The City of Fear

by Andrew Beasley

  Through the slit in the curtains, Munro observed the man who had made himself a king. Sweet was twitching, his head moving jerkily as if he was trying to follow some will-o’-the-wisp, always flitting at the edge of his vision.

  The clock ticked remorselessly. The logs in the hearth crackled. Gradually Sweet succumbed to a fitful sleep. Periodically he would jolt upright and wave his hands in front of his face. “The flames,” Sweet groaned. “The flames.”

  Scarred on the outside, scared on the inside.

  Munro didn’t need to take revenge. This man was hurting enough already.

  He left Sweet to his demons and slipped away.

  Ben’s confusion was replaced with anger.

  Ben snatched up a sledgehammer and swinging it as best he could within the confines of the tool storeroom, he brought it down against the door with a splintering crash!

  The door gave and Ben kicked it wide with his booted foot, the sledgehammer still raised and ready. He burst into the tunnel, ready to confront Carter for his betrayal.

  The scene that met him in the corridor did not match the picture in Ben’s mind. It took him a couple of seconds to understand what he was seeing.

  Instead of looking ashamed, as any traitor should, Claw Carter was standing there as bold as brass, with one foot on the chest of a prone figure, looking like a hunter posing proudly over his latest kill.

  Ben suddenly felt rather self-conscious and lowered his sledgehammer to the ground as nonchalantly as he could manage. “So,” he blustered, “what did you shove me in there for?”

  “Because, Ben Kingdom,” said Carter with absolute sincerity, “not so long ago you saved my life. And if you hadn’t already spotted, I have been trying to protect yours ever since.”

  “So,” said Ben, squinting through the darkness at the figure struggling beneath Carter’s boot, like a beetle pinned to velvet. “Who have we got here then?”

  Carter shone his lamp on the situation.

  “Jimmy Dips!” Ben declared, recognizing one of Mickelwhite’s brigade. “Still sticking your long beak where it’s not wanted, I see.”

  Jimmy seemed offended by that remark and his weasel face twitched.

  “How long have you been following us?” said Ben. “What have you seen?”

  “I wasn’t following you,” Jimmy protested. “I was hiding.”

  “Why?” Ben demanded. “You’re one of the bad guys, and if you haven’t noticed, the bad guys are winning.”

  “I wasn’t looking for you, honest,” Jimmy stuttered. “I’m hiding from Mr. Sweet.”

  At that name, Carter removed his foot. “Tell me more.”

  Jimmy took a deep breath, and massaged his throat where Carter’s boot had left a mark. “He’s a monster,” said Jimmy finally. “None of us dare tell him anything that he doesn’t want to hear. Everyone is afraid of him, everyone. He hates the Watchers, especially you two – no offence – but he’s just as spiteful to Legionnaires who upset him. He locks himself away and spends his days screaming and shouting to himself. The things he’s done…” Jimmy broke off and for a moment Ben thought the boy was going to cry.

  “I always knew that Sweet wasn’t man enough to wear the crown,” said Carter with a broad smile. Ben wondered whether Carter was considering trying the crown on for size himself. It was not a comforting thought and Ben chose not to dwell on it.

  “So,” he said instead. “What shall we do with Dips?”

  “He’s seen us, so we can’t let him go.” Carter stroked his claw for emphasis. “But we can’t take him with us either, there are already too many rats in this place.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” said Ben.

  “Probably not,” Carter replied.

  “Let’s tie him up.”

  “But I’ll never survive down here on my own,” Jimmy protested.

  “I’ll leave you my lamp,” said Ben. “You’ll have light, and you’ll be able to burn through your bonds…eventually.”

  “And in the meantime, we’ll be long gone,” finished Carter.

  Jimmy seemed relieved. “Why would you even give me a chance?”

  “That’s what Watchers do,” said Ben.

  “Apparently,” Carter added under his breath.

  “Looking for the freak show, are you, mate?”

  Munro ignored the insult. Freaks weren’t bad company anyway. In his experience, they were far better than the louts who leered and shouted their pathetic jibes.

