Erebos

by Ursula Poznanski

  Squamato continued on. Up ahead something big and white was moving, writhing . . .

  ‘I’ve been here,’ Nick cried out. ‘It’s a statue – three men being strangled by snakes. Famous, I think.’

  That earned him a narrow-eyed glance from Victor. ‘The Laocoön group, my friend. Also from ancient Greece. Very apt, by the way.’

  There were warriors standing all round the statue this time too. Nick recognised BloodWork with his glowing red circle around his neck, and Nurax was nearby.

  ‘I suspect it’s a warning,’ Victor said. ‘Laocoön was the one who didn’t want to let the wooden horse into Troy. You do know the story, I hope,’ he added, giving Nick a sideways glance. ‘Poseidon subsequently sent sea snakes, which not only finished off Laocoön, but his sons as well. The game has much in common with a Trojan horse, I feel.’

  Nick pulled a face, and Emily passed Victor a handful of nuts to interrupt his flow of words.

  There had been something the messenger had said before he sent Nick to this location. He’d been amused; his yellow eyes had glowed more brightly than usual – was it the allusion to Troy that he had found so entertaining?

  Nick scrutinised the Laocoön group once more. The men’s contorted faces, their desperate attempts to shake off the snakes . . . the hedge, green and yellow, the flowers planted straighter than any real gardener could ever manage. Nick pictured the chuckling messenger again.

  ‘If you follow the hedge westwards, you will come upon a statue, a monument.’

  For a moment everything went black before Nick’s eyes. Was it . . . was it possible . . . Monument . . .

  ‘I’ve got it!’ Nick shouted. His voice wobbled, and, as he leapt up, so did his chair. ‘I’ve got it now. I’ve got it.’

  Victor looked at him wide-eyed and removed his headset. ‘What? What do you know?’

  ‘The code! I know where we are! It’s . . . look . . . yellow and green and the monument!’

  Emily and Victor exchanged looks of incomprehension. ‘What do you mean, exactly?’ Emily asked gently.

  ‘I know where we are. I’ve figured out the code. Green and yellow and red and blue.’

  They still didn’t get it.

  ‘The colours represent the lines on the London Underground. This is Monument station here, where the Circle and District Line trains run. Yellow and green. Like the hedge. Got it?’

  Victor’s stunned gaze swung back and forth between the screen and Nick’s face. ‘Yes indeed,’ he whispered. ‘Of course. Damn it.’ He reached his hand out to Nick in a solemn gesture. ‘I take back all those things I said about your intellectual capacity. You’re a true genius!’ Victor suffered like a dog in the minutes that followed, because while Emily and Nick were searching every drawer for a map of the Underground, he still had to take care of Squamato.

  ‘Ooh, not a battle now, please! Do you think I could just get out quickly? Nothing’s going on at the moment, absolutely nothing. But if a gnome sends me into the next battle, I’ll be caught for two hours. Oh, what the heck. The messenger can go jump.’ He clicked a couple of times and leapt up.

  Emily had struck gold in the meantime. She spread the map out on one of the little tables in the sofa room. ‘You’re right,’ she said breathlessly and reached for Nick’s hand. ‘The first battle I ever had was on a red river with ruined windmills around it. At first I thought of Don Quixote. But that was nonsense. It’s Holland Park, on the Central Line.’ She placed her finger on the corresponding spot on the map and kept searching.

  The red river. Nick recalled his underground odyssey, and the fact that the river had finally led him to the White City.

  ‘White City,’ he said. ‘After that I followed the pink hedge, in other words the Hammersmith & City Line. There, the first station after Wood Lane: Shepherd’s Bush Market.’ He looked up. ‘You’ve never seen such revolting-looking sheep. There wasn’t much left of the shepherds.’ He traced further with his finger. ‘Goldhawk Road. The golden hawk nearly did for me.’

  ‘The pink hedge,’ Emily yelled. ‘I was there too! That’s where there was the giant tree with the crown in it.’ She tapped the map. ‘Royal Oak. This is crazy.’

