Harvey wished he had some words to persuade her to stay a little while longer. But even if he’d had such words, he knew it would have been selfish to speak them. Mrs. Griffin had another life to go to, where every soul shone.
“Goodbye, child,” she said. “Wherever I go, I will speak of you with love.”
Then her ghostly form flickered out, leaving Harvey alone in the ruins.
XXIV. A Fledgling Thief
He was not alone for long. Mrs. Griffin and Stew-Cat had no sooner vanished from sight than Harvey heard a voice calling his name. The air was still thick with dust, and he had to look hard for the speaker. But after a little time he found her, stumbling toward him.
“Lulu?”
“Who else?” she said, with a little laugh.
The lake’s dark water still soaked her from head to foot, but as it ran from her body and into the ground the last traces of her silver scales went with it. When she opened her arms to him, they were human arms.
“You’re free!” he said, running to her and hugging her hard.” I can’t believe you’re free!”
“We’re all free,” she said, and glanced back toward the lake.
An extraordinary sight met his eyes: a procession of laughing children coming toward him through the mist. Those closest to him were all but returned to their human shape, those behind them still shaking off their fishiness, step by step.
“We should all get out of here,” Harvey said, looking toward the wall. “I don’t think we’ll have any trouble getting through the mist now.”
One of the children behind Lulu had spotted a box of clothes in the rubble of the House, and announcing his find to the rest, stumbled through the debris to find something to wear. Lulu left Harvey’s side to join the search, but not before she’d planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Don’t expect one from me!” said a voice out of the dust, and Wendell stepped into view, beaming from ear to ear. “What did you do, Harvey?” he wanted to know as he surveyed the chaos. “Pull the place down brick by brick?”
“Something like that,” said Harvey, unable to conceal his pride.
There was a roaring sound from the direction of the lake.
“What’s that?” Harvey wanted to know.
“The water’s disappearing,” Wendell said.
“Where to?”
Wendell shrugged. “Who cares?” he said. “Maybe it’s all being sucked to Hell!”
Eager to witness this, Harvey walked toward the lake, and through the clouds of dirt in the air saw that it had indeed become a whirlpool, its once placid waters now a raging spiral.
“What happened to Hood, by the way?” Wendell wanted to know.
“He’s gone,” said Harvey, almost mesmerized by the sight of the vortex. “They’ve all gone.”
Even as the words left his lips a voice said: “Not quite.”
He turned from the waters, and there in the rubble stood Rictus. His fine jacket was torn and his face was white with dust. He looked like a clown; a laughing clown.
“Now why would I take myself off?” he asked. “We never said goodbye.”
Harvey stared at him with bafflement on his face. Hood was gone; so was his magic. How could Rictus have survived the disappearance of his Master?
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Rictus, reaching into his pocket. “You’re wondering why I’m not dead and gone. Well, I’ll tell you. I did some plannin’ ahead.” He drew a glass globe, which flickered as though it held a dozen candle flames, out of his pocket. “I stole a little piece of the old man’s magic, just in case he ever got tired of me and tried to put me out of my misery.” He lifted the globe up to his leering face. “I’ve got enough power here to keep me going for years and years,” he said. “Long enough to build a new House, and take over where Hood left off. Oh, don’t look so unhappy, kid. I got a place for you, right here—” He slapped his thigh. “You can be my bird dog. I’ll send you out lookin’ for kiddie-winkies to bring home to Uncle Rictus.” He slapped his thigh a second time. “C’mon!” he said. “Don’t waste my time now. I don’t—?”
He stopped there, his gaze dropping to the rubble at his feet.
A terrified whisper escaped his throat. “Oh no…” he murmured. “I beg—”
Before he could finish his plea a hand with foot-long fingers reached up from the rubble and snatched hold of his throat, dragging him down into the dirt in one swift motion.
“Mine!” said a voice out of the ground. “Mine!”
It was Hood, Harvey knew. There was no other voice on earth that cut so deep.
Rictus struggled in his creator’s grip, digging in the debris for some weapon. But none came to hand. All he had was his skill as a persuader.
The magic’s yours,” he said. “I was holding on to it for you!”
“Liar!” said the voice that rose from the debris.
“I was! I swear!”
“Give it to me then!” Hood demanded.
Where shall I put it?” Rictus asked, his voice a strangled croak.
Hood’s hand loosened him a little, and he managed to haul himself to his knees.
“Right here…” Hood said, hanging onto Rictus’s collar by his littlest digit, while his forefinger pointed down toward the rubble. “…Pour it into the ground.”
“But—”
“Into the ground!”
Rictus pressed the globe between his palms, and it shattered like a sphere of spun sugar, its bright contents running out between his palms and into the ground in front of him.
There was a moment of silence; then a tremor ran through the rubble.
Hood’s finger let its captive slip, and Rictus hurriedly got to his feet. He had no chance to make an escape, however. Pieces of timber and stone instantly moved over the heaps of rubble toward the spot where he’d poured the magic, several lifted high into the air. All Rictus could do was cover his head as the hail increased.
Harvey was clear of this flying debris, and might well have made a retreat in these few moments. But he was wiser than that. If he fled now, he knew, his business with Hood would never be finished. It would be like a nightmare he could never quite shake from his head. Whatever happened next, however terrible, it would be better to see it and understand it than to turn his back and have his mind haunt him with imaginings to his dying day.
He didn’t have to wait long for Hood’s next move. The hand holding Rictus’s neck suddenly let him go, and in a flash was gone from sight. The following moment the ground gaped and a form appeared, hunched over as it climbed out of its tomb in the rubble.
Rictus let out a cry of horror, but it was short. Before he could retreat one step the figure reached for him, and turning to face Harvey, held his traitorous servant high.
Here, at last, was the evil that had built the Holiday House, shaped more or less as a man. He was not made of flesh, blood and bone, however. He had used the magic Rictus had unwillingly provided to create another body.
In the high times of his evil, Hood had been the House. Now, it was the other way around. The House, what was left of it, had become Mr. Hood.
