While she was obtaining more copper wire to coil around the tiny cylindrical magnets, Leetha saw several guards gathered around the hole in the wall that divided the factory from the building that housed the hall of the Immortals. When they slid the panel up, inside was a cage with a rope on one side. When the rope was pulled, the cage slid upwards and soon returned with pots of their tea.
The cage was small, but so was Leetha. She could haul herself up to the place where the Immortals were.
She took a step towards the panel and the cage, then she stopped. Why would she do something like that? Why did she want to see the Immortals again?
The more she knew about them, the better the chance of escaping their clutches, ghost girl and wild boy or not.
She hissed, examined herself and shook her head. She was wise enough to know that while this was true, it wasn’t the real reason: curiosity needs answers like an itch needs a scratch.
The bell rang for mealtime. Leetha straightened and every bone in her back cried out. The supervisors began walking along the aisles between the benches. Their sparky sticks swung, ready to hasten Leetha’s people to the meal room. The big people worshipped their schedule. If the meal was to be taken now, now it would be – which was why the big people were so startled when the bell rang again. This time, it was a different signal, the signal for a delivery – but mealtime was not the time for a delivery. Some stood still, some shouted. Leetha watched with the closest she had had to amusement for a long time. Usually her people would be herded well away from the doors before the delivery bell rang. Clearly, the delivery was unexpected. More big people with sparky sticks appeared at the far end of the workshop. Again, they were unexpected, if the shouting from the others was any guide.
Ubbo was working at the bench on her right. As usual, he was singing very softly under his breath. She caught his eye as he finished one of what the big people called ‘capacitors’ and placed it carefully in the box that cradled the completed items. He nodded, then pointed his nose at the nearest guard. Leetha was sure this one was a newcomer, with curly hair the same orange shade as the apes in the jungle at home. Was he unfamiliar with Leetha and with her people? It was a chance, especially with the uproar around them – a chance for her to get to the moving cage.
Leetha slid off her stool. She sidled along the bench, hardly even thinking of what she was doing. After all, she belonged there, was no danger, was not worth worrying about. The orange-haired guard looked at her, but his gaze slid away in search of more important things. He barked orders and brandished his sparky stick. When Leetha dropped to all fours and crawled away underneath the benches, he did not notice. Leetha was a shadow’s breath, that was all.
Leetha’s journey through the workshop was a fearful test of her heart. The big people were alarmed and upset and that meant they were alert. The ability of Leetha’s people to slip about unnoticed worked best when the others were at ease. Leetha had to concentrate on her smallness, on her lack of interest, on the fact that so many more important things were going on. Every time one of the guards paused, her breath caught in her throat, but Ubbo must have spread the word, for at those moments one of her people always managed to trip, or to upset a collection of parts. They drew attention away from Leetha.
Leetha crept to the north side of the workshop. She kept away from the doors that led to the residence and the doors that led outside. Too many big people there, too alert.
Finally, she reached the panel that hid the moving cage. No-one was watching. She pushed the panel up, climbed in and then dragged the panel down again. In the dark, she found the rope and pulled the cage upwards.
The shaft was dark and dusty, but Leetha was not afraid. As she hauled herself up she could hear sounds all around her – the clattering of machines, but also people talking, moving about, ordinary sounds of people living. Smells other than dust came to her, too, and the smell of cooking made her mouth water.
The darkness receded as she rose. Thin beams of light came from above, enough for her to see the panel when she reached it. She heard voices just outside.
She did not hesitate. She sprang and grasped the rope overhead and hauled herself up just before the panel slid open. Voices talking about the weather came first, and then white-hatted big people pushed covered dishes into the cage.
Leetha bit her lip and scrambled higher, but the rope began to go down, taking her with it. She peered about and saw another rope not far away. She grabbed it, but it took her up! She would soon crash into a grooved metal block that the rope looped through. She wanted to chide her curiosity for putting her in such a position, but it ignored her and instead asked: What is that slot in the wall we are just passing?
