by Tom Becker
“Are you saying I smell?”
Carnegie snorted. “Everyone smells.”
They came out on to a bustling main road. Though it was getting late in the afternoon, the sun was still hammering down on to the wide pavements. Thirsty shoppers had laid down their bags and were refreshing themselves at tables outside cafés and bars. In the bright sunshine, the scene looked more like a Mediterranean port than North London. At the bus stop, a group of unruly schoolchildren were arguing loudly with one another. Carnegie wrinkled his nose as he stared at the throng of people.
“Give me the Grand any day. Lightsiders are just so . . . pleased with themselves.”
“You get used to it,” Jonathan replied sourly. He stopped on the pavement, bustling humanity flowing around him. Then, in a quieter voice, he asked: “Why are you here, Carnegie? Have you found something out? Are we going back to Darkside?”
The wereman glanced at him.
“Not sure yet. Maybe. It depends on what Alain says.”
“What’s Dad got to do with it?”
“Take me to meet him, and you’ll find out. Which way is home?”
Jonathan pointed down the street, where a red double-decker bus was pulling up at the stop. The schoolchildren stopped arguing long enough to get onboard and scramble up to the top deck.
“That way.”
Carnegie sighed, and pulled his hat down lower over his head.
“I was worried you might say that. Come on, then.”
The two of them headed quickly for the bus. Whereas Jonathan preferred to dodge in and out of the crowds, Carnegie simply barged his way through them, oblivious to the indignant cries of protest. Though he may not have enjoyed being on Lightside, the wereman certainly wasn’t scared by it either.
Jonathan scampered aboard the bus just before the door closed and bought a ticket for himself and Carnegie. The downstairs of the bus was crammed with pensioners and pushchairs, so he headed upstairs to the sunlit top deck. Years of travelling on public transport had left Jonathan at ease with the swaying motion of a moving bus, but as Carnegie laboured along the aisle behind him it became clear that the wereman was less than comfortable. The bus began moving, and he clung grimly to the poles as he edged forward. There was a look in his eyes that suggested he would welcome the opportunity to punish someone – in all probability, Jonathan.
There was a spare seat just in front of the bickering schoolchildren. Jonathan smiled as Carnegie slumped gratefully down.
“You all right?”
The wereman nodded stiffly.
“It’s the height that gets me,” he said. “Give me a carriage any day.”
Jonathan pointed out of the window.
“Yeah, but there’s a lovely view up here,” he said, with mock innocence.
Carnegie muttered an oath under his breath, and looked away.
The bus made slow, staccato progress, struggling through the late afternoon traffic and halting every couple of minutes to take on more passengers. Immediately behind Jonathan and Carnegie, the gang of schoolchildren were getting more and more boisterous. As the bus stopped yet again, two of them began wrestling. One of them knocked into the back of Carnegie, sending his hat flying to the floor. The wereman whirled round, and fixed the offender with a dangerous stare.
“Yeah, what?” said the kid. “You got a problem, weirdo?”
Carnegie’s eyes glinted. Baring his teeth, he lunged forward, firing off a round of rabid, guttural barks. The boy cried out in shock and threw himself out of the way. Jonathan tried to restrain Carnegie, but it was like trying to hold back an avalanche. The wereman lunged forward again, jaws snapping, saliva spraying everywhere, sending the boy crashing to the floor of the bus. Terrified, the gang of schoolchildren ran pell-mell along the aisle and down the steps before clattering off the bus.
The top deck fell into a shocked silence. Carnegie went to retrieve his hat, carefully dusting it off.
“Kids!” he said to himself, almost fondly.
“You can’t get away with that here!” hissed Jonathan. “You’ll get us arrested!”
“For what? Barking? Leave the thinking to me, boy. You just enjoy your view.”
