“Get us out of here!” Pax roared, slamming both her hands into the metal and making Sam jump as the slap rang through the room.
The sliding drew closer, out into the corridor that connected the hall to the back rooms. The light from the hole in the roof gave the scantest outline of something shifting in the shadows. Low but thick. Rolling like a tiny stream of molten lava.
“What is that,” said Sam, gaping. She’d seen nothing like it in the MEE databases. As it crept into the hallway, it was slowly revealed. A foot high, maybe a metre long, pulsing along the floor. Sam barely had time to react when she heard Pax move. The other woman slammed into her, and she hit the floor hard as Pax grabbed at the keys. They flew from Sam’s hand. Through the air, down with a clatter, sliding right up to the approaching shape.
Pax froze, straddling Sam. They stared together, breathing deeply from the brief scuffle. Reacting to the sound, the thing changed direction, slightly, to roll into the keys. As its molten flesh touched the metal, the keys steamed and hissed and started melting.
“Jesus Christ,” Pax gasped.
“What – what –” Sam stuttered.
The shape moved over the keys’ remains as they bubbled down like boiled butter. It was coming closer again. Pax kicked off Sam and scrambled to a window. Sam pushed herself up, darting her eyes between Pax, clawing at the window frame, and the sliding shape. It had changed direction again, slurping towards Pax.
“Fucking do something!” Pax screamed at Sam.
“I can’t!” Sam screamed back, moving towards a different wall. She didn’t have a gun, didn’t have anything. She wasn’t supposed to be here.
The sludge kept advancing, backing Pax into a corner, inching closer and closer.
“Get away from me you fucker!” Pax roared.
The sky seemed to open on Pax’s command, with a crack of thunder that shook the room. Sam threw her hands over her ears, screaming again. The creature exploded in a cloud of black powder, which hung in the air like flour. Sam lowered her hands, ears ringing, as the powder settled on the empty floorboards. Part of it was still there, a shadow of twitching ooze, but the majority had been vaporised.
Sam looked questioningly at Pax, mouth open. Pax was looking up, though, towards the hole in the roof. A muffled voice came through the ringing, and Sam shook her head to try and focus.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, spotting the two-inch figure perched on the edge of the roof, a miniature man silhouetted against the sky. Heavy-set and oddly inelegant. The long, thin object sticking out from his side smoked like a used matchstick.
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen,” a male voice came down, a dry monotone; small, but clear even at this distance. “The young lady’s going to exit freely, and come with me, and you’ll stay right where you are.”
Sam looked to Pax, who didn’t look convinced herself. Finally calm for a moment, Sam studied her face, in the dramatic half-light from the hole in the ceiling. Pax had big staring eyes and softly rounded features, countered by a boyish grubbiness and dirty skin. A tatty imitation leather coat, faux fur lining. She looked defiant rather than defeated, after their panicked scuffle. She must’ve fired up every cylinder of Casaria’s weird interests; the sort of tough, night-dwelling person Casaria had once imagined Sam to be. Pax had been dragged into this by him, but she was here on her own initiative now. Provoking things under the ground. Sam’s eyes shifted back towards the remains of the creature, as Pax said to the Fae, “Letty sent you?”
“She called,” the man replied. “The door...”
“It’s locked.”
“Lady, hand her the keys.”
“I guess you got here too late to see the keys get liquefied? So unless you’ve got a ladder...”
“What –” Sam started. Her hand was raised, shakily pointing at the black smear on the floor. “What was that?”
“Co-operate,” the fairy said, “or you join it.”
Pax exhaled a curse. Sam’s eyes ran dumbly from the tiny shape back to Pax. She had her arms folded – regaining her composure and apparently none too pleased about the fairy’s threats. She suggested, “How about you use that thunder-stick to blow out a window?”
The fairy considered it, then said, “I’ll handle it.” He popped off the roof and glided into the room. Sam stared with awe. Though he was rotund, and his small wings looked inadequate for his weight, he moved as weightlessly as a bee. He flew between Sam and Pax, down to the handle of the metal door, where he landed.