  Victor hadn’t said anything, but he was literally vibrating with nervous tension. ‘Yesterday,’ he began, ‘and the previous days as well, they kept announcing to us that we were near Ortolan’s fortress – the place where the deciding battle is going to take place.’ His index finger circled the Circle and District Line. ‘Temple,’ he said. ‘The gnome was most agitated near the temple. Today we started at Monument – ah yes, look at that. Cannon Street is right next to it. But why on earth they shot heads out of the cannons I don’t understand.’

  The three of them studied the multi-coloured Tube map.

  Knightsbridge, Nick thought. It was my downfall, literally. Giant knights who push you off the bridge – why didn’t that occur to me?

  ‘So Ortolan’s fortress is located somewhere near Temple,’ he said, thinking out loud. ‘In the middle of the City of London.’

  ‘It’s obviously not a fortress in the usual sense,’ Emily said. ‘Anybody got an idea how we’re supposed to find it?’

  The problem occupied Nick throughout the following night. There were three of them – how were they supposed to check the catchment areas of four or five Tube stations? What were they even supposed to look for? And if Victor was right, they were nearly out of time.

  CHAPTER 30

  Early next morning a helpful text arrived from Victor.

  The gnomes r babbling about Ortolan & his dark brothers. Maybe we should keep an eye on Blackfriars station as well as Temple.

  He’d also informed Emily. ‘What is there in Blackfriars that’s so special?’ she wrote to Nick.

  But there wasn’t anything, well, except the Blackfriars Bridge, the theatre and the big station – would that pass for a fortress? Apart from that – office buildings, restaurants and . . . that car park where Nick had taken photos! That had been near Blackfriars station. Maybe it was a coincidence – but maybe not.

  Nick quickly ran through the available options in his head. The car park and the Jaguar were his only clues. It was only seven-thirty. If he kept watch in front of the car park for the whole day . . .

  You’re out of your mind.

  The stupid thing was that he couldn’t think of anything better. He sent Emily a text saying he wasn’t going to school, and packed his bag.

  When he arrived at the car park it was eight-fifteen. The place was totally unsuited to surveillance. Not a corner or a recess in sight where Nick could hide. So he walked up and down, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible while keeping an eye on the cars. The car park was clearly popular with the office workers nearby.

  Car after car passed through the yellow-and-black striped barrier. But there was no Jaguar among them.

  It’s no wonder, Dunmore, Nick berated himself. It was a dumb idea. Just because the man parked here once doesn’t mean he’s going to do it again.

  And yet, at the time, the messenger had said that Nick was to come here as often as necessary until he had the photos – and the messenger knew what he was talking about.

  Back to walking up and down the street. A Ford, a Toyota, a Suzuki, another Toyota. A VW Golf. Nick noticed that his attention was drifting. He pulled himself together. Mustn’t let his thoughts wander. A Mercedes. A Honda, another Honda.

  Half an hour later, Nick’s spirits were flagging. His intention of sticking it out for the whole day no longer seemed achievable. Besides, he was cold; he cursed himself for not taking a thicker jacket. He’d stick it out for an hour longer, he owed the others that much . . .

  A silver-grey Jaguar stopped at the barrier. Was it the right one? Nick squinted. LP60 HNR. That was the number. The barrier opened, and the Jaguar swept forwards.

  Victor is right – I’m a genius, a genius!

  He had to be careful not to miss the Jaguar’s owner when he came out of the ca
r park. Where was the pedestrian exit? He could find the car exit, but . . .

  Nick broke into a run. People were coming out over there, was that the right spot? Was there more than one exit?

  He stopped, turned and then saw him. It was undoubtedly the man he’d photographed, and he was walking in the direction of New Bridge Street. Good. Nick simply had to make sure he didn’t lose him. He followed at a distance, hardly daring to blink for fear of losing sight of him.

  They walked down New Bridge Street. Had the man noticed that he was being followed? He appeared to be nervous; every few steps he looked back over his shoulder or hurriedly to the side. Like someone who was afraid. Nick increased the distance between them although it made his gut hurt. He couldn’t allow anything to hold him up, not even the Japanese tourist couple who smilingly asked him the way to St Paul’s Cathedral. Nick pointed wordlessly in the direction he thought was right, and kept walking.

