‘We should go,’ she mouths.
She is right of course. They are wasting valuable time and besides, he is unsettled by the librarian, who is still hovering around. Will nods and starts putting the books back. He sees one shelf labelled Greek Gods. Suddenly he feels dizzy; something begins to unravel in his head and he tries to push through the folds of his mind.
Think… think… come on! Something dating back years – something from biblical times and something long before that.
Confusion clouds his thoughts and he steadies himself against the shelf. His fingers brush against a book called Greeks Gods and the Thracians. Something sparks inside of him. That’s it! He makes sure no one is watching and slips the book inside the bag next to the A to Z.
He finds Anna, pretending to browse the shelves. He catches her eye and nods. They leave quickly and hurry up Bishopsgate Road, with their heads down.
‘Something came to me in the library. A memory of something I once knew, but it was patchy with little to hook on to. I think it is something to do with the Stones being inlaid in Moses’ Breastplate of Judgement. And there was also suggestion the Stones could be of Greek origin. I found a book that might hold some answers.’
Using the A to Z, Will and Anna find their way to Abberline Street, a dingy little road tucked away in the dark recesses of Whitechapel, where it seems the sun rarely, if ever, shines. Damp and slippery cobbles make for slow and difficult progress. The houses are rundown Victorian tenements from which come the sound of mothers at the end of their tether, and babies crying for attention and food. A skinny boy with a dirty face and grave expression watches them approach. He reminds Will of Sam. Will smiles to himself and wonders where Sam is.
‘Number thirteen,’ says Anna, pointing.
It is dark inside, but Will could swear he caught sight of movement.
‘Someone is inside.’
‘Yes, I saw.’
‘We should let them know we are here,’ he says, stepping forward and knocking the door. From the other side, he hears the sound of footsteps on a wooden floor, the clicking turn of the lock and the sliding of a heavy bolt. The door swings open and a stout woman in a headscarf and housecoat stands in the doorway: ‘’allo dears,’ she says. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’
She glances quickly up and down the street and then beckons them inside. ‘In you pop.’
Will follows Anna into a dimly lit hallway, their feet echoing on the bare floorboards. He notices there is no ornamentation or decoration inside that might reveal it as the entrance hall to someone’s home. If anything it feels empty and cold.
The woman locks and bolts the door. ‘You took your time,’ she says.
‘Who are you?’ asks Will.
‘You can call me Aunty. Everyone does.’ She smiles at them with crooked and chipped teeth.
The smell of something savoury drifts down from the kitchen at the rear of the house and Will realises how very hungry he is.
‘I’ve just made some tea and cooked a spot of lunch,’ says Aunty. ‘I expect you’re hungry.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ says Anna.
‘Let’s get you sorted, then.’
There is a steaming pot of something bubbling away on the cooker. A transistor radio broadcasts Gracie Fields singing ‘Wish me luck’, which Aunty starts to sing tunelessly along to. In contrast to what they have seen of the house so far, the kitchen is warm and cosy. Will sees a pistol and a box of bullets lying on a small table and exchanges nervous glances with Anna.
‘Sorry, dears, force of habit leaving that lying around,’ says Aunty, noticing. She puts the pistol and bullets into a drawer. ‘You just never know who might pop by,’ she quips. ‘Now, sit down and I’ll serve up lunch.’
Will notices an unpleasant underlying odour that is only just masked by whatever is cooking in the pot. He looks at Anna, who glances at Aunty, and back to Will with a questioning expression. Will shrugs; he is as confused as she is. He turns to Aunty, ‘How did you know we were coming?’
‘I heard about the attack at Beaulieu and then caught your distress call. I responded and sent you this address.’
‘Do you work for the Secret Service?’ asks Anna.
‘That’s right, dear.’
‘What happens now?’ asks Will.
‘We sit tight and wait for someone to come and pick you up.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘I couldn’t say. We are in a spot of bother as you know.’
‘Have you heard from Eoin, or the Major?’
