabin as he spoke. It was over the Captain’s boots. The metal
box was washed against his leg. He picked it up, snapping the lid shut and holding it up for
the Head to see.
‘We must leave now. The boats are being lowered. I am not asking your permission,
My Lord. I am telling you.’
‘We must take the box. And the table.’
‘Of course, My Lord. I’ve sent for men to carry them to the boats.’
With a splintering crash, a section of the roof caved in. The sea rushed through,
knocking the Captain off his feet. The wooden plinth was hurled sideways, the Head falling
into the water with a startled cry.
Two large sailors stumbled down the steps into the cabin.
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‘Captain!’ one of them shouted. ‘The boats are leaving. We’re going now!’
‘Help me with the Head, Magro,’ the Captain shouted back.
The two men exchanged looks. The larger of them shook his head.
‘Leave it. It’s nothing but trouble.’
‘A curse!’ the other sailor agreed.
‘Now, Captain, sir. We have to go now.’
The water was pouring in. The sailors forced their way back up the steps and out of
the cabin. The water was rising rapidly – up to the Captain’s waist now. He hugged the metal
box to him and waded across the cabin. The table washed against the far wall, and he ignored
it. There was no sign of the figures that had spilled from the box when it fell.
The Captain paused for a moment, and looked back. The Head was a glint of gold in
the white of the rushing water. Too far to reach. Too heavy to lift alone.
‘I’m sorry, My Lord,’ the Captain murmured. Then he hauled himself out of the
cabin and back on to the deck.
The moment he stepped out from the shelter of the doorway, a wave crashed over
him. The Captain cried out, letting go of the box. It tumbled away, lost immediately in the
raging sea. Then the Captain was falling after it, washed overboard. His head cracked against
broken wood. His mouth was stinging with the taste of salt and blood.
Icy water closed over his head. Bubbles streamed past him – rising upwards as he
sank into the darkness. The only glimmer of light from below was the glint of gold. The last
thing he saw was a life-size, carved, human head falling into the silent depths.
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Chapter 1
It was a warm October evening when death came to Whispers.
The sun had long since dipped below the waterline and only a few buildings showed
any light. Away across the water, the bent and broken metal skeleton of The Twisting still
held some cracked panes of glass. They caught and reflected the faint light which played
across the dark rippling water. It had once been an office, or so someone had told Jake. But
that must have been long ago, when this was still called London. Now it was just the City,
and The Twisting was an inhospitable home for squatters and scavengers and waterlarks.
Much closer, shafts of light escaped from inside the dark dome of Whispers, jutting
up proud and resolute from the water in front of Jake and Geoff. Flickering, uneven light that
Jake knew came from the hundreds of candles the Brotherhood of St Pauls kept burning
through the night.
Geoff had an old wooden rowing boat he used to ferry people across the City and earn
a few extra pennies. Jake helped Geoff tie it to a crumbling stone stanchion at the side of the
ancient dome. He and Geoff listened carefully as they stood in the undulating boat, the
frayed rope grazing the stone post.
‘Can’t hear them singing,’ Geoff said. The shimmering light caught his toothy smile
and unruly fair hair.
‘Evensong’s over. Nothing now till late Mass,’ Jake replied. ‘They’ll be down at St
Martin in the Floods for another hour or more.’
‘Not all of them,’ Geoff said. He didn’t sound worried. The Brotherhood didn’t mind
visitors. But they preferred the devout and the penitent over waterlarks.
‘What are you keeping from today?’ Jake asked as they jumped across from the boat
to the narrow stone walkway.
‘Bit of coal,’ Geoff told him.
Jake laughed. ‘Why you keeping that? Old Simpson’s got a generator out on the
floating gardens. He’d pay for it.’
‘Waiting till I’ve got more,’ Geoff said. ‘If I save up all the coal I find till I’ve got
lots, I can get more for it. What about you?’