  They reached Bridewell Place, where the man entered an office building that was being renovated. Scaffolding covered most of the front windows and the white facade. Nick stopped, undecided. His first instinct was to go in as well, but he didn’t want to attract attention, not for anything, so he watched his target greet the doorman and walk over to one of the gleaming brass lifts.

  That meant his office must be in one of the upper floors. Of course – expensive car, expensive suit, expensive office. Nick immediately rejected the idea of questioning the doorman. But there were company nameplates mounted in front of the entrance; perhaps they’d be helpful.

  Management consultants, an estate agency. Judging by the man’s appearance, either was possible. A pharmaceutical company, and also a . . . Nick caught his breath. He’d hit the jackpot with the fourth company:

  Soft Suspense

  Games for PCs, phones and consoles.

  Never outdone on the fun.

  Just to be sure Nick took a picture of the nameplate with his phone. Should he let Emily know? No, she was still in school. Victor! He would tell Victor. But Victor wasn’t answering. Damn. Well, then Nick would just go over there.

  He set off for the Tube station, and it was probably only because his senses had been sharpened by the preceding chase that he immediately noticed Rashid on the other side of the street.

  Had he noticed Nick too? Didn’t look like it; Rashid was shuffling along the street with his head down as always, looking neither right nor left. He was carrying some sort of grey-green pouch close to his chest; Nick was dying to know what it contained.

  Naturally Rashid was heading for the office building. Nick ducked into the shadow of an entrance. Rashid stopped, looked up at the facade and got a camera out of his trouser pocket. He was taking photos of the building – from close up, from further way, from different angles.

  Nick had photographed the man’s car, and now Rashid was photographing his office. Presumably he wanted to get shots from the side as well, because he turned left, with the camera still at the ready.

  Nick was waiting for him to appear again, but nothing happened. Nick peered uneasily out of his entrance. If he followed Rashid he might run straight into him. He didn’t want to risk it. He waited another five minutes, told himself he was an idiot and left. Even if Rashid had got away from him, his results from this morning were quite respectable.

  ‘I hope you have a good reason for dragging me out of bed in the middle of the night.’ Victor was standing at the door in his Snoopy dressing gown, yawning, with eyes that were only half open.

  ‘I’ll make you some tea,’ Nick said. ‘And then we’ll talk.’

  ‘You sound like my ex-girlfriend.’ Victor wandered blearily into the kitchen and leaned against the fridge. ‘Incidentally, I fought until four-thirty this morning, around the temple. I’ve got golden armour now, which goes very nicely with my violet lizard skin.’

  Nick turned on the electric jug and put tea leaves in a strainer. ‘Does the name Soft Suspense mean anything to you?’

  ‘Sure,’ Victor yawned. ‘Never outdone on the fun. They did The Damned of the Night, First Shot and Peregrine, among other things. Good games, all of them.’

  ‘They have their offices near Blackfriars. In Bridewell Place.’

  ‘Aha.’ Victor frowned. ‘Sorry, but I’m not sure what you’re getting at.’

  Nick told him about his photography assignment, about the Jaguar and the man it belonged to. ‘That was the only thing during my whole time as a player that had anything to do with Blackfriars. That’s why I went there this morning and waited at the car park. The man turned up, I followed him, and you can guess where he was headed.’

  ‘The Soft Suspense office.’ Victor’s frown deepened. ‘The penny still hasn’t dropped for me. I’m certain that Soft Suspense didn’t develop Erebos. I would have heard about it; there would have been reports in the media ages ago. The gaming world would have been licking their lips waiting for it.’

  ‘What else do you know about the company?’

  ‘Nothing, really. I only know their games. And I know that they swallowed a few smaller software development companies, which is typical in the industry. Their business is doing well. That’s all.’ Nick poured the boiling water over the tea leaves thoughtfully, breathing in the aroma that wafted up.

  ‘There must be some connection between the company and Erebos. One of my classmates was at Bridewell Place as well, taking photos of the building.’

