The City of Fear

by Andrew Beasley

  Ben was torn. He wanted to go to Lucy but Mr. Moon was trapped inside the cage, the gorilla standing squarely in his way.

  The theatre gave another groan and a length of balcony collapsed, eaten away by flames. Valentine and Nathaniel were making good progress with Ghost, and Lucy had dragged herself out from under the mess of metal and crystal. Jonas let the chandelier drop and helped Lucy to her feet. She was limping but alive. That settled it for Ben.

  “I’m coming to get you, Mr. Moon.”

  “Leave me, Ben,” the grizzled Watcher called, sensing that the fire had spread around three sides of the cage. “No sense in all of us dying.”

  “I’m leaving with you or not at all.”

  Reassured that the other Watchers would make it, Ben knew that it was down to him and Carter. The heat was pressing in on them, as if they were in an oven. Moon was backed up as far against the bars as he could go and his path to the doorway was blocked by the massive ape. Carter, meanwhile, was approaching it cautiously from behind.

  The gorilla pawed the ground as it prepared to attack. It wasn’t looking good.

  “Go,” said Carter. “I’ll get him out, I promise.” The professor grinned like a wolf. “I’m a Watcher now.”

  “You can sling your hook an’ all,” Moon called to Carter. “I can handle this.”

  Trying to prove his point, Moon feinted left, and then moved quickly to his right in an attempt to get around the colossal ape. The gorilla rose up on its back legs and drummed its chest in fury, blocking Moon’s escape again.

  Undeterred, Carter cupped his hands and slapped them rhythmically on his own chest. The gorilla stopped…

  Ben watched in amazement as Carter slowly approached the animal, his arms spread wide. To Ben’s surprise, the professor started to make a series of small grunting noises, puffing out his cheeks and releasing short coughs, then snorting down his nostrils, until, step by heavy step, the gorilla shuffled away from Moon and turned to face Carter instead.

  “Go now,” Carter said to Moon. “While I’ve got it distracted.”

  “What do you think you’re playing at?”

  “Rescuing you,” said Carter patronizingly. “You blind old curmudgeon.”

  Moon made a snorting sound of his own, and the gorilla swung its head back towards him.

  “Please go,” said Carter, with more compassion this time. “Ben needs you.”

  That was the persuasion that Moon needed, and he began to edge towards the open gate while Carter kept the gorilla distracted.

  The professor made another deep sound in his chest. The gorilla grunted in return and Carter took a step closer, his forehead lowered and his eyes level with the beast’s. Something about the noises that he was making seemed to pacify the animal.

  “Unk,” said Carter, and the gorilla responded, sitting heavily on its backside.

  The man and the animal were face-to-face, Carter’s breath mingling with the ape’s as they peacefully searched each other’s eyes.

  “Unk,” Carter repeated. “Tanto munguni, unk.”

  Moon made it all the way around the cage to the safety of the gate, the squeak of its hinges as clear as a foghorn to his sharp ears. “Nice trick,” he admitted grudgingly.

  “I spent a month living among the gorillas in the cloud forests of the Virunga volcanoes,” said Carter. “You can’t help but pick up some of the dialect.”

  Carter put out his hand and the gorilla took it meekly, rising back to its feet.

  “What are you playing at now?”

  “I’m not leaving this magnificent creature to the mercy of the flames,” said Carter firmly.

  Moon was suitably put down. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get the measure of you,” he said, as they fled from the burning building.

  “Few people do,” said Carter as he ran. “And you’re welcome, by the way. For saving your life.”

  Moon muttered something which was probably thank you.

  “That’ll do,” said Carter with a smile.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Professor,” said Ben as they reached the foyer, and exploded into the rain-sodden street beyond. “But what are you going to do with your new friend?”

  “Have you heard of Mr. Jamrach and his menagerie?”

  “The old German geezer with the most dangerous pet shop in the world?”

  “The very same.”

