Not Dead Until Nailed Down

By Chris Reed

Not Dead Until Nailed Down is the motto of Madam Mandrakes Academy and Jenkin Nastim has to deal with a wicked uncle, a missing brain and a family who can shape shift at a good party. He's on the adventure of his life with everything he has ever known being turned upside down. With magic and mayhem, how can Jenkin find out who he really is, save the Terra Firman Empire and stop a wraith from living forever. And then there's homework to do with a gremlin arm that won't stay still. If you ever thought you were having a bad day, you haven't met The Nastims.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Reed
• Release date: May 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393932437

Book preview

Prologue

As explosions went, it was quite spectacular. The chemicals  went up in a fireball of orange and red, the laboratory exploded

and Professor Cruckenbach literally went to pieces.

The Chief Guardian of the Terra Firman Empire, Malcolm Fudge, arrived quickly at the scene along with his men and began the painstaking process of cataloguing all that was left. 

The late professor was now all over the place, though most was on the ceiling where the force of the blast had sent his torso and head to drip on the unwary below. Malcolm wiped a splodge of dead academic off his left shoulder and sighed.

‘I suppose we’d better get him down from there,’ he said at last, staring at the soggy remnants above him. ‘Someone get a jar; the brain may still be salvageable and the University of Moldrovia will want to process it before storage.’

Two green faced young recruits were dry heaving in a corner and trying not to step into any red puddles on the floor.

‘And the rest needs scraping up too.’ Malcolm looked distastefully down at his new boots, now marked with body fluids and shattered glass fragments from the ruined test tubes carpeting the room.

‘Shall I -’ one recruit gulped heavily, ‘get a big spatula sir?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ snapped Malcolm. ‘Get two. This is going to be a long job.’

He turned around at the arrival of the Crime Analysis Team dragons and watched the C.A.T. goblins descend from the travel boxes on top. They were all armed to the teeth with regulation forms, glass jars, packets of labels and an awful lot of wet wipes.

‘Catalogue everything!’ he commanded, ‘and then bottle, tag and relocate the lot to Hanger 11.’

C.A.T leader Elmet Spud asked rather nervously, as he attempted to navigate a large hole in the floor and side step several severed fingers and a crushed Bunsen burner, ‘Any idea what happened here?’

Malcolm looked him full in the eye, lit up a rolled Hubble leaf cigar and spoke quite calmly.

‘It’s the worst case of suicide I have ever seen.’

Chapter One

The Great Brain Robbery

There had always been an Arsonists Arms in Rustipour for as long as anyone could remember.  It was hidden away down dark, narrow alleys stinking with the refuse of ages and crawling with very fat rats. Its origins were lost in the mists of time and it was famous for all the wrong reasons.

Tucked away in a poorly lit corner of the main bar were three figures, all heavily muffled in dark, hooded cloaks. They clustered together around a table on which rested three pewter tankards of warm ale. It was impossible to see how late it was through the muck on the windows and the one and only clock was bisected with a hand axe. That wasn’t going to help much unless you were fond of half past eight forever.

The thieves, cut-throats and villains who made up the regular clientele watched the newcomers with hard, emotionless eyes from over the top of a hand of cards, a pint pot or a pile of copper slots.  The new comers were being deliberately ignored for now.

One of the men leaned forward to speak in a low voice to his friends. Gerald was a gaunt, sunken-eyed ghoul, completely grey from head to toe, but now he was bubbling with excitement.

‘Will he come, Frankenfaff?’ he asked.

‘He will come.’ Frankenfaff Nastim swept a fringe of white hair out of his pink eyes and toyed with his battered tankard. He must come, he thought, it was his plan after all. He tried to spit on the floor but realised that his mouth was dry so gave up.

‘Well he’d better,’ sniffed Clancy Withers and far too loudly for comfort. ‘I’m not hanging around here any longer than necessary I can tell you. Some of those men have knives!’

One of the unsavoury customers stared at him and growled something rude before turning back to his friends and their game of cards.  Clancy coughed hastily. ‘Knives, I ask you!’ he added in a lower tone. 

He was a weedy looking individual with thinning brown hair. His face was prematurely aged, and he looked like someone who drank vinegar for fun. He sank back into his cloak like a dissolving liquorice stick and fiddled with his tankard.

