‘I’ve made so many I should be used to it by now.’ Shavi stepped in to separate the two. ‘We’re taking the train,’ Church insisted. ‘We don’t have a choice.’

  Tom glared at him.

  Church picked up the map and marked the direction. ‘Coming?’

  ‘Of course I’m coming,’ Tom said sharply. ‘I’m one of you.’

  ‘Lucky us.’

  ‘But if you get me killed I’m never going to let you forget it.’

  The mile felt more like ten in the afternoon heat, but eventually they were standing beside a small-gauge track almost lost beneath drifting sand.

  ‘Hardly used,’ Shavi mused, ‘if at all. Can the Last Train-’

  ‘It can go anywhere,’ Tom interrupted. ‘And does.’

  ‘How do you know so much about it?’ Church asked.

  ‘Because I keep my eyes and ears open, unlike you.’

  With his knife, Church slit his thumb and dropped a spot of blood onto the rails. Within a moment they began to sing, and soon after the Last Train emerged out of the heat-haze, a mirage gradually taking substance. It stopped next to them in a cloud of steam and smoke. The door in front of them opened silently.

  Church hesitated before he stepped aboard. In the dry desert heat, the damp, vegetative aroma of the interior was much stronger than before and slightly unsettling.

  ‘If you’re going to do it, do it,’ Tom barked.

  Hands clasped, as if with excitement, Ahken waited just beyond the bright square of sunlight projected onto the floor, as if it troubled him. His eyes were hard and brittle and there was no humour in his smile. He appeared subtly changed from the last time Church had seen him, perhaps a note crueller, a degree more satisfied.

  ‘Welcome once again,’ he said.

  ‘We need to go east. China. The Forbidden City. Can you take us?’

  ‘Of course. The Last Train stops everywhere.’

  Shavi and Tom boarded behind Church. ‘Ah, True Thomas. So good to have you back. I thought of all our passengers you would be the last to return.’

  Tom didn’t meet Ahken’s gaze. ‘Just pay him and be done with it,’ he said to Church.

  ‘He didn’t ask for payment before. It’s free.’

  ‘That was the first time. There’s always a price, you idiot.’

  ‘We can negotiate that later,’ Ahken said with a bow. ‘For now, enjoy all that the Last Train has to offer.’

  He moved silently out of the carriage. Once he was gone, the doors closed with a hiss and the train moved steadily off.

  Church rounded on Tom. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you’d travelled on here?’

  ‘It wasn’t relevant.’

  ‘What else are you keeping from us?’

  Tom stormed up the carriage and disappeared behind one of the brown leather seats.

  ‘Leave him,’ Shavi said. ‘I sense he is troubled. He will tell us when he is ready.’

  Through the windows, it looked as if they were sailing on a sea of yellow as the sands rolled out to the horizon. Soon the desert gave way to the flat-roofed buildings of eastern Egypt and then the scenery passed so fast it made Church queasy watching it.

  They dozed intermittently, making the most of the opportunity to rest. Every now and then Shavi would rub his alien eye ferociously.

  ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘I cannot feel it. But sometimes I see things, flashes, shapes passing by, colours, landscapes.’ Shavi’s face became drawn. ‘Sometimes I see things from other worlds, sometimes from the past, sometimes the future. They are the worst. And once I saw my old boyfriend Lee, as bright as when he was alive.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  Shavi watched the scenery. ‘He said the dead are waiting for me. For all of us. And that we would see them soon.’

  ‘They lie, you know, all those things we deal with. They lie and they twist and they manipulate. If the eye’s causing you trouble, take it out.’

  Shavi shook his head. ‘We need what it offers me. The hints, the information I can call forth-’

  ‘But look at the price you’re having to pay.’

  Shavi laughed, and his face regained its bright hopefulness. ‘You sound so surprised! We have all paid a great price to do what we do, Church. You shoulder your burden, Laura hers, Ruth hers. Why should I be any different? This is what we do! We were chosen to achieve great things. Our lives and our hopes and our dreams were all lost the moment we accepted the Pendragon Spirit.’

