The Infinity Engines Books 1-3

by Andrew Hastie

  ‘Quite enough of that, Lyra,’ Sim remonstrated as he sat down between them. ‘Ignore my sister — she’s a total tart. Do you come from around here?’

  ‘No, South London. Never been this far north.’

  Lyra chuckled from behind Sim and said something under her breath that Sim ignored.

  ‘Never been to Highgate? It has the most famous graveyard in London. Karl Marx is buried there.’

  ‘And Milton,’ Lyra added.

  ‘And Faraday.’

  ‘Malcolm McLaren.’

  ‘And Rossetti . . .’

  The game continued round the table, naming various famous dead people that were interred in the cemetery until it came to Dalton. He took a long sip of his beer before he spoke.

  ‘Something you may be interested to know, Josh: there are actually fifty-nine soldiers of the Second World War lying dead in the cold earth of Highgate.’

  The silence was deafening. The game was spoilt, and all eyes had turned on Josh.

  ‘Why would I find that interesting?’ asked Josh.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe something to do with —’

  ‘Your interest in military history,’ interrupted Caitlin as she put down the tray of drinks. Her expression was difficult to read. Josh thought he saw a glint of a warning to Dalton, but couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Just time for one more before the gig starts,’ she said, handing out the drinks. Which, to everyone’s relief, gave them all an excuse to change the subject.

  Caitlin sat down next to Josh and raised her pint.

  ‘Cheers!’ she said as she tapped his glass. ‘Still glad you came? I know these guys can be a little eccentric so don’t take them too seriously.’

  ‘Did you tell him about the medal?’ Josh asked, staring at Dalton.

  ‘Of course not. I just said you were interested in the war. Don’t pay him any attention.’

  Josh couldn’t shake the idea that Dalton knew about what had happened with the medal.

  ‘So what are you into?’ asked Caitlin. ‘Other than war memorabilia?’

  ‘Cars.’ He thought it was wise to stay as close to the truth as possible.

  ‘What, like a mechanic?’

  ‘No. Like designing them.’ He couldn’t help himself — the lie just created itself instantly, driven by his need to impress her.

  ‘Wow. Which course?’

  ‘CAD at Coventry. It’s supposed to be the best in the country.’

  She looked impressed. ‘Good for you. I would never have taken you for a student.’

  ‘Really? What did you think I was, then?’ he asked, taking a drink to calm his nerves.

  ‘Oh, you don’t want to know. It was silly really.’

  ‘You can’t drop that bomb and walk away.’

  She looked down into her lap as if embarrassed. ‘Well, I thought that maybe you were a thief and that you had stolen the medal.’

  ‘Yeah I get that a lot. Something about my swarthy complexion.’ He screwed up one eye and pulled a face.

  ‘Ignore me,’ she giggled, ‘and stop that — you look ridiculous!’ She hit him on the arm.

  ‘Now tell me something about you,’ he said, rubbing his arm as if it hurt.

  ‘Nothing much to say. Studying History at Oxford. I work in the library during the summer, stay with my godparents in Camden. Drink too much, smoke too much, the usual kind of stuff.’

  He wanted to ask her about boyfriends, but knew better than to go there. He would have to wait for her to make the first move. She was way out of his usual league, and he needed to play it cool.

  ‘What’s Oxford like?’

  ‘Beautiful, and full of brilliant people — they make me look completely stupid.’

  ‘I can’t believe that,’ he said, making a mental note never to go there. ‘I bet you know loads of things.’

  ‘Ha. You think so? Ask me a question.’

  He thought for a moment, then the years of having to endure his mother’s quiz shows finally came in useful.

  ‘Which English king was the last to die in battle?’

  Caitlin nearly spat out her drink. ‘Blimey, I was expecting something a little more easy to start!’

  ‘Do you want an easier one?’ he asked, apologetically.

  ‘No. No. It’s fine. Has to be something in the fifteenth century — give me a second.’ She screwed up her eyes and caressed the dragon pendant on her necklace.

  ‘Do you want a clue?’