‘Nothing yet. Best we just sit tight and wait.’
Aunty serves up greasy corned beef fritters with bread and dripping and three mugs of strong tea. Will’s growing anxiety about Eoin dampens his appetite, but nevertheless he eats, knowing he needs to keep his strength up. Despite its appearance, the meal is delicious.
Chapter 25
The Trapdoor
Will sits next to Anna at the kitchen table, reading the book on Greek mythology.
‘Listen to this,’ he says. ‘The Greek god of war, Ares, was given a stone of great power by his lover, Aphrodite. It was known as the Firestone and was a jewel of the finest blue sapphire. It was embedded into his shield – when struck in battle, the jewel would emit a fierce lightning and strike down his foes. Many died horrible deaths. Eventually, Ares was slain in battle by the spear of Diomedes. The same spear was used to destroy the Firestone. Only it didn’t destroy the Firestone, it merely shattered it into twelve different-coloured rocks.’
Will opens the notebook and turns to a page depicting a map of the Mediterranean. There is thick grey line charting the journey from Greece to Egypt. ‘If the notebook is correct, these same rocks might somehow have shown up in Egypt many years later.’
He flicks through the pages of the notebook and stops at the sketch of the high priest, Aaron. ‘There are twelve rocks on Aaron’s breastplate of judgement, which some believe had a divine power. Seems a strange coincidence.’
‘It all seems to be so far-fetched,’ says Anna.
‘I thought so, too, but I have seen a fragment of these rocks and felt its power.’
‘But you said you didn’t believe they could cause fire.’
Guilt swarms through Will. ‘I’m sorry. I just thought the less people know the better.’
‘People! Don’t you trust me, Will?’
‘Yes, of course I do!’
Will is unsure if Anna is angry or hurt that he held this information back.
‘We are in this together now, Will. It’s my life on the line too. No more secrets, no more lies. Promise me?’
‘I promise.’
He meets her gaze and holds it and for the first time feels affection for her.
She smiles. ‘Tell me more.’
Will feels excitement building. ‘Perhaps the Firestone was destroyed, but the rocks together can still wield their power.’
‘So whoever unites the Stones will have divine God-like power,’ says Anna.
‘That’s correct.’
‘And if someone strikes them, that unfortunate person will be destroyed?’
‘That’s the theory.’
‘What if… what if they are in London and a bomb falls on the Stones?’
Anna’s question shifts something from the hidden recesses of Will’s mind. A memory opens in the blink of an eye. He feels a tightness in his throat, as if it is being squeezed. He swallows, but he knows, he now understands: ‘The city will be destroyed. The war will end. All will be lost and VIPER will control the Stones.’
Anna pales. ‘This is all so difficult to… swallow.’ She stands up and folds her arms. ‘I might get some rest, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course.’
Anna leaves; he hears her quiet footsteps making their way upstairs to the bedrooms.
It is dark outside and he estimates it must be around eight in the evening. He closes the books and wonders about VIPER. Was it their intention to see London destroy
ed before they claim the Stones? He wonders what the odds might be of a direct hit, but prefers not to do the maths.
A spider scuttles across the surface of the table, and comes to a halt at the candlestick. The candlelight flickers, casting an amber glow around the kitchen.
There is still no word from the Service or Eoin and Will feels his nerves tense again, and drums his fingers on the table-top. His instincts rattle him and he wonders if Eoin is still alive or if he has been captured and killed.
The spider begins to form a web below the rim of the candlestick. Will’s thoughts whirl as he watches its unwavering determination. He sighs, stands up and begins pacing the kitchen, his concerns turning to the safe house and just how safe it is. Bored with his own company, he walks to the living room to speak with Aunty. Perhaps she knows more than she is saying.
She is sitting on an armchair looking through the grey-netted curtains at the empty street outside. Will crosses the room, stands in the recess and watches the cobbled street too.
‘How long have you known Eoin?’ asks Will.
