by Ian Richards
Their footsteps sounded out loudly against the polished floor as they walked, Vanessa leading the way through one room after another. It felt like they were working their way towards the centre of a labyrinth. They passed life-sized suits of armor, Roman ruins, displays of medieval farming equipment, Viking plunder, a nineteenth century printing press. Eventually they stopped in front of an enormous glass cabinet holding artifacts from Ancient Egypt. Large obsidian carvings surrounded them. Egyptian men with the heads of birds. Dog deities sculpted from the blackest marble.
‘In Egyptian times,’ Vanessa said, touching her finger to the glass, ‘these items were the property of a great magician.’
Tony and Ebenezer leant in closer. Inside the cabinet a collection of bones, clay masks and icons had been neatly arranged on a square of velvet. Tiny lights shone brightly overhead. ‘These were his tools,’ Vanessa continued. ‘He used them to perform all sorts of rituals. Not that you’d know it now, though. Look at them. They’re nothing. Pieces of a forgotten world that contain no more magic than a pair of old trainers.’
She walked away, leading them towards another exhibit. They passed through a darkened doorway and emerged, to Tony’s amazement, on a Mediterranean beach. There were waves breaking in front of him, sand beneath his shoes. A burning sun balanced above the horizon. He felt the heat hit him at once. It was like walking into an oven.
‘Vanessa, what did you do? Where are we?’
‘It’s Greece,’ Ebenezer exclaimed. ‘It must be Greece. I recognize the coastline.’
‘Actually,’ Vanessa smiled, ‘it’s London. The British Museum to be precise. I’ve used a minor spell to take you out of your bodies and into my imagination. It’s harmless, but a good way of illustrating my point. If you try to find magic in books or ancient history all you’ll find is theory and anecdote. Dead things, like the bones in that cabinet. If you want real magic, Tony, you have to live it. Become it. Real magic is about the heart. It’s about instinct, imagination, creativity.’
With a click of her fingers the beach gave way to an ordinary room decorated with remnants of the Blitz. Black and white photographs of destroyed buildings. Gas-masks hanging from pegs.
‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you what I mean.’
From the museum she took them to a fast-food restaurant on Tottenham Court Road, where she pointed to the flustered staff working behind the counter.
‘What was the first thing I taught you? Names are power. Notice how every worker here has a name badge pinned to their chest. That’s no accident, Tony. That’s to make the brand strong and the workers weak. Customers coming in to buy their food notice the name badges and instantly feel like they have authority over the poor burger-flippers. It’s a subtle, subconscious reaction, but it’s done deliberately. Lots of big businesses use magical theory to influence their practices. One of the most successful companies only got where they are today because they hired a wizard to their board of directors. Guess which one? You’d be surprised.’
The restaurant gave way to an underpass covered in graffiti. They walked through, surrounded on all sides by name-tags, love hearts, marker-pen insults and coupled initials. ‘Spells,’ Vanessa explained. ‘Very basic and probably too flimsy to work for long, but every piece of graffiti here was created to change reality. The declarations of love aimed to preserve relationships or win affections. The insults aimed to weaken enemies by belittling them.’
‘And the names?’ Ebenezer asked.
‘Isn’t it obvious? Written in enormous letters on a smelly underpass wall, what else could it be other than some poor council estate child making a play for immortality?’
The more Tony saw, the more he began to understand. Magic was everywhere. It flashed its mystical symbols across the billboards in Piccadilly Circus. It bloomed in darkened car parks as strangers touched hands. By the end of the night, as they made their way towards the underground station that would take them back to Martell’s Antiques, he felt overwhelmed with this influx of new knowledge. Ebenezer had taught him history and theory. Vanessa had shown him magic in action—as a living, breathing phenomenon—something that affected the world he lived in every single day. And yet he felt no closer to being able to defend himself than he had at the beginning. He could shimmer—just about—but that was it.
He appreciated the lessons. He understood what Ebenezer and Vanessa had been trying to prove. But he longed for action. He needed to know how to use magic to his advantage, how to fight off enemies and protect Martell’s shop. The simple truth was that the world around him may have exploded with possibility, but he was exactly the same old Tony Lott as before. A spindly little chimney sweep who only felt truly comfortable in the company of antiques.
