Tinkerbell, no doubt wondering what had inspired Sam’s change of heart, led the way upstairs to a room that rumbled ominously in time with the boiler next to it, and tossed Sam’s bag on the bed. Inside the bag were the crown, clothes, the phone card and the chocolate bar that Sam still hadn’t got around to eating, but the Molotov cocktails had been removed. They hadn’t, Sam noticed with a faint smile, removed either the surgical spirit or the Coke cans. Clearly, in the darkness of Soho Square, not even Tinkerbell had seen what a useful weapon the Coke can might be.
The room itself was small, and looked like spare bedrooms everywhere. There were the dusty old books that no one wanted to read, the clock that had stopped three years ago, the tape machine that didn’t work, and the cross above the bed with Christ impaled upon it, a symbol that had always struck Sam as a disturbing thing to worship. The bed was covered with blankets and a flowery duvet cover with frilly bits around the edges. He kicked his shoes off and crawled under the blankets, head languishing on the smelly pillow printed with yet more flowers. There was a spring loose in the mattress that pressed against his ribs, so that he was forced to contort himself into a corner in order to lie comfortably. Above the door was a spider’s web, its occupant waiting patiently for the next meal to fly in.
He closed his eyes, and touched the mind of the spider. The creature was practically blind, completely deaf to the sound of human voices and no use as a spy.
But it was extremely sensitive to even the slightest movement within its web. Sam whispered to it, sent it scuttling under the door and into the corridor outside, sent it crawling its way down the stairs, scampering back and forth, its world shifting up and down, up and down as it hit the verticals on the stairs and ran straight down them as if they weren’t there. Guided by Sam’s mind, his brief impressions of the house, the spider bumped against a banister and crawled up it. There it began to weave another web. When it was completed, Sam withdrew his mind and dozed.
The spider’s web was trembling. Sam could feel it shaking the entire spider’s body as its delicate threads hummed back and forth. Someone was coming up the stairs, and that vibration had disturbed the spider’s silk, which disturbed the spider, which disturbed him and jarred him to full wakefulness.
The door opened. Tinkerbell stood there, smiling down at Sam. ‘Want to come and chat?’
He followed Tinkerbell downstairs into the kitchen. A couple of dozen people, some of them demonic, sat arguing around a long table on which a scratch meal had been laid out: bread rolls, an heroically smelly kind of cheese, and sausages that looked like they could hold a conversation in their own right. As Sam came in, everyone looked at him with a mixture of suspicion and awe.
‘Is that for me?’ Sam asked brightly, sitting down. ‘I haven’t eaten for ages.’ He started tearing into the bread with satisfaction.
At the head of the table sat Gail, a queen holding court. ‘You all know why we’re assembled —’
Sam raised a hand and said through a mouthful of bread, ‘Uh, no. But I’d be interested in finding out, since it seems I’m vital to your plans.’
There was a muttering from a pair of demons in the corner. ‘Hi,’ Sam said cheerfully. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘We are here,’ said Gail, cutting in with a show of determination, ‘to discuss the problem at hand. Seth. And Cronus.’
‘Why is he here?’ hissed someone, ignoring her.
‘Sebastian is here because he knows more about Cronus and Seth than any other. Because he is a Waywalker. And because he is Bearer of Light.’
‘And a charming guy on his own terms,’ murmured Tinkerbell, half to himself.
‘Well said, that man,’ called out Sam. ‘I’m here, from what I gather, because you cannot “hold the universe to hostage” without the Bearer of Light. And because I suspect that without the Ashen’ia I can’t prevent Cronus from being freed. However unfortunate this situation – and, believe me, I dislike it intensely – we do need each other. For the moment.’
His eyes met Gail’s, and he saw something in them like… fear?
‘Quite,’ she said against a swell of murmuring. ‘The situation is… a compromise. For both parties.’
‘On the contrary,’ said someone loudly in a heavy Hadean accent. ‘Now that the bastard child has got himself so exposed, we can take what we want.’
Sam gave a faint, dangerous smile. ‘If you’re under the impression that you can stop Cronus without my cooperation, think again. On the off-chance that Cronus is freed – and to this end Seth has a large army at his disposal – you’ll need a Bearer of Light who’s very sympathetic indeed to your cause.’
‘It will never come to that,’ Gail insisted. ‘No one here – no one at all – intends seeing Cronus freed. What we do mean to achieve is simple. You’ – doggedly meeting Sam’s gaze – ‘will remain with the Ashen’ia until Seth is defeated. In that way we shall ensure the power that we desire.’
‘Power? Gail, you’ve changed. What happened?’ He looked sharply at her, searching her face and again saw… something.
What’s your game? The Gail I knew was not interested in power. Her interests began and ended with preservation of that which she believed in – which was life, pure and simple. Why is she joined with the Ashen’ia? And why does this all seem so wrong?
‘He is dangerous,’ snarled someone.
‘Shut up,’ retorted another.
