The Jade Boy (2 page)

The hall was a blur of activity as an army of maids prepared for the evening ahead. The great oak staircase was already glowing like a freshly hatched conker and new Turkish carpets overlapped on the black and white marble floor. Bowls of lavender and spices filled the air with the scent of prosperity.

Avoiding the clucking maids, Jem made his way up the broad stairs and turned left at the first landing where a magnificent portrait of the duke dominated the hall below.

It was an open secret within Ludlow House that the Duke of Bellingdon was not satisfied with his home. It was old, dark, not of the finest style and not in the most fashionable part of London. To compensate for its shortcomings, the duke filled his home with magnificent things – the most magnificent thing of all, of course, being himself.

Jem placed the wine jug on the floor outside the door to the duke’s chamber and knocked.

“Enter.”

The boy swallowed, straightened his jacket again
and, bending to retrieve the jug, opened the door. He stepped into the room and bowed his head. After the chill of the kitchens, it was good to feel warm. A huge fire crackled in the hearth, throwing off heat and flickers of gold.

The duke’s great salon was shadowy in the weak February light and the flames danced off the opulent furniture, making the room seem to shiver and move. Heavy brocade curtains hung at the windows, portraits lined the walls and comfortable chairs with gilt arms sat before the fire.

The duke was standing with his back to Jem on the far side of the hearth. Today he was wearing a lavishly embroidered frock coat and the curls of his magnificent golden periwig hung to halfway down his back. The man was burnished with wealth. Jem looked down at his own ill-fitting jerkin, ashamed.

“Leave it there, boy.”

The duke waved a lazy arm in Jem’s general direction and a waterfall of lace rustled over his hand. The words were clearly addressed to Jem, but the duke didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, he was examining a vast painting propped against the wall. The painting showed a beautiful woman in a stormy landscape. She appeared to be riding a stag.
Jem wanted to take a step closer for a better look.

“So this is the boy then, George? How very interesting for you.”

Jem spun round, surprised that the duke was not alone.

The air at the far end of the salon seemed to shudder for a moment and then an impossibly tall figure stepped out of the shadows and into the circle of firelight.

Jem felt his whole body tense as the duke’s towering visitor took another halting step towards him. The man was richly dressed in pale grey silk with a dark cloak falling from one shoulder. The hem of the cloak rustled as it dragged along the floor.

Jem now saw that although the man was unusually tall, his great height was emphasised by an inky black wig that rose to two peaks on the top of his head and tumbled in oily curls to below his shoulders.

Leaning heavily on a long staff that seemed to be formed from knobbled blackened wood, the man limped one step closer. His wide mouth curved into a smile and Jem saw that the man’s lips were painted the same brilliant red as the flash of lining from the cloak over his shoulder. At the top of the visitor’s staff was a gleaming bird head carved from crystal.
The bird’s eyes sparked in the firelight and when Jem looked up, the man’s eyes glinted in the same way.

Jem tried to look away, but couldn’t. The visitor’s eyes were locked on to his and something in the man’s expression reminded the boy unnervingly of Caesar, the duke’s ferocious mastiff dog, when Pig Face dangled a juicy bone in front of his kennel.

“And you say that the king will like this, Cazalon?” The duke clasped his hands behind his back, rocked on his exquisite heels and continued to examine the painting. “Can’t say I like it myself.” The duke leaned closer to inspect the brushwork. “But, then again, my dear Count, you always seem to find the very thing.”

The duke took a step back to admire the woman on the stag from a distance. “She’s certainly a pretty piece. His last work, d’ya say?”

Count Cazalon’s eyes narrowed as he turned away from Jem to look at the duke. The count smiled again, and his thin red lips spread across his face like a gash.

“I assure you it is quite unique, George. There will never be another like it. The artist died of the plague mere hours after putting the last stroke to the canvas. The lady, I believe, vanished without trace soon after.”

Jem noticed that Cazalon’s voice had an odd sing-song note to it that sometimes slid into a long, fat hiss.

“Well, well. How diverting. You have a remarkable knack for bringing me the most rare items, Cazalon.”

The duke took out pair of golden pince-nez and scrutinised the painting again. He nodded to himself.

Cazalon was now staring intently at Jem once more. He limped forward, supporting himself on the peculiar twisted staff and caught Jem’s chin in his hand, tipping the boy’s head back to catch the firelight.

“Your name?”

“J– J– Jem, sir.”

“And what else?” Cazalon asked lazily. He turned to the duke. “What family name was the boy given, George?”