  ‘Shh!’

  ‘I’m going to have to hurry you.’

  ‘Wait. I know this.’ Her hand waved about in the air. ‘It was Bosworth, which means...’ Her fingers counted out against her thumb. She opened her eyes. ‘Richard the Third!’

  He clapped his hands together. ‘You’re good. That was a third-round question. Even my mum had difficulty with that one.’

  ‘Is your mother a historian?’ Caitlin asked eagerly.

  ‘No,’ he laughed, ‘more of a collector of useless facts. An armchair expert.’

  She shook her head. ‘No such thing as a useless fact. She sounds like a very clever lady.’

  She was once, he thought to himself, and I think she would like you very much.

  Josh wanted to spend more time with Caitlin, but she’d made some lame excuse to go off and argue with Dalton. He managed to glean more about her from Sim, how she was an adopted sister. He wouldn’t go into details about what had happened to her parents, but she had lived with his family since she was ten. Sim was obviously a maths genius, who was about to start working at a highly respected institution that Josh had never heard of. He also figured out that Sim really liked the little dark-haired girl in the corner, whose name was Thea, and that he was too shy to ask her out.

  From his accent Josh assumed that Sim had been to private school, but in other ways he really wasn’t that different from him, and Josh couldn’t help but like the guy.

  Apparently the band was about to start. Caitlin finished the argument with Dalton and tried ineffectively to get everyone to leave the ‘snug’ and make their way through to a large room at the back.

  Dalton, who looked rather sheepish after Caitlin had finished talking to him, took control and marched them all out in military fashion.

  Josh stayed back, but Caitlin caught his arm.

  ‘Ready for some dancing, then, medallion man?’ she asked with a slightly inebriated snigger.

  ‘I was going to shoot off actually.’

  ‘Why?’ She looked genuinely surprised.

  ‘It’s not really my thing.’

  ‘So what is?’

  ‘Not this. You’re all public school and loaded — I’ve got about a fiver in change.’ The truth slipped out before his drunken brain had time to filter it.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Josh. They like you.’ Then she saw his doubtful expression. ‘Well, Dalton doesn’t like anyone other than himself so don’t take any notice of him.’ Her eyes narrowed.‘Stay for a couple of songs — they really are awesome live.’

  The sounds of a guitar tuning up rose over the chatter, and the bar began to empty.

  ‘I tell you what.’ She held out her hand as if they were making a bet. ‘If you make it through the first set, I’ll help you find a collector tomorrow. For your grandfather’s medal?’

  He’d totally forgotten about the damn medal. Somehow it had slipped his mind. He took her soft, delicate hand and shook it gently.

  ‘Deal.’

  13

  Necropolis

  The sound of the last song was still buzzing in his ears as he followed Caitlin and the others out into the cold night air. It was way past midnight; the sky was a clear dark velvet, lit only by a full moon, which painted the landscape in silvery tones.

  The pub crowd had emptied out onto the street and were either standing staring into the pale light of their smartphones or heading towards the high street in search of taxis. They were like some strange circus troop singing and dancing their way into the night. Jos
h watched them go, undecided as to whether he should follow them. But he was still buzzing from the gig, and there was nothing to go back home for — at least, nothing he cared about right now.

  Caitlin and her friends had broken away from the main group and disappeared down a side street. When Josh caught up with them, he could see that they were heading for a church. Its silvered steeple stood out against the curtain of stars like a gothic ice sculpture. Josh had no idea where they were going or what they were planning to do, which suited him. He didn’t want to think about anything.

  As they walked through the churchyard, he caught up with Sim.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Josh whispered.

  ‘Another party!’ Sim said with a grin. ‘A special one.’

  ‘In a graveyard?’

  Sim smirked. ‘Kind of.’

  At the back of the churchyard was a tall brick wall; it was covered with ivy and stretched away in both directions. The group made for a dark, shadowy part of the wall and seemed to vanish into it. As Josh got closer, he saw there was a door, a wooden gate bound with rusted iron, and at its centre was a symbol, a snake devouring its own tail.

