Free The Phenomenals: A Game of Ghouls by F E Higgins

He was short and sinewy, with big dirty hands and one of those
faces that are most often described as ‘shifty’. The black grime under his fingernails and the faint odour of metal that hung about him caused Leucer to grimace and sniff. The man
smiled crookedly, revealing an odd assortment of teeth. He doffed his cap defiantly rather than deferentially and spoke stridently with a strong Degringoladian accent, admittedly that of the lower
classes.
    ‘Gud evun, gennerlmen, Quinque Boughton at yore servus.’
    He pronounced his name with a hard
q
, in the classical way, and the
gh
was like an
f
, so he actually said ‘Kinky Bofton’.
    ‘I bin tolled yews are having trubble with a certain young Vincent Verdigris.’
    Leucer looked at the man through narrowed eyes. ‘And what if we are?’
    Quinque moved his own eyebrows rapidly, a habit that lent an air of conspiracy to whatever he said. ‘Some years ago I wus travellin’, as yer do, when I came across a group of fellers
deep in the Antithican Peaks. A contest was underway, and the challenge wus to open a lock that was deemed unbreakable. I watched ’em come and fail and go, but then, when the day was nearly
done and the lock near declared impossible, this feller stepped out of the crowd and within moments he had it picked and the safe door open. There wus a boy with him, and all the while he was
begging his father to give him a go. To cut a long story short –’ Quinque’s attentive audience looked somewhat relieved at this – ‘the man’s name was Linus
Verdigris.’
    ‘Verdigris?’ Kamptulicon’s eyes widened and he leaned forward. ‘Vincent’s father!’
    Leucer too was now listening intently, turning his gold ring round and round on his finger, setting aside his revulsion and scepticism.
    Edgar had folded his arms and was looking particularly smug. ‘It struck me that young Vincent might be just like his father,
unable to resist a challenge
.’
    Leucer was already one step ahead of him. ‘Then a challenge he shall have.’

C HAPTER 12
T HE A WAKENING
    Nox blanketed Degringolade greedily, spreading itself across the city, no corner or alley or doorway out of its tenebrous reach. Degringoladians, having worked all day and
dined on horsemeat pie and supped glasses of ale and read the paper and dozed by the fire, roused themselves from their chairs and made their weary way to bed. Some stopped a moment on the stair to
listen, pondering on the unusually loud wailing of the Lurids.
    It was indeed loud. Down at the Tar Pit everything was very much awake.
    The nebulous Lurids were flocked together in a shimmering crowd right in the middle of the unhallowed lake. They were all facing the same direction and howling in unison at the tops of their
ghostly voices. A disturbance had started up under the inky surface. The tar rose but stayed intact, and whatever was beneath it travelled steadily towards the shore. The Lurids’ moaning
reached fever pitch as there emerged from under the tarry cloak a creature of great size and breadth. By means of four huge legs it dragged itself out of the lake and stood on the shore, dripping
tar and bones and whatever other detritus it had brought with it from the stinking depths. It spat and coughed and sneezed and lay down, exhausted, on the charred and bony shingle.
    Katatherion was free.

C HAPTER 13
T RISKAIDEKAPHOBIA
A UTHOR’S N OTE
    ‘Triskaidekaphobia’ is the fear of the number thirteen. Degringoladians, being so superstitious, always consider it an unlucky number. So, in keeping with
Degringoladian tradition, there is no chapter thirteen in this book.

C HAPTER 14
W HEN IN R OME . . .
    ‘Ow!’ Vincent yelped and squirmed in his seat. Citrine, standing over him, grimaced and apologized. ‘It’s done,’ she said. ‘Look.’ She
held up the mirror from the manor so he could see her handiwork. Vincent looked at his reflection, specifically at the browpin that now pierced the soft flesh above his