They were at the North Window, a large rectangular opening framed with stone that
was slick with algae. One of the Brothers had told Jake that it used to be a real window, not a
door. But that must have been long ago, when Whispers stood on ground and not in water,
when you could get to the doors and floors deep below.
‘I found an old coin,’ Jake said. He paused on the threshold and shook his head to get
the water out of his mass of curly black hair. It sprayed across Geoff.
‘Get off,’ Geoff told him.
‘Shhh,’ Jake hissed back. He pressed his hands together, imitating the Brotherhood at
prayer. ‘This is a place of worship, not a playground for waterlarks,’ he said in a highpitched, cracked voice
Geoff laughed. ‘Got much in your stash?’ he asked.
‘Show you, if you like,’ Jake said.
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Soon the two boys were in a narrow stone passageway. Metal bowls fixed to the wall
glowed with burning oil, sending shadows dancing eerily across the flaking, damp walls. The
oil gave a more even, less smoky light than the cheaper fat most people burned.
A narrow window looked out across the water outside. Jake could hear the shout of a
ferryman calling for business, the lapping of the water lower down the main dome, the distant
throb of a Watch boat’s engine.
‘Something must be up if they’re burning fuel,’ Jake said.
‘Big oil bust going down. One of the ’larks dossing at The Twisting said there’s a
gang stockpiling over past Minster.’
‘I heard they were hoarding fresh water,’ Jake said.
The two boys crept past a doorway set in the side of the next staircase. From inside
the room beyond they could hear the murmurings of one of the Brotherhood. As soon as they
were out of earshot, they clattered rapidly up the last steps and into the short corridor that led
to the gallery.
It always impressed Jake, no matter how often he came here. But now it was dark,
and the huge painted dome was invisible high above them – so high that the light from the
guttering candles could not reach it. He could barely make out the shapes of the statues that
stood above the gallery, just below the dome itself.
There were eight figures, he had counted them so many times. Below each figure was
a door. Some gave on to the stairways that led either down to the water or up to the outer
gallery over a hundred steps further up. Others opened on to dark passageways that Jake and
Geoff had not explored.
The view down from the gallery was clearer. As well as the candles in metal holders
attached to the gallery railing, lights burned in the cathedral below. There was a lower level, a
network of narrow walkways round the walls, rooms hidden in amongst the stone pillars and
vaulting. Leaning over the high railing, Jake could see himself reflected distantly in the
water. Ripples distorted his face and the candles flickered eerily round him.
The narrow walkway round the gallery was worn into a hollow. Some sections had
been replaced with wood that creaked and shivered when you stood on it. There was a stone
bench running round the wall. In places it had broken away, and pieces were missing.
Jake felt under the bench at exactly the right point, his fingers scrabbling for the loose
stone. He found it, gripped it, eased it away from the wall and reached into the cavity behind.
‘I can see you,’ a voice whispered close to Jake’s ear. He gave a startled cry and
pulled his hand away quickly, turning round.
There was no one there.
‘Gets you every time,’ the voice whispered again. It sounded as if Geoff was standing
right beside him. But Jake knew better. He peered into the gloom, looking out across the
railing to the opposite side of the dome – to Geoff grinning back at him.
Jake turned away, whispering to the wall. ‘Thanks, Geoff. You scared the life out of
me. Again.’
It only worked if you whispered. And it only worked if you were facing the wall.
Somehow the shape of the dome above them echoed it across the divide, making it sound like
whoever was whispering was right there. It was a good trick, which the boys had discovered
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by accident – scaring themselves almost to death at first. One of the Brothers had seen them,
and explained that this was how the place got its name. But even so hardly anyone knew
about the whispers…
Jake went back to his stash. He pulled out the small frayed linen sack. From his
pocket he took a coin, worn almost flat with age, and pushed it into the bag with his other
small treasures. He didn’t have much. But it was more than Geoff. For all his talk about
hoarding coal, Geoff sold on anything he found almost at once. Geoff would rather have the
money, rather eat well – if only for a day. Maybe get Sarah the Toymaker’s daughter a pretty
necklace or a bread roll…
Unlike Geoff, Jake liked to keep things. Interesting things, beautiful things. Things
that made him feel he had some existence, some life beyond scavenging at the edge of the
water or diving into the shallower areas to hunt for wrecks. He twisted the neck of the bag,
and pushed it back into place, out of sight beneath the stone bench.
