*Ludlow?' asked Jeremiah. *But he's alive and kicking.'

*The fresher the better,' said the first.

For a fleeting moment Jeremiah actually considered just what they were suggesting. Many times he had wished never to have to meet Ludlow's knowing gaze again but, as a solution to his problems, out and out murder was a little extreme even for Jeremiah.

*No, no,' said Jeremiah hurriedly. *I'm sure that won't be necessary. There must be another way. What about teeth?'

*Teeth?'

*I heard you can sell them,' began Jeremiah, but the two men just laughed. *Oh never mind,' he ended despondently.

The men shrugged in unison. *Then there's nothing else we can do for you. Give us our money and we'll trouble you no more.'

And that had been that.

Jeremiah set aside his plate, the meal only half eaten, and slouched back into his chair. He had no appet.i.te. He was too depressed to look at his books; not even The Loneliness of the High Mountain Shepherd a" his all-time favourite, on account of the fact that shepherds tended to have a limited vocabulary and to tell a simple story.

If Joe stayed in the village and continued as he had done up until now, Jeremiah knew that it could only mean more trouble for him. He was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

*Pagus Parvus is not big enough for the two of us,' he declared to the shadows. *One of us will have to go.'

Feeling very sorry for himself he trudged upstairs and prepared for bed. He couldn't resist looking out of the window. By now it was an obsession. He could see the p.a.w.nbroker's shop at the top of the hill and the smoke that curled out of the chimney every night into the early hours.

*What is he doing up there?' he asked himself for the hundredth time.

Jeremiah was still no nearer to finding out why the p.a.w.nbroker received visitors well into the night, and he lacked the imagination to come up with an explanation on his own. He had heard someone say that Joe was giving advice but he could discover no more. He asked Polly many times if she knew what it was all about, but she just looked at him blankly.

If only I could find out, thought Jeremiah, then perhaps I might be able to do something. But whatever night-time trade was going on at the p.a.w.nbroker's, no one would talk about it. So Jeremiah drew his own conclusions and decided that it was all part of Joe's plot against him. Having concluded thus, he was even more desperate to know the truth. One morning, therefore, when the oldest Sourdough dropped off the bread, he was waiting for him outside the kitchen door and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.

*I want you to do a little job for me,' he muttered.

*Does it pay?' asked the boy.

Jeremiah laughed and the poor lad was treated to a panoramic view of the inside of his mouth. That mottled tongue, the fleshy uvula, those stained teeth, the meat and piecrust from the previous night still wedged firmly between them.

*I'll tell you what you'll get if you don't do it,' he hissed. *I'll tell your father that I found you sneaking around my kitchen looking for something to steal. Something like this,' and with a sleight of hand that would have surprised even Joe, Jeremiah somehow managed to take a silver candlestick out of the boy's pocket, upon which trick the poor chap burst into tears.

Jeremiah released his hold. *Just do what I say,' he growled, *and you'll be no worse off. You must find out what's going on at the p.a.w.nbroker's.'

The lad hesitated, but the threat of his father was enough. He really had no choice. It took him a week, standing hour after hour in the freezing cold at midnight around the back of the p.a.w.nbroker's shop. And every night it was the same. He heard the crunch of snow and the knock at the door. He watched as Joe handed his visitor a drink and sat him by the fire. In the corner he could see Ludlow writing furiously in a large black book. He could not hear what was being said, but he guessed quite quickly what was in the leather bags that Joe handed over at the end of the meeting. Eventually he decided he had learned as much as he was going to (he was also becoming increasingly afraid that Joe had seen him) and duly presented himself in Jeremiah's study.

*So?' asked Jeremiah eagerly. *What did you find out?'

*They talk to Joe and Ludlow writes down what they say in a big black book.'

*And that's it?' It wasn't at all what Jeremiah expected.

The boy nodded. *Whatever they're telling him, it's worth money. Joe pays them, bags of it. Dr Mouldered was there the other night. I couldn't quite hear what he was saying, but his face looked as if it might be important. And I know my own father has been up there.'

So did Jeremiah. Elias Sourdough had paid him nearly all his rent owing.

*And what of the frog?' asked Jeremiah in desperation. He couldn't see how any of this was going to help him.

*She's called Saluki. Joe treats her like she's something special. He won't let anyone touch her, but sometimes she sits in his hand. I reckon she might be worth a few shillings. I've never seen anything like her.'

Jeremiah was perplexed. As he lay in bed that night thinking over what he had been told, it gradually dawned on him that, in fact, the Sourdough boy had given him exactly what he needed to know.

*The book,' he said out loud and sat bolt upright. *The book holds the answer.'

