by Ben Yallop
'What the...?' he croaked as he managed to get his feet underneath himself and sit up straight. 'How did you...?' he trailed off, suddenly aware of the open window behind him.
The figure moved forward and placed a sheet of paper squarely on the desk between them. Adrian could make out nothing beyond the light bulb shining into his eyes.
'The Hain account,' came a voice, low and quiet.
'Um, yes,' said Adrian cautiously after a moment's thought. He remembered the strange man who had set up the account and the odd boy who he had met in the church at the funeral and had been sole inheritor of the old man's estate.
'Put the money in this account,' came the voice again, just loud enough to hear. 'The house burnt down. The insurance goes in too.' A finger tapped the page.
Adrian had heard about the fire. The police had been to see him about that and had asked him what he knew about it. The firemen had suspected arson but had not been able to find the usual evidence of an accelerant or even the source of where the fire had started. He remembered that the fire investigator had said something strange, that the fire had not seemed to move naturally through the building in a standard pattern, that it was almost as if it had been controlled. Adrian Fiddler hadn't been able to help much but he hadn't liked the police coming into the offices. Bad for business.
He looked down at the page on the desk before him, aware that his mouth was hanging open. The page had been torn from a book or journal of some sort and there was a small amount of neat handwriting on it.
'Entry 119' he read 'If, Sam, you ever do read this journal and you need money in an emergency and I'm not around go to see Adrian Fiddler and get him to transfer the funds he holds to this account. I'll put details of how to access it inside the cover.'
There followed an account number and sort code.
'Do it now,' came the stranger's voice. Again the finger came out of a sleeve and rested on the numbers on the page. Now that he looked Adrian could see what looked like blood caked around the nail and a swollen knuckle. The finger rose slowly to point at the desk-lamp. Adrian found himself watching the finger as it moved up from the desk, like a cat following a toy, and found himself staring right into the light. There was suddenly a flash and a loud pop as the bulb blew, plunging the room into sudden darkness and making Adrian jump and blink as the light of the bulb and flash echoed on his retina. After a moment the swirling paisley patterns faded and his eyes adjusted enough to see the room by the orange streetlights. He was alone. The window was closed. The paper was still sitting on his desk.
Two floors above him, crouched on the flat roof, Sam took deep breaths as he tried to get his heart rate to return to normal. He looked out over the city, thinking for a moment. A light rain began to fall again. The nearest roof was a good fifty metres away. Taking a deep breath he pointed his hands towards the moss and gravel beneath his feet and pushed with his presence as he jumped, launching himself upwards in a great arc. A second later he was gone, swallowed by the darkness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
London
Present day
A few days after seeing the lawyer, Sam huddled in a dark corner on a different London roof. Now he had gotten his head around the dates it seemed as though he had only stayed in the future for a month or two at the most. It felt good to return to the present, or what he thought of as the present anyway. He’d come to realise that it was all relative to personal experience. With the possibility of travelling to any time and place, albeit within the boundaries that the lines allowed, anything was possible. In a way, his parents were still alive and he could go to see them if only he could find the right path, although as they had been killed when he was only a baby they would not know who he was. Time wasn’t a single river carrying everyone along at the same pace. With the existence of the lines it had become an infinite number of trickling streams running alongside each other, sometimes it formed whirlpools, sometimes it ran fast, sometimes slow. Sam shivered. At some point in time Ferus was still alive and looking for him. If events in the past could turn out differently what effect did that have on the future?
But, whatever the answer, he was glad to be in London at a time which felt normal. Barely an hour had passed when he hadn’t regretted walking away from Weewalk and Kya. Life in the future had been harder than he had expected and he now felt that he had made a wrong and immature decision to leave. He had just felt so angry at Tarak for using him to get at Ferus.
