Candleman Read online

  CANDLE MAN

  By

  Glenn Dakin

  EGMONT

  Copyright

  EGMONT

  We bring stories to life

  Candle Man

  First published in Great Britain 2010

  by Egmont UK Limited

  239 Kensington High Street

  London W8 6SA

  Text copyright © Glenn Dakin 2010

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  First e-book edition 2010

  ISBN 978 1 4052 59026

  www.egmont.co.uk

  To Sara and Cory,

  my own secret society

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One: The Present

  Chapter Two: The Secret Room

  Chapter Three: The Open Door

  Chapter Four: The Society of Unrelenting Vigilance

  Chapter Five: The Society of Good Works

  Chapter Six: Hunted

  Chapter Seven: Not-Clarice

  Chapter Eight: Person Thirteen

  Chapter Nine: The Unextinct

  Chapter Ten: Lord Dove’s Kindness

  Chapter Eleven: Fragments

  Chapter Twelve: Rats

  Chapter Thirteen: On the Case

  Chapter Fourteen: Out of Print

  Chapter Fifteen: Closing In

  Chapter Sixteen: A Visitation

  Chapter Seventeen: The Big Picture

  Chapter Eighteen: Flights

  Chapter Nineteen: The Eighty-eight

  Chapter Twenty: In Which Mysteries Are Respected

  Chapter Twenty-one: A Mistake

  Chapter Twenty-two: Discovery

  Chapter Twenty-three: Deep Waters

  Chapter Twenty-four: The Well Chamber

  Chapter Twenty-five: Society Encounters

  Chapter Twenty-six: The Golden Time

  Chapter Twenty-seven: The Undead

  Chapter Twenty-eight: The Request

  Chapter Twenty-nine: Tristus’s Sorrow

  Chapter Thirty: Millet and Greens

  Chapter Thirty-one: Consequences

  Acknowledgments

  Unmasked

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The Present

  ‘So this is my birthday treat,’ Theo said, gazing about him. The teenager surveyed the world gloomily, the fine drizzle already causing his dark hair to droop over his sad grey eyes. ‘When you said I would be visiting a special place, surrounded by important people …’

  ‘Just my little joke, young master,’ interrupted Mr Nicely, Theo’s butler, with a bright smile. The pair stood in a cemetery. Lopsided gravestones, monuments and sad stone angels surrounded them. ‘There are a lot of important people in graveyards,’ the butler added.

  Theo just looked miserable. His face was now almost as pale as the marble cherubs in front of him. ‘I had hoped, now that I’m older …’ he began.

  ‘Now now.’ Mr Nicely wagged a finger. ‘You know you aren’t safe amongst living people,’ he added, leading the way down a tangled path, ‘or at least they aren’t safe amongst you. On account of your condition.’

  ‘But I’ve got my gloves on,’ Theo protested, glancing down at the thick leather gauntlets he was ordered to wear at all times. He knew his words would be wasted. He was only too aware of the rules that governed his illness.

  ‘Half an hour!’ shouted Mr Nicely and twirled his umbrella jauntily.

  Theo ignored the rain and peered around, his heart racing. He hadn’t been out of the house for a year. He hadn’t seen another person – outside of his household – for three hundred and sixty-five days. Theo’s predictable routine meant he always saw the same three: Mr Nicely the butler, Clarice the maid and Dr Emmanuel Saint, his guardian. No one else was allowed to enter his circle of misery. Just in case. It would be a thrill just to glimpse another human being.

  ‘We might see someone – from a distance …’ Theo ventured.

  ‘“Might” is not for you, young master,’ chuckled Mr Nicely. ‘Your life has been planned and regulated to leave “might” and “maybe” out of the equation. Now take a quick stroll, enjoy the company of your betters,’ here the butler nodded down at the leaf-strewn graves, ‘and we’ll get back home.’

  Theo strode quickly through the woods. Already his legs were aching from the unaccustomed exercise. But it was a nice ache, not the horrible pain that followed his treatment. He peered through the clumps of thistles and ragged weeds that choked the pathways. Years ago his guardian had said a cemetery keeper lived here. There had been some mention of him having a daughter – maybe Theo would see them.

