Breaking the Lore

by Breaking the Lore (retail) (epub)

  Great, thought Paris. I know who “we” means.

  Tergil stood up.

  ‘I will start making arrangements,’ he said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Malbus.

  ‘I’m going to say hello to Rocky before she goes,’ said Bonetti.

  Everyone filed out of the recently crowded office. Paris was left alone with the same unanswered questions plus a new problem to solve. His gaze moved down to the bottom drawer of his desk. He stared at the handle for a moment, torn. He sighed. All things considered, he decided, he’d probably be better off with a cabbage.

  39

  The convoy moved steadily through the back streets. A police patrol car, two police vans, Bonetti’s Ford Mondeo, and another patrol car bringing up the rear. Paris sat in the passenger seat of Bonetti’s vehicle, gazing out at the early morning sunshine while he reflected on recent events.

  Yesterday afternoon had been spent finding somewhere to move the magical creatures, making dozens of phone calls to sort out the arrangements. Boring as hell, but he couldn’t complain. Thorpe’s afternoon comprised working out the logistics of martial law: which traffic jam to divert, which schools needed to close. Whoopee.

  The evening grew more exciting, in a potentially terrifying way, filled with the sound of helicopters flying overhead while army trucks rumbled along the roads. Paris wasn’t always a fan of the military’s methods, though he did admire their ability to move fast when they had to. Dusk also saw no less a figure than the Prime Minister on TV, commenting on the “incident” in south Manchester. That’s that, Paris concluded. No need to keep things covered up any more. Official.

  Now it was morning. He’d enjoyed a relatively good sleep, uninterrupted by fairies. He’d not been woken up by anyone shouting about demonic attacks. The transportation plan seemed to be working without a hitch. So far. He waited expectantly for something to go wrong.

  ‘You sure about this, Boss?’ asked Bonetti. ‘You don’t think we should’ve shifted everyone last night, in the dark?’

  Paris studied him thoughtfully. The chances of the sergeant reading his mind were pretty low. Doubtful he could read anything which didn’t have pictures.

  ‘No,’ replied the inspector. ‘Too much going on then. Hundreds of soldiers milling around. I didn’t want to attract any attention. Doing it like this – it’s just a normal prisoner convoy to anyone watching. Even when there’s martial law, the police still have to move suspects.’

  ‘I agree with the timing,’ said Cassandra from behind him. ‘Only why are we taking them to a sports hall?’

  ‘Because it’s out of the way down the side roads, so nobody goes past it. And even if you do, there’s no windows, so you can’t see in.’

  Paris shuffled round in his seat to look at the witch, with Tergil sitting next to her.

  ‘Belongs to the university,’ he explained. ‘Got places scattered all over the city. Except they can’t afford to use some of the buildings any more. So, after much negotiation, they’ve agreed to let us borrow one. Cutbacks work in our favour for once. And it’s a great big space, with lots of room for the mystical beings in the station plus any others who turn up. That’s why we’re taking them to a sports hall.’

  ‘I see,’ replied Cassandra. ‘I thought you wanted to exercise our demons.’

  Paris frowned at her. She smiled sweetly back at him. He decided not to push it, contenting himself with rolling his eyes as he turned to face forward again.

  He stared out through the side window at the almost deserted street. Thorpe had diverted most of the main routes around the military zone, leaving less than a Sunday morning’s worth of traffic inside it. Must be total chaos outside, thought Paris. Not many people about, either; the majority seemed to be staying indoors. Until they could be evacuated, anyway. He gritted his teeth. Magical creatures weren’t just driving him mad, they’d screwed up the entire city. A frightened populace, armed troops on practically every corner – one tiny crucified figure had brought on an extra-large mess.

  ‘Another checkpoint,’ announced Bonetti.

  Paris looked out at the four heavily armed soldiers dressed in full riot gear. To see them in the middle of Manchester was still shocking. As per the previous two checkpoints, though, the soldiers simply waved the fleet of police cars through. He heard a chuckle from behind him.

