Tristus soared across the London skies, thick yellow fog blotting his presence out from human eyes. The battle against the smoglodytes had left him weak; their foul toxins still clouded his mind and sapped his strength. But at last he felt strong enough to return to the fray – or what was left of it, depending on how long he had been out of action.
Watch the boy, Norrowmore had told him. If necessary, help with the escape. Norrowmore had said that Tristus could feel absolved after that. He could go away and dream his stone dream forever, forget the humans, the war, everything. But that had been weeks ago. What had happened to Norrowmore now, and his endless delicate machinations to free the boy?
Something is wrong. Tristus swooped low over the Condemned Cemetery, the great field of bones and stone images where he could blend in so perfectly. Its quiet walks of memory were not as he had left them. The cottage where the cemetery keeper lived was smashed and deserted. Tristus snarled, revealing fangs he seldom showed the world. The cottage had been one of Norrowmore’s planned refuges for the boy. The garghoul sensed enemy action.
He flew swiftly to the cemetery wall and scanned the windows of Empire Hall with his bright, penetrating eyes.
Something had changed. Lights shone in every window, figures strode the corridors with arrogant steps, a dangerous aura of energy crackled in the air. The Society of Good Works was in rude health, showing evidence of power and confidence that even Norrowmore had little suspected.
Tristus knew he had to speak to his old friend. The great design was not working out as planned. Norrowmore had always insisted that they meet rarely, for purposes of secrecy, but this was an emergency. The garghoul flew over the smog-bound city, a grey blur in the murky night. He soon reached his destination.
The elegant dome of the Watch Tower was shattered. Blackened beams jutted up like burnt ribs. Gone was the soft bleep of electronic signals, the quiet, endless chatter of human communications. Instead there were ashes, the smell of outdoors, of rain and ruin.
It didn’t take long for the garghoul to dig out the skull of his dead friend. He held the charred shell in his rough hands, studying it with a pang of wonder. There was something else here too – lingering traces of a substance – a subtle poison that had finally ended the life of the old man.
His keen senses alerted, Tristus now detected another odour as well, an acrid vapour creeping up through the Watch Tower. It was the smell of alchemy. The rank, dangerous scent took him back to a place and a time he had hoped to forget forever. His usually passive face twisted into a grimace of anguish as the memories hit home.
It was the last place he wanted to go, but there was little choice. This war is not over, he told himself. The bony hand of Norrowmore seemed to be pointing the way.
‘Dead?’ asked Lady Blessing.
‘Yes, shot dead by one of the Outer Network Patrols,’ said Baron Patience. He cut a ridiculous figure leading the twelve-strong work party along the flooded tunnel in his best salmon-fishing waders. There wasn’t much that could bring a smile to his face, but for once he enjoyed a self-satisfied smirk. ‘It looks like our fortunes are changing. The Vessel led us on a right goose chase for a while, but now he’s out of the picture. And it looks like this new killing has turned out to be rather a spot of luck.’
Lady Blessing motioned to the party to stop. They had reached the final bend in the tunnels before their destination. With her black hooded cloak on, the natural pallor of her angular face made her look like an elegant phantom.
‘Luck? In what way?’
‘Oh, we’ve eliminated a very significant member of the Vigilance apparently – a young lady. Dr Saint has asked to see the body. The funny thing is, the guard – hopeless bungler – didn’t even mean to kill her. He saw her in one of the tunnels near the surface, and only meant to scare her with a warning shot, he says.’
‘How kind of him!’ Lady Blessing exclaimed. ‘A most considerate gesture that went wrong. He must be terribly upset!’
‘Awfully. In fact I heard him and the other guards having a big laugh over it – to conceal their true feelings.’
‘Stout lads,’ said Lady Blessing.
‘It really is the kind of happy accident that makes one feel our luck is changing. The time is ripe for our Good Works to spread out across this once-great Empire!’ declared the Baron.
