The Parliament of Blood

by Justin Richards

  Now the tunnels themselves were alive with the undead. The walls shimmered and heaved as pale bodies forced themselves out of the rock. The ground was slick with congealing blood that seemed to seep out of the floor and the walls. Bricks fell into the tunnels as more and more of the grotesque figures erupted from the very architecture. It was as if the place had been built round them, George thought. Perhaps it had. Who knew how long they had slept there, waiting for the return of Orabis.

  George evaded the clutching hands and the people that staggered back and forth as they regained their balance, remembered how to walk, woke into an older world …

  At last he found himself at a junction he recognised. He was not far from the main chamber. And behind that was the pumping machinery.

  As he approached the chamber he could hear the chanting: ‘Orabis, Orabis, Orabis …’ But it wasn’t the chamber he needed to get to, it was the cavern behind it. With luck that would be deserted.

  Just round the next corner, George realised. If he could sneak past the entrance to the main chamber without being seen, he would be there. There was a patter of dust on George’s shoulder. He brushed it off without thinking, then hesitated and glanced up.

  The roof was coming down. Chunks of stone and masonry tumbled out of the darkness towards him. George leaped back and the stones exploded as they shattered on impact. Shards whipped past George’s cheek. Then a dark shape dropped to the ground in front of George. A figure straightened up, teeth gleaming in the light from the flickering wall lamps.

  Eddie barged into the vampire woman on the cab’s running board, and she fell. Her hand was still on the handle of the door and she clung on, feet dragging along the roadway. Slowly, she started to haul herself back up.

  Claw-like hands clutched at Eddie, trying to prise him off the side of the cab. He kicked out at them, at the same time struggling to keep his balance. But the sheer mass of them would drag him down if he stayed here. He kicked out again, this time at the woman as she pulled herself back up on to the running board.

  She gave a cry and lost her footing. One of her feet dangled in space. The other caught in the wheel of the cab and she screamed as she was dragged down and under. The cab rose in the air, then thumped down hard on the street again. The force of it broke Eddie free of the clutching hands, and he leaped back up to the driver’s box to rejoin Eve.

  But now he could see there was a man on the roof of the cab, crawling towards Eddie and Eve. His teeth were bared in a hungry grin of triumph.

  ‘Just drive,’ Eddie shouted at Eve. ‘Drive like the devil!’

  The cab surged forward as Eve cracked the whip again. Bodies tumbled away from the sides. The man on the top of the cab slid rapidly backwards as it accelerated and was thrown off with a cry.

  Then suddenly the road ahead was clear. Eddie and Eve were laughing with relief. Eddie banged on the roof and shouted: ‘You all right inside? Nearly there now. Don’t fret. Have your fares ready.’

  George stared at the figure in front of him. It was a man, so thin that his ribs were poking through the pallid skin beneath his tattered shirt. His head tilted back as if he was sniffing the air – hunting.

  ‘They’re all in there,’ George said quickly, pointing to the entrance to the huge underground chamber.

  Dark eyes stared back at George. The head tilted slightly as the creature that had once been a man listened to the chanting of his fellows. Then it turned and shuffled towards the chamber.

  With a long, deep breath George continued down the tunnel to the next opening – the entrance to the Hall of Machines. He could hear them above the sound of the chant as he approached. Rhythmic hissing and clanking as they kept the river water out of the tunnels and fed blood into the pipes running to the throne where Orabis sat.

  Except, George realised, the throne was no longer in the next chamber. The pipe work had been changed. Flexible rubber tubes now led upwards. The ropes he had noticed before led to a vast pulley system suspended near the roof of the room. There was an opening in the roof to allow the ropes and tubes through and George could see light. He could hear echoes of the chanting coming from high above.

  And he could see the dark silhouette of the throne of Orabis held by the ropes in its new location above the catacombs.

  The whole House of Lords seemed to throb. Dark liquid ran and dripped from the tubes feeding into the body enthroned before Sir William and the others. From deep below came the sound of the engines and pumps that sustained the grotesque figure.

