by Garth Nix
Though it seemed unlikely he’d been out running at three o’clock in the morning, the superintendent was currently wearing runners and a dark blue tracksuit with a caricature of Bruce Lee on the left breast over the inscription “Enter the Copper,” and he had a black towel around his neck. He looked younger, less bulky, and more efficient than he had earlier, in his three-piece suit.
“You shouldn’t be here, sir,” said Greene, very firmly. “You know the procedure. No senior officers to be identifiably present at a LIBER MERCATOR SPECIAL incident. We’ve got a cordon around the square but there might be someone with a telephoto lens gets a photo, or one of the householders chances a snap to sell to the papers. You’re well known. You need to leave at once.”
“I’ll be off once I have a bit of a shufti around the place,” said Holly. “You’ve got some bodies, right? Tooled-up local lads? I can probably identify them, straight off, save a lot of time.”
“No, sir,” replied Greene. “I spoke to the deputy commissioner minutes ago. She has confirmed I have operational control. You must leave at once or I will have you removed.”
Greene looked past Holly to the two officers outside the door, whose steely expressions wilted slightly at the prospect of having to manhandle a senior officer.
“You need to leave, sir,” repeated Greene.
Holly chuckled and held up his hands. His tracksuit sleeve slid back enough to reveal part of the chunky silver watchband Merlin had noticed before, at least subconsciously.
“Okay, okay, you’re right. But as soon as you know who the dead intruders are, I want it called through. I need to find out what is causing the current gang fracas, and the sooner the—”
He caught sight of Merlin and Vivien, swiftly lowered his arms, and lumbered out the door, muttering “better.”
Greene watched him go.
“He’s up to something,” she said very quietly to Merlin and Vivien, her voice hard to hear with the background noise of people talking, radios squelching, the engines of the vehicles running in the street, and there was now even a helicopter clattering in slow rotation overhead. “I don’t know what.”
“He’s definitely more current in our business than I would have expected,” said Vivien, as quietly. She glanced at Merlin. “You see his watchband? Some sort of charm. I don’t know what for, though. Or where it’s from.”
“I noticed the watchband,” said Merlin. “I didn’t know what it was. It caught my attention, somehow.”
“Maybe he got it from us when he had your job,” said Vivien to Greene. “Probably some sort of defensive charm. He wasn’t in the job for long, though. Nineteen fifty-nine to sixty-four, and then he went to CID for a year as a DCI, moving over to gangs as a superintendent in 1965, promoted to chief 1979.”
“You looked him up,” said Greene. “Is there something else I need to know? I mean on top of absolutely everything else I don’t know?”
“Merlin thought he was suspicious,” said Vivien. “That’s all. And it’s unusual for someone who’s not active in our neck of the woods to wear a charm. Why’s he so curious now?”
“I don’t know,” muttered Greene. “He’s never interfered before. Like I said, he’s known to be the laziest chief super in the Met. It’s the last thing I need. He’s a very senior officer, connected across the board. At least he’s retiring soon.”
“He said he had Merrihew’s permission to stick his nose in,” said Merlin. “That must be true. Too easy to check. But why would Merrihew okay him interfering?”
No one answered him, but Vivien gave him a long-suffering look.
“Yeah, probably couldn’t be bothered saying no,” said Merlin. “Gone fishing, and the old carp rising . . .”
“What did you say that monster you had to cut up is called?” asked Greene.
“I didn’t,” replied Merlin. “A Cauldron-Born.”
“Are . . . are there are any more like that around?”
“I sincerely hope not,” said Merlin. “But it is now entirely possible.”
“I suppose we could pick up a job lot of machetes from an army surplus store or something. . . .”
“You’d do better to borrow swords and poleaxes from the Royal Armouries; they’ve got plenty at the Tower,” said Vivien. “Old steel is best.”
Greene looked at her. “You’re not joking.”
“No. I’d start getting that organized now if I were you.”
Greene groaned and made a face. “And you still say you don’t know what’s going on?”
