Roofworld

by Christopher Fowler

  Zalian crossed to the edge of the roof and peered down. Now he could clearly see the bodies lashed behind the enormous neon letters of the sign below, could even recognize some of their faces. Still there seemed to be no guard, no member of the New Age keeping watch, yet Chymes and his men had to be here. Where the hell were they? He turned around. At the centre of the mast base was a steel door leading to the platform below. Zalian forced his freezing limbs into motion, seized the icy bar handle of the hatch and pulled. Nothing happened. The door was bolted from the inside. Zalian swore as behind him faint slivers of vermeil struck the edges of low snowclouds and the dead colours of the night began to wash away with the arrival of the dawn.

  —

  ‘If I tighten the line any more I risk tearing open one of the spliced sections,’ argued Lee, releasing the ratchet and letting it fall to the roof. ‘It’s better if I go first and test it. There’s a chance that the belt-lines won’t ride over the splices. Give me a full five minutes before you follow on.’ He hooked himself to the now taut cable and climbed over the parapet. Launching out over the sputtering fountains below, he dipped alarmingly above the stores at the corner of Oxford Street and for a moment it seemed that he would plunge into them, but then he soared upwards in a smooth arc, gathering momentum with each passing second.

  As he crossed high above Goodge Street and Charlotte Street, he prayed that the snow would obliterate his arrival on the roof of the tower. The tiny motor of the hauler whined and strained as he sped along the cable. The fulcrum of the vast crane passed by on his left. He could clearly see Chymes’ men standing on the struts along the arm and realized with a jolt that they had spotted him. Then he was being lifted up, his speed beginning to slow as he snicked over the last of the spliced cables to arrive at the base of the radio mast where Zalian stood with arms outstretched, ready to break his fall. Even so, the landing was hard and he slammed into the steel box struts, jarring his shoulder and elbow.

  A few minutes later Spice arrived in the same way, having been unable to wait any longer to find out if the line was safe.

  For Robert, it was the most terrifying journey he had yet made. The run was higher than the tallest point of the Skelter Run. The blinding snow whipped his face, making it impossible for him to see. Suddenly he heard the hauler scream in protest, then cut out completely as it hit one of the cable splices and came to a stop. He reached his arms above his head, thumping the side of the motor with an ice-numbed hand. The outer case was scorching hot. A sudden gust threw him sideways, swinging him on the line. The force of it shifted his weight just enough to pull the hauler to one side of the splice and the motor began to hum again, free of further obstacles.

  As Spice and Lee pulled him to a stop at the radio mast, he felt like falling to the roof’s floor and thanking God for allowing him to arrive at the tower in one piece, until he remembered why they had come here in the first place.

  ‘We’ll have to go over the side,’ agreed Lee. ‘I can’t see any other way of getting down to them.’

  ‘If we do, they’ll fire at us from the crane.’

  ‘Simon, the access door is barred. Do we have a choice?’

  Simon looked back into Lee’s dark eyes. ‘I guess not,’ he admitted.

  As the others arrived, Zalian and Lee fixed grappling hooks to the lip of the roof and prepared to lower themselves over. ‘As soon as you land, go to the bodies and cut as many of them loose as quickly as you can,’ shouted Zalian. ‘It’ll be daylight in a matter of minutes. Either Chymes and his men will appear to carry out the executions themselves, or they have a way of performing them by remote control.’

  As Sunday dawned, anyone passing in the vicinity of the Telecom Tower who chanced to look skyward would have seen an extraordinary sight, as Zalian and his followers abseiled down the sheer face of the structure to the glowing letters encircling its peak and their enemies stationed atop the Fitzroy Square construction crane began to open fire. Lee gripped the rope below Nathaniel, braced in case his leader’s remaining good arm should fail him.

  ‘It’s safer to leave the lines connected,’ cried Spice, skidding on the snow-slick platform just a few feet above the captive figures. ‘We may end up having to use them again.’

  The group had spread out along the circular steel ramp, one above each of the prisoners, as a hail of razor-coins spattered the wall which extended down below their feet.

  ‘Their ammunition should be falling short,’ Zalian shouted. ‘We’re well beyond their range.’

