‘So, the most important clock and spell in both worlds . . . ’ he said.
‘. . . only works because of an exact number of old coins,’ she finished for him. ‘Imagine what a whole lot of cursed pennies could do.’
‘But breaking the spell . . . that’s madness.’
‘She isn’t going to break it though. She said she’s going to get control of it and take all the magic with her so she can go into the Daylight realm. She’s going to let all her nasties out with her too.’
Tarkus went a peculiar green colour, and the sour fug of rotting leaves filled the small room.
‘But without magic . . . if time moves again, the Midnight Hour will pop like a bubble! We’d all be plunged back into the Daylight realm!’ His big yellow eyes brimmed with tears. ‘My family can’t survive there anymore! They’d be hunted. Without magical protection, we’d never be safe again.’
The hot shame from before returned threefold, and left her feeling sick.
‘Why? Why would she do this?’ said Tarkus, face twisted with anguish.
‘She wants the magic and the music all for herself, and she doesn’t care what happens to anybody else.’ Emily shuddered at the memory of those eyes. ‘She looks fancy but she’s just . . . all emptiness and hunger. She talks about wanting to be free, but I think she just wants the power.’
Tarkus’s lips moved as his mind raced.
‘This would destroy my home, all our homes. We were meant to be safe here.’
His eyes dipped from their usual golden yellow to a burnt bronze colour.
‘I don’t know what it would do to your world, but . . . all of the Angry Dead released, her with the midnight spell? Nowhere would be safe.’
Silence filled the space between them. Tarkus’s eyes began to burn brighter.
‘I won’t see my family suffer again, nor anybody else’s. I have to stop her.’
‘I have to stop her, it’s all my fault,’ said Emily.
‘I thought you just wanted to go home?’
She flushed beetroot-red.
‘Yeah, well, I’ve had a chance to think about that. It’s amazing how being a massive rabbit can—’
‘Hare.’
‘Whatever, Trevor. How being a massive HARE can make you think about stuff.’ She looked straight into his yellow, fiery, eyes. ‘I’m sorry I was a git. Let’s stop her together and get my mum and dad back. And that’s totally the last apology you’re getting.’
‘Accepted, Miss Featherhaugh. What are we going to do?’
‘I’ve got a bit of a plan. I’ve sent for help, because I’m not an idiot, but she’s got the Bear and who knows what else. What about the Watch?’
Tarkus’s face twisted in frustration.
‘Sarge wouldn’t listen. The only reason I haven’t been dismissed yet is because of the uprising. There’s not a Night Watch officer in London who isn’t out on the stree . . .’ He trailed off. ‘That’s very convenient, isn’t it?’
‘This is the chaos she asked the Bear to make. Her plan is happening right now.’ Emily stood up, did a quick Hog-check, and grabbed her squashed sandwich bag. She was ready. ‘We have to get to the Great Working.’
He let out another heavy sigh, and a faint aroma of rosemary, then stood up too.
‘As my official prisoner, I’m coming with you, of course. It’s miles from here though. I pray we get there in time.’
Emily grinned. ‘We will, I wrote a letter asking a friend if I could borrow a bike.’
The bike was left out under a tarpaulin at the side of the Night Post building, just as she’d asked Japonica to do in the letter she’d sent. A note was stuck on the saddle.
Bike as requested. Will be using the Bloody Mary you sent to deliver the other letter in person. Excellent thinking. Thank you for your warning, but it is they who will need to be careful if they have imprisoned an employee of the Night Post. I will be taking Mr Jones and his goats along.
I return your warning – Please be careful.
Your friend,
Japonica
She won the dispute about who was cycling after claiming to be ‘postie by genetics!’, although it had led to her having to explain genetics (quite badly) to a dubious Tarkus. Some pretty major technical difficulties were experienced with take-off (two crashes, one whole manticore in a fancy hat knocked into the river) but she figured it out. You just had to ring the bell at the same time as you pedalled and knocked the little gear lever forward, and then . . . WHOOSH, the bike’s front wheel lifted from the ground, the wind smacked you in the face, and you were flying. Actually flying!