But how else could Sam have reacted? His life had been bizarre ever since his grandfather had died. He had barely escaped with his life as his house had been burnt to the ground, he had met Weewalk and Hadan, battled a werewolf like garoul, been instrumental in starting the Great Fire of London, journeyed deep underground to a doorway to a secret American Government experiment, developed strange telekinetic powers, beaten Spring-Heeled Jak in a battle using telekinesis and almost been killed by a distant descendant from a world that would be created by the destruction of his own world. To top it all he had discovered that his grandfather had been from this distant future and had become stuck in the past setting in chain a series of events which would eventually lead to the whole business. It was quite a lot to take in. Sam didn’t feel too ashamed that he hadn’t reacted particularly well. The end of the world took some getting used to.
He had thought the future would be the best place to get away from everything. He had wanted time alone. He had thought that in the world of Mu he would be less likely to stand out because of his presence, his new found ability to affect things around him with his mind. But he had quickly found that he had not the first idea how to interact with people and with nowhere to stay and no-one he knew it felt like being in the most foreign of countries and, somewhat ironically, in a simple, rural and distant past. A time of oppression and magic and strange creatures. It had been like stepping into the pages of a fantasy novel, although without the dragons. At least he hadn’t seen any dragons. The distant city he thought he had seen when he had first arrived had been little more than a few simple wooden towers. Hardly the technologically advanced glorious vision of progress man might have been hoping for. He had, for a while, not been sure that he hadn’t mistakenly travelled many hundreds of years into his own past.
But there was no mistaking that he was in the future. He had developed some sort of internal clock. He could just sort of feel where he was in time. But he had felt sick. He had told himself that he had simply been exhausted from the pressure of recent events or that he had picked up some germ or bug but that hadn't explained away his difficulty to think clearly. He had had nowhere to stay and when he had managed to find somewhere to shelter his sleep had been fitful, broken by dreams of the end of the world, strange orbs of light floating around the black doorways of the lines and shadowy figures, elusive in his dream-world. He supposed it was a lack of sleep but he had caught himself acting erratically when awake and having problems with his memory. Sometimes he startled himself realising he had been simply standing or sitting still and gazing into space without a coherent thought in his head. It had been like he was living in a patchy fog and his mind drifted in and out of it. He didn't know why his brain wasn’t working properly, although it had been through a lot. He found it hard to concentrate on anything in particular but, all the time, a certain thought was there, prickling the back of his skull. Armageddon. The end of the world. The whatever it was that would happen and all but end man's time on Earth as it had the dinosaurs. And Sam had realised that the world after that day was not a happy place. The Riven King had seen to that. His thoughts turned to the rogue he had met in Mu. He hoped that Aleksy had gotten away from Rivenrok and was okay, or would be okay when the events he had seen eventually took place.
Back in what was, at least to Sam's internal clock, present day London he had felt the fog lift a bit and had found himself able to think more clearly again. But still he felt sick much of the time and still sleep often eluded him. It had taken him two days of wandering the street
s to remember the journal entry about going to see the solicitor, Adrian Fiddler, the man that his grandfather had trusted with his assets. It had scared Sam that his brain was working so slowly but again, once he had decided on this course of action, it had felt like the right thing to do and he had enjoyed a bit more clarity. Actually going into that office had been scary too but, in a rare moment of complete lucidity, Sam had decided that it had to be done and that it was best done with as few people seeing him as possible. Looking back now he wasn't quite sure how he had had the guts to do the things he had with Weewalk and Hadan and Kya but he was painfully aware that he had recently brought about the demise of Ferus, one of the Riven King's most trusted generals. And Spring-Heeled Jak for that matter. Sam couldn't believe that such acts would go unpunished and he was constantly checking behind himself for pursuers. In a short amount of time he had become deeply paranoid and had resolved to stay hidden and unnoticed wherever possible. Were they coming for him? Had they already found and captured a past version of him? Would he still be here if they had? Did his being here mean that his past self was safe and that they wouldn't or couldn't endanger him in the past? It was all too much for his foggy brain.
