by Simon Kewin
And what should she do? Play tricks with their minds, make them see monsters attacking? But perhaps that wouldn't work on such mindless beings. Turn their blood black or make it boil in their veins? Tell their bones to twist and writhe out of their sockets so they collapsed screaming to the floor? She might be able to do that.
But what would her gran think? Cait had stopped, Danny running ahead of her. She saw her gran's face in her mind's eyes: the familiar, fond smile. Her gran tolerated anything Cait said or did, but could make her true feelings clear with the briefest glance. What would her gran think if she learned Cait had done such things?
She turned to face her pursuers. They surrounded her, deploying with military precision. Underneath their black riot gear they looked like ordinary men and women. If she harmed them in some terrible way, wasn't she being corrupted by the magic, too? Where would that lead her? Where would she stop?
She made the decision in an instant, as if it were a matter of little consequence. She would never allow herself to become like that thing in the library. She would never have to see a look of disgust flashing across her gran's features.
Danny had stopped too, reluctant to leave her. The riders formed a ring around them then edged forward, wary for any attack or attempt to flee. The man strolled toward them, clearly enjoying himself, as if the whole thing was a playground game.
Cait clutched the book to her chest. The presence of the dead girl from the tower blocks stirred. She heard the girl's voice, gentle but clear.
Use your magic like this.
The voice breathed as quiet as cold air. It was old and wise. It knew how to use witchcraft. Cait held her arms forward, palms facing outward, and worked the magic she'd been shown.
An icy wind roared from her hand. It was easy enough to form: a mere channelling of the cold inside her. Even so there was a sharp pain in her chest as she worked the magic, as if something twisted in her heart.
She hit a rider squarely in the stomach. He stopped in his tracks, then toppled over, clutching his arms about himself. Frost covered him as if he'd been lying in ice all night. He didn't move.
Had she killed him? Had the girl's voice tricked her? She searched into the rider. The flame of life inside him flickered low but it burned still, deep inside his torpor. He was alive as much as ever.
The other riders acted immediately, their training sending them diving and rolling as if under fire. They darted at her from every angle, moving simultaneously so the odds were in favour of at least one reaching her.
Cait extended her senses farther, forming a picture of the whole scene in her mind. She could see herself and Danny, and then the remaining three riders throwing themselves at her. Wider still she could see the man who commanded them, unmoving, his mind hard to discern.
Everything moved in slow motion, like some movie combat sequence. Her own mind sharpened, her thoughts bright and clear. She whirled round, forming an arc of ice about her and Danny like a great blade. It struck the first rider in the head, knocking him backward. The second stooped to roll underneath, but by rotating her hands she caught him squarely with the blast. Without a sound the rider slumped to the ground. The final attacker lunged at them from behind, closer than the others. Cait, knowing precisely where he was, directed the flow of magic backward, halting him dead in his tracks. In a moment, all thee riders lay on the ground, unmoving, frost on their faces. The pain in her chest stabbed as she breathed. But she had done it: stopped them without really harming anyone.
The man still stood a short way off. “I should have trodden on you when I had the chance, little girl.”
Cait said nothing. Danny breathed hard behind her, his mind all panic. Calmly, she reached into the magic that lay within her like a mountain pool, deep and wide. Wincing involuntarily at the stab in her chest she sprayed more ice at the man, putting all her strength into it, not caring now if she knocked him out or killed him. He was no victim. The world would be a better place without him.
But the spell never reached him. A halo, a shroud of indistinct images appeared around him. The magic struck it and stopped, absorbed. She caught a glimpse of distant faces screaming and writhing in pain within the shroud, as if it was made from spirits like those at the tower blocks. Then it faded away, leaving the man untouched. Some magic from the other world, some sorcery. Now what could she do?
Danny stepped forward as if he planned to fight the man. She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back. “Danny, no. You've got no chance.”
The man pulled a gun from inside his jacket. “You're all so boring, you know that? I'm going to kill you both just to shut you up.”
Cait put herself in front of Danny. “But you can't shoot me, can you? You can't risk harming me.”
“Actually, yes. I can.”
“But in the library with that thing. And when you were shooting from the motorway. You were very careful not to harm me.”
The man laughed. “You really haven't a clue about anything do you? We do want you alive, that's true. But barely alive will do fine.”
He aimed at Cait.
She tensed involuntarily, her mind floundering as she tried to create some barrier, some shield between her body and the barrel of the gun. But panic drowned out the magic, the voice within her. All her new-found confidence fled. The muscles in her stomach tensed, ready for the impact.
She didn't see the bird flying through the darkness until it crashed into the man's arm, knocking him off his aim. She heard the bullet strike the ground with a sharp crack somewhere beside her. A small crow, a patch of grey on its head like a cap, stood on the ground in front of the man. It stared intently up at him, its head cocked.
The crow attacked, flying at the man's hand, pecking and scrabbling. The man fired again, the bullet whistling through the air. The bird struck. The man swore, dropping the weapon to the floor.