Frankenfaff nodded.

‘Best not mention it,’ he advised.

‘Oh I don’t know,’ said Gerald in an excited voice. He flushed a deeper shade of grey. ‘I think this is all terribly thrilling!’

‘You would,’ muttered Frankenfaff. 

‘Where are we again?’

Clancy snorted.

The albino sighed. ‘This is the most famous and dangerous pub in Shumbles Lane.’

‘Oh. Why are we in it then?’

‘Because no one knows us here and it’s not the kind of place where anyone remembers anything unless they’ve lost the will to live.’

He had tried to explain to Gerald before just what this part of town was really like, but the poor soul didn’t get out much. The university’s night life had passed him by and if someone had asked him to boil an egg he would have been baffled. Clancy was different. He had ideas and attitude. There were times when he was so stuck up he was simply a pair of boots poking out of his own nostrils. Frankenfaff itched to thump him and between the two of them he sometimes felt like a genius just because he could tie his own shoelaces.

‘This is the kind of place that your mother should have warned you about,’ he said. ‘One does not, I repeat not,’ he added, as Clancy opened his mouth to say something contrary, ‘go around yelling Ooh look! Aren’t they odd and what big knives they’ve got! Do you understand? They may hurt you!’

This did not have the desired effect.

‘Oh Frankenfaff!’ exclaimed Gerald, spilling most of his tankard. He reached inside his cloak for a notepad and self-loading quill, all thoughts of self-preservation vanishing as his intellect took over. ‘I wonder if I could ask them some questions about their early years, you know, childhood aggression, any criminal tendencies at school, that sort of thing.’ 

‘Good Gad no!’ Frankenfaff snapped. ‘Don’t be so stupid! If you asked them, you wouldn’t need to do any more research. They’d show you!’

Clancy sneered. ‘These ruffians? I hardly think-’

‘For Fleck’s sake!’ This time Frankenfaff did shout and two men at a nearby table looked up from a card game and glared at them as their little pile of slots fell over. If they got out of this alive it would be a miracle. ‘This is real life. Good grief, we’ll not last ten more minutes.’ He noticed the two men arguing and one of them made as if to get up. Oh bugger! Why couldn’t he have stayed in and watched the Terra Vision? ‘Put your bloody pens and pencils away, this isn’t a field trip!’

A chill swept in from the street as the door banged open and then shut. Frankenfaff put a pale hand warningly to his equally pale lips.

‘Shush...he’s here...at last.’

A tall, dark figure wearing a black robe walked towards the three men. His head almost brushed against the low ceiling and maybe it was just a trick of the imagination, but the room seemed to have got darker and more oppressive. Of course it was all a scene, thought Frankenfaff sourly. He never could just turn up and get on with it could he? There always had to be a drama before a crisis. Still, it did the job as far as the local lunatics were concerned because they all paid close attention to their drinks.

‘You’ve got your charisma turned up again,’ Frankenfaff accused his cousin. His pink eyes bored steadily into those of the other man over the rim of his tankard. He was mildly jealous; he could never get his beyond Interesting.

Devine Nastim ignored him and sat down. He looked nothing like Frankenfaff with his heavily lidded black eyes and mane of black hair.  Frankenfaff was slightly built with typical albino colouring. 

Although Nastims were highly original people, Devine was one step ahead. He had discovered the secret of the Black Mage’s Box and the demon had been in a filthy temper when it was finally let out. He had charmed the Rustiporian Side Wobbler, a snake not merely venomous, but foul-mouthed too, and left it in Aunt Vladivostok’s underwear drawer where it loudly mocked her choice of knickers.  He also completed Ranwick’s Puzzle in two hours on a rainy afternoon and left it lying around so the dimension distortion fried the cat. And this was all by the time he was eight.

Devine watched them now with those dark, unfathomable eyes as if he knew something more than they did and was only biding his time.

‘Are we all ready?’ He tapped a long finger on the scarred and damp tabletop. The table wiggled slightly where the uneven leg balanced on soggy rushes and Devine frowned. ‘Well?’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Frankenfaff testily. He was fed up with Devine’s air of mystery. ‘Can’t we just go?’

