Which was good, Letty told herself, staring at the massive doomed girl. Teach her a lesson for sympathising with the Ministry and for kidnapping her and tossing her about like a toy.
Pax’s whole body shuddered, her upturned hand flapping into the air, and she rolled over onto her back, giving a kick as she lay flat on the floor.
She stank, too, Letty decided. The scent of stagnant sweat all over her.
Pax’s foot twitched, near Letty, and the groaning changed to a quiet whimper. Almost no energy left to resist it now.
Letty lifted the draught excluder to form a gap so she could squeeze through. She paused.
There was a problem. Leaving this place, unable to fly and without her gun, she would have difficulty getting back across town. She had no dust on her, so her chances of going unnoticed were slim.
The twitching girl was clearly not well in with the Ministry if they’d allowed her to get in this state. Which made it possible that all her dumb questions were actually geared towards choosing the right side, and she really had saved Letty. Disgusting as the giant’s methods were, Letty should never have woken up after taking a dose of that gas.
But it was still a dumb human getting what she deserved.
Letty gritted her teeth.
She swore and marched back across the room. As she got close to Pax, a foot jerked suddenly and the fairy ducked and rolled, barely avoiding the heel crashing into the carpet behind her. “Fuck this,” she grunted, and pulled herself forcibly up Pax’s trouser leg, to avoid the risk of being squashed. She picked up her pace, running up Pax’s body to her neck. Taking a breather, Letty leant against Pax’s upturned jaw and surveyed the damage. The toxic green had spread up over the front of the neck, veins coming to the surface in angry colours. Small sounds gargled from Pax’s throat. Letty crouched, put a hand to Pax’s skin and felt it pulsing with unnatural warmth. She cleared her throat, hoping it wasn’t too late, and spat gutturally into her hands.
12
The Whistler Bridge site was not always the most active or helpful spot to visit, but it was one of the closest to Barton’s home, so it was his usual port of call when he wanted some quick, simple answers. It was on the remnants of a disused railway, an overgrown ditch that was used by runners during the day and youths smoking pot during the night. A road crossed over the original bridge, and a tight path snaked down its side, through nettles and brambles, to the nineteenth-century brickwork tunnel. Low and concealed, with its surface made fragile by time, this was an ideal spot to write messages.
Barton used his phone light to lead the way, then handed it to Holly so he could concentrate on the writing. Despite insisting that he didn’t need to explain as long as she could come and see, she had voiced a dozen barbed questions about where on earth they were going and what on earth they were doing. The first few times, Barton had repeated that she needed to wait and see. Then he stopped replying. He had other concerns. It had been so many years, maybe this site wouldn’t work any more. Maybe the Blue Angel was long gone.
He took a lock knife from his pocket, unclipped it and chipped at the brick.
“Oh, you’re not serious!” Holly said. “Diz, I swear if you scratch our names into that wall I’m going to slap you.”
Barton did not respond, scratching in the two words he needed. His lettering was efficient, a series of quick, sharp lines in block capitals. Holly frowned, reading it as he went.
Where...
Impatient, she stirred a foot, checking the old railway. She shone the torch into the tunnel, revealing weeds, empty beer cans and an abandoned tyre.
“On me,” Barton instructed. She turned the light back to him as he finished.
...Fae?
“Is this some kind of Boy Scout nonsense?” Holly scoffed, and again Barton ignored her. He stood back and waited. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me.”
It wasn’t going to work. It had been too long.
“Honestly, scratching on –”
When the blue screen appeared, Holly clamped her mouth shut.
The wall around the writing changed colour, blending into a foot-wide square, centred on the writing, glowing blue. The deeply etched lines in the brickwork folded in as Barton let out a breath of relief. The mortar reformed, the surface smoothing out. Then new etches appeared, the surface sinking as it created words.
Barton. Why?
Holly took a step back and almost dropped the phone. She pointed with her free hand, finger shaking. “What is that? What did you do? How did you do that?”
As she spoke, the words faded from the brick again, its original surface restored. Holly looked over her shoulder, flashing the torch high and low.
“There’s a projection or something? A hologram?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Barton replied quietly, more interested in continuing the conversation. He used his knife to scratch into the brick again, in the centre of the blue patch.
“What are you doing? Why are you doing that? What is this, Diz? Would you stop that!” She raised her voice sternly. “Stop it at once and tell me what’s going on!”
Barton told her, “I am finding out where I need to go. This is what we did. Someone out there wanted to help us, this is how we communicate – they told us where to go.”
“Go for what?” Holly cried.
“That comes later,” Barton said. He continued scratching. Holly took a few steps around him, looking closer at what he was writing.
Stop them.
“Who’s writing that?” Holly asked as Barton’s letters faded into the blue. He waited for a response as she continued, “Diz? Who’s answering these questions? Where are they writing from?”
“I don’t know!” Barton snapped impatiently. He felt ready to hit something, but forced himself to keep calm. “I’ve never known, but whoever’s behind it, that” – Barton pointed at the blue screen – “is the best option we’ve got.”
