The Devil’s Paintbox Read online

  Verne picked himself off the ground and walked back to Lil. His shoes crunched over the flagstones and he saw that a fine layer of sand lay over everything. ‘Was that it?’ he asked when he rejoined her.

  The girl shrugged. ‘I don’t trust it,’ she said, staring at the paintbox, which had stopped spinning.

  She swept a hand through her hair and shook out a quantity of sand. Then she noticed Verne’s shoulders were covered in it and, when she looked again at the paintbox, the open lid and empty pigment compartments were filling up with it.

  Gazing round, she realised sand was drizzling out of the sky. Verne’s shoes were already covered and the flagstones were completely hidden.

  Lil snatched up the paintbox and they ran into the cottage.

  ‘It’s snowing a desert out there!’ the boy exclaimed.

  Watching from the window they saw the courtyard disappear. In half an hour the sand was up to the letter box and Lil had to tape it up.

  ‘How are we going to get to the hotel?’ Verne asked. ‘If this keeps up, we won’t be able to open the front door!’

  ‘I should try and get over there while I still can,’ Lil said. ‘There’s no telling how deep this is going to get. It could last all day.’

  ‘Yes,’ Verne agreed. ‘You have to go. They need you there. I’ll stop with Cherry. Ungh, it’s so maddening not having a phone! How will I know if you got there safely or when you’re coming back? How did people manage before they were invented? We haven’t even got any carrier pigeons! We need magicians’ coats with one tucked up each sleeve and three more in the pockets.’

  That made Lil smile. She went up to Cherry’s room to fetch her knitting bag and took a long look at her. Was she imagining it or was there a bloom of colour in her cheeks? She reached for her hand. It wasn’t as cold as it had been.

  ‘I promise I’ll be back,’ she said, leaning down to kiss Cherry’s forehead.

  Returning to the parlour, she found Verne had opened the window.

  ‘Easier to get out this way,’ he said. ‘Though you might not be able to go far; you might just sink into it like quicksand.’

  Lil clambered on to the sill. The sand was almost level with it. Swinging her legs out, she pushed in her heels to test how firm it was.

  ‘Seems OK,’ she said.

  ‘Take care.’

  The girl grinned bravely and put her full weight on the sand. She sank to her calves.

  ‘It’s not bad,’ she told Verne, after taking a few experimental steps. ‘I’ll be fine. Just like walking on a deep drift. It’s soft but won’t swallow me up, don’t worry.’

  ‘Wait,’ the boy called, vanishing from the window and reappearing moments later. ‘Put this on; it’ll keep the sand out of your hair.’

  Lil laughed. He was holding one of Cherry’s flamboyant plastic sun hats. It was fuchsia pink, with fake orange and green flowers. He threw it out to her like a frisbee. She caught it, put it on her head and curtseyed. With a final wave, she turned and traipsed to the alleyway.

  The sand had already filled the narrow passage up to waist height and Lil was compelled to crouch to go through it. Soon the entrance would be submerged completely. Then how would she get back to Cherry’s cottage?

  Emerging into Church Street, she marvelled at how strange and alien it looked. The sand was up to the shop windows and was already forming undulating dunes. Instead of heading towards the bridge, Lil trudged the other way.

  Jack Potts was in the Wilsons’ kitchen staring out at the garden when she made it home. The front door was thrust inwards and a metre of sand spilled inside, followed by Lil.

  ‘Good morning, Mistress Lil,’ he greeted. ‘I was concerned when you did not return home last night. I regret I am unable to offer you something to eat.’

  ‘There’s still a few apples,’ she said, emptying the fruit bowl into her bag. ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’

  ‘But I do worry about you. You and your friend Verne are battling a force that is determined to destroy you. It has nearly destroyed Miss Cerise.’

  ‘We don’t have a choice.’

  ‘That is true. You do not.’

  ‘Get the spade from the shed. I want you to go to Cherry’s and keep the alley clear. I think there’s a snow shovel in there as well – take that too.’

  ‘As you wish,’ the robot butler answered.

  ‘What are you doing with that?’ the girl asked when she saw he was holding her nan’s porcelain teacup. ‘I told you not to mess with it.’