He just knew they were pushing their luck. This had started out as Devine’s hilarious joke over several fine vintages one afternoon back at his student digs. It had seemed like an even better idea by the time they were picking at spicy stir-fried Rustiporian worms. Now it seemed like a bloody daft thing to be doing. He wanted to get it all over with before common sense started hammering away at his conscience.

‘Have you made all the arrangements?’ Frankenfaff realised he was whispering and cleared his throat to sound a bit more in control. ‘Do we have transport?’

‘Oh yes.’ A slow smile of delight spread over Devine’s dark features. ‘Definitely.’

‘Dragons! How thrilling!’ cried Gerald, loud enough for The Guardians to hear and come running, drag them all into jail and give them a damn good beating until the confessions fell like so many dead leaves. His eyes were shining and for once even Clancy looked impressed.

‘Oh for Gad’s sake!’ Frankenfaff gritted his teeth and turned to Devine. ‘They’re not just dragons, are they?’ he said in an unsteady voice. ‘That’s the flecking Rustiporian Rangers Air Ball Team you lunatic!’

It was raining, and they were in another one of Rustipour’s many alleys in the Forbidden Quarter. It was the one where all the wicked people lived, thieves, jezebels, tax men, dragon clampers (not an easy job) and so on. Frankenfaff had heard about jezebels but had never actually met one. This alley was dark, it was smelly, and it was full of dragons. Four large, red and black, highly strung racing thoroughbreds from the Rustiporian Rangers Air Ball Team were squashed together at one end of the alley.  There was the centre forward, two strikers and they had the goal keeper too.

Frankenfaff stared at the largest of the four who was breathing impatiently through flared nostrils with the look of a watchful snake. They were without their team shirts, but still oozed the smug glow of dragons on a winning streak ever since they had flown the Moldrovian Mashers into the ground last week. The goalie was responsible for one of the opposing team still being at the vets.

‘Hell’s bells!’ said Frankenfaff loudly, although not in Gerald’s ringing Hello-please-come-and-arrest-me tones. ‘You’ve nicked the Air Ball Champions!’

‘I know.’ Devine sounded very pleased with himself. ‘Fantastic aren’t they and damn fast too.’

‘I know they’re fast.’ In a moment of pure madness Frankenfaff grabbed Devine’s collar and thrust him backwards onto the alley wall. Clancy and Gerald were busy discussing the physics of flight and didn’t notice. The dragons glared at them in a contemptuous way from under half-lidded eyes.

‘What are you playing at, you nutter? You’ve...’ Frankenfaff’s voice started to disappear again and he swallowed quickly. ‘You’ve stolen them...they are big...we’re in trouble, oh fleck!’

Devine looked down at the fingers on his coat.

‘Strong though family feeling can be,’ he murmured, ‘if you don’t let go, I shall put your hands into such interesting shapes that no surgeon will have the skill to put them right again.’

He looked meaningfully at the grip and Frankenfaff reluctantly let go.

‘Why?’ He glanced back at the others, but they were too engrossed in discussing aerodynamics to have noticed a thing. ‘Why? Surely we could have -’  

‘Done what? Really cousin,’ Devine sneered. ‘If you are going to embark on an enterprise, at least make sure it stands a chance of succeeding. What do you suggest we use? Broomsticks?’

‘Don’t be daft! How can a man ride a broomstick without hurting his...but the Rustiporian Rangers?’ He thought about it. Give him his due, the slippery little eel, it couldn’t have been easy. ‘How did you do it?’

‘Bribery never fails.’ Devine smoothed down his ruffled robe and checked his pockets. ‘I bribed them with Azquat, and they love the stuff. Their keepers never let them have any until after a match and this way they’ll do anything, well almost anything, for the ten barrels I have stashed away under their feeding troughs.’

Frankenfaff felt the overwhelming urge to lie down in a dark room somewhere and pretend the whole thing was a bad dream. What if they were discovered? What if tomorrow morning the Guardians were on his doorstep, asking in that cold, polite way if he’d answer a few questions?

He looked at Devine, hoping he was joking, but he could see he was deadly serious.

‘Won’t they be missed?’

Devine looked up at his cousin from under lowered black lashes the way a small boy does when his parents have just worked out who locked Granny in the toilet. In the gloom it made his eyes look like dark slits and Frankenfaff suddenly felt uneasy.

