In the Shadow of London

by Chris Ward

  She started to stand up at the same time Lindon did. Her hand closed over his arm and squeezed the muscle tight. ‘Oh my,’ she breathed into his ear, a tongue that felt only part flesh tickling his skin. ‘You’re quite something, aren’t you? I can’t imagine why she would want to kill herself.’

  Lindon waited until she had gone before he let his rage take over. With her voice echoing in his ears, he flipped over whatever the DCA had already failed to overturn, and by the time his anger abated a few minutes later, the room looked like a hurricane had blown through it.

  As he crouched in the middle of his wrecked living room, breathing hard, he wondered if she was right.

  Could the Governor really heal Cah? And was the price he would have to pay worth it?

  48

  Saturday

  David stood on the rooftop of the old bank, watching the mob on the street below tearing the shutters off the entrance to the military recruitment agency. It seemed like years since he had watched a similar mob trying to derail a train with wire rope taken from a crane on the day when everything had begun, but by his estimation it was less than a month ago.

  How different he felt now. He remembered the confidence, the complete assurance that everything would work out, that the fall of the government was just a matter of time. All he could feel now was the approaching of a final deadly train, one that would carry him away to his own brutal end.

  With hands that shook from hunger, he twisted the straps around his wrists and pointed the grapnel at a taller building across the street. As the wire whizzed across and caught on a stone balustrade, he tugged it, making sure it was caught tight, then he dropped off the edge of the building, retracting the grapnel at the same time. As he landed in a crouch on the road a short distance back from the mob, his feet stinging from the impact, he remembered the fall that had left him limping these last few days. Pressing the release on the grapnel, he heard the pincer-shaped hook fall to the floor and he wound it in by hand, trying to conserve the board’s power. He was already out of explosives and the flashlight bulb was fading, but while the electromagnet still worked he could still ride, and while he could still ride he could still make a difference.

  He stowed the board behind a pile of trashcans and ran to catch up with the mob. ‘For Marta!’ he screamed as he piled in at the back end, tossing a rock at the shuttered upper windows. ‘You died for us and we’ll die for you!’

  Others took up the cry as the mob surged forward. With a roar of triumph, the shutters came loose and the glass doors behind burst inwards beneath the power of a dozen kicking boots. People surged into the recruitment building and David stood back, happy to watch others loot and destroy.

  ‘Glory to revolution,’ muttered an old man at his side.

  David turned and clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘Today their offices, tomorrow their walls,’ he said. ‘Freedom to London!’

  ‘You got that right,’ the man said. ‘Shame they’re going to kill that Banks girl, but when they do, you watch what happens. There’ll be civil fucking war.’

  David turned. ‘What do you mean? She’s already dead.’

  ‘Not on your life she is.’

  ‘Marta Banks is dead,’ he said again, hating himself at the same time for using Airie’s death as a banner for revolution. I watched her die, he nearly added, but caught himself at the last moment.

  ‘No, no,’ the old man said, shaking his shaggy head. ‘Didn’t you hear? They caught her freeing some family from a bunch of Huntsmen. This Saturday the Governor is going to show himself. He’s going to offer her a pardon if she calms us bastards down. Since that’s unlikely to happen, it looks like it’s off with her head. Isn’t that what they say?’

  ‘She’s alive?’ David grabbed the man’s arm, but the old timer was done. He pushed David away and stumbled forward, screaming with his fists raised as the upper floor windows burst open, showering glass down on to the street.

  Was Airie alive? He didn’t dare believe it.

  Leaving the mob to the destruction, he turned and sprinted back to where he had hidden the board.

  ‘Back again so soon?’ Benny grinned. ‘I bet I get more visits than your mother.’

  ‘She’s alive.’ David staggered down the steps and slumped into a chair. The clawboard bounced off the floor beneath him as it slipped out of his hand. ‘Airie … she’s not dead.’