  Munro remembered all of the other unfortunates that he once shared his life with. Rufus the wolf boy, every inch of his body covered in shaggy hair; Pinhead Morgan, with his tiny head resting on normal-sized shoulders. Tim and Tom, the conjoined twins. Nice lads all of them. The owner of the show – not a nice man – christened Munro “Quasimodo” and made him bang his head against a large bell for the amusement of the crowd. Munro remembered the rotten fruit that pelted him. The spiteful words that were spat at him.

  Something soft hit Munro square in the back, striking him between the shoulder blades with a filthy wet sound. Munro turned and saw a couple of yobs wearing Legion armbands and laughing as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Munro still had the dagger on his belt and his hand went to it, but he knew that he wouldn’t use it. He wouldn’t lower himself to their level. Instead Munro ignored it, as he ignored the million offences that had gone before, and he scurried on through the city.

  The further away from Sweet and the Tower of London he got, the better Munro felt. But he knew this was only the beginning of his journey. He had no real plan. When he thought about it, he supposed that he might become a beggar somewhere. He’d rather be an apprentice, but no one took on a hunchback when they had a choice. His name was Scottish, someone had once told him, and he wondered if he could get as far as Edinburgh or Glasgow? Maybe he’d just keep walking, get as far away from London as he could. Find an island where he could be left alone.

  A patrol turned the corner then and Munro did his best not to draw their attention. He was still in the Legion, so far as they knew, so there was no reason why they should pay him any heed. Wasn’t he just another Legionnaire going about his business?

  Then he felt their eyes on him. The familiar mixture of fascination and disgust.

  “Look at that,” said the first. “Bet he broke his mother’s heart.”

  They all laughed and it stung Munro, even after all these years. He picked up his pace, dragging his lame leg behind him.

  He could hear their laughter long after they were out of sight.

  He missed Ruby. He missed Buster.

  But he wouldn’t miss the Legion.

  Ruby Johnson was being carried through the air by Grey Wing. Like second-class baggage, she thought. Or a dead rabbit in a kestrel’s claws. Sharp talons dug into her shoulders, bruising her through her jacket. They were flying at terrible speed, the wind and rain scouring her face. With each twist and jolt, Ruby could feel her stomach churning. She was going to be sick any moment – she wondered whether her vomit would land on some poor pedestrian’s head.

  The Feathered Man wheeled again, and began to dive swiftly towards the ground. Ruby was so relieved when they touched down that she actually dropped to her knees on the soaking cobblestones. The wave of nausea passed and she rose unsteadily to her feet. She had no doubt that her face had turned as green as her eyes.

  Grey Wing had acquired some information about the Gehenna Key. It seemed that the Watchers had hidden it on consecrated ground, presumably so the Feathered Men couldn’t get their filthy talons on it. So here she was, dizzy and drenched, on Lupus Street in Pimlico, gazing up at the spire of St Saviour’s church, ready to do their dirty work.

  Ruby didn’t know what the Gehenna Key was for. Presumably it would unlock a vault containing some fabulous treasure; she couldn’t imagine what else would be worth so much fuss. What she did know was that she had to search every church in London until she found it. This could turn out to be a very long day.
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  The Feathered Man hissed at her, then shoved her rudely in the direction of the gate.

  “That’s no way to treat a lady,” Ruby scolded, trying to maintain her veneer of calm.

  As Ruby crossed through the gateway and approached the grand arched doors, she had a sudden troubling thought. In her time, she had known more than one vicar who helped himself to the Sunday collection or drank most of the communion wine. She had also brushed up against some brazen villains who proudly went to church on Sunday and happily broke your legs on a Monday, and none of them had ever been struck by lightning. If the Feathered Men couldn’t even put their toe on holy ground, then they had to be truly evil indeed.

  Ruby glanced over her shoulder and the creature leered at her, watching her every move. She tried the handle of the door, but it was locked; a sign of the times. Fishing in her satchel, she pulled out her lock picks and was inside in under a minute. As the door closed behind her, Ruby rested her back against the solid wood and exhaled.

  She had never been one for churches, mainly on account of her being a professional thief, and yet she couldn’t deny that she felt a strange sense of peace in here. Or maybe it was just the fact that she would be spending a few minutes without the threat of being eaten alive by a fallen angel that felt pleasant.

