The Empty Grave (Lockwood & Co., #5)

by Jonathan Stroud

“I sometimes ask myself what it’s all about, Luce,” Lockwood said. “Why we do what we do. When we have nights like last night, for instance—why we put ourselves through all that. Or when twerps like Tufnell come bleating and blustering at our door, and we have to sit there humoring him. When I get that kind of thought, I sometimes pop in here.”

“This is what the Problem means,” he went on. “This is the effect it has. Lives lost, loved ones taken before their time. And then we hide our dead behind iron walls and leave them to the thorns and ivy. We lose them twice over, Lucy. Death’s not the worst of it. We turn our faces away.”

Pointless twice over, because I’d known about it hours before anyone, when I saw my parents’ Shades watching me in the garden.”

“Not exactly. Maybe deep down. Turns out I saw them at the exact time of the accident….Anyway, that’s how that happened. My sister’s story, you already know. And now there’s just me.” A sudden burst of energy seemed to pass through him, like a shudder or an electric charge. He sprang up, off the stone and away from me. “Well, there’s no use talking about it,” he said. “We should be getting back.”

He shrugged. “It’s nice to share it with you, Luce. Though all it really does is show how arbitrary everything is. A ghost kills my sister. My parents die in an accident. Why did they die and not me? Believe me, I’ve looked for an answer, and there isn’t one. There’s no meaning to any of it.” His face was shadowed; he turned away from me. “Well, none of us are here for very long. While we’re alive, all we can do is keep on fighting. Try to make our contribution count. Speaking of which, we’ve a haunted theater to deal with tomorrow, and it’s getting late. If you’re ready, we should go.”

“Yes, of course I am!” But I was looking at the waiting grave.

I’d been thinking about Lockwood, about how he’d confided in me (which was good), and (less good) how the loss of his family drove him on. How he threw himself into the fight against the Problem with an almost hopeless fervor. I was wondering where this was likely to end. I hadn’t slept so well.

All day I’d been thinking of that empty grave in the cemetery, of Lockwood’s brief stillness as he sat with me on the stone, of the grief that haunted him worse than any ghost.

Another scream made us all jump. It was higher and shriller than Holly’s, so we knew that it was Kipps.

The first read: He will go into the dark. The second: He will sacrifice his life for you.

Goodness gracious, my heart stopped when I read this. And now that I`ve finished the book? All of this foreshadowing? It wasn`t about Lockwood. It was all about the skull. Geez, that makes me want to cry.

the anxiety I’d felt when Lockwood had sat beside the empty grave—

I watched Lockwood through a fog of weariness. From the moment he awakened, he’d seemed his normal self. But I knew what I’d seen when I looked into his spellbound eyes. They’d been no different to those of Charley Budd. And what had George said about Charley—him and the other victims? They had weak connections to life. Enchainment worked on those who, one way or another, were already somehow looking to the next world. The ghost had tried it on me, too. I’d wavered, I’d felt the pull. But Lockwood? He’d fallen for it, big-time. It didn’t matter how sprightly he seemed now. For a few short minutes, he’d been back in that overgrown cemetery with his family. He’d been walking toward that empty grave.

“I haven’t said a proper thank-you,” Lockwood said. “It’s all right.” “I know what you did for me.” My mouth tightened. “Swung down on a bloody trapeze was what I did, Lockwood.” “I know.” “I hate heights.” “I know that.” “I hate trapezes.” “Yes.” “Don’t ever make me have to do something so ridiculous and dangerous again.” “Lucy, I won’t. I promise.” He offered me a sidelong grin. “But listen—you were amazing. Holly told me. Kipps, too—he saw the part from when you landed on the crash pad.” “Oh, he didn’t see that bit, did he? God.” “You saved my life.” “Yes, I did.” “Thank you.”

We’re there to help each other. If we do that, we’ll get through.”

“Skull,” I said suddenly, “I’m worried about Lockwood.” The ghost seemed taken aback. “Lockwood?” “Yes.” “Hey, you know me. I love him like a brother.”

“Aside from his recklessness, his deep-rooted feelings of personal loss, his mild self-absorption, his obsession with his family, and his obvious death wish, I couldn’t tell you anything about him. You and me, we’re just as clueless as each other, eh?” the skull added. “Ah, well.”