Jeremiah's mind was racing. Whatever was in that book, Joe was prepared to pay handsomely for it. It made sense that if Joe somehow lost the book, or perhaps it was taken from him, then he would also pay handsomely to retrieve it. Or, better than that, perhaps he would agree to leave Pagus Parvus and pay up in order to get the book back. With Joe gone, all Jeremiah's problems would be solved. Jeremiah's excitement mounted. What a fine revenge he could exact for all the trouble Joe had caused him. But there was one small flaw in the plan.

How do I get the book in the first place? he wondered. But just before sunrise he had the answer. The time had come for Jeremiah Ratchet to pay Joe Zabbidou a visit.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

The Cat's Away Ludlow stirred. A log split on the fire beside him and a new flame burst from its heart. He welcomed the warmth. Joe had long since reclaimed his cloak.

*One day you will have a cloak such as this, Ludlow,' he had said, *but it must be earned. Jocastar wool does not come cheap.'

Joe had not left him lacking. In the place of the cloak he had given Ludlow a large cushion stuffed with straw and two rough, but clean-smelling blankets. Every night Ludlow curled up on the cushion and covered himself right up to his ears with the blankets.

But sleep did not come easy and when he did sleep his vivid dreams caused him to twitch and mutter. More often than not he woke in a sweat after some strange dream about one of the villagers. Jeremiah, smelling so badly that Ludlow would wrinkle his nose as he slept; Obadiah, always in a hole, always digging; Horatio mixing the ingredients for one of his vile pies. The confessions of the Pagus Parvians would haunt him until the dream would turn into a nightmare. The villagers would recede into a sort of fog and his father's face would suddenly appear above him. His hands would reach out of the mist and tighten around Ludlow's neck until everything went black. Then he would wake up violently and leave his bed to look out of the window down the street until he was driven back by the cold.

Every morning Joe would ask, *How did you sleep?' and every morning Ludlow gave the same reply, *Well, very well indeed.' Joe would raise a sceptical eyebrow but he never said more.

One morning, after a particularly bad night, when Ludlow had been shaken awake five times by the hands throttling him, Joe announced he was to be away for a few days.

*You needn't open the shop if you prefer,' he said. *The weather feels quite stormy. I doubt there'd be much custom.'

Ludlow, although he wanted to show willing, protested only feebly. He liked the thought of having the place to himself for a while.

*When will you be back?' he asked as Joe stepped out into the street.

*When my business is done.'

Ludlow could sense there was little point pursuing the matter and he watched as his employer limped off up the hill past the graveyard. Joe was right. The skies were ominously dark today and the cobbles were buried under a fresh snowfall. There was little other life in the street, but it was only five o'clock in the morning. As soon as Joe was out of sight Ludlow closed the door and promptly jumped on to Joe's bed and went back to sleep.

When he woke some hours later he thought for a moment that he had slept right through the day and into the night. In fact, it was mid-afternoon, but it was uncommonly dark and cold. Outside a screaming wind buffeted the walls and windows; inside snow had fallen down the chimney and was gathering on the hearth. The fire had practically gone out and Ludlow knew that he must revive it. When he had finally brought it back to life and had a kettle hanging over the flame he went through to the shop and stood at the door. His view of the street was somewhat obscured for the village was in the grip of a snowstorm the like of which he had never seen before. The three golden orbs were blowing wildly in the wind and snow was piling up in every corner and doorway. He could see no more than a few feet down the street.

What about Joe? he thought. He could only hope he had found shelter before the storm. Then a flash of red in the white flurries caught his eye. Someone was outside.

*Oh, Lord,' muttered Ludlow. *It's Polly.' He opened the door and it was s.n.a.t.c.hed out of his hand by the wind. Huge flakes stung his face and he was half blinded by the driving snow.

*Polly!' he shouted. *Polly!'

Polly was almost close enough to touch but she couldn't hear him over the whine of the wind. Ludlow didn't stop to think and he stepped out into the full force of the storm. He grabbed Polly by the arm and pulled her towards him. Her white face lit up under her hood and together the two of them leaned into the wind and collapsed inside the shop. The door slammed shut behind them.

*What were you doing out there?' gasped Ludlow.

Polly answered in short breathless gasps. *I was a" coming back a" from Stirling Oliphaunt's.' She was shivering violently, her nose bright red with the cold. *He doesn't care a" about the weather. He still wants me to clean for him.'

Ludlow shook his head in disbelief. *You could die out there. You're freezing. Come through and have some soup. The fire's lit. You can stay until the weather clears.'

Polly hesitated. She had only been behind the counter once, the night when she confessed to various petty crimes, mainly relating to Jeremiah Ratchet and her pilfering of small knick-knacks from his house. Although she felt that she deserved them, and she needed the money, equally she had felt the need to confess.

