‘Loop the loop,’ Sukie said, twirling a fingertip at her temple. ‘And if you don’t mind me saying, Mr October, you might be a bit mad yourself if you’re thinking of doing what I think you’re thinking of doing.’
‘There’s a little madness in us all,’ Mr October said. ‘Yes, he’s unstable, so unstable the Ministry encouraged him to take an early retirement, but if we’re to stop the train reaching its destination, he’s the man for the job. A one-man army, in fact.’
‘Kirk. . .’ I said. The name meant nothing. I’d never heard it mentioned until now.
‘The reason he’s never mentioned,’ Sukie said, ‘is that everyone’s afraid of him, afraid even to speak his name.’
Mr October agreed. ‘True, but he’s as loyal as they come, a Ministry man through and through. So this is our task,’ he said. ‘We’ll travel to the forest where he lives and persuade him to join our mission. I believe, Ben, that your mother and the others in enemy hands stand a greater chance if we can bring him onside. And when we explain our situation it’ll be easier to convince him if he sees your face.’
‘I still think it’s nuts,’ Sukie said. ‘But that’s just me. Just my opinion.’
‘My decision is final,’ Mr October said. ‘Oh, and Sukie? There’s another matter to clear up before tomorrow night. We’ll need your help on this.’
‘I know what’s coming,’ Sukie said, her eyes lighting up. Whatever it was she already knew, it must be good.
Mr October continued. ‘It’s a small assignment but a vital one. It concerns the school on Mercy Road.’
On the way to receipts he described the plan he had in mind, detail by detail, and Becky squealed with pleasure. Most of what he said washed over me, though. I was too concerned with other things – Mum’s ordeal, my returning gift, and the fearsome one-man army we were soon to meet – to make any sense of it at all.
22
THE LAST BERSERKER
n the train from Liverpool Street to Chingford, Mr October briefed us on what to expect from the man named Kirk.
‘Above all else, he’s a proud man,’ he said. ‘Violent and volatile, yes, without question, but loyal to a T and proud of his achievements with the Ministry, most of all proud of his lineage. He’s a descendent of ancient warriors, the last of his kind, the last berserker. He still wears his heritage as a badge of honour, so much so that he changed his own surname from Engelstad to Berserker.’
I looked askance at Mr October. ‘So he calls himself . . . what, Kirk Berserker?’
Becky stifled a laugh.
‘That’s his name,’ Mr October said, watching the silver-frosted open spaces of Hackney Downs passing our window. ‘I know, I never thought the name change was a wise move myself, but don’t show your amusement in front of him. In fact, take care not to say anything to upset him. He flies off the handle easily, but that’s why he’s so vital to us. That’s why we must see him.’
‘Now you’re scaring me,’ Becky said. ‘Will we be safe? I’m starting to not like the sound of him.’
Mr October fussed around inside his coat, seeming surprised to find two chocolate bars and two coffee cups with drink-through lids, which he offered to us for the journey.
‘Afraid I’m out of sugar,’ he said. ‘There’s no reason to be scared, Becky, if you stay on the right side of him.’
‘And how do we do that?’ she said.
‘Just be respectful. Compliment him. Don’t hurt his feelings in any way. Be nice to him.’
Becky wasn’t the only one with reservations. The more I thought about Kirk Berserker, the less I imagined I’d have anything to say when we met. I’d be too afraid to speak, let alone compliment him.
As the train trundled towards Epping Forest, I wondered if Mr October’s furious warrior face, which I’d seen for an instant during the lockdown, owed anything to Kirk and his kind. He’d once told me that everyone we meet in life becomes a part of us, for better or worse. Apparently a little part of Mr October was pure berserker.
From Chingford station we went the rest of the way on foot, crossing a deserted golf course and following a wide path over frozen ground towards the dense forestry of Bury Wood and on into a darkness of trees.
