Cam pulled out his flashlight and switched it on. The beam was reassuringly wide and bright. He pointed it at Dow and followed him as he walked across the room to a large wooden door opposite the balcony. Dow pulled it open. Absolute darkness lay behind it. Dow looked back at his companions. ‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Grímnir answered.
‘No,’ Cam said at the same time.
A small pile of corpses had formed in the lower basement level where Sam had found his Master. He dumped the final one – Pink Polo Shirt – on top of his dead friends.
Though it was dark, Sam found he could see perfectly. He looked down at the dead bodies, with their bloody bent limbs, their staring eyes and fear twisted faces, and felt a moment of intense satisfaction. He had done this. He had destroyed these men in swift economical violence. He had bested them and they had died, screaming, beneath his hands and teeth.
Looking up, he made eye contact with the lank-haired giant. He looked like a beggar, and Sam felt his blood rising. Why should he call this man his Master? Surely, he was better than this filthy vagabond, with his skinny arms and ridiculous, lanky frame. Sam felt a sneer turn his mouth up at the corners.
Do not test my patience, Samuel Autumn. You were an accident, and you exist only by my sufferance. The words crashed into his head, each syllable a hammer blow that threatened to cave his temples in. Sam groaned and fell to the floor. Strong arms gripped him from behind, and he was dragged to his feet and thrown forwards to tumble to his knees in front of the giant. Sam spun around in a half crouch.
A pair of cold, bulbous eyes met his. Set in a head far too big for the man’s wiry body, his eyes dominated a thin face. He wore a cheap, faded blue suit. Sam recognised this man from the alley. Dead Eyes. For the first time in two days, fear stirred in him.
You know my servant, Morgan Leach. You have met before.
‘Yes,’ Sam muttered. Leach reached out and casually backhanded him across the face. The blow was hard and crippling, and Sam lost his wind for a second.
A roar of anger ripped from Sam’s throat as he lurched to his feet and reached out with both hands to grab Leach. The other man slipped away like mist, and Sam felt himself lumbering forwards in an awkward stumble. Another blow caught him behind his right ear. His body went light, and the world spun away. He realised that he was falling just before he hit the floor. His head bounced on the concrete, and Sam lay there for a moment, dazed and confused.
You must forgive Leach. He is of the old world, of the old traditions. You will find yourself struck repeatedly if you fail to call me ‘Master’. Remember this.
‘Yes … Master,’ Sam managed to mumble as he dragged himself back to his feet. Leach stood in front of him, staring with those same unblinking eyes, his face as blank as ever. Sam turned back to look at the giant.
‘Who are you … Master?’
I am Cú Roí, the giant said. I am power, and I am death.
‘What do you want of me, Master?’
You will serve, or you will die. This world is mine, and I intend to take it. My army will grow, and the old empires and the new will topple before my might. Come, I wish to show you something. Bring some of the food with you. Cú Roí turned and walked away through the derelict basement. Sam picked up the body of Skinhead and followed. They wove between pits that looked as if they had once housed some sort of machinery. He could hear moans coming from a few of them, but most were empty and silent.
Cú Roí stopped in front of one of the pits. Look in, he said. Sam bent forwards and stared down. His enhanced sight cut through the darkness. The place might as well have been lit by floodlights, though everything was in black and white.
At the bottom of the pit, he could see an obese woman lying on the floor with her arms resting protectively over her swollen stomach. She appeared to be singing a lullaby.
‘What is it?’ He heard a whisper of movement behind him. ‘Master,’ he added hastily, forestalling the blow he was sure Leach had been about to throw at him.
This is a birthing pit.
The words gave Sam clarity. He could see that the woman was not fat, but incredibly pregnant. She lay at the bottom of the pit looking up blindly. She had obviously heard Sam speaking, because she began to call out.
‘My time is near,’ she said querulously. ‘My child is ready to come into the world. He will be magnificent. Hello? Is anybody there? You will need to look after him. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him when he is born.’
‘A child … Master?’
