The Lazarus Gate

by Mark Latham

  ‘A city of corruption, a world of reprobates,’ the woman wailed, ‘and I have to find the last honest man in London. For the love of God, make him talk!’

  Those words struck a chord with me, for had Ambrose not said the same when first we had met? In fact, hadn’t Sir Toby himself lauded my honesty before sending me off to the Artist’s lair? Perhaps my suspicions earlier in the investigation had not been due to misplaced paranoia after all. The thought that I could have been betrayed steeled me for what was to come.

  When the loss of an eye did not break me, they brought out the needles again, and dosed me with opium, expertly bringing me from the depths of indulgent agony to the heights of ecstasy, and then back to fleeting moments of lucidity. The white-eyed old man from the den below was there, I’m sure, a hideous smile etched onto his gummy mouth as he administered the milky fluid to my veins. In the nightmare that followed, I do not know what I said. I think I must have remained defiant, at least to a point, though I will never be sure. I remember seeing more clearly under the effects of the drug, even with one eye. The Artist was a spider—a gigantic arachnid that almost filled the room. The same venom that dripped from its fangs seemed also to drip from the puncture marks in my arm. Hu was an ugly hobgoblin, a squat, brutish figure grunting obeisance at the spider’s every chattered command. The two malformed creatures in the corner were hideous no more. I saw them whole again, huddled together in the corner, half-naked and frightened. In the opium fug, I suppose, I was surprised to see a sort of halo around them—a warm golden light about their heads that marked them as innocents. At one point I remember the women crying and pawing at Hu, begging him to stop the torture. Perhaps I imagined it, for I am sure that these agents of the other universe owed me no kindness. The unnamed woman, strangely, wore that self-same corona of light, though she looked anything but innocent.

  I think eventually the pain began to sober me, and I started to understand words, and commit them to memory. The Artist and the woman were engaged in conversation, believing me to be delirious still.

  Finally, she glowered at me, and held up a hand as if to dismiss the Artist, a motion that appeared to rankle him more than anything I could ever have done.

  ‘Leave us alone,’ she said. ‘I would have words with this wretch before he dies.’

  ‘My understanding was—’ Tsun Pen began.

  ‘I care not,’ the woman snapped. ‘All of you, get out! Now.’

  Tsun Pen ushered his people from the room. Other than the pets huddled in the corner, I was alone with her. She came close to me, peeled off a glove, and placed her hand on my face. Her fingers were cold as ice, and hard. She turned my head to the light, this way and that, and when she pulled her hand away it was blood-slick.

  ‘You know, it’s uncanny. I have seen doubles many times, of course—our work here depends upon it. But when it is someone so… close to home. Well, that is a different matter altogether.’

  I grunted something, I think, but had not the strength to speak.

  ‘We need to ascertain whether our plans are threatened, John. We need you to tell us all that you know. But have no doubt, that is not the sole reason for your suffering. No… that is all my doing, I’m afraid. Because I hate you, John. I hate you with every fibre of my being, and I want you to taste just an ounce of the pain that I have felt, before you die. Can you understand that?’

  ‘I…’ The words struggled to escape my lips, but with a great effort they came. ‘I can… now. I’ll… kill you.’

  She laughed. Her laughter was musical, beautiful, the antithesis of Tsun Pen’s sneer; but there was nothing behind it. No joy, no mirth, nor even sarcasm. Just coldness, like the seductive sound made by inhuman creatures in fairy stories, shortly before their beguiling form is stripped away to reveal the monster beneath.

  ‘Until you have lived to see the death of your own world, of all that you ever loved or held dear, I’m not sure you can understand.’

  ‘It’s… not our fault…’ I said.

  ‘Perhaps. We know, of course, that the true blame lies with the accursed spiritualists. From the moment those American table-rappers began to contact the dead, the world was damned. When all this is over, every one of them, on our side and yours, will be put to the torch. A fitting tribute, the burning of witches at the stake as in days of old. Then we’ll be free… But some ghosts will always haunt us, John. You are one of them. Which is why I need you to die. So I can be free too.’