  Orabis, Lord of the Undead, opened his mouth and a thin trickle of blood escaped and ran down his chin, dripping on to the stained linen wrapped across his chest. When he spoke, his voice was soft and rich – a contrast to the ancient wizened figure.

  ‘I have slept,’ Orabis said. ‘I have slept for so long. But now I have confounded my enemies. I have awakened and I shall have my heart restored.’ He turned his head slowly to look at Liz. ‘With my new bride, I shall rule over you all. And together, my friends, we will take our rightful place as the supreme power over humanity.’

  He leaned forward, tubes rippling with the movement. His whole body pulsed in time to the heartbeat throb of the pumps. He seemed stronger and less frail by the moment. ‘Today the British Empire. And soon – the world.’

  They abandoned the cab two streets away. The vampires converging on the Palace of Westminster were heading for the entrance that opened on to the street. The crowds were thinning out now as the last of them arrived at Parliament.

  ‘Must be packing them in,’ Jack said.

  ‘The more the better,’ Eddie said.

  Each clutching a wicker basket, the five of them hurried to a small grassed area at the end of the palace away from the Big Ben clock tower.

  ‘We must be able to get in down by the river somewhere,’ Eve said.

  ‘Where we heading for?’ Jack asked. ‘It’s a big place.’

  ‘See the three towers, one at each end and another in the middle,’ Eddie told them. They had to peer into the fog to make out the vague shapes. ‘That’s how they get ventilation. The bad, hot, smelly air is pushed out, and good air is pulled in through the tops of the towers.’

  ‘How?’ Alex wanted to know.

  ‘There’s a smaller tower, down towards Big Ben, and that’s a chimney. I dunno how it works exactly,’ he confessed, wishing he’d paid more attention to George when he explained it. ‘But the hot air from the fire in there goes up the chimney and pulls more air through behind it.’

  ‘So?’ Alex said.

  ‘So, there’s like vents and shafts all through the place for the air to go round. We need to get to them.’

  ‘You mean find where they start and end?’ Eve asked.

  ‘I mean, get right inside them,’ Eddie said.

  But first they had to get into the building. Mikey and Jack found a door that opened on to a terrace above the river, and they carefully eased it open.

  Eddie could see the dark silhouette of a man standing just inside the door. He gestured urgently to the others to be quiet. They needed to distract him somehow, and quickly. He gently pulled the door shut.

  A few moments later, the door opened once more and a boy with a blank, staring expression stepped confidently into the Palace of Westminster. The man turned towards Eddie, his own face pale and drawn.

  Before he could speak, Eddie said: ‘Sir Harrison Judd wants you. Out there.’ He pointed back at the door he had come through.

  The man’s dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Why would he want me?’

  ‘Perhaps so you can explain why this door isn’t locked.’

  The man stared at Eddie for several seconds. Then he strode angrily past him and out into the night.

  No sooner had he set off along the river terrace than four more children slipped ghost-like into the building behind him. Eddie pushed the door shut.

  ‘He’ll be back in a minute, so we’ve got to hurry. Let’s find those ventilation openings that George
told me about.’

  They soon found vents – close to the floor and under the ceiling. They were far too small for what Eddie wanted. Their search was hampered by the need to keep as quiet as possible. The place seemed almost deserted, but they could all hear the rhythmic thump of machinery and Eddie shuddered as he remembered the sound from his encounter with Orabis.

  ‘This big enough?’ Eve asked at last. She and Eddie had found their way down a narrow winding staircase to a basement area. A metal grille covered a rectangular hole in the wall.

  ‘Could be.’ Eddie prised away the grille with his fingers, wincing as he felt his nails tear. ‘Take a look, see if you can get inside.’

  ‘Why me?’ Eve demanded.

  ‘You’re the biggest.’

  ‘Am not!’ she protested.

  ‘You are,’ Eddie insisted. ‘If you can get inside then all of us can.’

  ‘And what if I get stuck?’

  ‘Don’t get stuck,’ Eddie said. ‘That wouldn’t be good.’

