Jack of Ravens

by Mark Chadbourn

  He realised he must have been wearing an odd expression for Church was looking at him curiously. Scared?’ Church asked.

  ‘No,’ Mallory replied, baffled. ‘I just had the strangest feeling of déjà vu.’

  2

  England sleeps, England dreams. Across the rolling landscape beyond the capital, there is no peaceful darkness. Sodium lights burn brightly everywhere. There is no silence. The arterial roads still throb with traffic.

  In the north-west of England, on the edge of the wild but beautiful country that runs down to the Lake District, Caitlin Shepherd sits in her car outside the Tebay motorway service station. The lights are bright, but all is still. Soon it will open for the first visitors of the day, the lonely few for whom travel was life – but not travel in the sense of mind-altering, character-enriching experience; back and forth travel, mundane travel, a relentless round with no final destination. Perpetual motion with no meaning was Caitlin’s lot, shipping samples of beauty products to shops that would consider stocking them, or perhaps not, and, like Caitlin, would not give it a second thought the moment the decision had been made.

  She craved sleep for escape, even though she was not allowed the luxury of dreams, but sleep would not come.

  She was not alone. Several container lorries were parked nearby, their cabs dark. Yet Caitlin felt that in one of them someone was watching her. She always felt she was being observed, tracked, hunted, wherever she was, whatever she was doing. Paranoia, she thought wearily, another mental illness to add to the constant buzzing voices in her head. Her doctor had prescribed pills, several different types, and for a while she’d taken them; the voices stilled, the unease dulled, and with it went any sense, however slight, of being engaged in life. Eventually she threw them all out and consigned herself to a future of never being happy.

  She closed her eyes. Sleep still did not come.

  Wake up, Caitlin.

  One of the voices, the little girl. She fought against the urge, then gave in and looked around, hating herself for it. It always made her feel queasy when the voices told her things her unconscious could not possibly know.

  An attractive, charismatic Asian man loomed up at the passenger window, his black hair gleaming in the car park lights. A leather eye-patch covered one socket, but it did not make him appear in the least menacing. He smiled and tapped gently on the glass. Yet Caitlin could see he was on edge, his eyes flickering from side to side, searching the dark.

  Go away,’ she said.

  We need to talk.’ His voice was calm, yet insistent.

  No, we don’t. If you’re not away from here in ten seconds, I’m going to turn on the ignition and drive over you.’

  The sound of a lorry door opening echoed across the quiet car park. The Asian man glanced in its direction, became a touch more urgent.

  ‘My name is Shavi,’ he said. ‘I am a Brother of Dragons—’

  ‘I’m not interested in your little cult.’

  ‘You are a Sister of Dragons. We share a heritage—’

  ‘Six, seven, eight …’

  Forgive me,’ Shavi said. Shattering the window with a tyre iron, he yanked open the door. Caitlin yelled and leaned on the horn. Barely one blare had echoed across the car park when Caitlin went woozy from the fumes from a small wooden box that Shavi had thrust under her nose.

  ‘Just herbs,’ he whispered. ‘Do not worry.’

  Dreamily, she saw herself being hauled out of the car as if she were watching a stranger. Shavi carried her effortlessly away from the bright lights to the dark of the moorland that pressed up hard against the service station. Behind them, Caitlin was vaguely aware of movement; rescuers responding to her cries, she thought obliquely.

  She was aware of the stars and the moon, the lush smell of vegetation, but she couldn’t muster either fear for herself or any desire to fight back.

  It was only when they lay behind a scrubby bush on cool grass with the lights of the service station a distant glow that she began to think coherently once more. Her attacker, she realised, didn’t seem violent; in fact, there was a benign, gentle air about him. Yet she struggled as soon as she was able. He placed a firm hand over her mouth and said quietly, ‘Hush. Look.’

  Responding to something in his tone, she peered past the bush towards the car park. Shadows shifted across the moorland. People searching for her? Shavi released his grip on her mouth, and it was that action which convinced her to trust him.

  What is it?’ she hissed. Some quality to the quickly moving silhouettes did not appear right.

  Keep watching,’ he said. But if they come too close, be prepared to move quickly into the wilderness. If they see us, we will not be able to outpace them.’

  His words unnerved her. What is out there? she thought.

  A shape loomed up on the other side of the bush and she almost cried out. It had approached from a different direction, moving quickly. Shavi pressed her down, holding her still. His heart thundered against her back. Their chance of escape gone, they could only hope against discovery.

  Caitlin could smell a foul farmyard odour. Breathing like the scraping of rusty iron echoed loudly. Whatever was on the other side of the bush had stopped. It sniffed the air.

  Its bestial qualities increased the beat of her heart another step, and she became afraid that her body would betray her with some random muscle spasm. Yet she had to see. Twisting her head slowly, she looked through the branches of the bush.

  There was not a hint of humanity in the brutish thing that waited. Eyes gleamed with a yellowish light in a face that combined the qualities of hog and gorilla. The body was thick-set and covered with powerful muscles. From its posture, Caitlin couldn’t be sure if it moved on two legs or all four. She saw it was clothed, and with a second, chill glance, she realised the nature of those clothes. Flayed human skin, scalps, and internal organs had been stitched together in some sickening amalgam of uniform and war trophy. An eyeless face stared back at her blankly from the side of the creature’s head.

  It waited for a full thirty seconds that felt like minutes and then moved rapidly off, keeping low.

