by Ian Richards
But he couldn’t go, not now that Krook and Kepler were pouring out their secrets in front of him. He stood still, listening to every detail.
‘Tomorrow,’ Kepler said. ‘We’ll look again tomorrow. Tear every part of the house to pieces if we have to.’
Another pause. Tony’s heart hammered against his ribcage.
‘I say we make the Black Magician tell us himself,’ Krook continued. ‘Go back to Marshwood and force it out of him. I’m sure Firefox wouldn’t mind.’
Firefox.
Marshwood.
And alive.
Martell was alive.
Suddenly, before he had time to process the enormity of this news, a firm hand grabbed him by the shoulder. He turned to see a tall gentleman with a walrus-like moustache looming over him.
‘Can I help you, sir?’
Already the room was quieting. Heads began to turn.
‘This room is for members only. You saw the sign on the door, I take it?’
He nodded nervously. Kepler and Krook were watching now. He could feel their gaze upon him. Their suspicion growing.
‘Sign? No, I didn’t see any sign. Forgive me, I’ll leave at once.’
But the mustached man blocked him off, his brow creased with suspicion.
‘No. I don’t think we’ll be letting you go just yet. What’s your name, old timer?’
‘Douglas,’ Tony lied. ‘Douglas Mann.’
‘Do you have any ID?’
‘No. No, but I—’
‘He’s a rozzer.’ The voice came from over by the bar, a grotty old man with jowls of loose skin hanging from his neck.
‘You know what, I bet he bleedin’ is,’ someone else shouted. ‘They’ve sent in some old codger hoping we wouldn’t notice. Snooping on us undercover, like.’
‘It’s a stitch-up.’
‘A con—’
‘—no bloody good at all, lads, we’ve been done up like a kipper.’
‘Right, Bill, that’s enough, lock the door.’
A bouncer in a dark tuxedo slid a bolt across the door and sealed the escape route. Tony’s stomach turned somersaults. Sweat ran down his back. Trapped. He was trapped in the same room as Krook and Kepler. And there was no way out.
‘There’s been a mistake,’ he said, holding up his hands in surrender. ‘I can explain.’
He remembered then. Martell had told him about exclusive clubs for the criminals who operated in the city. And judging from the hardened expressions in front of him—the beady eyes, the muscular arms, the wizened suspicion—he was right in the middle of one. Of course, why else would Krook and Kepler be here? They’re amongst their own. This is the one place in all of London where they can socialize with people as nasty as they are.
‘I think I should go,’ Tony murmured.
‘You look familiar.’ It was Kepler speaking. He moved closer, eyeing Tony carefully. Suddenly Vanessa’s glamour didn’t feel as stable as it had a few moments before. Did he still look like a feeble old man? Or was his real face beginning to emerge, spreading across his cheeks in a fluid flush of youthful pink?
‘Just kill him,’ Krook snorted. ‘He’s either a spy or an idiot. Either way it’s no big loss.’
Voices murmured in agreement.
‘No,’ Tony protested. ‘Please. I—I’m not a spy. I’m—’
The man with the walrus moustache arched an eyebrow. ‘You’re what? A journalist? One of Bob Foot’s gang? Something else?’
‘I know exactly what he is.’ The voice came from the back of the room: loud and authoritative and dripping with disgust. ‘He’s an idiot. A one hundred percent imbecile. This is no policeman. This is a neighbor of mine. I fear the stories I’ve told him about our gatherings have proved too tempting for him. I suspect that after years of hearing about our little club he couldn’t help himself.’ He addressed Tony directly. ‘I should have known this would happen. You had to see it at least once, didn’t you?’
The man who spoke was tall and handsome. He wore a smart black suit and had dark hair slicked back into a ponytail. The smile he offered Tony proved difficult to read. It seemed friendly and yet knowing at the same time. A smile full of secrets. He didn’t trust it, but at the same time, what choice did he have?
‘He’s one of yours, is he, George?’ the walrus-man huffed. He sounded disappointed. ‘Well, be careful next time, would you? Don’t go blabbing to just anyone. He could have been killed.’
