by Peter Oxley
“Well, that certainly sounds like Gus,” said N’yotsu with a grin.
I shot him a glare and then shrugged, realising the truth of what he’d said.
By the time we got to Fulham’s High Street Gus was long gone, leaving a slightly excited mob in his wake. We managed to work out what had happened: he had thrown himself out of a brothel window and then run through the streets, half-naked and chased by soldiers. The girl he’d slept with told us how he’d looked normal at first but when she woke up later there was a demon lying next to her in bed. She’d screamed and he’d fled, thankfully without trying to hurt anyone. I allowed myself a little smile at this. Whatever he looked like, he was still our Gus deep down.
We followed his trail over the Thames and down past Putney Heath and Wimbledon Common, although the trail had gone cold by the time we reached Morden . As the night fell, we carried on to Merton and lodged in a run-down tavern on the side of the Carshalton Road, thinking through our options over warm ale and cold stew.
“We need to spread the search,” said Pearce, leaning over a map. “I will send men in these directions,” he ran his hands down, left and right, “in twos or threes to see if any of them can pick up signs of where he’s gone. Door-to-door searches, outbuildings, cemeteries, woodlands, that sort of thing.”
“And if he is sensible enough to not go poking around peoples’ houses?” asked N’yotsu.
Pearce gave him a hard stare. “We have to start somewhere. It is very difficult for anybody to travel for any length of time without leaving some sort of a trail, especially looking the way he does. He’ll need to eat, if nothing else.”
I thought he was doing Gus down but bit my tongue; I didn’t want to give them any more reasons to fear our friend. “So which way will we go?” I asked. “I fancy this direction.” I pointed down, towards the coast.
Pearce sighed. “I really think that you would both best serve our cause by going back to London, just in case he heads back that way or sends a message.”
“Come on!” I protested. “He was run out of town: there’s no way he’s heading back to London. Last time he did something stupid and had to do a runner he went straight for the Continent. That’s where he’ll be going I’ll wager: France.”
“That’s as maybe,” said Pearce, “and you might well be right. But what if he gets held up on the way or forced to change his plans? There are a dozen ways at least that he could get over the Channel and in any case he’ll know we’re after him and may look for the least obvious route to get there. If you just blunder south then there’s every chance you’ll miss him, and then we won’t know where you are to contact you, if and when we do pick up some sign of him. London is the best place for you, and it’s the best place for you to be contactable: for Augustus and for us.”
I could see the sense in what he was saying, but I still didn’t like it. “So we go back to London and you find Gus. What’s to say you and your men won’t just kill him without a by-your-leave?”
“You have my word of honour,” Pearce said. “We will do everything in our power to apprehend him without causing undue harm, and if we are able we will get you before we approach him.”
“Your word of honour, sure,” I said. “But what about your trigger-happy privates out there? How are they going to know that it’s Gus they’re up against and not some other demon?” I turned to N’yotsu for support, then gasped as I saw the state of him.
He was slumped against the table, thin as a skeleton and just as pale. Jumping to my feet, I grabbed his shoulders to pull him upright and his eyes rolled up at me like two loose eggs in a jar. Finally he focused on my face. “Kate,” he rasped through thin, dry lips.
“N’yotsu, what on earth…?” I said.
“It’s getting worse,” he whispered. “I… don’t know how much… longer…”
“You idiot,” I muttered. “You should have said.” Of course, I knew all about the way he’d been getting weaker the longer he was separated from the obsidian stone: they’d not been able to hide that from me. But N’yotsu had always put a brave face on it, reassuring us that he could hold himself together. I hadn’t believed a word of it, seeing him wear the same stupid brave face that all men put on when they don’t want to be fussed over, but he had recently seemed stronger thanks to all that time spent resting after Max’s failed experiment.
However, this was a bigger and more sudden bout than I’d seen before, and the difference between his usual brute force and the empty shell before me was like a blow to my stomach.
I looked up at Pearce. “I need a fast carriage to take us back to London, right now,” I said.
Ten minutes later we were ready to depart, having got N’yotsu safely in the carriage and as comfortable as possible thanks to the efforts of half a dozen soldiers. “He’s heavier than he looks,” one of them had remarked to me as they stepped away.
I grabbed Pearce’s arm. “You gave me your word, right?” I said. “You won’t harm Gus if you find him, and you’ll let us know as soon as you do?”
“I promise, Kate,” he said. “You look after N’yotsu. With Augustus gone, we need him now more than ever.”
Chapter 13
The journey back to London was the longest of my life, every bump on the road making N’yotsu cry out in pain so that by the time we were only a few miles into the journey my nerves were shredded. I wanted to shout to the driver to slow down, but I didn’t know how much longer N’yotsu had left: any delay could have been the death of him.
I contented myself with stroking his hand and trying to keep him as comfortable as possible, all the while murmuring stuff I hoped was soothing. It was funny how easily the old habits came back: playing nursemaid had once been second nature thanks to being the big sister to a never-ending stream of kids. There had been times when Ma and I had joked about how we felt more like we were running a hospital for sick kids than a family of grafters. Of course, that was before Pa killed Ma and it all went sour…
My mind wandered back to those days, happy days for the most part with me and the other kids bustling round Ma while she did her chores, always singing as she went. The sun always seemed to shine in those days, the only shadows coming when Pa came home.
