The Stolen Ghosts Read online

“This is true, but had you found him yourselves, you would not have my help,” said the medium.

  “Help?”

  “You already know that you will need to pass the Guardians. Getting to the ballroom will be no trouble, none shall stop you. However, Periseus will make it difficult to get into the ballroom. He will ask you a riddle, and you must supply the correct answer before you may pass. Fail, and he will keep you there, no matter how much you may persuade or cajole,” said the medium. “Once inside the ballroom, you will have to use your wits. I cannot tell you much more than that, but I can tell you that he wants the book, and he will use the girl to get it. Do not allow him to succeed.”

  “So how do we stop him?”

  “You shall figure this out yourself, but you must pass Periseus’s test, for he has valuable information and no love for Templeton. If you answer his riddle, he will help.”

  A gust of cold wind blew into the vaulted room and the flames sputtered out. Handle gripped Sarah’s arm in the darkness; at least she hoped it was Handle. Fowlis cleared his throat, and the flames sparked back into life. Madame Blavatsky and her tarot cards were gone, leaving behind only the table and her chair.

  “Where did she go?” asked Sarah.

  “Wherever it is that she goes whenever she does that, although it will be somewhere within HQ. She will come back here when we have gone, I expect,” replied Fowlis.

  * * *

  The ballroom lay on the opposite side of HQ. Sarah hadn’t expected HQ to be quite so sprawling. From the outside, it had looked like a normal London townhouse, but it stretched up, down and sideways without much regard for regular physics. Sarah didn’t want to be stranded here as one of the dead; she would never get her head around the geography on this plane. It made her think of the Tardis in Doctor Who.

  “Far too quiet for my liking,” mumbled Fowlis.

  They strode down yet another seemingly endless corridor. Countless doors flashed by, and Sarah had visions of forgotten rooms filled with the accumulated junk of the passing centuries, covered in dust sheets and cobwebs. Perhaps she was just homesick for Cransland House.

  “Sir, I can’t help feeling like more ghosts have been recalled,” replied Handle. “The last count was 325. Lord alone knows what it is now, though I’d suspect it’s now well over that.”

  “I venture Templeton knows the number of missing ghosts better than anyone.” Fowlis scowled. “I would even go so far as to say that he knows where they are.”

  “What did Madame Blavatsky mean about me not actually being dead?” asked Sarah.

  “Part of our lore concerns the fact that if a mortal consumes food on our plane, then it puts the human between the worlds. It is the first step to becoming one of us. However, I had completely forgotten about the second step. This lore goes on to say that if a mortal should fall asleep while on this plane, then he or she would renounce their human selves, and they truly would be anchored here and nothing could send them home.”

  “But I haven’t slept here. I’ve only been here since this morning…whenever that was.” Sarah counted off the hours on her fingers but the numbers kept running backwards.

  “Exactly, therefore the possibility still exists for you to return home. Right now, you are caught between the worlds. Religious thought described that state as Purgatory, but as there is no Heaven or Hell, that phrase is redundant here,” replied Fowlis. “Time is of the essence to get you home before you sleep so that you can return to the mortal realm.”

  “Wouldn’t Templeton know about that, though?” asked Sarah.

  “I would venture that Templeton has either forgotten the rule, or is as yet unaware of it. He clearly wants you on this plane in order to send you back to Cransland House to fetch the first volume of The Ghostlie Manifestoe. He can’t leave HQ to fetch it himself, and he’s realised I have no intention of bringing it back, so I imagine he’s hoping to bargain with you in order to get it back. Your return to the living in exchange for the book.”

  “Well, I won’t do it,” replied Sarah. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I don’t know where you put it.”

  “I shan’t tell you. It’s best if only I know. As I said, Templeton cannot get to it himself as he cannot leave this plane.” Fowlis directed them down another corridor that branched off to the left. Thick, lime green carpet covered the walls and floor, and wall-mounted lava lamps took the place of flickering torches. Sarah shuddered at the 1970s décor.

  “Why can’t he leave?” asked Sarah.

