A shape moved in the darkness as someone sat up. ‘Oh, it’s you. Up to more mischief, are you?’ a rough, scraping voice mumbled at Eddie.
Eddie peered into the gloom and saw it was the old man who had been chopping wood, the man who had helped him hide from Pearce. ‘Yeah, it’s me,’ he whispered, tiptoeing to the man’s side. ‘I’m looking for my friends – for Jack and Mikey.’
‘Midnight escape is it? Good for you, son. Good for you.’ The old man sniffed and settled back into his thin blanket. ‘You’ll find ’em down the end.’
Eddie managed to find and wake Jack – who was so excited to see him that Eddie had trouble keeping the boy quiet. Together they roused Mikey. An older boy in the next bed sat up, interested to know what was going on.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he offered. ‘I’m awake now.’
‘Did you know Charlie?’ Eddie asked him quietly.
‘He was all right, was Charlie.’
‘Then you can come.’
Eddie led them back along the dormitory to where Sir William waited patiently. Then together they trooped down the stairs.
They were almost at the bottom when a large shape loomed out of the near-darkness. ‘And where do you think you lot are off to?’ a gruff voice demanded.
‘Strewth!’ Eddie said. ‘It’s Mr Pearce.’
‘Leg it!’ Jack said.
‘No, no,’ Sir William said quietly. ‘There’s no call for that. I’m sure Mr Pearce is a reasonable man.’
‘Then you don’t know him,’ Eddie said.
‘And who the hell are you?’
‘I am Sir William Protheroe, and I have need of the assistance of these young men.’
‘Oh do you?’ Pearce was blocking the narrow corridor at the bottom of the stairs that led to the outside door. He was holding a cudgel and smacked it threateningly into the palm of his hand. ‘No one takes my boys.’
‘Really?’ Sir William took a step towards the man, and Eddie was tempted to grab his coat and yank him back. ‘But that’s not true is it, Mr Pearce? The Coachman,’ Sir William went on, ‘he takes your boys. Boys, girls, I don’t suppose he cares. I don’t suppose you care. Just so long as no one misses them. Just so long as you get your cut.’
‘Are you from the Coachman?’ Pearce asked, nervous now.
‘No. But the Coachman won’t be coming again. I shall see to that. And you, Mr Pearce …’ Eddie was surprised to see that Sir William was shaking with anger. ‘You had better pack whatever bags you have.’
Pearce raised the cudgel. ‘Be careful what you say, old man.’ He took a step towards Sir William.
‘You like hitting old men, don’t you?’ The voice came from further up the stairs.
Eddie looked back, and saw that the stairs were now crowded with figures from the dormitory above.
‘Well, we’ve had enough of it.’ It was the old man who had befriended Eddie. ‘You let them be about their business.’
‘Or else what?’
A younger, stronger voice shouted down the stairs. ‘We’re not all old men and kids, you know, Pearce. We might be out of work and homeless, but we’re not going to be bullied by you. This Sir William bloke – he’s got something to do. Something important by the look of him and the sound of what he says. So you let him be about his business.’
There were cheers and shouts of agreement.
Pearce backed slowly away, scowling. But beneath the scowl he looked pale and anxious.
‘Oh, and Mr Pearce, sir,’ the old man on the stairs called above the noise. ‘Reckon you’d better pack your bags like the gentleman says. Before the peelers come asking about Charlie and the others.’
‘I’ll get you for this,’ Pearce said in a low voice as Sir William and Eddie pushed past him.
‘Oh I very much doubt that,’ Sir William said.
Eddie grinned. ‘In your dreams, mate.’
They were halfway across the courtyard when Eddie heard the sound of running feet behind them. Afraid it might be Pearce, he whirled round. But it was Eve, pulling a threadbare cloak over a grubby nightgown.
‘You ain’t going without me,’ she said. ‘Whatever you’re up to, I’m coming too.’
Eddie grinned. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Cos we need all the help we can get.’
‘Indeed we do,’ Sir William agreed. ‘Now gather round and let me explain what needs to be done.’
