Roofworld

by Christopher Fowler

  ‘Let’s go back to the Exchange,’ said Spice, rising to her feet. ‘It’s warmer there. I’m bloody starving.’

  After a minute Lee joined Sarah at the doorway. ‘Whatever we saw—or think we saw—on the tower,’ he said, ‘the fact remains that Chymes’ body disappeared as the dawn arrived.’

  ‘Maybe his men took it,’ suggested Simon.

  ‘No—I have a feeling that there was a lot more at stake in this war than any of us realized. We can’t afford to let down our guard—ever again.’ He smiled. ‘Guardians of the City of London. It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it, right?’ He dug around in one of the remaining undamaged packing boxes and pulled out an unbroken bottle of wine. Plastic cups were produced and passed around.

  ‘Rose tells me you’re going back down tonight, Robert.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Robert with some embarrassment. ‘I’ve got work to do on the ground. Sarah has kindly granted me the rights to her mother’s book.’ He glanced across at Rose. ‘I understand that your detective constable is coming up here to join the Roofworld.’

  ‘I knew that we could persuade him as soon as I saw him again,’ said Rose.

  ‘What do you mean? The only time you’ve seen him was when he saved my life on the top of the tower.’

  ‘No, I met him before that. He was the constable who came to interview me after Charlotte Endsleigh’s death.’

  Robert’s jaw dropped in surprise.

  ‘Rose recognized him at once,’ said Spice. ‘Luckily, he didn’t take much persuading. We’d only left him alone at Centre Point for a few minutes before he decided to come galloping to the rescue.’

  ‘He came on the run from Centre Point by himself?’ asked Robert, incredulous.

  ‘No, he stole someone’s scooter from the car park. But the thought was there.’

  ‘He starts up here next month,’ said Lee. ‘Which means that the connection between Charlotte and the Roofworld looks as if it will remain a secret. He does of course bring with him a working knowledge of police operations in the city, which is something we should be able to find a use for. The Roofworld can be as it was before. The tabloids will find something new to scandalize readers by next week. We’ll stay hidden from view.’ He poured some wine into his cup and raised it. ‘Here’s to the new project.’

  ‘What new project?’ asked Robert.

  ‘The first run to cross the river,’ said Spice. ‘We’re moving into south London. Maybe we’ll start up in other cities after that. Lee and I quite fancy New York. We could probably get a run fixed between the towers of the World Trade Center.’

  ‘Of course, the logistics would take a little longer to work out, wind factors and so forth. We might have to make a large cash withdrawal from McDonald’s to pay for the equipment….’

  The plastic cups were raised in a toast as heavy, obliterating snow began to carpet the streets of the city once more.

  —

  ‘From the moment I came up here I had the feeling that I might stay on,’ said Rose. The padded blue jumpsuit was buttoned to her chin, tiny bronze locks of hair curling over the raised collar. She held Robert close, her hands thrust deep into his pockets. Together they perched in the corner of the fire escape built at the rear of the National Gallery, their breath appearing in a single cloud. Carol singers filled the square ahead, shuffling about in the icy winter air as they prepared for the next service, due to begin at dusk.

  ‘Zalian seduced you, didn’t he?’ asked Robert. ‘Oh, I don’t mean sexually, so much as he filled you with the whole idea of life up here. I knew from the start that it wouldn’t suit me. I like the ground comforts too much. You may find that you do, too.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘It’s going to take a lot of rebuilding.’

  ‘I’ve got Lee, Sarah and the others to help teach me. I’ll let you know how I get on.’

  ‘I could always come and visit.’ Robert stepped back to the edge of the fire escape, zipping up his jacket as he did so. ‘Although I’m not sure that I’ll ever have such a good head for heights again.’

  ‘You didn’t do so badly,’ Rose called as he started down the trellised steps. ‘Promise you’ll stay in touch. I want to know how your script turns out. Where are you headed?’

  ‘Home, via Leicester Square. I’ve still got these.’ Robert dug into his pocket and removed a handful of torn bills. ‘I have to give the guy in the video arcade the other half of his money. He kept his half of the bargain, now it’s my turn.’ Neither of them were aware of the fate that had befallen the young informant.

  Rose rested her elbows on the fire escape railing and started to laugh. ‘You think you have problems,’ she called. ‘I’ve just inherited the Roofworld mascot. A stupid-looking dog. It’s about a hundred years old and has to be carried most of the time, but his master was killed.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye out for a girl and a dog charging across the rooftops of Regent Street. What’s it called?’

  ‘Just Dog.’

  ‘Figures. Look after yourself. You’re too valuable to wind up falling off a building.’ Robert watched her face, lingering for a moment at the turn of the steps. ‘You know,’ he began, ‘if you and I had met under different circumstances…’

  ‘Get out of here,’ said Rose. ‘I’m not your type. Never was.’

