Ivo had to admit to himself, he hadn’t thought that Alice Hunter would look like this. He’d imagined a dashing young lady, athletic, brave and beautiful, not somebody who spoke with their mouth full of crumbs and wore clothes that came from charity shops. Maybe she is an impostor, he thought, but that seemed preposterous. He resolved not to drink the tea, but it was too late to communicate this to Miranda and Felix, who were gulping it down and already stuffing themselves with biscuits.
‘And what are your names?’
‘Felix.’ He looked up, blinking, running his hand through his dark hair.
‘It means lucky. Are you?’
‘Well . . . yes, I suppose . . . I mean, I don’t always get caught, if that’s what you mean –’ Miranda elbowed him and he stopped.
‘Good,’ said Hunter, ignoring him. ‘And you?’
‘Miranda.’ She put on her best grown-up grin.
‘A girl to be marvelled at . . . Well, I won’t ask you if you think you are.’
Miranda widened her eyes at Ivo behind her hand.
‘And Blackwood gave the Koptor to Ivo . . .’ she said, glaring at Ivo intensely. She was appraising his qualities, assessing him like a horse before a race. ‘Bright eyes, springy step, good muscles,’ he imagined her saying to herself.
‘Thank the lord they didn’t get hold of it,’ she said. ‘Though from what you say, they were close enough. Blackwood, Blackwood dead . . . I am the only one left. And you witnessed it. My poor dear,’ she said, her voice changing suddenly.
‘Who are the Liberators?’ asked Ivo.
‘They are not human like us – I’m human, don’t you worry about that,’ she said as the three of them started, Felix letting out a ‘No way!’ and Miranda squawking in disbelief.
‘What do they want?’ Ivo asked. ‘The Liberators, I mean.’
‘Freedom,’ said Alice, brushing crumbs from her flowery skirt, her voice deep and full. ‘Unconditional freedom. They believe in a world without rules, without boundaries. They call themselves the Liberators, believing that our poor, human, mortal world is bound in chains, that our so-called “free will” is a lie. You can’t call them insane, because they’re not human, but they are definitely dangerously psychopathic. They believe that what they want to do is, how can I put this, good.’
‘Good?’ Ivo said.
Alice Hunter sat up in her chair, and folded her arms across her chest. Her feet tapped out a rhythm on the bare floorboards. She thought for a while before responding. ‘They think that our consciences are prisons. They believe that we are prevented from becoming the people that we should be. They wish to liberate us from our consciences.’
‘So you mean – when I see something I want, and it’s in a shop, and there’s a little voice in my head saying “Take it, take it”, and there’s another voice saying “No, don’t”, they want to get rid of the voice telling me not to?’ asked Miranda.
‘Yes. That’s it exactly.’ Hunter stood up and went to rummage in a cupboard; she pulled out a plain blue file, and brought it over, yanking out a picture. It was an engraving of two men with long black hair. Their faces were fairly indistinguishable; the most remarkable feature was that they wore tiny bones and skulls tied ornamentally into their hair. ‘This is the oldest picture we have of them. They can assume other guises, of course. Now they are walking around as –’
Ivo interrupted, knowledge burning in him painfully. ‘As Julius and Strawbones Luther-Ross?’
Hunter took the picture back from him and said quizzically, ‘You’ve met them?’
‘Yes,’ said Ivo. ‘A few times . . .’
‘Oh lord,’ said Hunter. She patted her knees.
To break the silence, Miranda asked: ‘So what does FIN do?’
Hunter turned to gaze at her, her brow creased. She got up to replace the file, continuing to talk as she did so. ‘FIN was set up to stop the Liberators, after the Second World War. Through our research we followed their movements across the centuries. Whenever the world threatened to descend into anarchy, you could bet that they were behind it. We noticed a pattern: at times of great change, the Liberators would re-emerge. Communism, the Napoleonic Wars – we could trace their influence there. But until now they have never been able to put their full plan – Liberation – now the time is right. The global situation suits them. Communication is so much easier, their message can be spread across the world in an instant; and so they have come back.’ She stopped.