Leetha saw it then, a narrow gap. Without thinking, she swung across and tumbled into it, rolling face-down in dust and muck between two walls.
Leetha picked herself up. The gap was narrow, but not close for someone of her stature, as long as she shuffled sideways. The walls on either side were unfinished. She could see the narrow timbers and the plaster that had oozed between the cracks.
An old house. Who knew what was in it? Secret ways, perhaps?
She looked back at the shaft. The rope had stopped moving. She could probably climb down now, but her curiosity would never forgive her.
With a sigh, she edged into the darkness, stepping from beam to beam as she went.
Leetha had not gone far before the gap widened. Underfoot, boards had been laid. Light came from slits up high, enough for her to see that the walls here were finished, well plastered and whitewashed. A little further, and she found two chairs, both ancient and thick with dust.
She frowned. A room? Here? Of what use would that be?
She looked about. In the stillness, she saw her footprints. No-one had been here for many, many years.
Then she saw them. Tiny doors the size of her hand were set in the wall, well above her head. She dragged one of the chairs closer and found that the doors slid aside. She put her face to the slot this revealed. She almost choked on the dust when she gasped at what she saw. She was looking down at the hall of the Immortals, where she had been presented to them. The hall was empty, but she felt her humiliation and shame all over again; the way they mocked her, how helpless she had been. She cried a little, then slid the door closed.
She had found a spying room, just like the tree platforms her kin used to spy on animals for hunting. She went to leave but after only two steps her curiosity asked: What about the other wall? The one opposite the peepholes?
Now she knew what she was looking for, she found the doors easily. This time, though, she was looking down on a room unlike the throne room. No gold, no paintings, no carpets – and no windows. Only a screen at one end of the room.
The Immortals were there. As before, they were sitting together, but not on a golden throne. They were on a single stone bench and they looked sick.
Augustus and Jia had reddened bandages on their feet. Forkbeard had them on both hands and feet. They all looked as if they had been working in the hottest noonday sun with no water. They were pale and shaking. Their skin was waxy. Augustus was trembling and when he put his hand to his head, hair came away in clumps.
He was speaking, but Leetha had to bring her ear close to the slot to make out his words. ‘It’s true, I tell you,’ he squeaked. ‘The bodies are wearing out even faster than before!’
‘We knew that,’ Forkbeard grumbled. ‘As we accumulate our experiences, they grow too much for the bodies to endure.’ He grimaced and then, to Leetha’s disgust, he spat out a tooth. ‘We must change. Now. While we can.’
Jia winced. ‘I do not like being in bodies this young. So many limitations.’
‘Younger is stronger,’ Augustus muttered. He mopped his brow with a sleeve, but Leetha could see he was not sweating at all.
‘Hah!’ Jia snapped. ‘Even the six-year-old bodies are wearing out quickly now.’
‘So we continue to look for a solution,’ Forkbeard s
aid. ‘The Neanderthals . . .’
‘Were a stupid idea! You two are obsessed with the wild and civilisation. Pah!’
Forkbeard struggled to sit up. ‘The wild is strong. The wild has vigour. If we can tap that essence, we can strengthen the bodies we inhabit and inure them against decay.’
‘The Neanderthals were primitives,’ Augustus said. He was struggling for breath. ‘Primitives do not have the civilised self that controls the wild self. They were as close to the wild as humans could be. They had no civilising influence.’
‘Didn’t they?’ Jia said. ‘They proved you wrong. They weren’t primitive, just different.’
‘Perhaps. Probably. But the Ward boy – ah, he is different.’
‘So you say. Brought up in the wild and he has a gland in his head that means he can reconcile his wild self and his civilised self? Convince me that this isn’t just wishful thinking.’
‘We get him,’ Forkbeard said. ‘We’ll find out. Who knows? His wildness may mean his body is strong enough to withstand transfer. Be patient and we can find out.’
‘Patient!’ Jia was red in the face. ‘I have been patient! I want to get out of this Demimonde and reign again where I can feel the sun on my face! I want to find a way to stop our host bodies decaying around us before we reach a point where none will sustain us! I want everything! I want it now!’
