by Glenn Dakin
Chapter Seventeen
The Big Picture
‘Don’t!’ Chloe screamed, as Theo appeared to be stepping off the pavement into the path of a truck.
‘I wasn’t going to,’ Theo protested.
‘With you, Theo, it’s quite hard to tell what you’re going to do!’ Chloe remarked. ‘Or what you have been doing …’ she added darkly.
They watched the traffic rush by in the evening drizzle. It was nearly six o’clock. They were south of the River Thames, by Southwark Bridge and almost at their destination.
‘You’re still cross I didn’t tell you I’d used my powers.’ Theo sighed.
‘Yes. Not bothering to mention that you can melt people was a pretty big omission.’
‘Well, I only melted Brady by accident. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do it again,’ Theo said. ‘I didn’t want you and Sam thinking of me as some kind of hero. Or even worse – as some kind of horrible killer.’
Chloe suddenly grinned. ‘If you’re going to be a great hero,’ she said, ‘I’m going to have to teach you how to cross the road – otherwise your career probably won’t last very long.’
‘I’ve never really had to do it before,’ apologised Theo, as she accompanied him to the other pavement.
Southwark Cathedral lay before them, almost lost among the more modern buildings that had sprung up around it across the centuries.
‘Why do we have to come here?’ Theo asked.
Chloe smiled and held up Foley’s secret map.
‘I really shouldn’t let you in so close to closing time,’ a flustered lady church warden said as they stepped into the arched doorway.
‘So kind of you!’ gushed Chloe with a great big smile, dragging Theo behind her. She dropped some coins loudly in the donation box.
‘Now let’s get lost!’ Chloe hissed. She hurried Theo down the far aisle, out of sight of the main entrance. After a moment’s thought, she pushed open a wooden door that led into a secluded den usually reserved for the cathedral organist. She indicated to Theo to sit down – and not to touch the keyboard. They sat in the gloom, not stirring, as gradually the footsteps and muted conversations of other visitors faded away. Not long afterwards the lights began to go off, one by one.
‘We’re closing!’ called a distant voice, but halfheartedly, as if not really expecting any response. A door was bolted. A lock clicked, echoing throughout the vaulted chamber.
‘She’s shutting us in!’ Theo whispered.
‘That’s the idea,’ Chloe replied. ‘She probably thinks we went out through the gift shop. Now come on.’
Theo crept out of hiding and surveyed the enormous shadowy cathedral. Wooden cherubs peered at him from carved stalls. Effigies of dead knights slumbered on great slabs of stone.
‘Spoo-oo-ky!’ said Chloe in a deep voice.
Theo looked around sharply. ‘Why are you saying that?’ he asked. ‘And why are you doing that silly voice?’
‘I’m trying to scare you, you big twit,’ Chloe said. ‘It’s what friends do.’
Theo felt a secret glow at being considered a friend by this remarkable and dangerous person.
‘Well, I’m sufficiently scared about things already, if you hadn’t noticed,’ he replied. ‘I saw three smoglodytes and two giant rats on the way here. Lucky we were in a bus.’
‘Those were Yorkshire terriers. You’re just imagining things.’
Chloe opened her backpack. The cameras and laptop from Empire Hall were still inside. So was a giant salami roll they had picked up on the journey over. Chloe tore it in two and gave Theo the bigger bit. Then she took a silver candlestick from a nearby lectern and lit it. She and Theo sat in the deserted choir stalls. With great care, she unrolled the hundred-year-old chart Foley had given them.
‘This is the good bit,’ said Chloe. ‘Now pay attention.’ She held the bright flame up close to the paper. Theo saw the coloured jumble of lines.
‘What do you think it is?’ Chloe asked.
Theo frowned. ‘Some sort of machine,’ he ventured.
Chloe laughed. ‘Look again,’ she said. ‘See these blue lines here – do they remind you of anything?’
‘Pipes. Plumbing. I don’t know. There’s a big space in the middle. And something like an island. It’s a treasure map!’ He beamed, remembering one of his favourite stories.
