And then the curtain moved. It seemed to fold in on itself and at the same time she heard the beating of tiny wings and understood what she was looking at. It was a great swarm of insects, black flies. They had attached themselves to the window like some single living organism.
She lay where she was, staring at them with complete disgust. She had never seen so many flies, not even in the heat of the summer. And this was a cold day in November! What had brought them here? How had they managed to fly across an entire city to come together on a single pane of glass? She could hear their buzzing and the soft tapping as they threw their bodies against the window. She could make out their legs, thousands of them, sticking to the glass. Their wings were blurring as they held themselves in place. Scarlett felt sick. She was suddenly terrified that they would find their way in. She could imagine them swirling around her head, a great black mass, crawling into her nostrils and mouth. On an impulse, she scooped up her pillow and threw it at the window. It worked. As one, the flies peeled away. For a moment they looked like a long silk scarf, hanging in the breeze. Then they were gone.
For about twenty minutes, Scarlett stayed where she was, almost afraid to get up. She didn’t like insects at the best of times but this was something else again. She knew that what she had seen was completely impossible … just like the door in the church of St Meredith’s. And that told her what should have been obvious all along.
She had thought that, at the very least, her sudden departure to Hong Kong would be an escape from what had been happening in London – the monastery, the sense of being followed, the restaurant that had blown up. But of course it wasn’t. It was a continuation, part of the same thing. The events that had closed in on her in London had followed her here. She was caught in the same trap. But here it was even worse. She was far from her friends and family, alone in a city that seemed to be hostile in every way.
This was all happening because she was a Gatekeeper. She remembered what Father Gregory had told her. He had talked about an ancient evil … the Old Ones. Scarlett didn’t know exactly what they were but she could imagine the worst. They were here, in Hong Kong. That would explain everything. The Old Ones were toying with her. They were the ones who were controlling the crowd.
What was she going to do?
She could march into the kitchen and tell Mrs Cheng that she didn’t want to wait for her father, that she was taking the next flight back to London. She could telephone her mother in Australia or the headmistress at St Genevieve’s. They would get her out of here. She could even contact the police.
But she knew that none of it would work. The forces ranged against her were too powerful. She could see it every time she went outside. Hong Kong was sick. There was a sort of cancer that had spread through every alleyway and every street and which had infected everyone who walked there. Did she seriously think that they were just going to let her walk out of here? So far, they hadn’t threatened her directly. That hadn’t been part of their plan. But if she challenged them, if she tried to assert herself, they would close in on her and she would only make her situation worse.
She had just one hope. The people who were trying to reach her: they had to be on her side. We are your friends. That was what they had told her. She just had to behave normally until she reached them. Then, once she knew what was really happening, she would be able to act.
She got up and got dressed. The fortune-teller’s note was beside the bed, but now she tucked it away beneath the mattress. Whoever her friends were, they were being very careful. They were contacting her in four separate stages: the guidebook hidden in her luggage, the illuminated sign across the harbour, the bird of fortune at Tin Hau and finally a meeting this afternoon. The question was, how was she going to persuade Mrs Cheng to take her back to The Peak?
They had already been there once. Victoria Peak was the mountain that rose up behind Hong Kong, a must-see for every tourist. Scarlett had gone there on the second day, taking the old wooden tram – it was actually a funicular railway – up the slope to the top, five hundred metres above the city. The views were meant to be spectacular but they hadn’t seen very much on account of the pollution. Maybe that was the answer. If the weather cheered up, it would give her an excuse to go back.
Mrs Cheng was in the kitchen, cooking an omelette for Scarlett’s breakfast.
“Good morning, Scarlett.”
“Good morning, Mrs Cheng.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Very well, thank you.”
As Scarlett sat down, it occurred to her that she had never seen the woman eat – not so much as a mouthful. Even when they went to restaurants together, Mrs Cheng only ordered food for Scarlett. In fact she had only ever shown hunger once. That had been at the market when they examined the hideous, sliced-in-half but still-living fish.
“So where would you like to go today, Scarlett?” They were exactly the same words she had used the day before. And she spoke without any real enthusiasm, as if it was simply what she had been programmed to say.
“Why don’t we go back to The Peak?” Scarlett suggested. “We didn’t see anything very much last time. Maybe we’ll get a better view.”
Mrs Cheng looked out of the window. “There’s a lot of cloud,” she remarked.
“But it’s going to cheer up this afternoon,” Scarlett said. “I saw the forecast on TV.” It was grim outside with a non-stop drizzle sweeping across the sky. And the forecast had said it would stay the same for the rest of the week. But somehow Scarlett knew she was right.
“I don’t think so.” Mrs Cheng shook her head. “Maybe you would like to go to the cinema?”
“Let’s see what it’s like this afternoon,” Scarlett pleaded. “I’m sure it will clear up.”
And against all the odds, it did. At around two o’clock, the clouds finally parted and the sun came out, still weak against the ever-present pollution, but definitely there. Even Mrs Cheng had to agree that it was too nice an afternoon to stay indoors and so the two of them set out.