The heavy equipment had now arrived. Lady Blessing studied a chart and addressed the troop of Foundling engineers. ‘Circle three, junction fourteen A. One of the last hatches on this level to be sealed. It’s a type “C” – late Victorian. Don’t damage the percussive membrane. After this we can all proceed –’
‘I – I thought I saw something!’ blurted out Baron Patience.
‘Just a rat, of course!’ snapped Lady Blessing. ‘Honestly! Now, come on men, as fast as you can – this stinking sewer is ruining my best boots.’
The engineers stepped into the branch tunnel, dragging their torches and gas cylinders through the black waters.
‘Look! Another rat. Devil of a fellow!’ gasped the Baron, pointing at the huge bedraggled creature huddled on the hatch cover. It let out a hideous squeal. One of the men threw a wrench at it, but missed. The rodent slipped away into the shadows.
There was a scream. An engineer was suddenly dragged down under the black waters. Baron Patience gaped. The thick coils of a monstrous snake were glimpsed momentarily in the bubbling slime. The engineer thrashed around horribly, then was gone.
‘Out! Get out!’ shrieked Lady Blessing, racing away down the tunnel. She stopped dead. A dark shape barred her way. A caped figure with an enormous hooked nose and stiff, claw-like hands confronted her.
‘You dare!’ rumbled a deep, terrifying voice. ‘You have the nerve to come here and seal off my ancient right of access to the network?’
‘The Dodo!’ cried Lady Blessing.
Baron Patience clutched at his chest, as if fearing imminent heart failure. ‘We – we meant no harm!’ he stammered. ‘Call off your creatures! I assure you, we –’ The Baron’s explanation was brought to a premature halt as he was dragged away by a dripping tentacle. ‘Noooo!’
The Dodo snorted. ‘Obnoxious fellow,’ he said.
Lady Blessing couldn’t resist a quick peep at the Baron’s demise.
‘By all means, kill the others,’ she said brightly, affecting a girlish enthusiasm for the idea. ‘But you must protect me – preserve one eloquent voice to express your … your justified outrage to Dr Saint.’
‘A noble thought.’ The Dodo sneered, while screams filled the tunnel around them. ‘But my servants may not want any of you filth to get away.’
‘I – I can tell you things you need to know!’ Lady Blessing gabbled. ‘Everything’s changed. You’ll want to join the Society now – we hold all the cards.’
A strange calm had now resumed. A quick glance revealed to Lady Blessing that only she and the Dodo were left standing in the tunnel.
‘Indeed,’ growled the Dodo. ‘And what has changed?’
‘For one thing,’ she said with a cold smile, ‘the Vessel is dead. In fact, there is a new Candle Man,’ she added teasingly. She studied the Dodo’s heavy-lidded eyes for a reaction, but they remained veiled, distant.
The Dodo threw back his enormous head and let out a high-pitched whistle. Moments later, a tiny grey bat flapped gently down from the shadows above and clung tamely to the Dodo’s withered hand. Lady Blessing watched wide-eyed as the grotesque figure exchanged an outlandish shrill dialogue with the little bat.
‘Wickland dead?’ the Dodo retorted. ‘We don’t think so.’ Lady Blessing’s pale face went even whiter as the hulking figure lurched towards her. ‘You see? I believe I have more reliable sources of information than the lying tongue of a Society witch,’ he said, stroking the fur of the bat’s head with infinite gentleness.
Hatchway C/14A opened behind Lady Blessing and two men in white coats and goggles stepped out.
Lady Blessing threw back her dark hood and shook out her long raven hair proudly. ‘I’m too beautiful to die,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I know I could be very useful to you.’ She forced a rather ugly, desperate smile.
The Dodo stopped to ponder for a moment.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he replied. ‘Take her away. I could use someone to muck out the mammoth.’
The Dodo let out a sudden series of barks. From the other side of the hatch an excited stamping of hoofs was heard in reply. Lady Blessing watched in silence as a horde of creatures she had never seen before in her life began to pour into the tunnel.
‘Now I have an appointment with young Mr Wickland,’ murmured the Dodo. ‘An appointment from which only one of us will emerge alive.’