Chloe laughed again. ‘You’re just guessing wildly, but you’re getting warmer. Now look here –’ She stopped talking, and Theo was amazed to see she was almost overcome with excitement. She gulped and carried on. ‘This is Clapham Junction.’
‘A London train station,’ Theo smiled.
‘Yes, except this isn’t the real Clapham Junction. It’s just a name we give to a busy part of the network. I took you through here when we were escaping from the Dodo. And here’s the gulag – the prison bit. We call it that because that’s the scary bit where the Eighty-eight are shut up. Or not – depending on what you believe.’
It was a slight drawback in the outside world, Theo reflected, that the more excited people got, the harder they were to understand. But he had learnt to be patient.
‘Err – wow!’ he said, politely showing an interest in other people’s enthusiasms. ‘A map of the network! Didn’t you have one already?’
‘Of course we did – the known network, but look at these lines in red and purple and green …’
‘What are they?’
Chloe looked up, her face glowing. ‘They clearly show other tunnels – lower down! A sort of under-network, if you like. Whole hidden pathways that we had no idea existed.’ She held the bright flame closer to the chart.
‘It’s kind of hard to make out,’ she admitted, ‘because of all the different colours. But what it reveals is that the network has a weird – well, a symmetry!’
‘Which means …?’
‘That our history is wrong! The network isn’t just a few drainage schemes from the Victorian times cobbled together to make secret passages. This map proves that the whole system was planned. It’s older than we ever guessed. And it probably has a purpose we’ve never guessed either.’
‘And we’re here,’ said Theo, pointing at a stencilled cathedral shape on the blue part of the map. ‘But how do we find the secret entrance?’
‘We bring someone clever along – me!’ said Chloe. And she led him into the crypt.
A faint halo of light dispelled decades of darkness as the circular hatchway appeared in the crypt wall.
‘How did you know where it was?’ asked Theo as they stepped inside.
‘There are formulas, protocols. In the old times buildings were constructed to contain messages. I can read this crypt the same way you can read a book,’ Chloe said with a hint of pride.
‘And why are we going in here?’ Theo asked. ‘I’m not completely clear on that.’
‘Because of this map,’ Chloe replied. ‘Fate has put it in our hands. Now we know how the Society of Good Works always got away from us in the past – they had extra secret tunnels. Well, now we can turn the tables. We can use this map to spy on them. You heard what Sergeant Crane said: if I don’t find evidence of what the enemy are up to soon, the police are going to drop the whole case.’
A narrow, arched tunnel delved deep under the cathedral. Theo noticed that the fungus globes here seemed almost dead, giving only a spark of organic light. Maybe this route had lain unused for decades.
‘Suppose they aren’t up to anything?’ Theo asked.
‘Don’t be dense!’ Chloe exploded. ‘They sent those smogs out to snatch you! They smashed up the cottage. They’re on the war path!’ She gave Theo a withering look.
‘Norrowmore knew they were up to something big,’ she continued. ‘He wanted you rescued before it all kicked off! I was never told the big picture – I was too low down in our Society to be trusted with all the Mysteries. But now we’re the only ones left, we have to find out what’s going on!’
Theo fell silent. He desper
ately hoped they weren’t the only ones left and clung to the belief that Sam and Magnus had escaped somehow.
Chloe led the way, striding through the near-darkness with confidence. Theo kept up with her as best he could. After about an hour, she halted in an archway up ahead.
‘Are we stopping for a rest?’ asked Theo hopefully.
‘We can have a nice long rest when we’re dead,’ said Chloe. ‘Take a look at this!’
‘What is it?’
What is it, what is it … Theo’s voice echoed through the gloom.
‘It’s the Holy Grail!’ Chloe whispered. ‘Well, better than that – it’s our own private route into the heart of enemy territory!’
They had emerged into a vast spherical stone chamber as wide as the cathedral they had left behind. They were standing on an iron gantry that connected with a central spiral stairway that seemed to go down forever.
‘Take a deep breath, Theo. This is where the real adventure starts,’ Chloe said. ‘We’re stepping into the unknown.’