As if noticing Jem properly for the first time, the duke looked over and laughed. “His mother calls herself Mrs Green. He’s known here as Jeremy Green. We call him Jem.”

Jem felt uncomfortable. Under the cloth, his birthmark began to itch.

“Jem
Green
, you say?” The count was suddenly interested – his grip tightened on Jem’s chin.

Despite the heat in the room, the boy shivered. Count Cazalon’s red-gloved hand smelled strongly of roses, but beneath that there was another sour, putrid scent. It clawed at the back of Jem’s throat and gave him a sharp reminder of the time he’d been ordered to clear a spotted, maggot-riddled cheese from the cellar store.

Jem caught his breath. Close to, he now saw that the count’s face was painted deathly white, like one of the actresses at Drury Lane. The thick lead make-up was cracked, like a spider web of wrinkles. The man’s obsidian eyes were long, slanted and outlined in black. In their glimmering mirror Jem could see two tiny doll-like versions of himself.

Cazalon smiled again and looked Jem up and down. The boy rubbed nervously at his throbbing knuckles, and as the count caught sight of the bloody rawness there, just for a second, his eyes seemed to widen and blacken completely, like ink seeping through water.

Cazalon drew a sharp rasping breath and took a step back.

“And how old is the boy, George?”

The duke commanded Jem to answer for himself.

“I– I am twelve, my lord.”

Cazalon nodded and pursed his painted lips. “And when is your birthday, child?”

“In September, sir.”

Jem was amazed, no one ever took any notice of him, let alone of his birthday.

The count continued, “Do you know the exact date?”

“I was born on the fourth day of September in the year sixteen hundred and fifty-three, sir.”

At this Cazalon smiled so broadly that his long angular face seemed to split in two. He brought his crimson-gloved hands together as if he was praying and Jem thought he heard the man murmur softly, “Perfect…”

In the hearth a log flared into a shower of brilliant red sparks and popped loudly.

A sudden scuffling noise came from the far end of the room, where one of the tapestries lining the wall now appeared to be twitching.

Jem watched as a tiny black and white shape emerged from behind the fabric and clambered onto the golden bar from which the tapestry hung – a monkey.

Count Cazalon followed Jem’s astonished gaze.

“Ptolemy, bring Cleopatra down,” he ordered in a slow, bored voice.

Another figure emerged from the gloom at the far end of the salon. All this time Jem hadn’t realised there was a fourth person in the room, but now an elaborately dressed, turbaned pageboy with the darkest skin Jem had ever seen stepped into the firelight.

The page simply stared at the monkey for a few seconds before the little creature swung down, almost toppling a Chinese vase as she leapt to settle on his shoulder.

Eyeing the rocking vase, the duke cleared his throat. “Er, you’ve seen the boy now, Cazalon. Perhaps it would be better if your servant and the animal leave us while we conclude our business? I wish to speak to you in private.”

Cazalon laughed. It was a cold metallic sound like the cry of a fox. He gestured at his black-skinned servant and the monkey.

“My servant moor is mute, George. In all the days I have had him he has never spoken a word. He is little more than an animal. But if you are worried about the monkey making a mess in your
exquisite
home, then can I suggest that your boy here, Master Green, should take them both to the kitchens and find them a morsel of food.”

The duke nodded and glanced at Jem. “Take them to the kitchens.”

He turned back to the painting. “She really has the most unusual eyes, Cazalon. I think tonight, the king will appreciate my generosity.”

But Cazalon wasn’t listening to the duke. Instead, he bent his head low so that his masklike face was level with Jem’s, before whispering in his oddly distorted voice, “I do
so
look forward to our next meeting, Master Green.”

When Cazalon spoke Jem thought, just for a moment, that he caught sight of the man’s tongue flickering between his painted lips. It was, he could swear, black and pointed.

As the great salon doors closed behind him, Jem felt a rush of relief to be away from the stifling room and the stifling attentions of the duke’s peculiar and unsettling visitor.

He took a gulp of fresh cold air and stared frankly and curiously across the hallway at the count’s servant. He tried to remember the boy’s odd name. What had Cazalon had called him – Tollymee?

Jem had never seen anyone like him before. The boy was tall like Jem, with long, lean limbs. He was dressed in fine material like his master, the shades
of red and grey echoing Cazalon’s clothing. But it was the boy’s face that fascinated Jem most. His skin was as dark and luminous as the river at night and his huge eyes seemed to bore into Jem’s soul.