  ‘If only they knew,’ said Cassandra. ‘The helpful coppers are smuggling the very sort of beings they’re after.’

  ‘Got to be done,’ said Paris. ‘Until I come up with a way of explaining that some are actually on our side.’

  Mental note, he thought. Keep Grarf out of sight until then.

  ‘It’s like the poor guy we saw earlier,’ said Cassandra. ‘Being dragged out of his house because he might be an enemy sympathiser.’

  ‘Told you,’ said Paris. ‘They’re rounding people up. He’s a registered druid.’

  ‘I know. But how much of a threat could he be in his dressing gown and slippers?’

  ‘You’ll be next,’ said Bonetti. ‘Probably knocking on your door already.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Cassandra. ‘That’s why I slept in the station.’

  Paris said nothing, though his mind churned. Some of the mystical beings were on his side. And some he definitely didn’t want to be arrested.

  Cassandra poked him in the arm. ‘Didn’t you tell anyone we spent the night together?’

  ‘What?’ spluttered Paris. ‘I was on the couch in my office. You were in one of the cells!’

  ‘Details,’ said the witch.

  Paris glowered. Maybe he did want everyone magical to be arrested.

  The convoy turned off the road through an open yellow gate, driving along a single-track lane for a short while. The patrol cars stopped in front of a large, featureless building. It sulked in the middle of an unlit car park surrounded by high fences and trees, gloomy even in the sunlight. Functional, though, mused Paris.

  He got out of the car and watched as one of the vans turned round. It reversed towards the sports hall’s large double doors. Two officers opened them as it approached. The van stopped a couple of metres away from the entrance, close enough so residents in the nearby houses couldn’t notice anything if they tried to look. Paris and his companions headed towards it as the sound of clumping footsteps rang out from inside.

  ‘Rocky’s on the move,’ said Bonetti.

  He and Tergil opened the vehicle’s rear doors. The troll stood in the doorway, almost filling it. Behind her legs the dwarves waved. Rocky lumbered down the fold-out metal steps, bending them under her weight. Tergil held her enormous hand as she made her way to the ground, then stroked her arm as she loomed in front of him. Rocky said nothing, of course. She plodded into the building, bowing her head as she passed through the doorway.

  Paris tapped Tergil on the shoulder.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  The elf nodded.

  ‘I am sure she will be safe,’ he said. ‘The Vanethria do not know where she is. She has Grarf, the dwarves and some of your men to protect her. I recognise that our cause is best served if I come back to help you prepare for the invasion.’

  ‘But?’ asked Paris.

  ‘But,’ replied Tergil, ‘she is still my daughter.’

  The dwarves piled out after her, then the two vans swapped positions. Grarf emerged from the second one in a cloud of noxious fumes. Paris gave his men their final instructions before walking back to Bonetti’s car.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘The patrol cars and their officers will stay here. The others are going back to the station, in case any more magical folks have showed up. I sent Malbus to give out the new address, but I don’t know if everyone’s got it.’

  ‘What about us, Boss?’ asked Bonetti.

  ‘Back to the station too, by a different route. I reckon we’d better check what’s happening at the portal.’

  Cassandra and Tergil nodded their agreement and the quartet got back into the Mondeo
. They set off, with Tergil understandably pensive. Paris pondered. Need to get the elf’s mind onto another topic, he decided. He turned, looking over his shoulder.

  ‘You always call it “the” portal,’ he said. ‘The. One. Singular. Right?’

  Tergil stared back in silence for a moment, considering the question.

  ‘You are concerned,’ he replied, ‘that your forces are assembling here but the demons will attack somewhere else? That cannot happen. This is the only connection point between our worlds.’

  Paris nodded slowly, reassured although still pondering.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘every magical creature on this side – or their ancestors – came through there, then spread out all over the place?’

  ‘Correct.’

  The inspector pondered further. There appeared to be more supernatural beings around than he dared contemplate – and the whole horde might be coming here? The mind boggled.