  Eve glared at him. Then she nodded and climbed into the opening. It was tight, but she could crawl along inside. ‘Seems all right,’ her muffled voice came back. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Now you can come out. For the moment. I’ll fetch the others,’ Eddie said. ‘You have a look for any more of these vents down here.’

  Sir William was pulled to his feet and led to stand with Gladstone and the other ministers. He stood defiantly before the Lord of the Undead.

  ‘Soon you will join us,’ Orabis said. ‘The key to our power is continuity. Mr Gladstone, you will still be a figurehead, but answering to me.’

  ‘Never!’ Gladstone told him.

  ‘What about Her Majesty?’ one of the other ministers asked in a trembling voice.

  Orabis laughed. Beside him, the Coachman also laughed. Soon the whole chamber and then the entire building was echoing with laughter.

  ‘Her Majesty?’ Orabis said with scorn as the sound died away. ‘She could not even bring herself down from Balmoral to witness the birth of our new empire. But the empire she has ruled will continue. Only the way it is governed need change.’

  The Coachman stepped forward. ‘Let us welcome new blood,’ he said.

  The vampire holding each of the ministers turned to his captive. Teeth flashed white as they lowered their heads. More vampires stepped forward to hold the victims, pulling their heads to one side to expose the necks. Sir William felt the cold breath on his neck …

  ‘Wait!’

  The ceremony froze in tableau as a figure stepped to the edge of the dais. ‘I too shall feed.’

  The vampire poised to bite into Sir William’s neck hissed with disappointment, but stepped back. Allowing Liz to walk forward and take his place.

  Clarissa had been telling only part of the truth when she said that the pumps were there to keep the tunnels dry. Most of the engines were pumping something other than water. George remembered how the walls had seemed to seep blood, and tracing the pipes he now knew why.

  They were feeding blood from huge storage tanks into the walls, sustaining and feeding the vampires that had slept there perhaps for centuries. Now, as the vampires awakened, the pumps had stopped.

  George was pleased to find that the engine nearest the back wall was also the biggest. The furnace that heated the water to drive the system was still alight, and George shovelled on more coal. Then he checked the pressure, closed the valves, and smiled with satisfaction.

  Although most of the fires were still lit, there were only two other engines operating. One of them George saw fed blood into the pipes and tubes that now ran up to the world above. Close to it another, smaller pump was linked to the drainage ducts. It would take years – maybe even decades – for the tunnels to flood. But these vampires measured time by a different scale. The engine was barely ticking over, just working enough to pump the water seeping from the Thames out into the nearby sewers and drains.

  George traced the pipes of the two pumping systems as far as he could follow them, working out which was input and which outlet. He inspected the junctions and the stop taps, adjusting some and ignoring others. He took a length of tubing from one of the other pumps to make the connections he needed between the two systems. His hand hesitated for a moment on the final flow valve.

  And in that moment a figure stepped into the Hall of Machines. The light from the tunnel outside threw the man into silhouette. But it didn’t cast a shadow.

  George’s hand tightened on the small wheel that would open the valve. Now or never. He twisted – and nothing happened. The wheel was slippery with oil and too stiff to turn.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Kingsley demanded as he advanced on George.

  ‘My job.’ George’s heart was thumping in his chest, imitating the rhythmic pulse of the pumps. He moved so that he was standing in front of the pipes and tubes he had rerouted. His hand was behind his back, still trying desperately to turn the valve. Still without success.

  ‘It was to be your job to maintain these pumping systems,’ Kingsley said suspiciously.

  ‘I can see I was wrong to try to shirk it, to escape.’

  ‘Really?’ Kingsley was walking slowly along the length of the hall, between the pumps and boilers, glancing at each in turn.

  ‘I want to join you,’ George called after him. He had to stop Kingsley seeing what he had done at the back of the hall. ‘Now!’

  Kingsley turned abruptly. He walked slowly up to George, dark eyes deep with suspicion. ‘I know you, George. You can’t lie to me. What have you been doing here?’