  I had no idea what she was talking about. The fug was truly upon me, and she sounded just as mad as everyone else caught up in this sorry affair; we were all mad, I was certain of it then. And yet, I sought understanding. I needed a reason.

  ‘What have I… ever done to you?’ I croaked.

  ‘Beyond opposing us, you mean? Oh, John, you really can’t see it, can you? I suppose the loss of an eye hasn’t helped in that regard. Look at me!’ She jerked my head up close to hers again, and this time bathed her own face in the light. A face like a porcelain doll, unblemished, pale, eyes glassy and sparkling. The scent of strong perfume and strange chemicals assailed my nostrils, mingling with the copper tang of my own blood. I saw something in her hateful features, something familiar again, and I searched my memory for what it could mean.

  ‘I… do not know you,’ I said.

  ‘You did. But in this world, I died long ago. I died in my father’s arms, a little girl brought low by exposure. And that tragic event has made my role on this side of the veil somewhat more… specialised.’

  She pulled her hand away once more, but this time my head did not drop. This time I fixed her with my one good eye, and studied her face. My breathing grew more ragged, my heart beat faster.

  ‘No…’

  ‘Ah, now you have it. When your double was killed in action, he died a hero. But it tore the heart from me. It took the last of my humanity from me. My brother was the only thing that kept me on the side of the angels; he was my only friend. And when I look into your eyes and see him… no. That will not do at all. You are nothing to him, a pale imitation of a great man. I had hoped to find something more here, but you… you disgust me.’ She turned away. Tears began to sting my cheek.

  ‘You… are not… Lillian.’

  ‘Those of us who have well-placed doubles in your world kill them, you know. A rite of passage, almost. My brother was meant to kill you if you ever returned to British soil. You were never meant to be released from Burma… and he was never meant to die in this accursed land. All we can do now is mourn the loss of those who have died fighting for our survival. And honour their sacrifice by taking this universe for our own. Know this, John,’ she said, no longer looking at me. ‘Lazarus is coming, at the head of a fleet so mighty that England will fall in a single night. And then the whole world will follow suit. There is nothing the Order of Apollo can do about it. There is nothing you can do about it… brother.’

  ‘You are not Lillian,’ was all I could say. ‘You are not Lillian!’ I mustered a shout, and did so again, though she ignored me.

  Her cruel work complete, Agent Lillian Hardwick stepped away from me and banged on the door, at which the Artist re-entered, with a face like thunder.

  ‘He is of no further use to us,’ Lillian said. ‘I want him dead, and I want this mess tidied up.’

  ‘Why is this any of my concern?’ Tsun Pen replied angrily. ‘His people will be coming for him, and I am implicated. This mess is yours.’

  ‘You know the price, Tsun Pen. You’ll find a way to save yourself, as you always do. But he dies tonight. Make it look like an accident, and trust to your patrons to save you from the noose. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Pefectly.’ Tsun Pen’s voice was acidic. Lillian left the room, and Hu went with her, leaving the door ajar, so that a pale light crept in from outside. The Artist faced me, again appearing to stare straight at me despite his lack of sight.

  ‘So, the task of killing you falls to Tsun Pen,’ he said, softly. ‘A pity. You kn
ow, John, that your efforts have been for nought. Your nightmares are set to be realised. Soon, the Othersiders will flood through the Lazarus Gate—a fleet of destruction carrying armies untold will take this world for their own. London will fall, the Empire will fall, and the whole world shall follow. You will be spared this hell on earth, but countless millions of others will be slaughtered like cattle to make way for the refugees from beyond the veil. And I—I shall endure. It is foreseen.’

  He held up a hand, and through my addled stupor I saw that he had my eye, grasped betwixt forefinger and thumb. ‘I told you, Captain, that I would answer further questions only when you had the means to pay me. I think this token is more than enough for one more revelation, especially for the condemned man.’

