“Now, try to stand up.” She pulled him onto his knee and tucking an arm over her shoulder, heaved him to his feet.
“There’s only one place that will have an antidote for knoll sap,” Bray said as he stooped to recover his sword. Using it as a walking stick he allowed her to shuffle him from the fairy circle and into the dark cellar. “Norgie will need to take me into town.”
“Norgie’s out. He’s got a few things to do,” Elora said, helping Bray to sit down on the bottom step of the staircase; a fresh film of sweat coating his forehead, his skin a waxy yellow. “Can’t I help you?”
“Think you’re going to have to,” he replied, his bloodshot eyes regarding her curiously. “How are you at stealing cars?”
Chapter 10
Knoll Sap
Elora held out the arm she wasn’t supporting Bray with and flagged down a London cab; feeling relief at not having to steal a car. She’d convinced him that it wouldn’t have worked as she couldn’t even drive let alone break into a one.
It hadn’t been easy struggling out of the house or making their way to another street. The dark cloud that clung to the small row of terraces caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise and seemed to extract what energy Bray had left from him. The darkness didn’t distinguish between friends or strangers. But once through, her courage lifted with the feel of the sun on her face although it had begun to sink in the evening sky. It was probably getting on for eight o’clock.
She pulled open the cab door and helped Bray sit down, noticing that he placed his sword, now wrapped in a woollen blanket, across his lap.
“West Ferguson,” Bray instructed the driver using his London accent. The effort seemed to drain him, and he sat back, resting his head against the window. Elora hoped that where ever he was taking her, had the right antidote. She doubted he would last much longer and knoll sap antidote isn’t well stocked in hospitals.
West Ferguson took them south of the Thames, a quiet area, devoid of traffic and pedestrians. The street ran alongside a brick-walled industrial area to either side of the road with no shops or dwellings.
The cab pulled in and Elora paid the driver the last of her money before helping Bray onto the flagstone path. He leaned against the wall, using his sword for support.
“Your friend alright?” asked the driver. “Looks a bit ill if you ask me. Not a lot down here love, are you sure this is where you want to be left?”
Catching a subtle nod from Bray she replied to the driver. “He’s fine, just had a few too many last night. Nothing a good two-minute walk won’t clear.” The driver chuckled before pulling away.
Elora watched him disappear down a side street before placing Bray’s arm once again over her shoulder, taking most of his weight.
“Where to?” she asked.
“You see that bridge?” Bray nodded towards a red-brick railway bridge that arched over the road. “On the other side of that you’ll find an alley. That’s where we need to be.”
Bray’s breath came in fast short bursts as if he had completed a marathon and not the few yards which they’d done to reach the alley. Elora put a hand to his pale forehead and felt the fever burning beneath. He wouldn’t last long. She gazed down the narrow alley that ran between a huge brick building and the tall footings of the bridge.
“How much further are we going?” she asked.
“The alley leads to another street. There’s a shop that sells Asian medicines and herbal remedies.”
“Why couldn’t the taxi drop us off directly outside it?”
Bray began to cough violently, bending over as he struggled to regain control of his chest. Elora patted his back but wondered what good it was doing.
“You can only find the shop by entering the street from this alley,” he finally said, speaking through coughs.
They struggled down the narrow path, Bray striking the ground with his sword with every step, the sound echoing around them. It gave way onto another street, emerging onto a tight bend. Across the road was a row of four shops and a hair salon that had seen better days. They were all closed and appeared locked. Elora saw no sign of any other shops and the rest of the buildings, the ones she could see before the street vanished around the bend, were houses and maisonettes.
“There, between the hairdressers and the pawn brokers. You see it?”
“No” And at first glance she saw that only a narrow brick wall lay between the two; red, crumbling and nothing of any interest. Then, as if some trick were being played on her eyes, she watched as an outline of a doorframe shimmered upon the wall. The longer she watched the more focused it became until it was a solid door, as bold as if it had always been there. “I see it,” she whispered. Fairies, elves - why not a magic door.
They crossed the street as slowly as they’d progressed down the alley. Bray leaned against the door for support, sweat shining across his brow as he knocked heavily on the oak panelling. He looked ready to slide to the floor, Elora gripped him by the upper arm and readied herself to catch him.
There was the sound of a sliding bolt and a small hole appeared in the door at head level. A large brown eye peered out at her and then flicked across to Bray. She thought she saw recognition in that stare before it disappeared, and the door opened inwards on creaky hinges.
A tall elderly lady stood before them, dressed in a flowing dark green gown over which she wore an apron. Dark brown hair that matched her eyes, was tied out of the way, overly long arms on hips, fingers drumming the top of her thighs as she surveyed them.
“Tut – tut - tut. What have you done to yourself now, Shaigun?” she asked, creases forming a heavy scowl. “Bloody fool keeps on getting himself messed up and expects me to patch him up. And where’s the Pearly White, may I ask? I told the Shadojak the last time he was here, that I wasn’t a healer.”
“Hello Grendel. Diagus is out of town,” Bray stammered, barely keeping his eyes open.
“I thought Shaiguns were supposed to be with their Shadojaks. Or are times changing? You can never tell with that one.”
Bray suddenly flopped forwards, sinking to his knees, it was all Elora could do to guide him down.
“Please. He’s been poisoned with knoll sap,” she explained, hoping Grendel would help.
“Knoll sap? Nasty stuff. It’s a wonder he hasn’t croaked already. Come on then, don’t dawdle outside all day. Bring him in, bring him in,” said the old lady, standing aside to allow Elora to half carry, half drag Bray over the threshold but didn’t help in any way other than to tut and mutter to herself.
Inside was a large shop-floor that must have taken up what room the salon had, but instead of sinks, mirrors and comfortable chairs, there were row upon row of shelves, cupboards and drawers. What light there was splintered through a dusty window where there should have been a large glass fronted wall with the salon’s name emblazoned across the front. The fractured light cast many a strange shadow from the thousands of stranger objects that festooned the shelves and cupboard tops: small glass vials, dusty boxes, jars containing pickled body parts, dried bones, powders, bowls overflowing with what appeared to be crushed insect shells and parts of plants, they littered several shelves that made up one wall. Against another were hundreds of tiny square drawers, labels stuck to the front with unfamiliar symbols scrawled upon them. A few of the drawers were left partially open and Elora saw little stones or jewels glistening from inside; in another there were seashells and in a third she took a second glance at what appeared to be dried out eyeballs.
“Lay him down there,” said the lady, nodding towards an antique chaise longue. Elora gently lowered Bray onto the low furniture - he was now barely conscious. Grendel began to root through drawers, pulling something out of one, slamming it shut before opening and taking another object from a second.
“Can you help him?” Elora asked, hearing the worry in her own voice as she watched the woman gather up the strange things. She turned to answer and placed something in Elora’s hand.
“Put this under his tongue but make sure he doesn’t swallow it,” she said before scurrying from the room. “And don’t touch anything,” she shouted from the corridor.
Elora opened her hand, the object was a stone or seed, the size of a peppercorn but with bright red and dark green dappling. She bent down and used her fingers to open Bray’s mouth and wriggled the stone beneath his tongue before resting his head on its side, so he wouldn’t choke.