  Puzzled, Kingsley ran his hand along one of the tubes that fed blood up to the Lord of the Undead. ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘That’s all fine.’ He stared suspiciously at George. ‘Perhaps I found you just in time. What were you going to do?’

  George had managed to take out his handkerchief and wrap it over the stubborn valve wheel. The extra grip was enough, and he could feel it just starting to turn.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing at all.’

  From the far end of the hall came a whistle of steam and a loud, insistent knocking was added to the rhythmic pump of the blood.

  Kingsley turned immediately towards the noise. He hurried down the hall to see what was happening.

  George turned the valve wheel as far as it would go, then hurled himself after Kingsley. His arms wrapped round Kingsley’s legs, bringing him crashing down. With a cry of anger Kingsley broke free of George’s grip. His foot lashed out, catching George across the cheek.

  From high above, and from the nearby chamber, George could hear the rising chant of the assembled vampires. From the far end of the hall he could hear the protesting steam engine as the pressure built.

  Kingsley stared down at him, smiling with anticipation.

  ‘You’re bleeding, George,’ he said. ‘That’s good.’

  The shaft was hot and cramped. Even without his jacket on, Eddie’s shoulders touched both sides as he eased himself slowly along. He was pushing the wicker basket in front of him.

  It was dark and humid and he was tired. But he forced himself to keep going. He couldn’t let the others down. They must be every bit as weary and scared as they each crawled along their own shaft.

  He just hoped he would find a suitable place before the signal they had agreed. Wherever they were when they heard it, that was the time: when Big Ben struck the hour. Midnight.

  Sir William stood his ground as Liz approached. Her lips seemed redder than ever, her features incredibly pale. She leaned forward, mouth open. And winked.

  Sir William took a short step backwards, his own mouth open in surprise. Up close, he could see that Liz’s face was powdered with pale make-up.

  As her lips closed on his throat, Sir William could feel the stickiness at his neck. He reached up, suddenly afraid, but Liz caught his hand.

  ‘Father’s raspberry jam. What do we do?’ she whispered in Sir William’s ear as she pretended to bite into his neck.

  ‘
Just wait,’ Sir William murmured. ‘Eddie has it all in hand. I hope.’

  ‘He may be too late,’ Liz replied.

  Beside them, Gladstone’s body was held up by one of the vampires while another bit deep. Blood was running down the Prime Minister’s neck and dripping on to his jacket. His head lolled sideways.

  The Coachman was standing triumphant at the front of the dais. ‘Our time has come!’ he thundered over the chanting and the sound of the pumps below. ‘When we have fed, our Lord will be restored.’ He picked up the canopic jar and raised it again. ‘He shall have his heart. It will beat once more in his chest. He will be complete and will walk among us. And where he walks, he will leave only death.’

  The Coachman turned back towards Orabis on the throne behind him. The chanting faded away to a hush of anticipation.

  ‘My touch is death and my breath is destruction,’ Orabis said. He paused, his ancient withered brow creasing. ‘My … my …’ He coughed, spluttered, then continued: ‘My heart will be restored and my reign of terror will begin.’

  Liz had stepped away from Sir William. No one was watching them now. All eyes were on Orabis as he struggled to speak. His whole body suddenly convulsed in another fit of coughing.

  ‘My heart!’ he gasped. ‘Give me my heart!’

  ‘Now this,’ Sir William said quietly, ‘is where it gets interesting.’

  Orabis was shaking, his hands clutching the arms of the throne tight as his whole body shuddered. It pulsed and shook in time with the rhythm of the pumps. As Liz and Sir William watched his wasted body seemed to swell, bloating and expanding. Strips of rotting linen fell away as he shook. The trickle of blood from his mouth was becoming a steady stream as he coughed and spluttered and choked.

  Not blood now. But water.

  CHAPTER 30

  The words of Orabis, Lord of the Undead echoed round the Hall of Machines. Kingsley paused to listen, feet either side of George’s prone body, hand clamped on George’s neck.