Candleman by Glenn Dakin Page B

boy was the real task. But if this rabble didn’t get to see some action soon, they would first kill Skun, then Theo – and take all the credit for the hunt.
    Skun sighed. Maybe he would just let them slay the girl anyway, to keep things bright. Suddenly Frub stood in front of Skun – a clear insult – and turned to address the smog rabble.
    ‘I say we start killing now!’ he hissed. ‘And I’m not fussy who!’ Frub looked meaningfully at Skun. Then something else caught his eye, and he glanced upwards. It was the last thing he did. A dark shape dropped out of the sky and crushed him to death.
    ‘Garghoul!’ screeched Skun. The terrible creature had landed in their midst, its dark horns lowered, its eyes flashing blue fire. ‘Kill it!’ Skun cried.
    The smogs leapt on their attacker. In an old smog manoeuvre, they tried to wrap all their stretchy bodies around him at once, in a big ball, suffocating and crushing their foe. But this garghoul was tough. He was already breaking out of the smog-ball, ripping his foes to shreds with claw and fang. Skun backed away, down the roof.
    ‘I am Skun, chief tracker of the Ilk tribe,’ he called out, trying to maintain his authority. ‘We are here on
human business
– which you are forbidden to interfere in!’
    The garghoul ignored him. For a moment, the sheet terror of its physical presence almost overwhelmed him. There had been rumours among the smoglodytes of a shadow following them as they searched the city for Theo. Skun realised now he should have paid those rumours more attention.
    Now a terrible battle ensued, as one by one the garghoul tore the smoglodytes apart. Soon their shredded bodies were strewn all over the rooftop. In the thick fog, the battle went unnoticed by human eyes, and completely unsuspected by Theo below.
    Skun had to forget about the mission now. He had to preserve the most valuable tribe member – himself. His smog team were managing to scratch and bruise the garghoul – even poison him with their toxic claws – but it was obvious there would be only one victor. And there was something familiar about this proud, ferocious enemy.
    ‘It’s Tristus!’ Skun realised as he began to slink away. ‘One of the most feared garghoul of all.’ There were dark legends about Tristus. Skun knew he had to take off fast.
    ‘Help me!’ squealed Flin, the little spy, crushed under one garghoul claw and about to have his throat torn out by the other. Skun didn’t. With a lame smile – and a cheeky bow – he sprang off the roof and lost himself in the filthy night. Even Tristus was unable to stop him.
    Unaware of events on the rooftop above, Theo followed Foley into the dingy premises on the ground floor. The engraving shop had been neglected for years. Piles of yellowing prints lay discarded on tables, awaiting a restorer’s hand that would now probably never come. Whole folios, jammed with maps, diagrams, depictions of long-forgotten sea battles and portraits of families long gone, were stacked in toppling piles. The once-prized engravings in frames on the walls were mottled with damp now, uncared for.
    ‘Worthless rubbish,’ Foley muttered, gesturing at the mouldy artworks. ‘I used to keep the old family business running, when my brother was alive,’ he said. ‘Can’t ever find the time now.’
    Theo was almost trembling with excitement. Many of the prints were from the era when his ancestor Lord Wickland had been alive.
The lost secrets are getting nearer,
he thought, his heart racing.
The truth is getting close enough to touch.
    The old man groaned as he bent down to open a corner cupboard. It was crammed with crumpled card. He dragged an old biscuit tin out from under the pile and put it on a workbench.
    ‘Grandad gave me this before he died. Wanted me to look after it, because he knew my dad had no time for the old Dodo stories.’ With shaking hands, the old man opened the tin. As well as a roll of paper, there were a couple of military