Julius and the Soulcatcher by Tim Hehir Page A

mangled creature. ‘Do not mourn it. It has no soul…just like me.’
    Julius blinked in confusion
    Tock twisted the creature until it came apart and let the pieces fall to the floor.
    Julius stared into Tock’s blue eyes. How long had he been standing there? It seemed like hours.
    Tock’s expression softened, becoming almost friendly. ‘I shall have your soul,’ he said. ‘I shall haveeveryone’s soul. I shall. I shall.’
    Julius lip trembled. He clenched his jaw.
    Tock put the diary into his coat pocket and pulled a small wooden box from his inside pocket. ‘Good night,’ he said, and he leaned over the candle stub and blew it out.
    Julius’s heart jumped in his chest. Tock’s eyes glowed faintly in the darkness.
    ‘If we meet again,’ said Tock, ‘you will be sorry.’ He turned away and walked through the curtain into the parlour.
    Where’s he going, Higgins?
    Julius heard the tinkle of glass breaking—it was something delicate. He tried to think what it would be. They did not have any dainty glass ornaments. He snatched Harrison’s diary from the floor and hid it inside his coat. His knees trembled as he went to the curtain and pulled it open an inch.
    The parlour was dark. He strained to see any movement. All was still. After a few moments’ hesitation he lit the candle stub.
    The parlour was empty but something caught his eye. On the wall next to the fireplace, vapour was rising from a damp patch the size of a dinner plate. Julius stepped closer. An acrid odour made his nose twitch. As he drew nearer, the damp patch diminished, until it disappeared completely. On the floor beneath it were tiny shards of broken glass.
    Julius put his hand on the wall. It was warm.
    Tock went through the wall, Higgins. But how? And where did he go?
    Julius sat in his fireside chair and stared at the wall, half wondering if Tock would return. After a few minutes he took Harrison’s diary out. Surely there would be something is in about how to summon the Watchmakers. All he saw was page after page of tiny writing, intricate diagrams, and row upon row of mathematical calculations. His eyelids became heavy and the page before him began to blur. He fought to keep his eyes open, but in a few seconds he was asleep.

    Julius woke to the sound of someone hammering on the shop door. He looked around the parlour trying to remember why he had fallen asleep in front of the fire. The pounding continued.
    Then he remembered.
    Tock came to call, Higgins.
    He looked at the curtain covering the doorway to the shop. Had Tock come back? Was he angry with him for bolting the door?
    The hammering continued.
    Julius pulled the curtain aside. A crowd of men were peering in through the window.
    What the bloody hell’s happening, Higgins?
    ‘There he is. I see him,’ shouted one of the men. ‘Open up, Higgins, damn you, we haven’t got all day,’ called another. The pounding increased in urgency.
    Of course! It’s Saturday morning, Higgins
    For as long as Julius could remember Saturday mornings at Higgins’ Booksellers involved a profitable few hours of pandemonium when his grandfather’s most avid and demanding customers came to collect their orders. The shop usually opened at ten sharp. Julius looked at the clock. It was three minutes past and the door remained locked, hence the near-riot on Ironmonger Lane.
    Julius let the curtain fall.
    Why hasn’t Grandfather opened the shop, Higgins?
    ‘Grandfather. Grandfather,’ he called up the stairs.
    No reply came. Julius ran up the stairs two at a time. He knocked on his grandfather’s bedroom door and opened it. The room was empty and the bed had not been slept in.
    Grandfather?
    ‘Open up, Higgins. Open up,’ came the shouts from outside.
    Julius ran down the stairs and into the shop. The front door was shaking under the blows of the customers. Without any time to think, he unlocked and unbolted the door. Cheers rang out in Ironmonger Lane.
    Julius was going to tell everyone that