  ‘So you’ve heard? It’s pretty hard to get in touch with you these days.’ Benny reached down and picked up a bag at his feet, tossing it towards David. ‘Bread. Eat before I feel so guilty I start to lose weight.’

  ‘I can’t stop.’

  ‘Yeah, you can. By the look of it you have about five minutes of heroism left before you pass out, so get up top and set us adrift. I’ll drop you off by Westminster Bridge in the morning if you survive the night.’

  David nodded. He went up onto the deck and stepped across to the shore, peering out at the dark river with a growing sense of paranoia as he unwound the rope from the stone bollard Benny had used to moor the boat. As they drifted languidly out into the river, he let out a sigh of relief.

  Back inside, he chewed down the tough, tasteless bread rolls as Benny told him what he knew.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Saturday. In Parliament Tower Plaza. All citizens of London are invited to a public address by the Governor at four in the afternoon.’

  ‘Why so late?’

  ‘You’ve heard the rumours that he doesn’t enjoy the sunlight so much? I’d guess that’s why.’

  ‘I need to go to the Tank and gather support. That will be our time to strike.’

  ‘You think the Governor will be unguarded? I’ve heard he doesn’t really require a guard, but the place will be bristling with defenses. You won’t get near him.’

  David shook his head. ‘We don’t need to get near him. We take Parliament Tower.’

  ‘Are you crazy? You won’t get within a mile of it.’

  ‘Whatever firepower the Governor has in London will be guarding him. While he’s out, we burn down his house.’

  Benny started to laugh. ‘I’ve known some crazy people in my time, but you’re up there, man. You’re right up there.’

  ‘Think it’ll work?’

  Benny shrugged his huge shoulders. ‘I don’t think you have a chance. None. But you never know unless you try.’

  Tim was pestering her again, but Mika found that despite the irony of his name she was warming to the Tank’s leader. And now, knowing that Airie was alive, she was no longer burdened by a solo grief, but by an unstoppable fear of what was about to happen.

  ‘What is it?’ he said.

  Mika lifted the circular object up on to the table and switched it on. It made no sound or movement, but when she pulled a transistor radio out of a drawer and began to twist the controls, all they could hear was static.

  ‘It jams radio waves,’ she said. ‘It was in Rick’s bag with the boards. According to my calculations, it will work within a two mile radius, though I haven’t tested it over a distance yet.’

  Tim rubbed his chin. ‘What frequencies can it jam?’

  Mika shrugged. ‘It’s pretty primitive. It’s designed to jam everything short and medium wave, the kind of frequencies used in man-to-man CB radio. Like the ones the DCA use to communicate.’

  ‘So we could block them from communicating with each other?’

  ‘Yes. You could—’

  The door burst open and a bedraggled figure staggered into the room. Mika stared. It had only been a few days since she had last seen David, but he looked like he had gone off to war and only part of him had returned. His once-lustrous hair was greasy and lank as it framed a face stained with dirt and blood.

  ‘Saturday,’ he gasped, leaning on a desk to support himself, nearly upending it as one leg gave way. Tim moved to grab his other arm and pulled him forward on to a chair. ‘They’ll kill her Saturday. We have to stand up and fight.’

  Tim exchange
d a glance with Mika. She noticed his eyes linger for a moment on the radio transmission jammer.

  ‘It’s too soon,’ Tim said, his voice lacking conviction, as if he wanted David to persuade him. ‘We don’t have enough time to arm and prepare the men.’

  ‘Too soon or never,’ David said. ‘London is in turmoil. The people will rise for Marta Banks. When they do, you cut out his heart from the inside.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We take Parliament Tower.’

  Tim began to laugh. ‘You’re a madman.’

  Mika stood up. ‘If those inside the tower can’t communicate with those on the outside, no one will know until it’s too late.’

  ‘And once we’re inside the tower, we can take control of the city. The people will follow us. The Governor’s forces will be routed.’

  ‘He’ll release the Huntsmen.’

