‘They’re dead, sir.’
The party of Foundling guards stood grimly before the tunnel entrance. Dr Saint received the news calmly, a cold glint in his eye.
‘Who is responsible for this act of ultimate kindness?’ he asked.
‘They are,’ replied Captain Hope, the leader of the guards. He was an ex-soldier, tall, red-faced, with narrow grey eyes. He saluted Dr Saint, army style. ‘The intruders have doomed themselves. They were caught between my group and yours. It was certain death or capture – so they chose that tunnel, sir. Went into the gulag.’
‘Was there a definite identification?’ asked Mr Nicely, cutting a slightly quaint figure in his wellington boots. ‘No chance of a mistake?’
‘No – it was the Vessel. I can confirm it myself,’ Lord Dove said.
‘I tried to wound the other one,’ Captain Hope added, ‘the female agent who was with him – but she knows the network too well. They escaped and fled down there.’
Everyone’s eyes turned to the forbidden tunnel. Dr Saint drew Lord Dove to one side.
‘Theo wouldn’t know about this hellhole!’ observed Dr Saint. ‘But she …?’
‘Hard to say,’ commented Lord Dove. ‘We know little about her. So far, most of our agents sent to intercept the pair have been killed or hospitalised. We think she’s part of Norrowmore’s “Modern Vigilance”. He may not have told her anything about the old days, the wars, the Eighty-eight … You know how deucedly secretive he always was.’
‘So they came down here to spy on us and accidentally ran into the one place they couldn’t possibly survive,’ Dr Saint reflected with a hint of satisfaction. This tragic event was not without its convenient side. In the last ten years he had ordered several expeditions into the gulag in an attempt to clear the Eighty-eight out. Not a single one of his men had ever returned alive.
‘She was a very smart agent,’ Lord Dove said. ‘Knew our tunnels pretty well. But the preparations for the Liberation completely caught her out. Remember – we’ve sealed nearly all the hatches, as you directed.’
Lord Dove’s face was drained, full of anxiety, even though he was reporting excellent news. A little nerve was pulsing under his left eye. His violet bow tie was slightly askew after the unaccustomed chase through the tunnels, and his white suit splashed with filthy water from the culvert.
‘What’s the matter, Dove?’ Dr Saint asked sharply. ‘You seem distressed by this turn of events.’
‘Well, if the Vessel has passed beyond us,’ Lord Dove began, eyeing the black mouth of the tunnel, ‘then isn’t the Liberation rather, err … off?’
‘Poppycock,’ said Dr Saint. ‘The power of the Vessel has been sampled, analysed and recreated by science.’ He loomed over his colleague. ‘I performed the transfer myself, in the Mercy Tube,’ he revealed. ‘The power is now contained in me!’
Lord Dove looked pale. ‘Do you – do you realise what this means?’ he stammered.
‘What’s the matter, Dove?’ Dr Saint asked. ‘Shocked at my initiative? In awe at my boldness? Of course I know what it means! After all these years of awaiting the return of the Candle Man, I have handed him his ultimate defeat – I have become him!’
Lord Dove went white and staggered backwards, away from the triumphant figure of his leader.
‘Dr Saint?’ said Mr Nicely, stepping smartly between his employer and the cowering Lord Dove.
‘What is it, Mr Nicely? Why must I be interrupted? Confound you, man!’
Mr Nicely made an apologetic bow. ‘Sorry, sir, but I thought you might like to know. Your face is melting.’
‘OK, now I can’t see anything,’ Theo whispered. Not a glimmer of light penetrated from the corridor they had left. The pair were in pitch-blackness; only the echoes of their footsteps told them they were surrounded by the usual stone walls.
‘Don’t whisper,’ said Chloe loudly, still holding Theo’s hand. ‘Ghosts like that. It gives them more power. We have to act as if we’re in broad daylight. I think we can get through here alive if we don’t let this place mess with our minds!’
‘So are the Eighty-eight ghosts?’ Theo asked, feeling his way by running his free hand along the rough stone wall. He had never been in total blackness before, and it was not a welcome experience.
‘I don’t know for sure,’ Chloe said. ‘As usual, old Norrowmore kept me in the dark.’
