by Gill, J. G.
“So who have we got then?” said Troy, quickly scanning the heads in the kitchen. “Okay, Calix, Bede, Ian and me. Just us four.” He shook his head and sighed. “Man, there’re thirty people who don’t have a home to go to tonight. We need to warn them.”
“There’s no time for that,” said Calix. “We’ve got to run for it while we can.” She wrenched the door handle, pushing frantically against the wood. It was no use.
“It’s stuck!” she said.
Troy brushed past Calix and Bede and slammed his shoulder against the door as hard as he could, his face crinkling with pain. The wood crackled and there was a sharp, splintering noise as the rusty hinges gave way. Troy propped open the door and the others squeezed into the garden which was thick with ivy, thorny brambles and long, stringy weeds. Troy and Bede wrapped their hands in their coat sleeves and began tearing a path through it. They had just about reached the fence line when Shrapnel suddenly appeared.
“Shrap, what you doing here?” said Troy. “You’ve got to get going man, the cops are after us.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Shrapnel. He put his fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle.
“Shrap! What the hell are you doing?” said Troy.
Shrapnel shrugged. “Sorry man, I’m just doing what I have to do.”
“What are you on about?” said Bede.
“It’s you, Bede. They want you.”
Troy turned to Bede, his eyes glowering.
“I don’t believe it,” he said. “You two little punks have completely wrecked the home of thirty people! How could you be so stupid?”
Bede felt as if he’d been punched. “Why?” he said to Shrapnel. “I thought we were friends?” He turned to Troy but Troy stopped him before he could speak.
“No man, don’t even start. Sorry ain’t going to cut it. As for you…” Troy turned to Shrapnel. “You disgust me. Forget about us being family, it’s over.”
Shrapnel opened his mouth to reply when a loud, splintering noise suddenly burst through the conversation. The police were now breaking down the side of the fence and black uniforms were pouring into the far side of the garden.
“Stop where you are, all of you!” someone shouted.
“Quick, over the fence,” said Troy.
“Hey, they’re about to…” Shrapnel called to the police, his voice trailing off as Troy delivered a punch to his head, knocking him out cold.
“Calix, give me your foot,” said Troy. “When you’re over, start running.”
Bede watched Calix catapult over the fence, before Troy turned to Ian.
“C’mon mate, you’re next.”
Ian wrinkled his mouth sceptically as he put his large boot in Troy’s hand.
“Bede, once he grabs the top of the fence, shove his butt up. Ready? One, two…”
Ian gave a loud grunt and pulled himself up the wall, straddling the fence like a large sausage suspended on a meat hook, before managing to haul one leg, then the other, over the top. They heard him drop with a thud on the other side. Troy turned to Bede.
“C’mon,” he said.
Bede shook his head. “No. It’s me they want,” he said, locking his fingers together and lowering his cupped palms towards Troy. “Give me your foot.”
Troy glared at him. “Nah. You want to do the guilt thing, fine, I’m happy to help. But right now you’re getting your arse over that fence. Now move it.”
Bede met Troy’s black eyes with a level stare, as the sound of policemen thrashing through the undergrowth rose steadily in his ears.
“Thanks, I owe you,” said Bede quietly. He scrambled, over the fence just in time to see Calix and Ian sprinting across the neighbouring park. He dropped lightly to the ground and began pacing nervously, waiting for Troy to clear the fence. There was a loud thwack on the other side of the boards and the dry, scraping sound of feet scrabbling against wood. Troy’s head popped over of the top of the panels, his long, sinewy arms tensing as he heaved his torso over the ridge. He glanced down to see Bede looking back up him.
“I thought I told you to run,” he said.
“Not ‘till I knew you’d made it,” said Bede.
“C’mon,” said Troy, dropping to the ground and pulling Bede into a gallop.
They caught up with the others, just as Calix’s legs were disappearing through a rough hole in a hedge. Ian was looking doubtful.