‘I’ve known him many years. He’s a good man, considering his history.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s a rogue and a law unto himself. An ex-Fenian with a shady past, if you know what I mean.’
Will frowns, but says nothing, unsure he even wants to know.
‘The Prime Minister likes him and recruited him personally…’
‘The Prime Minister?’
‘Yes. Eoin has many years’ experience behind him. He has skills that many people don’t and he is more useful in the fight against VIPER and the Nazis, than against us.’
Will’s attention is drawn to a man in an overcoat, who is walking down Abberline Street and glancing at each house he passes. He slows as he approaches number thirteen but, much to Will’s relief, he walks on without looking up.
‘Do you think he is dead?’
‘I doubt that. He has the luck of the Irish, that one,’ Aunty snorts.
The living-room door opens and Anna appears. She has changed into black brogues, a man’s sweater and trousers, and she is holding a cloth cap.
‘There are two men outside,’ she says.
‘Step away from the window, Will!’ demands Aunty, her voice grave.
Will looks out and sees the man with the overcoat standing across the street. But he is not alone. There is another man with him, tall and broad with a thick black moustache: Colonel Frost.
‘Time for you to go,’ whispers Aunty.
His muscles tightening, Will eases quietly away from the window and stands by Aunty, who is on her feet and ready.
‘Into the kitchen. Quickly!’ She ushers them both out of the living room.
The candle has melted and the last of the light is flickering to its end. Will blows it out as Aunty pushes the kitchen table across the floor. As Will’s eyes adjust to the gloom, he can see a trapdoor where the table had been.
‘Gather your things and climb down here,’ says Aunty.
Will grabs his shoulder bag and takes out the last remaining rat bomb.
‘I’ll have that,’ says Aunty.
Will does not argue and hands it across.
Stuffing the notebook into his blazer pocket, he hears the clicking sound of a lock being tampered with. He glances towards the front of the house, his heart racing, then quickly pulls up the trap door. A waft of something putrid almost makes him gag. That would account for the smell that hung around the kitchen. There is a small ladder leading into a pit of darkness.
‘What’s that smell?’
‘Never mind,’ says Aunty. ‘The tunnel will take you to Plumbers Row. Find a place to hide and watch for me. I will meet you there later.’
‘Aunty…’ Will protests but his words are cut off by the crack of a gunshot, once, then twice. The door is being kicked and forced open.
‘Quickly!’ says Aunty.
Anna pulls on her cap and tucks her hair inside before climbing down.
The crashing on the front door increases.
‘Go!’ hisses Aunty.
Will starts to climb down the ladder. Its rungs are damp under his fingers and rough with rust and time. He stops for a moment, looking back at Aunty whose brow is shiny with perspiration.
‘If I don’t make it call Baker Street on this number.’ She hands him a small piece of paper and a purse full of coins.
Will’s brow furrows.
‘Tell them, the safe house has been compromised. They will get you to safety.’
‘But…’
‘Don’t look back. Just keep going,’ she says and closes the trapdoor. Will can feel the vibration as the table and chairs slide back into place. He hears the ticking of the rat bomb, followed by Aunty swearing at her opponents at the top of her voice. There is an explosion followed by a rally of gunfire and Aunty’s voice is no longer shouting.
Chapter 26
The Tunnel
The ladder wobbles and dust sprinkles from the trapdoor, coating Will’s fringe, eyelashes and lips. He lowers himself down, takes the torch from his pocket and switches it on. The tunnel is narrow, damp and earthy and makes him think of an unfilled grave. He wipes his mouth and eyes with the sleeve of his blazer, coughing and almost gagging. The smell is horrible – as if they are standing in a pit of rotten eggs.
‘Aunty?’ asks Anna, clearly alarmed about the explosion.
Will shakes his head. ‘I don’t know.’
For a moment they say nothing, neither wanting to acknowledge what might have happened.
‘She’ll be fine,’ says Anna.
‘Of course she will.’
‘What is that smell?’
‘I don’t know. Let’s just get out of here.’