  “I forget the reasoning now as I learned it so long ago, but Templeton must remain here. He has never had an anchor and as far as I’m aware, he isn’t allowed one. I wish I could remember why,” replied Fowlis.

  “He’s never even done a haunting,” said Handle. “A lot of haunters don’t respect him because he lords it over everyone else but he’s never done the job himself.”

  “So how could he send me back to the house?” asked Sarah.

  “You would need an anchor. It is a simple enough process to assign one, even on a temporary basis. No doubt Templeton has one ready,” replied Fowlis.

  “I don’t know how, sir,” said Handle. “Sarah can’t be assigned an anchor yet as she’s not actually dead. None of the objects from HQ would work. Templeton would need something from the world of the living. So there’s hope yet.” A grin spread across Handle’s face.

  “I have no doubt that Templeton will have his ways, Handle. He has obviously thought of all of this while he was devising his plan.” Fowlis pursed his lips.

  “Oh.” Handle’s face fell. Sarah patted his arm and gave him a small smile of encouragement. It was touching that the two ghosts were so concerned about her. Who would write this story? How would it be entered into the archives? The day the mortal visited HQ would surely be a large part of their history from this moment forward.

  Though I suppose that would mean this would all have to end well.

  “Can’t you just take me to the exit you told me about earlier?” asked Sarah. “I mean, you did say that I’m not actually dead. Wouldn’t I just go back to normal if I went out the exit?”

  “I do not know. You have a foot in both realms at present, and I would prefer to speak with Seth to see if there is anything that must be done to put you firmly back into your own. Simply walking out of the exit may be entirely sufficient, but perhaps there is more to it. This is not something I would like to meddle in,” replied Fowlis.

  Just at that moment the corridor opened into a large atrium. Black-and-white marble paved the floor, and alcoves holding baskets of fresh flowers punctuated the walls. Carvings of fairies and nymphs cavorted across the walnut ballroom doors.

  “Wow, this place is so tacky,” said Sarah.

  “All the more reason to get you home,” replied Fowlis.

  Instead of a stuffed head above the door, the ballroom’s guardian was a sphinx. It sat in front of the wide double doors, a look of serene tranquillity on its human face. Heavy lashes fringed its feminine eyes, but its nose and jaw were strong and defined.

  “Good afternoon, Periseus.” Fowlis bowed to the sphinx and tipped his hat forward with a flourish.

  “Good afternoon to you, Fowlis,” replied the sphinx. It reached its hind leg forward to scratch behind its ear. Its back legs were those of a lion and its voice was as androgynous as its face.

  “We require passage into the ballroom,” said Fowlis.

  “I’m sure that you’re aware that one Templeton Peace has granted me guardian status on this particular day, for the entirety of today. I may only grant passage if you or either of your companions can answer my riddle,” replied Periseus. Arrogance floated through its pale amber eyes. Sarah bristled at the implication that none of them would know the answer.

  “What if we get it wrong?”

  Sarah glared at Handle. They’d never get past the sphinx if they had no confidence in themselves or each other.

  “You don’t get admittance to the ballroom,” replied the sphi
nx. “Regretfully, I am not permitted to devour the unsuccessful. Rest assured that you will be safe should you fail, although you will be stuck on this side of the door. Also, don’t even think about following the servants’ entrance. Templeton granted me temporary omnipotence. I can be in all places at all times.”

  “I’d forgotten we even had a servants’ entrance, it’s been so long since we actually had any servants,” said Fowlis.

  “This is true, Fowlis. Yet we roll with these progressive times. However, I don’t have all day, so would you like me to deliver your riddle, or reminisce about the past?” asked Periseus.

  Sarah screwed up her face.

  “All right, Periseus. What is your riddle?” asked Fowlis.

  “It is very simple. At least, I find it so. I can only live where there is light, but I die if the light shines on me. What am I?”

  Sarah cocked her head on one side the way her father did when he was thinking. What needed light to live?

  “It’s mushrooms, isn’t it?” asked Handle. Sarah groaned.

  “No, it’s not, they only grow in the dark,” she replied.

  “Ah, was that a wrong answer?” asked Periseus. He moved away from the door.