‘Good one,’ interrupted Theo.
‘That’s the spirit,’ Chloe said. ‘Keep your morale up. I have managed to glean a few clues. There were terrible events down in these tunnels once. The Eighty-eight were victims, I think – left down here to die. They died all right, but they didn’t exactly … go away.’
Theo felt a sense of dread creeping over him.
Crunch. He stepped on something brittle. Chloe struck a flame from a cheap lighter in her pocket. It was very low on fuel.
‘Human bone,’ she said, studying the remains. ‘Shin, I think.’ They crept forwards. Theo’s feet clattered against something metallic. Chloe struck another light, saw a gun and picked it up.
‘Police specialist firearm: Heckler and Koch semi-automatic. About five years old. That’s interesting.’ She sounded flat. ‘Norrowmore warned me the Society of Good Works might also have connections in the police.’
Theo’s toes kicked another collection of bones.
‘OK,’ Chloe said, with forced casualness. ‘This is a crushed human skull. Compacted from all sides at once. Hard to do, but effective. Nice.’
‘Ghosts don’t crush skulls,’ Theo said. ‘From what I’ve read in my story books, spooks scare, they don’t kill.’
‘The Eighty-eight might,’ Chloe said quietly, laying the gun back by its owner’s side.
‘Shouldn’t we keep that?’
‘Well, it didn’t do these guys any good, did it?’ Chloe replied. ‘Anyway it’s out of ammo. Whoever these people were, they died in here firing off all the shots they had left. It didn’t help.’
Chloe’s lighter suddenly sputtered and ran out of fuel. Theo quickly grabbed her hand, not wanting to be alone in the dark. They crept slowly along, Chloe feeling the wall to her left.
‘We’ll come to something soon,’ she reassured Theo. ‘An old fungus globe, or a shaft letting in light from above. Just you wait. Trust me – I’m good with tunnels. I –’
Chloe suddenly screamed. She plunged downwards, letting go of Theo’s hand.
‘Chloe!’ Theo cried. There was no reply. She had been swallowed up by the dark. He cried her name out once more. Again there was no reply. Fear clutched at his heart. He was left standing alone in utter blackness. He stood still, afraid to move. He had to remain safe – he mustn’t disappear like she had.
He took a deep breath and called her name over and over again. The echoes resounded mockingly. It seemed to take forever for the last whispers to fade away. Even then, Theo seemed to hear her name replaying itself over and over in his tired brain. Chto-eee.
Finally he gave up. Shouting and screaming wouldn’t do any good. He had to keep his head or all was lost. He needed information – he needed to know where she had disappeared to. Slowly he sank down on to his knees. He felt along the ground in the darkness and his fingers came to a ledge – a hole or shaft in the floor. Chloe had stepped right into it, that much was clear. But where was she now, and what on earth was Theo to do?
For a moment he gave in to despair and buried his face in his hands.
Desperately, he fought back panic. It’s happened, Theo thought. I’m alone.
Alone, he reflected. How often during his incarceration at Empire Hall had he craved to be out here, in the real world, on his own, making his own decisions – free. Now his wish had been granted in the most terrible circumstances imaginable.
For a moment he let the dread overcome him. He knelt, waiting for something awful to happen to him, but it didn’t. He expected the Eighty-eight to come and rip the flesh from his bones. That didn’t happen either. His thoughts began to clear. At least I’m still alive. It’s not over yet.
He didn’t want to let Chloe down, he didn’t want to let the Society of Unrelenting Vigilance down. He thought of Sam and Magnus – how much they had risked to help him escape. Their hopes, their ideas, were all he had left. Chloe might be lying injured, not too far away. His first task was to find her.
He had an idea. Crawling backwards on his hands and knees he slowly returned to the skeletons he and Chloe had found before. The gun the dead men had left behind was useless, but they might have other stuff – a torch even.
Holding his breath, he felt around among the rags and bones until he found some belongings. A wallet. A scattering of change. A box of matches. Theo struck a light. A heady smell filled his nostrils as the match ignited and dazzled his eyes. Now he crept forwards again to the edge of the shaft. He stared into it.
My only real friend is down there, he thought. I have to find out what happened to her. That’s all that matters.