The receptionist was in his usual place as they left Wisdom Court, sitting stiffly behind the desk and wearing the same dark suit and white shirt, watching them with no expression at all. As they went past, Scarlett noticed something. The man had a black spot, a mole, on the side of his face. At least, that was what she thought. Then the spot moved. It crawled over his cheek and began to climb up and she realized that it was actually a fly, one of the fat, black insects that had come to her window that morning. The receptionist didn’t move. He didn’t try to swat it. He didn’t even seem to have noticed it and did nothing as the creature reached the corner of his eye and began to feed.
Scarlett couldn’t get out of the building fast enough. Wisdom Court was only a few minutes from the tram station and they could have walked but Karl drove them anyway. But at least he had decided not to come to the top. Mrs Cheng bought tickets for the two of them and she and Scarlett got onto the tram.
Although the station looked new, the tram itself had been built more than a hundred years before. Climbing on board was like stepping back in history. They took their places on the polished, wooden seats and a short while later, with no warning, they set off, trundling up the tracks through thick vegetation with occasional glimpses of the city, ever smaller and more distant as they went. There were about twenty tourists sharing the ride, some of them small children, laughing and pointing. Watching them, Scarlett wished that she could be like them, part of an ordinary family, out here on holiday. She was only a few seats away from them but they could have been inhabiting a different world. Had they really got no inkling about what was happening in Hong Kong? Was she the only one to feel the all-pervading sense of evil?
We will be waiting.
She focused her mind on what lay ahead. Who would be there and why had they chosen The Peak of all places? Maybe it was because it was outside the city, away from the buildings. At the summit there would be no crowds, no surveillance cameras. It was somewhere
with room to breathe.
The tram arrived and the passengers poured out, straight into a complex that seemed to have been specially built to make as much money from as many tourists as possible. From the outside it looked like a bizarre observation tower, like something out of Star Wars. Inside, it was full of tacky shops and restaurants with a Madame Tussaud’s and a Ripley’s Believe-it-or-Not with signs inviting visitors to “come and see the world’s fattest man”. Scarlett couldn’t wait to get out.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested. She was careful to sound as innocent as possible.
Mrs Cheng looked doubtful. She wasn’t dressed for a walk – in a short, grey skirt, black stockings and high-heeled shoes. “Maybe a short way…” she muttered.
There was a distinct chill in the air as the two of them made their way down a slope, passing a man who was sweeping leaves. Scarlett knew what she was looking for. A path that led off from the Lugard Road. That was what the fortune-teller’s note had said. She saw the sign almost at once. Without even waiting for Mrs Cheng to catch up, she set off.
The path was three miles long, snaking all the way round the mountain, paved all the way. On one side there was The Peak itself, with a tangle of exotic trees and bushes hanging overhead. On the other was an iron railing, to prevent anyone falling down the hill. There weren’t many other people around. The changing weather must have dissuaded them, and the other tourists who had come up in the tram had all stayed inside. Soon Scarlett found that she and Mrs Cheng were entirely on their own.
There was a strange atmosphere on The Peak. The mist had returned, hanging in the air, almost blotting out the sun. Everything was washed out, dark green and pale white. There were birds whistling, squawking and rattling in the undergrowth, but none of them could be seen. The path was lost in the clouds and it was impossible to see more than twenty metres ahead. As she made her way forward, Scarlett found it easy to imagine that she had somehow travelled back in time, that this was some Eastern version of Jurassic Park and that a dinosaur might be waiting for her round the next corner.
But then she arrived at an observation point where the vegetation had been cut back and Hong Kong appeared, sprawled out below. It was incredible to see so many skyscrapers packed together on both sides of the water. There were hundreds of them, every shape and size, made small and insignificant by the distance – with thousands or even millions of people invisible among them.
Mrs Cheng plodded along behind, saying nothing. Her face was sullen, her hands – loosely curled into fists – hung by her side. Scarlett was quietly amused. Her guardian clearly wasn’t enjoying the visit. She wasn’t even bothering to glance at the view.
A couple of people walked past them … a woman pushing an old-fashioned pram and a man, jogging. The man was wearing a blue tracksuit and his face was covered by an anti-pollution mask, with only his eyes showing above the white square. Scarlett tensed as each one of them approached. She was waiting for someone to make contact. But neither of them so much as noticed her, both continuing on their way.
They walked for another five minutes, still following the path which curved round the side of The Peak.
“I think we should go back, Scarlett,” Mrs Cheng said.
“But it’s a circular walk,” Scarlett protested. “If we keep going, we’ll find ourselves back anyway.”
Three more walkers appeared ahead of them: two men and a woman, all Chinese. They were dressed in much the same way with jeans, zip-up jackets and walking shoes. One of the men had a walking stick although he looked young and fit and surely didn’t need it. The other man carried a backpack. He was in his thirties, with glasses and a pock-marked face. The two of them were chatting. The woman – she was slim and athletic, her long hair tied back with a pink band – was listening to an iPod. As they drew nearer, they showed no interest in Scarlett at all.
The three of them drew level.
“Scarlett…” Mrs Cheng began.
