‘Well?’ he asked.
Kay was texting. He nodded, then closed his mobile. ‘It’s done. I’ve sent the thirteen-ten code to everyone.’ He then threw the mobile out of the window.
Of course, thought Billi. Silent Running. Arthur had established this new Rule after the Nights of Iron. If ever the Templars were threatened again an alarm code would be sent out: 1310, symbolizing Friday the thirteenth of October, the day the Templars had been captured by the Inquisition. Every Templar was to immediately abandon his position and retreat to a safe house. Each safe house would comprise three knights, called a lance. Billi and Kay were meant to have gone with Percy to an apartment in the East End. From there safe communication would be re-established.
But not with mobiles. If any lance was compromised it had to be assumed the enemy might use their mobiles against them. The way Michael had when he’d texted Kay. Instead they’d meet at prearranged rendezvous points. Places open and very public. Almost impossible to be spied upon or trapped in.
Elaine brought them to a row of garages near Abney Park Cemetery. The huge graveyard was a Victorian necropolis, designed to absorb the sudden boom in London ’s population in the nineteenth century. Now it was derelict and overgrown due to decades of neglect. The rusty iron railings surrounding it were wrapped in ivy and beyond was a black labyrinth of broken gravestones, graffiti-covered mausoleums and a wild mass of out-of-control bushes, trees and long grass.
‘Home sweet home,’ said Elaine. ‘Do open up those doors, would you?’
The rear of the garage was cluttered with old furniture, overspill for Elaine’s pawn shop no doubt. The safe house was the floor upstairs, but they entered it through a side door beside the garage. As Billi helped Kay with her dad she noticed a small alcove in the right door post. It contained a black box. A mezuzah. Elaine touched the box and kissed her fingertips. She caught Billi looking at her. ‘Better safe than sorry,’ she said.
Billi inspected the box. She knew that inside was a scroll bearing a Jewish prayer, Sh’ma Yisroel. A ward against evil spirits. But would it protect them against Michael and his ghuls? Billi wondered.
A steep, narrow staircase rose from the front door to the floor above. The wall was lined with old photographs, but Billi concentrated on getting her dad up, not easy given the space, but they managed after almost ten minutes. Turning right, they entered a small sparsely furnished living room. Against the far wall was a kitchenette made of plain wooden cabinets, a stove and a small fridge, which hummed loudly.
‘Drop Art in the main bedroom,’ said Elaine, and pointed at a door in the corner. Billi nodded to Kay and they hauled Arthur the last few metres. The bedroom had a wardrobe, a desk and a futon bed with some grey army blankets.
‘Dad’ll feel right at home,’ she said as they lowered him down. He lay there, coughing.
‘Water,’ he said. Kay went out to get some. Billi lifted her dad’s legs into the bed and then looked around the room.
So this was Elaine’s little getaway. A Tibetan mandala hung over the bed and several North American spirit traps dangled from the ceiling. It looked like the bedroom of some hippy. She inspected the photographs and suddenly stopped.
It was her mum. She had her arm over Elaine’s shoulders and was leaned back, her belly huge and pregnant. Elaine grinned at the camera and her mum was caught mid-laugh.
‘Who took this?’ asked Billi.
The bedframe creaked as Arthur looked over. ‘I did,’ he sighed. ‘Ages ago.’
Billi stared at the photo. It made sense that they’d been friends. She’d thought about it since seeing the calligraphy back at Elaine’s Bazaar. They’d both been outsiders. Elaine looked centuries younger, her hair was black and the wrinkles shallow. Billi couldn’t stop looking at her mother. The laugh was big, but it didn’t spread to her eyes. They were clear and locked on the photographer: her dad. Jamila cradled her bulging belly and Billi’s mouth went dry. That was her in there, about to be born. What was her mum thinking? Could she have imagined the events that were to unfold – what would happen to her and her child? Those black eyes didn’t reveal anything, the eyes Billi had inherited.
Kay entered and Billi stiffened. Kay passed Arthur a tall glass of water and then he left. Arthur drained the glass in one, put it down and looked as though he was about to speak. But he didn’t, instead he sank into the pillows and closed his eyes.