As he straightened up, he heard something else. Not Geoff’s whispers, nor the sound
of his friend walking back round the gallery. It was a deliberate, methodical thump of feet
coming from the open door to the stairs. It didn’t sound like the reverent tread of one of the
Brotherhood of St Pauls.
Jake ran quickly and quietly round the walkway to join Geoff.
‘What is it?’ Geoff whispered. Facing away from the curved outer wall, his voice was
lost almost immediately.
‘Someone coming,’ Jake breathed back. He blew out the candle closest to them, and
the two boys crouched down in the shadows.
‘We could leg it,’ Geoff murmured in Jake’s ear. There was a doorway right behind
them. ‘Up to the next level. Right up to the top if need be.’
Jake shook his head. ‘Who is it?’
‘Just a Brother. Or a worshipper. Or…’ Geoff’s vague silhouette shrugged in the
gloom. ‘Who cares?’
The figure had stepped out of the doorway on the opposite side of the dome and was
standing closer to one of the candles. A tall, slightly stooped figure smothered in a grey,
hooded cloak.
‘He’s not one of the Brotherhood,’ Jake said quietly. ‘The cloak’s the wrong colour.
Anyway they’re all down at St Martin’s. Most of them.’
The figure opposite turned towards the railing, looking across towards where Jake and
Geoff were crouching. They didn’t move, hardly breathing. The pale light flickered on the
figure’s cloak, but the face remained shadowed and shrouded in utter darkness.
‘Just some guy,’ Geoff murmured. ‘Come on, time we were going.’
Jake was about to agree when a second man stepped on to the gallery. He wasn’t as
tall as the cloaked figure, but he wore a dark uniform and carried a metal box, tarnished with
age.
‘Revenue!’ Geoff hissed. ‘If the Revenue’s coming I’m definitely off.’ He tugged at
Jake’s sleeve.
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‘No, wait,’ Jake whispered. The Revenue man was looking round furtively. It didn’t
look like he was here on official business – and what Revenue man would bother with a
couple of skinflint waterlarks?
‘There you are.’ The Revenue man even sounded nervous. He walked cautiously
round the gallery towards where the cloaked figure was standing.
‘You have them?’ the man in the cloak asked. His voice barely carried to where Jake
and Geoff were crouching.
The Revenue man lifted the metal box and balanced it on top of the railing, keeping a
tight hold. ‘Safe and sound. If you’re interested.’
‘Oh, I am most certainly interested. Show me.’
The Revenue man hesitated for a moment, then undid the clasp on the box with his
free hand. He lifted the lid, and Jake peered closer through the railings. But the box was
facing away from him, so the men could look inside. All Jake and Geoff could see was the
back of the open lid.
‘Exquisite,’ the cloaked man was saying.
The Revenue man pulled the box away from the other man. ‘No touching. You’ve
seen what I got. Now we agree a price.’
The space under the hood was completely dark. The voice without expression. ‘We
have already agreed a price.’
The Revenue man’s voice was stretched out with nerves as he shut the lid of the box.
‘Yeah. But you were so keen, I reckon this is worth a bit more than we agreed.’
There was no mistaking the edge in the other man’s voice now. ‘How much more?’
‘Double.’
‘Double,’ the cloaked man echoed. He turned away. ‘And that buys secrecy too?’
‘What is it he’s selling?’ Geoff whispered.
Jake waved him to silence. All his attention was on the cloaked man – on the way the
figure had straightened up slightly, turning away from the Revenue man. On the candlelight
reflecting off the blade of the knife he took slowly out of his sleeve.