  Ruby stared down the long aisle, stately pews arranged on either side. Above her head, the vaulted roof was supported by graceful arches and pillars. It was all very imposing, but her eyes were drawn irresistibly to the altar.

  All that silver! How had the looters missed that?

  Ruby found that she was almost running by the time she reached it.

  She had no idea how long she could keep being useful to Grey Wing. She knew that she had to find this key thing soon, but she also couldn’t help wondering whether that would be the end of their not-very-comfortable arrangement. So in the meantime she had to get as much loot for herself – even in Sweet’s new order, money still had a way of opening doors. And when she had enough, it would be “Goodbye, Legion”, “Goodbye, London”, “Hello, new beginning”.

  Ruby lifted the huge cross in the middle of the altar, but it was too big and bulky to fit easily in her sack. Instead she gathered up the candlesticks – nice pair, good craftsmanship – and a sort of silver dish with a lid, which she thought they kept the communion wafers in or something. They clanged together in her bag and it was only then that Ruby heard another sound, so near that she almost dropped her swag completely.

  The never-ending rain made the sky black outside and the church was filled with shadows. The sound had stopped now, but Ruby knew that she had not been mistaken. She drew out one of the candlesticks. It was hefty enough to use as a weapon if push came to shove.

  “I know you’re there!” she called out.

  Nothing.

  Then the sound again. The soft scuffing of shoe leather on tiles; heavy breathing. Muffled tears.

  “Who’s there?”

  Ruby braced herself for fight or flight, checking for the nearest way out, searching for movement in the church. It didn’t feel peaceful any more, that was for sure.

  Then she spotted a small head, peering out from behind one of the pews. It was just a kid – a frightened child with a dirty face and deep, tired lines around his eyes. As Ruby watched, two more heads popped up; a brother and a sister, she guessed – they had the same noses. Then, finally, a woman appeared, whose long hair was once probably very beautiful but was now matted and dirty. She spread her arms protectively around the children’s shoulders and drew them closer.

  “Don’t hurt us,” she said. Then, with a pained look at the doors and the brutal world outside, she added, “Please don’t tell anyone, I’m begging you.”

  Ruby looked at the candlestick in her hand. It was one thing to be a thief when no one was looking, but it was quite another to be caught in the act. She didn’t feel guilty exactly, but she wasn’t proud of herself.

  “It’s for starving orphans,” she said, by way of explanation. Well, starving orphan, anyway.

  The family continued to stare at her.

  “Is this your church?” Ruby asked. She might still be able to turn this to her advantage. Some local knowledge might prove very useful.

  The youngest nodded.

  “I bet you know all about it, don’t you?” said Ruby.

  The girl nodded again, enjoying the attention, although her mother still seemed wary.

  “I’m looking for something very special,” Ruby continued.

  “Is it pirate treasure?” piped up the middle boy.

  “Sort of,” said Ruby, “but it is hidden.”

  “Definitely treasure then. Did the pirates leave any clues?”

  It was a good question, and one that Ruby herself had put a lot of thought into. If the Watchers had hidden the key, then maybe she needed to think like a Watcher to find it. She had made a mental list of what she knew about the Watchers. They thought they were something special, she knew that much. They lived on the rooftops; should she be searching amongst the rafters? Out on the roof itself? They were non-violent, in a hit-you-with-a-stick rather than a stick-you-with-a-knife sort of way. Their symbol was an open hand, which always made Ruby think of surrender. What else? Ben Kingdom was a Watcher. So was that aggressive one-eyed girl, Lucy something. And Jago Moon; the blind bully, as the Legion liked to think of him.

  “The pirates sometimes mark their spot like this,” said Ruby, playing along with the boy’s fantasy. She lifted her right hand and made the Watcher symbol. “Have you seen that secret sign before?”

  The boy screwed up his face in concentration and scratched his head, sending lice scurrying. He looked as if he was on the verge of a great announcement.

  “Yes?” said Ruby hopefully.

  “No,” said the boy.

  “I have,” said the girl, to her brother’s obvious annoyance. And before her mother could pull her back, she scampered away down the aisle.

