He sees Kitty sitting nearby him. She is hugging her knees and trembling, her eyes red raw with tears.
Then he sees Sam.
He is shaking, his eyes wide with fear, a golf ball-sized bruise on his jaw. A black-gloved hand holds his forehead back and a long thin blade lies against his exposed throat.
‘Hello. I knew you’d come back,’ says the Pastor, in clipped tones.
Will feels his spine icing over. ‘Let him go.’
‘Come come. First things first. You know what I want.’
Will levels his gaze with the Pastor’s dark, soulless eyes. They flash for a moment and Will could swear they turn red as the blade of his white knife presses into Sam’s flesh. A droplet of blood rolls down the boy’s neck.
Will feels a rising rage, but fights to keep calm. ‘Let him go.’
‘The notebook.’ says the Pastor, firmly.
‘The notebook is nothing. It has served its purpose. I have the Stones. I can give them to you,’ he lies.
The Pastor appraises him. ‘Show them to me.’
‘They’re not here.’
The Pastor sighs.
‘Why do you want them?’ asks Will, trying to buy some time before Dalton arrives.
‘Show them to me,’ replies the Pastor.
Will’s skin prickles. How long can he delay him? ‘Why do you want something that is clearly an instrument of the devil? Is he your god now? Is it Satan you worship?’
The Pastor’s eyes flare and bore into Will’s. He has rattled him.
‘There is no shame, Pastor. Satan holds all the power, after all.’
The Pastor chuckles darkly. ‘Young man, you have quite the tongue. I shall enjoy cutting it from your mouth.’
‘You will never have that opportunity.’
The Pastor shakes Sam. ‘Show me the Stones.’
‘I told you, I don’t have them with me.’
The Pastor tugs roughly at Sam’s head and presses the blade further into his flesh. Sam whimpers as more blood gathers beneath it and flows like a red tear down his neck.
Will steps forward, his hands raised. ‘No… wait… I can take you to them.’
‘You’re lying,’ growls the Pastor.
‘If you kill him, you will not see me or the Stones.’
‘You will not escape me, boy.’
‘Do not underestimate me, Pastor.’
‘Do not underestimate me, boy.’
Will stands firm and feels Anna close by. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the freckled boy move. Is he awake? Will’s gaze remains on the Pastor’s cold eyes.
And then he hears a hard thud. The Pastor’s face contorts in pain as the freckled boy slams the machete into his shin. Will lunges for the Pastor’s knife hand, grabbing his wrist until it bends backward to breaking point. Anna surges forward and launches her fist hard at his temple. The Pastor stumbles back, the knife slipping from his grasp. Anna kicks it across the floor and out of the bus.
Sam crawls toward Kitty, who has not moved.
Will turns to Kitty, Sam and the freckled boy. ‘Get out of here!’ he shouts.
They scuttle from the bus without hesitation.
Adrenalin pumps through Will’s body. His rage surges forward and with Skipper’s murder, and the threat to Sam, at the forefront of his mind, he slams his fists without conscience. The Pastor falls back to the floor with Will on top of him thrashing him repeatedly. A black cloud darkens Will’s mind; he cannot stop.
The Pastor lies still, but Will rages on.
Anna touches Will’s shoulder: ‘That’s enough, Will. He’s finished.’
The Pastor’s eyes are closed, his lips and nose bloody.
Will is panting, his heart pumping like an out of control steam train. A primal urge sweeps through him, old, savage and unrecognisable. Kill him, finish him, his instincts tell him. Looking down, he sees the Pastor’s bloodied lips part in a smile, his teeth tinged red, his hollow black eyes giving him the appearance of a sinister and mad clown. Some fragment of humanity makes Will pause. And as he does, the Pastor’s hands reach for Will’s throat and squeeze tightly.
‘He will be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb…’
Will tries to pull the hands away, but the grip is firm.
‘…And the smoke of their torment goes up forever and ever; and they have no rest day and night, those who worship the beast and his image, and whoever receives the mark of his name.’
The Pastor gets to his feet holding Will by the throat as if he is a lifeless dummy.