The children stared at him as he quickly told them about the vampires, about the gathering at Parliament, and about what he and Eddie had decided to do.
‘Some of the women make baskets,’ Eve said. ‘Sort of square, wicker baskets with lids. I help them, so I know where they are.’
‘And I know where to take them,’ Eddie said. ‘George told me just the place.’
‘Excellent.’ Sir William clapped his hands together. ‘You know, this might just work. Now, I must leave you in Eddie’s capable hands.’
‘Aren’t you coming with us? Where are you going?’ Eddie asked in surprise.
‘I have an appointment with Mr Gladstone.’
‘The Prime Minister?’ Eve said.
‘The very same. I’m going to see if I can stop or at least delay the ceremony.’
‘The Coachman will kill you,’ Eddie said.
Sir William put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. ‘If we don’t stop him, the Coachman and his kind will kill us all.’
The graveyard was like a battlefield. Fog drifted like smoke over the churned and broken ground. George picked his way round the holes and crevices back to the path. Gravestones had tilted and fallen as the ground opened. The place seemed deserted, but George listened carefully for any sound, staring into the grey night for any sign that he was not alone.
He was still half expecting Clarissa to appear fully recovered out of the mist in front of him. He didn’t know if she was dead or merely unconscious, but George remembered what Sir William had said about the mountains being a place of sanctuary, and the vampires’ fear of running water. It was all to do with oxygen, with breathing, with the strength of the heart pumping richer than usual blood round the body.
The grave he was looking for was a short distance from the path. It had no headstone of its own. It never would. George looked down into the gaping hole, remembering with a shudder how he and Eddie had forced their way out of it. It would be a brave man who went back down there. Or a foolish one.
He wasn’t sure which of those he was, but George had a plan. He sat by the edge of Christopher Kingsley’s grave and swung his feet into it, then lowered himself carefully into the catacombs below.
There were several MPs in the Central Lobby, talking quietly.
‘You any idea what this is all about?’ one of them asked Sir William as he hurried in.
‘I’m afraid I have,’ he said grimly. ‘And I would advise you to go home immediately.’
The man stared at Sir William. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Sir William will have his little joke,’ a voice said from behind him.
Sir William turned to find Anthony Barford standing there. ‘How kind of you to join us, Sir William. Please, if you will come this way? We are nearly ready to begin.’
It would have been easy to walk away, but Sir William needed to know what was happening. He needed to buy time for Eddie. And in any event, he could see the pale emaciated figures standing beside the exits. It was not difficult to guess what they were, or what would happen to him – and the genuine Members of Parliament – if he caused any trouble now.
‘I’ve been looking forward to it.’ He turned to go.
But Barford’s hand caught his arm. ‘Not that way. Not to the House of Commons. Mr Gladstone and his colleagues are taking their seats there, but I am afraid it will be necessary to bring them along to the other chamber.’
‘To the House of Lords?’
Barford’s bloodless lips drew back in a smile. ‘Where else would the Lord of the Undead watch over his parliament?’
‘Right
,’ Eddie declared. ‘Time to get going.’
They hurried along Mortill Street, each with a basket clutched tightly. The wicker was rough and grazed Eddie’s hands.
‘You do this sort of thing a lot?’ the new boy asked. He’d told them his name was Alex.
‘Seems like it,’ Eddie admitted. ‘I used to be a pick-pocket. But things have got a bit hectic since I gave that up. Come on, let’s find a cab.’
‘We’ll never see a cab in this,’ Alex said.
‘And how do we pay?’ Jack wondered.
Eddie jammed his basket under his arm and with his free hand pulled a bulging wallet from his pocket. The leather was scuffed and worn. ‘I think I can afford it,’ he said proudly.
‘Where did you get that?’ Alex said.
‘Just sort of fell into my possession,’ Eddie admitted. ‘When I pushed past Mr Pearce. And a policeman gave me tuppence.’
They all stopped as they heard the sound of carriage wheels. A cab rattled out of the fog, and Eddie shouted and waved with his free hand. But it did not stop.
Mikey had to leap out of the way as the cab sped past. He glared after it, as usual saying nothing.