‘Not for a while,’ he said softly.

‘But their keepers, surely they...’ then Frankenfaff stopped and watched as an unpleasant expression slid across his cousin’s face. ‘The keepers,’ he repeated slowly to himself, as understanding dawned. Surely the keepers would have noticed! He felt the firm grip of panic and something else, was it fear? Was he now afraid of a member of his own family? He swallowed quickly and gripped his suddenly sweaty hands together. ‘What did you do?’

‘Oh nothing,’ Devine gestured airily, ‘well, nothing much. They’ll have a large headache in the morning but nothing more serious than that.’

‘You coshed them!’

‘I most certainly did! Out like a light and sleeping until Hell thaws. Don’t worry,’ he added scornfully as Frankenfaff took a step back and looked at him in horror. ‘It didn’t hurt that much! They’d been drinking so I helped them get unconscious more quickly. Now,’ he was suddenly impatient. ‘We’re wasting time, are we finally ready?’

He strode over to the others and conferred in lowered voices with them while Frankenfaff watched, feeling a rush of conflicting emotions. Oh, he should have stayed at home. What was he doing here with his half-mad cousin, two unworldly academics and four seething reptiles? So much for the last defiant gesture of youth. This was a bad idea.

‘Gentlemen,’ Devine turned to the dragons and clicked his fingers. They came forward slowly, snorting and placing one vast clawed foot in front of the other with the trembling delicacy of a fat ballet dancer.

‘Shall we go and rob a bank?’

Chapter Two

Home Truths

‘I must say!’ shouted Clancy above the howling wind, ‘this is a lot more fun than I thought it would be!’

‘Ha! Isn’t it just?’ yelled Frankenfaff, but the tearing wind whipped his sarcasm away and it was lost in the storm. Mind you, anything that would impress Clancy was not to be sniffed at.

Furious black clouds riddled with rain hunched over them and pelted them with stinging cold slashes of Rustipour’s finest maelstrom.  Lightning joined the tail end of thunder with glaring flashes that had Gerald nearly falling off at one point. The ghoul clung to his mount like a limpet in a violent tide.

Frankenfaff’s mount was as placid as a cockroach in a searchlight. Champion Blue Socks of Drenning (his trainer called him Bill) kept shying away from the others every time the wingspans came close to touching. The beast’s head pulled on the bridle and flat out, with eyes half closed and fangs protruding around the bit, he looked as mean as when he was going hell for leather after the opposition’s mounts.

Devine was sitting on Woebegone Mastic (the goalie) up ahead. It said ‘Reg’ on the tag round his neck. Reg was battling against the turbulence which buffeted him back to within an inch of Bill’s snout.

This is just my luck, Frankenfaff thought sourly and huddled down in the saddle, trying to keep a tight grip of the reins with one hand while the other fumbled to wrap his cloak more tightly around him. He was freezing and his bum...well he’d not be sitting down to play the Pandemonium for a while!

The others didn’t seem to care that they were in the middle of the worst storm Rustipour had seen in centuries. It was just flecking typical! Clancy and Gerald never left the university unless their parents came to take them out for the day and now they were having the time of their lives. I wish I was antisocial like them, he thought bitterly. His backside had gone completely numb and he might never walk again.

As the feeling left his legs Frankenfaff saw Devine lean back in his saddle and shouted into the screaming gale, ‘We’re there!’

Frankenfaff looked down but it was hard to see anything in the driving rain. He could just about make out the mass of trees below that was the Strudeldumph Forest. The other large, dark lump must surely be the bank he thought as they began the slow descent.  The dragons carefully reduced their orbit with each well-calculated flap of wings until they finally landed on top of a tall building.

The Royal Bank of Rustipour had been built outside of the city on the main crossroads of the Great Highways to Moldrovia, Drenning and Quarn.  Normally the King’s Own Highlanders would have been stuffed into the barracks at the Quarn garrison, a mere dragon’s flight from the bank. This is roughly 50 English miles and then it wants to stop, stretch its legs, have a wee and get something to eat.