  Dalton was standing waiting for him on the other side of the gate, his profile a black silhouette against the moonlit marble tombs. The grey walls of a sprawling necropolis stretched out behind him for miles. Josh could see Caitlin was standing next to him, she was protesting about something, but Josh couldn’t hear what it was about. The others were climbing down into the stone avenues of the crypts. The gate was another way into Highgate Cemetery, not somewhere he had ever really wanted to spend any time, but it was different and kind of exciting.

  ‘He’s not one of us!’ he heard Dalton say.

  ‘He is under my jurisdiction. You have to let him try.’

  As Josh came through the gate, she turned towards him. ‘Josh. There is something I need to explain.’ She sounded serious and incredibly sober.

  ‘No need. I know when I’m not welcome.’ Josh’s head was spinning. The night air was making him feel a little weird.

  ‘See. Even he knows!’ said Dalton, slurring his words. ‘You can’t just go picking up any oik off the street because he shows a little talent.’

  ‘Who are you calling an oik?’ asked Josh, his temper flaring. He was finding it hard not to punch the pompous git in the face.

  ‘You really know how to pick them, Cat. I’ve seen his type before — they’re destined to fail.’

  Josh had the feeling that there was more to this conversation than he knew. He wanted an explanation, and he felt his fists tightening as he thought about how he was going to get it.

  ‘Josh. Listen to me,’ said Caitlin calmly. ‘He’s just looking to provoke a reaction. Don’t give him the satisfaction.’

  ‘Yes, Josh. Be a good boy. Do as you’re told. Wouldn’t want Mummy to get upset now, would we? Not in her condition.’

  That was the final straw, Josh lashed out with his right hand and punched Dalton in the jaw. Dalton went down hard. It was possibly the most satisfying thing he had done in years, suddenly all of the pent up frustration and anger broke free, and he was on top of Dalton hitting him as hard as he could.

  ‘JOSH!’

  He could hear Caitlin screaming from somewhere far away. He didn’t care. He was focused on destroying everything that was wrong in his life. Dalton was Lenin, MS, the father he had never known, all these things and more. He felt the punches landing one after the other and with each one a door opened to more painful memories.

  There were other voices around him. Hands grabbed his arms and dragged him off the ground. Dalton’s body was no longer there.

  Then the world around him twisted, and he was standing at the gate once more. Dalton was talking to Caitlin as if there had never been a fight.

  ‘The first test of any gentleman is the ability to control one’s temper,’ he said, adjusting his tie. He didn’t have a mark on his face.

  Josh lunged forward, but this time Sim grabbed his arm and shook his head.

  ‘I rest my case. He’s a bloody savage.’ Dalton added turning to Caitlin.

  ‘You did that on purpose. You read him, didn’t you?’

  Dalton shrugged. ‘Well, it is my job after all!’ He took out his watch, which was on a chain like the colonel’s. ‘Shall we? I believe the Sun King is about to start the ball,’ he added as he walked off down in the direction the others had taken.

  Caitlin turned toward Josh. She looked very disappointed ‘Let him go, Sim.’

  He felt Sim’s hands relax and move away. The guy was stronger than he looked.

  ‘What the hell is going on? One minute he’s on the floor and the next he’s over there!’ Josh shouted at them.

  ‘You wouldn’t understand. It’s complicated,’ Caitlin replied, shaking her head.

  ‘Well, he deserved it,’ declared Josh checking his hands for cuts and finding none.

  Caitlin’s eyes lit up with a fire of her own. ‘No! That’s not true. I expected you to be better than that! You’re my guest, and you punch the first guy who gives you a hard time.’

  ‘You don’t own me! I don’t need to explain myself to you or anyone else!’

  ‘So that’s how it is. Josh against the rest of the world?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s done me okay so far.’

  ‘Really? Has it? Can you honestly say you’re happy with your life? Based on what I’ve seen I would say not!’

  ‘He started it!’ Josh heard himself say, and knew that he had lost.

  ‘Oh, grow up, Joshua!’ Caitlin said as she stormed off.