She never finished the sentence. The man with the backpack reached behind him and drew out something that was flat and silver. It was a move that he must have rehearsed many times. To Scarlett’s eyes, it was as if he had suddenly produced an oversized kitchen knife. Then she realized what it was. A machete. The blade was about half a metre long and razor-sharp. At the same time, the other man twisted the handle of his walking stick, revealing the sword that had been concealed inside. Scarlett saw the glint of metal and heard it slice the air as he pulled it free. The woman wasn’t armed. She was looking behind her, checking the path was clear.
Both men plunged their weapons into Audrey Cheng. The Chinese woman screamed – but there was nothing remotely human about the sound. It was a high-pitched howl, almost deafening. Scarlett stared in horror. Her face was unrecognizable, her mouth stretched open in a terrible grimace. Blood was pouring in a torrent over her lower lip. Her eyes had clouded over. She hadn’t had time to defend herself or react in any way. Scarlett saw her neck open as if it was hinged and she looked away. She heard the thud as Mrs Cheng’s severed head hit the ground. She knew that it was a sound that she would never forget.
The woman ran forward and put an arm around her, comforting her. Some of Mrs Cheng’s blood had splattered onto her. There were flecks of it on her jacket. The very air had gone a hazy red.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Scarlett,” she said, in perfect English. “Don’t look round. We had to do it. There was no other way.”
“You killed her!” Scarlett was in shock. She had never liked Mrs Cheng but she couldn’t believe what she had just seen. These people hadn’t given her a chance to defend herself. They had murdered her in cold blood.
“Not her. It.”
Scarlett stared. “What do you mean?”
“Show her!” one of the men snarled.
“We’re your friends,” the woman said. “We sent you the message with the fortune-teller. We’ve come to help you and, believe me, there was no other way.” She placed her hands on Scarlett’s shoulder. “Turn round and have a look for yourself,” she went on. “The woman isn’t what you think. She’s a shape-changer. We’ll show you, but then you have to come with us. They’ll know what’s happened. They’ll have heard her. We don’t have much time…”
Scarlett turned round. The man with the sword-stick was already sheathing it. The other was wiping his machete on a piece of cloth. She swallowed hard, not wanting to do this. There was a lot of blood, spreading across the path.
Mrs Cheng was lying on her back, the legs in their black stockings lying straight out in front of her. There was a dreadful wound in her chest where one of the blades had stabbed her through the heart. The other had decapitated her. Scarlett forced herself to examine the rest of the body. She saw something thick and green coming out of the jacket where Mrs Cheng’s neck should have been. It had been severed half way up. But it didn’t belong to a human body. It looked like part of a snake.
And the head, lying on the path, wasn’t human either. It was the head of an oversized lizard, with yellow and black diamond eyes, scales, a lolling forked tongue. Scarlett glanced back at the body. Mrs Cheng had thrown out one of her arms as she fell. It was also covered in scales.
A shape-changer.
That was what they had said. And in the shock of the moment, all Scarlett could think was – was this the creature she had been living with since she had come to Hong Kong? Audrey Cheng had cooked for her. She had been sleeping in the same flat. And all the time…
She thought she was going to be sick. She couldn’t get the hideous images out of her head. But then she heard the sound of an approaching engine, coming down the path towards her. Had they been discovered? The woman and the two men weren’t moving. They didn’t look alarmed. Scarlett relaxed. Whoever was coming was part of the plan.
A motorbike appeared, speeding round the corner. It was a silver-grey Honda, being ridden by a figure in black leather, gloves and boots. Scarlett guessed that it was a man, but it was hard to be sure
as his head was concealed by a helmet with a strip of mirrored plastic across his face. He stopped right in front of them, the wheels tilting underneath him, one leg stretching out to keep the bike upright.
The woman grabbed hold of Scarlett once again. “We need to get you out of here fast,” she said. “We don’t have time to explain.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe.”
They had produced a second helmet. Scarlett hesitated, but only for a few seconds. Audrey Cheng’s dead body told her everything she needed to know. She had been living in a nightmare and these people, whoever they were, were rescuing her from it. She grabbed the helmet and put it on, then climbed onto the bike, putting her arms around the driver. At once they were away. She felt the engine roar underneath her as they shot down the path and she tightened her grip, afraid that she would be blown over backwards by the rush of wind.
They shot past a man walking a dog and then a family of local people who had been posing for a photograph but who scattered to get out of the way. They turned another corner. If they went much further, they would surely arrive back at the tram station where Scarlett had begun. On one side there was a small park, on the other a driveway leading up to a house, for there were a few private homes scattered along the upper reaches of The Peak. But that wasn’t where they were heading. Scarlett saw a parked car with two more men waiting. They skidded to a halt.
She got off, quickly removing her helmet. The two men were young, in their twenties, both wearing jeans and sweatshirts. One was Chinese but the other was a foreigner, maybe from Japan or Korea. They both hurried over to her, their faces filled with a mixture of determination and fear.
“You have to come with us,” the first one said. He had a thin face and his nose and cheekbones were so sharp-edged that they could almost have been folded out of paper. “We must leave at once.”
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