Anna runs at the Pastor but he pushes Will forward using him like a battering ram. Will can feel Anna behind him, her hands reaching in vain for the Pastor as he pushes them both hard against the side of the bus. Anna cries out in pain and slides to the floor.
Will claws at the Pastor’s face, kicking hard at his legs, but it seems to have no effect. It is as if he is immune to pain. The Pastor carries him across the room, and slams him into the bus windows. Will’s body crunches painfully against the glass, which cracks on impact. He can’t focus, his head begins to spin and darkness beckons. The Pastor laughs and tosses him across the inside of the bus. A window shatters, Will falls to the ground, fragments of glass fall on top of him, cutting his hands and face. Pain sears through his body, he groans, powerless and weak as the Pastor straddles him and grips his throat, squeezing the breath from him.
Parts of Will’s life, a life lost in the mists of his memory flash before him: a terrible loss – the murder of his family. He cannot remember their faces but he feels the gaping loss. Something in his soul has died and at the core of his heart is the need for vengeance. Tears prick the back of his eyes.
The Pastor squeezes tighter. Will chokes and gasps for breath, his face burning and rushing with blood. It is all about to end. When he dies, the Pastor will kill Anna, Sam, Kitty and the other lost children.
He cannot let that happen.
Will’s arms thrash on the floor, his hands searching for something, anything. The Pastor stares down at him, waiting for that final second when Will’s life will leave his eyes.
The darkness is getting closer. No. No. Not like this. Will’s fingers brush the edge of something sharp, a thick shard of glass. He shuffles it into his palm, squeezing hard on the edges and slicing open his skin.
His vision is blurring. With a final ounce of strength he plunges the shard blindly at the Pastor. The Pastor screams and his grip on Will’s neck loosens. He gasps for breath, coughing uncontrollably, his lungs filling gloriously with air. Scrambling back, he pushes himself quickly into a standing position, but his head is light and he is unsteady on his feet.
The Pastor is on his knees crying and trembling, his hands hovering over the shard that is lodged in his right eye. Will grimaces and skirts around him leaning on the side of the bus for support.
Anna is clutching her side, her face ashen. Dizzy and in pain, Will helps her up and they stumble out of the bus. Wills sucks in the cool refreshing air. The Pastor screams once more. Will shudders and follows Anna through the hatch in the gates. Together they run down the alleyway towards Fenchurch Street.
Chapter 34
The Greek Cross
Running down Fenchurch Street, Will catches sight of a green Humber parked at the side of the road. Resting against it is a red faced and panting Sam. He is talking to a man with slicked back blond hair, dressed in a dark blue suit. Kitty and the freckled face boy are nowhere to be seen.
The man watches Will and Anna approach.
‘Sam?’ says Will, narrowing his gaze at the man in the suit.
The man interjects, ‘Will Starling?
‘Dalton?’
The man nods and smiles thinly.
‘We have to get out of here quickly,’ says Will, glancing back in the direction of the yard. There is no sign of the Pastor. Yet. He opens the rear doors of the car. ‘Get in Sam. You’re coming with us.’
‘Bleedin’ hell. Who was he?’ says Sam, rubbing his neck.
‘A bad man. Are you hurt?’ says Will.
‘I’m chipper,’ says Sam, but Will can hear a tremor in his voice. Sam jumps into the passenger seat and looks back at Will with a worried expression.
Dalton gets into the driver seat and looks distastefully at Will’s bloody hand. ‘Try not to bleed all over my car,’ he says.
Will furrows his brow and studies Dalton’s face. ‘Have we met?’
‘No,’ says Dalton easing off the brakes and shifting gears. The Humber moves forward and picks up speed. They pass the yard. Will glances at the doors. There is no sign of the Pastor. He turns to Anna who is gently dabbing Sam’s neck with a handkerchief.
‘Anna, meet Sam,’ he says.
‘Hello Sam.’
‘Enchanté, Miss, enchanté,’ he says, bowing his head slightly.
Anna smiles and looks at Will.
‘Are you hurt, Anna?’ he says.
