‘Uncle?’ said Mirabelle, but Bertram didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes were fixed on the jar.
‘The jar. Please?’ he said.
Freddie too looked concerned as he gazed up at Bertram, and he handed over the jar without taking his eyes off his face. Bertram took the jar and examined it. He turned it over in his hands and caught sight of the label.
That was when he scrunched his eyes shut and started keening.
Jem could see the terror in Mirabelle’s eyes.
‘Uncle? What is it? What’s wrong?’
Bertram shook his head. ‘No, no, no!’ he cried.
‘Uncle? Please tell me.’
He started to pound the jar against his forehead. ‘It has her name on it. It has her name on it,’ he moaned.
‘Uncle, give it to me, please. Give it to me now,’ said Mirabelle, holding her hand out, trying her best to look in charge, but Jem could see the trembling in her legs that matched the trembling of her own.
Bertram went down on one knee, groaning like a wounded animal. He handed the jar to Mirabelle. Mirabelle looked at it, and Jem tried to read her face.
‘What is it? What does it say?’ she asked.
Mirabelle held the jar up for her to see. The letters were faded a little with age, but there was no mistaking what they said.
‘Rula. It says Rula,’ said Mirabelle.
Bertram gave a hoarse, angry howl, and he punched the earth with his fist. Mirabelle let the jar slip from her fingers onto the grass.
Bertram sprang up and grabbed both Mirabelle and Jem by the shoulders.
‘We have to go. We have to go now. It isn’t safe here,’ he said.
He started to push them along.
It wasn’t safe to begin with, Jem thought. What makes it any less safe now?
Freddie followed them. Bertram twisted his head round to look at him, his eyes wild.
‘Where is he? Where is he now?’ he barked.
‘In my house,’ said Freddie, his face pale as they entered the second laneway.
‘Good,’ said Bertram, pushing both the girls in front of him.
There was a short, slightly portly figure heading towards them from the other end of the lane.
‘Mr Teasdale,’ said Freddie.
Mr Teasdale blinked in shock as he beheld them.
‘What is this? What’s going on?’ he said, looking indignant.
Mirabelle stepped towards him. ‘We can explain, Mr Teasdale, we—’
‘You! You again! You’re a troublemaker,’ he shouted, pointing his finger at her. ‘You’re not supposed to be here. You know it’s forbidden. I will report this grievous infraction to the council, and when they hear of it your punishment will be doubled.’
Mirabelle was standing right in front of him. ‘Please, Mr Teasdale, you have to listen to us.’
Mr Teasdale pushed her out of the way with such force that Mirabelle collided with a wall. Jem felt a spark of anger, and she was just stepping forward when two black scraps of darkness plummeted from the night sky and launched themselves at Mr Teasdale.
Ravens.
Mr Teasdale squealed as they raked at his face. He batted at them with h hands, tripping over himself before crashing to the ground. Just as suddenly as the ravens had started their onslaught they stopped and flew off. Mr Teasdale lay there, panting hard, righting his spectacles with a trembling hand.
‘This will not stand! This will not stand!’ he wheezed.
‘No, it most certainly will not, Mr Teasdale.’
The voice came from a figure at the other end of the laneway. It was a mellifluous voice, rich and melodic, y an d his hing seductive and powerful, but tinged with hate. Jem could recognize these undertones.
The man stepped into view. He was wearing a battered old coat and had hair that was greyish brown. The most vivid thing about him was his smile. It was a smile that seemed a little too big and contained too many teeth. A smile of utter malevolence.
The man helped pull Mr Teasdale up to standing.
‘Why, thank you, sir,’ said Mr Teasdale, blinking again, but now his eyes seemed slightly glazed.
‘Not at all,’ said the man. ‘But take my advice for now.’
‘Advice?’ said Mr Teasdale almost dreamily.
‘Yes, why not rest for a bit?’
The man clamped a hand to the back of Mr Teasdale’s head. Mr Teasdale’s eyes rolled up, and the man lowered him gently back to the ground as he fainted dead away.
Then the man turned back to Jem and the others, that smile still on his face. Jem had been frightened earlier, but now she was sick with fear. Her temples pounded, and she could feel her stomach roiling. She wondered if she had the strength in her legs to run. Mirabelle was by her side, and she could see that she too was terrified.
The man threw his head back and gave a great big sniff of the air.
‘Oh my, oh my, what a wonderful scent that is. Heady and sweet. You never told me about your friends, Freddie. You’ve been keeping secrets.’ He wagged his finger.
‘Who are you?’ Mirabelle demanded.
The man pretended to be shocked. ‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘I know,’ growled Bertram. ‘I know what you are.’
Bertram was clenching and unclenching his fists. Jem could see he was clearly angry – angry and frightened. He was grinding his teeth. He was barely containing himself.
‘I know what you did to Rula,’ he growled, his voice becoming deeper, his eyes darkening to a ruby red.
The man raised his hands in a gesture of innocence and shrugged. ‘But I was hungry.’
It happened in less than a second. One moment there was Bertram. The next a ton of fur and claws exploded and hurled itself towards the man. Jem felt like roaring him on. In her mind’s eye the man would become pulp.
In reality he sidestepped Bertram in his bear form, grabbed him by the haunches, and hurled him against the side of a house. There was the thud of brick, the tinkle of glass, the splinter of wood. Bertram slid down the wall, but was up on his haunches in seconds, shaking his shoulders and throwing his