Theo gazed into the blackness below. Who knew what terrors lay down there? This is it, he thought. If ever I’m going to back out, it has to be now.
Chloe grinned up at him.
‘Come on, Weirdy!’ she teased. ‘You’ll be right at home!’
‘Aren’t you scared?’ asked Theo.
‘Not really,’ said Chloe, smiling. ‘I’ve got the Candle Man with me. Now follow me – we’re going all the way to the bottom.’
Theo’s heart was in his mouth. Did Chloe really expect him to be some kind of hero now, just because he was the great-great-great-grandson of Lord Wickland? Just because he had melted somebody once – by accident? Theo had believed he was a feeble invalid from Day One of his life. He wasn’t used to people having expectations of him – especially heroic ones. It was extremely unsettling.
Down they went, their feet echoing on the ancient stairway. Icy drips fell on them from above as they trod the iron steps, round and round, ever downwards in the darkness. It was like moving in a dream, beyond your own control. Theo felt he had left his younger, more cautious self forever waiting and wondering at the top of the stairs – while a mad new Theo was plunging ahead, running on pure hope.
Mr Nicely had told Theo a childish riddle once. How far can a dog run into a wood? The silly answer had been Halfway. Because after that he’s running out. Theo felt like he was running into a dark wood now. The wood was getting darker and more frightening all the time, but if he continued to run, there might be a point – there had to be a point – when he was starting to run out, back into the light. That was the hope he clung to as he kept moving onwards.
Finally, there were no more stairs. The exhausted pair found themselves in a cavern that stretched before them for miles. Mist lay as thick as cobwebs over the stinking mire that filled the underground chamber.
As far as the eye could see there lay the dreary wreck of some ancient cataclysm. Whole tree trunks were mouldering in black heaps; there were piles of unnameable debris, drowned machinery, the skeleton of a horse. An enormous, shattered fungus globe lay like a broken waterlily in the centre of the floods, its glowing contents creeping out across the swamp, shedding a livid glow.
The two figures straggled across the mire, wallowing through the waters with grim determination.
‘Where are we?’ wondered Theo.
‘The bottom,’ said Chloe simply. ‘Something terrible must have happened down here – long ago.’
‘It looks like the end of the world,’ said Theo.
They sloshed forwards through the reeking slime, casting bright ripples of bioluminescence.
‘My feet hurt,’ complained Theo. The water was loosening his half-healed blisters, making them rub all over again.
‘Well? My whole me hurts,’ retorted Chloe. ‘I’ve been fighting the so-called Society of Good Works ever since I was six. Always on the losing side, always buying flowers for more graves. An endless slog against an enemy who always knows more than you do.’
Theo decided not to mention his feet again for a bit. But Chloe’s frown changed into a smile.
‘It’s different now though,’ she said. ‘We’ve got you. For the first time ever, the tide is turning.’
The mire was getting shallower now, as they reached the centre of the chamber.
‘But –’ Theo began, then stopped and stared glumly ahead.
‘But what?’
‘Well, it’s just you and me, isn’t it?’ he said slowly. ‘The big things in this world, like – I don’t know – like wars, or like the … the Ascendancy – those big things just happen, don’t they? People like us can’t do anything about it.’
Chloe plodded grimly onwards, her cap concealing her gaze, her black dress growing sodden.
‘Do you really believe,’ Theo pressed, ‘that just one or two people – like you and me – can actually change things, make something … good happen?’
‘Unluckily for me, Theo,’ Chloe said, ‘that’s exactly what I do believe. Wait – take a look at this!’
The mists thinned out as they stepped on to dry land. They had reached an island in the mire, from which dark stone slabs arose, each marking a sinister mound. There were hundreds of these, in straight rows, vanishing off into the distance.
Almost against their will, Theo and Chloe were drawn to a large monument in the centre. A familiar figure was carved into it, like a winged demon with curled horns, hooked nose, staring human eyes, and a grim mouth.
Chloe started trying to count the mysterious gravestones. She soon gave up.
‘All the horrible stories turned out to be true,’ she muttered, half-recalling the words of the robber, Foley. ‘Something bad happened here. And I feel like it’s not yet over,’ she added in a whisper.