However, it was the festival of St. Boris and the Crown Prince’s birthday, so the troops were on parade in the capital. The Signing Post at the bank should have been operating to send messages to the capital if anyone so much as coughed on the institution. Tragically, the staff were drinking Hubble Fruit Brandy and they were not exactly an asset to communication. They could barely stand as they toasted the health of the royal family and St. Boris in home-brew and never heard the snick, snick of dragon claws scraping the roof of the bank.

There was a door leading into the building and Devine fumbled with a set of keys.

‘Where did you...’ began Frankenfaff and then sensibly he changed his mind. ‘No, I don’t want to know, just get us inside...my backside is dropping off.’

Ancient Rustiporian mechanics swung into action, the door slowly opened, and they rushed through, well away from the biting wind. They tiptoed down the staircase and came to a broad corridor with a lift opposite to the stair well. There was a large, broad-leaved plant in a tub on the floor, next to three easy chairs upholstered in pink Hessian and pushed into a semi-circle around a low table with a Dragon Mechanics magazine on it. A door was labelled Managers Office.

‘Ah, the waiting room. Now then,’ Devine paused and looked around. ‘We are on the third floor so...’ He tapped his chin thoughtfully and tried to remember the map in his mind. ‘We need to go down to the basement for what we are looking for.’

‘What are we looking for?’ asked Gerald, whose attention span for anything not scientific was shorter than a fly’s eyelash.

‘Well, let’s see now,’ began Clancy sarcastically, ‘we’re meant to be...’ but he got no further.

‘Shut up and follow me!’ Devine glared at them both. ‘We can chat later!’

He pressed a button by the door-frame of the lift. It opened with a discreet swoosh and they all stepped inside.

When the doors opened again it was onto a dingy looking corridor, much like the one above in its layout, though it was without a plant. Greenish strip lights flickered down from the ceiling and made them all look as if they’d been sick. The walls and floor stretched away into a distant, black nothingness on either side that made Frankenfaff feel even more nervous than he already did.

Anything could be hiding there...swarms of guards...enraged bank clerks with very sharp pens... He half expected to see the narrow golden slash of the eyes of some evil beast kept down here just to feast on burglars. Oh thank you very much for that thought, he told himself irritably and the middle of his back kept itching alarmingly where an avenging claw might fall.

Gerald was looking around with the shiny-eyed dim look that people have when they don’t get out of the workplace often enough and think everything is interesting. Clancy just sniffed and crossed his arms in disgust.

‘The vault is down there.’ Devine gestured along the corridor. ‘The only problem is -’

‘Fred! Is that you?’ called out a reedy voice from the depths of the darkness and Frankenfaff nearly screamed. His bravado, a fragile thing today, had completely evaporated. They all automatically backed into the corridor wall as the light of a lamp came into view. It slid along the walls from the opposite direction, growing stronger and more glaring with every inch of ground covered. The light and the voice were getting closer; the lamp glow intensified, casting monstrous shapes onto the walls as it did so.

‘Oh bludge it!’ Frankenfaff turned on his cousin. ‘I thought you said there’d be no one here...they’d all be gone down to the pub you said...now what?’

‘We run?’ suggested Devine and as one they all fled down the corridor. They managed a puffing sprint of about ten yards before they slid to a stop outside the vault doors. Frankenfaff hadn’t realised they were so close, but there was nowhere to hide and still the light came nearer and nearer. Devine began to run through solutions to their dilemma in his mind while the others waited helplessly and stood close together as if this was going to do them some good.

The voice called out from behind them. ‘Fred, I’m telling yer, it’s no time ter be playin’ pranks, yer on probation lad and yer should be -’

Then an old and doddering Guardian came into view.

It was hard to tell who was the most surprised, the unexpected guests or the shrivelled, bespectacled Guardian. He looked as if he barely had enough strength to carry the lamp. His bottle green uniform and the big shiny badge of the Terra Firman Empire on his left breast still made enough of an impression to wipe the half smiles off Clancy and Gerald’s faces.

Frankenfaff was watching Devine. His cousin didn’t seem to be as worried as the situation demanded. He wondered what Devine was planning in that hidden pit of his mind. He soon found out.

For a minute longer they all gawped at each other and then the old man took a step towards them, the lamp held high and shaking in the light, though whether it was due to age or terror was anyone’s guess.

‘Now then,’ he questioned in a wheezy voice. ‘What do we ‘ave ‘ere?’