What were they going to do? They had no idea where the other Templars were, or if they’d even survived. Michael might have already eliminated them.
It looked hopeless. Billi gazed at her father sleeping and wanted him to tell her the answers. But she wasn’t sure he’d even have them. She closed the door quietly as she went out.
Kay was slumped on the sofa. Billi couldn’t be sure, but he looked paler than normal. She kicked his heels and he shifted over.
‘Thanks for that,’ she said. ‘Taking out the ghul.’
‘Told you I could fight.’
‘Let’s not get too carried away. Knocking someone over does not make you Bruce Lee.’
Elaine came back from outside and tossed a stuffed bin bag in the centre of the room. ‘There are a few spare sleeping bags and sheets in there. Make yourselves comfortable.’
‘Where are we sleeping?’ asked Kay. Elaine pointed at the sofa, and then the floor.
‘Take your pick.’
The acrid sting of cigarette smoke woke her. Billi shuffled on to her side, careful not to fall off the sofa. It was lumpy and uneven, half the springs were missing and it sagged in the middle. Now that she was awake Billi felt the twinges and aches along her back. She rose slowly and stretched.
The curtains were thin cotton sheets, and glowed faintly from the moonlight. Kay lay sprawled on the floor, his pale foot sticking out from under the unzipped sleeping bag. His black T-shirt made the whiteness of his face all the more stark and icy.
He sleeps with his eyes open.
Just a sliver of blue peeked through Kay’s parted eyelids, sparkling. His chest rose and dipped, his breath a soft whisper.
Her dad’s door was ajar. She saw his silhouette beside the desk, and a red tip burning along his fingers.
He’s smoking. He’s just had a lung punctured and he’s having a fag.
She went to the door and pushed it open.
‘It’s not like you have a lung to spare,’ she said. ‘You should quit.’
Arthur raised the cigarette to his lips, stopped, then put it back in the ashtray. ‘Like you?’
If this was his attempt to make her feel guilty, after everything that had just happened, well he was going to be disappointed. Billi took the smouldering stub, and squashed it out.
‘So, why did you quit?’ he asked.
‘I’m not a Templar.’
‘You sure? Not doing too badly.’
Billi laughed. ‘Except for hurling my guts during the Ordeal. Except for bringing the Angel of Death to our home. Except for getting you almost killed. Except for -’ the image of Percy, his body beside her and his blood over her face, sprang up – ‘except for Percy.’
‘We all make mistakes.’
‘Yeah, but mine are fatal.’ Billi looked at her father’s gaunt face. ‘I can’t take it, Dad. I don’t want this life. This responsibility. My mistake got Percy killed.’ She sank her face into her hands. ‘He’s dead because of me.’
‘It’s not a duty you can just abandon. For better or for worse it’s the life you lead.’
‘No.’ She raised her head so they were eye to eye. ‘It’s the life you lead.’ She stood up. ‘I’m not going to become like you.’ As she said it, her breath caught in her throat. He didn’t feel anything, for anyone. She looked down at the minute cut on her wrist. He didn’t care about her, so why should she care about him?
‘One day you’ll understand, Billi. You’ll make hard choices and you’ll need this life to make them.’
‘No, I won’t.’ Billi went towards the door. She looked back at him, b
attered, scarred, his chest wrapped in fresh white bandages. Arthur should have died a hundred times over; maybe, deep down, that’s what he wanted. He wanted to destroy himself. She wasn’t going to let him destroy her.
‘Billi, I know you’re angry at me. I wish there was another way.’
Billi turned the handle. ‘It’s not anger I feel.’ She opened the door and her eyes fell again on the picture. ‘It’s pity.’
21
She is dreaming. She knows it but cannot do anything but be carried along by the ancient phantoms lingering just the other side of life. These streets she walks have long vanished under the sands, and the hot white sun, the Eye of Ra, has sunk and risen across the horizon countless times since. But the heat of it burns her face and the coarse grittiness under her bare soles feels real and immediate. She scrunches her toes in the bleached white sand and lets the particles tickle her feet.
