The Burning Man, page 38
part #2 of Kingdom of the Serpent Series
After what felt like a walk through an icy, refreshing waterfall, Mallory stood in a long, stone corridor lit by torches with doors at irregular intervals. Beside him was a window that looked out onto a dark space lit occasionally by distant flares, like stars coming to life and dying in an instant.
‘The Watchtower between the worlds,’ Rhiannon said quietly. ‘Few come here.’
Turning away from the window, Decebalus spat. ‘I can see why. I do not like it.’
Responding to the subtle atmosphere of unease that permeated the Watchtower, Jerzy scampered close on Mallory’s heels.
The nearest door was locked, but as Mallory let go of the handle there was a sound of scuffling within, as if someone had leaped to their feet in anticipation.
‘Come on then, you tosspots. Where’s my grub?’ The earthy Birmingham accent was incongruous in the Otherworldly surroundings.
Decebalus’s severe expression broke into a puzzled but hopeful beam. ‘Ronnie?’
A moment of silence, then, dismally, ‘Don’t tell me they got you, too.’
Between Decebalus’s straining sinews and Mallory’s sword, the lock was soon shattered. In the dark chamber stood a young man in the field uniform of a British soldier from the Great War. He was stubbled and pale from his imprisonment, but grinning broadly. Decebalus and the soldier threw their arms around each other.
‘All right, you big old bastard! It had to be you, didn’t it?’ Ronnie said.
Decebalus thrust Ronnie towards Mallory. ‘One of us.’
Ronnie’s eyes gleamed. ‘Ronald Kelly, Second Army, Thirtieth Division. And a Brother of Dragons.’
‘You’re one of those Church pulled out of time to save you from Veitch?’ Mallory realised.
‘Yes, sir. That bastard – excuse my French, sir, but he is – he killed a lot of our kind. And we’re all just waiting for a chance to get back at him.’ His expression grew flinty. ‘But first we need to sort out that witch who threw us in here. Traitorous bitch.’
Jerzy tugged at Mallory’s sleeve. ‘We should hurry, good friend. The queen’s guard may be here soon to feed the prisoners.’
‘I’m surprised she didn’t just kill you,’ Mallory said.
‘Oh, no,’ Ronnie replied. ‘She’s scared of us. Or rather what we stand for. Better to lock us up than risk waking something she can’t control.’
‘It’s already woken,’ Mallory said.
‘That’s what I hoped, sir.’ Ronnie stepped into the corridor and got his bearings. ‘I know where they keep the keys. Shall we free the others?’
12
Along the endless corridors they moved, flinging open doors to reveal pale faces, blinking eyes, hope rekindled: women in dirty flapper dresses; men in sharp suits with slicked-back hair; a Spitfire pilot still wearing his leather flight jacket, goggles pushed back on top of his head; a hard-faced woman in rough, rural dress from some time at the end of the nineteenth century. And more, scores of them, from different eras, dressed in different styles, but the Pendragon Spirit clear and strong in all.
And when they found Aula, Decebalus crushed her to his chest and wept tears of joy. The Roman woman cursed and spat and forced her way free before giving him the briefest of revealing smiles.
Finally they climbed a set of stone steps to another corridor that was sealed by a newly installed iron gate. Breaking through it, they found that all the doors were treble-locked and marked with sigils that Rhiannon said were ancient spells of imprisonment. The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons shattered the doors to reveal the missing Tuatha Dé Danann, who emerged into the corridor with the expressions of people who still couldn’t comprehend how their world had been upturned. Math the sorcerer was bound with chains, his head sheathed in an iron mask. Another chamber was filled with an impenetrable darkness that persisted even when torches were brought to the door. Two red eyes glowed from the depths. All concerned left the Morrigan to emerge in her own time.
Lugh, the great warrior and god of light, was one of the last rescued. He hugged Rhiannon silently for several moments. When he turned to Mallory, his eyes were wet. ‘You have my thanks, Brother of Dragons, and those of all my people. A terrible blow has been struck against the Golden Ones, one from which we shall not easily recover. To be betrayed by one of our own, to be imprisoned and tortured, it strikes to the very heart of who we are.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘To be betrayed by my own sister.’