  ‘It is a pure and beautiful thing,’ he replied. ‘This morning I am sorely in need of both. There is much ugliness in the world.’

  ‘Put it away and look through one of our art books if you want to see pretty things, but not now.’

  ‘May I tell you my innovation for making tea? I believe it is something you would wish to know.’

  ‘Are you serious? We’re in the middle of all this madness and you want to talk tea bags?’

  ‘Trust me,’ he insisted. ‘You must listen!’

  He had waved his arms for emphasis, but in doing so the precious cup smacked the counter. There was an audible crack.

  ‘What have I done?’ his metallic voice gasped.

  ‘You’ve broken it,’ said Lil. ‘My nan’s favourite cup.’

  ‘No, no. It is not smashed – see. It is still in one piece.’

  He tapped it with a metal finger. Instead of a clear ringing chime there was a dull clack. Then he saw a line running round the middle.

  ‘It is damaged,’ he said, filled with remorse. ‘It is no longer a perfect creation. My carelessness has removed a thing of beauty from the world. It is therefore a more ugly place because of me.’

  Lil couldn’t wait around.

  ‘OK, it’s done. There’s a lot worse stuff happening in Whitby right now. People are still sick and dying. We can’t cry over an old cup.’

  ‘Finally I understand why you humans fear death. There is loss, and pain, and emptiness. The voices of those you cherish are not heard again. I am devastated by my actions.’

  ‘Just get yourself over to Cherry’s.’

  ‘I shall do my utmost to assist you. But first you must know this. Your enemy is . . .’

  His voice faltered and his left eye flickered. He seemed to be struggling to speak. The bellows on his chest pumped rapidly and the reels spun around.

  ‘My enemy is who?’ Lil asked. ‘What are you talking about?’

  The automaton straightened his back and, in a more controlled, less distraught tone, said briskly, ‘Your enemy is cheap tea bags. Never purchase the economy sort. Always choose the finest quality.’

  ‘I think you did get zapped yesterday,’ Lil muttered. ‘I’m going to the hotel. Get busy digging.’

  When she had left the house, Jack Potts hung his head.

  ‘You have made me do dreadful things, Mister Dark. I wish you had left me in the scrapyard. It would have been better for all if I had been broken up for parts.’

  Cruel laughter echoed within his tin skull.

  The sand continued to settle over Whitby. By the time Lil reached the bridge it had formed great mounds in the streets, and buried cars. Walking was an effort that tested the muscles. The bridge itself was sagging in the middle from the immense weight of the drifts that covered it. Ominous creaks followed her as she crossed and she was afraid it would buckle and crash into the river. She glanced down at the water. It was thick and cloudy and both shores were creeping towards the centre. Soon there would be no river at all.

  She was relieved when she made it to the other side. Looking back she saw that the East Cliff was disappearing under the relentless sandfall. Roofs were caked in it and the ground floors were almost gone. The cliff was a steep, biscuit-coloured ridge, the 199 steps had become a smooth and perilous slope and the church of St Mary and the abbey looked like colossal sandcastles. The West Cliff was faring no better.

  She wondered how much more this little seaside town could
take.

  Adjusting the plastic sun hat, she headed for the Royal Hotel. Throughout the day, the sand fell steadily. Everyone remained indoors.

  Lil spent another long day in the games room, renewing her previous work. She was immensely pleased to see how effective her magic had been. Six-year-old Paula had made an almost complete recovery and Clarke was well on the mend. The doctor wanted her to try her methods in the ballroom, but Cassandra ruled that place with a will of iron and she banned the doctor from ever entering again when he suggested it. Her magic alone reigned in there, she had shrieked at him.

  Lil hardly recognised her mother any more. Her make-up and backcombed hair weren’t just gothic – there was something startlingly ritualistic and warlike about her appearance.

  By early evening, the windows of the ground floor were totally blocked by rising sand. Lil could do no more. Her fingers throbbed and she was desperate to know how Cherry was doing. There was no possibility of leaving via the main entrance, so she climbed the stairs to the hotel’s first floor. Noreen accompanied her; she was anxious about Verne.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be all right,’ Lil assured her.