  ‘They must have modified some of the guns.’

  ‘Over here. It’s Sarah.’ It was Simon who called out, crouching above the letter ‘M’ and pointing downwards. The girl was unconscious, wrapped in layers of transparent sheeting, presumably to prevent her from freezing to death. A mass of spiky dyed hair stuck out above the plastic, giving her the appearance of a badly packaged supermarket chicken. She had been tied to the letter with what appeared to be thin steel cable. Few of the others seemed to be aware of what was happening. Despite their insulation, several of them looked as if they were suffering from severe exposure.

  Further around the tower Robert discovered Rose, dazed and battered but still conscious. She kicked at the lettering, wriggling as much as the cable connecting her to the wall would allow. ‘Robert, is that you?’ She twisted her head around, trying hard to see. ‘I was sure that you’d never get here in time,’ she called. ‘It’s almost light.’

  ‘How’s he going to do it?’ asked Robert. He dropped onto his knees and bent forward as he carefully studied the cable which surrounded her. ‘How is he going to carry out the sacrifice?’

  ‘I was hoping you were going to tell me. It must be something to do with the wiring that connects the neon letters of the sign. He was here earlier on, checking it. I could see him from the corner of my eye.’

  ‘I think you’re right.’ He turned and called to Zalian. ‘Be careful how you cut them loose. It looks like Chymes has wired them up to the lettering.’

  Lee climbed over the side of the platform and joined him. He stared at the cable and nodded sagely. ‘Yeah, that’s what he’s done, all right. There must be a time-switch somewhere that turns off the current to the letters as soon as it’s daylight. Only now it looks like it’ll bypass straight into the cables circling their bodies.’

  ‘Then what are we waiting for?’ asked Spice, producing a knife and climbing over to the first of the letters. ‘Let’s cut them loose and get out of here.’

  ‘Make sure you sever the cable on the right side of the connection,’ warned Lee.

  Robert was unable to shake off the disturbing feeling that somehow they had walked into a trap. There was not a sound up here save the moaning of the wind and the quiet crying of several of Chymes’ captives. As Zalian and the others grunted and hacked at the electrical lines, he looked around. For a second he had the impression of a figure, a glimpse of spinning gold somewhere overhead, then it was gone. Another feeble hail of coins hit the wall below them. No one seemed to be coming over from the crane. He broke through the cord which was knotted over Rose’s chest with a snap and caught her as she suddenly fell free of the wall, hauling her as gently as he could to the platform above.

  Rose climbed out from a cocoon of clear plastic and rubbed the circulation back into her arms and legs. ‘I think I just lost ten pounds wrapped in that stuff,’ she said.

  ‘I guess he wanted to keep you alive and oven fresh for the dawn fireworks.’

  ‘You should have heard him earlier, striding around spouting mumbo-jumbo. He thinks he’s going to transform himself into some kind of god by absorbing the energy from our bodies. Mentally, the guy is definitely three coupons short of a toaster.’ Rose reached out her arms, ‘Quick, give me a hug.’

  Robert was about to move forward and hold her when he sensed the presence of a figure moving behind him. Whirling, he saw Chymes standing directly overhead, leaning on the platform railing, dressed in his cloak of beaten gold. He
cradled a crossbow in the crook of his arm. So that was why no one had come over from the crane. Chymes and his men had been stationed here all the time.

  ‘If you’d told me you were coming for a visit, Nathaniel, I’d have arranged something special in the way of a welcome.’ His voice was hoarse with barely controlled anger. Zalian slowly rose from his perch atop one of the letters and raised the knife he had been using to cut Sarah free.

  ‘My men are in the roof restaurant just below us. I’m sure they would like to renew their acquaintance with you.’ He reached down and tapped on the glass with the end of the crossbow. A shaved head appeared at the bottom of the steamed-up window, then another. Chymes took a step forward. ‘So this is all that’s left of your force, is it? What a sorry little group. Tell me something, Nathaniel. How is it that you remaining few have managed to stay so incorruptible? So holier-than-thou, so right. What do you think it is that makes you so special?’