  ‘Well,’ said Cassandra. ‘One mystery solved, anyway.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Paris.

  ‘There are mystical creatures all across the world, of various sorts. But practically every mention of fairies comes from western Europe. If this is the sole way in, that explains why. You can’t fly very far if you’ve only got little wings.’

  She beamed, happy in her newly realised knowledge. Paris sat gazing at her, his pondering now a preponderance of ponderousness. The obvious question seemed so obvious he didn’t even want to say it. Why, he wondered, don’t they use magic?

  ‘Here we go again,’ said Bonetti. ‘Another checkpoint.’

  Paris turned round once more, looking out through the windscreen. This checkpoint was different. There were still four heavily armed soldiers, except this time they indicated that the car should stop. Two of them walked towards it.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Cassandra. ‘Why are we being pulled over?’

  ‘Because we haven’t got a police convoy with us now,’ replied Paris. ‘They think we’re just an ordinary car.’

  ‘With two extraordinary passengers,’ said Tergil.

  ‘Stay calm,’ said Paris, keeping his eyes on the approaching troops.

  He lowered the passenger window as the soldiers neared the car, one on each side. Bonetti did likewise with the driver’s window. The soldiers peered in.

  ‘Morning,’ said Paris.

  The trooper’s expression showed no interest in pleasantries. ‘We’re checking for enemy sympathisers,’ he said.

  ‘Suspicious characters in the back,’ said his colleague. ‘Look like druids to me.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Paris, forcing himself to stay calm. ‘We’re police.’

  ‘Is that so? You’ll be able to show me some ID then.’

  Paris went to reach inside his jacket, then stopped halfway. He had no desire to make the army think he was going for a concealed weapon.

  As he debated what to do, Tergil leant forward between him and Bonetti. The elf wafted his hand slowly in front of the soldier.

  ‘You do not need to see his identification.’

  The soldier stared at him. ‘We don’t need to see his identification.’

  ‘These are not the druids you are looking for.’

  ‘These aren’t the druids we’re looking for.’

  ‘He can go about his business.’

  ‘You can go about your business.’

  ‘Move along.’

  ‘Move along,’ said the soldier. ‘Move along.’

  Bonetti set off again. Paris turned to gape at Tergil.

  The elf shrugged. ‘I saw it in a film.’

  They drove with no further incident until they arrived at Lange Road. A guarded roadblock greeted them there, but Paris had his ID ready now. The troops let them pass on foot and the inspector stared at the scene before him. Soldiers patrolled the pavement, guns at the ready. Technicians bustled about, carrying equipment and barking instructions. Four large pylons loomed over the garden containing the portal, each holding an array of searchlights. Helicopters circled above as marksmen watched from bedroom windows.

  ‘For crying out loud!’ said Paris.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cassandra. ‘Perhaps just a tad over the top?’

  ‘Not really,’ said a voice Paris recognised.

  Captain Montrose emerged from the crowd and saluted.

  ‘Welcome back,’ said the captain. ‘Your superintendent told us you were coming. I think you’ll find this is exactly what we require. Come and see.’

  She led the way up the street that now looked more like an army base, to the familiar yellow-coloured house which was now almost unrecognisable. Soldiers filled the front garden, precious roses trampled under their heavy boots. Numerous satellite dishes and aerials had been attached to the roof. On top of the adjoining garage sat a machine-gun post. The group went inside, squeezing past more soldiers and scientists. The rooms of elegant furniture were now filled with electronic devices making strange bleeping noises.

  Paris shook his head.

  ‘Wow,’ he said.

  ‘Wow indeed,’ said Cassandra. ‘I love what you’ve done with the place.’

  ‘We can’t perceive this portal thing,’ said Montrose. ‘Can’t touch it, can’t smell it, nothing. But we have other means. Pressure sensors, heat sensors, radiation detectors, you name it. As soon as anything comes through, we’ll know.’ She beamed. ‘Marvellous.’

