As Vendetta’s limousine purred along a dockside road south of the Thames, the silence in the back of the car was broken by Carnegie’s harsh laughter.
“You’re insane,” said the wereman.
The vampire arched an eyebrow. “Do you really think so? I have been accused of many things in the past, but madness has never been one of them.”
“James has been dead for twelve years!” Carnegie guffawed. “He’ll be a rotting corpse, for Ripper’s sake!”
“I wouldn’t expect you to grasp the intricacies of this plan, wolfman,” Vendetta said icily. “After all, its architect was Thomas Ripper himself.”
“So what do you have to do with it, then?” the wereman asked.
“Several weeks after James’s death, I was summoned to Blackchapel in the middle of the night. Thomas met me in a secret chamber behind the throne room. Even then, I could see the beginnings of his decline. He was still a broad, imposing figure – he had killed all three of his brothers in armed combat, lest you forget – but his spirit had been broken. Alas, even the Rippers are human.”
“Barely,” Jonathan muttered, his thoughts turning back to the Black Phoenix.
“That night,” the vampire continued, “Thomas confided in me that he felt James had been his true heir, and that he feared neither of his remaining children were fit to take the throne. He told me of his plan to try and resurrect James. Thomas needed help arranging the operation, and it was common knowledge that James and I were friends. I was a natural ally.
“The next few months were . . . not easy. Thomas was a man possessed; there were no lengths to which he wouldn’t go to raise his own son. He took me down to the deepest cellars in Darkside, where cursed crones committed sacrifices in the hope of gaining power. We saw things beyond your wildest imagination and your worst dreams, Starling, but all to no avail. The soul of James Ripper remained beyond our reach.”
“And then you met me,” Josiah said proudly.
Vendetta glared at the watchmaker, piqued by the interruption. “Bartlemas managed to convince me that he could build a mechanism capable of turning back not just time, but life itself. I arranged the payments from Thomas, and oversaw his efforts. Initially progress was slow, the prototypes worse than useless. All the while Thomas was slowly dying, a deeply frustrated man.”
“And then I managed to crack the code in my grandfather’s diaries,” Bartlemas babbled excitedly. “I discovered that the Chronos Wheel could provide the solution to our problems – if we could only get it to work. Two essential components were missing. For one thing, the Wheel needed to be encased in moonstone . . .”
“. . . which Dexter Scabble was good enough to provide you with,” Carnegie said.
Vendetta inclined his head. “Indeed. And I found the second component on Lightside. Now Bartlemas has all he needs to bring the Wheel to life.”
“It is just a shame that Thomas didn’t live long enough to see his dream realized,” the watchmaker added.
“If he had survived for one more week. . .” Vendetta said. He smiled coldly. “Perhaps there is something to be said for being dead already.”
“Still sounds like a fool’s errand to me,” Carnegie growled.
A flicker of irritation showed on the vampire’s face, and then he settled back in his seat.
“Of course, you would know best,” he mocked. “But why don’t you indulge me? Come with us and see for yourself. We’ve nearly arrived at my flat.”
Jonathan looked out through the tinted windows to see a vast building swallowing up his view. The limousine moved through the front entrance and made its way towards a forbidding set of metal gates at the back of the building. The gates parted as the car approached, and it rolled down a slope into an underground garage, a gloomy mausoleum of expensive sports cars. As they eased into a reserved parking space near the exit, Vendetta got out and strode towards the lift, Bartlemas scuttling along in his wake. Jonathan caught Carnegie’s arm as the wereman made to follow.
“What are you doing?” he hissed. “This is the guy who’s been chasing after me, remember? Now you want to go up to his flat?”
Carnegie nodded at the receding figure of Vendetta. “Doesn’t look like he’s too bothered with you now, boy. You can get out of here any time you want. Me, I’m going to see what he’s up to.”
The wereman walked away, the sound of throat-clearing echoing around the garage. Jonathan stood on his own for a few seconds, tapping his foot with consternation, before racing after him. He caught the lift doors just as they were closing and squeezed inside, ensuring that Carnegie was between him and Vendetta. The four of them were sandwiched together uncomfortably as the lift rose to the top floor, before disgorging them inside the penthouse suite.
Jonathan found himself standing in a spacious split-level flat with polished wooden floorboards. Heavy shutters guarded the windows, preventing even the faintest beam of sunlight from slipping inside. Here and there were light bulbs on thin black stands – without lampshades to soften their glow, they burned with a piercing white light. Save for a few chairs, a low table and a giant television screen, there were barely any furnishings. No paintings or mirrors hung on the whitewashed walls. As in the limousine, there was an antiseptic atmosphere that Jonathan found more unpleasant than the smell of grime and raw meat that clogged the air in Carnegie’s lodgings. It reminded him of the hospital where he used to visit his dad. But, for all his misgivings, he knew that the flat must have been worth millions.
Carnegie looked around the austere surroundings and scratched his cheek thoughtfully.
“Very . . . clean,” he sniffed.
Vendetta inclined his head, as though receiving a compliment. “I still have business to conduct in Lightside, and I am accustomed to a certain level of comfort. Of course, it is not the Heights, but it suffices.”