  ‘I’ve half a mind to nip home early,’ the butler called out from somewhere behind him. Mr Nicely had seen enough of this dreary November day already. ‘Then I can just squeeze in a nice cup of camomile tea before the good doctor returns from his meeting.’

  Home early? From my one trip out in three hundred and sixty-five days!

  Theo made an effort to distance himself from the eternal presence of the butler. He ducked under the dark boughs of a knotty old hawthorn, and found himself in a little clearing.

  Suddenly he saw it. Under the glistening leaves of a thick holly tree a tiny parcel was perched on top of a gravestone. It was wrapped in black paper with a golden bow tied around it. Tiny beads of rain shone on the bow.

  He looked closer. Written in silver ink on the black paper was one word: Theo. It was for him, only for him – somehow he knew not to mention it to his companion.

  Too surprised to really know what he was doing, he slipped the little packet into his coat pocket. Then he turned round to see Mr Nicely stroll into view.

  ‘Come on,’ the butler grinned. ‘Early home, and a spot of camomile tea for yours truly will be just the ticket. You’ve been far too unruly already!’

  To the butler’s surprise, Theo made no protest.

  ‘Time to open your gifts!’ Dr Saint announced with a smile. His white teeth, round glasses and bald head all gleamed down on Theo as he sat in the study. Theo was back at Empire Hall, the vast mansion in Kensington Gore – one of London’s wealthiest quarters – where he and his guardian lived.

  This was one of Theo’s three rooms – the bathroom, his bedroom and the study. He barely knew of any other places in the world. In front of him on a shiny walnut desk were three parcels, one from Dr Saint, one from Mr Nicely and one from Clarice. They all waited expectantly.

  Theo opened the gifts. The first was The Complete Guide to Good Manners: Part Four, a large volume from Dr Saint. Then there was a framed photograph from Mr Nicely – of himself. And finally, Clarice had bought Theo a book of fairy tales, ten years too young for him.

  ‘Completely checked and approved by myself,’ Dr Saint added, as Theo flicked through the book’s garish illustrations.

  He tried to say thank you but his mouth only framed the words – no sound would come out.

  ‘A bumper harvest,’ chortled Mr Nicely.

  Theo looked up. ‘But what about …’

  ‘Yes?’ demanded Dr Saint.

  ‘I asked for a book about the world – or about history – something about real life …’ he faltered.

  Dr Saint exchanged a glance with Mr Nicely.

  ‘I’m sorry, Theo,’ said Dr Saint, eyeing his ward with a strange cold gaze. ‘But we’ve been through all this a
hundred times. The world is not good for you and you are not good for it.’

  ‘So you keep saying!’ Theo blurted out. ‘But I’m nearly a man now, and I haven’t got a clue about what it’s really like – out there!’ He gestured towards the curtained window.

  The doctor sighed and placed his hands together in the prayer-like gesture he often adopted when being wise.

  ‘Now listen, Theobald. Facts about the world, real events, true history, all these things excite the mind. That stimulation is, sadly, very bad for you. It makes your mind race, your metabolism accelerate. The effect on your condition could be disastrous.’

  Theo looked away bleakly.

  ‘I am trying to save you from your own curiosity, Theo,’ the doctor said. ‘I know that where a teenager is involved, I have set myself a thankless task!’

  ‘You’re a bloomin’ hero, sir!’ Mr Nicely muttered, looking at the floor.

  ‘But most of the time I feel all right!’ Theo cried out. ‘Apart from being bored out of my mind!’

  Dr Saint sighed. Mr Nicely tutted.

  ‘I fear Theo’s thrilling day out has muddled his wits,’ Dr Saint said. ‘Warm up the Tube, Mr Nicely. I suggest an extra-long session of therapy!’

  Theo went pale.

  That night, as on every other, he was forced to stand upright in the Mercy Tube, a transparent casing with a powerful ray emitter housed at the top. His eyes screwed tight against the blinding light, Theo was bathed in radiation for several minutes. He could hardly stand afterwards, and felt sick in the pit of his stomach.