‘I’ve told no one anything about these,’ the Revenue man was saying. ‘Told no one
about you.’
‘Told no one you were coming here?’
‘Course not. If I don’t hand these in, I’m in breach of regulations. Think I’m stupid?’
The man in the cloak turned quickly back towards the uniformed figure. ‘Very stupid,’
he answered. The knife caught the light, flashing towards the Revenue man.
Jake was on his feet. But he was too late, and his warning shout was lost in the scream
of surprise and pain from across the gallery. Geoff clamped a hand over Jake’s mouth and
dragged him back down into the shadows.
‘You want to get stuck too?’ Geoff warned.
The Revenue man was sagging. But he still held the box, pulling it along the top of
the railing towards himself as he staggered backwards.
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The knife flashed again. The Revenue man fell. The metal box fell with him. The man
in the cloak grabbed for it, pulling it away.
Jake could hear the stabbed man choking and coughing. But still he struggled to hold
on to the box.
The knife stabbed down once more. With a final cry, the Revenue man let go.
Now the cloaked figure staggered back, clutching the box in triumph. Crashing into
the metal railing. The knife clattered to the floor, and the metal box caught on the top of the
railing. The impact tore the box from the man’s grasp, and it fell. Twisting and spinning, the
box dropped towards the water several yards below.
There was silence for a second. Then the splash. Followed by a yell of anger from the
cloaked figure. He learned over the railing – leaned so far, Jake thought for a moment he was
about to jump in after whatever he had lost. But instead it looked as though he pulled
something from his pocket and sprinkled it like dust into the water. Tiny particles that caught
the shimmering candlelight as they twisted and fell…
The Revenue man groaned. He had fallen on to the stone bench, facing the wall.
‘Help me!’ his tortured voice whispered right in Jake’s ear. The only reply was a rhythmic
tick like the sound of a clock as the other man clicked his tongue and turned away.
A cloaked figure strode past the dying man, and disappeared into the dark doorway.
Feet ringing on the stone floor, Geoff ran to the wounded man while Jake yelled for help.
But there was no answer to his echoing shouts down the stairway or over the gallery rail.
‘Will he be all right?’ Jake asked Geoff.
Geoff looked up at him, candlelight playing over his pale face. ‘He’s dead.’
‘Dead?!’
Geoff stood up. ‘I was hoping he’d tell us what was in the case.’
‘He’s dead,’ Jake said again, unable to believe it. ‘He’s dead and you want to know
what was in the case?’
‘Why not?’ Despite everything, Geoff grinned. ‘Got to be valuable. Worth killing
for.’
‘But not worth dying for,’ Jake told him. He stared at the slumped body of the man
on the bench, and at the dark stain spreading beneath him. ‘Whatever it was, it’s gone now.’
‘You want to stay a waterlark for ever?’ Geoff said, slapping Jake on the shoulder.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Whatever it was, it just fell in the water. That’s what we do, isn’t it? We get stuff out
of the water. The more valuable the better.’
Jake looked from the dead man to the rippling water below the dome. ‘I don’t
know…’
‘It’s no use to him, is it?’ Geoff pointed out. ‘Come on. You can hold your breath
longer than any of us – and dive deeper too.’ He shrugged out of his threadbare jacket and
pulled his grimy shirt over his head. ‘Let’s get rich!’
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Jake sighed. Geoff was right. The man was dead, and his killer had fled. No one else
knew there was anything in the water. He took off his jacket and kicked off his boots, stuffing
them out of sight beneath the stone bench.
Geoff clambered over the metal rail. Jake climbed after him, and together they
jumped. It was only as he fell into the murky cold water that Jake thought to wonder how
they’d get out again.
He swam back up to the surface, treading water for a moment while he looked round.
Geoff was so impulsive, but Jake liked to know what he was getting into. The wooden
walkways the Brotherhood used to get between the rooms and chambers on the lower level
were just higher than the water. At high tide they floated, but now they were hanging just
over the water. Jake could pull himself out and on to one of those.