  Tsun Pen moved towards me, so close that I could smell his cologne. I was too exhausted even to recoil. Such was his height, that even though I was suspended a foot off the ground, he leaned in closer. ‘There is one more secret, Captain Hardwick. A secret meant just for you. This is why you were chosen, and this is why you will die.’

  And he whispered into my ear such secrets, that my heart near broke.

  NINE

  Slowly but surely I began to come round from the exertions of my torture. My body was almost broken, yet I had somehow managed to remain lucid. There was a tattered cloth tied around my head, covering my empty eye socket, though I do not remember how it got there. The opium fug had already begun to wear off, perhaps due to my tolerance to the hated drug, or perhaps to the indeterminate length of time I had spent there; in its place, the deep, aching pain of my lost eye and the thousand keen cuts on my body conspired to bring to me to my senses.

  The Artist was gone, and there was not even a crack of light from beneath the door, if I was indeed in the same room at all. I was alone in a Stygian blackness, hanging limply in a dark void, with the pain from my bound wrists the only indicator that I was not already dead, and drifting in some yawning chasm of Purgatory. I listened hard, and heard the muffled grunts of the pitiable female ‘agents’ near to me—were it not so horrifying it would have been a relief, for at least I knew then that I was very much alive, and most probably still within the House of Zhengming. I felt one of them brush against my legs, causing me to swing slightly, but I felt no revulsion this time. My own state was so poor, and my mind so overpowered by trauma, that I had no room for further terrors. Instead, I took some small comfort that I was not alone in my suffering.

  Then I felt a podgy hand paw at my leg. I tried to ignore it, but it seemed to persist, until it had a hold of my trouser linen. I felt the ropes strain at my wrists—the creature was using me to pull itself upright, and I could barely take the strain. I hissed at it to leave me alone, not wanting to raise my voice for fear of alerting my captors, but it was no use. My one eye adjusted to the gloom, and I saw the dark shapes around my feet. One of the slothful creatures seemed to lie down to support my weight, so that I might rest a second, and it gave me such relief not to have the rope cutting at my flesh even for a moment. Then the second creature began to climb once more, and now I did start to feel the fear and loathing creeping back into my heart, for that noisome remnant of a woman climbed higher and higher, its clammy, misshapen hands gaining purchase on my shirt breast, then my collar. Somehow, laboriously, and with an effort that made it grunt and wheeze, it pulled itself upright so that it was almost facing me, and I felt its hand scrabbling towards my own. I squeezed my eyelids tight, hoping that the nightmare would end, but it did not. Not immediately.

  When the proximity of the creature had become truly unbearable, and I thought I would go mad, I felt something in my hand. The creature had pressed something cool and smooth into my right hand, and I needed no time at all to recognise it simply by its shape. It was Hu’s pocket knife, the one that had blinded me. The creatures were helping me!

  Sure enough, even as I exclaimed my relief, and as the creature who had brought me the knife collapsed to the floor in an exhausted heap, the other one strained to bear my weight. I found reserves of energy somewhere deep inside myself, and set about the bonds with the razor-sharp knife. Two or more times I almost fumbled and dropped the blade, but I clung to it and steadied myself before continuing, for I knew that the creatures would be too weak to repeat their magnificent feat of bravery were I to fail.

  I do not know how long I worked, but eventually the rope gave, and I tumbled to the floor, half-falling on one of the pitiful things. At first I could not get to my feet, so numb were my legs, but inexorably the desire for freedom overwhelmed the frailty of my body, and I stood at last. I cut away the last of the ropes and threw aside the bonds, before beginning a thorough search of the room in near pitch-dark.