  “Look, look,” said the girl, pointing to a grave slab embedded in the church floor.

  Brushing away the dust, Ruby read the inscription:

  18th November 1755 – 1st January 1803

  Here lies the body of

  Obadiah Moon

  “Resist the Devil and he shall flee.”

  Obadiah Moon. You’ve got to be kidding me… So they’ve been Watchers for generations.

  The epitaph went on and on and got really boring really quickly, but right at the end Ruby found what she was looking for. Hidden amid the curlicues was the Watcher symbol. Her heart beating heavily, Ruby placed her thumb on the symbol and applied pressure. Then came the click as a hidden panel came loose.

  Curiosity seemed to have overcome the whole family and they gathered to stare over Ruby’s shoulder as she carefully lifted the lid. Tentatively Ruby explored the dark hole with her fingers, dreading finding bones. When she found only dirt and grit, she grew bolder, pushing her hand into the corners and recesses of the concealed safe-box. There was nothing that felt like a key and Ruby’s lip began to curl into a snarl of disappointment. But wait, what was this? Tucked in the furthest corner was a small square of folded parchment. It might be a clue! Ruby retrieved it carefully, blew away a layer of dust and then unfolded the delicate paper…

  In a very elegant hand, it read: You’ll get no secrets from me, Legion SCUM!

  In anger, Ruby screwed it into a ball. Outside Grey Wing was screaming manically. Thunder rumbled like the gates of hell opening and the children pushed themselves against their mother for safety.

  “I have to go,” said Ruby quietly, “but I won’t let on about you, I promise.”

  For some reason she thought of Ben Kingdom then, and wondered what he would do.

  Just as she was about to leave, her conscience nagged at her and she dug into her bag, pulling out a hunk of bread and cheese that she had been saving. “This is your fault, Ben,” she muttered under her breath. She gave the food to the little girl with some resentment, but
the gratitude in the child’s eyes caught her off-guard; it was almost overwhelming.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” the children chorused.

  “God bless you, miss,” said the mother.

  “It’s not much,” said Ruby, awkward with embarrassment.

  She headed for the doors and the storm beyond. Outside the rain hit her. It was cold on her face and it should have brought clarity, but her feelings were confused. She’d needed that food for herself, and yet wished that she had more she could give.

  Ruby walked slowly down the path to where Grey Wing was lingering, trapped on the unholy side of the gate. Her bag bulged with stolen silver, but she had failed to find the key… She said nothing as the foul creature plucked her into the sky again, heading for the next church to desecrate. The ground spun away, the buildings shrinking to tiny doll’s houses as they flew up and up. Ruby shut her eyes and tried not to think about falling. The talons were like daggers, and Ruby had no doubt that the Feathered Man was hurting her for the pleasure of it. She opened one eye and regretted it, feeling sick immediately.

  And yet in spite of everything, a small smile warmed Ruby’s lips.

  Those kids, their mother, were safe.

  It felt like a triumph.

  Ben’s shoulders screamed as he hacked away with his shovel. Sweat stung his eyes. The palms of his hands were raw with blisters, but he refused to give up, refused to slow down. Lucy was up there, in the detention camp. So was Ghost; so was Mr. Moon. He had to save them.

  Ben, Carter, Nathaniel and Valentine worked relentlessly in five-minute shifts, pitting themselves against the dripping ceiling of clay. They had been working on the tunnel for so long that time had lost all meaning. None of them spoke, they only grunted with effort, but words were no longer necessary between them anyway. They were a machine with four parts working as one.

  The digger was the first job, and this was the role that Ben attacked most eagerly. He hacked at the clay above him with a fury, inching his way towards Lucy. Holding the shovel over his head, Ben used it more like a pickaxe, chipping away at the layers of compacted soil. He kept his Watcher goggles on when he was the digger, shielding his eyes from the rain of falling debris. When they’d begun work on the shaft – what felt like a lifetime ago already – Ben had been forced to balance precariously on a makeshift ladder; but now he was able to brace himself against the sides of the shaft, supporting himself with his outstretched legs until his thighs burned and his calves trembled uncontrollably.