  To Robert it seemed that Zalian and Chymes were suddenly the only two people occupying the windswept platform. Spice, Lee, Simon and the others stayed back, motionless. Chymes’ aim with a crossbow was legendary.

  With a careless gesture he tossed back his hood to reveal his face. Dead grey eyes stared down above an aquiline nose and thin, expressionless lips. His cheeks were lined with the painted symbols of war he had earlier fashioned from the crusted gore of his victims. Robert started, his heartbeat quickening. It was the face which had haunted his dreams for so long, the face of Westcott and Mathers and Crowley and Ayton and all the founders of the Golden Dawn, the face of the Rosicrucians and the Kabbalah, the astrologers and Freemasons, the tatwas and the Tarot. Here encapsulated in one man, he suddenly understood, was a universal history of magic which ran through the ages like an ever-flowing river, whose presence existed as a revelation and a warning in the dreams of those who bore the same spirit.

  ‘…And so here we are, Nathaniel, on a tower soaring from earth to air, with fire growing on the horizon and water falling from the heavens. The four elements, balancing perfectly to create a golden purity, that alone would be transformation enough. But it takes blood to elevate such a ritual into the realm of true Satanic power.’ Chymes leaned further forward over the rail. Suddenly he began to smile. ‘Why don’t you join me? The thought of ruling the Roofworld together isn’t that unbelievable. We’re more alike than you think. You’ve even developed the same stigmata, I see.’

  He stepped closer to Zalian, whose now useless arm continued to drip from a blackened gash. Chymes reached forward and slowly removed his black leather glove, revealing the glistening steel hand which took the place of flesh and blood.

  ‘I’ve changed, Nathaniel,’ he hissed obscenely. ‘At first I wanted everything you had. I wanted your woman, your life, your power. And now that you have nothing, I see our situations reversed. We are two sides of the same coin, don’t you see? You share my abhorrence of the world below. You loathe its greed and cruelty just as much as I. The natural equilibrium that existed for so long on the ground has now been destroyed. Look at them!’ The steel hand drove out and downwards as he pointed an accusing finger at the streets far below. ‘The slums are being renovated as stockbroker apartments. The pharmaceutical salesmen are offloading their banned products onto the third world. The oil companies whose by-products create skin-bonding incendiaries are advertising their share offers on television. How the devil must be laughing!’

  For a moment the wind around the tower died and an eerie silence settled with the snow, until Chymes began to speak with renewed vigour. ‘We can only be rid of this poisonous hypocrisy through the transformative power of sacrifice. Why not be part of a new, purer race?’ He took a step further forward to the edge of the rail. ‘The whole of the city is sitting below us, ours for the asking. Think of it as the ultimate aggressive takeover bid. All you have to do is nod your head and we can end the bloodshed right here. There can only be one single united Roofworld and I have the power to make it whole again. You must give me your decision now, Doctor.’

  Robert watched the two men on the platform ahead of him, knowing that Zalian would sooner be killed than accept the proposition being presented to him. Finally the doctor spoke up. ‘What is the point of ruling with fear, Chymes? Don’t you see that balance can never be restored as long as one individual exerts power over another? All you’re doing is simply trading evils. No, we cannot join you.’

  ‘Then you and your people die.’

  Chymes levelled the crossbow at Zalian until the blade of the loaded spear was aimed between his eyes. Before anyone had a chance to react, the wall of the tower was suddenly lit with dazzling crimson splashes. The other team had begun their planned distracting assault on the crane and were firing marine flares up at the control cabin. Dull explosive thuds shook the air around them.

  Zalian suddenly sprang forward at Chymes and kicked out at the crossbow which released its charge, the poisoned spear clattering harmlessly over the side of the railing. As the two men fell upon each other, tumbling precariously over the steel struts of the platform, the rest of Chymes’ skinhead brigade appeared from below and attacked Zalian’s men, who promptly brandished the knives they had been using moments before to free the hostages. Robert pulled Rose to one side as Reese flew at her, switchblade in hand. She threw a kick at him as he hurtled past, swinging on the steel railing and returning to head-butt Robert, who was sent sprawling across the ringing metal floor.

