The City of Fear

by Andrew Beasley

  Lucy saw men and women slipping in the mud as they dashed towards their only chance of freedom. The two Feathered Men had been let off their chains and one snatched up an escapee, shaking the man vigorously until the snapping of bones ended his escape attempt. Moon was surrounded by Legionnaires, lashing at him with their whips. Ghost was nowhere to be seen at all.

  A stray bullet zinged past Lucy’s ear. From the tower, Legionnaires were alternately firing rounds into the air and peppering the mud with shots in an attempt to force the prisoners back. Other guards ran across the yard, knocking prisoners down with their rifle butts, pushing them away from the tunnel and back towards their huts. Lucy caught more horrific glimpses of the Feathered Men’s ferocity, driving the detainees back against the wire fence. Red splashes in the rain.

  From one of the watchtowers, the dreadful wail of a siren cut through the air, summoning more of the fallen angels from their roosts, more Legionnaires to quash the escape. Another bullet hit the mud just in front of Lucy’s feet. It was now or never.

  She poured every last reserve of strength into a final push. Legionnaires were advancing from every direction and a hail of bullets and crossbow bolts sliced across her path. Incredibly she came through unscathed and threw herself into a dive, sliding across the mud on her belly until she was peering down the shaft.

  Mud-slick bodies were scrambling down ahead of her but there was no mistaking the figure at the foot of the shaft, helping them on their way.

  “Ben!”

  She lowered herself over the edge. She was so relieved to see Ben that she didn’t notice the Feathered Man swooping down until its beak was snapping at her face.

  Lucy gasped in shock – then gasped again as a crossbow bolt pierced the creature’s neck. Hurriedly she continued her descent, her feet scrabbling for purchase in spite of her Watcher skyboots. Just as her head dropped below the surface she caught sight of Ghost running after her, his stolen crossbow still raised.

  It was a tight squeeze in the shaft. Lucy braced herself with her hands and feet, but the supporting props were slick with rain and she flinched as first her foot slipped off the wall, then a plank came away in her hand with a squelching sound.

  Her heart was racing by the time she reached the bottom and almost fell into Ben’s arms.

  “I thought for a moment you were going to stand me up,” said Ben.

  Lucy smiled. “I’m washing my hair tonight,” she said.

  Claw Carter was waiting at the end of the passageway with Nathaniel, their hands outstretched to the fleeing prisoners who slithered and stumbled towards them. Ben knew that Valentine had bravely gone on ahead to lead the escapees to safety – hopefully they’d all meet up again at today’s rendezvous. Ben was thrilled that so many had got out of the camp, but he knew that time was running out and he searched every face for Ghost and Mr. Moon.

  Looking up through the shaft, Ben caught a fleeting glimpse of Ghost’s shaven head peering down. Ben’s hopes soared – only to be dashed again as a Legionnaire grabbed Ghost by the shoulders and yanked him away. Ben made to climb up after him but he halted as a rumble filled the underground corridor. The whole tunnel began to judder and a fine rain of dirt began to fall…

  “Run!” shouted Carter. “Ben. Lucy. RUN!”

  Lucy’s ears rang as the props began to snap away from the sides of the shaft with the explosive bangs of Chinese firecrackers. Ben grabbed her hand and began to wrench her away from the danger but the roaring darkness was just too quick. With a hideous, hungry slurp the mudslide filled the shaft, winking out the light. Tons of slick soil collapsed in on top of them. Lucy clung to Ben’s hand for dear life, but her fingers were not strong enough and as the falling earth smashed her to the ground she lost grip.

  Mud filled Lucy’s mouth. Her ears. Her nostrils.

  Help! thought Lucy.

  And then the mud stopped her thinking anything at all.

  All that Ben could taste was mud.

  He was disorientated, unsure of which way was up, or where he had fallen. The tunnel had disintegrated completely, burying him and Lucy, and goodness knew how many others, in a wall of clay and timber and debris. The darkness was absolute. Ben’s goggles had prevented his eyes from being caked in liquid mud, but there was nothing to see. He felt like a fly trapped in treacle; the more he tried to move his limbs, the deeper the mud drew him in.