‘Why are you looking at me like that, young man?’ she asked Ivo.
Ivo realised he had been staring at her open-mouthed. ‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘You’re thinking, who is this silly old woman and how on earth did she become a member of FIN? Don’t deny it, I know you are. Well,’ she said, looking at Miranda, ‘many of us were recruited from the secret services. And yes, we are very highly trained.’ As she said this she leaped across the room and had a knife at Ivo’s throat; panicked, he sat absolutely still, and she brought it down and slopped back over to her armchair, sitting down and refilling her cup.
‘There we are,’ she said, ignoring the astonishment of the three. Miranda and Felix became very tense. Ivo touched his hand to his throat.
‘Right, where was I? Oh yes. Some of us thought they were behind the Second World War; unfortunately that was just human nature. But they’ve been around now for a year or so, gathering Acolytes. As soon as we knew they were back, ten of us set out to stop them. But they’ve got rid of nearly all of us now. Their Acolytes are bound to them by their lives, and they will do anything to achieve total Liberation. What they offer is very appealing to many people.’ Ivo saw that she was controlling herself with difficulty. ‘There must be rules. Not petty rules – there can be too much of that. But there has to be order, there have to be limits, otherwise there is nothing. There cannot be just chaos. There is a pattern to everything, from the smallest flower to the largest star. You are up against something evil – something that kills and maims at the whim of a moment. And we must stop it.’
Ivo held out the Koptor. ‘And this is the key?’ he said.
Hunter looked at him appraisingly. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘The Koptor is the only thing in the world that can destroy the Thyrsos which gives the Liberators their power. Break the Thyrsos, break their power.’
Ivo gulped, feeling very insignificant. ‘But it’s so small,’ he said.
‘And yet,’ Hunter continued, ‘it contains within it the opposing power of Apollo. The Thyrsos belongs to Dionysus, the Koptor to Apollo: with order you can negate chaos. Chaos doesn’t have to win.’
‘I want to help,’ said Ivo.
‘And so you will. You have to keep the Koptor. It’s safer with you. They’ll get it off me if they can and kill me. They don’t know you have it – yet.’
‘I think they’re moving already,’ said Ivo. ‘Julius is planning a party at the National Gallery.’
Hunter raised her head and sniffed, like a dog. ‘That sounds like them,’ she said. ‘Right,’ she continued, sweeping to her feet, knocking her teacup over and ignoring the splash, ‘I must go. I must see what we can do. We will meet again. Now, out, you lot. Your presence here is dangerous. They might be coming any minute. We don’t want them to know you have contacted me.’
‘Wait – how do we find you?’
‘Hold the Koptor and think of me,’ she said. ‘It operates at the most basic, atomic level of matter. If you hold it and think of me, very hard, quantum particles in it will be activated and influence those in me. And I will be transported to wherever you are, as quick as a shaft from the bow of Apollo himself.’
It was at that moment that the room started to shake. It felt as if something very strong was battering at the door.
‘Oh my godfathers,’ said Alice. ‘Quick, out the back, all of you.�
��
They rushed into the passageway and saw the door buckling on its hinges. ‘Come on! Through here!’ she hissed. They went through a back room and Alice fiddled with the lock, and then flung the door open. ‘Climb over the wall, you’ll be in the next road down. Run as fast as you can, jump on a bus, any bus, just run.’
She slammed the back door in their faces and pulled down the blind. Ivo half turned to go back, but Felix pulled at his shoulder. Miranda had already run to the back of the garden and was scrambling over the low wall. Felix took it at one leap, and Ivo, looking back over his shoulder, dragged himself over it, and the three of them sprinted down the alley.
They came out on to the Chamberlayne Road and saw a bus stop ahead.
‘Is there anyone behind us?’
‘Don’t know. Don’t look. Just run!’
A bus was approaching, and they dodged across the traffic, avoiding cars; they just made it as the bus pulled up.