Despite the horrible things that were going on, she still grinned like a dog with its head out of a car window. Unfortunately, it was only as the borrowed post bike cleared the rooftops that Tarkus discovered he was scared of heights. Or at least, scared of heights experienced from a backy on a badly piloted, wobbly, flying bike anyway.
‘AAAAAAAARGGGHHHH! GO DOWN, GO DOWN.’
‘I’M TRYING!’
‘AAAAAARGGGHH!’
‘You’re going to make me deaf, just shut up!’
They whizzed through the cool night air over London, straight through the level of flying folk she’d seen earlier. Around them spun witches, bats, owls, and some straight-up massive moths. Emily hadn’t mastered steering yet, so they kept cutting across other people’s flight paths, leaving a trail of angry fist-waving ladies in pointy hats. She was now just shouting ‘sorry’ continually to save time. A curse zinged past her head after the last near-miss, and she was struggling to straighten the bike up. Tarkus wailing behind her and clutching at her every time she cornered wasn’t helping.
‘You’re going to strangle me. Again!’
‘Would that make this stop?’
The moon-silvered streak of river below had been leading them to Big Ben, but the steering problems meant she’d gone way off course. She was now just trying to head in the direction of the green light. At last, she spotted a landmark she recognized, and came very close to running straight into it.
‘Sorry, Nelson,’ she said as they skimmed over the admiral’s hat. She angled the bike down and took the direct route down Whitehall from Trafalgar Square.
‘Look, there it is. We’re nearly there.’ She pointed ahead, and the bike wobbled. There was a groan from behind.
‘I’m not opening my eyes!’
Big Ben, the Great Working, loomed before them, a pointed tower of sandy stone jutting above the other huge buildings of Westminster. It rippled with power as the emerald magic energy coruscated over it. She put the bike into a steep, arcing turn to bring them round in front of it and then . . .
‘Erm, so, if you didn’t know how to land one of these, how would you figure it out?’
‘AAAAAARGGGHH!’
‘You’ve got to stop that!’
She stopped pedalling and, with great care, tweaked the brakes. The bike dropped out of the air like a stone. This time they both screamed. It fell down and down, the lights of the tower blurring into lines, the wind ripping away the sound of their screams. She forced her hand to unclamp from the brake lever and heaved at the pedals. Just when they were about to smash into the ground, the bike levelled out and flew forward again, skimming the cobbles but never touching. They whizzed at a phenomenal speed through the courtyard of parliament. When a black-clad figure leapt out in front of them, it was too late to swerve.
‘Look out, look out!’
There was a sickening crunch as they collided, then they were spinning in the air, sailing from the bike and smacking the ground, tumbling to a halt as the bike smashed on the stones. Emily lay still. Was she alive? She sat up and groaned. Sadly, yes. She patted herself all over; nothing was broken, and the Hog wasn’t flat. She was really dizzy though; what just happened? Her head stopped spinning and it all came back. That horrible crunching noise. Oh no. She crawled to her feet as Tarkus, who lay near her, did the same. He limped over to the squashed figure on the cobbles behind th
em.
‘Are they . . .’
‘He’s Dead,’ said Tarkus.
‘Oh god.’ Emily tried not to throw up.
‘No, I mean he was Dead to start with, so don’t worry.’
‘Eh?’
Emily limped over to where Tarkus was kneeling by the body. She leant over the bashed-up mess the bike had left.
‘Hang on, that’s flippin’ fang-face.’
Lord Peregrine Stabville-Chest, the ultimate predator of the night, lay twitching on the floor. Along with the hoof-print and the rhino hole, he now had a tyre mark from his chest to the top of his pushed-in head. He groaned and jerked one hand. It was about the only part of him that wasn’t damaged.
‘He tried to eat me!’ said Emily.
‘And you parked a bike on his head. I think you’re even.’ Tarkus knelt, pulled his silver handcuffs out, and clipped Peregrine’s wrist to a nearby lamp post. ‘This’ll stop him changing shape and getting away until we come back.’