*Where is he?' she asked, looking around nervously. Polly couldn't help feeling a little scared of Joe Zabbidou and she was always afraid what she might say if he looked at her with his cool grey eyes.

Ludlow shook his head. *He's away. I'm in charge.'

Polly relaxed a little and followed Ludlow through to the fire, where she stood close enough to be singed but not quite close enough to catch alight. *Mr Ratchet would kill me if he knew I was in here with you.' She laughed. *He don't mind me spying for him, but he said not to frattera" fratter-something with the two of you.'

*Fraternize?' asked Ludlow.

*That's the word.'

*What do you mean spying?' interrupted Ludlow. *So is that why you come?'

*Of course not,' said Polly indignantly. *But it gives me a good excuse. Your Mr Zabbidou has Mr Ratchet tearing his hair out. Jeremiah wants so badly to know what goes on up here that he's told me to look in the window every day and tell him what I see.'

*And what do you see?' asked Ludlow stiffly.

*Junk,' she replied.

*And?'

She saw the look on Ludlow's face and added quickly, *I don't tell him nothing else. Not even about the book.'

*Maybe Jeremiah should come up one night,' said Ludlow.

*Ooh, yes, I bet he has a secret or two.' Polly moved a little away from the fire and looked directly at Ludlow. *Do you?'

Ludlow frowned. *Me? No. What do you mean?'

*Don't get your pants in a pickle,' Polly teased. *I was only asking. I suppose you don't need to sell your secrets, with what Joe pays you.'

*Hmm,' said Ludlow, thinking of a way to change the subject.

*I told a lie or two when I was up here,' said Polly suddenly. *When Joe said he paid for secrets, I reckoned the worser the secret was, the more money he'd give me.' Quickly she put her hand to her mouth and shook her head, annoyed with herself. *I don't know why I told you that. I don't want you to think badly of me.' Then she laughed. *Stop looking at me like that, it makes my tongue loose!'

She looked around again, more slowly this time. *So, where is it then?'

*What?' Ludlow wished Polly would stop asking him so many questions.

*The book of secrets. The one you write in.'

*It's hidden,' he said quickly, but his eyes flicked to Joe's bed before he could help himself. Polly saw and in an instant dived for it. Ludlow lurched towards her but he was too slow. Polly stuck her hand under the mattress and grabbed the Black Book. She pulled it out, jumped on to the bed and held it out of Ludlow's reach.

*Let's have a look then,' she said mischievously, waving it above her head. *There must be some interesting tales in here.'

*No,' said Ludlow desperately, *it's forbidden. Joe says so.'

Polly laughed. *Joe's not here, in case you hadn't noticed. What harm would it do?'

*No,' said Ludlow, but with less conviction. After all, it wasn't as if Polly was suggesting something he hadn't already thought of.

*I promised Joe,' he said weakly.

*Joe wouldn't know,' said Polly slowly. *And you must have heard most of these secrets already.'

*Only the ones from Pagus Parvus.'

*Then let's look at the others, from before Pagus Parvus, in a place where we don't know anyone. How could that be wrong?'

Ludlow could see how it made sense, probably because he wanted it to. He sat on the bed feeling a crippling twinge of guilt, but ignored it. This was the first time he had been left alone with the Black Book of Secrets and already he was about to betray Joe. But if he was honest with himself he wanted to read the stories as much as Polly did.

*I suppose we could look at the beginning.'

Polly nodded eagerly. *The very first story, the oldest.'

*All right,' said Ludlow firmly. *But no more.'

*Of course,' said Polly. *Here you are then,' she said, handing Ludlow the book.

*I thought you wanted to do it,' said Ludlow, putting his hands behind his back as if by not actually touching the book he wouldn't be part of the betrayal.

*But I can't read, stupid,' said Polly matter-of-factly. *We don't all have your fine education.'

Ludlow sighed and, unable to hold off any longer, he took the heavy book from Polly's hands. Feeling slightly sick, he slowly opened the cover, smoothed down the very first page and began.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

Extract from The Black Book of Secrets The Coffin Maker's Confession My name is Septimus Stern and I have an odious secret. It has fola" lowed me for nearly twenty years. Wherever I go I know it is there, like a shadow, waiting to pounce on me when I least expect it, to torture me for another night, to make me hate myself even more than I do already.

I am a prisoner of my own mind and you, Mr Zabbidou, are my last hope of release.

I am a coffin maker by trade, and a fine one at that. Over the years my reputation spread far and wide across the country and I was never short of work. It might seem strange to you that I make my living from the misery of others, but I am not a sentimental man, Mr Zabbidou. I believe I provide a service to those in need, regarda" less of the circ.u.mstances, and I earn my reward.