Rhiannon comforted him with a gentle hug.
‘From this day on, we will never forget what the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons have done for the Golden Ones,’ he continued. ‘This is the start of a new age, when Fragile Creatures will take their place alongside my people at the heart of Existence. We stand with you now, Brother of Dragons, and always.’
‘Then gather your people and get ready,’ Mallory said. ‘We’re taking this fight back to the Court of the Soaring Spirit. It’s war.’
Chapter Thirteen
WAKING UP IN THE SLEEPLESS CITY
1
The night was warm as summer reached its end. Frank Sinatra crooned ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ and the middle-aged Irish guys around the radio joined in as if they were on stage at the Sands. In their beer-fuelled exuberance there was a sense of good times just around the corner.
In the backroom of McSorley’s Old Ale House on East Seventh Street, a nude woman with a parrot looked down on the proceedings. Church, Shavi and Tom sat near the old fireplace under the motto Be good or be gone, blending into the background amongst the collection of weirdos, loners and curious tourists. They had spent three days searching the city without any luck. Halfway down his fourth glass of beer, Church was desperately trying not to behave like some lachrymose old drunk, but was unable to shake the memory of the last time he had heard the song performed with such abandon, in a pub on Dartmoor, with Ruth.
He gained some comfort from the bar’s long, rich history and the knowledge that he was drinking in the shadow of Abraham Lincoln, John Lennon and Woody Guthrie. Faces stared from the old black-and-white photos lining the walls, reminding him of the turn of events, large and small, and how the world was shaped.
‘Ruth is staying with Ryan to prevent him from doing any more terrible things,’ Shavi insisted quietly.
Tom had been oblivious to their conversation as he soaked up the surroundings, overjoyed to be back in the country he loved most.
‘It’s more complex than that,’ Church replied. ‘I could see it in her face. She wanted to be with him.’
‘We are all so close, bound by the Pendragon Spirit, that our feelings are often confused and distorted. Under stress, thrown into close proximity with him for so long, perhaps she does not even know herself what she really feels. And then there is whatever spell Veitch has cast over the three of you—’
‘Will both of you shut up!’ Tom snapped. ‘It’s only love. Anybody would think you were fretting about something important.’
‘Haven’t you ever been in love?’ Church responded sharply.
‘Why, yes. I fell in love with the queen of the Court of the Yearning Heart. She kidnapped me from my home and had me torn apart and rebuilt by that bastard Dian Cecht. I think that’s what you call a metaphor. Never again.’
Church sighed. ‘All right, beats me.’ He pushed his empty glass towards Tom. ‘Make yourself useful. And have a small sherry yourself while you’re at it.’
Muttering and grumbling, Tom went to the bar.
‘I’m not going to give up on Ruth,’ Church said to Shavi. ‘I crossed two thousand years to get back to her. This won’t stop me.’
‘That is good.’
‘There’s something else.’ Ever since he had arrived in New York, he hadn’t been able to bring himself even to think about the devastating revelation that had emerged in the Forbidden City, but it loomed darkly over everything he did, and everything they planned. ‘In Beijing, while you were off with Tom, I was given a vision of my future. There’s no easy way to say this: the Libertarian is me. I become him, sometime in the future, because of how I feel about Ruth. Everything falls apart because of me, because of my failure. I become that sick killer working for the Void.’
Outside in the street, police sirens blared past.
‘All that slaughter he carried out as he moved through time – how could I do that? It’s all got to be inside me, somewhere. Is the Pendragon Spirit just a lie?’
‘Nothing is written, Church. You know that. Time does not exist. Reality is not fixed. These concepts are all just illusions we create so our poor human brains can cope with what is out there. Remember, reality changes, like the globe that Dian Cecht showed you in the Court of the Final Word. Put pressure on one point and another part shifts to accommodate it.’
Another police car sped by.
‘Matter cannot be destroyed,’ Shavi continued. ‘Nor can energy, which is why no one ever really dies. It all just reforms in endless new shapes. Whatever you were shown, you can change it.’