  With the help of the two creatures, I found a box of matches and the stub of a candle, which I risked to light so that I might better find a means of escape. By weak candlelight I saw that the only furniture in the room was a small table, on which sat a pitcher of water. Again, I took a risk and drank the water down, because I was dehydrated and still heady from the opium. There were only two ways out of the room: the door and a small window, which was covered by a blind. The door was locked, and there was no key in the keyhole, so escape by that route seemed impossible. I considered trying to pick the lock with the penknife, but I was no expert in such matters and feared alerting any guards that might be posted nearby. The window it was, then.

  I carefully drew back the blind, making sure the candle was away from the window, and peered out into the darkness through the filthy glass. I guessed it was the early hours of the morning, but could not be sure. There was a new moon, and so little light to see by, but I could make out a tiny yard below. I was in an attic room, it seemed, and I would have to climb along the roof to see if there was a way of getting to the ground. There was a lot to do, but it was far less daunting a prospect than staying in that room and awaiting my executioner. With that thought spurring me on, I opened the sash window as quietly as possible, and looked out onto the roof. It was not raining, although the slates were still damp. I was considering the best course of action when I heard a sound behind me that chilled me.

  ‘P…p…please,’ came the voice. I froze, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I turned to see the two creatures staring up at me with pleading eyes. One of them stretched out a clammy hand and tugged piteously at my trouser leg.

  ‘P…p…please,’ it said again, in a croaking voice that was far from human. ‘K…k…kill us!’

  I could have cried at their plight in that instant. The other creature let out a low keening sound, in the way that dogs whine when they are despairing. I held my head in my hands. What was I to do? Was there any hope whatsoever for these creatures? And I remembered that they were still people, beneath all of their deformities. How ignominious their lives, to be treated as pets by the very man who made them so. What dignity would they ever be afforded? Anger filled me. I swore to myself I would kill Tsun Pen for all of his ills, if only I could survive this night.

  ‘Kill… us,’ they said. Their pleas were now in unison, and I knew in my heart I could not leave them there in that state. Taking each in turn, I cradled their lolling heads, slowly choking the breath from them. I had not the strength to finish the task in this manner, and once they were asleep and peaceful, breathing with difficulty, I opened their throats with my knife. Even in their last moments they did not struggle, for it was what they wanted. The now-familiar high-pitched whistling sound began to drone in my ears almost immediately. Now they were dead, they would be returned home, in one form or another. But the unexpected noise lent urgency to my actions. I turned again to the window, with tears from my good eye trickling down my cheek.

  * * *

  The scramble across the rooftop was precarious, but somehow I made it to the edge, where I used a small pediment to reach a drainpipe, and climbed down onto a flat roof that jutted from the back of the House of Zhengming. The yard was only eight feet below me, though I had to be careful to
avoid being seen. In the yard, next to a small brick outhouse, a wiry man chugged on a cigarette. I instantly took him for one of Tsun Pen’s guards, perhaps taking a break after a night of unlawful work. In any case, I would have to get past him if I were to escape, because there was no other way out of the grounds of the Artist’s shady establishment.

  I dropped almost noiselessly from the low roof, and crept towards the outhouse. As I went, I saw a log store nearby. Praising my good fortune, I slipped the penknife into my trouser pocket and instead picked up a stout log, which I brandished, ready to dash the man’s brains in.

  I was within striking distance when the alarm went up.

  ‘There he is! Stop him, you idiot!’

  It was Tsun Pen’s voice. The man flinched into life, and looked about himself, uncertain whether his master was shouting at him or someone else. When he clapped eyes on me, he had scant moments to react, and he was not fast enough. I bashed him over the head with the wood so hard that the impact jarred it from my hands, then I raced forwards to the gate and rattled open the latch. I turned back for a second to see a flurry of movement behind every window, and Tsun Pen staring down at me from the window of the attic room. He leaned forward over the sash, his long black hair scraping the roof tiles, his face contorted into an impotent snarl. He needed no eyes to see me, and I knew that the loss of his beloved pets would stoke the fires of hatred within him. I opened the gate and, with that, I was away.