Now, cold and alone in London, Sam couldn't quite believe what he had come through. Looking back it was as though he had been following some irresistible shining thread which had drawn him through events. In the ruins of old London, during the Great Fire when Sam had saved the life of an old woman from being crushed in a crowd, Weewalk and Hadan had spoken to him of destiny. Was that what it had been guiding him? Fate? Was this sickness what it felt like when one broke away from that line?
Sam rubbed his eyes suddenly aware that he was still crouched on a damp, cold roof high above the dark, shiny wet streets of London. He shook himself. He had a plan. He needed some rest and there was one place he could think of where he knew he would soon feel better. But he had something else to do first. The thought scared him far more than seeing that slimy solicitor but it had to be done. He stood and ran to the edge of the roof where he pushed with presence and leapt high into the night.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
London
Present day
Sam soon found the River Thames. Its black waters, shiny from the night lights of London, slid along soundlessly below him. Using it to navigate he made his way east until he found a quiet street between two buildings and dropped to the ground. In many ways walking the pavements was better for remaining hidden than using presence to leap around between roofs. Although few people ever looked up expecting to see strange figures jumping about he felt less conspicuous on the ground, walking normally. More visible, but less obvious. The City lived on multiple levels with countless tall buildings, roof gardens, terraces and balconies and he was cautious about being seen. The endless security cameras did not make life any easier either.
On the ground he looked carefully about himself, peering around corners whilst keeping in the shadows. Paranoid, a voice inside his head told him. Safe, he told it. He pulled his hood closer over his face and joined in with the crowds making their way home after a day's work.
Crossing the river via Waterloo Bridge, heading north, he couldn’t help but expose his face a little to look out from under his hood. The City lay off to one side with the illuminated dome of St Paul's Cathedral. He remembered the Great Fire and the flames which had engulfed that entire horizon. To the other side he saw the immense circle of the London Eye and the crags of the Houses of Parliament. Gunpowder, treason and plot, he thought to himself as he looked at the floodlit building. He turned when he came to the end of the Bridge and followed the Embankment along the north side of the river until he could clearly see the luminous face of the clock in the tower that everyone knew as Big Ben after the bell inside.
Time to go up again, Sam thought and he turned down an alleyway. He hunched down for a moment, as if tying a shoelace. As he did so he used his presence to tug on the security camera high above him so that it now pointed at the wall. He stood again and, after looking around to satisfy himself that he was unseen, he pushed from the ground and then several broad ledges until he reached the roof. It was difficult to find his way up here. Many of the roofs were pointed rather than flat and most had some form of security such as wire or cameras. The worst was the anti-climb paint which left sticky black marks on everything which never dried. Plus everything on the roofs was slick with drizzle. Still, after a few wrong turns, and an exhilarating dash across what he thought might be the Ministry of Defence building, he found that he was more or less in the right place. He paused, looking across and down at the gates to Downing Street. Four policemen stood at the black wrought iron all armed with impressive looking guns.
He waited there for an hour, immobile, sometimes watching, sometimes just mindlessly staring into the space ahead of him, almost dozing. A few people came in and out of the pedestrian gate on the left, more leaving than going in. At one point he was conscious of the gates opening to admit a dark car and he was startled a minute later by a series of distant flashes. At first he tensed, listening for thunder, but then he realised that the flashes came from the camera bulbs of journalists just out of sight, stationed in front of the famous door of Number 10, Downing Street. The Prime Minister was clearly receiving a late visitor tonight. Well, he would get one more yet.
At one point Sam must have fallen asleep. He awoke with a start. At first he wasn't sure how long he had had his eyes closed but then Big Ben chimed the hour. He had only been asleep for ten minutes or so, but he had dreamed. It had been about the lines again. He had been standing on the edge of a dark expanse of grass and there had been a line there, surrounded by orbs. Tiny round balls of bluish light hovering just in front of the doorway. They had moved towards him, slowly, floating. And as they had moved closer voices had come from the line, beckoning him, whispering. Sam shivered at the thought and settled back to watch the gates to Downing Street. He couldn’t say what he was waiting for. It was more about summoning up the courage than anything and the fear of what might happen if he was caught. He didn’t want to have to use presence on ordinary people.