‘I wish I could have your faith.’
‘I told you – that is why I am here, so you do not have to.’ Shavi followed Church’s gaze to Tom at the bar. ‘Why did you wait until Tom had gone to tell me about the Libertarian?’
‘He’s getting back his old flashes of the future. Why didn’t he say anything about me becoming the Libertarian?’
‘Because he is protecting you as he always has, from the moment you met. He is the best friend you could ever hope for.’
Church watched Tom wind his way back through the drinkers, just another sixties burn-out mourning Jerry Garcia, no sign of all the scars he kept assiduously hidden away.
‘Yeah, I’m a useless friend, aren’t I? One day I’ll get over this whole self-obsessed thing.’
‘I think we are all allowed one flaw.’
Church took his drink from Tom and raised his glass. ‘Here we go, then: no happy endings!’
They all drank to it.
2
‘It’s a big city. How are we supposed to find the Second Key before Veitch?’ Church stood outside McSorley’s looking uptown. ‘He could already have him.’
‘I think we would know,’ Tom replied. ‘Probably from the hell-fire raining all around.’
‘No luck with the ring?’
Tom twisted the gold ring around his finger, bitterness darkening his expression. ‘Next to useless here. I think it’s because we’re not exactly sure what our heart’s desire is,’ he added pointedly. ‘Is it me or is it cold?’
‘It’s you. You’re old.’
Shavi returned from the alley where he had been attempting to meditate. His frustrated expression gave away his failure. ‘This is the most unspiritual city on Earth. Even with the power of the Blue Fire at its height, I am finding it near-impossible to tap into anything.’
‘We’re lucky it didn’t spit us out of the Blue on the city limits,’ Church said, enjoying the feeling of being slightly drunk.
‘We could always petition whatever gods we have awakened in this Great Dominion,’ Shavi said.
‘I’d steer clear of that lot wherever possible,’ Tom warned.
Not too far away, the police sirens had congregated. The drone made Church’s head ache. ‘I wish this Mundane Spell would shatter once and for all.’
‘It’s the disguise the Void wears,’ Tom said. ‘It’ll hold on to it until there’s no hope of maintaining the illusion.’
‘And then?’
‘Then the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders will come out and take everything apart so they can start all over again.’
Shavi tugged on Church’s sleeve. ‘Look at that.’
Amongst the tall buildings, the Morvren swooped as if with one mind.
‘A portent,’ Church said. ‘Bad times ahead. As if we didn’t know.’
‘No,’ Shavi insisted. ‘They are moving differently this time. Do you see?’
The birds always appeared to have an eerie intelligence, but now they were acting with an out-of-character singular purpose. Fleeting shapes appeared in the apparently random pattern of their flight. After a moment, Church began to see them more clearly.
‘Is that a key?’ Shavi said.
‘And an arrow,’ Tom added.
‘They are trying to guide us,’ Shavi exclaimed.
‘I don’t get it,’ Church said. ‘They’ve never done anything like this before. Why now?’
Despite his doubts, Church allowed himself to be persuaded by Shavi and Tom, who both argued that they had no other lead. They made their way towards the Bowery. The police sirens had died but there was still activity all around, cars driving too fast, people running, glancing over their shoulders, others talking intensely into mobile phones.
High above the cityscape, Church got a fleeting impression of a burning figure in the sky, but it was lost to the lights and the looming buildings. Before he had time to consider what he had seen, tyres screeched as a Lexus swerved across the road and mounted the kerb next to them. Two men in casual suits were out before the engine had died. Both had guns. One held out a police badge. He had an acne-pitted face and thin ginger hair.
‘Stay where you are.’ He identified Church as the main threat. ‘These the ones?’ he asked his partner.
An African-American, almost too tall to fit in the car, checked his BlackBerry, glancing up and down a couple of times before grunting, ‘Sure looks like it.’
‘Whatever you think we’ve done—’ Church began.
‘You just opened your mouth,’ the ginger-haired one said with faux incredulity. ‘I wouldn’t do it again. Turn around.’