  “No! Wait! I’m supposed to answer, so if Handle did, then it doesn’t count.” Sarah had no idea if that was true, but it sounded good.

  The sphinx scowled and settled back down in front of the door. “Then I suggest you make you next answer count.”

  Her mind whirred. Was it plants, perhaps? They needed light to survive. But no, they didn’t die when the sun set. What died with light, but needed light to survive? What a stupid question.

  “Sarah?”

  “Sssh, I’m thinking.” Sarah grimaced. Maybe she was thinking of this the wrong way.

  “I hate to pressure you, my lady, but there is a time limit. And you’ve almost reached it,” said Periseus. It tapped its paw.

  Sarah bit her lip. Was there another word for die? Ended, stopped, disappeared… She snapped her fingers.

  “I’ve got it! It’s a shadow.”

  Periseus’s jaw dropped.

  “How did you know that?” asked Handle.

  “I didn’t. I worked it out,” replied Sarah with a shrug.

  “A most wise answer indeed, my lady.” The sphinx bowed to Sarah and bent its front legs until its nose touched the floor. Sarah blushed, embarrassed by this sudden display of chivalry.

  “Sarah is a wise young lady indeed, Periseus. May we pass now?” asked Fowlis.

  “Of course you can. I may not directly offer you any aid, but I will give you one clue. One hundred and four,” said Periseus.

  The sphinx stood up and moved to one side. With a swish of its tail, the doors swung inward.

  Sarah leaned across to Handle. “One hundred and four what?”

  “You will need to use that information at your own discretion, my lady.” The sphinx smiled.

  Fowlis doffed his hat to the sphinx and walked through the doors into the darkened ballroom beyond. Handle nodded in thanks, and Sarah waved. Periseus nodded at her and bounded off down the corridor into the depths of HQ. Handle and Sarah followed Fowlis, and the doors swung shut behind them with a gentle thud.

  Thick darkness filled the ballroom. Sarah blinked to reassure herself that her eyes were still open. She couldn’t see anything, but she sensed Fowlis ahead of her and Handle somewhere to her right. She strained her hearing for any kind of movement besides the rustle of Fowlis’s coat and the creak of Handle’s new shoes. A pungent yet sweet smell filled the room, like the decaying flowers at her grandparents’ funeral. Sarah wrinkled her nose, desperate to rid herself of the smell.

  “How did you know that answer?” asked Handle. The whisper told Sarah her guess was wrong; Handle was to her left. Extremely close on her left, at that.

  “I told you, I didn’t know it. I had to work it out. I worked backwards from other words for ‘die’,” replied Sarah.

  “It was really clever.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sssssh,” Fowlis hissed from somewhere in front of them.

  “Fowlis Westerby!”

  Templeton’s voice boomed into the ballroom. Sarah and Handle leapt toward each other and clutched each other’s arms in fright. The grand chandelier in the centre of the room flared into life and pure white flames danced among the crystals. Sarah’s heart sank to see that Templeton was not alone.

  Chapter 28

  Templeton stood in the centre of the ballroom directly below the chandelier. He hooked his thumbs into the front flaps of a thick, black-hooded robe, but he still wore his threadbare tweed suit beneath it. The hood lay down his back and he looked like a supply teacher in fancy dress; all he needed was a mortarboard to go with the gown.

  A host several rows deep gathered behind him. They all looked dishevelled and ill, and a general air of queasiness emanated from the eclectic crowd.

  “The stolen ghosts!” said Fowlis.

  Sarah peered at the front row. She spotted Anne of Cleeves, George Washington, Jane Austen and Michelangelo among the many faces. Other, less well-known ghosts mingled with their more famous brethren. One of the spectres was the near double of Fowlis. Did he have a brother?

  “Argus!” said Fowlis.

  “Fowlis, do not even consider a lecture at this precise moment in time,” replied the double. “It is not the time or the place.”

  “Templeton, what have you done?” Fowlis turned from his brother to the president of HQ.