Panting, they flung themselves into the back seats. Ivo turned and gazed out of the back window – there didn’t seem to be anybody after them.
‘I think we’re all right,’ he said.
‘Sure,’ said Felix. ‘All right. That’s just the way I’d put it. All right.’
‘I hope Hunter’s OK. Do you think we should go back there?’
‘I think she can probably cope,’ said Miranda. ‘There’s more to her than you might realise.’
‘But she looked so . . . so rubbish,’ said Ivo. ‘She didn’t look like she could hold off a rabbit, let alone whatever it was that was after her. I mean, even that trick with the knife –’
‘After her? Or were they after us? Don’t you think it’s odd that she would be attacked when we were there?’ said Felix.
‘I don’t know,’ answered Ivo. ‘Let’s just hope they don’t find us.’ Ivo breathed on the window and drew symbols in the mist. Felix glared down at the ground, his ankles crossed over each other, and Miranda pretended to text. The bus continued its way down the gloomy streets and the three of them huddled in silence.
Felix was fiddling with a piece of paper in his pocket, and eventually he sighed and brought it out. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I found this.’ He spread it out on his knees. Miranda and Ivo crowded round him. It was a printout, old and faint, of a plan.
‘It’s a map,’ he said. ‘Of the underground tunnels.’
Miranda kissed him.
‘You know, old brother of mine, sometimes you really do come up with the goods.’
Felix brushed her off. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Here. There seems to be a large chamber in Marylebone – that’s where we first saw Perkins going. And then another one in Mayfair, here.’ He pointed to a large square, with two tunnels branching off it, one going west, which came out in Hyde Park, and one going east, which ended in the back streets of Soho. There were several smaller rooms off the eastern tunnel. There were three or four clusters of chambers, including one under the National Gallery. There was an exit in Mayfair too.
‘It’s on South Audley Street,’ said Ivo. ‘It must go up into Julius’s house.’
He took the map and pored over it until they got off the bus.
When they reached Charmsford Square, Miranda said, ‘We’ve got two hours with Perky now. It’s five o’clock.’
‘And then what?’ said Ivo. ‘We have to move quickly . . . and Perkins is our only lead.’
Felix, looking serious, said, ‘I think we should follow him again. All of us. See where he takes us. We’ll find out how deeply he’s involved.’
.
Chapter Ten
The two hours stomped by, punctuated by Perkins marching smartly up and down the dining room where Felix and Miranda had their lessons. When, eventually, he looked at his watch and said, ‘Hand them in, please,’ the siblings did so with the barest acknowledgement. Outside, the blackness of evening showed in the squares of the windows. Electric light reflected back from Perkins’ spectacles.
‘All the fight gone out of you?’ said Perkins. ‘Good. Then we’re getting somewhere.’ He hitched up his unpleasant trousers, rose, and, nodding curtly, left the room.
They hung back in the doorway of the dining room and watched him go to the front door. He opened it, said loudly, ‘Goodbye,’ and slammed it shut. Exchanging a glance with Miranda, Felix put a bony finger to his lips, and they crept after him, their hearts beating quickly and their stomachs tightening. They slipped out on to the street and in the glow of a lamp post saw him turn the corner ahead of them. Ivo emerged from behind a large dustbin where he’d been hiding and joined them in silence.
They followed Perkins all the way down Baker Street, keeping muffled up in their scarves and hats in case he turned around, but he was resolute, striding ahead. At the end of Baker Street he turned right and walked straight across Oxford Street; they nearly lost him as four buses passed at the same time, but they glimpsed him nip down a side street and enter the Mayfair streets. They had trouble keeping up with him – there were a lot of people around.
‘This is near where Julius lives,’ Ivo whispered. They were in the warren of streets around Grosvenor Square.
About a hundred feet behind Perkins, they saw him vault straight over some railings into a garden square, without looking either right or left. They paused.
‘Guys,’ said Miranda, ‘I don’t like this. Let’s go home.’