“Got a name?” Pax said.
“Rolarn,” he answered.
Pax hummed satisfaction. She turned to Sam, as though she wanted to share something, but changed her mind when she met the agent’s eyes. The fairy fluttered off the handle and inspected the keyhole. He rummaged in a pocket.
“Um…” Sam took a tentative step forward. Her hands were still shaking. Her voice shook, too. “Excuse me – my – I’m Ward. Sam Ward – I’ve been –”
The man stopped. “One step closer and you lose your knees.”
Sam looked down at her legs. She didn’t doubt the gun could tear her in half, from what it had done to the molten creature. The casual way he said it made it all the more threatening. All the emails she’d sent – all her ideas, her dreams of creating a dialogue – now she had finally met a Fae and this –
“Stand clear,” the man said, and gave them no time to react. There was a bang, the volume of a firecracker, and white smoke poured out of the keyhole. The fairy flew up and away.
“Try it.”
“Wait!” Sam blurted out. “You can’t just go!”
Pax’s hand drifted towards the door handle, slow and deliberate. “And yet...”
“You’re with the Fae – this is huge – I’ve been trying for three years to create a dialogue –”
“So take a hint,” Pax said, opening the door.
“I believe you, okay!” Sam hurried to say it. “You saw a blue screen down there, okay! Whatever you’re doing, we can work together! Look at this place.” She gestured to the hall with its horrible lattice of mad scratches. “You’re trailing Apothel, he wasn’t well.”
Pax gave Sam an assaying look. “And you would know?”
“Please,” Sam said. “Whatever you’re up to, however you’ve hooked up with the Fae, I need to –”
“What you need,” the tiny man hovered up with his gun across his waist, “is to be quiet.”
Sam held her tongue. She’d got funding for IS on the theory that the Fae weren’t as violent or unreasonable as rumour had it. Maybe they were.
When Pax swung the door open, a gust of air stirred the dusty remains of the molten creature. Pax stepped out with the fairy, and Sam moved after them for one last plea. “Do you know where Casaria is? Tell me that, at least!”
Pax looked back, surprised. After a moment’s confusion, she said, “I haven’t seen him since he helped us last night. If he’s got any sense he’s a long way from you.”
Sam shook her head, “He came in – was debriefed –”
“That’s enough,” Rolarn cut in.
With the shotgun aimed at her head, Sam didn’t say another word.
Pax had paused. “You took him back in, and now he’s missing?”
Sam nodded, barely moving.
“And you’re asking me? You people are bullshit. I saw the thing you call the praelucente, sucking energy. It tried to drain me and an innocent damn teenager. It drains people as they travel on the Tube, it drains them in their own homes. But you believe sometimes – somehow – that’s helpful. You’re ignorant of the fact someone or something is using that energy, moving that energy, and until you admit that you don’t get to ask me another fucking thing.”
Sam stared, silent, and the fierce look on Pax’s face said she’d given up all that she was willing to. She shook her head and ducked out into the daylight.
14
It was all very well that Darren and Grace were idling in bed, but Holly was
fit and ready. She regretted that she hadn’t simply gone with Pax on the ropey scooter. The next best course of action hardly felt as adventurous: trawling the internet for information. She’d gone from learning precious little about the supposed gas leak, and precious little about the supposed government ministry, to exploring the origins of the Ordshaw Underground. She had discovered the K&S Line had an eccentric history traceable to the end of the Victorian era, and started scribbling down ideas, when a high-pitched bark made her sit up straight. It was close: the other side of the wall.
Holly called to Rimes, who was clattering about in a corner, “Do you have a dog?”
The doctor went still. Her voice came out uncertainly. “No.”
Holly huffed. There was another bark.
Like hell she was going to sit here and be lied to. She stomped outside. Along the rickety porch and round the side. The hedges and trees thickly encroached on the building; a few more years and the roots might drag the doctor into the mud. If they were lucky. Holly continued past a tangle of brambles.
“Mrs Barton! Hold on!” Rimes’ voice came behind her.