They follow the light of the torch through the tunnel. There seems to be no end to it.
Out of the corners of his eyes, Will sees movement on the walls. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He hears a scuttling sound and in the torchlight sees the glint of hundreds of small black eyes, staring back at them.
Rats!
Not clockwork ones, but real rats. Will can’t breathe, an inexplicable fear grips him, and he stops. He feels Anna bump into him.
‘Will, what’s the matter?’
His head begins to swim and a memory stirs: he is cold and locked in a cell. Rats rain from a hole in the ceiling. He is being tested.
‘Will?’ Anna’s voice shakes him from his fugue.
He swallows, edges away from the walls and tries to focus on the route ahead. Something brushes against his feet and then tiny sharp claws began climbing his trousers, pulling at the fabric. He grimaces and bats his trousers with the back of his hand. The rat squeaks in protest.
‘What was that?’ asks Anna.
‘Nothing. We’re nearly there.’
‘The walls are moving!’ says Anna. ‘Oh my God, it’s rats!’
‘They won’t harm you. Just keep moving,’ says Will, a little unconvincingly he thinks.
The smell is getting worse. He steps on something soft, which crunches and squeals under his feet. His stomach lurches. There are rats on the ground, crowding and shuffling around their ankles. The smell is stronger, he gags and then retches. The passage walls begin moving with increasing intensity, the squeaking grows louder as every rodent warns about the intruders.
Will arches forward and throws up. At his feet several vomit-covered rats feast off what had been his lunch. He shakes, unable to move. On each of his shoulders is a rodent scratching his face reaching for his mouth and whatever sustenance it might bring them. There are others climbing his legs. He must not let this beat him. With three deep breaths, he pulls the rodents from him, tossing them aside. Anna brushes them off her sweater and seems more in control.
‘We have to run,’ says Will. ‘Just run as fast as you can.’
Will points the torch into the distance and runs up the tunnel, ignoring the crunching and squealing underneath his fee
t.
Ahead he sees a ladder similar to the one under the Abberline Street trapdoor. They hurry toward it with the rats in their wake. Will hands Anna the torch. ‘I’ll check it’s clear first,’ he says. She points the narrow beam at the ladder and he climbs up to the top where he discovers a manhole cover.
‘Switch off the light.’
The tunnel is plunged into darkness. Will pushes against the heavy steel. The ladder wobbles precariously with the effort but, after a moment, the cover gives and Will peeks outside.
The night air is cool and fresh compared to the horrible stench of the tunnel.
Plumbers Row is a cobbled street full of bombed and burned-out buildings. Rubble is scattered everywhere. Much to Will’s relief, it seems to be deserted. Pushing the manhole cover aside, he climbs out and peers down into darkness.
‘It’s clear,’ he whispers.
His eyes sweep the area as he pulls Anna up. At one end of Plumbers Row is a solitary building, still standing amidst the dereliction. A large sign outside reads ‘Whitechapel Bell Foundry’. It has survived the bombs and perhaps its luck will rub off on them if they hide there and wait for Aunty.
The side entrance to the foundry has a wooden gate bolted and secured with an oversized padlock that takes Will a few moments to pick open. Behind the gate is the foundry yard, where a huge unfinished bell hangs from scaffolding. On each level of the scaffolding is a platform leading to a balcony with access to the main building. They hurry up the steps to the top platform and a doorway leading to the third floor. The door is unlocked and he steps cautiously into a large room, some sort of workshop that smells of ashes and metal. On one side is an oven and it is full of tables covered with various tools and screws. One squat, arched window with dirty glass has a cricket ball-sized hole in it. Through the hole, he can see along the length of Plumbers Row back towards the tunnel. It is the perfect spot to sit, watch and wait.
Moments pass slowly until finally the manhole cover shifts. Huddled together, cheek to cheek, Will and Anna peer through the small hole in the glass. A broad figures emerges from the ground.
But something is not quite right.
‘No…’ whispers Anna.
Sleeper Page 13