  ‘I never worry about him when he’s with you. He was never strong – you always looked after him, even when you were little.’

  They had come to the first floor, but the only windows looking eastward were in the guest rooms. Lil tried the nearest door. It was unlocked.

  Inside, the curtains were drawn, but there was light behind them and by it they made a grisly discovery. This was where those who had died of the sickness in the hotel had been brought. Eleven bodies, wrapped in sheets, were sardined on the bed and the floor.

  Noreen jumped in shock and clasped her hands to her mouth.

  ‘I might have been able to save them,’ Lil reproached herself.

  ‘Not your fault, luv,’ Mrs Thistlewood told her, rubbing the girl’s arm. ‘Let’s try the next room. Leave these poor souls in peace.’

  The curtains of the neighbouring suite were open and they ran to the window to drive away that last awful image.

  The scene before them took their breath away. They barely recognised the view as being Whitby. The Esk Valley was filled with sand. There was no river any more, just a desert that stretched between chimney pots and rooftops. The sea had retreated from the harbour, forming a new beach between the two stone piers.

  ‘It looks so clean,’ Noreen said, marvelling at the stark, blank sand unmarked by any footprint. ‘Like a crisp, new, golden tablecloth. It’d be beautiful if it wasn’t horrifying.’

  ‘There are houses you can’t even see any more,’ Lil said. ‘They’re completely buried. What if there were people still inside?’

  ‘Entombed, like a lost city of pharaohs.’

  Noreen slid up the bottom sash of the window. The sand had piled against the hotel walls and formed a bank below that wasn’t too steep.

  ‘We can slide down there easy,’ she said.

  ‘You coming too?’ asked Lil in surprise.

  ‘I don’t want Verne walking home on his own across that Martian wasteland. It’ll be dark soon.’

  And so they slithered down the slope and set off through an arid terrain of dunes and hollows. There was no point heading for the bridge; it had collapsed hours ago. It was quicker to cut across the sandy gulf where the river had once been.

  Down by the area of sand that covered the railway station, three figures were methodically visiting as many buildings that were still accessible. One was Inspector Brian Lucas, another was Constable Reg Gibson and the third was Wayne Hunter, a personal trainer.

  ‘We’re never going to get round the whole town with just us three,’ Reg complained as he consulted the detailed list he had been given. ‘It’s a mad idea. We should’ve got a bigger team together.’

  ‘Keep your negative attitude to yourself, Gibson,’ the inspector warned. ‘And make sure you keep those records accurate. No one else was available: they’re either too busy hacking their livers up or nursing those that are. Look around you – there’s not one footprint in this sand except ours. We’re all there is and what we’re doing might just save a life.’

  ‘Can’t see the point,’ Reg continued, removing his spectacles and wiping the lenses. ‘We’ve got no authority, no backup, nothing. Don’t see why we have to pretend to be rescue rangers as well.’

  ‘Does he never stop whining?’ Wayne asked. ‘Just keep score there, man. Not as if you’ll be doing any of the physical stuff. I’m the guy with the ropes, spade and muscles.’

  ‘Wait, did you hear that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ssshh!’

  The inspector led them into a cramped alley between two buildings. A large clump of sand had just slid off the roof.

  ‘Big heap of nothing,’ Reg said. ‘We’re just chasing noises. I’ve had enough. My legs are killing me walking through this. I’m going back to the church hall.’

  Handing the file to his superior, he plodded away, grumbling to himself.

  Retracing their outward tracks, he scowled as he began to see other markings in the sand beside them. They looked to have been made by scurrying twigs. Reg knelt to examine them, peering over his spectacles. It was peculiar the way the marks disappeared every few metres, where the sand was kicked into piles.

  ‘Too big for moles,’ he murmured. ‘Funny.’

  A movement in the corner of his eye made him turn sharply. Something was travelling fast just beneath the surface. It stopped suddenly and two waving, segmented antennae poked through the sand.

  ‘What the . . .?’

  The area around him thrashed into violent life. Sand flew everywhere as several tortoise-sized creatures buzzed and broke out of hiding.