  ‘We should get T-shirts printed: No Happy Endings.’

  ‘As long as I can have mine in pink with blue letters.’

  ‘You’re a fashion wasteland, Shavi.’

  ‘We do not need happy endings. Of all the people on the planet, we have been allowed to see the most wonderful things. We have been allowed into the greatest secrets, that there is meaning in even the tiniest thing, the erratic path of a butterfly, or the numbers of passing cars. We have learned that every single small thing we do is important. No gesture, no hand of friendship, no word of support is meaningless, for even the smallest thing can change the world. Is that not the greatest gift of all?’

  ‘I wish I had your optimism, Shavi.’

  ‘Ah, but that is why I am here, see.’ He clapped Church warmly on the arm. ‘The five of us each bring something important that is lacking in the rest of the group. Together we make all of us better.’ He laughed. ‘What we do here affects everyone and everything for all time. Who needs happy endings? Who needs the future and the past when the now is so potent?’

  ‘You should write that down. You might get a self-help book out of it.’ Church sat back and closed his eyes. ‘Okay, you convinced me. No happy endings.’

  6

  Miller slept, curled up like a dog on the seat of the carriage. It had been a long, hard journey from Egypt, through India to their current location high up on Tibet’s snow-covered plateau. Ruth observed Veitch, gripped by the view through the window of the hostile yet beautiful frozen landscape and the majestic sweep of the Himalayas.

  ‘You’re a long way from South London,’ she said, reading his thoughts.

  ‘Never thought I’d see anything like this,’ he replied dreamily.

  She followed his gaze. Lhasa was long behind them, Qinghai Province ahead. ‘They call this the “roof of the world”. We must be near the highest point now — more than sixteen and a half thousand feet above sea level.’

  Veitch rapped the window. ‘That why this train is all sealed up like a plane?’

  ‘We’d get altitude sickness if it wasn’t.’

  He poured her a coffee from the flask in his haversack. ‘Least I showed you the world, right?’

  ‘Shame I’m a prisoner,’ she replied tartly.

  ‘Are you?’

  She didn’t know how to answer, and changed the subject quickly. ‘Do you think Church is behind or ahead of us at this point?’

  ‘Don’t talk about that tosser — you’ll ruin my mood.’

  ‘He’s not going to give up, you know.’

  ‘I know. That’s what he does — carries right on to the bitter end. And I’m looking forward to him turning up again. Really. I owe him some payback, of the painful kind, and this time I’m finally going to get some satisfaction.’

  ‘Don’t hurt him.’

  Veitch looked sullenly out of the window. ‘When we were belting round the UK in that old van of Shavi’s, he used to tell me about some ancient black and white movies he liked. Two old funny men on the road.’

  ‘Bob Hope and Bing Crosby?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it. Road to Morocco and all that shit. You know how he used to love banging on about that sort of stuff.’

  The memories played out on Veitch’s face, other aspects of his nature emerging from the hateful surface persona. Ruth was surprised to see a powerful hurt there.

  ‘So here we are, then,’ he continued. ‘This business is one big fucking joke, isn’t it? Road to Hell. Which one do you want to be? The one with the peanut head or the one who sang?’

  ‘Can you sing?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Then you get to be the joker.’

  He could have taken offence at her comment, but instead he cracked a broad grin. It stripped away all the hardness and revealed the old Veitch who had once been one of them. She was surprised to realise how much she missed him.

  ‘Ryan,’ she began, ‘I know you think Church, and all of us, let you down … that you were betrayed by everything we stand for. But it’s not like that. You were manipulated. We all were — still are. Pushed around by higher powers. And we pay the price in our own lives.’

  He watched her intently, trying to see where she was going.

  ‘You can still do a lot of good. Help us-’

  ‘It’s too late for that.’

  ‘You can make amends-’

  ‘No, I can’t. Don’t treat me like an idiot. The things I’ve done — there’s no going back. It’s hell all the way.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’ve had enough of doing the right thing and paying the price. I’m looking after number one.’