My child. The first of the Barghest.
‘Barghest, Master?’ Sam asked in confusion. He looked up from the pit and back at the giant’s filthy face.
Cú Roí smiled. Sam looked back down into the pit to avoid his glittering, diamond eyes. Your type is easy to produce, but the blood that spawns you runs fickle and untrue, Cú Roí said, the words that were not words tumbling around in Sam’s head. Even Leach can sometimes fail me. The Barghest though … the Barghest are loyal unto death, and their ferocity and constitution are without peer. With three, I will rule this mire you call a city; with a thousand, I will rule the world. There is something I want you to do for me. Throw the meat in – the child will be hungry.
Cú Roí turned and walked away. Leach followed him, wordlessly. Sam kicked Skinhead into the pit and heard the corpse crash to the floor. The woman in the hole began to weep pitifully. The sound didn’t reach Sam, who had already run to catch up with the two strange creatures he had found in this stinking basement of death and birthing pits.
‘What do you want me to do, Master?’ Sam asked when he caught up with Cú Roí.
I need women. I need the mothers of the Barghest. I want you to go and procure some for me.
Sam said, ‘Women? You need women to go in those pits? I know just where to start.’ He said it with a grin, but the smirk was wiped from his face when Leach’s open hand crashed into the side of his head.
In the birthing pit, Sarah cuddled her stomach and wept. She had heard the mind-words of her rapist, and the knowledge that her child would rule the world made her intensely happy.
She wept because she knew her time was near, and the voice of fear that had been nagging in the back of her head was becoming more and more difficult to ignore. Women did not get pregnant and give birth in a matter of hours. She knew there was something wrong, but a part of her didn’t care – all that mattered was the baby.
Tears of mixed joy and terror fell to her swollen belly. Pain lurched through her as the child kicked. The tight skin of her abdomen pushed up, and she felt something rip. It felt like a paper cut. The pain brought a moan. Her hands urgently pressed to the wound, and she quickly determined that it was nothing serious – just a thin laceration that had scored the surface of her gut. She wondered how such a large child was going to get out of her.
It kicked again, and this time the skin did split. Agony like nothing else Sarah had ever encountered shuddered through her. At first, she couldn’t make a sound. Blood and mucus slopped down to the floor; she heard it splatter in the darkness. Her hand slipped into the massive gash over her belly button, and she felt hot, slimy sinew shuddering within her. Something sharp snapped at her hand, and three of her fingers disappeared.
Finally, she was able to scream. The noise rose, high-pitched and agonised. The other prisoners went quiet, their fear tangible, as Sarah spawned the first Barghest to stalk the Earth in two thousand years.
With the corpse of its eviscerated mother still warm, the Barghest sniffed the air. It was blind, but its other senses were excellent. The creature’s perception was a perfect meld of acute hearing and enveloping smell.
It could scent blood. Saliva washed between its serrated teeth. It had already tasted its mother’s flesh, and it turned to rip more from its nest of tissue and gristle. There was another mound of meat nearby – it could smell that, too. First though, it would devour its mother, chewing its way free of the enclosing body.
&n
bsp; It could sense the will of its Master, as it had since the moment consciousness bloomed. Its mind was full of needs – the need to please its Master, the need to destroy, the need to cause suffering – but its primary need was to feed and grow strong.
Thrashing around for a better position, the Barghest began to tear at the cooling corpse. There was ecstasy in the copper tang of blood. When it finished with the thing that had birthed it, it would turn to the other meat. Content for the moment, the Barghest fed.
Sam drove the stolen Ferrari recklessly, cutting through traffic, oblivious to the raucous cries of cursing horns that chased him up the road. The smile that was plastered across his face flickered into the occasional snarl. Cú Roí wanted women for the birthing pits, and Sam knew exactly who to give him.
Traffic was light; at the speed he was driving, he was quick to reach the small flat he’d shared with Tabby in a previous life.