Devine sighed. He never could stand old people at the best of times but old people with authority who took him by surprise, that got right up his nose. However, the stakes were high, and this was no time for any more panic. He couldn’t afford to lose, not tonight. He took a step into the bright glow around the Guardian and spoke quickly, yet smoothly.

‘Ah Guardian,’ he peered at the name badge, ‘Hoggart, Guardian Hoggart, I see our arrival hasn’t gone unnoticed...good man, good man.’ The Guardian looked puzzled while Devine continued. ‘No doubt you are wondering why we are here at this late hour?’

No, really? thought Frankenfaff, but Devine went on as smooth as a buttered cobra, while Guardian Hoggart lifted the lamp up still higher to get a better look at the strangers in front of him. Devine made a great show of taking him to one side and speaking in a conspiratorial fashion.

‘I take it you were not informed of our inspection,’ he said gripping the Guardian by the elbow and trying to look concerned yet reassuring.

‘Err...no sir, no I was not.’ The Guardian looked as if he didn’t know whether to call for help or offer Devine a cup of tea.

‘As it should be, as it should be,’ Devine murmured, sounding pleased with the whole thing. ‘You see Guardian...may I call you Hoggart?’

The old man nodded slowly as the events of the evening made a late start on his intelligence. He’d only ever been asked to patrol and report in his job, no one had ever asked him to think before and he found it hard.

‘Well Hoggart, it’s like this, we are aware of certain irregularities!’ He paused while Hoggart did the right thing and gasped toothily. ‘Yes irregularities,’ Devine went on, ‘and we have been authorised by... well!’ He laughed. ‘I’m sure you know who.’

Well, I damn well don’t! thought Frankenfaff, watching all this unfold with a cross between amazement and disbelief, but Devine was still going on with his charisma turned up to full again.

‘It seemed appropriate to investigate outside of normal business hours.’ He tut-tutted in pretend disbelief. ‘I’m surprised though that you were not told something...after all, a man in your position...’ He left the sentence unfinished as if it were perfectly apparent to all just what position Hoggart was in.

A sticky one I’ll bet, if this doesn’t work, thought Frankenfaff anxiously.

Gerald was gazing at Hoggart like a friendly spaniel in a pet shop window while Clancy stood with his lip curled, ready to sneer at a moment’s notice. 

Hoggart drew himself upright; confident that he knew what was what.

‘It’s just as you say,’ he said, ‘I should’ve known but I didn’t, Gad knows why but I’m always the last to find out anything these days, it’s like I alwus say to Fred -’

‘Yes yes,’ Devine sounded testy; this was taking far too long, and they hadn’t got all night. ‘Let’s not worry about Fred, shall we? He obviously lacks your authority and your experience.’ The old man puffed up his chest with pride and Frankenfaff was quite envious. Oh well done, you greasy toad. You are good, aren’t you?

Devine took the name badge between his fingers and mused on it. ‘Hoggart...well, well, your calm understanding of the situation impresses me, you’ll be...’ He examined the creased face by lamplight. ‘...coming up for retirement soon no doubt?’

Hoggart nodded. ‘Thirty years man and boy,’ he stated proudly.

‘Then I shall put in a good word for you. Your application to duty does you credit and now...we won’t keep you any longer.’

Devine turned back to the rest of them and gave Frankenfaff a look that plainly said, Let’s get out of here sharpish, before this idiot realises what’s what. ‘Shall we continue?’ He raised his eyebrows at his companions and then nodded imperceptibly towards the vault doors. As he reached for the great seal of Rustipour hanging off the lock he froze as Hoggart called out rather unexpectedly.

‘Right sir, it’s as you say sir, but if I could just see your papers...’

‘Did you have to hit him so hard?’

Frankenfaff was standing on the other side of the vault doors, sweating like a stuck pig. Gerald and Clancy started to take a lot of folded up sacks out of Gerald’s voluminous cloak pockets.

‘Of course I did!’ Devine glared at him. ‘What did you expect me to do? Swap addresses? My hairy pants, the man was a liability!’

‘Well now,’ snapped Frankenfaff, ‘he’s probably a hacked off liability with a very good memory for faces.’ He closed his eyes briefly. He could still hear the crunch of his cousin’s fist connecting with the old man’s temple.