They reached the entrance to Russell Square and descended an escalator into the buttery bowels of the station. The platform was empty save for a middle-aged businessman reading a copy of the Evening Standard and flicking impatient glances towards the sign overhead.
THE NEXT TRAIN WILL BE ARRIVING IN THREE MINUTES
The companions took a seat further along the platform.
‘How are you feeling?’
Tony shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Vanessa. It’s a lot to take in, you know?’
She nodded. ‘I suppose it would be. But don’t worry, you’ll be all right. By the time anyone comes for you or the old man we’ll have turned you into a pro. You’ll be hurling lightning bolts with the best of them.’
He looked up at the sign.
THE NEXT TRAIN WILL BE ARRIVING IN TWO MINUTES
Thirteen years ago his father had been starting out on this very same path—learning magic, sinking deeper into a new and frightening world. Had he felt this same impatience? Tony imagined so. From what Martell had told him Thomas Lott had thrown himself into magic so quickly it had all but destroyed him.
The inevitable question arose: was he in danger of doing the same thing?
He didn’t think so, but how would he know for sure? Wasn’t there an old line about power corrupting? Not to mention all Nietzsche’s talk about gazing into the abyss only for the abyss to gaze right back. That one had always given him the shivers.
THE NEXT TRAIN WILL BE ARRIVING IN ONE MINUTE
He closed his eyes. The truth was he had no way of knowing what the future held. He let his mind run through all he had learnt that day, wondering how much of it he would retain in the morning and how much would remain out of reach.
At which point the Rag-and-Bone man attacked and everything went to hell.
16 - Notes From The Underground
There was no time to react. A cold, corpse-like hand grabbed him by the wrist. When he wheeled around he came face to face with the first Rag-and-Bone man, a pale, vacant figure who wore the shabbiest of grey suits and stared at him with diseased yellow eyes. Before Tony could even process what this creature was—it looked human, but those eyes—he found himself overpowered by the smell: a repulsive, charnel-house stink that turned the air toxic. Tears rose in his eyes. It was like rotting meat, like a corpse that had been left in a hothouse for weeks on end. He fought the urge to vomit.
‘Tony!’
Vanessa’s cry seemed to belong to another world. The reality of the station platform had spun away from him the second the Rag-and-Bone man had made contact. Now he could do nothing but stand there, hypnotized by the creature holding him, too frightened to even scream. What was this thing? What did it want with him?
The Rag-and-Bone man’s grip remained tight and unforgiving. Its cold grey hand contrasted horribly with the fresh pink of his own. Though Tony tried his hardest to pull himself away, the creature was too strong. It remained unmoving, looking at him as if it were trying to intuit something. He had the unpleasant sensation of being assessed—of being studied, as if he were a medical curiosity. It made his skin crawl. In desperation he threw a punch. It connected with the side of the creature’s head, but to no effect whatsoever. He tried again, punching harder and hard
er, but it was useless. Nothing worked. The blows didn’t even appear to be registering.
‘Tony, get down.’
Instinctively he ducked, and at that moment Vanessa pointed her finger and fired a shower of sparks straight into the Rag-and-Bone man’s face. A constellation of tiny fireworks sent it stumbling backwards, groaning. With the creature distracted Tony was able to pull himself free. He ran to Ebenezer, who stood by the edge of the platform, peering desperately into the dark of the tunnel.
THE NEXT TRAIN IS A PICCADILLY LINE SERVICE TO BARONS COURT. PLEASE MIND THE GAP WHEN BOARDING THE TRAIN.
‘What’s happening, Ebenezer? What is it?’
‘It’s a Rag-and-Bone man,’ Vanessa said, joining them by the platform edge. ‘Though why it didn’t just kill you I have no idea. They don’t usually just want to hold hands.’
Ebenezer shook his head. ‘There’s nowhere to run. It’s blocking the way out.’