“We really don’t know what’s going on,” said Vivien.
“But it does all seems to hinge on Susan,” added Merlin.
“Who’s been eaten by a giant wolf,” said Greene. “Yeah, I went after you, Merlin, only slower because I’m not bloody half elven or whatever. I saw what happened from the window of her room. I should have insisted she go home immediately after we picked her up—”
“She hasn’t been eaten,” interrupted Merlin. “The Fenris took her somewhere, and made a great effort not to hurt her, so I’m presuming that means whoever wants her, wants her alive and unhurt. We are going to find out where she is and rescue her. Half elven, hey? I didn’t take you for a Tolkien fan. Or much of a reader at all, to be honest. All action, no reflection. No offense.”
“I have to visit your bookshops often enough,” said Greene. “I read. And you know ‘no offense’ means ‘I am about to be or have just been fucking offensive.’”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“I think I like C. S. Lewis a bit more than Tolkien,” said Greene. “The White Witch reminds me of some people in the Met. Good luck finding Susan. And as soon as you can tell me something . . . tell me. Okay?”
She turned back to the phone, where a different very superior voice from the earlier one had started ranting, asking her what was happening and could they plausibly blame everything on the IRA?
Merlin and Vivien slid outside, past the recording officer and the armed police. There was no sign of Chief Superintendent Holly, though the taillights of a receding Jaguar Series III XJ probably marked his departure out the northern end of the square, since it was let through the police cordon. It was still very noisy, with idling vehicles, the helicopter circling low overhead, the neighbors being constantly told to go back inside, and other bystanders trying to come into the square being turned back from barricaded checkpoints set up at the north and south entrances, and also across Almeida Passage, the almost hidden pedestrian lane in the corner.
Audrey was waiting by her cab, watching the sky and smoking. She ashed her cigarette as they approached, her face somber. She could tell from their expressions whatever had happened was not good.
“We need your cab, Audrey,” said Merlin.
“Sure. Back to the New Bookshop?” asked Audrey.
“No, I mean we need to take it farther afield, out of London,” said Merlin. “Though you can drive us, if you like.”
“Whoa! Hang on,” said Audrey. “What’s going on?”
“They were attacked here by a Cauldron-Born, with Islington goblins, and a Fenris has taken Susan,” said Vivien. “We need to follow it. North.”
“What!” exclaimed Audrey, spitting out her cigarette stub. “Have you called Thurston? What did Una say?”
“We haven’t called Thurston. Una said go,” said Merlin. “Look, something’s a bit rotten in the state of Denmark. We don’t know who is involved. But we do need to get Susan back, and that means going after the wolf without anyone else knowing we are.”
“Something rotten . . . but you can’t mean—”
“Maybe not rotten, maybe torpid, you know what we mean,” soothed Vivien. “We aim to get Susan back and then reconvene. But we don’t want to tell Thurston or anyone at the bookshops because there is definitely a leak somewhere. Intentionally or not.”
“So why are you telling me?”
“Because we trust you. Now can we have your cab?”
“Una said okay? And yo
u’re both going?”
Vivien nodded as Merlin grimaced.
“What is this? Does no one trust me on my own?”
“Not really,” said Audrey. “Bloody hell, Merrihew will probably kill me. . . .”
She hesitated for a few seconds, then swore quietly to herself.
“Go on then, keys are in the ignition. You know how to use the two-way?”
“Yes,” said Merlin and “No,” said Vivien.
“Control won’t be able to receive once you’re past the M25 or thereabouts,” said Audrey. “Uh, I guess if you’re going incognito, as it were, I’d better call in now? Tell Uncle Desmond I’ll be here for the foreseeable?”
“Good idea,” said Merlin. He was softly clicking the fingers of his right hand, which Vivien knew was a sure tell for impatience and anxiety.
Audrey opened the door and leaned in. They heard the click and buzz of the two-way radio handset, Audrey’s “Come in, Control” and Uncle Desmond’s casual “Yeah, wot?” and Audrey’s “This is three, Des, going to be a while here, I reckon. I’m going to lock up Nelly and go find myself a cuppa somewhere.”
