a most exquisite oriental design. However, the bureau is in the hands of ancient ink imps,’ added the bat with a sinister note entering its voice. ‘These imps, who live in the ink wells stored in the writing bureaux, are naturally very antagonistic towards humans. They have made weapons of pens with sharp brass nibs. The inks the imps come from were made in China a thousand years ago by sorcerers who dealt in magical texts. They are inks of many colours. The clerks of those old enchanters used them to draw maps of secret regions such as Xanadu, to sketch pictures of individual demons and devils, and to record their recipes of spells in characters unknown outside the books of the damned.’
‘Ink imps, talking bats, scoff all you want, lady – just remember I told you they’re there. In this place—’
‘I call it Attica.’
‘Good name, lady. Well, let me warn you that in deepest Attica effigies have come to life. Those who were abused in the other world, where you come from, are naturally very mean and aggressive towards humans. Dolls, Guy Fawkes effigies, shop dummies, tatterdemalions, they’ll attack you if they get the chance. If you don’t want to believe me, I don’t care.’
‘Are you the one who wrote “Katerfelto” in the dust?’
‘Might have been,’ said the bat. ‘Could have been.’
‘What does it mean?’
The bat said, ‘It’s a name.’
‘Whose name?’
‘Katerfelto’s, of course. Ah, you want to know who he is? Katerfelto is the monster who lives on the Jagged Mountain. He’s made of bundles of shadows, tangled together like thick coarse hair. He can be as big and menacing as a thundercloud, or as small as a scuttling spider. If you face him he can do nothing but slink around and make menacing shapes, but if you run from him he’ll chase you down and overcome you with a darkness as thick as the suffocating quicksand of a swamp. If he catches you and enfolds you with his darkness, you will never again see the light.’
Chloe shuddered. ‘He sounds terrible.’
‘He is terrible. Katerfelto is the King of Gloom, the Prince of Terror. If you fail to meet his eye you will choke on your own fright. You will run until you fall gasping on to the boards and there you will shake yourself to death. But since he is made of nothing but darkness and fear, he is therefore hollow. Those who stand in his path and refuse to be intimidated will not be daunted. However, it’s not an easy thing to do, to look terror in the face, so don’t think it is. No matter how empty his form really is, he appears grotesque and formidable, ready to swallow all those who oppose him. Such a cold and evil presence you have never experienced before in your life. Not at all easy to ignore or face up to with courage.’
‘How did he come to be?’
‘He was formed from the basest materials of the human emotions known as hate and arrogance, mixed with love – a love of power, those dregs of feelings from which wars spring. This ugly concoction, drawn from the weapons soaked in such emotions, emerged and became Katerfelto.
‘Now,’ said the bat sounding weary, ‘where is my map?’
Chloe said, ‘A deal is a deal.’
‘Just put the map on the boards.’
She did as she was asked and the bat then gave her instructions on how to get to the place of the golden bureau.
‘… and now go back to sleep.’
Chloe closed her eyes and after a while feigned sleep. A little later she was alarmed to see a pile of clothes, topped by a wide-brimmed hat, sliding towards her. It stopped when it reached the piece of paper. A thin, white, bony arm shot out of the heap of rags and snatched the list, drawing it into the pile. Then the heap slid back again into the deep dark shadows at the edge of the village, under some low rafters. There was a muttering and a mumbling, as if the bat were talking to itself again, then finally a shriek which woke up her brother Alex, who sat bolt upright.
‘What is it?’ cried Alex. ‘Is that a ghost?’
‘It’s all right,’ replied Chloe, patting his back. ‘It’s only that pile of rags over there. The one with that funny mask on top.’
‘Pile of rags?’ Alex’s eyes were wide and round. ‘What pile of rags?’