‘Fire-brains, if you could see as I could see —’
‘Don’t you speak ill of Fire; my master is just as powerful as yours!’
‘Water will always extinguish Fire. You should have thought of that before you gave your allegiance to such an unstable Power!’
At this, uproar broke out, several people yelling abuse seemingly at random. Sam, who felt already that he had the measure of this company, carried on eating with a faint smile on his face and his eyes focused far, far away.
It was some time before even Gail could break through the noise. ‘Gentlemen!’ she yelled. ‘Gentlemen! Enough of this! I asked you here as representatives from each Power. But we are here to discuss the future, not argue about the nature of our organisation!’
‘And what might that be?’ murmured Sam, more to himself than anyone else. A little more loudly he said, ‘So why isn’t Time involved? Why hasn’t the All-Father got his dirty fingers into you, if you hold so many cards?’ He looked at Gail, frowning as he studied her face for answers that weren’t there. ‘Why doesn’t he seem actively involved?’
‘He is,’ someone spat. ‘Through you! His necessary child.’
‘Is he? I suppose he is, in a way. But from Time’s point of view it just doesn’t seem enough.’ Sam’s brows drew tighter together as his eyes moved past Gail to where Tinkerbell lurked. Truly nothing here seemed as if it might work.
‘We Ashen’ia,’ said Gail firmly, taking advantage of a moment’s silence, ‘have waited centuries for an opportunity like this. Let no one here think that, at a time like this, anything will stand in our way.’
Sam swivelled to look at her, eyes bright with concern. ‘You speak like Time himself – nothing stands in his way. Yet the Ashen’ia are surely arrogant to think they can threaten a Greater Power, even with the Bearer of Light.’
‘And you are arrogant to think you’re anything but our prisoner!’ yelled someone.
Silence fell. Sam half turned to look at the man who’d spoken and said, in a low voice, ‘That’s one way of seeing it. But only a fool would say so out loud.’
Placing his hands palms up on the table he calmly studied them as if trying to read his own future. In a level voice he said, ‘All right. We have no reason to trust each other, but we cannot afford to fall out. I cannot say that I believe in your scheme against the Greater Powers, especially since I’ve no intention of letting my head be fried in destroying any one of them. But you shall have your reward.’
‘The only reward we want —’
‘Shut up. If you have nothing u
seful to say then say nothing at all,’ snarled Tinkerbell from the corner, the first time most people there had noticed him.
Several pairs of eyes turned to him. Someone sneered, ‘Don’t you lecture us, night-spawn. You may think that, because of your blood, you are greater than us. But you’re even less than he is.’ A finger stabbed at Sam. ‘At least his blood was first-generation.’
‘I know the nature of my blood. Do you know the whore who mothered you in Hell?’
Gail slammed a hand on the table. ‘We’re not here to argue!’
‘But isn’t that inevitable?’ murmured Sam. ‘With so many Powers represented here? Including rivals such as Order and Chaos, for Time’s sake! Gail, I marvel that you’re part of this.’
Gail’s eyes locked on to Sam’s gaze. ‘You fail to comprehend the nature of the Ashen’ia,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I think it best, Sebastian, that you leave this meeting.’
Sam watched her face for a long time, then rose to his feet. Tinkerbell drew himself out of the shadows and together they left the room.
Tinkerbell followed Sam up to the bedroom. In the doorway Sam stopped, frowning faintly. ‘Night-spawn?’ he asked.
‘Ignorant demons,’ Tinkerbell replied with a shrug.
‘No. There’s more to you than meets the eye, Tinkerbell. Isn’t there?’
‘Naw,’ he said, wagging a finger reprovingly at Sam. ‘You’re the star, not me.’
‘But why are you a part of this? If the Ashen’ia don’t tear themselves apart, they’ll be destroyed by the Powers they sold their souls to. Why are you involved with these crackpots?’
‘And why do you ask questions that won’t get answered? You need the Ashen’ia. So do I. Let’s leave it at that.’ Tinkerbell gently pushed Sam back into the room, and pulled the door shut. Sam hammered on it.
‘What about Time?’ he shouted. ‘Doesn’t he need the Ashen’ia now? Where’s Time, then?’
No one answered.
Sometime later, he felt the spider tremble. Sam closed his eyes, afraid. What have I got myself into?
He lay on the bed, feigning sleep, and listened. He couldn’t even hear the footfall, and was grateful to the spider for its senses, giving him advance warning of intruders. The door creaked. Sam kept utterly still, though his eyelids begged to be open, to see who was there. Very carefully he extended his mind, and encountered a shield of such perfect formation and craft that no mortal could possibly have woven it. An immortal was standing in his doorway, looking down at him.
He heard a man ask in Elysian, ‘Is he all right?’ The voice seemed familiar, but Sam couldn’t place it.
‘He’s fine. Tired.’ Gabriel’s pragmatic voice, easily recognised.
‘Thor is looking for him. He isn’t safe here.’
‘We’ll move him as soon as you want.’
‘Does she know he’s here?’