‘If he’s here . . .’ said Emily.
‘Then she must be too. You were right.’
The huge edifice of the clock tower loomed over them, pulsing with light.
‘The main mechanism is up at the top. She’ll be there,’ said Emily, shading her eyes as she looked. ‘Shall we go up on the bike?’
‘I would rather milk a dragon. We’ll take the stairs. Now . . .’ He turned to her, face taut with worry. ‘If the vampire was here, then others may be too. It’ll be dangerous, so you should stay—’
‘Oh, don’t you dare!’ said Emily, lip quivering with rage. ‘Don’t you dare. This whole thing is dangerous, and my mum’s up there, I just know it.’
‘I was just going to say, stay back and let me handle the Bear, and you deal with the Nocturne. You’re immune to her influence after all.’
‘Oh. I see. Sorry, I just thought . . .’
‘You didn’t think at all. Maybe you should start, once in a while.’
Burn. She didn’t even have a comeback.
He got his second-best truncheon out from his belt and limped off across the courtyard, towards the huge door of the main building.
She caught up with him at the door. It was cracked open. Tarkus was peering in, his lips pursed.
Inside were a number of guards in red-and-black uniforms. They were all lined up along the sides of the hall, facing the wall and marching on the spot, staring into space. Around them hovered the swirl of the Nocturne’s music, and their feet moved in time to her distant drum.
‘So much for the elite battalion of combat sorcerers, then,’ he said.
‘Are they okay?’
‘They’re enchanted. There’s nothing we can do.’
They picked their way past them, through the stunning architecture of the hall and towards the little brown wooden door that said, ‘Clock Tower’. It would have been quaint if it hadn’t been hanging half ripped off its hinges. The claw marks on it told them who else was here. Tarkus took a deep breath and nodded to himself.
‘Ready?’
‘Hang on, I just want to try something one more time.’ As she spoke, she pulled a piece of paper and a pen out of her bag, and uncapping the pen with her teeth, she scribbled a few sentences on to the paper, then left it on the floor.
‘What are you going to do with that?’
‘Nothing. That was it.’
He squinted at her, shook his head, then went into the clock tower. ‘I’ll go first, try and stay some way behind me.’
‘Why?’
‘So they can’t get us both at the same time.’
‘Oh.’
Her stomach was knotting as they reached the bottom of the stairs. It was a spiral staircase with a black iron bannister. The central well hole went up too far to see all the way to the top. Long, thick white ropes dangled down the middle. They were like the bell ropes in church towers, but were probably for hauling things up with.
‘Come on. Best if we don’t talk,’ he said. He turned to go but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back into a fierce hug. He stood very still, then awkwardly patted her back.
‘Thank you for coming with me. Be careful,’ she said then let him go. As she did, a lilac scent filled the space between them. He flushed, stuttered, and turned back to the stairs.
She followed him a good ten steps behind and was soon having trouble staying even that close. His longer legs were a definite advantage, and the curving spiral climb went on for ever. She’d been counting steps but had given up after two hundred. The inside of the staircase was lit by tall thin windows set into the outer wall. The flickering light of intense magic from outside filled the stairwell with moving shadows. She’d leant out over the rail just once and had been glad it was dark. It was a long, long way down. The crackle of magic drowned all other noises out, and she just had the endless plod of feet on stairs to keep her company.
As she walked she tried to reach inside herself for whatever magic she had. Using it by accident had given her the way into it; a little twist of something different in her, the thing that turned to liquid in her chest when she changed or wiggled away. What was she going to do with it? What use was being a hare? She could nibble them, she supposed. Destroy their salads. She was thinking about this when a stench filled the stairwell. Not the clean, floral perfume of Tarkus, but a dank, sour odour. It reeked of old blood and meat, of dog breath and rusting iron. It was the vile smell of the . . .
‘Bear,’ whispered Tarkus, as the menacing furry bulk of him appeared above them. In the small stairwell, he was so huge the bannister only came up to just over his knees. He was halfway between his forms, face all distended with teeth.
‘Children sneaking, think Bear not smell you?’
He grinned and took a step down.