As handcuffs were snapped on, the other detective radioed for support and ended his conversation with a hearty, ‘No shit!’
Turning to his partner, he said, ‘Eddie, you are not going to believe this.’
‘I believe everything you say, Detective Brinks. You’re my mom, my priest and Superman, all rolled into one.’
‘Deakins ran their faces through SEISINT. Got a match with Homeland Security. Two of these squirrels—’ he indicated Church and Shavi ‘—are on Global Red Status from British Intelligence.’
Eddie looked Church up and down. ‘Now isn’t that something. They’re going to have to build a whole new wing to keep you guys safe. Terrorists and cannibals.’
3
The holding cell was starkly lit and smelled of ammonia. Church felt like a gorilla in a zoo as various men and women in suits cast a cursory, puzzled eye over him before moving away, deep in hushed conversation. Every protest, every request, every comment he made was ignored. His visitors gave no sign that they even heard him speaking.
After three hours he was led to an interview room with a single table, two chairs and a mirror along one wall. The two detectives waited for him in shirtsleeves. Church was shown to a seat with a politeness that somehow managed to infer incipient menace.
‘Detectives Nelson and Brinks interviewing suspect Jack Churchill,’ the ginger-haired one announced for the recording. Nelson sat at the table. Brinks remained standing, like a big cat ready to pounce.
Brinks grinned broadly. ‘Tombstone, they call me. I haven’t decided if that’s an unfortunate slur on my size and the colour of my skin, or the destination of the people who annoy me.’
‘Good cop, bad cop is a bit of a cliché,’ Church said.
‘You see, you don’t get to be smart,’ Nelson said calmly. ‘You don’t get to be wry. Or aloof. Or British. You don’t get to pretend you’re a normal person. We’re extending you the courtesy of treating you like one, but we all know you’re not.’
‘Anyway,’ Tombstone noted with a slow nod, ‘we’re bad cop, worse cop. And we have a competition to see how bad we can really get.’
‘Funny,’ Church said.
‘Says the man carrying a sword strapped to his back,’ Nelson said. ‘At least, we think it’s a sword. Seems to be some debate in the Evidence Room. Care to enlighten us?’
‘No.’
Nelson flipped open a plastic folder. ‘Okay, let’s review. This afternoon we responded to a nine-one-one on Delancey. Blood leaking through a light fitting into the apartment below. We found two deceased – one white male, one Chinese-American female. Look familiar?’
He tossed Church a handful of crime-scene photographs. The bodies were in such a gruesome state that Church gave them only half a glance before handing them back. ‘I don’t know these people. I’ve never been to that apartment. I didn’t kill them. Categoric enough for you?’
‘Take another look. You’ll see that the bodies are missing several organs. Let me draw your attention to the close-up of the male torso. You see the jagged edges of the wounds? The crime lab tells me those are teeth marks.’
‘I’m sorry for these people, but I had nothing to do with their deaths.’
Nelson glanced at his partner. ‘Detective Brinks?’
Tombstone threw another file on the table. ‘Crime scene number two. Partially eaten victim in a Dumpster at the back of the Happy Chicken fast-food joint on Houston. Time of death around ten p.m. About a half-hour before we picked you up.’
‘We were in McSorley’s half an hour before. There were witnesses.’
‘We got witnesses, too, haven’t we, Detective Nelson? Ours don’t lie or have random memory failure.’
Nelson opened his laptop and spun it towards Church. Grainy CCTV footage played out above a time-code. Three people feasted on a body next to a Dumpster. One by one they glanced up at the camera. It was unmistakably Shavi, Tom and Church.
‘It’s a fake!’
Nelson shook his head firmly. ‘The digital signature holds up. Anything you want to tell us now?’
Church wrestled with the images he’d just been shown. Some kind of set-up by the spider-controlled elements of the NYPD? Why go to so much trouble?
‘We’ll get you a lawyer,’ Nelson began.
‘No point. There won’t be time.’
Nelson and Tombstone exchanged worried glances. ‘You’ve got something else planned? Bomb?’