“It’s all right for a skinny chick like Calix, but how am I going to get this...” he pointed to his belly, “…through that,” he said, pointing to the small hole.
“We’ll push, now hurry up,” said Troy.
Ian lay down on his stomach and started wriggling towards the hole. He was half way through it when he started to yelp.
“I’m stuck!”
Troy and Bede began frantically tearing at the branches, bloodying their hands as they tried to make the hole bigger. Bede glanced behind him to see the first policeman scaling the fence.
“Hurry!” he said.
“If I ever see you eat another pork pie, Ian…” said Troy.
“Sorry man,” wheezed Ian from under the bushes.
“Cut the “sorry”, just keep going!”
With one last heave Ian finally clawed his way out of the hole.
“You two, stop right there,” a voice shouted.
“Quick!”
Bede felt himself being pushed to the ground and he scrambled forwards with the instincts of a hunted animal. He’d barely had time to get back on his feet when Troy came hurtling through the gap after him. They were now standing in the middle of the park. It was a huge, flat expanse of green, with a duck pond in the middle and a road bordering the far side. Calix and Ian were fast approaching the pond.
“Stay clear of the road,” shouted Troy. “They’ll get you from there.”
Calix turned mid-stride and gave them the thumbs up, before she and Ian veered sharply right.
“If we cut across the diagonal we’ll catch them up quicker,” said Bede.
Police sirens had now seized the airwaves, squeezing out every other sound. Dark uniforms were swirling around the park like black confetti.
“What now?” said Calix, as Bede and Troy drew up alongside her.
“We might be better off if we split up,” said Troy. “Confuse the cops a bit.”
“Yeah, but how are we going to do that?” said Ian.
“Calix, you and Bede go one way. Ian, you and I will go another,” said Troy.
“Fine,” said Bede, “but whatever we do, we’d better do it fast. Those cops are closing in.”
Calix turned to Troy. “I’ll call you,” she said.
He nodded and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Look after yourself, C.”
Bede watched as Troy and Ian doubled back across the park and began heading towards the far west side. Calix tugged urgently on his sleeve.
“Come on, I know the perfect place to hide.”
“Whoa, hang on a minute,” said Bede. “Don’t I get a say in this?”
“Trust me, it’s good,” said Calix.
Bede frowned. He knew this part of the city pretty well himself, and all its hiding places. Calix was asking a lot, expecting him to trust her when they’d only just met.
“Quick, the short cut’s over there,” said Calix, pointing to a pedestrian walkway at the edge of the park. Bede sighed, preparing himself for the leap of faith he was about to take.
CHAPTER XV
Min wasn’t kidding when she said that our escape route wasn’t going to be easy. For a start, it was freezing and no matter how tightly I tried to wrap my coat around me, the cold air still managed to sneak its way in. I concentrated on keeping my teeth from chattering by jamming my tongue to the roof of my mouth, but it only reminded me of just how cold I actually was.
Worse still, my fear of heights had come back with a vengeance. Although I was determined not to look down, it was hard to forget that I was now walking along the steepest tightrope known to man.
Every instinct was screaming at me to stay perfectly still, rather than force my feet to cross the ridiculously narrow strip of rocks in front of me. It didn’t help that the loose scree kept shifting under my feet, throwing me off balance.
Meanwhile, up ahead, it seemed like Min was virtually dancing over the stones, her feet barely ruffling them. I glanced behind me and Thomas also seemed to be strolling along as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“How can you two walk so easily?” I said, trying to steady myself between each word.
Thomas smiled. “Don’t be hard on yourself, Clare. Min and I have had a lot of practice.”
In the distance, I could see the bats circling, just as they had when I’d walked down the silver staircase with Demarge. Their thin, wiry cries echoed eerily around the rocky walls of the chasm, making me feel very twitchy as I remembered what they ate. I only hoped that the door to the outside world was a lot closer than it looked.
***
“I can’t believe you’re just letting them leave?” Morana peered down over the tiny balcony carved high up in the rock face and adjusted a complicated pair of antique theatre glasses. Their many different lenses and cogs whirred gently. “You’d just about killed Thomas and you had the girl right where you wanted her.”