Having suffered from years of neglect, the fact that the Starling house was still standing was a testimony to the enduring nature of Victorian construction. The crumbling brickwork stubbornly refused to give way, still propping up the sagging roof. Battered guttering clung to the side of the building. The windows maintained their grimy lookout. Over the years Jonathan had felt a strange affinity with the house, as if his dad’s illness and obsessions had left them both to fend for themselves. He was proud of the fact that they were still standing, the pair of them, bruised but not beaten.
So as he reached home it was a surprise to see that someone had tried to tame the tangled jungle of the front garden: the long grass had been mown, the weeds dug up, the shrubs cut back. A row of black rubbish sacks lined the driveway.
“Someone’s been busy,” he said thoughtfully.
Carnegie looked the building up and down.
“Nice place. Got character.”
“Yeah. I had a feeling you’d approve. Come on.”
Jonathan went through the gate by the side of the house and down the passageway to the back garden, where he could hear the sound of whirring. He was confronted with the sight of Alain Starling pushing a rusty lawnmower across the thick grass, ignoring its snarled complaints. Unusually for him, Jonathan’s dad was wearing a pair of shorts and a baggy T-shirt. His arms and legs were white and painfully thin, a reminder of his fragile health.
As he watched, Alain came to a halt and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. He straightened at the sight of the Jonathan and the tall figure loping along behind him.
“Hello, son. Seems you’ve brought a guest.”
Carnegie nodded at Jonathan’s father.
“Alain.”
“Elias,” responded Alain.
Jonathan was suddenly acutely aware of how little he knew about the time the two men had spent together in Darkside, the secrets they must have shared. The absence of the person who had brought them together could be felt so keenly that it was almost as if Theresa Starling was standing amongst them. But there was more here, a tension that Jonathan couldn’t explain. Why weren’t they happier to see each other?
“It’s good to see you,” Alain said softly. “It’s been too long.”
Carnegie eyed him critically. “You’ve been living here for too long. You’re getting soft.”
“Physically or emotionally?”
“Both.”
There was a pause.
“I tried to go back,” came the quiet reply.
“I know. You’re almost as crazy as the boy.”
For a second, all that could be heard in the garden was the lazy droning of insects and a plane passing overhead far above them, before Alain laughed, and the tension melted away.
“Like father, like son, they say. Don’t know about you, but I’m gasping for a drink. Let’s go inside.”
Clapping Carnegie on the back, Alain led them inside the house. As Jonathan followed on, he was disturbed to see that the wereman wasn’t smiling, and his face was grim.
4
Alain rummaged through the fridge and dug out a can of beer.
“Do you want one, Elias?” he called back over his shoulder. “I think there’s another cold one in here somewhere. . .”
Carnegie shook his head, and lowered himself rather warily on to a plastic kitchen seat.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve brought my own.”
He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a dirty brown bottle. The wereman removed the cork, and immediately the pungent odour of his explosive “Special Recipe” flooded the Starlings’ kitchen.
“Do y
ou want a Coke, Jonathan?” Alain called out. “Or a lemonade or something?”
“I’m fine, Dad. Come and sit down.”
His dad was acting odd, trying too hard to play the perfect host. He was clearly nervous, though Jonathan couldn’t imagine why. Was it simply because he hadn’t seen Carnegie for years, or was there another, more complicated reason?
Alain settled into a chair and popped open the ringpull on his can. Tipping his head back, he took a long, thirsty gulp.
“So then,” he said, wiping his mouth. “What brings you to Lightside, Elias?”
“I was missing the boy,” Carnegie replied grumpily. “It’s been weeks since anyone tried to kill me.”
Alain laughed. “I hope he wasn’t too much bother.”
“Nearly as bad for my health as you were. Your whole damn family should come with a warning.”
A serious look replaced the smile on Alain’s face.
“I don’t know what might have happened had you not taken care of him,” he said quietly. “I am indebted to you, Elias.”
“Not a problem. Though you might want to think before making too many promises like that. The boy ran up quite a large debt in a short time.”