A quick glance down the platform revealed him to be right. They were caught between a solid wall and the advancing monster. The tracks themselves were a no-man’s land of electrified rails and clogged machinery. The slightest contact with the mainline rail—a spiked silver vein, glistening eerily in the gloom—meant instant, shoe-smoking death. The kind of exit usually reserved for cartoon characters.
In seconds the Rag-and-Bone man was on them again. Tony tried to lunge out of the way but it was no use, the creature seized him by the wrist and pulled him close. This time the grip was tighter—unforgiving. A little more pressure and Tony knew bones would begin to buckle.
‘Vanessa.’ She tried again with the sparks but this time the creature was prepared for them. It remained unmoving, even as the skin around its eyes blistered and peeled, even as its eyes burned themselves blind.
‘It’s not working, Tony.’
Ebenezer tried to break the grip with his hands but the Rag-and-Bone man was too strong. A swipe of its arm sent Ebenezer sprawling towards the edge of the platform, where he just about managed to stop himself from falling onto the tracks. Tony took advantage of this momentary distraction by smashing the Rag-and-Bone’s man hand through the plastic-glass casing of a poster on the platform wall. The hand holding him transformed from clenched fist to grey starfish, and with the grip broken Tony yanked himself free and ran to his friends.
The creature was unrelenting. Already it was coming for him again, unconcerned by the shards of plastic protruding from the back of its hand or the smoldering sockets that now passed for its eyes.
‘What do we do?’ Tony shouted.
THE NEXT TRAIN IS A PICCADILLY LINE SERVICE TO BARONS COURT.
‘Shimmer, Tony’ Ebenezer cried.
PLEASE MIND THE GAP WHEN BOARDING THE TRAIN.
‘You have to shimmer.’
As the creature lunged for him he feinted right and dived left.
Nothing. The move had been as choreographed as a West End musical. Only jerking backwards at the last second prevented him from falling into the meaty arms that reached for him.
‘Remember your breathing,’ he heard Ebenezer cry. ‘Breathe.’
He tried shimmering again, this time concentrating on the oxygen flowing in and out of his lungs, the tingle in his chest, the energy in his feet. He kept his eyes focused on the direction he was pretending to move in and threw himself into the move with all his might.
To his surprise, it worked. His body went one way, the Rag-and-Bone man the other. The creature snatched only air and moaned in confusion. Tony shimmered again, this time sending it crashing into the platform wall.
‘The train,’ Ebenezer shouted. ‘We have to make it to the train.’
Tony could hear it approaching, a faraway thunder, increasing in volume and rattling the platform beneath his feet. As the Rag-and-Bone man leapt at him again he shimmered and sent it stumbling towards the edge of the platform. For an awful moment the creature stood balanced on the edge of the abyss, its overlong arms turning desperate windmills as it tried to maintain his balance.
Then it fell.
There was a loud bang—the sound of a fuse box exploding—followed by a terrifying, all-too-human scream.
They rushed to the edge of the platform and looked down. The sight awaiting them was so grotesque that Tony cried out in alarm. The Rag-and-Bone man lay across the tracks, its body convulsing. So much electricity pumped through him that pustules were forming on his skin: ugly lumps of flesh that trembled with the force of the current before bursting and spraying hot liquid in all directions. The strength of the electricity had melted the side of its face to the main rail. As much as he struggled he couldn’t tear himself free. He was stuck, glued in place by his own liquefied skin, trying desperately to tug himself loose.
There was a moment when the creature made eye contact with Tony.
Then the train hit.
The sound was like a thunderclap, a roar of such violence that Tony leapt back in horror. What remained of the Rag-and-Bone man was lost at once, reduced to an explosion of carcass beneath the weight of the advancing carriage.
As the train eased to a stop, the doors hissed open.
THIS TRAIN IS A PICCADILLY LINE SERVICE TO BARONS COURT. PLEASE MIND THE GAP WHEN BOARDING THE TRAIN.
Mind the gap. Tony couldn’t do anything but mind the gap. His eyes remained locked on the place where the Rag-and-Bone Man had fallen. Even though it was now obscured by several tones of train he still couldn’t help but think of the desperate creature convulsing on the rail. And a thought struck him then, one that chilled him to the depths of his soul.