Holly flashed her a glance. Rimes waved a bony hand, half-hidden around the corner of her house, not daring to come closer. Her white lab coat was splattered with a violet liquid. Holly raised her eyebrows, waiting for an excuse or an explanation.
“I don’t think – that is –” Rimes was struggling. “Darren thought –”
“What Darren thought about what I should or shouldn’t know is beyond immaterial,” Holly said. Quite calmly, she thought. She continued and Rimes rustled through the leaves after her.
There was a shed, nearly five foot high, the open front barred with a grid of metal. Something growled within. Holly walked towards it; no dog her arse. The hut shook as the animal jumped out of the shadows, crashing against the bars. Holly shrieked, a hand at her heart. The thing dropped back before doubling its efforts, hurling its weight against the fencing, big slobbering jaws snapping. The wooden slats barely shuddered, suggesting the innocent-looking hut was reinforced.
Its eyes were alive, glowing red and flickering. Smoke poured from its jowls, its ears, even from spots across its skin, like it was on fire under its ragged, charcoal fur.
Holly flinched again as it threw a paw. Three-inch claws lashed out between the bars. It bared its teeth as it dropped back.
“A helluvian hound,” Rimes explained, apologetically.
“Why?” Holly demanded. The dog snarled and bit again, and Holly saw fire in its throat. “Why is it here?”
“Our security measures –”
“My daughter is in there! She’s supposed to be safe and this is out here? This monster?”
Rimes made defeated whimpering sounds. A fast movement drew Holly back to the hut. The creature had disappeared back into the shadows, flickers of smoke lingering where it had been. The growls sounded far away. This opening led to a larger domain. “What else is down there?”
“Just that,” Rimes said. “One dog.”
“How? Who built this?”
“The hut...” Rimes cleared her throat. “Darren. And the others. The tunnel was left from the war.”
Holly imagined Darren up here, covered in sweat and dirt as he put together an impenetrable dog crate. Was it because she’d never let him have a dog of his own? “How much time did he spend here?”
“Oh…” Rimes’ voice was quiet, regretful. “Not much. The men brought supplies, occasional samples. Mostly they grouped together in town. Without me.”
The doctor was careful to make that point. She clearly knew there’d been friction about her, in the Barton household. Holly sighed at the dumb simplicity of Darren’s deceit. He’d wanted to hang out drinking and fighting, like most uncivilised males. It just fumbled him into an unholy underworld. “Why are all these things under Ordshaw?”
Rimes gave her a nervous look.
“Who built those tunnels? Where does it come from?”
Again, Rimes looked uncertain. She smiled awkwardly and said, “The helluvian hound has more in common with a lizard than a canine; possibly it has reptilian ancestry. My speciality is the flora, though. Adapted to survive without sunlight. Some of the strains – the plant life – there’s nothing like it in the UK. One plant – its closest relative is found on a little-known Pacific island.”
Holly raised an eyebrow. “So it’s not just Ordshaw?”
“Maybe.” Rimes shrugged. “If not, it’s a secret elsewhere, too.”
Of course. Likely there were countless remarkable, otherworldly phenomenon, institutionally hidden by organisations oblivious to each other’s existence. And secrets upon secrets because husbands thought their wives couldn’t handle the truth.
A phone rang inside.
Out here in the woods with a fire-breathing dog, it seemed almost surreal. It rang again. The chime of an old phone bell. And again. Rimes didn’t move, looking terrified, and needed Holly’s intervention as a trigger. “Shouldn’t we answer that?”
The fear of pursuit made it easier to traverse Ordshaw’s traffic. Pranging the bike or breaking the Highway Code no longer concerned Pax. She had to get out of the open, into the (supposed) safety Rolarn claimed was waiting in Broadplain Plaza. Broadplain was where Letty said his hideout was, wasn’t it? She’d said she’d call someone, and used his name earlier, so this was all good, Pax told herself. Never mind that he hadn’t relaxed his grip on his gun and was completely stand-offish in his manner.