Audrey leaned back out as Desmond’s voice crackled out an uninterested acknowledgment.
“Reckon I might as well do what I said,” she told them. “Be careful, yeah?”
Merlin and Vivien nodded. Merlin quickly put his suitcase in the back, threw his ballistic vest and the empty sword scabbard on top of the suitcase, and climbed into the driver’s seat, putting his yak-hair bag down next to him for easy access to his revolver. Vivien got in the back and sat in the middle, to make it easier to talk through the hatch in the partition.
Audrey pretended to do a double take at Merlin taking the driver’s seat, but didn’t put much effort into it before wandering towards Almeida Passage, lighting up a cigarette again as she walked away
“So have you got a plan?” Vivien asked Merlin, leaning forward to talk through the partition. “Like how we are actually going to find Susan?”
“No, apart from presuming you have one,” replied Merlin. “You do, don’t you? I saw it on your face when I was talking to Una.”
He took advantage of the cab’s incredible turning circle to do a U-turn across the mouth of the square, narrowly missing yet another police Rover 3500 that was accelerating through the twenty yards from the barricade as if they were first on the scene and seconds mattered. “I guess that is my plan, come to think of it. For you to have a plan. So come on.”
“The sword was firmly stuck in the wounded Fenris?”
“Yes.”
“So wherever the sword is, the Fenris will also be there, and—at least until she’s delivered or collected—Susan.”
“Yes.”
“So find the sword, find the wolf, find Susan. And cold iron—and that sword in particular—will slow the wolf, so we’ll have a better chance of catching up.”
“Yes . . . but . . . how do we find the sword?”
Vivien held up the scabbard so Merlin could see it in his rearview mirror. He started and swerved slightly, alarming the police officers at the barricade, who moved it out of the way a lot faster. Merlin waved at them guiltily.
“Of course. I forgot. Um, how does it work again?”
“Did you ever know?”
“Uh, no, actually,” replied Merlin, swinging the cab into Theberton Street.
Vivien laid the scabbard across her knees and took off her glove. Her right hand was bright in the dim cabin, but she covered it with her left, resting them both on the scabbard. Very slowly, she inhaled for a good twenty seconds, held her breath for at least a minute, then exhaled as slowly.
“The sword is moving swiftly; it must still be in the wolf,” she said. She thought for a moment. “But not as swiftly as it might; the iron must already be affecting the Fenris. It’s about thirty miles nor’-nor’-west now. Take the A1 and pass Audrey’s road atlas back here. Not the A–Z, I saw a proper whole of Britain one—yes, that’s it.”
“What do we do once we retrieve Susan? If we can?” asked Merlin.
“I don’t know,” replied Vivien. “I don’t know. . . .”
Chapter Fifteen
O! Wolf of ravening jaw and fix’d eye
Stay thy slaughter, if thou will
I never wish’d thee any ill
No! Never hop’d that thou wouldst die
Come! Good Canis, by my hearth lie
THE WOLF’S LOPE GREW EASIER AS THEY REACHED THE M1 AND IT USED the hard shoulder, streaking past the traffic on the inside, which meant it was running at a speed of at least eighty miles per hour. Susan slowly moved her wrists and feet backwards and forwards, hoping to loosen the bonds, since there was nothing to abrade the cords against. The wolf didn’t appear to notice, but as far as she could tell the movement had no effect on the cords.
She felt curiously calm about the fact she was held in a giant wolf’s maw and was being taken at high speed to some unknown destination. It was probably shock, she thought, though she didn’t think she’d been seriously hurt when the wolf first picked her up. Her back and shoulders were sore, and her neck and arms and legs ached, but not unbearably. She was a bit worried her circulation had been cut off, though she wasn’t tied as tightly as she’d first feared.
She had no idea how long it had been since the wolf had taken her up. Everything had happened so quickly at first, and now it was all so strange. She thought more than an hour, but then again, perhaps it was much longer?