The monkey on his shoulder began to chatter excitedly. She leaned across the gap between the two of them and playfully grabbed a handful of Jem’s thick hair. The black boy grinned broadly, and Jem decided that he liked the look of him.

“Cleo likes you.”

Jem nearly jumped out of his skin. The words had sounded clearly and distinctly in his head like notes of music, but there was no one else in sight. The other boy hadn’t said a thing or even moved his lips – and, anyway, Cazalon said his servant couldn’t speak.

Jem looked up and down the corridor and then stared suspiciously at the boy and the monkey. The dark boy’s smile stretched even wider as he turned on his red-heeled shoes and set off up the corridor. At first the monkey batted her little paws at the red feather that sprouted from the top of the boy’s turban. Then she twisted herself round on her master’s shoulder and stared back at Jem.

“
Come on then. Show me the way
,” came the mysterious disembodied voice again. “
I’m very hungry
.”

 “Will you look at that?” called out one of the servants as the boys and the monkey made their way down the staircase. “Our gypsy lad has found himself a friend.”

For a moment all the scrubbing, polishing and bustling stopped as twenty pairs of eyes locked onto the trio. Jem kept his head down and led the way across the hall to a small door concealed by a tapestry.

“Lord preserve us. The moor’s got a rat on ’is back,” hissed one of the maids.

“That ain’t no rat, ’tis a badger,” said a footman as the strange little party disappeared into the passage behind the door.

“Your friends are clearly very stupid.”

Once again, Jem heard the words clearly in his head. He spun round and looked at the dark boy – who grinned and arched an eyebrow.

“They are not my friends,” Jem blurted out, horribly aware that it looked like he was talking to himself.

The voice came again.

“Any fool can see that Cleo is a monkey. Would you like to carry her?”

The dark boy reached out his arm so that it rested on Jem’s shoulder. The little monkey chattered before scampering across the bridge between them, settling herself by Jem’s ear.

“See, as I told you – she likes you. Now, what about that food?”

Jem was astonished. “I– I…” he began, before words rang out in his mind again.

“You don’t have to talk out loud. Just think and I’ll hear you.”

Jem thought about the door at the end of the passage leading down to the kitchens and then he thought about the pile of forbidden venison pies in the pantry.

“
Perfect! We shall dine like princes
,” came the reply.
“Lead the way, my friend
.”

Luckily, apart from a sleepy spit boy, the kitchen was now deserted. Everyone was upstairs preparing the banquet chamber. A new batch of pies, fresh from the oven, gleamed in golden rows on the table. Jem took one for himself and handed another to the visitor. The spit boy rustled to life in his sooty corner.

“You ain’t to touch them pies. Pig Face’ll kill me if he knows I let yer take ’em, an’ then he’ll beat seven bells outta the both of us.”

The boy shuffled closer then stopped, mesmerised, as Cleo leaned down from Jem’s shoulder and grabbed a nugget of steaming pastry crust in her little hand.

“’Ere, what yer got there? That’s an evil spirit, that is.”

The dark boy made a slight movement with his hand. Instantly, Cleo hunched herself up and leaned forward, baring her sharp white teeth. She looked like one of the gargoyles around the roof of St Paul’s Cathedral.

Gobbets of pastry spattered from the monkey’s mouth over Jem’s coat. She reached out and yanked a greasy lock of the spit boy’s hair so hard that it came away in her paw. The boy squealed in pain before turning on his heels and racing to the safety of the yard beyond the kitchens.

As the door slammed behind him, Cleo settled back again and started to stroke Jem’s ear.

“I think you are not well treated here, my friend?”

Jem heard the words clearly in his mind. He nodded glumly. He looked at the other boy, who was hungrily assessing the rows of pies on the table. He had twice called him ‘friend’ – no one had ever called him that before.

“Well, just time for one more pie, I think,”
said the visitor, reaching out to help himself.

Jem was amazed.

“You
can
talk!” he exclaimed. For, indeed, the boy had actually spoken the words aloud.

“Of course I can, but only when I choose and only to those I choose to hear me.”

Cleo jumped to the table from Jem’s shoulder and began to tug at her master’s silk sleeve.

The dark boy put down the pie and nodded. Then he reached up to the folds of his turban and removed a shining brooch that was pinning the feather in place. It was shaped like a glittering scarab beetle. He placed it carefully in the centre of the table.

