The Claws of Evil - By Andrew Beasley Page 0,12

(six), Catherine (three) and Stephen (two). “Plus two in Heaven, one more on the way,” Mrs. O’Rourke had told Ben last week, with a pat on her belly that was beginning to round. She had smiled at him as she always did, but there had been a tear in her eye, and Ben hadn’t been sure whether it was a happy tear or a sad one.

The O’Rourkes brought two welcome sounds to the house: laughter and an Irish fiddle. But their neighbours in the next room brought only one sound: shouting. Mr. Viney shouted at Mrs. Viney because no one would take him on at the docks again. Mrs. Viney shouted at Mr. Viney because other men could find work if they wanted to. Mr. Viney shouted at the boys (Walter and William) because they were always underfoot. Mrs. Viney shouted at the boys because they were breaking their mother’s heart with their wicked ways. Walter and William shouted at each other because it was the only thing their parents had taught them to do.

The first floor was the noisy floor.

Ben climbed the last set of stairs to the attic room and then paused outside the door. He could hear two sets of snores and entered as quietly as he could. He wasn’t bothered about waking his brother, Nathaniel, but he didn’t want to trouble his father. He crept in and took a position by the window. He needed to know that the Weeping Man wasn’t out there, waiting for his moment to strike.

Outside, the storm had found new strength from somewhere and snow was hurling itself against the cracked window. What they called the curtain, which was actually the remains of an old nightshirt tacked above the glass, billowed in and out with every gust. He strained his eyes to find a figure in the storm and found none, but still did not feel safe.

Jack Frost had begun to trace his long fingers across the inside of the window. The water in the jug on the washstand was frozen solid and so was whatever his family had left in the chamber pot. On their thin mattresses, his father and brother were both unmoving. Ben turned away from the window and watched them, their clouds of breath the only sign that they were alive. I’m keeping my hat on again tonight, he thought and, pulling it down tight, he wrapped his coat around him and prepared to settle down.

He drew up his blanket, which, as always, was slightly damp and smelled vaguely of cabbage. His own sleeping mat was especially lumpy, mainly due to his secret stash of books. He knew what his father, Jonas, would say about him spending money on books when they didn’t have enough to eat.

Ben lay down so that he was facing Jonas and studied him in the ghost light of the moon.

His pa had a good face, Ben thought; a strong face. The lines on it were signs of determination, endurance and courage. Jonas’s arms were big from lifting, his shoulders big from carrying. And his heart was big from giving. There was so much that Benjamin wanted to talk about with his father. About books, yes, and life and the future; all his hopes and dreams.

And he stopped there.

There would be no talking, he knew. Jonas Kingdom had never forgiven his son for the cruellest crime committed against their family.

“Goodnight, Pa,” Ben said quietly. “I love you.”

No one heard his words and no one replied.

Benjamin Kingdom closed his eyes and did not sleep.

At some point, Ben must have drifted off.

The room could hardly have been colder; the curtain had frozen to the window pane, his blanket was as stiff as leather. All Ben wanted to do was to stay asleep a while longer, but something was tugging him back to wakefulness.

There was a noise.

Ben listened intently, straining his ears to pick up the sound. It came again, a scuffling from somewhere above his head. What was it? Rats in the rafters again? He shuddered at the thought. There was something about those fat bodies and naked pink tails that really disturbed him. Nasty beady eyes, teeth made for biting, claws for scratching. Ben felt his body tense at the thought. Anything but rats.

Bolt upright now, he waited for the noise to come again.

Far beneath Benjamin’s feet, two rats were scurrying his way. They were in a secret tunnel, just one of a warren of secret tunnels that was the Legion’s hidden home below