  When she was sure it was gone, Caitlin asked, What was that?’

  Shavi searched the moorland until he was satisfied they were safe. ‘A Redcap,’ he said. ‘They are the shock troops of the enemy.’ He returned his attention to Caitlin and a look of sympathy crossed his face. I am so sorry. The world is not the way you believe it to be.’

  3

  London sleeps, London dreams. Hyde Park is quiet. The tourists will not return until the fumes and the roar of constant traffic fill Lancaster Gate. Moonlight catches the still pools in the Italian Gardens. The statue of Peter Pan watches over the boundary between the magical and the real, conjuring dreams of stolen children and other worlds.

  Hunter brought his knife away from the throat and stepped back to avoid the arterial flow. Another job well done, more peaceful sleep for the country. On the surface his flamboyant, piratical appearance – long black hair tied back with a black ribbon, single gold earring, devilish goatee – belied the nature of the work he did; underneath, it illuminated it perfectly: a New Age cut-throat.

  Dragging the body into the cover of the trees, he meticulously wiped his blade on the jacket. He needed to sleep; his weariness had built up brick by brick over the relentless weeks and months, in Bosnia and Fallujah, Tehran and Pristina, and a score of other places that all merged into one. Only the faces remained different. Superficially they were similar, glassy-eyed and bloodless, but he could never forget the telling detail: a frozen, accusing stare, the faint impression of contempt or betrayal on the lips. Everyone the same, every one different.

  ‘Nice job.’ A woman’s voice, laced with sarcasm.

  Hunter started; no one ever crept up on him unawares. His shock was quickly brought under control, the knife palmed, ready for use. He didn’t speak. Instead, he quickly scanned the surroundings and was surprised once more that he couldn’t locate the int
ruder.

  What are you? Some kind of psycho? Existence chose well this time.’ A pause. Actually, situation normal.’ Now he had a lock on her position. He shifted his body weight, ready.

  The woman recognised his subtle movement. If you’re thinking of using that knife on me, it won’t do any good. I’ve had worse things than that stuck in me.’ Her tone highlighted the double entendre.

  The branches of an overgrown bush parted and the woman stepped brazenly out. She had white-blonde hair and an expression that fell somewhere between challenging and seductive. Her smile suggested his coldly efficient brutality had not scared her in the slightest.

  Hunter weighed his options. He couldn’t leave behind any witnesses. His superiors in Vauxhall would instantly shift him into the box marked Liability’, with all the repercussions that went with it. Nor was he prepared to hurt an ‘innocent’ (and the one thing that kept him going was that none of his victims were ‘innocent’).

  He lunged quickly, hoping to resolve his dilemma once he had her in a position where she couldn’t raise the alarm. As he shifted his weight, he found his ankles mysteriously constricted and he pitched forward to the ground. Long grass was inexplicably wrapped tightly around his feet.

  That’s how I like my men,’ the woman mocked. On their knees before me.’ She tapped his arm lightly with her motorcycle boot, then skipped out of the way when he went for her. So, did you see what I did there?’ She nodded towards his feet.

  You did that?’

  ‘Yes, I’m a beautiful wood nymph.’

  ‘You have a very high opinion of yourself.’

  ‘I like to call it realistic.’ She sat cross-legged, just out of reach.

  Hunter began to saw through the strong, fibrous grass with his knife. You should start running now,’ he said.

  I never run. Besides, I can do much worse than that. You know how painful it is when you get a thorn stuck in your thumb? Now imagine that going through your eye and into your brain.’

  Her statement held such utter conviction Hunter had to believe she thought she could do it. Who are you?’

  My name is Laura DuSantiago and I am here to save the world,’ she said archly. And you go by the name of Hunter when you’re not using one of your many aliases.’

  Who do you work for?’

  ‘Existence.’ She lay down and stared flirtatiously into his face. ‘I’m not interested in the stupid little boy games you’ve been playing. I’ve got a bigger agenda.’

  Which is?’ Hunter freed himself, then balanced the knife on the palm of his hand before thrusting it into the ground.

  Laura appeared quietly impressed by his choice. Ever felt this life you’re leading was wrong? Made-up? That you’ve got another life you can’t quite remember?’

  Hunter gave nothing away.

  ‘Do certain places give you a real buzz, like there’s electricity in the ground? Do you get creeped out by a man called Rourke?’

  His bland, ever-friendly line manager. How do you know about Rourke?’

  Oh, he gets around. Have we had sex?’ she added with a hint of puzzlement that did not appear manufactured.

  I think I’d know.’ Yet even after he’d said the words, he realised that, strangely, he wasn’t sure. But we could get it out of the way now if you like.’

  ‘I think you ought to be disposing of that body first.’ She teased him with her eyes. ‘But first I’ve got a little fairy story to tell you. About five great heroes, a magical quest, and a threat that could destroy everything we hold dear.’

  Okay.’ Hunter lounged back with his hands behind his head. Then can we have sex?’

  Copyright

  A Gollancz eBook

  Copyright © Mark Chadbourn 2006

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Mark Chadbourn to be identified as the author

  of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in Great Britain in 2006 by

  Gollancz

  The Orion Publishing Group Ltd

  Orion House

  5 Upper Saint Martin’s Lane

  London, WC2H 9EA

  An Hachette UK Company

  This eBook first published in 2010 by Gollancz.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book

  is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978 0 575 10562 1

  All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or

  dead, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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