The towering oaks and hornbeams grew thickly together, closing out the sky except for a few chinks of daylight above their bare branches. After a time I scented a sweet pine smokiness on the air and heard a regular hammer-like thump and thud in the middle distance. We came to a clearing, the sky brightening where the tall trees had been cropped or burnt back. At the centre of the clearing was a tumbledown shack that looked thrown together without design, its walls made from mismatched lengths of timber and sealed with clay and strips of animal hide. The front door sagged open on leather hinges nailed crudely to its frame, a small window beside it was frosted and dark, and white smoke curled from a lopsided chimney at one end of the flat roof. A black pollarded beech tree stood by the shack, its ten remaining branches reaching for the sky like a witch’s fingers. A sudden movement off to our left caught my eye, and I turned to see the man called Kirk.
The berserker bent his powerful frame over a broad flat tree stump, lifting and positioning a hefty log with one hand, then straightening up, raising a short-handled axe above his head. His limbs were as thick as the log, and he had a lion’s mane of stringy golden hair and a darker, black-streaked tangle of beard. He wore a stitched-together coat of bear or wolf skin, knee-high leather boots and a broad belt with a buckle shaped like a runic symbol that glimmered as Kirk swung the axe.
The stout log became two logs, then three before he looked up. When he saw us, his whole body shivered with mistrust. We’d caught him unawares. He’d been somewhere else in his mind, not chopping wood here in the forest but off in some far away world, and he was still coming back. Then his penetrating gaze found Mr October, and he let loose a cry that rattled the ground.
‘Well, my old sparring partner!’
‘Hardly a sparring partner,’ Mr October said. ‘I would never have been so bold.’
Kirk swished the axe one last time, burying its head in the stump, and came forward, offering a huge hand to crush Mr October’s.
‘So how are you, sir?’ Kirk said. ‘Have to admit I didn’t recognise you straight away. It must be the hat. Makes you look like Jack Palance in Shane.’
The handshake made Mr October wilt and he introduced us in a feeble voice. ‘Pleasure to see you again. This is Ben Harvester and Becky Sanborne, our latest recruits.’
Kirk bared his teeth at us in what I supposed was a smile. ‘Any friend of Mr October’s,’ he said, and I was relieved that he didn’t offer to shake our hands too. ‘Come inside, folks, warm yourselves up. Not much to look at but it’s the place I call home.’
He steered us to the front of the shack. The doorway was quite a bit lower than Kirk’s full height and as he started inside he cracked his head against the frame with a force that would’ve flattened a bull. A murderous look crossed his face. For a moment I thought something terrible was about to happen. But, taking a deep breath to control himself, Kirk stooped to clear the frame and led the way in.
It really wasn’t much to look at, everything crammed into one dingy living space, an unmade bed at one end, a sturdy oak dining table under the front window, and in between a spitting wood-burning stove which didn’t give out enough heat to combat the draught blowing in at the door. Tacked to one wall was a photograph of a brunette woman and two blonde children, boy and girl, all with the same blue eyes as Kirk.
‘Who’re they?’ Becky whispered.
‘Please be seated,’ Kirk said, either ignoring or not hearing her. He crossed to the stove, lowering a tin kettle over a burner while we settled, shivering, at the table.
Through the window we had a partial view of the clearing, everything white and still. The kettle whistled, and Kirk delivered tin mugs of steaming tea, which he banged down in front of us before pulling up a chair for himself.
‘I see y
ou still wear the belt,’ Mr October said.
‘I still wear it with pride,’ Kirk said, turning to offer Becky and me a clear sight of it. ‘The buckle is Uruz, a symbol of tenacity and courage. I’ve worn it every day since my first encounter with the enemy, and I wear it now in retirement because the blood of a warrior still runs through these veins. I never chose to leave the Ministry, but I know when I’m not wanted. I had good times there, though, once.’
A distant look came into his eye. Somewhere behind the fearsome mask there was a longing for what he’d lost, a sadness that for some reason made me less wary of him.
‘Not everyone at the Ministry wished you to go,’ Mr October reassured him. ‘In fact, that’s why we’re here. You’ve probably guessed this is more than a social call. We didn’t come just to say hello.’
‘Oh?’ Kirk said as if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him. ‘Then what can I do for you, sir?’