Pax tried not to think beyond following road signs. Only once she was safe, and reunited with Letty, would she let herself worry about other Fae. Or the fact that the Ministry had almost snared her. Or that the Blue Angel’s slug-like emissary could have killed her. Or that the encounter with Sam Ward had raised questions about Apothel – the one man who might’ve known what she herself was going through, labelled as mad. And then there was also the question of the trouble Casaria was in. And, worst of all, the physical response she’d had when the Blue Angel had caught her out. The same feeling she’d woken with, when the building had been quaking on the other side of Ordshaw. The same feeling, she considered, as when the monster had shocked her, under the city.
All that could wait. It had to wait, while she focused on the signs pointing towards Broadplain. She weaved between slow-moving vans on a four-lane road, skirted the south side of Old Ordshaw, passing cobbled lanes, and finally left the glass skyscrapers of Central Ordshaw for the concrete squares of Broadplain, a commercial district that had been poorly preserved over the years.
Broadplain Plaza was impossible to miss. The shopping centre was a windowless eyesore that spanned three streets with variously sized cubes and walkways. Its single defining feature was its name, hanging on one wall in giant metal letters that must have once stood as proud, angular white monoliths. They were now greening relics, cracked but too sad for even weeds to come near. The outward-facing shopfronts added to that tired image, mostly boarded up, but the area was still busy with people milling through the plaza doors carrying overstuffed carrier bags.
Pax kept her head down, passing spiked security camera poles, to ride into the covered multi-storey car park. After hiding the scooter in a corner, she followed Rolarn’s instructions through the building, the fairy appearing out of nowhere to tell her to turn left or right, then disappearing again.
Pax continued on autopilot, trying to suppress the feeling that something was seriously wrong with her. She followed a path overlooking scores of stores. The complex space of the fluorescent-lit halls, tiered walkways and distant ceilings with mossy skylights made the individual shops seem like minor glitches in an otherwise abandoned labyrinth. The shoppers were eerily quiet as they filled the complex. A group watching TVs through an electronics shop window did so silently. Pax frowned. Were they gathering around some breaking news?
It was time, now. They had arrived and she had to admit that when she’d faced that blue screen she hadn’t had a simple panicking spasm. It wasn
’t just the screen somehow attacking her, either. Something had happened, she’d felt it happen.
“This way,” Rolarn said, near a turning.
Pax said, “There’s something going on. Can you go check it out?”
“Mm.”
“Mm no, or mm yes?”
He didn’t clarify. Which made it a no.
“Christ.” Pax took out Rimes’ phone, to find the answer herself.
“You want to keep stopping,” Rolarn warned her, “we’re gonna have a problem.”
For someone supposedly there to help, he was determined to make life difficult. He also still had that gun out. Pax risked activating the phone anyway, figuring he was, after all, sent to save her. There was no internet connection. Predictable, inside this concrete temple. There was one bar of phone signal, at least, so she said, “I’ve gotta make a call.”
“You tell anyone where you are, we’re gonna have a big problem. Human.” Rolarn made the last word bite, his attitude feeding into Pax’s instinctive dislike.
She gave him a careful look. Rolarn had on a faded yellow shirt, collar open and crumpled, half-untucked from loose beige trousers. His gut hung over his belt and his head folded into his neck, with a bad comb-over and an unhappy, impatient scowl up top. Pax concluded, “You look like a shit lawyer. A tiny shit lawyer.”
“With a gun.”
“Congratulations. Listen, I’m not gonna give away your home, but I need to make a call.” Pax thumbed through the contacts on Rimes phone. Five names. There had to be someone with the number for the telegraph station, so she could get in touch with Barton and the others. Apothel, well he was dead; Darren, his phone was dead; Ministry, go to hell; Rik, missing. That left Ruth. No home number. Great. Pax called Ruth and spoke to Rolarn as it rang. “You can relax. You’re mates with Letty, right?”
“Letty doesn’t have mates.”
“Are you associates?”
“Mandy?” A mature woman answered the phone. “What’s wrong?”
“Not Mandy,” Pax said. “I’ve got her phone, have you got her home number?”
The Sunken City Trilogy Page 41