‘Bruised jaw and ribs. All in a day’s work. Not as bad as you. We need to stem the flow of blood.’ She removes her jumper and tears off the sleeve from her shirt, wrapping the cloth tightly around Will’s palm. He winces as the binding tightens.
‘Sorry,’ says Anna.
Sam sits quietly, hugging his arms. ‘Lucky you came along when you did, Will. I thought he was going to kill us.’
‘I’m glad you’re safe, Sam, but this is not over yet.’
Dalton seems to be taking them towards the river and the north Thames Embankment, or so Will thinks, but instead he turns down Tanner Lane and along the road between the warehouses and the waterside. They drive slowly over rubble, passing several bomb-damaged warehouses that are beyond repair. The car stops beside a postbox, opposite an old shipping warehouse called Butler’s Wharf. Dalton gets out of the car and Will and the others follow. Holding his bloody hand close to his side, Will looks around him. To the west, busy on either side with queuing traffic, is Tower Bridge. It was there, almost a week ago, that he witnessed Skipper’s murder at the hands of the Pastor.
Across the water is the north of the city with its crumbling war-torn cityscape. He can see some of the churches mentioned in the ‘Oranges and Lemons’ rhyme and towering over them is St Paul’s Cathedral flanked by two enormous barrage balloons. Somewhere out there, he thinks, are the Stones of Fire. They are close. He knows it.
Dalton escorts them inside the unused warehouse. They are led up a flight of stairs to a room with tall windows overlooking the river. There is a long metal table near the window with a bench on either side.
‘Get some rest. Help will be here soon,’ says Dalton, turning to leave.
‘Are you leaving us?’ says Will.
‘I’ll be outside, if you need anything,’ he says, closing the door behind him.
Will has an uneasy feeling and opens the door to look outside. There is a bitter smell of tobacco in the air. Dalton is sitting on an old office chair, leaning against the wall, puffing on a cigarette. He looks back at Will, curiously. Will says nothing, dips back inside and closes the door. After all that has happened, it is hard to know when he might be overreacting.
‘What’s going on Will? What’s this all about?’ asks Sam.
Will smiles at Sam. What harm could it do to tell him? He deserves the truth after what he has been through, Will thinks. He starts to give Sam a potted summary of the last few days.
‘I knew you was someone important, Will. I told Kitty, but she didn’t believe me.’
‘I’m not important, Sam. I’m just trying to do the right thing.’
Sam looks at Anna and then back at Will. Folding his arms, he says, ‘You is too humble, Will. You are more important than you think.’
Will shrugs and tries to smile. He takes out the astrolabe and the notebook and places them on the table. ‘Let’s try and figure out some more of this puzzle.’
Leafing through the pages, he begins tearing them out. First, the picture of the cross, followed by the sketch of the man holding up the astrolabe on the mountain. He lays them out on the table and runs his fingers through his hair. ‘Ouch,’ he says, his finger grazing a piece of glass.
He eases it out and drops it on the floor. Anna stands behind him. ‘Let me,’ she says and tips his head gently to the side. ‘It’s a mess. I’ll see if I can get some water.’
She stands in the doorway, speaks with Dalton briefly and then looks back inside. ‘Be back shortly.’
Will and Sam sit at the table and look down at the pictures.
‘Somewhere in here,’ says Will, ‘is the final piece of the puzzle. The Stones of Fire are somewhere in London.’
Will recalls the churches from ‘Oranges and Lemons’ and glances through the window and beyond the river. ‘Could they be in one of those churches?’ he wonders aloud.
‘Which one?’ says Sam.
‘That’s what we need to figure out.’ Will looks down at the etching of the cross. The design is elaborate, thick and broad with short rounded arms and a rectangular base. Within its frame are rows of neatly arranged rectangles and circles. Encrusted jewels, he suspects, and in its centre, is what looks like the pupil of an eye. Will does not know what to make of it. He hands the etching to Sam. ‘What do you think this is?’
Sam studies it. ‘It looks familiar,’ he says.
‘Really? Keep looking and think hard, Sam. You could save all our lives.’