  She led the slightly shell-shocked foursome through the house into the back garden. Yet more troops had assembled there. The captain nodded as they saluted, then marched on towards the thick hedge separating the long lawn into its two distinct areas. She rounded the privet to enter what Paris remembered to be a secluded part of the grounds. Now, however, it was surrounded by makeshift towers in the neighbouring gardens, occupied by soldiers peering over the fences with their semi-automatic rifles trained on a small patch of grass. And, thought the policeman, looking a little embarrassed about it.

  Montrose turned towards him.

  ‘Well?’ she said. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Very impressive,’ replied Paris. ‘But will you be able to stop them?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the captain.

  An alarm rang out from the house, followed by shouting. Montrose’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ she said. ‘Watch the British Army in action.’

  She shepherded the group back towards the hedge as a tiny point of light appeared in the air behind her. It sparkled and shone as Paris had seen before, growing as it did so. And growing. And growing. The twinkling oval reached the height of the house in no time, filling the small section of lawn.

  ‘What the hell?’ said Paris.

  Montrose glanced at him. ‘Isn’t this normal?’

  Paris shook his head. Montrose drew her pistol.

  ‘Alright, men,’ she shouted. ‘Get ready for anything!’

  The words died in her throat as the magic world’s latest export erupted into view. A colossal vision of fire-breathing fury. A dragon.

  40

  It was the most impressive thing that Paris had ever seen. It was also the most frightening. The creature towered over him, green scaled skin glistening in the sunshine. Two massive muscular forelegs supported a reptilian body as wide as a truck. A thick, solid neck rose up to an enormous head, halfway between crocodile and iguana. The head was the height of a man by itself, although somehow more noble than any animal or human. Large red eyes glowed with imperious intensity. Plumes of smoke drifted from its open mouth. This was undeniably a dragon. A legend, come to life. And St George was nowhere to be found.

  Only the front part of the dragon had emerged from the portal. The rest of its body remained hidden in the sparkling oval as if in a fog. What Paris could see, however, was quite sufficient. He stared up, mesmerised by its terrifying beauty. There were magical beings, he decided, and then there were truly magical beings.

  The sound of gunfire broke the spell, jolting him back to life. The sol
diers around the giant lizard had recovered from their own shock and started shooting. With, it appeared, little effect. Bullets bounced harmlessly off shimmering scales, ricocheting across the lawn.

  Montrose grabbed Paris’s arm.

  ‘Move!’ shouted the captain. ‘Get your people out of here!’

  ‘I’d love to,’ replied Paris. ‘But where do we go?’

  He pointed to the house. More troops were charging towards the fight, trapping them in the middle.

  The dragon bellowed an unearthly roar, yanking their gaze back to it. Bullets apparently had some effect after all. The creature was now annoyed. It swivelled its head, blasting out a torrent of blue flame at the nearest gun tower. Soldiers and scaffolding were obliterated instantly. With another roar the beast moved forward. A huge clawed foot loomed above Paris. It crashed down, demolishing the hedge. The inspector gasped as Bonetti rugby-tackled him out of the way.

  ‘Boss!’ shouted his sergeant. ‘You okay?’

  Paris didn’t answer. He was far too busy watching. Up above him the colossal reptile’s shoulders had appeared, with dark leathery wings attached. They opened out, spreading as wide as the neighbouring gardens. Down below, through the shattered remnants of the hedge, he could see the bottom half of the mystic gateway. And the army of demons pouring out of it.

  He scrambled up to his feet.

  ‘We’ve got to move!’ he shouted.

  Another blast of flame hurtled overhead, incinerating part of the garden fence.

  ‘Through there!’ said Paris.

  They dived past burning timbers into the next-door property. Tergil and Cassandra followed. They ran along the side of the house towards the street, passing yet more troops heading for the battle. Gunfire, screaming and the smell of burning flesh filled the air.

  Paris burst out onto the pavement, charging down the street towards the main road. He dodged behind an army truck as another fire blast shot past. The others piled in next to him, panting.