Eventually Sam moved, his muscles stiff and numb. Using a series of buildings he crossed Whitehall and came round to where he could see what he judged to be the right place. He was sure there would be very significant security up here. He paused. The back of his neck tingled as he considered his move.
'Thought you'd never get here!'
Sam froze. The voice had come from behind him, on the roof. Someone was here. Female. He didn't move. There was a chance, albeit slim, that she wasn't talking to him. It was dark, he was wearing dark clothes and wasn't moving. It might be a voice from an open window.
'Sam, hey, over here. Behind you.'
He straightened and turned warily. Leaning against a chimney stack was a young, slim woman, her hair a short bob of blonde above a fashionable light-coloured knee length raincoat. She clutched a purse in one hand and gave a sheepish wave with it as she spoke.
'Hi,' she said breezily. Then more concerned 'How are you?'
For a moment Sam was torn. He wanted to run but the only way to get away was to use presence and he didn't want to be seen using it.
His voice came as a growl. 'Who are you?'
'Amy Shore. Security,' she cocked her head to one side, a wrinkle appearing on her forehead. 'You okay?'
'You don't look like security,' Sam tried to keep his face in shadow.
'I have some er... special talents. I'm afraid I can't let you go inside to see the Prime Minister today, Sam.'
'How do you know my name?'
'It's my job to know.'
'What are you, some kind of spy?'
'Uh-huh,' She nodded. '’Fraid so. Sorry. MI5.' She gave the sheepish wave again.
'So what do we do now?' said Sam through clenched teeth.
'Well, we would like to talk to you but first you need to jump back the way you came or that marksman over there will kill you and not even
you will be able to stop the bullet.' She pointed to a dark patch on a neighbouring roof. Sam looked. He couldn't see anything but he decided not to call her bluff.
'I have to speak to the Prime Minister,' Sam said.
'Um, no you don't.'
'I do!' he shouted, feeling anger course through him. A red dot of light appeared suddenly on his chest. The target laser of a sniper. He fought for a moment to regain his composure, his heart fluttering. He spoke very slowly and carefully.
'I need to tell him something very important. I have a warning.'
'You really don't need to tell him anything,' sighed Amy. 'He probably knows more than you do. Look.'
She reached into her purse and brought out a white business card. Sam tensed.
'Relax,' she said. 'Here.'
Sam almost stumbled in shock as the card floated into the air and moved steadily to him as though held in an invisible hand. It circled twice around his head before stopping in front of his face. It read simply 'Amy Shore, UK Government' and gave a phone number. Sam plucked it from the air, feeling her presence relinquish it as he took hold. He slipped it into a pocket.
'He knows,' she said sadly, giving him a tired smile. 'He doesn't know when the world will end but he knows it will happen eventually. It's a secret that has been passed from Prime Minister to Prime Minister for a very long time. The American Presidents too via the Book of Secrets. One day the world will explode. Each Prime Minister and President just hopes it won't be on his or her watch. The lines will be created, the Riven will come, the future will be bleak and the people will be enslaved.'
'What?' hissed Sam feeling the anger rise again. 'He knows? Then why doesn't he do something about it? Warn people? Protect them?'
'What could he do, Sam? We don’t exactly have an army of good guys with presence all ready and raring to protect every person at every time. How can you fight something and someone which doesn't exist yet? How can you stop something which is in space and is invisible and you have no idea when it will come? And what possible benefit would telling people have? Mass panic. Riots. Lawlessness. The breakdown of normal society. For a problem that might not happen for a thousand years. That’s if anyone would even believe us. They would think the Government had gone mad.'