He looked around, pondering his next move. Then he stopped, astonished. Somebody was waving at him. He blinked and looked again. There, some way down the tunnel, was the face of a kind old lady smiling at him. Her friendly features seemed to be caught in a beam of soft light. From the shadows the woman beckoned him, raising a single bright finger.
Spellbound, Theo began to walk forwards. Just in time he remembered the shaft and stopped himself with a jolt. He swayed on the edge of the drop, about to plunge in, but somehow made a desperate leap to clear the distance.
He landed safely on the other side. The kindly face had disappeared. Theo let out a sigh of relief. It was short-lived. Now he could hear footsteps. Not faint, creepy, ghostly footsteps, but bold, confident, striding ones. They were approaching from around the corner up ahead. Theo waited in the darkness, his heart pounding.
A policeman turned the corner. Not a modern-day policeman, but an old-fashioned constable, such as Theo had seen in his Pictorial Tour of Victorian London. The policeman’s uniform was out-of-date, bulky and brass-buttoned, with no holsters and flaps for radios and guns. The officer also wore huge sidewhiskers, which were quite out of fashion nowadays – even Theo knew that.
The figure stopped on the corner, and stood there, looking up and down the tunnel as if on duty. I shouldn’t be able to see that person, Theo thought. There’s no light down here. As with the kindly face, the visitor seemed to be illuminated by its own inner glow.
‘Evening,’ the figure said.
Is he talking to me? Theo wondered. Please don’t let him be talking to me. Theo stayed where he was, not daring to breathe.
‘No cause for alarm, sir,’ the officer said, rocking slightly on his heels. ‘Just a routine patrol.’
Theo remained silent. No book of manners could prepare him for an encounter like this.
‘You can come out of the shadows, young feller,’ the constable said in a pleasant voice. ‘I know you’re there! I realise the official uniform can be a bit imposing, but I don’t bite, I can assure you!’
Theo took a deep breath and stepped nearer. There was no escape from the steady gaze of the constable, who appeared to be about fifty years old, craggy-faced and robust.
‘Can I help you in any way, sir?’ the man asked.
Theo took a gamble. ‘I, um … seem to be a bit lost,’ he said. ‘Could you, err … tell me the way out?’
‘Out?’ the constable echoed. The word seemed to trouble him. ‘Out? I don’t know what you mean, sir.’
Theo stared at the figure. The policeman seemed to be losing his balance – his body quivered strangely.
‘Very sorry, sir,’ the man said. ‘It’s been a long time – I sometimes have trouble … remembering.’
A pang of pity struck Theo, though he didn’t know why.
‘Remembering what?’ he asked.
The constable stared sadly at him. ‘Remembering what I’m supposed to look like!’ slurred an inhuman voice. Before Theo’s eyes, the policeman began to fall apart. His body became transparent, his skin peeled away on all sides like a human banana and slid to the floor with a hissing flop. For a second a bright skeleton gaped at Theo before tumbling down, broken, into the molten slurry of the body.
Theo was forced to step over the terrifying remains, which were now slithering across the tunnel floor like a living pool. He fled blindly into the blackness. He crashed into a wall and slumped against it, panting.
‘A visitor!’ declared a ringing voice from behind him. Theo turned, trembling, to see a beautiful woman standing there. Like the other members of the Eighty-eight he had witnessed, she shone with her own inner radiance, which made her quite dazzling. Her sweeping, perfectly styled hair was white, and she wore a long, shimmering, silver gown.
‘How nice of you to drop by!’ she continued, her voice sweet and cooing. ‘Except …’
Theo staggered backwards. ‘Except …?’ he stammered.
‘Visitors aren’t allowed!’ shrieked the woman, her jaw suddenly dropping and displaying a mouth of razor-sharp teeth.
He turned and ran, reckless of any peril ahead. He feared the worst, expecting to be horribly killed at any instant. He tore through the darkness, away from the terrifying figures, every step bringing him hope of escape.
‘Grab him!’ a voice screamed, and Theo was clutched by clinging hands. But these weren’t ghostly hands – they were warm flesh. And they dragged him through a hatch to safety. And the voices shouting his name were wonderfully familiar.