  ‘We need you, Ryan.’

  He wouldn’t meet her eyes for a long moment. Then, holding her gaze: ‘There’s one thing that would make me. In a flash.’

  ‘Tell me. If I can help you get it, I will.’

  ‘You. And me. Together.’

  Her mouth hung open. Though she had known it for a long time, to hear it still shocked her.

  ‘See — you can’t even bring yourself to lie and say you’ll do it to save the world.’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘I’d know anyway if you were lying. Now get some sleep, or you’ll be knackered when we get to Golmud.’

  He used his haversack for a pillow and curled up like Miller. But however tired she was, Ruth couldn’t even close her eyes. She watched the frozen landscape pass, her heart beating in time with the rumble of the wheels.

  7

  Shavi woke to the sound of faint music, so sad it made his emotions swell. Church and Tom were still asleep. Outside the landscape had become lush with the kind of vegetation Shavi expected to see in the vicinity of the subcontinent.

  Unsettled, he stretched and made his way down the carriage towards the source of the music. Two carriages back, he found the Seelie Court silently listening to a fiddle player calling the plaintive sounds from his instrument. He was accompanied by a fair-haired woman with no eyes, whose voice was filled with loss and grief and devastation. Shavi brushed away a stray tear.

  When they had finished their song, the king summoned Shavi. ‘Brother of Dragons,’ he said in subdued greeting. ‘You are the great seer. Do you perceive any hope in the times to come?’

  ‘I see a great struggle.’

  ‘You choose your words carefully.’ He smiled. ‘To shield us from the harsh blow of truth. It is a quality that has always endeared Fragile Creatures to the Seelie Court. But we are not children. We know we are approaching the time our cousins called Ragnarok. The twilight of the gods. Our time is passing, and yours, too, I fear. Will Fragile Creatures never achieve their destiny to rise to the rank of the Golden Ones?’

  ‘Some of your people would be happy if that were the case.’

  ‘But not us. We are proud to call Fragile Creatures friends.’

  The queen stepped forward, hesitant and concerned. ‘Your king-?’

  ‘Church? He is here on the train.’

  Her relief was palpable. She glanced at the king. ‘We feared it was already the time-’

  The king silenced her with a stern glance.

  Shavi’s attention was caught by a figure skulking at the end of the carriage. He shivered, refusing to believe, but it looked very much like his dead boyfriend Lee.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said to the king.

  He pushed his way through the Seelie Court until he reached the end of the carriage. The door to the next carriage hung open, and the figure that now looked even more like Lee was hurrying towards the back.

  Shavi tentatively called out his name, then gave pursuit. Carriage after carriage passed without Shavi drawing any closer. Then he entered one carriage that was completely dark, with all the shutters drawn, and the door slammed behind him.

  He rattled the handle, but it wouldn’t open. Unease crept over him. There was no longer any sound of running feet, and he couldn’t even hear the noise of the wheels on the track. Gradually, his eyes grew accustomed to the dark. The carriage appeared to be empty. With the door at his back locked, the only way was forward.

  On the next door was a brass plate with the legend The Hanging Garden. He hesitated, then stepped through it. Once again the door slammed and locked behind him.

  The first thing that assailed him was the stench of decomposition. The shutters were not completely drawn here and shafts of sunlight lanced through the gloom at irregular intervals. In the play of light and shadow, Shavi realised the grimly ironic meaning of the nameplate. At least thirty bodies hung by their necks from the carriage roof, the ropes creaking with the rocking of the train. The bodies were green and leaking noxious fluids, but their eyes were open and ranging back and forth, and their mouths moved silently. A mazy path wound amongst them.

  A voice rose up. ‘Pass the guardians if you wish to access the great secret.’ Dark humour underpinned the words. ‘But beware! Only those who are pixie-led will find the path.’

  As Shavi took a step forward, the shutters slammed down and he was left in the dark and the stink.