‘We have a situation,’ Mr October said, and then he went on to explain the nature of it, from Luther Vileheart’s first contact with Mum at the Mare Street café to the leaking of the Bad Saturday list and the living soul train due tomorrow night. Kirk listened in silence, bristling at the mention of Luther Vileheart, Nathan Synister and Professor Adolphus Rictus.
We sipped our teas while Mr October outlined his plan. The tea tasted stewed and soapy, but it seemed wise not to mention that or the freezing draught we were sitting in.
‘So you see, timing is everything,’ Mr October concluded, ‘and we’ll need to meet force with force. As you know, we prefer not to resort to mindless violence except as a last resort. But sometimes it’s necessary, and I know of no one more mindlessly violent than you.’
To Kirk Berserker this was a major compliment. ‘Much appreciated, Mr October. You weren’t so bad in your day either.’ To us he said, ‘He was always my greatest champion and we won many memorable battles together years ago. In one of his other guises he fought like a whirlwind, with superhuman strength and the speedy reactions of a fly. You should’ve seen him.’
‘Those days are long gone,’ Mr October said. ‘That warrior is all but retired. I must admit he always frightened me a little. I’m afraid to let him out again now.’
‘You may have to, come tomorrow night,’ Kirk said. ‘I wish him well if you do, and I’m sorry I won’t be able to join him.’
‘But you’re invited, and very welcome.’
‘I appreciate that, but there’s no honour in a forced retirement. I’ve nothing but respect for you, sir, but as far as your superiors are concerned. . .’ The anger was surfacing again, reddening his face, coursing through him like the first stirrings of a quake. ‘Where they’re concerned, I’ve nothing but contempt. I gave them my best – my all – and see how they repaid me.’
‘I know you and the elders always had your differences,’ Mr October said. ‘But you should know they approved our visit here today. Personal feelings aside, consider this boy’s mother and the other victims. Imagine the consequences if we should lose them.’
Kirk stopped at that. The quake seemed to be passing, no damage done. Now he looked at Becky and me with sudden new interest, head cocked to one side, something stirring behind his eyes.
‘They both have it, don’t they?’ he said to Mr October. ‘The boy most of all, but the girl too. It’s everywhere around them like golden light, more light than I’ve seen on anyone besides your good self. I knew they had to have it or you wouldn’t have enlisted them in the first place. I just didn’t see until now that they had so much of it.’
He slurped his tea, making a face at the soapy taste. He looked tempted to hurl his mug across the shack in disgust, but instead he placed it carefully on the table and gave me a quizzical look that reached deep inside me.
‘It’s because of this gift that they came for your mother,’ he said. ‘I see that now. I know the enemy well, and a gift like yours would terrify them. You’re a warrior too, in your own way. I see your strength and I see your anger . . . a great deal of anger.’
‘They murdered his father,’ Becky said without prompting, then quickly fell silent.
‘The boy saw him off safely after four lost years,’ Mr October said. ‘More recently they crippled his gift by means of toxi-poloxi poisoning, and yet here he is sitting before you, ready to play his part.’
Now the prickly mood had left Kirk Berserker, all I saw on his face was respect. ‘You’ve been through so much, kid,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ I said. It was the first time I’d spoken to him directly.
‘But what you’ve faced already is nothing compared to what you’ll face next,’ he said. ‘What would you give to bring your mother back?’
‘Anything. Everything.’
‘Would you go to the dark side?’
‘Yes. Wherever it is. Whatever it is.’
‘I speak not of a place but a state of mind. The day may come when you’ll have no choice.’ He glanced at Becky, who was cowering down on her chair. ‘You’re young – much too young for that yet – but you should still be prepared, as my own family should have been prepared. . .’
He broke off, and with a pained expression looked over at the woman and children in the photograph. His family, then. Something had happened to his family. And I remembered what Mr October had said in the personnel room. With grief comes anger.
‘I wouldn’t wish that journey to the dark side on anyone,’ Kirk continued. ‘It’s to be hoped Mr October’s rescue plan succeeds, otherwise you may just have to go there.’