  “Fowlis, I told you earlier that you should have been standing by my side for this occasion. There is still time to change your mind, to join my team and finally reach the greatness you were born for,” said Templeton. He switched back to his theatrical, bombastic shout.

  “I didn’t achieve that greatness in life. Why should I achieve it in death?” asked Fowlis. Contempt dripped from his words. Hundreds of “oohs” and “aahs” erupted from the assembled haunters; the outburst faded as Templeton turned to glare at his crowd.

  “You see death as the end, don’t you, Fowlis? Your death merely mirrors your life. Someone gives you orders and you carry them out, never questioning, never refusing, never stopping to see what’s really going on,” replied Templeton. “Haven’t you ever wondered why we haunt the living? Why we need to scare them, to make them feel so much fear?”

  “I asked him that myself!” muttered Sarah.

  Templeton’s limpid eyes sought her out. A grin played about the corners of his rubbery lips. “Of course you did, my dear. You were granted the powers of curiosity, intelligence, keen observation,” said Templeton. Honey coated his raucous tone. “You are indeed a most gifted child.”

  “I’m not a child, I’m nearly seventeen.”

  “Yes, Templeton, she did ask me that, and I didn’t know the answer,” said Fowlis, cutting Sarah off. “But wasn’t it you who always told me not to ask too many questions, to simply accept my fate, do my duty, and bring glory to the House of Westerby? To earn the awards and plaudits I never got a chance to earn while I was alive?” Bitterness filled Fowlis’s tone. Argus rolled his eyes.

  “You could have asked more questions, or even asked the right questions! You could have visited the archives! But no, you left your questions unanswered because you didn’t believe the answers would help you do your job,” replied Templeton. “But I’m ready to give you the answers now because things are about to change.”

  “Astonish me.”

  “You already know that the worlds of the living and the dead exist in precarious symbiosis. They need us, and we need them. One cannot exist without the other. Or can it?”

  “Nonsense, Templeton. We need to be kept separate, that’s why we have the Veil,” replied Fowlis.

  “You’ve never stopped to question how the Veil even works, Fowlis. The living need the dead because they need to know what will happen when the spark of their life goes out. Human lore is full of myths and legends around what will happen to them when they
die. Heaven, hell, rebirth—they tell each other stories to make sense of what is, in essence, the only natural part of their lives,” said Templeton.

  He gazed into middle distance, his eyes clouding over as he launched into rhetoric.

  Fowlis groaned. “That does not maintain the integrity of the Veil, Templeton. It is not their curiosity, nor their drive to create a narrative. It is their fear,” said Fowlis.

  “Precisely! They fear us! We haunt them to perpetuate the stories, and to maintain the fear. By forcing them to feel fear, we assert temporary authority over them. The dead win the day because we have made them fearful, just as the dead will always win the day since we are the inevitable conclusion to life,” replied Templeton.

  “But all you’re talking about is why the living need the dead. They don’t—the living are just people who haven’t died yet. They don’t actually need the dead. But if I understand what you’re saying, then you’re implying that the dead don’t need the living either,” said Sarah.

  “Exactly!” Templeton darted forward and grasped Sarah by the shoulders. “You should have been my star pupil; not this ridiculous oaf.”

  Fowlis bristled. Sarah glared at Templeton. How dare he describe her friend like that?

  “But the dead do need the living. There wouldn’t be any dead people if there hadn’t been living people to start with. The dead begin as the living, don’t you get it?” Sarah wriggled out of Templeton’s grasp and backed away.

  “That is a valid point, and I truly believed that to be the case when I first began to formulate my plan. I searched the archives, and found hundreds of accounts of the supremacy of the living. They naturally contain the spark of life, they enjoy a bountiful realm of colour and sensation, and our Managing Director holds a peculiar fascination with their eccentric ways and illogical habits. They are her favourites,” replied Templeton.

  “I always thought it was you that considered himself a favourite, Peace.”

  Sarah looked past Templeton to see who had spoken. A tall man with curly red hair and a bushy beard stood a few rows back. Amusement danced in his blue eyes. He wore chainmail and a golden crown, and a sword with a beautifully carved hilt hung from his belt. Templeton narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.