Tales From The Wyrd Museum 1: The Woven Path Read Free Page B

bag,’ his son mouthed silently.
    The man nodded hurriedly, then looked across the room to where Josh had wandered. A strangled gurgle issued from Mr Chapman's mouth and he stared at his young son in disbelief.
    ‘Josh!’ he cried.
    The little boy was staring at the suit of armour and before anyone could stop him, gave it a none too gentle nudge.
    With a snap and a rattle of rust, the spear broke free, toppling headlong into the panelled wall where it scraped and gouged a frightful, deep scratch in the wood, inscribing a perfect arc all the way down to the parquet floor. Thrown off balance by the violence of the weapon's descent, Josh tumbled backwards into the armour. For an instant the helmet quivered, then it flew through the air like a cannonball and punched a great dent into one of the cardboard boxes, buckling it and sending it spinning against Neil's legs. Promptly, the boy fell into the box, then with a tremendous, resounding crash of clanking metal, the rest of the armour collapsed and a riotous clamour rang throughout the dismal hall.
    With flurries of dust flying about him and in the midst of this clanging destruction, stood Josh, a scared expression on his face.
    ‘I didn't mean it!’ he gasped. ‘I only wanted to have a look and play...’
    His voice died in his throat as he beheld the stony face of Miss Webster. The old lady was awful to look upon. Medusa-like, she glared for several moments at the four-year-old then advanced menacingly towards him, picking her way through the debris of scattered pauldrons, cuisses and rerebraces that now littered the floor.
    ‘I will not have this!’ she seethed. ‘For only a moment have you been here but already you have caused grievous harm. What right have you to despoil the armaments of the glorious dead? Have you performed deeds equal to he that fought in those forgotten wars? Would you reward such valour by this wanton destruction? How dare you raise your hand to this memorial of one whose renown is greater than your baseborn house ever shall be?’
    Terrified of this stern apparition, Josh skipped over the upturned breastplate and ran wailing to his father.
    ‘I'm... I'm awfully sorry,’ Mr Chapman stuttered, ‘I'm sure he didn't mean that to happen.’
    ‘Then he ought not to have touched it!’ Miss Webster roared back in a shrill, shrieking voice that made the man blink in astonishment and shrink away from her.
    ‘If I catch him meddling with anything else,’ she began threateningly, ‘then it will be the worse for him. All I have to do is withdraw my protection from you all. You would not like that—I swear!’
    Struggling out of the cardboard box, Neil placed himself between the old lady and his brother.
    ‘Leave him alone!’ he yelled. ‘He's only four. That thing wasn't supported properly, it's a good job for you Josh isn't hurt.’
    A peculiar glint flickered in Miss Webster's eyes as she regarded Neil, then a mocking smile curled over her face as she stepped back towards the door, the hem of her beaded dress brushing softly over the dismembered armour.
    ‘We shall say no more about it,’ she stated simply. ‘It was perhaps an honest mistake, I am unused to company—I have been confined in the museum for too long, perhaps. I only hope that the noise did not awaken my poor sisters. I would not wish them to be disturbed. Now follow me, if you please.’
    Neil glanced at his father who shrugged and took hold of Josh's hand. Suddenly, the four-year-old let out a cry of surprise and alarm.
    ‘Dad! Up there!’
    Both Mr Chapman and Neil looked up to where Josh was pointing.
    Peering down at them from the landing, with their chins propped upon the bannisters and grinning like a pair of naughty children, were the faces of two elderly women.
    ‘Veronica!’ Miss Webster called out. ‘Celandine! You know you were not to come down. Go back upstairs at once!’
    Childlike dismay spread over the faces of the other women and they both groaned in