He took a step back and put his hand on Jem’s arm to pull him away too. All the while he kept his eyes locked on the elegant jewel. Not for the first time that day, Jem felt completely baffled. What on earth was the strange boy doing now?

The air around the beetle seemed to shimmer and fizz. Gradually, Jem became aware of a low humming noise and as the sound strengthened, the jewel began to pulse with light and colour.

Suddenly its wing case parted with a crack and a plume of purple smoke began to waver from the split along the beetle’s back and into the air above
the table. The plume whirled faster and faster and as it did so it seemed to wind itself into a vapoury form with a head and limbs.

The smoky figure began to glow with an eerie green light.

“Shield your eyes, Jem.
Now!
”

The dark boy shouted the instruction just as the shining figure billowed and grew so tall that it appeared to reach the stone arches of the ceiling. There was a blinding flash, a plaintive musical sound and the scent of violets.

“At last! I thought you were never going to set me down, Tolly!”

The voice belonged to girl. A small, but very cross girl.

She was standing on the table – in exactly the spot where the beetle had been.

Jem’s first instinct was to run. This was witchcraft – and he wanted no part of it. He pulled his arm roughly from the dark boy’s grip, but the boy caught hold of his wrist and held tight. Jem was wiry, but the other boy was surprisingly strong.

“Jem, wait. We mean you no harm,” he said aloud.

Jem stared up at the girl in disbelief.

She looked down at him, frowned and darted an
anxious look at the dark boy. He nodded and Cleo chirruped. Then the girl smiled. Jem noticed that she had a little gap between her front teeth. She was wearing a ragged green dress that would once have been fine and expensive but was now shabby. It was obviously too small for her. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of emerald green and shone with a peculiar intensity that made Jem want to look away, and then look back again immediately.

But the most unusual and unsettling thing about the girl on the table, quite apart from the fact that she had appeared from nowhere, was that her thick waist-length hair was pure white and gleamed like moonlight. Jem had never seen anyone like her before.

“You were so interested in those pies, Tolly, I thought you’d forgotten me. Well, aren’t you going to help me down?”

Tolly released his grip on Jem’s wrist, then took the girl’s hand and helped her jump from the table. She still sounded cross, but Jem noticed that Tolly was grinning at her.

The girl straightened her skirts and turned to look closely at Jem.

“So this is the one?”

Tolly nodded. “I am certain he is the boy the master has been seeking. He is called Jem
Green
.”

The girl’s eyes widened and she took a step towards Jem.

“So the boy of jade is a kitchen lad?” she murmured, scanning his face and frowning. Then she reached for a pie.

This was too much.

“Look,” Jem blurted out. “I don’t know who you are or what’s going on here, but at any moment now Pig Face is going to come back downstairs and then we’ll all be in big trouble. I– I…” he faltered as Cleo jumped to his shoulder and started to stroke his ear.

The girl took a crumbly bite from the pie and then held out a flake of golden pastry to the monkey. Cleo gripped it in her tiny paw and started to nibble.

“It’s all right, Jem. Ann is my friend,” Tolly said. “She has taken a great risk coming here to Ludlow House today to find you.”

Ann shot Tolly an odd look.

“You’re speaking aloud to him. Is it safe?”

Tolly nodded. “I… that is to say,
we
know he can be trusted. Cleo’s never wrong, is she?”

Ann stared intently at the dark boy then she
offered Jem her hand and dipped her head. “Then that is good enough for me. I am Lady Ann Metcalf, ward to Count Cazalon.”

The girl stared at him expectantly. After a moment he took her hand and, feeling slightly self-conscious, he gave a shallow formal bow.

When he looked up again her eyes were closed. She gripped his hand more firmly and then began to speak in a rush.

“This house is not your home, Master Green. You are loved, but not protected. You have a place here, but you do not fit it. You live in shadow. Your mother is a good woman, but she is ashamed of her sin… she is ashamed of
you
. Your father—”

“Enough!” Jem bellowed the word and wrenched his hand from Ann’s grasp.

All the blood drained from his face as he stood rigidly in front of the girl, clenching his fists so tightly that the nails dug into his palms.

No one, not even Wormald or Pig Face had made him feel like this before. He glared at the girl, but she didn’t open her eyes. Tolly took a soft step back and Cleo jumped from Jem’s shoulder to the table where she cowered behind Ann, covering her eyes with a paw.

After a few seconds Jem spoke quietly, his voice low and dangerous.