  Mercifully, Ben had fallen with one hand near his face and he was able to scoop the soil out from between his lips. He snorted through his nostrils at the same time and, coughing and choking, he found that he was able to breathe a little more easily. Feeling with his free hand, he determined that there was a small air pocket around his face, although how long the air would last was anybody’s guess. Small breaths, Ben told himself.

  He realized then that he might die here like this. If the others had been crushed beneath the falling rubble and sea of suffocating mud, then this would be the end. Of him. Of the uprising. Of London.

  Stuff that, thought Ben. It was his right hand that was free. The Hand of Heaven. And he used it to dig.

  More than anything, Ben wanted to make sure that Lucy was safe and that added strength to his movements. His fingers touched something and he recognized it as a shoe. He ran his fingertips across it; more particularly it was a Watcher skyboot, he could tell by the gripped sole. Lucy!

  He grabbed it firmly and gave a little tug. The foot inside did not respond at all.

  Suddenly, in the small space he’d cleared around himself, a scattering of soil pattered down from above. Although his ears were full of dirt, he sensed vibrations through the debris. He wasn’t alone, someone was digging him out! With that revelation, Ben felt the Hand of Heaven crackle with energy; a prickling sensation which grew into a heavy pulse of raw power. Ben recognized the feeling and welcomed it.

  As the soil continued to shift around him, Ben freed his other arm and then put his heart and soul into unearthing Lucy.

  He enjoyed a thrill of optimism as he found Lucy’s hand. He squeezed it for reassurance.

  “I’m here, girl. Hang on.”

  Lucy’s fingers were cold and limp.

  A hole appeared and through that hole came a beam of lamplight and Claw Carter’s broad hand.

  Ben clasped it firmly around the wrist and allowed himself to be dragged from the mudslide. His brother, Nathaniel, was there to greet him too. “I thought we’d lost you,” he said softly.

  “Lucy,” Ben said, his breathing ragged as he gasped in mouthfuls of air. “Help me.”

  The three of them dug for all they were worth, throwing the waterlogged soil behind them in a frenzy of movement, until they had gradually revealed their friend’s motionless form. Ben had a terrible sense that they were grave robbers, and once the idea had lodged itself in his mind it proved impossible to shift. When Lucy’s body was finally free they fell into a stunned silence. Her lips were blue. Her eyelids were not moving.

  Her chest was still.

  Ben dropped to his knees and pushed his fingers between Lucy’s lips, scooping out a handful of mud. No response.

  Watcher training had taught Ben far more than just how to do battle. He pressed his lips to hers, shocked at the coldness of their touch. Then he breathed his own air into her lungs, expecting her to cough and come back fighting, just as she always had before.

  Nothing.

  Ben felt the terrible coldness begin to seep into his flesh too.

  Not Lucy.

  He tried again.

  Nothing.

  From somewhere in the tunnels of the Under came the sound of footfalls and the shrieks of Feathered Men fast approaching.

  “Lucy!” Ben shouted. “Come back to us! Come back o me!”

  Still nothing.

  “Ben,” said Carter, picking up his lamp. “We’ve got to go.”

  “I’m not leaving her.”

  Carter glowered. “Only you can defeat Sweet,” he said. “If the Legion take you, then we may as well al
l throw in the towel.”

  Nathaniel hesitated, reaching for a pickaxe to defend himself with. The footsteps were getting nearer, it wouldn’t be much longer. “Ben…”

  Ben was frozen.

  He couldn’t believe that Lucy was gone. Not Lucy.

  The words of the Watcher prophecy came to mind, cutting through his thoughts like broken glass.

  One will come to pay the cost, if he fails all is lost.

  One will come in suffering and pain, to know betrayal and be wounded again.

  Ruby Johnson had betrayed him when he put his trust in her. Was Lucy’s death the wound that he had to bear? To lose Mother Shepherd. To lose Josiah. To lose Lucy too. It was too much.