‘Mistress not need you now. Bear can play.’ He grinned wider and his nose started to stick out more. ‘Soon Bear play outside in Daylight too, but you will be appetizer.’
‘I will give you one chance to surrender, sir,’ said a clear voice. Tarkus had strode up a step, second-best truncheon in hand. Emily groaned. The Bear’s grin widened further.
‘Remember you, stupid police boy. You are joke.’
‘I am an officer in good standing of the Night Watch, and you are under arrest.’
What was he thinking? She was going to get him killed.
‘Hurgh hurgh hurgh. Joke good, but not save you this time.’ The Bear took another step down towards them. ‘Bear eat you, then eat Pooka girl.’
He licked his lips.
‘No, that’s not going to happen,’ said Tarkus. He had the same pale but determined look as the last time he’d faced the Bear. Which had ended so well.
‘And how will you stop Bear, tiny meat snack?’
Another step down. Tarkus stood firm.
‘I’ve thought about this. You followed her all around London with your amazing nose.’
‘Bear has best sense of smell in world, stupid police boy. Will smell your blood next.’
As he spoke his words became a growl and the change was complete. He was all bear now.
To Emily’s horror, Tarkus started to walk up the steps. She tried to grasp at her Pooka magic to help him, but it wiggled away from her as she panicked.
‘My name is not “police boy”, he said, with dignity. ‘My name is Constable-in-Training Tarkus Poswa.’
The Bear threw his paws up high and came charging down the stairs, roaring.
‘And you, sir, can SMELL THIS!’
Tarkus dropped his truncheon and with a push of both hands unleashed a tidal wave of scent. In one blast came every fragrance he had inside him. Pepper and flowers, perfume and spices, herbs and aromatics. It was a chaotic brew of intense odours and drifting, maddening aromas. For Emily, further down the stairs, it was overwhelming. To the Bear’s sensitive nose, it was an explosion. His charge turned into a stagger backwards, and he cannoned off the stairwell wall, clutching his nose with both paws, roaring and howling in outrage. As the
Bear swayed, blinded and confused, Tarkus did something beyond stupid. He ran up the stairs towards where the Bear howled and flailed and clawed at itself. He ducked under one huge razor-tipped paw and, as the Bear turned away towards the bannister, he threw himself into the tiny gap between Bear and wall and, bracing himself, he pushed!
It would never have worked anywhere else. The Bear must have been five times heavier than him, but here in this little stairway, with the Bear off balance, and the bannister so low and close to his knees, Tarkus tipped him just enough. As the Bear teetered Tarkus threw everything he had into it, letting loose an animal roar himself, pushing with all his might. The Bear toppled over the bannister with a terrible howl, clawing for a grip as it went. It didn’t find one, but its claws did find Tarkus. As the Bear dropped, a razor-tipped paw lashed Tarkus’s arm and pulled him over too. He went without a noise, and they plunged down into the void straight past Emily’s appalled face. A series of awful crashes echoed up, as they hit every metal rail and stone edge on the way down to the floor far below.
Emily hurled herself towards the bannister. Oh thank god. There was Tarkus, much further down, clinging to a thick white rope with just one arm, and dangling over the void. Of the Bear, there was no sign.
‘Hang on, I’m coming!’ she yelled, and ran down the stairs. She got level with him and, not daring to look down, stretched out to grab the rope and pull it in to the side of the stairs. He groaned as she did, gripping the rope with one arm and his knees, his other arm flapping uselessly at his side and dripping blood down into the long, empty drop beneath them. She pulled the heavy rope in towards her and he slid down as she did. He was going to fall, but she clawed at his uniform, and then with a lurch and a shriek he was tumbling over the bannister and on top of her. They ended up in a heap a few steps down, with Tarkus clutching his arm and moaning.
‘Are you okay?’
‘You’re kneeling on me.’ His voice was muffled as his cape was over his head.
‘Oh, sorry. Here.’ She shuffled out the way and sat on the next step up. He tried to stand, but then collapsed back down, clutching his arm and side.
Midnight Hour Page 16