The growling Ferrari crawled down the road. Sam stopped the car when he saw the group of thugs that had been making life on the street miserable for so long. Once again, the smile slipped into a snarl, and Sam gunned the engine and sped into the group. He slammed on the brakes just before he hit one of the little hoodlums.
Crystal headlights lit up the face of a young girl – maybe fifteen – who stared through the windscreen at him, wide-eyed and terrified. Then her features contorted and she began to yell abuse at him. Calmly, Sam pressed a button, and the sports car’s powerful engine died. He got out of the car and stood before the group of youths. He smiled, but inside the darkness was gathering.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ shouted the girl. ‘Are you fucking blind or something? You could have killed me!’
‘You’re stood on a road,’ Sam said, as if to a dullard. ‘What do you expect?’
‘You can’t just drive through people.’
‘I didn’t; I stopped. I didn’t want to damage the car.’
The girl stormed up to him and pushed him in the chest. Sam looked down at her; she must have seen something in his eyes, because her anger wilted. She took a step backwards. Sam searched the group and eventually found the face he was looking for. ‘Have you got anything to add?’ he asked the tall youth from the previous night.
The tall youth smiled and walked over. ‘Nice car,’ he said with a smirk.
‘Well, someone wrote “fucking cunt” on my other one, so I thought I’d upgrade. What are you driving these days?’
‘Funny.’ It was a flat-faced statement. ‘What do you want?’
‘Congratulations, you remained half-civil for almost five seconds – that must be a personal best for you.’
‘What do you want, you prick? You called the cops on us again?’ The boy moved forwards until he was only a few inches from Sam. He jerked his head forwards aggressively, as if to butt the older man. Sam didn’t flinch. The boy didn’t back away and they stood nose to nose, so close that Sam could smell his beer-laced body odour. The night around them was still, holding its breath, watching.
‘No, the police are powerless.’
‘So what the fuck do you want?’ the boy shouted in Sam’s face.
Sam moved fast. He took a step back and slapped the boy gently on the cheek. The noise punched a hole in the quiet of the night. The boy stared at Sam incredulously. ‘You can’t do that,’ he gasped. It was almost a whine.
‘Really?’ Sam slapped him again, harder this time. The force of the blow sent the youth to his knees. ‘I don’t see why not.’
There was a whisper of motion to his right. Sam turned his body and raised his hand smoothly. A thrown beer can slapped into his waiting palm. He crushed it and threw it back into the crowd in one smooth, economical movement. The projectile hit the boy who had thrown it square in the forehead, and he dropped to the ground, clutching a small gash.
Sam’s gaze swept the group and they shied from it. He looked down at the kneeling boy. ‘I have decided that I am no longer bound by your rules.’ He leant down and grabbed the tall youth by his hair. Then he dragged him to his feet.
‘Get off me, you can’t do this. I’m a kid.’
‘You aren’t children, you’re animals. I have come to appreciate the more bestial side of human nature in the last twenty-four hours or so, and like recognises like.’ The boy raised both hands to Sam’s wrist and tried to pull his hair free. Sam punched him on the nose. Blood shot out and spilled to the tarmac. ‘I have come to realise that it is much easier to kill, than to live in fear. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Get off me!’ the boy screamed. A light snapped on in Mrs. Nicholls’s house, and Sam saw the old woman watching from her window. He waved cheerfully. She stared at him for a moment and then disappeared.
‘You have caused misery around here for months now, secure that there are no repercussions. No punishment. Well, now there is punishment. It’s me.’ Sam slapped the boy another couple of times for good measure. Mrs. Nicholls’s front door opened, and the old lady came walking across the street towards them.
‘Let that child go,’ she commanded. ‘I’ve called the police. Let him go right this minute!’
Sam looked at her, perplexed. ‘Why?’
‘He’s only a child. Let him go.’
Sam released the boy, who fell back into his friends with a whimper. ‘These cretins have tormented you for months. They deserve to be punished.’
‘Not by you. Not like this.’
‘Fine,’ Sam said, losing interest. ‘Have you seen my wife?’