  Of course Ben had heard of him. Every East End boy had heard of Jamrach. Charles Jamrach was famous for his private collection of animals; he had an exotic pet emporium on the Ratcliffe Highway and a warehouse on Old Gravel Lane which Ben and the other lads used to sneak into for dares.

  Ben was fascinated. “Is it true that one of his Bengal tigers escaped and carried off a small boy in its jaws and would have eaten him if Mr. Jamrach hadn’t come to the rescue with his bare hands?”

  “That’s not even the half of it,” said Carter.

  Ben grinned; it made sense that a world traveller like Claw Carter would know a man like that.

  “Jamrach’s dead,” said Moon, with a distinct lack of good grace. “Last September.”

  “I know,” said Carter, “but his sons inherited the business.”

  “Got an answer for everything, haven’t you?” said Moon.

  Ruby could feel Ben Kingdom all around her; the street breathed of him.

  She was on Old Gravel Lane, the place where Ben had lived and grown. This was where she and Ben had met, just before Christmas last year. She had been using Ben then, gaining his confidence so that she could part him from the last of the Judas Coins. Look where that had got them.

  Although she couldn’t see it, Ruby knew that she was being followed by Grey Wing. The fallen angel was up there somewhere, among the storm clouds, watching her every step. She had been searching for the Gehenna Key all day and her quest had finally brought her here. Ruby paused outside St Peter’s church opposite the Jolly Tar, the public house where Moon used to peddle his second-hand books. It was possible that another of his forefathers had been laid to rest here.

  She’d changed since she met Ben. Ruby wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not, but she did know that she couldn’t keep on living the same old life.

  Get the key. Get her stash. Get out.

  She couldn’t stand the thought of even one more day under the Legion’s cold fist.

  Ruby picked the lock and slipped inside St Peter’s. As usual, she went looking for church silver first. In the vestry she found a rather nice plate which was for taking the collection, plus a St Christopher’s medal on a chain that was tucked away at the back of a drawer. She hesitated and then put the plate back where she had found it, but she slipped the necklace over her head. St Christopher, the patron saint of travellers. Superstitious nonsense, but pretty, and she was going on a journey so…

  The fierce black clouds overhead made it almost as dark as night inside the church and Ruby lit a stump of candle so that she could begin her search in earnest. So far the other members of the Moon family she had found had all had plaques marking their resting place inside a church, either in one of the side chapels or in the crypt. Ruby was hoping that would be the case again here. It was foul weather to be hunting round a graveyard.

  After a few minutes, her flickering candle settled on a modest stone set into the floor.

  Augustus Moon

  Servant of a higher power

  1515 – 1549

  Not dead, merely sleeping

  I hope not, she thought with a shiver.

  Ruby’s fingers trembled as she caressed the memorial, searching for the Watcher symbol and the secret compartment that she knew it would release.

  After a few seconds, she found what she was after and smiled.

  The panel opened and Ruby was treated to a waft of stale air. She hesitated. Would there be another insulting message from beyond the grave or would she finally be able to give Grey Wing what he wanted and get him off her back?

  There was a bundle in
side the recess. Oiled cloth had been used to wrap a thin object about seven inches long.

  Tremulously, Ruby picked it up and carefully unfolded the cloth, terrified of what lay beneath.

  It was cold and black, and even the heat of her hand could do nothing to warm the metal. The teeth of the key took the form of a broken hand, a desecrated version of the Watcher symbol, and the bow at the end of the long cold shank was moulded in the shape of a skull.

  There was no doubt that this was the Gehenna Key.

  There was some writing engraved on the shank but it was too small to make out. Ruby pulled out the jeweller’s eyeglass that she always carried – another of the tools of her trade – and pushed it to her right eye, closing the other.

  Even then the script was hard to decipher.

  There was a name: Alasdair Valentine.

  When she had shared a barracks with Alexander Valentine, the boy had often told them of his ancestor, who was the original architect of the Under. Ruby knew the story well. Sir Alasdair was a priest turned bad, a man who had given up searching for God and decided instead to devote himself to the service of evil…

  She read on.