It was screaming.
It was screaming because it was still alive.
All that electricity going through it and it was still alive!
That was when the arm emerged. A mangled, blood-soaked arm that rose up from the gap between the train and the platform, groping the air for support. When it slapped itself down on the platform it did so with such violence that Tony flinched. Slowly it began to pull the rest of its body out from beneath the wreckage. Looking down Tony caught a glimpse of a crushed, ruined face staring back at him. Though one of the eyes had been forced closed by the swelling, the other was bright and brilliant. A single yellow iris looking directly at him.
‘Move!’ Ebenezer bundled them onto the train and led them down the carriage, as far away from the doors as possible. ‘We need to get away while we can.’
But the train doors remained open. The engine hummed calmly. A few passengers who had exited from the next carriage over saw the crushed Rag-and-Bone man sticking out from beneath the train and ran to assist him. Only the lower half of his torso remained trapped now, tangled up in the mass of machinery beneath him.
‘Are you all right?’ somebody yelled. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Oh God, his legs. They’re hanging off him.’
‘He needs an ambulance. Will somebody please call an ambulance?’
With a final groan of effort the Rag-and-Bone man pulled the last of his body out from underneath the train. There was a wet tearing sound as the lower half of his torso fell back into the darkness, spilling his insides onto the tracks. The rest of him lay on the platform like a sack of wet flesh. Both legs were missing. His arms had been broken in several places. Most sickening of all were the deep dents in its skull. They looked like craters— as if somebody had taken a hammer to him in a fit of rage.
Though a handful of passengers moved to offer assistance, most ran straight for the exit. Tony wished he could do the same, but the only way out involved passing the quivering remains of his assailant and that was far too frightening. It might not have any legs, but it was still more than capable of making a lunge for him. Their only hope now was for the driver to put the train into gear and get them out of there.
But the train still wasn’t moving. He wondered if the driver had seen the accident and suspended the journey until medical assistance arrived. If that was the case, then they were stuck there. Trapped.
‘What is it?’ Hi
s voice was shakier than he had expected.
‘A Rag-and-Bone man from the looks of it,’ Ebenezer stammered. ‘I’ve read about them in books, but I never thought for a moment that I’d encounter one in real life.’ He shook his head. ‘They’re hunters, Tony. Bloodhounds. Someone must have sent it after you.’
‘Why isn’t it dead, though? It was hit by a train and it’s still going. Why hasn’t it died?’
‘Why do you think?’ Vanessa said. ‘You can’t kill something that was never alive to begin with.’
By now the crowd of passers-by that had stopped to help the Rag-and-Bone man—who was thrashing around in distress, arms flailing wildly—had shrunken to a handful of frightened onlookers. One of them appeared to be a doctor. He threw off his coat and crouched down to help.
Tony realized what was going to happen a full second before anyone else did. He tried to shout a warning but it was too late. The Rag-and-Bone man moved like lightning, seizing the man by the leg and yanking him to the floor. There was a frenzy of teeth and screams and then it was done.
The man was dead and the Rag-and-Bone man had a new pair of legs.
With a chilling ease—the whole scene looked like a grotesque parody of somebody putting on their trousers in the morning—the creature rolled onto its back and began affixing the freshly-amputated limbs to what remained of his body. He shoved them as far up into the torn flesh as they would go and then slowly, unsteadily, rose to a standing position. Tony cried out in fear.
That was when Ebenezer spotted a second Rag-and-Bone man on the other platform. Vanessa saw it, too. She gasped and kicked the door with frustration. ‘Will the driver of this infernal thing please get a move on? I know the trains in this country have a reputation for running late, but this is ridiculous.’
The other Rag-and-Bone man was staring at them with the same vacant expression as his companion. Then, very slowly, it clambered down into the trench separating the platforms and began walking towards them. When his foot touched the mainline rail there was a flash and a loud bang. But he limped on, undisturbed by the instant amputation nor the smoke now billowing from the space where his foot had once been.