  The sounds of approaching Legionnaires and the howling of the Feathered Men was getting uncomfortably close. Ben was aware that Nathaniel was tugging at his arm. “We won’t leave her,” Nathaniel said. “We’ll carry Lucy between us, but we’ve got to run! Now, Ben!”

  But Ben couldn’t run.

  He dropped his face onto Lucy’s shoulder, his entire body wracked with emotion. “You were the best of us, girl,” he said, trying not to cry. Very gently he reached out with his right hand. His fingers were trembling uncontrollably. Hold yourself together, Benny Boy. He bit his lower lip in an attempt to rein in his emotions, but even so he could feel hot tears beginning to well. The scarf Lucy had used to disguise herself had fallen away, and a strand of golden hair was plastered to her face. Ben moved to brush it away. His warm fingertip touched her cold skin and—

  Suddenly Lucy convulsed in his arms and sat bolt upright. Ben shot backwards as if he had been electrocuted, his right hand surging with power.

  “Lucy!”

  “Chuff me,” exclaimed Nathaniel.

  “Quite,” said Carter.

  They all stared at Lucy in astonishment, which turned to concern as she coughed up a torrent of thick brown sludge. When she had finished, Ben whipped off his scarf and used it to wipe the rank muck off her lips and face.

  “I thought it was my turn to rescue you,” he said gently, as she gazed back at him. Alive.

  “Yes, yes, all very touching, but can we please start running now? Chop-chop!” said Carter impatiently. “You know, escape, defeat Sweet, that sort of thing.”

  The baying of the Feathered Men was on top of them now. They had perhaps seconds before they were discovered.

  Ben lugged Lucy to her feet and grinned in spite of everything. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The only exit open to them was the tunnel which Valentine had used to lead the other escapees to safety. Ben didn’t have fond memories of it; it descended sharply into the flooded corridors below. However, all the while they had been digging through the mudslide to get to Lucy it seemed that the Feathered Men had been digging from the other side trying to get to them. Even as the Watchers turned to leave, a taloned hand broke through the mountain of debris, followed swiftly by the rasping beak of a Feathered Man.

  Lucy gasped. At first Ben thought it was just shock but then Lucy half-collapsed into his arms, weak from her brush with death.

  With a soul-shattering screech, the Feathered Man continued to claw frantically at the barrier that kept it from its meal. The Watchers had to get away.

  Nathaniel and Ben supported Lucy between them and hobbled as quickly as they could towards the exit and the flooded tunnels beyond. Over his shoulder Ben could see that the Feathered Man had pushed its whole head through. It was the most repulsive one that Ben had ever seen. This fallen angel was gaunt, almost skeletal, with its entire bone structure visible through the tissue of its skin. The head appeared to be diseased, with huge bald patches where its feathers had dropped out, revealing glimpses of the skull beneath. It might be sick, Ben thought, or it might be especially ancient. But either way it was angry about something.

  The Feathered Man burst out in a shower of debris, long rivers of saliva dripping from its beak. Mercifully the tunnel was too tight for the fallen angel to be able to unfurl its wings, but instead it bounded in huge leaps. Another Feathered Man came clambering through the hole after it and behind that was a squad of Legionnaires…

  “If we can get far enough ahead we can still lose them,” said Carter, pulling the young Watchers after him. “We can use the water in the lower levels to our advantage. The Feathered Men won’t have a scent to follow and we can lie low, perhaps find a way to detour around them.”

  “And if we can’t get far enough ahead?” said Ben.

  “Then it’s been nice knowing you.”

  With Carter leading them, they splashed on, the water dragging at their legs as it grew deeper. Carter’s skill kept them ahead of their pursuers but, with only one torch between them and with Lucy still struggling, Ben found it hard to believe that they were going to get away this time. He shuddered as the howls of the fallen angels resounded through the tunnel. They sounded as if they could chase for ever.

  “I’m going to try something,” said Carter, panting heavily. “We can’t go on much longer like this.”

  “What have you got?” said Ben.

  “It’s risky,” said Carter.

  “Isn’t it always?”

  “This way,” said Carter, leading them down an especially unappealing side tunnel. There were no offshoots from this corridor as far as Ben could see. Worse than that, it was a dead end.