‘At his age? I don’t think so!’ Devine shrugged the moment off and turned to the others. ‘Hurry up!’ he ordered. ‘We haven’t got much time. Everyone will be back on duty when their hangovers have cleared up. We have to be out of here by then.’

They were in, they were really in and, despite everything, Devine could hardly believe his own luck. Neither could Frankenfaff, since it had looked as if it was all going to go horribly wrong until that damn crunch. They all took a moment to stand and stare. They were in the vault of the kingdom; the great hold of the nation’s wealth and it was an eerie feeling. Here was the final resting place for all the Bertrillium that underpinned the economy.

Devine wandered past the storage shelves to the pile of silvery grey ingots in the corner. The Rustiporians just left it lying around, not thinking anyone would ever take it. It sat piled up in casual heaps along with other treasures of national importance and the Royal Regalia. Everywhere they looked there were sceptres, orbs, thin circlets of beaten gold, jewel encrusted belts, ancient swords inlaid with precious stones...it was all so tempting! 

There was the Von Kropper crown, a tasteless monstrosity of green velvet, Bertrillium and black opals. He touched the cross pieces lightly, marvelling at the nitwit who thought that this was the supreme fashion statement of 1312.  However, this was not the treasure he sought, there was something far more important in here and he had to find it.

Clancy and Gerald were ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ over the extra special stuff the vault held, the stuff they thought they had really come for. For a scientist this was the real wealth, but Devine was not a scientist. He left them to it and walked on and then turned to looked back and gloat.

Rows of shelves soared high up into the arched ceiling of the bank vault, solid wooden shelving designed to last a thousand years, all cobwebbed and groaning with the weight of their burden. In the feeble light from the vault’s few lamps shone the glass of millions of lidded jars stacked on top of each other. In each jar was a brain and each one was still alive, bubbling away in their own vital juices.  Gathered in forgotten dusty ranks were the brains of the famous, the brilliant, the genius and in particular...

‘Well!’ Frankenfaff called out from the far end where he was helping Gerald and Clancy get some of the jars into the sacks. ‘We’re here...we’ve done it. We broke in and we’ve got a few, now let’s get cracking and go home.’

He was feeling more and more uncomfortable and couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong.

Devine joined Clancy and Gerald, huffing and puffing over the sacks as they filled them carefully, keeping each lid in place with a roll of tape swiped from Clancy’s lab. Frankenfaff balanced precariously on a sack of rubies to reach some of the higher shelves and hand down more of the jars.

Devine ran a well-practised eye over the shelves. He knew the indexing off by heart and sure enough it, or rather he, was there, third shelf up, slightly to the right of ‘Agnes Clutterby, Beloved Wife of Premier Clutterby – Kept For Better Days’ and half hidden behind ‘Sir Winston Willet, Inventor of the Self-Cleaning Teapot – We Shall Not See His Like Again.’ Well, they weren’t going in the sack; that was certain.

Devine swept a few more jars into his arms, making sure the one he wanted was there and hidden by the others, then he dumped them all into the last sack. He wouldn’t claim it just yet; better wait till they got back to the safety of Gerald’s lab and then he could slip out with just that one. As the jar slipped down inside the sack, an attentive ear (used to the sounds of distraught living brains) would have heard a tinny voice, thick with an old Rustiporian accent, cry out from the voice modulator in the base of the jar -

‘No! Vot are you doink! I don’t vant to go in there!’ before the sacking muffled it forever.

Clancy, Gerald, and Frankenfaff concentrated on fastening up the mouths of the sacks with strong coloured twine. There was one for each of the conspirators and all four were now as full as they could be, and they were ready to go.

‘What about the...’ Clancy’s eyes were moist with desire as he pointed to the shining treasures on the floor and everyone looked at him. It was rare he showed any emotion other than outright contempt. ‘Just a souvenir,’ he said. ‘I’d like something to remember this all by.’

Something to remember it all by! Frankenfaff nearly choked in disbelief. What was wrong with remembering how they’d stolen dragons, coshed a Guardian and swiped brains? He certainly didn’t think he would forget this evening for a long, long time.