The bird fell in a flurry of feathers. Cait expected it to land in a heap, or right itself and fly away. But instead it changed shape rapidly, growing toward the ground and expanding at the same time. Wings became arms, feathers clothes, until it was a person crouching there on the floor, not a bird. The person stood up, brushing dust off legs and arms.
Cait would have recognized that old grey skirt and shapeless black cardigan anywhere.
“Mum?”
“Cait, love.” She looked at Danny. “I'm afraid I can't remember the name of your friend.”
“It's Danny,” said Cait.
“Of course. Hello, Danny.”
“Uh, hi.”
Cait walked up to her mum. Behind her, the man scooped up the gun from the ground, aimed and fired. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off a faint, shimmering wall that appeared in the air between them.
“You mean you …” said Cait.
“Oh, I'm your gran's daughter all right.”
“But how …?”
“Actually, you can thank him. He came to see me. It shocked me out of my skin. I suddenly realised what I'd become. You needed me, all this time, but especially now. I knew I'd find you if I followed him. I'm sorry I … well, about everything really.”
“So … it was you? That cat?”
“Oh yes.”
“Oh, mum,” said Cait. She was crying. Three times in the same day. It was pathetic.
Her mum kissed her hair, then turned around to face the man. She sighed, the sound of someone facing an unpleasant duty. She waved her hand, dissipating the shimmering wall.
“Let's get this over with,” she said.
“Yes, let's,” said the man. “Now you're here I can save time and shoot the two of you together. Then it's just your mother to deal with. I believe she was the old woman who scuttled off through the sewers?”
“Yes, you keep making these mistakes, don't you?” Her mum's voice was fearless. It barely sounded like her. “I wonder what your masters back in Angere will make of that, Nox?”
The man's expression didn't change but Cait noticed the briefest pause, as if her mo
ther's words had struck home.
“Oh, just shut up.”
He aimed and pulled the trigger once more. Cait winced, expecting the bang, imagining the bullet slamming into her mother's body. But there was nothing except a muffled click from the gun. He tried again and again, but the gun refused to fire.
“My turn,” said her mum.
She held her hand toward Nox, palm forward just as Cait had done earlier. But instead of an icy blast she sent forward a pearly, white light: hazy like the sky at sunrise. As before, the grey shroud with its trapped, screaming faces became visible, forming a barrier around Nox. Cait could see people there now: men, women and children staring at her, shouting wordlessly as if trapped under ice. Could her mother break through?
Then Cait realised that wasn't her mother's intention. The light from her hand became dimmer, little more than a shimmer in the air, a silver thread. The writhing forms in the shroud began to travel along it, drawn out toward her mother's outstretched hand. They formed an elongated cone like some gauzy grey cloth in mid-air, pulled farther and farther away from the man. Nox lost his self-assured smile.
As the cone extended down the thread to touch her mother's hand, she kneeled and put her other hand to the road. A set of rails was embedded in the ground, leading nowhere, a remnant of the days when trains ran to the factories. Around them, patches of cobblestone peered through the modern tarmac like the bones of the old city.
The grey forms flowed over her mother's hand, up one arm, across her neck and face, then down the other arm to touch the earth. There they disappeared, like water soaking gratefully into parched ground. Within moments the grey shroud drained away. Nox stood unmoving, watching in horror.
Her mother stood, her shoulders heaving up and down. Cait could only guess what the cost of working such magic had been.
“There,” her mother said, her voice wavering. “They're all at rest now.”
Nox finally moved. He touched the silver stud in his ear and spoke quietly. Summoning help. Her mother turned to her and Danny.
“Cait, take the book and destroy it as you planned,” said her mother. “You too, Danny. I'll keep Nox out of your way. Go on, be quick.”
“Mum, be careful. There'll be others. There's an undain somewhere in the city, too.”
“I'll be fine, love. Don't worry about this one, he isn't going anywhere for a bit.”
Cait smiled, happy to see her mother restored, terrified she might not see her again after this.
“Go on,” said her mother, almost whispering.
Cait turned to Danny, nodded and ran. Together, they fled toward the factory gates where Nox and the riders had waited for them.
The man inside the guardhouse sat slumped over his desk. He was alive, she could tell, but whether he was injured or unconscious they didn't stop to find out. They ducked under the red and white barrier.
A set of double doors surrounded by safety notices warned of the dangers of fire within. The thrumming noise in the air intensified. Cait glanced back to where her mother faced Nox. The two of them stood in the road as if chatting.
“Hey, you kids! What are you doing in here?” A man in a set of blue overalls, singed and stained all over, a yellow hard-hat on his head, strode along the side of the building. He held a cigarette in one hand. He looked angry at the sight of them. “You can't come in here. I'll call the police.”
It was Danny that replied, using the polite voice he reserved for teachers and other old people. “No, it's OK. This is Cait Weerd. Her father was killed in the fire here two years ago. The guard on the gate said we could come in and look around. Cait needs to … come to terms with what happened.”
It was a huge gamble. The man might not have worked here back then. And the lie about the guard would be easy to disprove. But the man looked unsure of himself. They might get away with it. Cait glanced at Danny. He was doing his best to wear a forlorn expression. She tried to copy it.
“Wait here,” said the man. “Don't move a muscle. I'm fetching the foreman.”