Demarge turned to her wearily.
“Morana, you know very well that I can’t kill Thomas. “Besides, the whole point of imprisoning him and the girl was precisely so they could escape.”
“Why?” said Morana.
“The girl is bait, Morana,” said Demarge, clipping every syllable. “If I’m going to destroy the Slipworld, I need to know where the entrance is, don’t I? Our little Aeon friends are going to lead us straight there. They know, as well as I do, how valuable the girl is to me. It’s why they’re here in the first place, to steal her as their own.”
“And if they succeed?” said Morana.
“Let them try. The girl’s a mortal, she’ll have to come back here eventually. The fact that her brother is now wanted for murder is likely to be a powerful incentive. Don’t worry Morana, the girl will be mine. All in good time.”
“The Aeons aren’t foolish,” said Morana. “They’ll suspect something”
“So let them. There’s nothing they can do about it. I control fate.”
Morana scowled but said nothing, as Demarge continued to study the ridge below intently.
“They must be very weak, not to simply fly,” he said. “I’m sure, though, I can give them even more reason to make haste to the Slipworld.”
He twisted his wrists slowly, as if fastening the caps onto bottles. “Bats, blessed be,” he whispered, gently blowing his palms as if they were covered in dust. Far below, a large cloud of bats began to thicken and boil like black porridge on a hob.
***
It was Thomas who noticed them first. “Min, Clare,” he whispered. “Can you hear that?”
I craned my ear but could hear nothing unusual. Not at first, anyway. It was a couple of seconds before I realised what Thomas had meant – the sickening, unmistakeable drumbeat of thousands of pairs of leathery wings. Glancing up, the sky was now a torrent of black, circling lower and lower in a fast-moving spiral. I could see the bats’ silver bellies glistening in the pale light and their pug noses siphoning the air for scents. Worst of all, I could see their sharp fangs poking down over their bottom lips. A cold shiver slithered down my back.
“Get down!” Min screamed, her voice becoming lost in the cacophony of high pitched chirps and squeals.
I crouched, just in time to feel the bats skim the top of my head and a sharp pain tear at my scalp. As I glanced up, glittering strands of my hair were now disappearing into the darkness and everything had become eerily quiet.
“Is that it?” I whispered.
“Maybe,” said Thomas.
I straightened up, just as the first wing tips were starting to emerge from the black haze ahead of us. The bats had now started to slow down and arc back on themselves.
“They’re coming around again,” said Min. “The light’s our only option.” She turned to me. “Get as low as you can and shield your head with your arms. Don’t stand up until we say.”
I nodded and lay flat on my stomach, covering my head. As I peered through the cage of my arms I could see Min and Thomas join hands, raising their arms high above their heads. The bats were now circling directly above us, their wings suspended in the air like ominous black arches.
“Now!” screamed Thomas.
Blinding flashes of yellow and blue light tore skyward, lighting up the entire path. The two streaks looped in and out of each other like a pair of racing snakes, before blending together and shooting into the swarm of bats in one solid white beam. Hundreds of bodies scattered instantly across the cavern, like seeds bursting from an overripe seed pod. I screamed as I felt one hit my leg and ricochet into the shaft. Light smashed into the walls like a tidal wave, coating the rocks in a white, static fur before slowly dissolving.
“Come on,” said Min, grabbing a fistful of my jacket and dragging me to my feet. I stumbled, Thomas grabbing my arm just in time before I hurtled into the mouth of the cavern. “We must hurry! It won’t be long before he tries something else.” I didn’t need to ask who she meant by “he”.
***
Demarge’s black-gloved hands gripped the stone banister as he stared down at the figures on the ridge, their bodies just tiny dark pinpricks in the distance. His smile was like a scythe.
“Yes,” he said slowly, “use your light, exhaust yourselves, run back to the Slipworld.”