Satisfied he wasn’t going to be trapped inside the ancient building, Jake flipped his
legs up and dived down into the water.
He was well used to seeing underwater. But the light from the hundreds of candles
positioned round the cathedral was pale and weak, barely reaching below the surface.
Jake’s outstretched hands met an ornate carved structure. Wood, by the feel of it –
slimy and fragile from the years under water. He pushed on, coming up against a rusting
metal gate. He pulled himself along the side of the gate, its metalwork a hint of black in the
dark grey world. An opening now, and still Jake was heading downwards. Whatever had
fallen into the water would be right on the bottom.
His every instinct was to breath, but he ignored it, concentrating on the pressure
building in his head, working out how much longer he could stay down.
He pushed past the broken end of a rotting choir stall, and at last felt the floor. It was
strewn with sand and silt. Not as bad as the river bed or some of the old streets. But it was
still several inches thick. Jake hoped he’d stayed close to where he dived – close to where
the box had entered the water.
Beside him Jake could sense Geoff. He could just see the faint shape of his friend.
Geoff rose in front of Jake, one hand giving him a thumbs up. In the other he was holding –
something. Then he was kicking past.
Jake couldn’t last much longer. He didn’t want to dive again. The Brothers would be
back soon and there was a dead body on the gallery. He scraped his hands along the floor,
scooping close to where Geoff had been. His hand met an irregular shape – stone. A
fragment from the pillar or another part of the building. Jake forced himself on…
Something pulled at Jake’s leg. He spun round, bubbles of alarm escaping from his
mouth and rising past his face.
It was Geoff. He was pointing past Jake. Shaking his head urgently.
Jake nodded and turned away. Geoff must be telling him where to look. He shook
his leg free, and brushed his hands through more mud and silt – until they met the hard edge
of the metal box. It was jammed upright between a pillar and a pile of heavy stones that had
fallen from one of the walls. Jake tugged, but he couldn’t shift it – and he knew Geoff would
have tried already.
The lid of the box was slightly open, and he could just wriggle his hand inside. There
was something, he could feel it. A weird, complicated shape. Several of them – but he
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couldn’t bring his hand out if he was holding anything as his fist was too big and the lid
wouldn’t open any further. He let the objects go, and instead he managed to tease one of
them up to the edge and out. As soon as it was clear of the case, Jake grasped it so tight that
it seemed to squirm and move in his hand.
Relieved and excited, his lungs about to burst, Jake knew there was no time to get
anything else from the box. He needed air. Jake brought his legs down and kicked up from
the floor.
And found himself right in front of what Geoff had tried to warn him about.
A writhing mass of tentacles curled out of the darkness. Jake caught a confused
glimpse of suckers and spines. He felt a cold, slippery tendril wrap round his arm. He kicked
desperately with his legs. More tentacles were closing in, wrapping round him, dragging him
down.
A hand grabbed Jake’s and pulled him upwards. Geoff. Jake was kicking frantically
now. The water was full of tiny air bubbles. His mouth clamped firmly shut. Lungs
compressing with the effort not to breath in water.
More tentacles, reaching, grabbing, thrashing. A huge bulbous body moving towards
Jake through the water. The release of pressure as Geoff had to let go and swim up for air.
A single enormous bloodshot eye stared at Jake from inches away as another huge
tentacle curled towards him out of the murky depths.
Continued in:
The Skeleton Clock
By Justin Richards
Go to www.Braxiatek.com to find a link to download the whole novel – if you dare...
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Justin Richards
Although he is now best known as a children’s writer, Justin Richards is also the author of
dozens of genre and sf novels, as well as non-fiction books, audio scripts, television and a
stage play. He has edited books of short stories, been a technical writer, and worked as oddjob man in a hotel for postal workers.