  Simon was stabbed in the shoulder by one of the descending skinheads. He rounded on his attacker with a roar and pushed him over into the sprawl of cables which surrounded the neon lettering at his feet. Lee was able to shake someone twice his size from his back and spin, knife held high, to slash his surprised assailant in the throat before he fell away over the railing, plunging several hundred feet into the unblemished silvery streets below.

  The others stumbled over the cocooned bodies on the ramp, locked in combat. The snow swirled heavier now, masking friend from foe, obliterating the far side of the platform.

  All but three of the prisoners had been released, but one of those three Robert knew to be Sarah Endsleigh, still strapped in a maze of wiring beneath the letter ‘T’. Above them, the first rays of watery sunlight pierced the snow-clad roof of their world. There was no more time left. Robert darted between the struggling figures, ramming his adversaries aside, and reached the unconscious girl just as the enormous yellow letters began, one by one, to flicker into darkness. He threw himself flat on the platform, reaching down for the cable above Sarah with the point of his knife.

  Dawn was breaking, but the pale morning was eclipsed by the light of the flares as they threw carmine shadows across the snowclouds which rolled overhead. The letter ‘O’ of the word ‘TELECOM’ buzzed and fluttered out, followed by the ‘C’, then the ‘E’.

  Robert had sawn halfway through the cable surrounding Sarah’s waist when a blinding pain flew across the back of his head and he fell forward across the giant steel and plastic letter, his legs swinging freely out into space.

  Reese massaged his fist, looking down at the two inert bodies. He grinned, clipping an arrow into place on his crossbow, then taking careful aim at the centre of Robert’s back he slowly squeezed the trigger.

  Butterworth’s size-10 police-issue boot hit Reese squarely on the backside and he fell forward, discharging the crossbow at empty air and somersaulting past Robert into the raging sky. The young detective constable dropped to his knees and reached down to Sarah, slipping the electric cable over her head and catching her under the arms. As he hauled her up to safety he heard a crackling sound issuing from the neon letters below. With an acrid bang the ends of the cable became live, dancing and slapping the wall in a spray of sparks.

  ‘You should have chosen to join me, Nathaniel.’ Chymes towered over his past mentor, forcing him to his knees. His metal hand reached down and tore away the black sweater covering Zalian’s throat. He started to squeeze, digits like steel pistons slowl
y biting into warm flesh. ‘Instead I will tear out your heart and we will keep it to remind us of the sacrifice you made for our ascension to power.’

  Nathaniel began to choke and gasp, his legs buckling and splaying behind him as the vise-like fingers pinched over his larynx. The cloaked figure before his eyes started to blur and fade. He felt himself being lifted high by the icy steel grip around his throat.

  Further around the platform, the sulphurous golden light of the remaining letters died and a relay switch diverted the current into Chymes’ two remaining prisoners, killing them instantly. The momentary distraction of the overloaded electric cable caused Chymes to remove his attention from Zalian. The grey pupils of his eyes rolled up into his head and, as his sacrificial victims convulsed and expired, he emitted a low bellow of pleasure.

  Suddenly the air about them became filled with a powerful static charge. Chymes’ body began to shudder, the gleaming cloak filling with a bizarre, unnatural light. His fingers gradually uncoiled, releasing his gasping prey. Robert raised his aching head to see cords of snow dropping like spirals of DNA onto the shimmering phosphorescent figure, wrapping it in a glowing web. The forces of nature seemed to be bending themselves about him, like iron filings in a magnetic field. Unable to make sense of the vision before his eyes, he let his head fall back once more.

  ‘The final transformation has begun, Zalian. I can feel its power within me!’ Chymes’ voice boomed out from the centre of the roaring vortex, low-pitched and distorted:

  ‘ “In the name of the Brotherhood of the New Life,

  Of the Shrine of the Golden Eagle,

  And of the Kabbalah—Denudata,

  Delivered in truth by the Mage of Abra-Melin,

  I am reborn!” ’

  He threw his arms wide, his hands piercing the walls of the tornado of light. With a final agonized effort Zalian lashed out at the storm centre, grabbing at the golden cloak and catching the side of Chymes’ head with his fist. The punch combined with the weight of his body to pull the Imperator over. He slammed down to the platform as Zalian pulled himself upright.