Holly shook her head. “Don’t mess with me. What’s going on?”
“Right now,” Barton said carefully, “I’m trying to find out where we need to go.”
She almost shouted at him, confusion turning to anger. “Why are you asking a bloody brick?”
Barton cringed. The Blue Angel’s answer appeared on the brickwork.
Anders Ave.
He took a moment to stare at the address, a little stunned by the importance of what had just been shared with him. Holly must have sensed his surprise, as she asked quietly, “What does it mean? What’s wrong?”
“That’s where they are. That’s where they’re hiding,” Barton said.
“Who? Jesus, Diz, when are you going to tell me what this is?”
“The Fae. That’s where we’re going next.”
13
Pax opened her eyes slowly, feeling the pain in her shoulder before she saw anything. She winced and blinked to clear her blurred vision. Her throat was dry, and a searing ache ran from her neck down to her left side. She rolled her head to the side and saw the shape of a tiny woman, sitting on a book on the floor, just about eye level. Letty had her arms folded. Her expression said she’d been waiting a while.
“What –” Pax tried to speak, but her voice came out in a rasp. She cleared her throat and went rigid as the pain surged through her anew. She reached for a glass by the bed and took a few gulps of stagnant water, then slumped back onto the carpet. She looked at Letty again, the fairy still motionless. “What happened?”
“You’re in a bad way,” Letty told her. “Caustic venom in your shoulder. Some nasty fucker in some nasty place gave you a toxic bite.”
“I wasn’t bitten,” Pax whispered.
“You may actually be thicker than you look,” Letty told her.
Pax closed her eyes, picturing the encounter in the tunnel. With the prickling of that disgusting creature’s many legs, it was possible that one of the touches had been a bite or a sting. In the panic of running away she hadn’t noticed a wound. She opene
d her eyes and said, “You’re still here?”
“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a bitch in need,” Letty said, less than sympathetic. She pointed at Pax’s neck. “That will bore through you, dissolve your insides. I can help, but I’ll need assurances.”
Pax hesitated. She could move just well enough to call someone. Casaria would know what it was, but he’d see the book, maybe the device. Barton might be able to help. He knew a doctor, didn’t he?
“Whoever you think’s gonna come, they’re not gonna be here quick enough to save your sorry arse,” Letty said. “You don’t have long.”
“What...” Pax took in a pained breath. “What can you do?”
“Heal it. It’s well within my skillset.”
“How?” Pax frowned at the thought of the tiny fairy operating on her wound.
“After I’ve got your word.”
“On what?”
“This thing…” Letty threw a hand around her head, gesturing to the room, the world, the situation, whatever. “This is over. You’ll take me out of here. Back to my boys. And you’ll keep me safe. And fed. And you’ll get me a drink. And I want half your money.”
Pax rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. She wheezed, “Your boys...they’ll shoot me.”
“Not if I say not to. I’ll be counting on your word, I guess you’ll have to count on mine, huh?”
Pax closed her eyes again. Can’t get beholden to the psychotic miniature person that everyone says is dangerous. Avoided so many unhealthy attachments, this one has to be the worst. But the pain was real, enough to stop her moving. It burnt, all around her shoulder, as though she were silently on fire.
“Tick tock,” Letty said. “It’s a good fucking deal.”
“You can really heal me?”
“You want to find out? Or just die?”
Pax could feel it moving inside her, spreading down her arm, creeping over her. As though acid was seeping through her veins. Her heart was beating faster, body panicking.
“Do it,” she said quietly.
“What’s that?”
“Do it!”
“I got your word?”
Pax rolled her head towards Letty, eyes urgent. “I promise. Save me, I’ll let you go. I’ll take you back. Anything.”
“Great.” Letty grinned, then held out a tiny hand. “Shake on it?”
Pax stared, unbelieving for a moment, and the fairy started laughing.
“I’m kidding. You’re good. Now the first thing to do is go back to sleep. Trust me on that one.”
“How are you...” Pax started to ask, as the fairy reclined onto the book.
Letty called out in a singsong voice, “Go back to sleep, you big lummox. When you wake up you’ll feel a hell of a lot better.”
Pax winced as a breath caught her off guard. She held the agony down, clamping her teeth shut, and closed her eyes again.
Think happy thoughts.
Think of staying alive.
Think of all this going away.
14
In the hollow carcass of a once proud building, the walls towering five storeys high, with no floors left to divide them, Barton and Holly scanned their surroundings with phone torches. It was as devoid of life as any place Holly had been, the only structure left standing amongst the rubble of Anders Avenue, in the heart of the warehouse district. The word “avenue” had been used rather liberally, as Holly told Darren.
Still unclear on what they were doing or on whose orders they had come to this impossibly desolate place, Holly secretly let herself enjoy seeing this side of the city. She knew of the warehouse district, populated by these odd relics to bygone industries, from what she had read about the decline of the region, but she had never had any call to actually visit. She imagined, as they crept in through a truck-sized hole in the wall, that very few people did. Even the derelicts of the city didn’t camp here, so far from valuables to steal and honest citizens to irritate.