Justin is the author of the popular children’s series The Invisible Detective, and also the series
Time Runners. For younger children, Justin writes the Agent Alfie series – about a boy who
finds himself at a school for the children of spies and secret agents. Though Alfie’s own dad
is a postman.
Justin’s novel for older children – The Death Collector – was first published in 2006,
followed by The Chaos Code in 2007 and The Parliament of Blood in 2008, with The
Chamber of Shadows following in 2010. His series The School of Night also started in
Autumn 2010.
He has co-written several action thrillers for older children with the acknowledged master of
the genre Jack Higgins.
Justin acts as Creative Consultant to BBC Books’ range of Doctor Who titles, advising on the
commissioning and editing of all the company’s Doctor Who titles as well as writing quite a
few himself.
Married with two children (both boys), Justin lives and works in Warwick, within sight of
one of Britain’s best-preserved castles.
For more information about Justin’s books go to: www.braxiatek.com
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Also by Justin Richards
The Death Collector
When Eddie ‘Dipper’ Hopkins steals George Archer’s wallet he has no idea that he is about
to enter a dark world of grave-robbing, assassins and zombies. For George Archer is no
ordinary citizen. He has just been offered a job in the top secret Department of Unclassified
Artefacts at the British Museum – a department that investigates the bizarre and the
unexplained. And in George’s wallet is a clue to one of the biggest mysteries of all. A secret
that has remained hidden for millions of years. A secret that people would kill to discover.
On the run for their lives, Eddie and George must join forces to escape the clutches of a
depraved genius – a man who needs the secret for a terrifying plan. Helped by the
redoubtable Sir William Protheroe and actress Elizabeth Oldfield, they find themselves in a
heart-stopping race against time. A race to unravel the secret before London is overrun by
creatures from the dead . . .
The Parliament of Blood
A tale not for the faint-hearted! Prepare yourself for the horrors that lie within – some may be
based on legend, but many are documented fact. You will read of secret societies and hidden
mysteries, of evil plans long made and villainy about to be dispatched. Of the legends of the
Book of the Undead and the lord of that hellish region. Of vampires and their Parliament of
Blood.
It is 1886, and Eddie, George, Liz and Sir William must separate the terrifying truth from the
lies and fiction. Or else we shall all be doomed as they return to do battle with their greatest
foe yet . . .
The Chamber of Shadows
A terrifying new case for the Department of Unclassified Artefacts. Eddie, Liz, George and
Sir William return to fight their greatest enemy yet in this nail-biting novel from the author of
The Death Collector and The Parliament of Blood.
‘My friends and I have braved the horrors of the Shadow Chamber – its secret traps and
snares. We have crawled through sewers to escape an inhuman killer. We have fought
creatures of animated clay and feared for our lives in the hidden cellarage of the Emperor’s
Theatre. have seen the poor souls whose brains have been replaced by mechanisms of
clockwork. I have witnessed how they are entirely under the influence of an ancient curse...
The Chaos Code
Deep within the Peruvian jungle, an astounding secret lies hidden . . .
Matt’s dad has disappeared. An eminent archaeologist, he’s left Matt only a coded message
with a bizarre set of instructions. Clues that lead Matt to the enigmatic Julius Venture and on
to a world-wide treasure hunt. With the help of Venture’s daughter Robin, and the
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sponsorship of an enthusiastic billionaire, Matt is soon crossing continents, deciphering codes
and exploring ancient ruins in an exhausting bid to stay one step ahead of his enemies.
The race is on to find a lost treasure so powerful that it could change the world.
The School of Night
1: Demon Storm
There is an unseen world most people can't begin to imagine... ... Unless they
can see the ghosts. Ben's sister Sam saw them all the time. Then she looked
into the Judgement Box, and that's when Ben's life changed forever.
Would you look into the Judgement Box? Would you dare?
If you can see what's inside, then maybe you have what it takes to join: The
School of Night.
Demon Storm - The Terror is only just beginning...