  David turned to Mika. ‘You worked for them. How can we stop them?’

  Mika took a deep breath. ‘The Huntsmen are a law onto themselves. The Department of Civil Affairs has little control over them. They obey the rule of one person only.’

  ‘Then we find a way to capture or disable that person. Who is it?’

  The name felt like poison on Mika’s tongue, and she wondered how many people would die as a result of her suggestion. But like a derailed train, it was too late.

  ‘Dreggo.’

  49

  Stirrings

  It always entertained Dreggo to see Farrell Soars angry, but today he had a look on his face that could have sent thunderclouds scurrying away in fear. He walked to one end of the messy office, lifted his hands as if imploring some unseen deity, then dropped them and walked back to the opposite wall, where he carried out the same ritual again.

  ‘I need three hundred men.’ He scowled as he strode past her for the fourth or fifth time. ‘Or two hundred with better weapons. Or thirty Huntsmen.’

  Dreggo sat up. ‘The blood of too many of my Huntsmen is already on your hands,’ she snarled at him. ‘Sorel didn’t need to die.’

  ‘That machine was put out of its misery,’ Soars shot back. ‘It obstructed the capture of two Tube Riders. I would have shot it myself had I been there.’

  ‘It’s lucky for you that you weren’t.’

  ‘The Tube Riders should be in custody. Your incompetence let them escape.’

  Dreggo rose to her feet. The Governor trusted Farrell Soars; otherwise she would have arranged for a knife to find its way into his throat.

  ‘I thought you didn’t care about the Tube Riders.’

  ‘I care about the Governor’s orders. And if he wants them dead, so do I. It’s a shame he’s surrounded himself with idiots who can’t control their charges.’

  ‘I would suggest you watch your words around me.’

  Soars matched her gaze. ‘I’ll stay out of Huntsman affairs if you stay away from the DCA. I don’t care about your rank. You’re as incompetent as the creatures you lead.’

  ‘I could have you killed….’

  ‘And then you’d never catch the Tube Riders.’ He slammed a fist against a filing cabinet. ‘Get me three hundred armed men and I’ll have that place cleaned out by nightfall tomorrow.’

  Dreggo gave up. It was an argument they had repeated a dozen times. ‘The Governor will never let you raze the Tank,’ she said. ‘It keeps order better than your worthless police force.’

  ‘The Governor will understand that sometimes a purge is the only way. You know the Tank is behind these mob riots as well as I. There have been five major incidents since that girl was captured. You want to tell me the two aren’t related?’

  She knew he was right, but simply eradicating the Tank had little strategic gain. Instead of organised crime, the city would be flooded with chaos. Then there was the possibility that the Tank had weapons. The Governor had taught her a lot in the short time she had stood by his side. Armies were just pawns, he said. Wars were fought by a few individuals with power. The will of one powerful voice could dictate the will of thousands of others.

  Tim Cold controlled the Tank, and they would fight on his command. If the Tank was armed, it made more sense for its people to be fighting for the government than against it.

  ‘We harness it,’ she said quietly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Tank. Destroying it serves no purpose. Having it on our side, however … is of much greater use.’

  Soars glared at her. ‘Eventually you’ll come around,’ he said, then stalked out of the room, his footsteps echoing in his wake.

  Dreggo rubbed her chin. She knew little of Tim Cold. His name had floated around Cross Jumper circles from time to time, but no one knew much beyond that he led the Tank. It would be difficult to control him.

  Lindon, on the other hand, was like a muscular statue made from soft clay, waiting for manipulation.

  She licked her lips. Yes, manipulating Lindon would be easy.

  The ship was almost ready. The Governor stood by the railing of the viewing platform high above the hanger where the craft was being assembled, watching the events with an air of dissatisfaction. How many was it now? Ten? Twenty?

  It didn’t help that his best scientists kept either dying or disappearing, but the materials they had to work with were poor, and the technology for building Earth-orbiting craft was near-obsolete. The biggest problem, of course, with oil stocks so low and nuclear power unpredictable, was the lack of a viable fuel source.