  He quickly continued down the escape, clattering on the steel rungs. Rose stayed, leaning against the ladder rail until his figure was lost within the snow-crusted configurations of metal.

  The dream no longer came to him through troubled sleep, as if it had been exorcized by his final confrontation with Chymes, part of a memory of terror and darkness which had risen from the distant past into the light of another age. Robert slept well. He had nothing to fear. Now, as the early morning light from a raw blue sky flooded his office, he stared from the window, thinking about the girl with green eyes who worked in the library. He had seen her several times now and found it hard to stop imagining her during the day.

  Staring idly across at the buildings opposite, he noted with surprise that one of the gargoyles had a red paper heart tied around its neck. He looked down at his desk calendar and chuckled. 14 February. Only one person could have put the heart there. For the rest of the day he searched the rooftops, to no avail. Their distant contours remained devoid of movement, standing black and stark against the cold winter sunlight.

  He often looked to the rooftops after that and frequently spent his summer evenings among the warm spires of stone on the roof of his own apartment building, watching the traffic circulate far below like multi-hued corpuscles in the bloodstreams of the city.

  —

  At the beginning of May, he delivered the first draft of The Newgate Legacy script to Paul Ashcroft. The agent greeted him warmly and accepted the manuscript with ill-disguised eagerness. ‘I’m so glad you were able to find Sarah,’ he cried. ‘It would have been such a loss if the book had gone to waste.’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’ Robert accepted an enormous tumbler of whisky and sat down opposite the old man. ‘How much did you know of—Sarah’s whereabouts?’

  ‘Well,’ said the old man with an irritating twinkle in his eye, ‘after your efforts I suppose we should at least be honest with one another. You see, I rather knew where she was, but I’m afraid that I’m far too old to go gallivanting about…these days.’ He smiled knowingly at Robert as he swallowed his whisky.

  —

  I fell right into that one, thought Robert as he walked home through the shadowed streets. Duped from the start by the Old Boy Network. He shook his head in wonder, trying to imagine how many other secret societies stretched across the city, forming an invisible web of favour and reciprocation, grievance and revenge, linking the respected businessman to the reviled criminal. Two sides of the same coin, darkness and light. He was just crossing the road by the old Scala Cinema in King’s Cross when he saw what seemed to be the figure of a woman, silent
ly watching him from a granite perch high above the traffic.

  At once, he knew it was her.

  Regretfulness stirred uneasily within him. For a moment he wanted to join her above the city, but for him there were too many ties to be broken. He had friends now, obligations which were necessary to keep. But that did not stop him from envying her her freedom to come and go as she pleased, her flaunting of the codes which governed his life. She was there for just a moment, motionless, silhouetted against a sky of spectacular crimson streaks.

  One day we’ll meet on equal terms, he thought, and then we’ll see. When he looked again, she had vanished into the extravagantly carved turrets of sun-heated stone which stood like mad sentinels high above the city streets.

  For my brother Steven

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my agent, Serafina Clarke, for her continuing good humour and encouragement, Ann Suster at Century Hutchinson for making it such plain sailing and Jim Sturgeon for his extraordinary patience and kindness.

  BY CHRISTOPHER FOWLER

  Roofworld

  Rune

  Red Bride

  Darkest Day

  City Jitters

  The Bureau of Lost Souls

  Sharper Knives

  Psychoville

  Flesh Wounds

  Disturbia

  Soho Black

  Personal Demons

  Calabash

  Uncut

  Spanky

  Red Gloves

  Paperboy: A Memoir

  Film Freak

  Peculiar Crimes Unit mysteries

  Full Dark House

  The Water Room

  Seventy-Seven Clocks

  Ten-Second Staircase

  White Corridor

  The Victoria Vanishes

  Bryant & May on the Loose

  Bryant & May off the Rails

  The Memory of Blood

  The Invisible Code

  Bryant & May and the Bleeding Heart

  Bryant & May and the Burning Man

  London’s Glory: The Lost Cases of Bryant & May and the Peculiar Crimes Unit

  Bryant & May: Strange Tide

  About the Author

  CHRISTOPHER FOWLER is the acclaimed author of the award-winning Full Dark House and twelve other Peculiar Crimes Unit mysteries: The Water Room, Seventy-Seven Clocks, Ten Second Staircase, White Corridor, The Victoria Vanishes, Bryant & May on the Loose, Bryant & May off the Rails, The Memory of Blood, The Invisible Code, Bryant & May and the Bleeding Heart, Bryant & May and the Burning Man, and Bryant & May: Strange Tide. He lives in King’s Cross, London, where he is at work on his next Peculiar Crimes Unit novel.

  christopherfowler.co.uk

  Facebook.com/​chrisfowlerauthor

  Twitter: @Peculiar

  Explore worlds beyond imagining

  eOriginal Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror from Random House

  randomhousebooks.com

  What’s next on

  your reading list?

  Discover your next

  great read!

  * * *

  Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.

  Sign up now.