Already the tension had begun to dissipate. People returned to their conversations. Heads turned away. Tony kept his eyes locked on the mysterious man in black, who stared right back at him, never once averting his gaze. ‘Time to go, neighbor. We need to have a little chat about listening to what I say, don’t we?’
The man took Tony by the arm and led him away. As the bouncer unlocked the door to let them through, Tony couldn’t help but feel he was swapping one kind of danger for another. The stranger troubled him, and it went beyond the fact he had known he was a fraud. It was the unspoken control he had assumed. The way Tony was now indebted to him.
Back on the street, his first instinct was to run, but the man in black’s grip was too tight.
‘Where are you going, you ridiculous thing? Don’t you dare try and run away from me.’
He paused. Something about the cadence of the voice was familiar.
‘Vanessa?’
‘Yes, Vanessa. Who else? And not that I’m counting but I believe that’s four times I’ve saved your life now. Four. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’
‘Vanessa!’ He could have laughed aloud. He touched a hand to her face. ‘But how did you—?’
A voice from behind interrupted him. ‘What the bloody hell?’ Tony turned to see a mirror image of the man Vanessa had disguised herself as standing a few feet away from them. He had a mobile phone pressed against his ear and stared back at them in shock.
‘Run!’ she shouted. And they did. Back down the length of the road, back towards Dover Street. The glamours faded as they went, their true identities resurfacing, the magic slipping away now that Vanessa could no longer maintain the illusion. ‘I saw him go outside to make a phone call and used a glamour to make myself look like him,’ she explained. ‘Which took a lot more effort than I’m used to. I had to grow over a foot in height and put on weight. I had to deepen my voice. I’m bloody knackered.’
‘I found out about Martell,’ Tony panted. They stopped to gather their breath in an alleyway next to a pet shop. ‘He’s alive, Vanessa. I know where he is and who kidnapped him. He’s alive. And I know what they’ve been doing in the shop, too. They’re looking for the antiques he bought up in the last week. I heard them talking about—’
‘Never mind that,’ Vanessa snapped back. ‘That ponytailed fool is going to have tipped everyone off in that club by now. Krook and Kepler will know we were using glamours. They’re probably on our trail already.’
This was true, but fortunately Tony knew the surrounding area well enough for them to build up a healthy lead. They hopped on a passing night bus, rode several streets south, then jumped over some fences and into the back of Martell’s Antiques. Retrieving a spare key from underneath an old flowerpot, he unlocked the back door and hurried inside. Vanessa followed him, casting cautious looks back towards the icy night beyond. Mentally she was already calculating how long it would take Krook and Kepler to get here. They had been fast, she had to give the chimney sweep that. But fast enough? Somehow she wasn’t so sure.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Tony.’
He led the way through the shop and down into the basement. The door to Martell’s office had already been broken open. The cupboards ransacked.
‘I do. Those antiques Martell snatched up in the week before he was taken were his protection against Firefox. That’s why Krook and Kepler are so desperate to get their hands on them. There must be something special about them, something we missed the first time round.’
‘What sort of prote
ction can antiques possibly offer? And in case you hadn’t realized, they didn’t work. Martell was taken.’
‘Yes. But what if he was kidnapped before he got a chance to use them? What if they can help us bring him back?’
He fell to his knees and began groping desperately at the floorboards. Vanessa was about to ask him if he had lost his mind when there was a soft click and a secret door slid open in the floor. It revealed a grave-shaped compartment no more than a foot in length. The inside seemed to hold nothing but darkness. Tony had to reach his entire arm in to touch his fingertips to the contents concealed at the bottom. When he eventually managed to fish out the box of old antiques Martell had hidden there—it was made of cardboard and coated with dust—he wondered what exactly he would find inside. The flaps at the top had been sealed with a strip of tape that he ripped off quickly.
Somewhere above them the shop bell sounded out its familiar tinkly cry.
They froze, too frightened to even breathe.