“Hey! I am here, you know,” Jonathan said peevishly. He hated the way adults always talked about children as if they weren’t there. Alain ruffled his hair fondly, irritating Jonathan even more, then turned back to the wereman.
“But seriously, Elias, why did you come over to Lightside? I know the atmosphere doesn’t agree with you. Is it something to do with Theresa?”
Carnegie took a swig from the dirty bottle, wincing as the fiery liquid scalded his throat. Then he nodded.
“It might be nothing, but I heard something I thought was worth checking with you.”
Jonathan leant forward expectantly.
“I was playing cards at the Casino Sanguino and found myself up against a wight called Ismael. You ever met a wight?”
Jonathan shook his head.
“Foul creatures – sneaky and underhand. Anyway, Ismael was not having the luckiest night, and before too long he owed me a pile of shillings. But I made the mistake of leaving him alone with the dealer for a minute, and when I returned to the table he was nowhere to be seen. Obviously, I couldn’t let him get away with that. If word gets around Darkside you can’t collect your debts, people’ll lose all respect for you.”
“I found out that Ismael had gone into hiding on Robbers’ Marsh, and after several nights scouring the area I managed to track down his barrow. It’s fair to say that Ismael was not exactly happy to see me, especially when I started hitting him. He told me he didn’t have any money and started begging for mercy. When that didn’t work, he offered to give me some information. So I stopped hitting him and waited to see if he knew anything useful.”
“And?” asked Alain.
The wereman scratched his cheek.
“It was all fairly incoherent. I think he would have confessed to murdering James Ripper if he thought it would have helped. But then he mentioned the Cain Club, and my ears pricked up. So I shook him around some more and he told me that he had overheard a conversation about a guy called Orcus, who had made a fortune organizing the kidnapping of a female reporter who had been asking awkward questions. Now, I’m not in the habit of trusting wights, but it sounded pretty familiar to my ears. I’ve put the word out but I can’t find anyone who’s heard of this guy Orcus. Does the name mean anything to you? Did Theresa ever say anything about him?”
Alain rested his head in his hands, concentrating hard. Eventually he looked up and shook his head.
“If she did, it’s not something she ever mentioned to me. Though,” he added wryly, “it wouldn’t be the only thing she wasn’t telling me. She never said a word about the Cain Club at the time.”
“Like I said,” Carnegie replied, “it may be nothing. I just figured it was worth asking.”
“Maybe Mrs Elwood might know something,” Jonathan piped up. “They used to know each other, didn’t they?”
The wereman looked blank.
“Who?”
“Of course!” replied Alain. “You’ve never met Lily Elwood, have you? She’s a Darksider too. She crossed over after Theresa went missing. She’s a wonderful woman – I don’t think Jonathan and I could have got by without her. Why don’t we go and say hello now? She only lives a couple of houses down the road.”
He finished off his beer and rose from the table. With a sigh, Carnegie tucked his bottle back into his suit pocket.
Compared to the battered Starling residence, Mrs Elwood’s house was a picture of ordered calm. Jonathan could see its neatly trimmed lawn from his bedroom window, a sight he had always found reassuring. He had stayed there a few times when his dad had been in hospital, and it had been an oasis of sanity during troubled times. Just walking up the driveway made him more relaxed. This time, however, he saw immediately that something was wrong. Jonathan stopped suddenly and clutched Carnegie’s arm.
“What’s up, boy?”
“The side gate’s open. Ever since she got burgled a couple of years back she’s kept it locked all the time – even when she’s in. I left it open once and she went absolutely mental.”
“Maybe she just forgot this time.”
A grim look passed over Alain’s face.
“Lily never forgets. He’s right – there’s something wrong.”
Carnegie tipped his hat back on his forehead and stretched his grizzled neck muscles, as if he was preparing for a fight. There was a loud click as something popped back into place.
“You two stay here,” the wereman growled. “I’ll let you know when you can come in.”
He stalked on up the driveway, his coat trailing out behind him. Pausing at the window to peer inside, he tried the front door handle. The door swung smoothly open. The wereman glanced back at Jonathan and Alain, and then moved inside, closing the door silently behind him.