‘No.’
‘Well, it hardly matters. How does he seem?’
‘Exhausted, both in and out. He’s been through a lot.’
‘Will he discharge the Light?’
‘Possibly. He doesn’t have much left to live for, after all. When push comes to shove, I think he’ll do it. But if he knows in advance, he’ll fight us. And he’s still a tough fighter, however much he’s been through. He might still be able to stop us.’
‘We’ll guarantee he can’t, have no fear. When did he last eat?’
‘He had some bread earlier, but I don’t think he’s had a proper meal for ages. I doubt if he’s slept properly either. He’s been regenerating, sure, but that’s not the same.’
Voices retreating, vibrations on the stair. ‘Does he suspect?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘We must keep him safe. If he finds out, and goes wandering off by himself, Thor or Seth or even Odin will easily be able to pick him off…’
Silence. Sam opened his eyes. Now he knew the voice. Hell, he even knew the mind, that stony wall of blankness that defied all probes but the most powerful. Scrambling out of bed, he rushed to the window, dragging half the bedding with him. He saw a man, tall, slim, hooded like most of the damned Ashen’ia, getting into a red sports car that looked far too young for the clothes he wore. White robes, almost like something out of a biblical drawing. Now the man was leaning out of the window and talking to Gabriel, his hand slowly gesturing as though trying to assert that really the end of the world was something to be relaxed and rational about.
Holy bloody shit, they sold me out…
Sam struggled to raise the window. It was locked. He looked up at the sky and at the road as the car began to reverse, then down at the car again. His eyes narrowed on a back tyre. He bit his lip, squinted at the tyre and tried to get a good enough focus on it to make it burn.
Come on, come on…
Sensation, contact, push against the hubcap for all you’re worth, heat it up as fast as you can, think fires, think lava, think heart of the sun, think rosy red glow, come on, come on…
The car was reversing, making his target even harder to hit. He concentrated until his eyes hurt – and heard a bang. The tyre had burst, black rubber smacking up and down on the ground, pathetic as a fish flapping on dry land. The car skidded, sparks flying from the smoking hub as it cooled rapidly in the breeze, and bashed into a stretch of wooden fencing, lifting it off the ground and carrying straight on as if it wasn’t there into a field of wheat. There the car stopped, trapped on a bump, front wheels suspended slightly above the ground. It scarcely looked like a sports car now; more like a comic-book disaster.
Sam grinned and rubbed his eyes. The driver’s door opened and the robed figure got out. From the way his hands were bunched into fists, and the rapid rising and falling of his chest, this was not one happy bunny. He turned to the house, and Sam lurched away from the window, pressing his back against the wall and looking idiotically cheerful. There was something very satisfying about trashing the car of a mysterious stranger, if he was the mysterious stranger you thought he was.
Think, Sam. Think. What is he doing here, why haven’t they just killed me already if he’s here?
Time to get out, perhaps. Whatever his gratitude to the Ashen’ia for their hospitality, now might be a good moment to say thanks…
Sam ran for his bag, found the surgical spirit, pulled it out. He splashed it across the floor in front of the door, sending up a vile stench, soaking the wood. Surgical spirit, while not as useful as petrol and whisky for sheer explosive force, was a brilliant catalyst of coldfire, as he’d discovered when he’d tried to use it along with a coldfire sterilisation spell on a particularly nasty blister. It might not burn as well as real fire, but it was a terrific way of causing heavy damage that little could prevent, short of a major magical effort.
Sam heard footsteps on the stairs, even as the little spider curled away from the vibrations of all those feet. He kept pouring, watching the clear liquid spill out under the door and into the corridor beyond. There was a squelching sound, and a voice asked, ‘What’s that smell?’
‘Surgical spirit,’ said Tinkerbell’s voice. Then, louder, meant for Sam’s ears, ‘That’s very impressive, but it doesn’t make things easier for anyone.’
‘Tell me, Tinkerbell, are you possibly standing in the stuff?’ Long silence, that Sam took to be a yes. ‘Only it goes up brilliantly when you apply a coldfire spark to it.’
More silence. Then, ‘Why are you doing this, Sebastian? I thought you were on our side.’
‘I am. But it seems you want to turn me over to the enemy, so I’ve kinda rethought my position.’
A silence even longer than before. Sam let it last, counting under his breath. The guys outside were very, very uncomfortable if they couldn’t think of anything to say for over fifteen agonising seconds. ‘What makes you think we’re doing that?’ asked Tinkerbell finally.
‘Well, let me see. Could it be the fact that a guy bearing a remarkable resemblance to Jehovah in voice, mind and abominable fashion
sense has just attempted to leave this house?’
‘So you blew the tyre, huh?’
‘You can tell, can’t you?’ asked Sam, slinging his bag over his shoulder and edging up to the window. He placed one hand over the locking mechanism, pushing his mind into it. It was warded.
‘Look, this isn’t what it seems —’
Timekeepers: Number 2 in Series Page 12