‘You are not the only one who wants this,’ Forkbeard said, ‘but you are the only one who is dangerously impetuous.’
‘At least I do not go around clutching at foolishness!’
‘Stop this!’ Augustus squeaked. He waved his chubby hands. ‘Stop this! We have been united for a thousand years. We must not war with ourselves now.’
‘And you!’ Jia screeched. ‘You’re obsessed with this woman, the god-opener! Years wasted on such a danger!’
‘Wasted?’ Augustus said. ‘She may be just what we need.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Regardless, we must work together, not apart. And be calm – or else you jeopardise the process.’
An uneasy silence fell. None of the three looked at the others. Their baby scowls were hideous.
‘What is keeping them?’ Jia asked. ‘They must be ready by now.’
Augustus clapped. ‘Bring them in.’
This time, Leetha had to clamp a hand over her mouth lest she scream. Three creatures staggered out from behind the screen at the end of the room and Leetha’s stomach churned at their unnaturalness. Their arms were too long, their shoulders moved in ways shoulders should not, their skin had the appearance of something buried for far too long.
But this was not what made Leetha fear that her heart would burst. No, it was the tiny burden that the horrors held in their arms. Each one held a child, lolling bonelessly like a doll.
‘Bring the soulless vessels here!’ squeaked Jia. ‘It is time for us to migrate our essences!’
Leetha ran, heedless, and for the first time in her life she cursed her curiosity. Helpful though it had been, her curiosity could never help her unsee what she had just seen.
ELEVEN
The Agency offices were in a jumble of government buildings near Victoria Station. While not technically situated in the Demimonde, they were as hidden and unobtrusive as if they were.
After being deposited in a dingy lane, Kingsley and Evadne were hustled through a portico and then swept through a foyer replete with columns and decorative friezes. Hughes led, and the dishevelled officers brought up the rear. They mounted a grand set of stairs to emerge into a world of corridors. Kingsley could imagine future civil servants shuffling cut-up squares of paper in their nurseries and dreaming of working in such a place. These halls, and countless others like them, were the heart of the empire. Far more than the obvious statements of the Houses of Parliament or Buckingham Palace, these offices drove the great engine that kept far-flung lands united under the British flag. Bureaucracy was at work, making sure the sun never set.
That may be. Kingsley’s nose twitched at the staleness of the air. His wild self was uneasy and keen to know where all the exits were. He found the place stifling, as if the walls were edging in on him, subtly, the longer he stayed.
He pushed the feeling aside. He couldn’t afford to be below his best, not after the warning Dr Ward had given him about dealing with the Agency.
While the relentlessly unspeaking young men watched Kingsley and Evadne, Hughes went through a pair of inlaid doors. She was soon out again, accompanied by a lean man with a beard so pointy Kingsley decided that he probably risked serious harm every time he dropped his chin to his chest. He wore a very fine black topcoat over black trousers, and his tie was a subdued grey marble. He studied them for a moment, not at all startled by Evadne’s appearance. ‘I’m Buchanan,’ he said abruptly, ‘and you’re Dr Ward’s fosterling, aren’t you?’ His Scottish heritage was clear in his voice.
Before Kingsley could answer, or register his surprise at the question, Evadne cut in. ‘And what’s all this about? Why have we been arrested? Do I need to contact my very expensive and notoriously aggressive firm of solicitors, the ones who have excellent relations with the press and who delight in exposing government foolishness?’
‘Arrested? I’m sorry, Miss Stephens, did our officers lead you to believe you were under arrest?’
‘She did,’ Evadne said, pointing at Hughes, ‘by using the words “You’re under arrest” and confiscating our weapons.’
Buchanan shot Hughes a glance. She shrugged. ‘It seemed like the best way to bring them in, sir, once I realised who they were. The bulletin and all that.’
Ah, so she did recognise us! Kingsley thought, and then wondered about this bulletin Hughes mentioned. Had their descriptions been distributed willy-nilly? And, if so, why?