“Don’t worry, son,” said Alain, noting the look of concern on Jonathan’s face. “If there’s anything wrong, Elias’ll sort it out.”
Jonathan said nothing, tapping his foot with impatience. He wasn’t used to waiting outside. A minute passed by with agonizing slowness, then another. What was taking Carnegie so long?
“I can’t stand this,” he said eventually. “I’m going in.”
“Jonathan! Wait!”
It was too late. He had already marched off, and within seconds had slipped through the front door and followed the wereman into the house.
He padded around the ground floor, his footsteps sounding deafening in the silence. Jonathan had been dreading the signs of a violent struggle, but everything was where he remembered it: the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, the arrangement of yellow flowers in the front room, the notepad and pencil placed carefully next to the phone in the hallway. But despite the fact that nothing had been disturbed, Jonathan couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad had happened. Where was Carnegie?
He climbed the staircase and found the wereman standing in the bedroom, looking thoughtfully at a piece of paper. An envelope was lying on the bed. He looked up as Jonathan entered.
“What happened to waiting outside?” he growled.
“There was a change of plan. What’s going on? Where is she?”
“No idea. I’ve been through the entire house and there’s no one here. At first I thought she’d just gone out, but then I saw this. The envelope was addressed to you.”
He passed the paper to Jonathan. A note had been scrawled on it in simple, childlike letters:
We have the dwarf. Go to London Zoo tomorrow afternoon at exactly four o’clock, and wait for the zebra inside the entrance. Then we will discuss the conditions for her release. Come alone or the dwarf won’t see the end of the day. You will be watched.
Jonathan looked
up fearfully at the wereman, who gestured at the neatly folded bedspread.
“It’s strange. There’s no sign of a struggle. If someone did take her, it’s one of the smoothest kidnappings I’ve ever seen. Can we be sure this is for real?”
Jonathan picked up the envelope from the bed and, his hands suddenly trembling, pulled out several strands of Mrs Elwood’s long, blonde hair.
“This is real, all right.”
5
Astorm was in the offing. Jonathan hurried down Prince Albert Road under a blanket of swollen grey clouds. The heat had curdled, and the atmosphere was charged with electricity. He could feel beads of sweat dampening his armpits and coating his palms – but whether this was due to the weather conditions or apprehension, Jonathan couldn’t be sure.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he was nervous. During his time in Darkside, Jonathan had compiled a short but poisonous list of enemies, any one of whom could have organized the kidnapping of Mrs Elwood. He wished that Carnegie was striding alongside him. The wereman had wanted to go with him, but the note had been brutally clear on that point: Jonathan had to go alone. Even if Lucien Ripper was lying in wait for him, Jonathan couldn’t risk any harm coming to Mrs Elwood. In Theresa’s absence, she had been the closest thing to a mum he had known. The thought of losing her as well was unbearable.
Nestling in the grounds of Regent’s Park, London Zoo had the air of a secret world all of its own. Skirting round the outside of the genteel park, it was hard to imagine the big cats and gorillas that were roaming around within. Through the first few spits of rain, Jonathan spotted the entrance on the Outer Circle road. It was late afternoon, not long before the zoo closed, and there was no queue at the front gates. Jonathan paid his entrance fee, clattered through the turnstile and surveyed his surroundings.
At first glance, there wasn’t much to see. A network of paths snaked gently down the slope, before disappearing off behind the different enclosures. Only the distant squawk of small birds and the thick smell of dung gave any clue that there were animals present at all. The lateness of the day and the approaching storm had kept the crowds away, and there were only a handful of people milling around near the entrance. Defying the weather, a family tucked into ice creams outside the café, while a group of foreign tourists laughingly compared photographs on their mobile phones. Outside the staked walls of the Gorilla Kingdom, a crocodile of primary school children in brightly coloured jumpers were shouting and squealing with delight.