I loved him, like any daughter loves her Pa, but I feared him too. And sometimes hated him, when I saw what he did to Ma, the way he’d shout at her for no reason, beat her for the smallest thing. The rest of us, too – he was free with his fists after he’d been in his cups and was quick to anger. It was then that I really hated him: when he’d beat us kids and force Ma to watch. At first I wondered why she let him do that to us, but then I saw the look in her eyes as we took our beatings, the helpless terror swimming behind her tears. She knew not to get in the way or beg him to stop – that just made the beatings harder and longer.
It was me that killed her, really. I should have just said yes when Pa told me to start working the streets to sell my body instead of the junk we kept on our barrow. I was of age, he said, and it was about time I started making a proper contribution to the family. After all, he knew I’d had plenty of practice.
I’d flinched from him as he said that and leered at me, and something in Ma snapped as she finally realised what he’d been doing to me all them years. She went at him, all fists and feet, a screaming fury. In that moment she was a different beast to the caring, singing soul I knew: she was a cornered bitch protecting her litter.
Pa’s shock at this sudden change of events didn’t last long. He floored her with a mighty fist and laid into her with his boots. I tried to pull him off but he just threw me aside, a ragdolly landing awkwardly against the far wall. Little Tommy had come to me and started whimpering in my arms and it was then that I realised the thing Pa was beating was no longer our Ma: she’d gone. He’d turned her into a lump of meat leaking blood and still he kept pounding on her with his feet.
We’d run, and I’d not stopped running since. The bitter memories brought tears to my eyes and I blinked them
back as I took a deep breath and forced myself back to the here-and-now.
I looked down at N’yotsu’s restlessly sleeping face, smiling in spite of the situation. It was not too long ago that I would have happily let him die, given all that he represented and had done. The sensible part of me knew that Andras was a completely different beast to N’yotsu, but there was too much pain there for me to just forgive and forget. It didn’t help that our friend looked so much like his evil cousin, or whatever he was. Every time I saw him I was reminded of the things he’d said and done, the way he burned a scar in my cheek with just a stroke of his finger.
The scar throbbed as I thought about it, reminding me once again that I was damaged goods. I had never been vain like those painted and perfumed dollymops that strutted round town, but I was always aware of the ragged line across my cheek. A man could wear that sort of thing with pride, a mark of his strength and a sign that he had been in tough situations—a fight, a war, whatever—and lived. For a woman, though, it was something to be ashamed of: everyone just assuming it was from a jealous lover or a telling off by a pimp. Most people had been amazed that I was happy to be seen out in public with such a disfigurement, thinking that I should hide my hideous face away so they didn’t have to feel sorry for me. Of course that just made me want to parade it in front of them even more.
N’yotsu moaned again and I shushed him, putting a hand on his forehead and trying not to pull back: his skin was clammy and cold like wet clay. He was wasting away before my eyes and there was nothing I could do but try to soothe him like he was a sick infant. I bit my lip as the helplessness of it all washed over me, flushing away any thoughts of Andras, tears welling in my eyes as my throat closed up. The sight of him lying there, moaning and panting and fading away, brought to mind so many other people I’d seen when growing up in the East End. Every time I closed my eyes I saw men, women, boys and girls huddled on the streets, unable to find food or even a roof over their head, begging for help before death grabbed them and dragged them to the potter’s field. Or even worse, the ones who just gave up. A face flashed in front of me: little Jonny—or was it Mikey? There had been too many over the years, and so much had happened. I remembered him looking up at me with eyes too big for his face, the dullness in his gaze telling me that I’d lost him already, even though his body was still working: for the time being at least.
Things had been so right for a while: me, Max, Gus and N’yotsu against the world. We’d been a team, a family, maybe not perfect and perhaps not quite unstoppable but we had lived well and worked hard together. I remembered days of Max and N’yotsu peering over some invention or curiosity, pretending to ignore Gus and me drinking and joking in the corner. Finally I’d had a place where I belonged, where I was useful and wanted for more than just… but now those days were gone: Max had gone into his shell and become more bitter than ever since he lost the use of his legs thanks to Andras breaking his back in two when he’d refused to join the demon’s side in that final battle in Greenwich. What’s more, Gus had disappeared to God-knows-where, and now N’yotsu was just fading away before my eyes.
I sniffed and wiped my nose on the back of my hand as N’yotsu’s face blurred before me.
No. I wouldn’t cry. Never show weakness, never show fear, always be strong: those were the lessons I’d learnt the hard way. I took a deep breath and pushed the tears back inside, deep down into my stomach where no one would know they even existed. I had to be strong for N’yotsu, I had to get him to London and to Maxwell and whoever else could help him.
“You’re not going to die, N’yotsu,” I said through gritted teeth, my voice getting stronger with each word. “I will not let you. You hear? I will not let you!”