Buchanan barely looked at her. ‘Quite right, Hughes.’ He stroked his beard. ‘And your mission? What of that?’
Hughes squirmed, and Kingsley was reminded of her youth. ‘It was a bit of a mess in the end, sir. A waste of time.’
If Buchanan had pursed his lips any tighter, Kingsley decided, his mouth would have disappeared.
‘That’s a shame, Hughes. We must find these sorcerers,’ Buchanan said. ‘Best if you hurry your unit down to General Staff and debrief.’
When Hughes and the rest of her unit had filed off, Buchanan spread his hands. ‘You’ll have to forgive us. While Hughes might know her way around the Demimonde, she’s not quite our sort of people, really. Useful, but limited.’
‘Which is a way of saying we’re not actually under arrest,’ Evadne said.
‘Of course not,’ Buchanan said. ‘A wretched misunderstanding.’
‘So we can go?’ Kingsley said.
‘I’d be honoured if you wouldn’t. Not right away. We’ve been looking for you for a long time.’
Kingsley was feeling the effects of a tumultuous twenty-four hours – he was barely holding back a barrage of yawns that threatened to engulf him.
Evadne and he were taken to a room rather better decorated than a typical government office. It was long, with dado rails along the walls and stiff leather chairs guarding the immense table in the middle of the room. The walls above the panelling sported a collection of large paintings, mostly of curly-wigged noblemen posing with swords and horses and some extremely fine sneers. They gazed directly out from the frame, promising a damn good smothering if their wigs ever broke loose and went on a rampage.
Buchanan saw them seated and left.
‘The Agency was looking for us?’ Kingsley kept his voice low. The place encouraged such artifices. ‘Why didn’t they just drop into our workshop? Or send a letter?’
Evadne yawned, covering her mouth with an elegant hand. ‘I’d heard hints about the Agency’s lack of effectiveness, but I thought that was just talk.’
Evadne’s yawn set off Kingsley, and he had trouble mastering his jaw enough to ask: ‘Are you saying the Agency is incompetent?’
‘Sh. Someone’s coming.’
The someon
e was a tea lady, a motherly looking woman resplendent in apron, mob cap and cheeks red enough to make a heart surgeon think he had an immediate case on his hands. She was smiling when she wheeled in a trolley, giving no indication that it was nearly five o’clock in the morning. Without a word, she served tea that was hot, strong and undistinguished. She gave each of them a digestive biscuit.
Kingsley lifted the biscuit until it was in front of his face. He stared at it. Then it was gone. Sometimes hunger is just as good as sleight of hand.
The double doors banged open. A man strode in. He was well-built, with a mane of silver hair artfully swept back in great wings that made him look as if he were travelling a hundred miles an hour. He propped and put a hand to his forehead in a manner so theatrical that Kingsley thought it would have drawn applause from the most hardened of stagehands in the most raffish of music halls. ‘Tell me it’s not true! Malcolm Ward! Married? I don’t believe it!’
While Kingsley stared, Buchanan hurried in behind this apparition. ‘Miss Stephens, Mr Ward, this is Colonel Congreve-Knollys, the head of the Agency for Demimonde Affairs.’
‘Delighted,’ Congreve-Knollys declared as he shook Kingsley’s hand manfully, then grasped Evadne’s and bowed over it at an angle that was somewhere between knowingness and mockery. He straightened. ‘Is that tea I see before me?’
‘I’ll fetch a cup,’ Buchanan said and went out of the room.
‘A fine man,’ Congreve-Knollys said, chuckling, ‘but a bit of a worrier. Still, that’s a fine thing in a second-in-command, eh?’
Buchanan shepherded the tea lady and her trolley back into the room. She smiled benignly as she took up the dirty plates and dished out new cups.
Congreve-Knollys sat at the head of the table. He laced his hands on his chest and leaned back in the chair. ‘Now, I need to let you know that as well as being in charge of this important government instrumentality I am an old friend of the esteemed Dr Malcolm Ward, your foster father, my lad, and I’ve been hearing rumours of nuptials.’
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