  Clarice brought him a glass of water and his dressing gown. As he sat on the edge of his bed, he heard the others talking in the room next door.

  ‘Well, I’m off out with the Society of Good Works tonight,’ said Dr Saint. ‘We have those widows to take care of, and a big cheque to give the Prime Minister.’

  ‘Very saintly of you, Dr Saint,’ said Mr Nicely.

  ‘Nice of you to say so, Mr Nicely,’ said Dr Saint.

  Theo grimaced, crawled up on to his bed, half dazed, and passed out.

  It was evening. The thrum of traffic in the street was dying away. Unseen dogs exchanged barks further down the Gore. Clarice came in to clear up the supper things. Theo leant back against his pillow and studied the haloes of the lamplight on the ceiling.

  He was pleased to be left alone with Clarice. With her plain face, short, mousy hair and drab uniform, she couldn’t be described as attractive but she was a quiet, soothing presence. At least she didn’t smile all the time.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Theo said. ‘If my condition is so bad, why don’t I see anything wrong with my skin?’ He peeled off his gloves as he always did before sleeping and studied his hands in the half-light.

  ‘And if the Mercy Tube is curing me, why do I only feel bad after I come out of it?’ he continued, pleased to be able to ask questions freely. The maid picked up the tray and left the room without a word. It was what Theo had expected. After all, she was completely deaf.

  At last Theo was alone. He stepped across the room, took the parcel from his coat pocket and returned to his bed to study it. There was his name on the paper in ornate silver writing: Theo. He liked that. There was something about seeing his name written out in shiny letters by an unknown hand; it was as if Theo could be somebody special, a name to conjure with, not just a useless invalid.

  He opened the present. Inside, packed in shredded paper, lay a snow globe. He had seen one or two of these before. The glass bowl contained a little miniature of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, a place he knew from one of his approved picture books. But there was no note with the gift, nothing to suggest who had sent it.

  He shook the globe, expecting to see the swirl of white snow, a magical winter scene. But instead he stirred up a blizzard of black flakes. Theo watched in surprise as the dark shapes whirled like a cloud of bats above the tiny tower. As they settled they blotted out the quaint scene, burying everything in darkness.

  Weird, Theo thought. Frowning, he replaced the globe in his coat pocket and climbed into bed. He lay in the dark, wondering about the strange gift – and who could have sent it – until he drifted off to sleep.

  His birthday had been more intriguing than he had expected. But he had no idea that the events of the night ahead would change his miserable life forever.

  Chapter Two

  The Secret Room

  A shattering of glass woke Theo. He heard a rush of feet, somewhere far off in the mansion. He sat bolt upright in bed. Empire Hall was a smooth, well-regulated household – here, surprises and unexpected noises in the night were not tolerated.

  Then came a sharp cry of pain from Mr Nicely. Theo leapt out of bed. He could hear muffled arguing getting closer.

  ‘You fool, Brady! You’ve gone and killed him!’ whispered an old man.

  ‘No I ain’t,’ snapped back a younger voice. ‘And there’s no need to whisper either, Foley. We know there’s just the two blokes living here, and we saw the other one go out.’

  A sudden rattling began at Theo’s door. He stood, frozen in the shadows. ‘Look in here!’ ordered the older voice. There was a splintering smash and Theo’s door flew open. In the half-light from the hallway, Theo could make out a skinny old man in a long raincoat, and a big, younger man in a leather jacket. Theo stared, transfixed.

  People.

  The old man, Foley, had a haggard face with a tuft of ginger beard. Brady, the younger, had a clean-shaven head and a squashed nose.

  ‘Blimey!’ exclaimed Brady. ‘There’s a kid in here!’

  Theo froze as the two men advanced on him. The old one was smiling. He had horrible grey teeth, not perfect ones like Dr Saint and Mr Nicely. And he had spots and pimples all over his face. Theo found them very interesting.