  The end of days, the death of light.

  Release the creatures of the pit and revel in the night.

  Ruby dropped the key as if it was a hot coal.

  The creatures of the pit were just a legend, surely? A story told to Legion children to keep them in line.

  Every Legionnaire knew that Sir Alasdair had designed the sanctuary of the Under, with its carved columns and vast throne. His blackest creation was the pit, a supposedly bottomless hole into which victims of the Legion could be thrown. The sanctuary was conceived to be the opposite of a church, a cathedral to evil, and the pit was the opposite of the spire – an anti-spire, as it were – intended to be so deep that it would lead to Hell itself. Ruby shuddered at the thought of a mind that could conceive that kind of plan.

  Legionnaires digging the pit went down into its depths and never returned, or so the story went. There were rumours about “things” that lived in the darkness; appalling, abominable things. Even the Legion were scared by what they had awakened. It was quickly decided that the bottom of the pit should be sealed off. A huge gate was built, a mile down, operated by a system of hidden levers and controlled by a lock in the sanctuary itself. That lock had only one key – quite literally, the key to Hell.

  Obviously the Watchers had stolen the key… And now it was lying on the floor in front of her.

  Ruby had the urge to wrap it up and bury it again; just pretend that she had never found it. But a flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the church and Ruby shrieked as she saw the black shape of a Feathered Man silhouetted against a stained glass window. The fallen angel gave a hideous cackling laugh. It knew.

  There would be no way she could deceive Grey Wing. And no hiding place from his wrath.

  Unless Ruby stayed here in the church. She was safe here, after all. Grey Wing and his fallen angels could not step over the threshold.

  But she had no food. And all Grey Wing need do was send a patrol of Legionnaires to roust her out.

  Ruby needed another plan. But what?

  As she tried to think, she was distracted by a slurping, sucking sound. The rain had been so constant that she no longer heard all the varied sounds of water as it found different ways to punish the city and its people. However, this splashing sound was something new.

  Although the church echoed, she was able to pinpoint the source to the resting place of Augustus Moon. Ruby bent her ear curiously to the open panel. The sound of water was rising up from inside. Pulling a crowbar from her pack, Ruby worked the edges of the gravestone free from the floor. Then, using all of her weight, she levered the stone up and out.

  It wasn’t just a secret compartment hidden beneath – it was the entrance to a tunnel!

  “So the Moons have always been crafty beggars,” said Ruby softly.

  The noise of water was louder now and Ruby guessed that the tunnel must have flooded. Where it led and whether it was still passable were other questions entirely.

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Every step that Ruby took away from the Feathered Man felt like a step in the right direction. She had failed Ben once before when she allowed Sweet to get the last of the Judas Coins. She could not – she would not – be the one who let Grey Wing take the Gehenna Key.

  Suddenly there was something in Ruby’s life that was bigger than she was. She had purpose, and that purpose was to deny Grey Wing the key. Her stash seemed trivial in comparison. She could have all the gold in the world, but if Grey Wing had the key there would be no world left to enjoy it in.

  With that thought driving her on, Ruby descended the stone stairs that spiralled downwards from the church floor. Floodwater was lapping at the bottom steps and Ruby shuddered as she stepped in up to her thighs. The tunnel only led in one direction, so that was the way Ruby went. It was a tight passage, not at all like the grand vaulted tunnels of the Under. Her shoulders almost brushed both walls and she had to stoop over to keep her head from rubbing the ceiling.

  Water dripped on her through a hundred cracks in the brickwork and she cupped her candle protectively. What if it went out…? What if she met someone – or something?

  Too many ifs, Ruby Johnson. She concentrated instead on putting one foot in front of the other.