‘He could have killed Mikey,’ Eve said angrily.
The next cab was going so fast it almost knocked Jack down. Eddie hauled the small boy out of the way as the cab clipped the kerb.
‘What’s got into them?’ Eddie said. ‘No call to be driving like that, especially in the fog.’
The next cab stopped. But only for long enough for the driver to yell at them from his seat above and behind the horses.
‘Don’t go that way. Get off out of it while you can.’
‘Why?’ Eddie shouted back. ‘What’s going on, what’s wrong?’
‘They’re coming. Out of the graveyards, out of the derelict houses. Out of everywhere. You got to keep out of their way. Get in, I’ll take you. Don’t worry about the fare.’
‘We need to get to the Houses of Parliament,’ Eddie said, grateful but confused.
The driver immediately cracked his whip down at the horses. ‘I ain’t taking you there,’ he yelled back. ‘Looks like Westminster’s where they’re heading.’ The cab lurched off into the fog, gathering speed and leaving Eddie and his friends staring after it.
‘What’s he mean?’ Jack asked anxiously.
‘I think we’d better get a move on,’ Eddie said.
The next cab they found was abandoned. The horse stamped its feet and puffed in the cold of the night. The driver and several passengers were lying on the pavement a few yards away. Their broken bodies were pale and bloodless. Eddie spared them a brief look, then climbed up on to the driver’s box and settled his wicker basket beside him.
‘Get in then,’ he called down. ‘Next stop, the Houses of Parliament.’
Eve climbed up beside him while the others clambered into the body of the cab. ‘You know how to drive, do you?’ she asked.
‘Can’t be that hard. Cabbies do it.’
‘Thought not.’ Eve took the reins from Eddie. ‘So leave it to someone who does.’
‘Take your hands off me, sir!’ the Prime Minister demanded.
Sir William was seated in the front row of the ornate red cross-benches, facing forward. Barford had promised him a good view, and he certainly had that. The House of Lords was almost full. Pale, drawn figures sat and stood so closely together that only the central aisle was empty. He could see several figures he knew – the small grey-haired Mrs Brinson, and the Curator of one of the other departments of the British Museum, as well as several peers of the realm and other notable people …
The whole place was more like a chapel than a debating chamber. The end of the high-vaulted chamber was dominated by the ornate gold-leafed throne and the canopy behind it. There were two less ornamental chairs in front of the canopy, either side of the throne. On one of them sat Liz, looking every bit as pale as the other vampires. On the second seat was the Coachman, still wearing his cloak and his hat. On the floor beside him stood the canopic jar with its scorpion-shaped lid containing the heart of the Lord of the Undead. The Coachman’s skull-face stared out over the assembly, and Gladstone’s voice rang out again.
‘I have never known such a thing!’
‘Be silent!’ the Coachman roared as Gladstone and several other people were dragged to the front of the chamber.
Sir William recognised many of them – prominent government ministers. All were doing their best to look dignified and confident. All were obviously terrified as Anthony Barford, Harrison Judd and several others dragged them before the empty throne.
‘Henry Malvern should be here,’ Barford said quietly.
‘I’m sure he will make an appearance,’ Sir Harrison Judd said. ‘He had to cancel his dinner with Stoker from the Lyceum Theatre. You know how touchy the man can get.’
Alone of the half-dozen men now arranged before the throne William Gladstone looked angry rather than fearful. He was in his seventies, stooped but assured. Wisps of white hair clung to his balding scalp and his heavily lined forehead and face made him look even more severe.
‘I demand to know what is going on,’ Gladstone said. ‘What is the meaning of this, Barford?’ he demanded, turning to face the man who held him tightly by the arm.
‘All will be explained,’ Barford said.
As he turned back, Gladstone caught sight of Sir William watching him. He frowned, looking round at the other pallid faces staring back at him. Then he looked again at Sir William’s more ruddy complexion. His eyebrows arched in a silent question.
Sir William could not answer, but he nodded slightly, hoping to give whatever reassurance the Prime Minister needed to get through the long night ahead.