“Plan ahead,” Susan whispered to herself. She’d had a stranger danger lecture at school more than once, but as that emphasized screaming and running away if someone tried to make you get in a car, it wasn’t a lot of help. She couldn’t remember any advice for when you were actually kidnapped. Stay calm, perhaps? That was the generic advice for everything at her school. Stay calm.
She was calm. Too calm. And the only thing she could think of doing was to keep slowly working her bonds, undoubtedly removing more skin than anything else. But if she could loosen them enough to get free, then she could do something when . . . if . . . the wolf spat her out or let her go. She’d have to be quick, because she was sure there would be someone waiting for her at the other end.
The wolf had been sent by someone, as the goblins had been, and the men who had been killed in order to break the wards. Someone from the Old World who could also command the criminal underworld of the New.
Susan thought about that. Wards that could be bypassed by spilling human blood on them didn’t seem very useful. But from what Merlin and Vivien had said, the Old World and the New didn’t have much contact as a rule, so killing mortals to break wards must be a very unusual occurrence.
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, reflexively lifting her head and tensing her body, enough to make the wolf tighten its jaws. “There must have been someone or something else there to kill those people! Merlin said goblins wouldn’t kill.”
The wolf growled, as if in answer, or to tell her to shut up. Susan obeyed, and tried to work out where they were. Blinded by the motorway lights and the onrush of air, it was hard for her to see the road signs, but every now and then she got a good glimpse. She was still on the M1, still speeding northwards.
After a while Susan shut her eyes, because the rush of wind was making them water and the overhead lights were too bright and too annoying. Soon, she fell into something that was not quite sleep, a kind of daze that was probably also shock.
Susan snapped into full consciousness when the wolf stumbled and almost fell, and its mouth closed on her, hard, its teeth suddenly feeling much more present and firm. She cried out and struggled for a moment, before the wolf’s jaws eased open and the teeth became fuzzy and less solid again, enough to let her draw breath.
It was still night, but dawn was drawing near. There was more traffic, but mostly going the other way. The wolf was passing what little there was on their side, heading up a long hill. Susan spotted a road sign, but as all this said was “Junction 22, 3 Mile
s” this didn’t help her, as she had never taken the M1 and had no idea where the major junctions were located.
But reading the sign had been easier than before, because the wolf was slower on the incline. Soon it became clear to Susan that it was having difficulties. For the first time, she realized it wasn’t breathing, that it didn’t breathe at all. There should have been a rush of air backwards and forwards over her; any wolf or dog would be panting under the current exertion. But there was no movement of breath at all.
Nor was there any saliva, Susan thought a moment later, which was a relief. But it was also disturbing. Her captor had the shape of a giant wolf, but what was it really?
The creature slowed more, and growled, this time in exasperation. It turned its head from side to side, looking back along itself. Susan craned her neck to try and see, and when it turned again, she saw what was troubling it.
Merlin’s sword, the old sword, was sticking out of the wolf’s left haunch, and there was a long trail of thick golden blood running from it all the way down the wolf’s leg, as slow and viscous as honey.
That must have been the cause of the meaty sound she’d heard, and the wolf’s yelp, thought Susan. Though it hadn’t had any effect at first, it was obviously hurting the wolf now, and slowing it down. Things immediately looked rather less desperate, though Susan knew everything would depend on the timing. A rescue would need to happen before the wolf got wherever it was going and delivered her to whoever had ordered this kidnapping.
If the wolf got where it was going . . .
It started off again, but it was limping badly now, dragging that left rear leg. It didn’t continue up the hill along the hard shoulder of the motorway, but left it altogether, stepping over a low fence to head across a field of early harvested clover, the bales of hay dotted about the stubble. From the field, the wolf took a narrow lane, moving quite slowly and cautiously now, still wary of a head-on collision. Once it had to jump aside to avoid a Land Rover, and after that, while it still followed the lane basically westward, the wolf tried to move in the fields on either side.