“I still don’t understand why you don’t just kill her,” said Morana, as she casually examined her long, scarlet nails.
“Because, Morana, that would be extremely short-sighted,” said Demarge irritably. “The girl could be very useful, if persuaded.”
He stood up and began walking down the stairs into the dark chamber behind him. In the candlelight, dust and breath entwined themselves in the smoke of the dying fire. A short, fat, man with small eyes was stoking the coals, the black lumps blinking red with surprise as each one was turned. Arius was asleep on the black marble mantelpiece, his green skin gleaming in the dim light. Demarge gently stroked the snake’s head. It opened its eyes dozily.
“Stanley, fetch me the boy,” said Demarge.
“Onto it boss,” the short man grunted.
Demarge watched him disappear into the darkness before turning back to the balcony.
“How far along are they?”
There was a brief pause before Morana answered.
“Not far from the end of the path. They’ll soon be through the door.”
Demarge smiled quietly to himself.
“Ahem,” said someone, clearing their throat.
Demarge’s head snapped around to see a boy standing a few paces behind him. He had one hand slung in the pocket of his jeans and was casually smoking a cigarette.
“Smoking’s bad for your health,” said Demarge, arching his right eyebrow in mock disapproval.
The boy flicked the butt nervously into the garret, uncertain whether or not he was supposed to laugh.
“I need you to do a small job for me.”
“Yeah, what?” said the boy.
Demarge’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, what?” he mimicked. There was a pause. Suddenly, he slammed his fist against the top of the mantelpiece, making the boy jump. “Don’t you ever ‘yeah what’ me again,” said Demarge, his voice dropping down deadly low. “I don’t like it.”
“Sorry,” said the boy quickly. “What can I do for you, boss?”
Demarge unclenched his jaw. “I need you to follow three people and tell me where they go. I want every last detail, and it’s imperative that no one sees you. Do you understand?”
The boy nodded. “Yes, who?”
“A woman, a boy and a girl. Come.” Demarge jerked his head towards the balcony and the boy followed, keeping his distance. “Morana, give the boy the glas
ses,” he demanded
She tore the glasses from her face, glaring at Demarge as she slapped them into the boy’s hands. The cogs whirred and one of the lenses instantly lengthened itself.
“Well?” Demarge said impatiently. The boy looked at the object as if it was a screaming baby he desperately hoped its mother would reclaim.
“Use them to look!” said Demarge.
Morana rolled her eyes. “Mortals,” she sighed. “Useless eyesight, no brains.”
Demarge cut her a poisonous glance.
“I can’t really see anything,” said the boy, holding the binoculars to his face. He paused, to adjust the lenses. “Hang on, yes I can. There’re only two people though. They’re pretty blurry. I think the small one has pale hair?” Morana stifled a told-you-so smirk and said nothing. Demarge exhaled loudly.
“I can see three people with my bare eyes. The girl is walking behind the woman.” The boy continued to peer into the lenses, but it was no use.
“I still can’t see anything more than before,” he said.
Demarge snorted derisively. “Oh never mind!” He snatched the glasses away from the boy and led him back down the stairs from the balcony, into the main room. “It’s just fortunate you’ll be working with another member of my staff, whose eyesight is superb.”
Demarge was now staring at a point fixed somewhere in the near distance, beyond the back of the boy’s head. Tracing his line of sight, the boy turned to see a tall, slim, dark silhouette standing in the doorway. The man stepped out of the shadows and walked silently across the room, followed by a dark, charcoal-grey wolfhound whose head was almost at the same height as the man’s chest. They both stopped at Demarge’s side.
The man was quite a bit older than him, thirties maybe the boy figured, it was hard to tell. In the candlelight, his pale skin was as luminous as liquid porcelain, his thick, platinum hair perfectly smooth and still. It was as if the man had been sculpted from a solid block of frozen milk. Of all his features, though, it was the man’s eyes that the boy noticed the most. They were the palest blue he’d ever seen, the pupils savagely black against the pallid irises.