I paused with the towel in my hand. “What did you say? Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t have a death wish.” “Fine, you’re not comfortable with it. I understand that. We’ll let it drop.” The skull began humming a light tune. “Actually, no we won’t. It’s surely obvious to everyone. He’s always had it. It’s practically his middle name. And maybe it’s more pronounced than ever now, thanks to what happened to you both. Don’t forget, you’ve both been to the Other Side. That’ll have had its effect too, you know.” The face grinned at me, eyes narrowing to slits. “Why do you think La Belle Dame tried her luck with you last night? You’re not a boy.” I hadn’t thought of it that way before, but it was true. Of all her potential victims, I’d been the only girl. Still, true or not, somehow the skull’s insights always made me angry. “I should have known better than to try and talk to you,” I said, bending close to the jar. “Lockwood’s got plenty to live for. Plenty.” The face regarded me. “Has he? What would that be, I wonder? Give it a name.”

There was a hoot from the jar. “You ought to by now!” the skull cried. “I’ve been telling you long enough! Honestly, those digestive biscuits have higher IQs than you.”

How far could recklessness stretch before it truly became a death wish? “Lockwood,” I said, “you’ve got to be more careful. I can’t believe you would do something like that without me. I’d never dream of doing that on my—”

Lockwood was standing on a roof crest, staring out toward the west. A gentle wind swept his hair back, set the ends of his coat flapping. His hand rested on his rapier hilt. He looked pensive, as if he were gazing into the future and finding something sad.

Few non-spectral situations are as fearsome as being cornered by a deranged senior on stilts, with his ten steak-knife fingers clawing in your direction.

“Oh, is that it?” the skull said. “I was enjoying that. Bit of senseless violence does wonders for morale. You should break in somewhere every night. There are heaps of old people’s homes in London. Let’s choose another one tomorrow.”

the skull said. “So…what shall we talk about? I know! Lockwood. He’s in his element now, isn’t he? Enemies closing in. Endgame afoot. Nice for him! He’s chirpy.” “Nonsense. He’s worried sick, like the rest of us.” “Is he? Then he hides it well. If it was me, I’d say he’s more than content with the way it’s going. Suits the trajectory he’s been on ever since his parents croaked. Oh, you can pout all you want, but you know it’s true. Going out in a pointless blaze of glory is just how he’d like it: saves him the hassle of doing the boring, complex stuff—you know, like going on living.” The face grinned knowingly at me.

I’m staying at Portland Row. It’s my home, and I’m not abandoning it for anyone. But you—” “Shut up, Lockwood,” Holly said. “None of us are turning tail at this point.” Kipps grunted. “No matter how crazy your plans.” Lockwood’s grin was wide, infectious. “All right,” he said. “In that case, the question I’d ask you is a very simple one.” He looked at us. “What are we prepared to do to win?”

Lockwood said, “It’s not that I’m enjoying it, Luce. But I can see the rightness of everything that’s happening now, and that’s different. You remember in the cemetery, I told you how arbitrary everything was? How nothing had any meaning? I don’t feel that anymore. Yes, my parents died. I now know why, and we have a chance to avenge them. My sister died, too. Her death-glow may help save our lives tonight. More than that, we’re getting close to a solution to the Problem. You know we are. When we get there, all this will be over and we won’t have to do it anymore. It’ll be all right, Lucy.” He touched my arm. “You’ll see.”

“What is it, Lockwood?” I asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful.” “It’s a sapphire. My father got the gem out East somewhere, and he had this necklace made for my mother. It was her favorite piece of jewelry. That’s what my sister told me once, anyway. I’d forgotten all about it until today.” “So your mum didn’t have it on her when she—?” “I don’t think she wore it in the ordinary way. It was too special to her. My dad gave it to her soon after they met. It was a symbol of his undying devotion.”

“You all know what’s going to happen tonight,” he said. “At some point between now and dawn, some unpleasant people are going to try to get inside this building. Well, we’re not going to allow that. This is thirty-five Portland Row. We’ve always been safe here.” George stiffly raised a hand. “Except when that Fairfax assassin broke in one time,” he said. “Oh, yes. True.” “And that time when Annie Ward’s ghost was unleashed here,” I added. “And the various times the skull’s caused us grief,” Holly put in. George nodded. “Let’s face it, it’s always been a death trap, hasn’t it?” Lockwood clenched his teeth. “Yeah, but it’s my bloody death trap, and they’re not getting in.

“And Kipps…” The scrawny youth stared at him. “How are you feeling, then?” Kipps blinked. “Me? Great. Why?” “No reason.”