After another hour we finally made it back to London, with N’yotsu thankfully still in the land of the living. The carriage came to a stop outside the door to 24 Whitehall and I shouted out the window at the two soldiers who were on guard outside. “Don’t just stand there, come and help us!” They stared at me blankly and I opened the carriage door. “This here’s N’yotsu and he needs to get in there now. Do you want me to report you to your superiors as the ones who dithered and let him die?”
That decided them and within no time they had summoned a dozen soldiers to help get us inside, down the stairs, and over to the beds by Max’s room. As we passed his laboratory I threw open the door and looked around. “You,” I said, pointing to Dr Smith and ignoring Max’s protests. “You’re needed next door, now. Move yourself.”
“What?” asked Max as the doctor did as he was told.
“It’s N’yotsu,” I said, running over to grab the handles of his wheelchair and pushing him out the door. “He’s taken a turn for the worse. You’re coming too: I think we’re going to need all the geniuses we can get.”
Time passed, but no matter what they said to me I wouldn’t leave N’yotsu’s bedside.
“Please,” said Dr Smith for at least the twentieth time, “you would be better off getting some rest. I need space to examine him and he needs quiet.”
“I’m small,” I said. “And I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“But really…”
I looked at him. “I’m beginning to wonder why you’re so keen to get rid of me,” I said. “What are you planning to do to him?”
He met my glare in impressive style. “My job, Miss Thatcher. I am trying to help him, an action that is hindered by you repeatedly distracting me.” He turned to N’yotsu, leaving me to glare at his back.
“…wasn’t distracting you until you started talking to me,” I muttered under my breath, then straight away felt petty for speaking like that. I looked at the door and wondered whether I actually should go and maybe see what Max was up to; he had jotted down a few things while the doctor had been going through his tests and then asked Lexie and Joshua to take him back to his lab.
Then again, I knew I would just be in the way there, and bored into the bargain. At least staying at N’yotsu’s side I felt like I was doing some good, letting him know I was there and cared about him. Anyway, I felt guilty about what had happened: I’d been there when he’d collapsed and hadn’t seen it until it was too late. I had to stay with him; I owed him that much.
I shifted back on my seat and then realised that I was sitting on the edge of a bed. I swung my legs round and lay back, propping my head up on an elbow so I could still see my friend. The doctor turned to glance at me and I glared back defiantly before everything started to swim around me and I fell helplessly into a deep sleep as the efforts of the past few days finally caught up with me.
I swam through a thick muck that clung to my arms and legs but left no trace or smear. Everything was slow and heavy, a swamp of nothingness crushing down on me. There was nothing to see and yet I had the feeling that I had been there before.
All around were holes, gaps that reminded me of the rags we’d drape over doors and windows back home when I was a kid, flimsy little walls we’d construct across the middle of the room using string to give us some privacy when we wanted to wash or dress so the others living there couldn’t see us. As soon as I thought this, I found myself in a tunnel made out of a long row of these rags, with gaps—windows, doors, whatever—open at regular intervals.
I walked along, dreading what was through each gap and fighting the desperate urge to stop and look through.
“Kate? Kate is that you?” A frail voice called out to me from a nearby gap and I raced over to see my little brother Tommy, huddled under a blanket of snow, just like he was that night we ran away from home, the night Ma… “Kate, I’m scared,” he said.
“It’s all right Tommy,” I said. “Don’t worry, it’s all right.” I wanted to reach out or step through to comfort him but something held me back.
“Is he gone?” Tommy asked. “Will he hurt us?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “He—”
“Girl!” came a shout from another gap right by me, making me jump. I turned to see Pa’s thick
face and broken, bulging nose peering through, his pig-like bloodshot eyes glaring at me. “You come back here, girl. You don’t run from me you little bitch!”
I turned back to the other hole but Tommy was gone, no doubt cowering in terror. The sound of Pa’s voice made me feel ten years old again, small and helpless and terrified as I tried to run away from the man who had killed my Ma, who killed all our childhoods with his drinking and endless beatings.
“You work for me,” he continued from behind me, the voice following me as I ran. “You’re mine to do with as I please, and you’ll make more money working the streets than you will standing behind a barrow. Now come ’ere!”
A hand touched my arm and I turned to see N’yotsu standing strong and firm before me. But as he reached for me again his face twisted and cracked until there was Andras leering at me with those blistering red eyes. “Once a whore, always a whore,” the demon chanted at me, reaching a clawed finger at my cheek, burning me inside and out again and again and again.
I ran away and found myself lost in a thick fog, one of the really deep and cloying ones that come in the winter when all the fires are lit across London. Voices wafted through the grey wall and I reached for them, clawing forward, until I could see something, a small square like a stage seen from the very back of the stalls. Snatches of words and sentences came to me, nonsense at first but then slowly meshing together into something I could recognise, even if I couldn’t understand.
“…only hope… no other… won’t be as bad… you must consider… do you want to die?”
I could see N’yotsu there and someone else bending over him, a hunched figure who was kind of familiar.
“Do you know what awaits you in the afterlife?” the someone else was saying. “Do you think the afterlife cares that you split off some tiny part of yourself? You’ll suffer all the same, but not just for what you did: for much more than that. That’s not really fair now, is it?”