They stood with their backs to a large yellow skip, piled high with broken machinery and coils of electrical cable. The longer they waited, the more nervous Cait felt. Had the man really called the police? And if he had, would it be Nox's private soldiers that turned up? She and Danny exchanged worried glances. Both of them, she knew, were inventing unrealistic plans to run into the factory, evade capture, and somehow throw the book into the blast furnace raging inside.
The man returned, accompanied by an older worker wearing similar blue overalls but a blue hard hat. Perhaps some designation of rank. The first man was scowling but the second, although weary-looking, smiled. His face was deeply lined, like crumpled paper.
“So you're Mike Weerd's little girl eh? Last time we met you were a sleeping babe. You've changed a bit.”
She smiled and said nothing, trying to play the role of the sorrowful daughter. In truth, it wasn't hard. Coming here it was as though her dad was still around, as if she would find him working away inside.
“No harm in letting you look,” the foreman said. “Make sure you stick close to me and we'll be fine. Just don't tell anyone, OK?”
“OK.”
They walked through the large double doors to be hit by a wall of noise and heat. It was bright inside the factory, making it hard to take in all the detail straight away.
Her memory of her previous visit was of this terrible cacophony and great walls of spiked metal that threatened to snag you if you went too close. Also, she recalled her dad's hand in hers, cool and calm, telling her it was all right. Even so, she'd been glad to get outside into the fresh air.
Now, the machines didn't seem so terrible. They were big and noisy, running in lines down the open space of the factory floor, but they didn't reach to the ceiling and they didn't look as though they'd grab her as she walked past.
The foreman held out two pairs of oversized wooden shoes and two pairs of yellow ear-defenders, like ridiculous headphones. “Here, put these on. You'll need the clogs in case any molten metal gets spilled.” With the ear-defenders on the noise became instantly muffled, making Cait feel curiously distanced from reality. She shouted out a thank you but the sound went nowhere, swallowed up by the crashing, roaring din. The clogs were heavy weights on her feet as she clomped forward.
The man guided them along a safe pathway painted on the floor in diagonal yellow stripes. As they passed, the men working at the machines glanced at her and Danny, some grinning, some not. How many of them had known her dad?
She thought of him working here, long hours, day after day to make a living for them all. It was ugly and dirty, a huge room full of inhuman machines whose function she could only guess at, so far removed from the comfort of their own home. He had been a gentle man, quietly spoken, rarely angry. What had it cost him to come here each day? He'd never complained, not to her ears anyway, and was always ready to play with her, talk to her when he came home at night. With hindsight, she could see he must have been exhausted a lot of the time. She missed him, then, with an acute pain, as sharp as the one in her chest when she'd worked the magic.
The foreman shepherded them through another set of double doors into a rest room. Scruffy chairs were set around the walls, each peppered with cigarette burns. Little tables held scattered newspapers and car magazines. It was quieter in here. A little. The foreman took his ear-defenders off, gesticulating at them to do the same.
“You look a lot like your dad, you know.”
“Did you know him well?”
“Aye. We worked together. Used to talk all the time. He were quite the joker, Mike.”
“How could you talk in all that noise?”
“I mean sign-language. You learn it quickly here. Mind you, we made up quite a few of our own signs.” He grinned at that, remembering. “He were a good lad. Terrible what happened.”
“Were you here?”
“No. I were away that week. Came back to find the place half burned down a
nd your dad and the others dead. Last thing I said to him was enjoy your week at work, all cocky like.”
“We have this book,” said Danny. “Cait made it. It has … memories and things of her dad. We wondered if we could throw it in the furnace. The one that went out of control.”
It sounded ridiculous as he said it. Surely the man wouldn't allow it. Surely he would at least ask to look at the book. But he didn't even glance at it. He was full of sympathy, sadness of his own. He would have done more or less anything for her.
“It's against the rules, of course, but all those rules didn't save your dad, did they? The hell with them.”
What they were doing was wrong: tricking this man, taking advantage of him. But they had little choice; they had to do it. And, she thought, coming here would help her, give her a glimpse of the man her dad had been. The place wasn't the factory she saw in her nightmares.
The foreman put his ear-defenders on and led them onto the machine-floor. They walked the entire length of the room. At the far end there were more doors, but these were larger, made of thick metal. More signs warned of further dangers: danger of explosion, danger of death.
Cait began to feel uneasy. It was fire, indeed it was this fire, raging in this enclosed space, that woke her up sweating at night. The room they were about to enter was where it had all happened. Those great doors would be shut behind them, and they would be trapped. Right here, at the end of their crazy journey across the city, she had doubts that she could do it after all.
Danny took her hand. His fingers were hot, not cool, but there was reassurance there, understanding. Danny moved forward, leading her gently. Her heart thumping, she let herself be led.
The heat inside the small room was tremendous, alarming to feel. One entire wall was taken up by the curving arc of the metal blast furnace, gleaming black, right up to the ceiling and presumably beyond. Its door was shut but even so it dried and cracked the skin of her face to be so near it. The air in the room was hazy with smoke, making details indistinct. It brought with it a sickly, acrid smell.