  ‘This is a piece of luck,’ said Foley. ‘Since you almost stiffed the butler, we need someone to show us around the house!’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Brady. ‘Someone to point us to the valuables!’

  Foley waved a pistol at Theo.

  ‘Is … is that for me?’ asked Theo, wondering what the strange black metal object was.

  ‘It will be for you, if you give us any lip!’ snapped Brady.

  Just in time, Theo remembered his Guide to Good Manners.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t believe we have been introduced.’

  The two men stared at him as if he had said something strange. Theo quickly asked the question he really wanted to ask.

  ‘Would you mind telling me what you’re doing here?’

  The two men looked at each other. Brady suddenly raised a big ugly fist, covered in rings. Foley stopped him.

  ‘Leave this to me. The boy’s obviously a weirdy,’ Foley said, making a screwing gesture with his finger to the side of his head. ‘That must be why they keep him locked up in this room. And that’s why we didn’t know he lived here, even though you’ve been casing the job for two weeks!’

  Foley turned back to Theo.

  ‘Listen, kid,’ he said in his hoarse voice. ‘We’re robbers. We’ve come to nick all the good stuff. So we need your help – as tour guide.’

  ‘Robbers.’ Theo nodded. ‘I know about you.’ He smiled, pleased with his worldly knowledge. ‘You’re in one of my books of fairy tales. Ali Baba and the forty thieves.’ Theo looked around as if expecting another thirty-eight men to appear.

  ‘Just show us where the loot is, and we won’t have to crack your skull like we did to the butler.’

  ‘May I see?’ asked Theo. The thought of Mr Nicely with a cracked skull interested him strangely.

  ‘No – he’s in the hallway, tied up and gagged now, and we’re calling the shots, not you, Weirdy. Now show us around the house.’

  Theo’s face clouded over. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘But I’m not really allowed out of my room.’

  Theo was shoved into the hallway, where he crashed into a grandfather clock and hurt his head.
/>   ‘Nutter or not, a bit of old-fashioned persuasion will change your tune!’ Brady snarled.

  This physical pain after Theo’s latest session in the Mercy Tube was making his head swim. He looked around the elegant oak-panelled hallway with wide eyes. He had hardly ever been in this part of the house before. A corridor led to several doorways at the end. What was down there? The kitchen? The garden? How he longed to see those places. But not with the robbers. Now he was scared.

  ‘Upstairs,’ hissed Foley, and they made Theo stumble ahead of them as they mounted the long staircase. Suddenly Theo felt terribly anxious. He had never been upstairs before, and they expected him to show them around! Then Theo realised something else …

  ‘I – I’m not wearing my gloves!’ he almost screamed. Theo stared at his bare hands and for a moment they seemed to stand out with strange clarity in the darkness. This fleeting impression soon vanished from his mind as the two men rounded on him.

  ‘Shut it!’ growled Brady, bunching a fist under Theo’s chin.

  ‘Listen, kid,’ Brady said, ‘we know you’re crazy, but one more word –’

  ‘You don’t understand!’ Theo said. ‘I have to wear my gloves, or –’

  Now Foley jabbed the gun into Theo’s ribs. ‘Enough!’ he ordered. ‘Forget your rotten gloves! I know it’s cold in this place, but one more dicky bird from you – unless we tell you to speak – and you are dead.’

  Theo fell silent. He knew what dead meant.

  Not long afterwards, Mr Foley and Mr Brady had cheered up. Theo had optimistically pointed them towards one of the rooms upstairs and it had turned out to have some valuable gadgets, computers and cameras in it. From the looks of it, this was Dr Saint’s bedroom. But the intruders soon started complaining again.

  ‘Where’s the real stuff?’ Foley muttered. ‘This bloke Dr Saint is the head of all sorts of charities. Gentlemen like that are always loaded. Sticky fingers, y’see.’

  ‘Show us more!’ ordered Brady, shoving Theo ahead of them down the landing. Theo threw out a hand to steady himself and he touched the head of a little statue of a nymph, set into a recess in the wall. To Theo’s surprise the statuette’s head sank downwards into its body, followed by a sudden click and a low grinding noise.