Mrs. Nicholls stopped a few feet from him and put her hands on her hips. ‘No. She went off in a taxi earlier today, and I’ve not seen her since. She had a suitcase with her. I don’t blame her, from what I’ve just seen. The police were here looking for you earlier, too.’ Her tone was accusatory.
‘I’m trying to protect you …’
‘No, young man,’ Mrs. Nicholls interrupted, ‘you are taking pleasure in bullying a child.’
‘Whatever.’ Sam turned and walked back towards the Ferrari. As he was getting in, the tall youth shouted after him. Sam turned back to the crowd, genuine fury rising in him. ‘What did you say?’
‘You heard me,’ the boy shouted. ‘I’m going to burn your fucking house down. I’m going to …’ he didn’t get any further. Sam leapt at him. There was maybe ten feet between them, but Sam covered the distance in one powerful bound. He caught the boy by the throat and wrenched him up against a nearby hedge, pinning him deep within the sharp twigs and bristly leaves. A panicked spider crawled out over the boy’s shoulder and scuttled across his chest. The boy made a gagging noise.
‘If I ever see you again, I’ll rip your lungs out and post them to your parents.’ Sam tightened his grip for emphasis. ‘I don’t care how you think the world works; in me, you have met death. Any damage to my property, and I’ll come for you.’ He pulled the boy out of the bushes and threw him to the ground.
Crouching over him, Sam dug into the boy’s pockets and came out with a canvas wallet. He dug out the boy’s student ID and held it up in front of his face. ‘Now I know your name and where you go to school, Thomas Michael Moore. Any trouble at all, and you’ll be seeing me.’
Sam stood and surveyed the terrified group. ‘That goes for all of you.’ He stared at them for a few moments and then climbed back into the Ferrari. He believed Mrs. Nicholls – somehow the house had felt empty when he had looked at it. Where would Tabby go? There was only one place. He started the engine.
Driving away slowly, he waved at the stunned group that stood outside the place he used to live.
It was dark within The Tower. Away from the dawn sun that lit the outer ring of rooms, the narrow corridors were close and eerie. Cam clutched his shotgun to his chest. It was loaded, and the safety was off. The noise of the metal barrel rubbing against his chain mail shirt was a subtle whisper that filled his ears.
Doors had rotted off their hinges. Every time they passed one, Cam couldn’t help but stare in, half-expecting a wav
e of monsters to come pouring out and eat his brains. Neither Grímnir nor Dow seemed concerned by the rooms – Cam wished he knew what they knew.
Dow walked at the front carrying Cam’s flashlight. Point, Cam ruminated. Too many Vietnam movies, he thought straight afterwards. Grímnir strode along behind Dow with his hand resting gently on his chainsaw. Cam brought up the rear. He was not happy about that. He kept turning his head worriedly, to see if anything was creeping up behind him. Not that he could tell – Dow kept the flashlight pointing forwards.
They had managed to descend another seven levels, putting them on minus eighteen. So far, they had seen no signs of life or death. Cam half wished something would happen – the tension was unbearable. Ahead, Dow turned a corner and for a second the light vanished. Cam increased his pace.
Following, he found himself stood in another large chamber. Dow did a quick reconnaissance with the flashlight. Its wide beam cut the darkness. Cam could see that the room was roughly sixty-five feet square, with a big double door at the opposite end. It was a kitchen. A few ancient-looking cauldrons were scattered around. They looked dirty and pitted. Fireplaces were built into the walls. Thick spits lay abandoned in their grates. Long stone counters and tables criss-crossed the room. There was a well in the centre of the space. Huge granite troughs and sinks were stationed next to it. On the lip of the well was a rust-chewed metal bucket. Grímnir walked over to it.
‘Oy, Peregrin Took,’ Cam hissed at Grímnir. ‘Don’t touch that bucket!’
Grímnir turned around. ‘Why not? It must service a reservoir somewhere in the levels below us. And who is this Peregrin Took?’
Immortals' Requiem Page 18