  “This doesn’t seem like your best plan, Professor,” said Ben as the wizened Feathered Man turned the corner, hissing triumphantly.

  The young Watchers backed themselves up against the wall, getting ready to defend themselves.

  “Do you trust me?” said Carter, stepping towards the advancing creature.

  “Thousands wouldn’t,” said Ben.

  “I know,” said Carter. “But do you?”

  “You can count on it.”

  “Good lad,” said the professor, taking another pace forwards. “Then trust me now.”

  Both Feathered Men were in the tunnel and the Legionnaires couldn’t be far behind. The diseased Feathered Man blocked the corridor completely; there would be no escape without getting past it. The creature knew that it had won and was savouring the sensation, sniffing the air and barking. Perhaps it could smell human fear? Perhaps, for a fallen angel, the scent of trapped Watchers was like the dizzying smell of gin for a drunkard?

  Nathaniel readied his pickaxe handle. Ben positioned himself in front of Lucy; his quarterstaff wouldn’t be much use in such a confined space but he wouldn’t go without a fight. Lucy promptly came out from behind him. She found a piece of timber floating nearby and took it in both hands like a club. “Side by side,” she said. “Always.”

  Carter had nothing but his claw. He hugged the wall of the tunnel and crept towards the slavering beast.

  “Stupid, aren’t you?” Carter taunted.

  The Feathered Man’s neck stretched and it gave a shrieking roar. It took another pace forward.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” the professor said dismissively. His claw hand casually reached up for a torch in its bracket on the wall.

  “What’s he going to do with that?” whispered Nathaniel. “It isn’t even lit. Is he going to throw it and shout ‘fetch’?”

  “Wait,” said Ben, his own mind racing as their options continued to dwindle. “Carter knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t want to die down here any more than we do.”

  Ben knew Carter must have been well aware that this was a dead end when he’d led them down here, so there had to be something about this tunnel that they could use to their advantage. But what? He examined Carter’s movements. The professor’s claw was still hovering by the torch bracket – was there something special about that?

  Ben’s eyes strained against the dark. Was that a row of black recesses across the ceiling? Ben suddenly understood and joined Carter in taunting the Feathered Man.

  “Come on then!” Ben yelled. “You want to eat me, here I am!”

  The Feathered Man shrieked again and too
k another step forwards. It was almost directly beneath the line of holes now. Just a little closer…

  Then the fallen angel hesitated. Its head swayed from side to side. It sniffed again, clacked its beak…and took a step back.

  Ben knew that they wouldn’t get another shot at this. He dashed towards the Feathered Man and flung his hands around its neck, then heaved the creature forwards with all his might, bringing it under those ominous holes in the roof of the passage.

  “Now!”

  Carter pulled down the secret lever and a metal portcullis dropped from the ceiling. Ben threw himself backwards out of the way as a row of metal spikes pierced the fallen angel across the neck and shoulders, pinning it to the floor and pushing its head beneath the water. The limbs twitched and splashed spasmodically and then fell limp.

  The second Feathered Man stepped forward, Legionnaires filling the tunnel behind it. Carter went for the lever again, this time pushing it to the left. With a rasp a whole section of the wall began to swing open.

  “A secret door,” said Lucy with admiration.

  They hurried through and closed it behind them. The last thing that Ben glimpsed as Carter jammed the lock was the other Feathered Man beginning to feast on his fallen brother.

  Munro had spent the night under some canvas sacking in a side street in Islington. Two patrols had walked passed him and missed him. Munro was good at hiding. His father had been the sort of man you needed to hide from.

  Munro had come up with a plan, of sorts. His work party had been responsible for ensuring that the tunnels in the Under which led out of Sweet’s city were sealed. This Munro had done. However, he knew there was one tunnel which was still passable. It wouldn’t be easy, especially because his shape wasn’t designed for crawling through tight passages, and his legs weren’t the strongest for pushing. But he would make it. By God, he would make it. The tunnel would take him under the death zone, with all its spiteful traps, and bring him up again somewhere near Highbury Fields, a posh part of London where Munro hoped they would ignore him rather than ridicule him.