‘Hello?’ The voice belonged to Mr. Krook. It was loud and accusatory. ‘Anybody home?’
Tony pressed his finger to his lips and motioned towards the basement staircase. They crept towards it as quietly as they could, wincing every time a floorboard creaked.
‘We know you’re in here, Tony Lott.’ It was Kepler speaking this time. His voice came from the top of the stairs. They drew back deeper into the shadows. ‘Give yourself up. There’s no way out.’
A footstep came down the stairs. Another.
‘Come out, come out, wherever you are.’
Kepler paused on the second step from the top, his feet the only thing visible to them.
‘Mr. Krook?’
‘Can’t see anything here, Kepler. Let’s put on the lights, shall we?’
Click. Blocks of light advanced through the shop in regimented rows. The final one threw a square of light down into the basement that missed Tony and Vanessa’s feet by inches.
‘Maybe they’re not here,’ Mr. Krook said. ‘The girl isn’t stupid.’
‘No,’ Kepler agreed. ‘But the boy is. He lets his emotions get the better of him. They’re here, all right. It’s just a question of where …?’ His voice became more authoritative. ‘I’ll guard the door. You search the shop. Take your time. We’re in no hurry. We’ll find them eventually.’
They watched as Kepler’s feet went back up the stairs. Then there was silence. A long, menacing silence.
‘What do we do?’ Vanessa whispered. ‘We’re trapped.’
‘We’ve got a chance if Krook looks upstairs first,’ Tony whispered back. ‘If he comes down here, we’re done for. But if he goes all the way to the top floor then I reckon we can outrun Kepler. If we leg it to the back door there are crates in the courtyard we can use to climb over the wall.’
Ever so carefully, they crept up the stairs. The shop was still and silent, almost as if it were holding its breath. There was no sign of Kepler or Krook. Tony led the way through the narrow avenues, crouching as he did so, careful to stop every few meters and listen for the sound of someone approaching. They made it to the kitchen. The back door creaked loudly as they opened it—too loudly, they must have heard—and then they were out in the courtyard, Vanessa scrambling over the wall as Tony followed behind. It had started to rain. Tony was glad. The pitter-patter percussion helped mask their squeaking footwear and ragged breath. He handed Vanessa the box of antiques, and was almost over himself when his foot slipped and the crate he was standing on gave way. The crash was enormous. Falling wood clattered against nearby dustbins, filling the night with noise. He remained stuck halfway over the wall, his feet kicking desperately in the air as he tried to find a grip.
‘There they are, Mr. Krook!’
The dwarf was on him like a pit-bull. He sprang through the air and wrapped his arms around Tony’s legs, a wriggling weight pulling the boy back down towards the courtyard. Vanessa held Tony’s hands on the other side of the wall, trying to keep him from falling. He felt as if he were caught in one of the torture devices from Sir Roderick’s book. The top of the wall bit into his stomach, his limbs stretched and creaked beneath the twin weights dragging him down. The pain was excruciating. It was as if his muscles had been replaced by firecrackers. He cried out.
‘Little brat,’ Krook hissed. ‘I said I’d get you for what you did, didn’t I? And Mr. Krook always keeps his promises.’
He reached for the knife in his jacket pocket, and this loosening of his grip was just enough for Tony to win his freedom. He kicked the dwarf down, heard the clatter of a blade spinning across the floor, then lost his balance and went tumbling down onto Vanessa’s side of the wall. His head hit the pavement hard. The impact knocked his thoughts into a thousand pieces. He was dimly aware of blinking up at the rain—Vanessa’s concerned face looming over him—the curses of Mr. Krook and Kepler on the other side of the wall as they struggled to reposition the crates.
Run, Vanessa was saying. We have to run.
And somehow he was, he was hurrying down alleyway after alleyway on legs that felt weak and doddery. Several times he almost collapsed completely. The pain in his head was unbearable. He touched his fingers to his skull and they came back slick with rain and blood.
Then it happened.
They stumbled headlong into a foul-smelling alleyway and came face to face with a dead end. Vanessa cried out with frustration. ‘No!’