  Reg covered his face and tried to run, but they rushed at him.

  The inspector and Wayne heard his screams, but by the time they reached that spot, he was gone. The sand was churned up and there were unmistakable signs he had been dragged towards one of the dunes. But the tracks ended there. He had either been plucked into the sky, or pulled into the ground.

  ‘Are all those dark spots and splashes what I think they are?’ Wayne asked in a scared voice.

  Inspector Lucas stooped to pick up a pair of broken spectacles that were sticking out of the sand. They were dripping with blood.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  Church Street was just a long dip between two ranges of sand-covered roofs. The altered topography was disorientating. The only landmark from which Lil and Noreen could get their bearings was the clock tower of Market Place. With that behind them, they followed the trench, wondering how they would tell where the entrance to Cherry’s yard lay.

  The upended blade of a shovel sticking out of the sand solved that problem, but the opening was unreachable.

  ‘There’s no way we can tunnel our way down there,’ Noreen said. ‘We’ll have to go over the roof.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Lil said, scooping handfuls of sand away to reveal the shovel’s handle. ‘Help me, will you?’

  Mrs Thistlewood joined her in scrabbling the sand away, digging like dogs searching for a buried bone.

  Presently they unearthed a metal fist clutching the handle. Lil let out a cry of triumph and redoubled her efforts. The pit grew larger until finally the top of a parka hood emerged under their fingers.

  ‘That’s not Verne, is it?’ Noreen asked fearfully.

  Lil tugged the hood clear and Noreen recognised the tin head immediately.

  ‘Jack Potts!’ she cried. ‘But how? We thought he was junked with everything else in the spring.’

  ‘He came back this week. He’s been staying at ours.’

  ‘Is he working OK? Hello, Jack, can you hear me?’

  There was no response.

  ‘Maybe the sand got in his gears and stuff ?’ Lil said sorrowfully. ‘He must’ve been trying to keep the passage clear and seized up.’

  ‘Why didn’t Verne tell me he’d come back? Why was he at your pl
ace?’

  Lil looked uncomfortable. ‘Verne thought you’d put him on eBay. He knew how bad you needed the money.’

  Noreen was crestfallen. ‘I’d never have done that. Times are tough, yes, but that robot was fantastic. Verne should have trusted me. He must have been so miserable, poor luv.’

  ‘I think we’ve all been making some big mistakes. If I hadn’t shut my mum out, she might not have had this mad breakdown. She said some awful stuff to me, but it hurt most because I knew it was true. I let the whole magic thing go to my head.’

  ‘So you’re a rubbish daughter and I’m a lousy mother. And there we were thinking we were perfect. You got any of your funny old words to cover this?’

  Lil managed a smile. ‘I suppose we’ve been fopdoodles and lubberworts.’

  ‘Yep, sounds about right. Pull that spade out of Jack’s hand and let’s dig this metal wonder out. I’ve missed his polishing and shirt-folding . . . Wait a minute, wait a minute!’

  She reached into her pockets and pulled out a ten pence which she inserted into Jack Potts’s head. The indicator light flashed on.

  ‘Not such a fopdoodle after all,’ she said smugly.

  ‘Mistress Lil,’ the mechanical greeted. ‘You found me! I hoped you would. That is why I held up the spade when I felt my last coin running out. Even if it had not, the sand was descending too fast. I could not do as you requested and keep the alley clear. I do apologise.’

  Then he noticed Noreen.

  ‘Mistress Thistlewood. How . . . pleasant to see you again. Does this mean I am to be auctioned?’

  ‘I don’t sell family members,’ she told him. ‘Now get yourself out of there.’

  The butler’s torch eyes brightened and he pulled himself free.

  ‘What’s with the parka?’ Noreen asked.

  ‘So he doesn’t get seen,’ Lil answered.

  The woman laughed. ‘After everything that’s happened, you’re still worried what the neighbours will think? I thought I was the uptight one. Take it off, Jack. Be yourself.’

  Jack Potts removed the bulky coat and Verne’s mother regarded him fondly. ‘Much better. More honest, don’t you think? Now, give me and Lil a leg-up getting over this roof.’