  ‘This secret must be great indeed,’ he said. ‘And is it of use to the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ the voice hissed wryly.

  ‘Then I am beholden to investigate. But you should know I am not scared of the dark.’

  Shavi tried to recall the path he had briefly glimpsed through the hanging bodies. He moved a little way easily, but as he bumped into one of the corpses, a sigh escaped its lips and foul-smelling liquid splattered on him. Fingers caught briefly in his hair. He put a hand to his mouth against the overwhelming odour and edged forward. A third of the way down the carriage, he lost the path.

  Steeling himself, Shavi took a guess and bumped directly into a corpse. It swung wildly, slamming back into him. Shavi recoiled and hit another, and then another. Each time he came into contact the corpse let out a low moan. Forcing his way through their midst, he soon realised the more he disturbed the bodies, the more animated they became. Almost bowling him over with their weight as they swung wildly, they tore at his hair and ripped at his face, drawing blood. The wounds stung as if they had been poisoned.

  Shavi pressed on. In a frenzy, one of the animated corpses wrapped a seeping arm around his throat. Chunks of flesh came away under Shavi’s fingers, but the pressure increased and he began to choke. Another attempted to claw at his human eye.

  After a furious fight, Shavi tore his head free. He dropped to the floor to catch his breath, but the corpses continued to kick at him savagely.

  Only those who are pixie-led will find the path, the voice had said.

  And how did one see pixies? Shavi focused through his alien eye, and instantly saw a figure that appeared like an infra-red image in the dark. It was low to the floor, lithe and had characteristics that were both human and animal.

  ‘Puck?’

  The sound of laughter rang out. As the shimmering figure twisted and turned like an otter, Shavi followed in its wake. Over his head, the angry corpses desperately lashed out.

  Finally, Shavi arrived at the far carriage door only to realise Puck was gone. Behind him, the moans subsided, the ropes stilled. The shutters slid up to admit the lances of sunlight.

  The door before him had no name-plate, but it was covered in what resembled hide. He eased it open and stepped inside.

  The carriage was bright, the shutters open and all the torches lit. Another door at the far end led to what Shavi guessed was the final carriage. A cauldron swung from a chain near the door, steam rising from it even though there was no fire beneath.

  Shavi had thought the carriage was empty, but as he took a few steps towards the cauldron, three women appeared as if they had walked out of the walls. Like Greek peasants, they were dressed all in black, with deep cowls that cloaked their features in shadow. They approached in a jerky manner as if movement was not natural to them, and the closer they came the more queasy Shavi felt. They brought with them a palpable air of dread. When they halted ten feet away from him, Shavi’s heart was pounding madly.

  After a moment of rising anticipation, they spoke; or rather, one voice emanated from all of them.

  ‘We are the Daughters of the Night.’

  Shavi recalled hearing the name before somewhere.

  ‘I spin.’

  ‘I measure.’

  ‘I cut the thread.’

  The image troubled him; they were not talking about weaving. ‘What is the great secret?’ he asked hesitantly.

  ‘What do you use to cut the thread?’

  Shavi pondered. ‘Scissors? A knife?’

  The Daughters of the Night hovered in silence. At the back of the carriage, the door had opened slightly, as if someone was listening or waiting to leap out. He couldn’t take his eyes off the gap. ‘What is in the last carriage?’ he asked, regretting the question the moment he had spoken.

  ‘What waits there waits for all mortals at the end of their journey.’

  Shavi could feel its presence, watching him through the crack in the door.

  His throat dry, he forced his attention back to the Daughters of the Night. ‘Show me what you use to cut the thread.’

  ‘I cannot.’

  Puzzled, Shavi thought hard until a notion came to him. ‘The Extinction Shears. That is what you use to cut the thread.’

  The Daughters of the Night did not reply, but Shavi could sense he had got it right.

  ‘Where are they?’ he asked.

  ‘They are with us always, except when they are not.’

  ‘They exist in all-times and all-places, but find their way to the moment around which the Axis of Existence turns.’

 

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