  Sim followed a few steps behind. He shrugged at Josh as if to say, ‘Women. What can you do?’ and they disappeared down into the crypts.

  Josh stood alone in the doorway trying to work out what had just happened — the night wasn’t supposed to end this way. He had never really cared about what other people thought of him, but the look of disappointment on Cailtin’s face was bothering him. Without her, it was going to be difficult to find a dealer for the medal. If he apologised now, maybe he could salvage something.

  He followed her down the steps into the dark street of tombs.

  Caitlin and Sim had caught up with the rest of the group, who were easy to spot by the glow of the torches they were using to read the inscriptions on the tombs.

  One of them shouted, and the others collected around the voice.

  Josh wanted to talk to Caitlin alone, and he slowly worked his way through the shadows of the baroque vaults until he was close enough to see what they were doing.

  Dalton inspected the inscription on a large stone sarcophagus and then produced a small book from his jacket, tore a page out and began to recite from the text. From his hiding place, it sounded like poetry to Josh, who was just thinking how weird this was becoming when he saw Dalton hold the page up to the tomb and disappear. Then, as if to confirm his disbelief, the rest of the group followed suit — each one taking a page out of the book and vanishing. Not through some secret trapdoor, but just basically winking out of existence. Caitlin was the last — she looked around as if expecting someone else to turn up, then she too disappeared.

  He went over to where they had all been standing and inspected the inscription on the grave. The weather-worn text read:

  Here lies what remains of John Milton. Author of Paradise Lost. 1608—1674

  The ground was littered with torn pages from the book. Some seemed to be glowing, and as Josh tentatively picked one up a string of light grew between it and the stone. He could hear the faint sounds of laughter and a string quartet, as the line turned into a ribbon that grew out from the page. Spreading like a vine, it twisted and turned round his arm. There were knots of energy with strange symbols floating around them. The motion of the twisting made him feel dizzy, as if he was looking down at it from a great height. He dropped the page, shaking his hand as if it had been burnt; the light died away. It left him feeling weird, a mixture of being on some major high and incredibly
drunk at the same time.

  Something was tingling on his hand, but he ignored it and ran back to the gate. This night had given him enough surprises — now he just wanted to be in his bed.

  14

  The Colonel

  Josh slept through most of Sunday, only waking up once to eat cold baked beans out of a tin. He’d never felt this rough. It was as if man-flu and a hangover were fighting over the rights to his body — something had drained all his energy.

  His dreams were full of wild things, strange twisted versions of events that folded in on themselves. In one, his mother was completely cured and happy but one of her eyes was missing. She kept repeating: ‘It was a small price to pay,’ as she hoovered the flat. Another had him back in his old primary school trying to reach a rope that was just out of reach. He could hear his gym teacher shouting at him and when he turned round he found it was himself screaming at him to make the jump.

  He awoke in a cold sweat. It was morning, and the clock showed it was well past 9am, which meant he was already in trouble with Mr Bell. He was lying on top of the duvet, still wearing the clothes from Saturday night. There was a faint aroma of Caitlin about them, from which he took a moment of indulgence. She’d spent most of the gig jumping up and down against him — something she apparently considered to be dancing. Josh remembered the way she’d felt as they had been pressed together in the crowd. He had restrained himself from putting his hands on her, even though she probably wouldn’t have noticed; his mother had taught him how to treat women with respect.

  There was still a faint ghost of a headache lingering at the back of his head, but it didn’t hurt anything like as much as his hand. He pulled off his hoodie and examined his arm. There was a subtle, fractal-like pattern of burns all the way up from his wrist to his elbow — like a henna tattoo from an Indian wedding — except it was etched into his skin like a scar. His right hand was covered in a filigree of intricate symbols and shapes that were not from any language he’d ever seen. Josh tried to remember what had happened on Saturday night, but it was a blur. The last moments in the graveyard were particularly fuzzy; he remembered something about a crypt and some fireworks, but it was vague and shapeless, like a dream. Did he get a tattoo on the way home? He doubted it.