They come out on to the streets bearing their terrible loads. The poor wear simple tunics of tan-coloured cotton while the rich and powerful are wrapped in sparkling white linen.
But whitest of all are the burial shrouds.
Somewhere in the palace the pharaoh lays out his dead firstborn child at the foot of Anubis. These gods, once so mighty, will fade like this city into legend as a new, greater and more terrible deity takes their place. But religion requires sacrifice, Billi knows this to be true, and somewhere deep inside she fears the price yet to be paid.
The dead line the streets. Rich and poor, slave and noble, made equal. The rows of white bundles seem to go on forever.
But one draws Billi closer. She drifts through the mourning Egyptians like a ghost, pulled towards this one single shrouded figure. Her hand acts of its own accord as it reaches out to touch the familiar face, covered by the thin cotton. Her fingers trace over the cheeks, cold despite the desert heat. Thumb and forefinger pinch the corner of the cloth and she pulls it back -
Kay held her tightly to him as she screamed. Billi’s skin dripped with sweat and her chest ran hard and rapid with fear. She grabbed hold of him and they hung on to each other as she fought down the nightmare.
A dream, just a dream. It’s just a dream.
Eyes squeezed shut she pressed her forehead against Kay’s chest as he knelt beside her on the sofa bed. She wasn’t an Oracle; her dreams didn’t mean anything. Anything. She tried to focus on the back of her eyelids, but couldn’t. Kay smelt. Not in a bad way, but it sparked off old memories, back when they were little, sneaking into bed together while the other Templars talked downstairs. It was the closest she’d felt to being part of a family. Touching him this close, she picked up the warm, slightly oily scent of his skin, not dry and cold as she’d imagined, but strangely earthy, moist. She felt how his chest slowly rose and settled back and realized he wasn’t quite as skinny as she’d always thought. He didn’t have the inhuman physique of Michael, the shape of a marble statue brought to life, but there was hidden strength under his skin, and maybe more than bone and sinew. His arms fitted around her and his hands were soft. Maybe she could rest here just for another minute.
Kay coughed and pulled back. ‘You OK?’ He was blushing. On someone that pale it looked pretty extreme.
Oh God, he was reading my mind. What had she been thinking? Billi nodded and looked around, anywhere but at him. Dawn light filtered in through the small windows filling the lounge with a soft golden glow. Billi slowly stretched from the toes, legs, torso, shoulders, arms and fingertips, reaching upwards as far as she could go, letting the kinks and knots in her muscles slip out. Kay sat there, watching.
‘Why don’t you stop gawking and get me some breakfast?’ Billi wore an old T-shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms. She grabbed a sweater and added that, uncomfortably aware of his presence. She slipped her feet into her trainers and went over to the table while Kay crossed the lounge to the kitchenette. He fumbled around in a cupboard and began putting out the butter and plates. He was all fingers and thumbs, spilling the milk and burning the toast.
‘Dad and Elaine?’ she asked.
‘Still in bed.’ Kay almost dropped the bowl. ‘Separately. Obviously.’
She took a plate off him. ‘Obviously.’
Kay mixed up a bowl of muesli with a thick heavy spoonful of honey, then pushed it over to her.
‘My favourite. Now how on earth did you know?’
Kay ignored her taunt. ‘What’s next?’
Billi took a mouthful. If nothing else Kay mixed a mean muesli. ‘No idea. But I’m sure Dad’ll have a plan. And knowing him it’ll probably be insanely dangerous.’
Billi glanced at her dad’s door. ‘What I don’t understand is why it hasn’t affected me. The tenth plague. I’m a firstborn.’
‘Michael wouldn’t have wanted to give the game away by infecting you. I would have seen it.’ Kay’s fingers curled into a fist. ‘But I’ve marked him, Billi. I know what he’s made of.’
‘What?’
‘What’s for breakfast?’ asked Elaine as she came out of the spare room. She held a cigarette between her fingers and switched on the gas hob. She slowly rotated the end of the cigarette until it caught light and then took a long, deep drag. ‘Better.’