  It would only take one, he knew. One ship to reach orbit, to use the coding signal to find the old Russian satellite that had long ago been set adrift, to lock on to it and to bring its priceless cargo home.

  It would only take one, but how many more years would he have to wait?

  Dissatisfaction was beginning to rule the people again. He had to be careful; his frustrations were getting the better of him. The people were beginning to stir. Ruling with a bloodstained iron hand had never been his intention, but sometimes there was only one way to exert control.

  With raw, brutal power.

  He gave a slow nod. It would be so nice to demonstrate his power on Marta Banks and subdue the people for good, but she was gone, hiding in a tunnel like the rat she was. The other girl—what was her name?—would be a useful replacement.

  Dreggo was convinced her prisoner knew more than she let on. Dreggo was ruled by anger and hatred, but her conviction had been worth checking. His instinct had been right though. The girl had known nothing.

  Not about Marta Banks at least. Her mind had been interesting, a turmoil of confusion and emotions that he had found himself picking through like old toys thrown haphazardly into a box. He had tried to probe her, and like many people she had subconsciously thrown up an image of something valuable, something special to her, in order to block him out.

  A peach.

  Where would a girl like that have seen such a thing?

  The Governor looked back at the craft being assembled below him. Soon, perhaps, Dreggo would get what she wanted.

  Saturday. On Saturday he would remind the people of their place, and restore peace to London.

  Frank rubbed cream into Cah’s forehead. It had been several hours since she had fallen asleep, and he had little hope for her to wake again. Even when she had been conscious, her eyes had watched him with a dull disappointment, as if the only thing she wanted in the whole world was to replace his with another face.

  ‘Lindon….’

  Frank started, at first thinking he was hearing things. Then he saw her lips move slightly and she whispered the name again.

  ‘He’s coming soon,’ Frank muttered. ‘Hang on, girl.’

  She gave a slow nod and relaxed into the pillows, her head lolling to the side. She had a day or two left at most.

  Where was that damn boy?

  Frank had sent half a dozen messages into the Tank, asking for Lindon to come. Cah was dying, and there was nothing Frank could do about it. Lindon had nothing left except a chance to say goodbye, but i
f he waited much longer he wouldn’t even have that.

  ‘Stay here, girl,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll find that fool myself.’

  He patted her on the cheek, then went out, closing the door. Dusk had fallen, bringing with it all the usual sirens and distant explosions. Frank hadn’t been outside after nightfall in years, because no one respected the aged anymore, and he was a mugging waiting to happen.

  He pulled on a jacket and slid a couple of small weapons into the pockets, a knife and a little electrical stunner that would knock someone out for a couple of minutes. He had his gun of course, with its two bullets, but he decided to leave that in the house.

  The air was chilly but surprisingly fresh as he laboured his way in a generally southeast direction, weighing up the options for travel plans as he stumped one slow step at a time. Bus, taxi, or Underground? God, what a choice. He remembered the days when he could have used any in relative safety. Get on, get off. What was the world coming to when you couldn’t trust a bus that came trundling towards you, and there weren’t even any taxis left?

  Up ahead, where the street angled downhill towards the Underground station, a group of people had gathered outside a boarded-up betting shop.

  Frank smelt the pungent scent of illegal homebrew long before he reached the group. They were strangely quiet for the beginnings of a mob; he had expected stirring speeches of defiance and revolution, but the men were talking quietly, sipping whatever piss they were drinking from recycled plastic cups.

  ‘A good evening to one and all,’ Frank growled, limping up to the back of the group. ‘A fine night for a festival, wouldn’t you say?’

  The nearest man turned towards him. ‘What do you want, old man?’

  Frank grinned. ‘A cup of ye’s finest ale wouldn’t go amiss, friend,’ he said, holding out a bony hand. ‘What’s the toast?’