The cab thundered over Westminster Bridge, sending the fog skidding away. There was little other traffic. But ahead, through the heavy air, Eddie could see the indistinct shapes of figures – people walking towards Parliament.
Eve drove the cab between them. People turned to look. Pale, bloodless faces peered out of the fog. Someone jumped aside just in time as the cab hurtled past.
‘You done this a lot?’ Eddie shouted above the sound of the hoofs and the wheels.
Eve grinned at him. ‘First time. I just wanted to have a go.’
‘Terrific,’ Eddie muttered. ‘Scared by mummies, attacked by vampires, killed by a runaway cab.’
The crush of people got tighter as they approached the end of the bridge. The horse was forced to slow down to a fast walk.
‘Where are they all coming from?’ Eve wondered.
‘Out of the ground,’ Eddie said. ‘Or the walls of other haunted houses. They must have resting places all over London. Let’s just get through them.’
A hand clutched at Eddie’s arm and he thumped at it, wrenching himself away from its grip. More hands reached up. The cab was slowing. Eve gave a cry and lurched to the side as someone tried to pull her off the driver’s seat. Eddie held tight to her and struggled to pull the girl back.
‘Go on!’ he yelled at the horse. There was a whip in a holder beside the seat and Eddie grabbed it. He hated himself for doing it, but he cracked the whip as hard as he could above the horse’s back. The cab lurched forwards. A pale figure was thrown aside as the horse forced its way through the crowd. Eve lurched back towards Eddie as the vampire that had hold of her fell.
Eddie looked down at the mass of clutching hands as the cab kept going. A woman – pale, drawn, with angular features – leaped up on to the running board and reached in through the cab window. There was a shout from inside:
‘Look out, Jack!’
Eddie realised with surprise that it was Mikey’s voice.
The woman was fumbling with the door, trying to open it and climb inside.
‘Do it now!’ Jack yelled.
‘No,’ Eddie shouted back. ‘It’s too soon.’ He turned to Eve. ‘Keep going – fast as you can.’ He handed her the whip, then he jumped down on to the running board, beside the
woman. And within reach of the vampires racing alongside the cab.
The Coachman lifted the canopic jar and held it high above his head as he strode to the front of the dais on which the throne stood. Then he slowly lowered it and placed it in front of the throne.
‘Now it begins,’ he announced. ‘We are gathered here to witness the birth of a new empire. An empire not of steel and sweat, but of fear and blood. From here we will govern the whole world. Our Lord has returned and our brethren have risen. Now begins the Parliament of Blood.’ He turned to face the empty throne, and bowed.
‘And here is our new sovereign: Orabis, Lord of the Undead.’
All around the chamber echoed to the chant: ‘Orabis, Orabis, Orabis.’
Sir William watched in horror, saw Liz’s eyes widen in astonishment, felt suddenly empty and sick. The ornate golden throne disappeared. With a crack like thunder, a hole had opened in the floor and it fell away beneath the dais.
For the first time, Sir William saw that there were ropes hanging from the ceiling of the chamber. They were hard to make out against the ornate canopy and screen behind where the throne had been, until they moved. Somewhere deep below a powerful engine sputtered into life. There was a grinding and clanking of gears.
A new throne was rising slowly, majestically out of the floor. It was oily and industrial, wrought from iron and wood. The figure seated on it was held in place by pipes and tubes that fed directly into its shrunken, emaciated form. Strips of ragged bandage hung from the body. A golden ankh hung on a chain round the neck. Long-dead eyes stared out from wizened features as Orabis surveyed the assembled mass of vampires. From the catacombs deep below the earth, the Lord of the Undead was rising to take his place at the heart of the Parliament of Blood.
CHAPTER 29
George hurried along a tunnel, keeping to the shadows and trying to avoid the groups of vampires making their way from the Damnation Club to the main chamber.
The roof of the cavern where he had arrived was pitted and scarred and broken open. Earth was scattered across the floor. It seemed that just as many vampires had burrowed down into the cavern as had forced their way up through the ground into the graveyard above.
The Parliament of Blood Page 24