  When she reached another spiral staircase at the far end, Ruby felt elated. She knew that she was not out of the woods yet, but it felt better to be heading upwards again. The top of the stairs brought her to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Ruby pushed upwards with both hands and panicked when she found it wouldn’t budge. The Gehenna Key in her pack felt impossibly heavy; she had to find a way to get it to Ben and the Watchers – they would know what to do.

  Ruby climbed nearer to the trapdoor. She put her shoulders against it, then she used the strength of her legs in an attempt to force the trapdoor open. She felt the hard wood bruising her neck and shoulders, her thighs burning with the effort.

  The wood did not budge.

  Ruby put her heart and soul into it. Come on… Please. With a screech of protest, the door cracked open enough for her to be able to fit the edge of her crowbar into the gap. Encouraged, she pushed again, and this time the trapdoor opened wide enough for Ruby to be able to wedge her jemmy in vertically and then squirm out past it.

  She was in a mouldy basement. But where?

  Two smells rushed to her nose with the answers. Beer and tobacco. Ruby could have almost cheered with joy. She was in the cellar of a pub. The tunnel had brought her across Old Gravel Lane to the Jolly Tar!

  There was no time to congratulate herself though. She had to move quickly while she was still one step ahead of the Feathered Man. The Jolly Tar had a back door, she knew. Maybe she could sneak out that way…

  The wood above Ruby’s head splintered even as she was thinking those thoughts. She scurried backwards for protection as one of the floorboards was ripped away by a taloned hand. A pointed beak was thrust into the gap, snapping angrily. The Feathered Man tore two more floorboards away and shoved its head through the hole.

  “Come with me, girl,” Grey Wing screeched.

  Josiah, the angel. Josiah, the Weeping Man.

  In the dungeon, the water had been rising steadily throughout the day. Josiah could no longer sit on the floor but had to stand, only his head and shoulders above the surface. In her cell next door, his much shorter fellow prisoner was standing on her bed. It was only a matter of time.

  But that was not the reason for Josiah’s tears.

  The Gehenna Key had been found. Josiah sensed it in his spirit and by that same visionary power he saw the girl, Ruby Johnson, in Grey Wing’s clutches.

  The Legion had dug too deep when they built the pit and even they feared what lay at the bottom of it, in the very bowels of the earth. But with the key, the creatures of the pit would no longer be restrained in its
depths.

  They were coming! Josiah could see them in his vision now, advancing towards the ancient gate that held them, in anticipation of its opening.

  For centuries they had been brooding and hatching their nightmares of destruction. All mankind was their enemy. The Uncreated One loved these humans; that was why these demons hated them so bitterly. And when they were released they would not rest until the world was laid to waste and humanity was no more.

  What horrors the Weeping Man foresaw!

  The tentacles. The teeth. The limbs with no name to describe them. Barbs, hooks, suckers, tendrils. Eyes with no lids. Tongues with hands for grabbing. Everything that was monstrous and foul.

  “Nooo!” Josiah bellowed, tugging again on his chains, to no avail.

  And still the water rose.

  Still the creatures of the pit began their ascent. Racing towards the light so that they could bring an end to it.

  “Noooooo!”

  Midnight. Sunday. Christ Church Spitalfields.

  Revolution Day.

  Ben’s right hand felt strange. It was not the occasional throbbing sensation that he had become used to, this was something new. Something powerful was stirring…

  He surveyed his troops, cold and tired beneath their makeshift tent.

  Nathaniel Kingdom, brother in arms. Alexander Valentine, Legion expert. Lucy Lambert, born for this moment. Ghost, the silent soldier, fit and ready for action again. Jonas Kingdom, the rock. Jago Moon, the hard place. Claw Carter, the secret weapon. Forty other Watchers, the brave remnant.

  “Someone’s coming,” warned Moon. “It sounds like—”

  “Hans!” said Ben, as the Watcher spy shuffled over the rooftop to join them. He seemed in a bad way. “Are you alright?”

  The German boy turned his head slowly, his eyes swimming in and out of focus.

  “What’s happened?” asked Lucy. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  “Not hurt,” Hans repeated.