Barton had stayed quiet throughout the journey, ever since seeing the address. It was his I’ve got money on this game face; the one that said all outside influences would be met with wrath until his current obsession was out of the way. She had asked, “Has something happened to that woman?”
“What?” Barton shot back quickly, on edge. He hurriedly shook his head. “No, why would it have? Of course not, she’s fine.”
He was too insistent, making Holly suspicious, but she took it at face value, at least, that the strange girl wasn’t in immediate danger. There wasn’t much else worth worrying about, so she decided to let him worry, for a change.
When they’d arrived, he told her to stay in the car. Not on your life, she had told him, and he had, once more, conceded. It made it impossible for her to stay behind, though, when he took the tyre iron from the boot. If there was no immediate danger, he might create some. She considered scolding him for even thinking about violence, especially with her around, but it didn’t seem like the right time.
And so they walked through the middle of the vast building, exploring empty corners, looking for God-knows-what, with it more than clear that there had been no people around for the longest time. They traipsed about the bizarre location for a quarter of an hour. Barton studied bricks, stuck his nose in tight cracks, checked behind creeping ivy, all as though he had dropped something very small.
He even shouted a few times, his voice echoing back at them, “Anyone here? We need to talk!”
He finally came to the centre of the enormous space and squatted, thinking things through. Holly tutted. She wasn’t sure exactly what had gone wrong, but she was fairly sure he could be held to blame, so she employed a chiding tone to say, “Are you quite done?”
“This has to be the place,” he murmured.
“Maybe they were here before,” Holly said. She could imagine it would be a good place for burning oil cans, rough sleeping-bag beds, and propped-up Harleys, but she’d seen no sign of a biker gang’s footprint.
Barton stood, face fixed in concern.
“It’s getting late, Diz,” Holly reminded him.
A drum sounded from beyond the walls. A flat, heavy thump. Then another. Holly’s superior calm faded.
“What’s that?”
The beat picked up tempo, thump thump, thump thump, like a tribal signal. It was getting closer. Coming towards a gap in the wall. Behind the drum was something else – a heavy tapping sound, someone playing coconuts. Holly watched the empty space, dreading the chain-swinging ruffians who might step out.
What stepped into view, though, was a seven-foot-tall, immaculately white horse, thick-limbed and gracefully groomed with a flowing silken mane. It walked into the frame of the gap in the wall, a stick held firmly in its mouth, and as it moved it swung its head in a full, majestic arc, from left to right. The stick slammed into two huge barrel drums, one hanging on each of the creature’s flanks.
“Now it makes sense,” Holly gasped, taking in the incredible sight. “I’m dreaming. Is that right? I’m dreaming.”
The horse stopped in the clearing, letting its head hang for a moment’s rest. Then, from above its back, with no apparent source, a muted trumpet let out a few gentle toots. The horse resumed drumming and continued walking. As Holly stared with her mouth wide open, the horse clopped out of view. The sound of its drums diminished as it got further away.
Holly darted forward to get another glimpse of the incredible beast. She leapt over remnants of wall, out into the open, turning towards the horse’s departure.
It was gone. She swung her torch around, finding nothing but an empty dirt patch with dry weeds clinging to occasional chunks of discarded machinery. As the thrill of the moment subsided, replaced with disappointment, Barton approached her. He slumped past her, heading the way the horse had come.
“Did you see it?” Holly said. “Tell me you saw that too! I didn’t imagine it!”
“It was a drummer horse,” Barton said, irritably. He followed the line of the building, s
canning the bricks with reduced urgency and purpose.
“A drummer horse?” Holly cried. “As though it’s as common as a house fly? That sound – it played that music – and the trumpet. Where did the trumpet sound come from?”
“Invisible proclaimer,” Barton said. He stopped next to a small tree that had partly embedded itself into the wall. He brushed the branches aside, reaching through the thicket.
“What are you doing?” Holly ran up to him, giving a few more looks in the direction of the horse’s disappearance. “Where did it go? How did it get here?”
“They come when they’re needed,” he said distantly, “with one simple purpose.”
“What? What purpose?”
“To show us where these are stored.” He pulled back from the tree, taking something from a hidden recess. Holly lit him with the torch, revealing a metal cylinder in his hand. “This is what got me started. This is what I’ve been avoiding, since before the Fae caught up to Apothel. Someone’s taking the piss, leading me here.”
“What is it?” Holly took it from him and he let her. She unscrewed the lid. A liquid rolled around inside, glowing luminescent green. Holly said, “Is it radioactive?”
“Taking the piss!” Barton shouted, almost making her drop the canister. He surged forwards, throwing a punch that clipped the wall. The brick shattered from the force. Holly stared in startled silence as her husband’s big shoulders heaved up and down. He looked mad, ready to tear the whole building down.
The Sunken City Trilogy Page 16