2: Creeping Terror
There is an unseen world most people can’t begin to imagine . . . . . . Where
the most ordinary things can turn against you. The village of Templeton was
evacuated during World War 2. Now even the ghosts are leaving – because
something terrible stayed behind.
Ben and his new friends at the School of Night must find out what’s going on.
But they are soon trapped in the village, where even the trees and plants turn
against them. Could you survive against all the odds?
Could you solve the ancient mystery and free the village from a curse that
threatens the whole world?
If you could, then maybe you have what it takes to join The School of Night
The Invisible Detective
London, today: When fourteen-year-old Arthur Drake shelters from the rain in a dusty shop,
the last thing he expects to find is the antique casebook of The Invisible Detective. It may
have been written in the 1930s, but it's in his handwriting...
London, 1936: Whatever your problem, the Invisible Detective can find the answer. He is a
mystery, an enigma. In fact, the truth about the Invisible Detective is known by only four
children with their own special talents. Together the children use their special skills to solve
crimes and mysteries. But who'd listen to a bunch of kids?
1: The Paranormal Puppet Show (US Title: Double Life)
2: Shadow Beast
3: Ghost Soldiers
4: Killing Time
5: Faces of Evil
6: The Web of Anubis
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7: Stage Fright
8: Legion of the Dead
Time Runners
"Let me tell you about the day my life ended. I remember it as if it was yesterday which,
maybe, it was. Or perhaps it will be tomorrow. I lose track. After all, it was a long time ago."
At first, Jamie Grant thinks people are just ignoring him. His teacher, his classmates, even his
own mother - everyone apart from his little sister, Ellie - are suddenly acting as if he's not
around. He's fallen off the register at school, people don't reply to his questions, and he's not
even showing up in old family photos. Creepy or what?
Eventually, with the help of the friendly but mysterious Anna, he comes to realise that he
doesn't exist. He never has. He's fallen through a time break and is living in a parallel world
in which he was never born.
What's more, Jamie discovers that although he is outside time, he has the power to control it and so he and Anna are employed as Time Runners to fix the rips in time. But they must
work against the sinister Darkling Midnight, who is intent on causing chaos throughout
history, to prevent time from falling apart...
1: Freeze-Framed
2: Rewind Assassin
3: Past Forward
4: Wipe Out
Agent Alfie
Jake's dad is head of the Secret Service. Alice's dad is a double agent. Harry's dad has
infiltrated SPUD – the Secret Partners for Undertaking Destruction. And Alfie's dad... is a
postman.
Thunder Raker Manor is a very exclusive school. All the pupils are there because their
parents or guardians are agents and spies. All except one. Because eight-year-old Alfie's dad
isn't anything to do with the secret services. He's the local postman who just reckoned that
Thunder Raker Manor was a great school. So when the Head Teacher receives a letter from
the Prime Minister saying that Alfie has been given a special place and will start
immediately, he isn't to know that Alfie's dad wrote it and slipped it in with the 'special' post!
Now Alfie has to get to grips with Thunder Raker's unusual curriculum and some even
stranger new friends. He's got classes in camouflage (if anyone can ever find Mr Trick) and
Assassination (only kids keep going missing from Miss Fortune's class). And he's now in
permanent danger from SPUD agents. But to his surprise, Alfie finds that he might just be
quite good at this spying game!
1: Thunderaker
2: Sorted
3: Licence to Fish
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The Chance Twins
Written with Jack Higgins
The phenomenally successful Jack Higgins teams up with Justin Richards to launch a sure
fire best seller series for children.
The mother of fourteen-year-old twins Rich and Jade dies in a car crash and they are told they
must go and live with their estranged father, who they have never met before. Neither the
children nor their father get on, but when Rich and Jade witness him being kidnapped they
are drawn into a dangerous crisis that could engulf not just their family but the whole world!
And that’s just the start of their thrilling and dangerous adventures together...
1: Sure Fire
2: Death Run
3: Sharp Shot
4: First Strike
For more information about Justin’s books go to: www.braxiatek.com
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