I wasn’t clear about his meaning, but he didn’t say more. Having spoken his piece, he sat back from the table to study me, fascinated by whatever he saw in the air around me.
‘So what do you say?’ Mr October asked. ‘The offer stands, regardless of how you feel about the elders.’
‘Let me sleep on it. You’ll have my decision in time.’
‘That’s fair. I can’t ask for more.’
We left soon afterwards, our tea unfinished and cooling on the table, and crossed the clearing while Kirk watched us off from the door.
Returning through the shade of tall trees, I wondered about the golden light he’d described. I’d never seen anything like it around my reflection in mirrors. Becky must have been thinking the same thing, because as we followed the path out of the woods she said excitedly, ‘Did you notice how he looked at us, Ben? I mean, how he looked at you in particular?’
‘Yeah. Something he saw seemed to interest him.’
‘It was more than interest. Not even respect. It was something else. Maybe it didn’t show on his face but I definitely felt it. It was there all right, no mistaking it.’
‘No mistaking what?’
‘Fear,’ she said. ‘You could knock me down with a feather. That man – that beast – was afraid of you.’
23
SUKIE
’d been starting to think I’d never see home again, but I was back on Middleton Road before nightfall. The first thing I did was take out the trash, stuffing the harbour-side photograph of Mum and Vileheart into a waste bag with the flowers he had brought to dinner. Later I’d find Dad’s photo and put it back where it belonged, but there were more unwanted gifts to throw out first.
As I added the comic, the Moleskine sketchbook and the pencil case to the bag, my trainer bumped something solid on the bedroom carpet – the tin box containing my four-leaf clover chain.
The last time I’d seen it, the clover chain had been rotten and shrivelled. Now it nestled lush and green inside the box, good as new. I stared at it in wonder, turning it around between my fingers. How could it still be alive? Returning it to its box, I closed the lid and set the box back on the shelf.
After dumping the bag down the waste chute outside, I went to the bathroom and scrubbed the feel of Vileheart’s gifts off my hands until my fingers were raw. Later, I lay awake on the bed, feeling Mum’s absence in the empty maisonette. I should’ve been out there helping with the searc
h, but there were many highly-skilled agents on the case and Mr October had insisted I’d need all my strength for tomorrow.
Sleep wouldn’t come. There was too much to think about, too many questions. Kirk Berserker, the mighty warrior who made the enemy quake in their boots . . . afraid of me? He’d seen my gift, but what else had he seen? Would Sukie’s assignment succeed as planned? In the darkness I saw grinning Professor Rictus jump at me, the living surgical instruments twisting in his grasp.
In the end I drifted off at around two in the morning and woke just before seven, about the same time our PSHE teacher Miss Whittaker was waking with a sneeze in her small flat across town on Wellington Row.
Today Miss Whittaker bathed, dressed and breakfasted with a tingle in her throat. Typically, the head cold hadn’t come over her until Saturday, three days after her winter flu jab. But she would see off this bug like all the others. She hadn’t missed a day’s teaching in her life and she wasn’t about to miss today for something as trivial as this.
After breakfast she washed and put away the dishes, leaving herself no after-work jobs. Everything in Miss Whittaker’s studio flat, like Miss Whittaker, was orderly, organised and slightly old-fashioned. On her dining table was the thick novel she’d started reading last night and a vase of freesias and lilies she’d bought at yesterday’s flower market around the corner on Columbia Road. She was refilling the vase with fresh water at the sink when her doorbell sounded the first four notes of ‘Frère Jacques’.
Miss Whittaker left the vase and went to peer through the spyhole. Framed in her fish-eye view, a young dark-haired woman in a black and white houndstooth coat stood outside holding a clipboard. She looked harmless enough and smiled politely when Miss Whittaker unchained and opened the door.
The visitor introduced herself as Tabitha and apologised for calling so early. She was here on behalf of the residents association, she said, to conduct a Q & A about the building and its services. Her emerald eyes were unblinking and her voice was soft and mesmeric. Miss Whittaker never felt herself being hypnotised while she explained she was due at work and asked Tabitha to call again later, after four.
The Great and Dangerous Page 20