Prising open the shutters, Jonathan saw a balcony looking out over the grim, grey swirls of the Thames.
“Nice view,” he said.
“By night,” the vampire replied curtly, snapping the shutters closed. He turned round, fixing Bartlemas with a steely glare. “You have the Wheel. The moonstone is in the room next door. Why are you still here?”
The watchmaker nodded, and hurried off into the adjoining room.
Carnegie wiped his nose on his sleeve. “So what do we do now?”
“We wait,” Vendetta said.
The vampire picked up a remote control and turned on his television, the giant plasma screen displaying a bright, bustling newsroom. A smartly dressed woman was addressing the camera.
“And now we return to our main story – the disturbances at the Greenwich Observatory earlier this afternoon. Eyewitnesses have reported gunshots and a sudden eclipse. Joining us now is Detective Horace Carmichael from the Metropolitan Police Force. Detective Carmichael, can you shed any light on today’s bizarre events?”
Jonathan blinked. There in the television studio, looking uneasy in the glare of the spotlights, was the familiar face of the hunchbacked detective.
“Obviously it’s early days,” Carmichael began, “and we’re still collecting statements, but our initial enquiries are strongly suggesting that this was some sort of prank – possibly a group of environmental activists trying to gain some publicity for their cause.”
“So you’re not taking the reports of gunfire seriously, then?” the newsreader pressed.
“We take any disturbance of this nature seriously,” Carmichael replied, “and the Metropolitan Police will be investigating this further, but it’s important to stress to the public that we think this is the work of a few misguided individuals, rather than anything more sinister.”
“Thank you, Detective. Now, in other news. . .”
Carnegie snorted. “Lightsiders. If they stuck their heads in the sand any deeper, they’d get it between their toes.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Jonathan said slowly. “I’ve met Carmichael before, remember? He wasn’t like other policemen. Don’t you remember what happened after we carried out the robbery in Kensington? Carmichael said they’d caught the people who did it, but they never mentioned us once. It’s like he was covering it up.”
“For once, Starling’s right,” Vendetta said. “It’s not in everyone’s interests for Darkside to become public knowledge, Carnegie. Although it may take a little more subtlety than you have at your disposal to understand why.”
“Subtlety is overrated,” Carnegie shot back.
For a few seconds a challenge hung in the air, until Vendetta chuckled hollowly and went to pour himself a glass of mineral water. Carnegie stomped out on to the balcony, where he spent the next few hours moodily watching the Thames trudge by. Jonathan tried to lose himself watching television, but he couldn’t relax with the vampire in the room. Despite Carnegie’s apparent lack of concern, Jonathan couldn’t shake the suspicion that at any second Vendetta might attack him.
It was a relief when Bartlemas finally came scurrying back into the room, sleeves rolled up and hands covered in grease.
“It is ready!” he exclaimed.
“And not before time,” Vendetta snapped. “You are sure it will work?”
“As sure as I can be,” Bartlemas replied. “But I cannot be certain until we go to James’s grave.”
“I’ve never tried to bring the dead back to life before,” Carnegie began pointedly, “but wouldn’t it be a good idea to test that Wheel first?”
“We cannot test it,” Bartlemas protested. “We have only so much. . .” The watchmaker broke off.
A shiver of premonition ran down Jonathan’s spine.
“Only so much what?” he asked, in a small voice. “You said there were two things needed to make the Wheel work. What was the second? Why were you on Lightside, Vendetta?”
Bartlemas’s eyes glinted. “You have to understand, Jonathan – this watch needs a power that goes beyond coils and cogs. A deeper, more elemental power than engineering alone can provide. That was the secret of my grandfather’s invention, why no one else could get it to work.”
Carnegie’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
“The watch reverses life,” Vendetta said matter-of-factly. “To do so, it needs a life of its own. It needs to be oiled with blood.” He turned and smiled at Jonathan. “And, given the very special circumstances, very special blood. Specifically, that of a half-Darksider.”
Jonathan’s heart sank.
“You wanted the boy,” Carnegie said hoarsely. “That’s why you were so pleased to see us.”
Vendetta nodded slowly. “I’ll admit, I did pay a visit to the boy’s school when I first crossed over. Half-breeds are a rarity, and I didn’t have the time to cast my net around. As luck would have it, however, I found another solution. Come with me.”
The vampire turned on his heel and led them down a long corridor to a heavy iron door barricaded with three planks of wood.
“As I mentioned earlier, I do conduct a lot of business in Lightside. I have found it expedient to make some special . . . alterations to the flat.” Vendetta smiled. “You never know when you might have guests.”
He lifted off the planks and pushed open the door. Jonathan crept forward, his heart pounding, into a circular room. Two flaming torches faced each other, their flickering tongues of light brushing across a dark chasm that lay in the centre of the floor between them. Taken aback by the medieval scene, Jonathan had to remind himself that he was still in modern London.
He inched forward to the edge of the pit and peered cautiously over the edge, nervous that some kind of foul creature was chained up there. Instead, he was stunned to see a bedraggled girl in her school uniform slumped at the bottom. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps, and suddenly everything became horribly clear.
“Tell me, Starling,” Vendetta said pleasantly. “Have you met Kate?”