Arthur’s door creaked open.
‘Morning.’ He shuffled to the table and sat. He looked better, but not by much. There was a tinge of colour in his cheeks, and his eyes didn’t look as sunken as they had been, but his jeans and tatty green jumper looked two sizes too big and hung loose over his frame.
He looks so feeble, Billi thought. A strong breeze would knock him down.
Eggs came out of the fridge and were soon frying with mushrooms, onions and a spoonful of chilli. The teas were poured out when Elaine cleared her throat.
‘What’s the plan, boss?’
‘Simple. We regroup and take the fight to Michael.’
Billi rolled her eyes. What a bloody surprise. She looked around the table. Didn’t they get it? There was no way of defeating Michael. This was suicide.
She had to get them to see sense. ‘I think -’
‘We know what you think,’ snapped her father.
‘Have some sense, Dad!’ Billi bolted to her feet. ‘We don’t know if the others are even alive!’
‘Oh, they’re alive,’ said Kay. Everyone turned to him. He shrugged. ‘To draw something out of a person’s mind you need to open your own.’ He pointed at Arthur’s forehead. ‘When Michael was trying to open yours I entered his. He’d hoped to take us out first, then sweep up the others. Big mistake.’
‘Well done, Kay!’ Arthur slapped his palm on the table, his old strength suddenly returning as he sensed the battle turning in his favour. ‘I’m proud of you.’
He might as well have kicked Billi in the guts.
I’m proud of you.
Of you.
Her dad never spoke to her like that.
Hadn’t she done anything he’d been proud of? No. As far as Arthur was concerned if she wasn’t a Templar she wasn’t anything.
I’m proud of you.
Billi reached the door. Her heart shrivelled with misery, but she quashed that. She wasn’t going to go to pieces. Instead blackness swelled and that filled her heart now.
I’m proud of you.
He’d asked her if she hated him, back in the armoury. Why?
Because it would be easier if she did. Easier for him.
She meant nothing to him.
‘Billi?’ started Kay.
She slammed the door behind her.
22
Billi ran. She ran down Stoke Newington Church Street. Past the dustmen loading up their lorry, past the old Sikh arranging fruit outside his grocery shop, past the office workers at the bus stop. Billi’s feet hardly touched the ground and her rage wouldn’t let her stop. The gates of Clissold Park stood open and the park beyond was carpeted in a low, white mist. Billi ran in. She didn’t care where, just away.
I’m proud of you.
She couldn’t get it out of her
mind, the way her dad had smiled. At Kay.
Oh, yes. She should have known; Kay was the Oracle after all. He was important. And she? What was she?
She wasn’t a Templar.
Billi barged past two joggers in their Day-Glo Lycra outfits, and overtook a trio of nannies with their designer prams and designer babies. The west exit on to Green Lane suddenly appeared ahead out of the mist, mere metres away.
As did Kay.
Billi was almost on top of him when she realized he was there. He raised his hand and smiled and found himself lying on the dewy grass, groaning and clutching his face. Billi stood over him, the knuckles on her right fist hot and bruised.
‘What the hell d’you do that for?’ he cried.
Would Arthur be so proud of him now? She wanted Kay to be angry, to get up and fight. Just so she could smash him in the other eye.
Some Templar.
She nudged him with her foot. ‘Get up.’ He didn’t respond. She kicked him.
‘Ow!’
‘Just get up.’
The three nannies passed by, giving Billi long sideways glances, no doubt memorizing her face in case of a police line-up later.
‘What the hell are you looking at?’ she shouted, then slumped down on a bench, her fists still tightly clenched, struggling to get her rage under control. But all she could see was everyone praising and adoring Kay. Marvellous Kay.
It wasn’t his fault, though. Not really. She tried hard to believe it, but the urge to punch his pasty white face in remained incredibly strong.
She had to take it out on someone!
She lowered her hands and stared at the ground. And at Kay’s boots.
‘Why?’
He shuffled, perhaps wary of a second attack. ‘Why what?’
‘Why did you come after me? You always do. Like some…’
‘Guardian angel?’ Kay suggested.
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