Theo climbed up and peered into the dead eyes of the carved figure on the monument. Now he knew what this place reminded him of – one of Foley’s grandad’s long-lost story books.
‘The Slaughter of the Gargoyles,’ Theo said.
Chapter Eighteen
Flights
Tristus the garghoul awoke to find tiny silver mice creeping around at his feet. This was a peculiar and worrying development. Usually the other creatures in his lair ignored him, exactly if he were just a piece of stone. Now he had attracted a most unwelcome thing: curiosity.
He was hurt, tired, barely able to think. He groaned inwardly as it all came back to him – the fight with the smoglodytes on the roof. He had protected the boy, but been badly clawed and poisoned. He had made it back to his refuge in the Dodo’s cavern, and entered his stone dream to give his body time to heal.
The little mice beneath him became excited and started to dart around, squeaking. Moments later, a pair of big black rats loped into view, brushing the mice aside and sniffing officiously along the rock ledge the garghoul had called home for almost a century.
The rats lifted their snouts, sat back on their haunches and let out a high-pitched whine, horrible to hear, but mercifully brief. Then heavy keys clattered and snapped at locks, and the metal doors crashed open. A crooked human shape loomed over the garghoul. A bony Caspian Tiger lurked behind him.
‘Something has changed,’ growled the Dodo, inspecting Tristus closely. ‘This is not the dull, dead creature I recall!’
Tristus kept his eyes closed and remained as still as only a garghoul can. The Dodo crouched down and faced Tristus with a deep sigh.
‘You were supposed to be the pride of my collection,’ the Dodo said at length. ‘When I rescued you from the ruins of the network a hundred years ago, I considered you my greatest discovery. But you became my biggest disappointment. Never waking – never speaking! Never opening those fabled eyes.’
Tristus could hear the bitterness – loneliness even – in the Dodo’s voice. But garghouls do not choose to communicate with many mortals, and he remained silent.
‘You’re not a statue, sir!’ the Dodo said. ‘Living creatures have been my lifelong study
– and a living thing is undoubtedly what you are. Your demeanor has changed – you are somehow … alert.’
The tiger licked at the black damp drizzle of guts on the rock ledge, which had caused such interest amongst the rodents. The Dodo bent down with an awkward lurch to sniff the spot.
‘You’ve been eating, too!’ he said, his eyes aglow with intrigue. He slapped the tiger on the haunch and it slunk away obediently. He ran his fingers through the curious straggle of wet innards and lifted them up to his nostrils.
‘Smoglodytes!’ he murmured, rising slowly. ‘This paints a more dangerous picture.’ The rodents, sensing their master’s excitement, scurried to his side. The tiger rumbled a deep-throated growl.
Tristus tried to pull his muddled wits together. His human visitor was not the sleepy, bored old man who had been shambling through these caverns for decades. Sir Peregrine had become charged with a new intensity – a new power. The garghoul knew he had now lost his safe, quiet lair.
‘Dr Saint must have struck a deal with the smoglodytes!’ the Dodo muttered. ‘No wonder the Society of Good Works strut about this city with such confounded arrogance!’
The Dodo suddenly grabbed Tristus and stretched out one of his bat-like wings. The leathery skin was freshly scarred, partially torn.
‘You’ve been out there – I knew I could smell it on you. I expect the smoglodytes gave you these souvenirs!’ the Dodo added. A mixture of anger and dismay contorted his features. ‘You’re awake! Confound you, sir! I know you’re awake!’
Time to go, Tristus said to himself.
‘Why?’ the Dodo roared. ‘Why won’t you speak?’
The garghoul rose. The Dodo staggered back.
‘A – a hundred years without motion, and now you stand before me!’ the astonished man exclaimed. A tiny glitter of light like stardust appeared in the garghoul’s narrowed eyes.
‘You’re involved in all these events, aren’t you?’ the Dodo whispered in awe. ‘I know you can speak – tell me what’s going on!’
The garghoul sprang into the air, beat its powerful wings and disappeared into the shadows of the ceiling.