The door opens and Anna walks in cradling a basin, with water sploshing from it. Draped over her arm is the remains of her shirt, torn into rags. She sets the basin on the table and slides along the bench, sitting next to Will. She dips one of the rags in the water. ‘This might hurt a little,’ she says.
Evening comes and the moon is full and low and casts a mercurial sheen across the city rooftops. Will winces as Anna removes yet another piece of glass from his head, a task that has taken almost two hours. With the aid of his torch and a lock pick, she removes the more stubborn pieces and wipes the small wounds with a rag dipped in the bloodied water.
‘That’s the last of them,’ she says.
Will’s head throbs, it has been like torture and he is relieved it is over.
‘Sorry, it was a little horrible for you,’ she says, fixing his hair.
‘It wasn’t too bad,’ he lies. ‘Thank you.’
Will feels Sam watching him. Sam winks and silently mouths, ‘Aye, aye.’
Will glowers and turns back to the pictures spread out in front of him. He focuses hard: the Greek cross, the mountain, the astrolabe, the moon. What does it all mean?
He looks at Anna and Sam. ‘If the Stones are in London, what mountains are there to climb and hold the astrolabe high up?’
‘None,’ says Anna.
‘Correct. So what is the next best thing?’
‘Somewhere very high up,’ offers Sam.
‘Yes, but where?’ Will stands up and paces for a moment before walking to the window. He glances nervously at the moon, now swathed in charred clouds. Tonight is their only hope. They cannot afford to wait for the next cycle.
‘We have to find them and get them out of London. Tonight, if we can,’ says Will.
The wail of a siren shatters the silence. An air raid! The hairs on Will’s neck stand on end. He looks out the window and across the river. Small dark figures are hurrying to the safety of the shelters as the crump, crump, crump of bombs explode further east.
Searchlights slice through the sky looking for enemy aircraft. One beam swipes across St Paul’s and lights up the golden ball and cross that rise up above the dome.
Will runs his fingers through his hair. Something tugs at his memory. He turns to the table, grabs the picture of the cross and looks at it, then back at the cathedral. He searches the recesses of his mind. He knows this cross. He looks across the water and laughs to himself.
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘That’s it.’
‘What’s it?’ says Anna.
‘This is not a
Greek cross. It’s a floor plan.’
‘For where?’ says Anna.
‘St Paul’s Cathedral,’ says Sam. ‘I knew I’d seen it before.’
‘Exactly,’ says Will, turning and looking across the water at the great cathedral. ‘That’s where we have to go next.’
As if on cue, the clouds part revealing the moon. The city seems to shimmer dangerously in preparation for the destruction that is only minutes away.
‘Look!’ says Sam, pointing at the table.
Will follows his gaze and sees small blue lights like miniature fireworks spiral across the astrolabe. It is the strangest thing.
‘What’s happening?’ says Anna.
‘Blimey!’ says Sam.
‘The Stones really are close,’ says Will.
‘But how can you be sure?’ said Anna.
‘The astrolabe is a device for finding them. It defies all logic, but the full moon has activated it.’
His heart starts racing. ‘We should get out of here,’ he says, tentatively reaching for the astrolabe, his fingers brushing the lights. There is no heat and it seems safe. He takes a breath and then picks it up. The lights are cool to the touch and spread across his hands and wrists. It is almost hypnotic. With precious little time, he shoves it into his pocket, grabs the notebook and the torn-out pages.
Anna and Sam are already at the door. Sam is pulling at the handle.
‘The door’s locked,’ he says.
Anna tries to open it, but it is no good.
Will hears the sound of a car engine and hurries to the window. A car has pulled up beside the Humber. Dalton is standing close by as if waiting to greet whoever is inside. The doors open and two broad men wearing suits get out from the rear. They look to Will like heavies. A third man, who is thin and balding with spectacles, gets out. It is the librarian from Bishopsgate Library. What is he doing here? And then a fourth man follows and looks up at Will with a grim smile. Will feels his muscles coil.
It is Colonel Frost.
Chapter 35
Flight from Butler’s Wharf
‘Will!’ cries Anna. ‘Help us open the door.’
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