There was no way out. The walls were too high, their pursuers too close behind.
‘I thought you knew where we were going,’ she shouted. ‘We’re trapped.’
Tony blinked once, twice. Each time the world slipped a little bit more out of focus. She was right. The alleyway led to a solid brick wall covered with graffiti. Why had he taken them this way? What had he been thinking? Once again he touched his head, and once again he marveled at the amount of blood on his fingertips.
He looked back behind him. Kepler and Krook would be on them any moment. They would hurry round the corner, see him and Vanessa trapped there …
‘Tony!’ It was Vanessa again, this time her voice so far away it might have been coming from inside a seashell. He felt his knees buckle and seconds later he hit the floor. The box tumbled out of his hands, spilling its contents onto the pavement.
‘Tony, no! Can you hear me? Oh no, come on … They’ll be here any second. Wake up!’
He felt fingers running through his hair, raindrops striking his face. He had never been more tired in his life. The ringing in his ears, the pounding ache in his head, they would all stop if he went to sleep. Just a little nap. A few seconds of shut-eye to take the pain away …
The box. Suddenly, lost in the woozy dream logic of concussion, all that mattered was making sure that Martell’s antiques were all right. He couldn’t leave them scattered across the pavement. They were his only shot at finding Martell. They had to be looked after—kept away from Krook and Kepler—
In desperation he tried scooping the spilt antiques back into the box. It was a noble idea, but his arms were reluctant to assist him. They were heavy and clumsy, more like tree branches than human limbs. He managed to scoop up a pair of old boots—and a pocket-watch—but as he tried to wrap his fingers around the next antique, a battered oil lamp, the darkness crept up on him again. He felt the cold, wet lamp against the back of his hand—tried to grasp it—failed. Tried again. Nothing. His finger slid softly down its bronze shell as the last of his strength left him.
‘Tony, wake up. I can hear them getting closer—’
But Vanessa got no further. Tony frowned. There was only darkness now. Someone had turned out the lights. He could still hear everything: the drumming of the rain, his own heavy breathing. But nobody said anything more. Everyone had fallen silent. It was as if the world had suddenly become mute.
Despite the discomfort he forced himself to open his eyes.
In front of him was a billowing cloud of orange smoke.
The taste caught in his throat—peaches—t
he kind grown on golden hillsides, slick with sun. The sweetest taste in the world.
He was about to lose consciousness again when a voice spoke from the centre of the cloud. It was deep and authoritative: the kind of voice that could command armies.
‘Master,’ it said. ‘I am the genie of the lamp—and your wish is my command.’
23 - On The Run
‘Get us out of here!’
Though Vanessa screamed the instruction at the top of her voice, the genie didn’t move. It remained hovering in the alleyway, wrapped up in veils of brightly colored smoke. The smell of peaches had become almost sickly now. It consumed everything.
‘Do it,’ she shouted, drawing Tony’s body tighter to her chest. ‘They’re right behind us. We don’t have time for this.’
The genie’s reply was slow and solemn.
‘I have but one master,’ it said. ‘Only he may command me.’
‘Oh, for goodness … Tony—Tony—Wake up, you imbecile. Make your wish.’
Tony tried to speak but his tongue lay flat and heavy in his mouth. The blow to his head had scrambled his senses. His thoughts fluttered like swarming butterflies. ‘Do it,’ he managed to murmur. His skull felt as if it had been split in two. Maybe it had. There was enough blood. ‘Take us away …’
At once the air filled with the sound of gushing smoke. He was aware of the hurried footsteps of Krook and Kepler advancing towards them, the cool rain running down his face.
Then the world lost its voice.
Instead of frantic drama there was eerie calm—a stillness of sound that enveloped him like a cocoon. He listened to this nothingness, not daring to open his eyes, at peace in a way that made little sense but felt warm and deep, embryonic and perfect. His head no longer hurt. Nothing did. He felt as if he had been physically erased from existence, every part of him wiped into nothingness.