“If you want. Oh, one other thing,” the skull added as I turned away. “Kipps.” “What about him?” “Anything happen to him recently?” “No.” “Sure about that, are you?”

“Quill,” I said. “Hold on.” He looked back at me. “What? Come on! This is what we’ve been waiting for! We can find Marissa, bring her down!” His eyes were sparkling; he was grinning with the thrill of the chase. I’d never seen him so alive.

“But Quill, that wound—On the other side—” Kipps didn’t speak for a moment. “I know,” he said. “Maybe. But if it happens, it’s got to be done right, in the proper place. Anyway, I’m not staying here. Especially in this stupid outfit. Now—we need to go through.” Still I hesitated. “Quill,” I said, “you were brilliant just now.” “Yeah.” “Without you—” He grinned at me. “You and Tony and the others would never have made it, would you? Glad I made a contribution.”

“He was so brave over there. He was so strong, so full of life….” I sniffed loudly. “Too strong. It was only at the very end that I realized he was dying.” Kipps opened an eye. “What do you mean, dying? I bloody well hope not.” “Quill!” I jerked back in shock. Lockwood and the others sat up, openmouthed. “Who says I’m dying? Did you see the amount of sheer effort it took me to escape the land of the dead? I’m not going back in now!”

“Ow!” he cried. “Careful! I’ve got a hole right through me. And watch with those feathers. I’m sure I’m allergic to them.” We were all around him now, talking at once, our misery falling away like ice chunks off our thawing capes. “If Cubbins kisses me,” Kipps said, “I swear I will pass back over to the Other Side….What I really need right now is a drink of water.”

“You look dreadful,” it said. “Like something the cat dragged in. Comes to something when I’m the better looking of the duo.”

You know full well that Lockwood’s recklessness is practically suicidal—that his emotional emptiness will drive him to the grave.

Just standing in that doorway, he was a living rebuff to Marissa. Forget her grotesque attempts at keeping young by body-hopping, by scurrying to the nearest, prettiest shell. This was how you did it. This was how your spirit stayed strong. This was how you looked death in the eye and defied it. Lockwood had fought his way up here to save me, past all the ghosts downstairs, and he had arrived at the perfect moment.

Marissa had said I’d had a deeper motive for coming to the penthouse suite alone, that I’d wanted to join forces with her. Well, she was half right. There had been a deeper motive, and I only truly understood it now. I’d wanted to get things finished on my own; I’d wanted to do it with Lockwood left behind. Now he was here, and despite the joy and relief he brought me, the old fear sank back down onto my shoulders. It was the fear that fed off the predictions made by the fortune-telling machine at Tufnell’s Theater; that clung to the memories of the empty grave waiting for him in the cemetery; that, above all, stemmed from my meeting with the ghost that wore his face, who had said that Lockwood would die for me.

So my heart sang, and my heart despaired, which was pretty much the usual combination for me whenever Lockwood was around.

Lockwood walked over to me; he reached out, touched me with the fingers of his rapier hand. “You’re hurt,” he said. “Not badly.” “That’s what Kipps said, too.”

Ezekiel gave a cry of rage. “Foul spirit! You dare defy me?” “What kind of a line is that?” the skull’s ghost said. “Honestly, can you imagine spending any time with him? I mean, where’s the humor, where’s the sarcasm? Where are the gratuitous butt jokes? Eternity with him would really drag.”

And I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave him. What would I be running for? What would I be running toward? A world where the prophecies of evil ghosts came true, where dark predictions were fulfilled, where a third neat headstone sat atop a newly turned grave in a long-abandoned cemetery. Where all my fears were realized and all light gone. A world without him. I couldn’t run.

“And no, you can’t visit him. You’d only cause disaster somehow. Cubbins would trip and impale him on his sword, or Lockwood here would grin him half to death.

Anthony Lockwood: “My Style”: see fashion pullout, center pages

They had also proposed to take out the ancient bed. After only a moment’s hesitation, Lockwood had agreed. He had already noticed that the death-glow hanging over it was gone. The room was peaceful now, stripped bare of psychic tragedy. Jessica’s presence no longer hung quite so heavily over either the house or Lockwood’s heart. It was time to begin anew.

It was a time of beginnings, and a time of endings.

Slowly, carefully, I picked up the necklace and hung it around my neck. Then I put on my jacket and ran for the stairs.