“Who are you to speak of my mother? As for my father, he is… dead.” The word tasted bitter in Jem’s mouth. “How dare you come here and…’

“And what Jem?” Ann’s odd green eyes snapped open and she stared up at him. “I’ve spoken the truth, haven’t I? This place is not your home. And your mother, she loves you, but there is a shadow between you, isn’t there?”

Jem was silent for a moment as a whirl of confusing feelings and memories tumbled through his mind. Why wouldn’t Sarah ever speak about his father? Why wouldn’t she ever take his side against Wormald and Pig Face? Why did she try to avoid him?

And how did this girl know all this?

He stared sullenly at the floor.

Ann took his hand again and squeezed it tightly. “Isn’t there Jem?” she asked softly, tipping his head up with her other hand so that he looked her full in the face. Jem didn’t answer. His anger was fading but it was being replaced by confusion and something like fear.

Cleo gave a little chirrup, jumped to Ann’s shoulder
and nuzzled into the girl’s thick white hair, chattering into her ear.

Ann smiled. “I know Cleo. I have been rude and abrupt. But we have such little time. Please forgive me, Master Green. I only wanted to make you trust me, but I fear I offended you in the process…”

Jem swallowed and looked uncertainly between the girl and the dark boy. What kind of trick was this? How had this girl known so much about him? Things that even
he
didn’t like to put into words.

Tolly laughed and reached over to tweak a tendril of Ann’s white hair. “She’s always the same – so eager to show off her skills. But you must listen to us. We’ve been searching for you.”

Ann broke in. “And you don’t have to call me Lady Ann, Jem. Can I call you Jem? I can’t bear formality among friends. Can we begin again? Please?”

She took his hand once more and squeezed it.

Jem felt an unexpected jolt of warmth. He smiled warily at the girl and then at Tolly.

“I don’t wish to be rude,” he began, “but could one of you tell me what’s going on?”

For a fleeting moment he wondered if this was a dream – or perhaps a fever? Maybe he was actually
in his truckle bed sweating out the nightmares brought on by the ague?

“You are perfectly well,” said Tolly, reading his thoughts. “But you must listen to Ann. She has reason to believe that your life is in danger. Tell him.”

Ann sat on the edge of the table and Cleo jumped from her shoulder to curl up in her lap. The girl stroked the monkey’s head as she spoke softly.

“I know this must seem very odd, Jem, but you must believe that we mean you no harm. In fact, we need your help.”

She paused and looked up at him. “What do you think of Cazalon?”

He noticed that she clenched her left fist as she forced herself to say the name.

Jem remembered his encounter in the duke’s study and shuddered. He thought about giving a brave answer, but looking at the expression on Ann’s face he decided to be honest.

“I thought he was… sinister and peculiar.”

Tolly laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound.

Ann continued. “My guardian is a collector. He is fascinated by all things unusual, powerful, strange, ancient and wondrous. His house is full of the most hideous and unnatural things. Things that
even I, with all my… skills, cannot understand.

“Recently, he has become obsessed with a new find – a new object to add to his collection. Please don’t ask me how I know this, I just…”

Ann came to a halt and Tolly reached out to take her hand. Cleo looked up, her button-bright eyes anxiously scanning one face then the other.

Ann shook her head as if trying to clear cobwebs from her thoughts. She continued, “For months now, he has been seeking
the boy of jade
. At first we thought it was an object made from the precious green stone, but our investigations led nowhere, and now we think it is a person. We think it is you, Jem
Green
.”

Ann emphasised Jem’s name when she spoke and looked at him intently. She smiled tightly at Jem’s baffled expression before continuing, “Oh, I know he seems so controlled and powerful, but behind that arrogant painted exterior he has been utterly desperate. Jem, I must know, if you are the boy of jade, what is it about you that has driven Cazalon into a frenzy of desire?”

Ann stared at him expectantly.

Jem looked blank. He was a just lowly servant. Apart from his mother, and when he was much younger, the duchess, no one had ever showed the
slightest interest in him – except to humiliate and punish him. He wracked his brains, but couldn’t think of a single thing that might make him interesting to the count.

“I have no idea what you are talking about. There’s nothing special about me. I’m just a
gypsy brat.
” He answered sourly, mimicking Pig Face’s reedy voice.

The room was quiet for a moment.

Ann reached across the table and took another pie. She began to eat it in a dainty way, but after the first couple of neat bites she started to cram the pastry and spiced meat into her mouth.

“These are very good,” she said through a mouthful of crumbs. “Tolly, have another one, quickly.”