  ‘Really? Was he following the Jaguar guy too?’ Victor gave his head a good hard shake. ‘It’s got me stumped. My brain isn’t working yet. It needs more sleep.’

  ‘But now we’ve finally got a lead. I have to find out who the man is.’

  ‘Yes, that would be good,’ Victor murmured and closed his eyes.

  For the time being Nick abandoned the idea of teasing sensible statements out of him. He carted him to one of the sofas, poured tea into him and scraped together his last remaining coins to buy breakfast for them both.

  While he was waiting in the queue at the bakery he couldn’t resist sending Emily a text.

  Got amazing news. @ Cromer St, wish u were here.

  When he returned, a pale but very alert Victor was waiting for him. ‘I can’t eat anything right now.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘While you were at the shops I was Googling. You’re not going to believe this.’

  He waited until Nick had put down his croissants and dragged him to the laptop. ‘There. Take a look at that.’

  The Soft Suspense website; a new game called Blood of Gods was advertised on their home page. The gods didn’t look Greek though; they looked metallic. Nothing about the graphics resembled Erebos.

  ‘And?’

  Victor put a hand on Nick’s shoulder. ‘That’s only the home page. Go to the news items.’ Nick clicked on ‘News’ and read:

  Soft Suspense is delighted with its record sales for Peregrine. The game sold over 600,000 copies in the first month after its release.

  Below that was a photo of the Jaguar-driver posing in a leather office chair and smiling into the camera. Yesss! Nick thought. My lead was right. Then he saw the photo caption. He exchanged a look with Victor.

  ‘No, can’t be.’

  ‘Yes it is. You’ve struck gold. Aladdin’s treasure. Damn it, Nick, we have to warn him.’

  ‘Yes. You’re right.’ Nick studied the face in the photo that was smiling noncommittally, but his eyes kept returning to the words underneath the picture.

  ‘We have put all our resources and creativity into Peregrine and are delighted that our game has been so well received,’ said Managing Director of Soft Suspense, Andrew Ortolan.

  A bird. Yeah, right. ‘We should have done more research,’ Nick muttered. ‘Then we would have found him a lot earlier.’

  ‘Or maybe not. There are loads of people with that name. Well okay, not loads, but a few.’

  Andrew Ortolan smiled impassively in the photo.

  Had Erebos only been created in order to . . . destro
y him, as the messenger had said? Why? How should they warn him? And above all, about what, exactly?

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Victor said, and dialled the number that he’d found on the company’s home page.

  ‘Yes? Hello? I’d like to speak to Mr Ortolan please. Yes, please put me through.’

  Pause.

  ‘My name is Victor Lansky,’ Victor said, obviously to somebody else. ‘No, he’s not expecting my call.’

  Nick didn’t catch what the secretary said, but he heard her high, disapproving voice.

  ‘As you wish,’ Victor persevered. ‘I’m from the press, and there is something important I need to tell Mr Ortolan.’

  Another shrill, rapid secretary-type answer.

  ‘Please listen to me,’ Victor said with deliberate patience, ‘I’m sure your boss will want to hear what I have to say. No, there’s no message. Sorry? Lansky. L-A-N-S-K-Y. Yes, he can ring me back. And he should hurry up about it!’

  He hung up and snorted. ‘Of course he won’t ring. The cow in reception didn’t even ask my number.’

  ‘Perhaps she saw it on the display?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Victor fished himself a chocolate croissant out of the bag. ‘Private number. Nothing shows up.’

  Nick thought for a moment and pressed the redial button. ‘Good morning, I would like to speak to Mr Ortolan.’

  ‘I’ll put you through to his executive secretary.’

  There was the sound of saxophones until someone answered again at the other end.

  ‘Andrew Ortolan’s office, Anne Wisbourn speaking.’ It was the unpleasant voice from a moment ago.

  ‘Er, hello. My name is Nick Dunmore and I need to speak to Mr Ortolan. Urgently. It’s a matter of life and death.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Life and death! I’m serious!’ Nick’s mouth was dry. How was he going to be able to explain the situation to Ortolan without him thinking he was loony?