‘No,’ said Ivo, his face tight and drawn; he felt as if he had a hard case around him like a shell spiralling outwards. ‘We have to do this. Come on.’ He sprinted across the road and leaped over the railings in one bound.
Felix shrugged and loped behind, and Miranda, shaking her head, went too. They joined Ivo on the other side. Ivo pointed. Perkins was striding towards the centre of the garden. There was a large statue of what looked from a distance like a tiger, baring its teeth, overshadowed by a tall tree spreading its branches out.
Perkins disappeared behind the statue, and then did not come out again. Ivo pressed on, the two siblings trailing behind him. Ivo’s mind had become colder, harder. He came up to the plinth on which the statue loomed. It was clean, and new, an inscription bearing a date not two years ago: ‘This statue was erected by the generosity of Julius Luther-Ross’.
A sliver entered Ivo’s heart. He went round the corner of the statue. Felix was at his elbow now, Miranda a little behind.
‘I like the statue,’ Felix said, under his breath. ‘Cool tiger.’
The back of the plinth presented a blank face to them. Ivo passed his hand in a businesslike manner over it, and then his face contracted into creases of concentration. Aha, he thought. He traced his finger around until he found what he was looking for – a small crack which indicated the presence of an entrance.
‘Can we go now?’ asked Miranda.
Ivo ignored her. He was taken up with the force of his mission. He felt the Koptor in his pocket and took it out.
Let’s see if you do what you say you do, thought Ivo, and held it tightly. He inched around it for a button or a groove or something, but found nothing. Undeterred, he continued to squeeze it, thinking hard all the time. We have to stop them, he thought. He focused on thoughts of order, peace and serenity, remembering what Hunter had said about Apollo, all the time willing the blade to come out. And then, almost as if it had been there all the time, it was there, shining and sharp and deadly. Ivo stepped forward briskly and put the blade against the crack and moved it downwards: it passed through it as easily as if it were made of nothing more substantial than cloud. The stone panel shifted slightly forwards.
I did it, thought Ivo. I made it open. My own will caused it. Grimly and suddenly aware of the powers and possibilities that this entailed, he pushed against the side of the plinth. He felt it give, and as slowly as possible, he heaved it aside, trying not to make any noise, then ente
red the space. The others went after him, Felix closing the panel behind them.
The entrance opened into a corridor that headed downwards. Stealthily, they felt their way down the passageway through the darkness; this time there was no carefree joking around. Soon a light appeared in front of them, and they saw that they had come to the end of the tunnel, where it opened out into a large room. Felix held out his hand, halting his sister and Ivo; they crouched in the entrance way, hidden by the shadows, and edged as far forward as they dared.
The room was enormous, far larger than the one they had been in before in Marylebone. There were two black statues of panthers on either side of the room, and the walls were hung with tapestries that showed hunting scenes. Fine carpets covered the floor. The atmosphere was dry. In the hall was a thin, languid young man with very long blond hair and a finely chiselled face; his features were so symmetrical as to be almost unreal, and he had a wispy, ethereal face that was devoid of any expression, as if he were posing for a photograph in a fashion magazine. It was Strawbones, and he was slouching in a velvet chair.
Perkins was standing as if to attention in front of him.
‘Well, Perkins?’ said Strawbones. ‘What news?’
‘I hate my pupils,’ was Perkins’ response, enunciating every word with suppressed rage. Miranda squeezed Felix’s hand.
‘I’ve said before, Perkins, that you should not question me. It is a means to an end, that is all. Their parents are very useful. They know the right people. They’re bringing a table to the National Gallery.’
Lydia’s party, thought Ivo.
Perkins threw himself on to the ground, so that he was kneeling, with his head bent before Strawbones. Ivo thought for one horrible moment that Strawbones was going to tear Perkins’ head off. But instead he stretched, and yawned, and said, ‘We are all set for Liberation.’ Something scuttled across the floor, and the three friends watched a large rat skitter away. A gust of air howled through the hall; Felix shivered next to Miranda, who pulled her jacket closer around her. Ivo ignored it.
The Liberators Page 10