‘Oh yes!’ Gerald joined in and then saw the look on Frankenfaff’s face. He flushed dark grey again. ‘It’s all very well for you,’ he said sadly, ‘you have a life outside the university, a fiancée, a new home on wheels all waiting for you! We have only our work. It would be...’ he never finished, just gripped his hands together and looked expectantly at Frankenfaff. They both waited for an answer, while Devine observed Frankenfaff with the watchful intensity of a cat stalking a mouse.

‘A memory,’ murmured Devine with an amused smirk on his lips. ‘How appropriate!’ He could appreciate the irony even if the others could not.

Frankenfaff gave him an odd look. He was beginning to realise how much he disliked his cousin. He could see that Gerald and Clancy were serious though and felt sorry for them. Gerald was right; he did have a life to go to. They all graduated next week and then he would be off with Desdemona for a full and happy life, taking bodies to pieces and putting them back together again.  How could he deny them a little memento of such an occasion? He shivered. Maybe if they did take something, they would be content and shut up, never to mention the whole stupid escapade again. They could all forget about this.

He nodded.

‘Go on then,’ he said, ‘but be quick!’ and as they scampered off to loot the nearest pile he called out, ‘and only one thing each! We don’t want to overload the dragons.’

He sighed. Surely no one would notice just a few items missing? At least it would keep them amused and maybe then they could get out of here. He watched with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach and shook his head when Clancy offered him the crown.

‘When would I wear it?’ he murmured.

Devine’s smirk was still in place.

‘Happy now?’ he sneered at his cousin, all need for charm and politeness done. ‘You’ve done the regulation end-of-term prank. You must be pleased. Not the usual bucket of custard above the chancellor’s door or the toilet paper round the library fountain. Quite a one wasn’t it?’

Frankenfaff stared at him. How could he be so sarcastic? It had been his bloody idea in the first place, around about the third bottle as he recalled. And he’d had most of the worms too! As something began to nibble at Frankenfaff’s conscience Devine gave him a slow smile and opened the door from where he stood, with just the tiniest squeeze of his mind. That had taken months to practice but it was worth it, judging by the look on Frankenfaff’s face.

Frankenfaff went white and then froze, while the unheeding Clancy and Gerald dragged the sacks out into the corridor, past the prone form of Guardian Hoggart and his shattered lamp. The door closed and left the two of them in the semi-darkness.

‘You flecking oaf!’ Frankenfaff lost his temper. ‘All that messing about with skeleton keys and you’ve had the Dark Gift all along. Why do you have to be so damn nasty? You didn’t need to hit him, did you? You did it because you could!’

‘Well yes,’ Devine said without a trace of concern. ‘Nastims are unique aren’t they and I am so fond of tradition. Why should I care about other people, it doesn’t help you get what you want does it?’

Frankenfaff balled his fists up in fury. ‘You know we don’t work like that, we don’t deliberately try to hurt people. You do, you like it! It is not the Nastim way!’ He took a step forward and raised a fist warningly. ‘You drekk!’ How could he have been so stupid? Hadn’t the family always said there was something wrong with him?

‘Be careful cousin!’ Devine swept his hands upwards as if conducting an orchestra, a mere flick of the fingers and a white glow enveloped him from head to foot. He had turned his aura up to full and added a protection bubble as well. His face and body faded to the colour of a very unhealthy ghost as the web of protection crawled around and through him. ‘Sticks and stones remember?’

‘You complete and utter whelk!’ Frankenfaff tried to move towards him but his feet were rooted to the floor and his arms were trapped by his sides with invisible bonds. Somehow Devine had invoked a psychic block as well and Frankenfaff was unable to raise a hand against him.

‘You don’t do this, we’re family. You just don’t do things like this. We have rules...’ 

‘Oh bugger the rules; it’s time they were bent.’ Devine laughed, a wolfish bark that sent shivers of apprehension down Frankenfaff’s spine. ‘Anyway Frankenfaff, don’t you realise who I am, what I am? The rules don’t apply to creatures like me remember?’ His eyes narrowed, and he moved a few steps closer towards his cousin. He shouted. ‘Look at me properly!’

Frankenfaff had no choice. He had to stare at him, he was so close. He saw the darkness of Devine, his physical darkness and something more. There was an uncanny glitter in those dark eyes, a frightening intensity about him that sent his flesh crawling as some deep fear rose up within him. There was a