‘Okay, will meet you at the bridge cafe in say, twenty minutes?’
He nodded. ‘Okay, See you there’
By the time Captain Jesus and Bert arrived at the cafe, we had four steaming plates of full English breakfasts and builders’ tea. The plates were generously heaped with sausages, baked beans, hash browns, mushrooms, black pudding, bacon, and tomatoes. There were side plates loaded with toast and a tub of butter.
‘This looks bloody good, doesn't it, Bert,’ said Captain Jesus as he pulled out a chair and plonked himself down on it.
‘You look like shit, Bert,’ said Dawn.
She had hit the nail on the head. Bert looked terrible. Like death warmed up after being puked out by zombie dog. He stank to high heaven. Waves of body odours, sour smell of urine, and the stink of alcohol washed over us. I was surprised he wasn't being followed by a swarm of flies.
‘Hey, Bert,’ I said softly as the man slowly lowered himself down into the chair, almost as if he had been given a thorough working over. ‘You don't look your best, man. How about you just tuck-in for now, and we’ll talk when you're done?’
‘Thanks,’ said Bert. He looked green around the gills. It was clear he had been on a long bender. Still, that didn't stop him from picking up his knife and fork and tucking in with relish. He paused for a second, lifted his hand to his mouth, and gave a delicate belch.
I started eating myself. There was absolutely no way to pass up the good English breakfast. Captain Jesus also seem to relish the idea of a proper meal for once. Dawn and I watched amazed as he managed to cram half a sausage, mushrooms, a slice of toast, black pudding, and baked beans, topped with a slug of tea, in one go.
My eyes flitted over to Dawn. She was staring in abject fascination at Captain Jesus. At that moment, she looked like a toddler. It was quite endearing, and I covered up a flush by slugging down some coffee myself. It was surprisingly good coffee, the sort of coffee which was not only full of flavour, but which also had a massive hit of caffeine. Being a heavy coffee drinker, I really felt the effects of caffeine. But this coffee had my eyes widening and my heart pounding from the very first sip.
I could see it was having the same effect on Bert. He looked far more alert and awake than he had just a couple of minutes ago. Still, I was happy to let him keep eating for now. Captain Jesus had pretty much cleared his plate and was eyeing mine.
‘Are you going to finish that?’ he asked with a cheeky grin, pointing at my plate with his licked clean knife.
‘No,’ I sighed, pushing my plate over to him.
‘Fucking brilliant,’ he said, moving the plate closer and tucking in with glee.
‘Ready to talk, Bert?’ I said nonchalantly as I topped up my coffee before Captain Jesus could take that as well.
‘Yeah,’ said Bert, nodding slowly. ‘I guess you’re looking for John.’ It was clearly not a question.
‘He’s our Mark. He betrayed us, even tried to release the Hell Hound. Any idea where he is?’
‘Best guess is that he’s going to be heading to Gandy street. There’s a gate to the Undercity there.’
‘Don’t take the piss,’ said Dawn. ‘We’ve got maps of all the gates in Exeter, and there’s nothing in Gandy street.’
‘Oh, but there is, lass. It’s just one we’ve kept secret. It was on the books, but over the years, it’s been removed. Totally illegal, but then that’s not the sort of thing which would bother John now, is it?’
‘And you reckon he’s heading there?’ asked Dawn.
‘Definitely. Word is that there are Merlins or their Agents on every other gate in the city. It’s the only place he can go. They’ll have people at every station, port, and airport in the country. For a Handler who has gone bad, they probably even convinced the Fae to refuse him help. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Hawks weren’t out looking for him, as well.’ He dropped his eyes to the table as he spoke, hands clenching in fists.
I couldn’t blame him. Hawks were given unrestricted access to everyone and anyone they needed to, no questions asked. Just the thought of Hawk appearing on their doorstep was enough to give someone palpitations.
‘Right, well, looks like we’re going to Gandy Street,’ I said as I speared a sausage on Captain Jesus' plate and dunked it into brown sauce.
Never give up an opportunity for a good sausage.
It was only a couple of minutes’ walk from North Street to Gandy, mostly uphill. Unfortunately, the breakfast sat heavy. Foot traffic was thick and strangely consisted of a few people in cosplay, and the odd furry.
‘Flyer?’ said a particularly impressive fire-red fox furry.
I took it without thought, glancing down, and seeing the ‘ComicCon’ header.
Huh, makes sense.
‘Furries rock,’ said Dawn. ‘They don’t give a shit what people think of them and wear costumes that would make an Eskimo sweat in the middle of winter.’
‘Even better, the crowds mean John won’t be making his escape just yet. There’s not a chance that he got away from Darkmoor, headed here, and opened the portal with all these people.’
‘Lucky, since we’ve been fart-arsing about for a few hours. Some might say we’ve been dragging our heels.’
I stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘Why don’t you speak louder. I’m sure that the three men tailing us didn’t hear.’ I grabbed her arm, stopping her from turning to look. ‘Of course, I’m bloody dragging my heels. Even though I know what the Merlins will do to us, I’m still trying to process the idea that a man I loved, who mentored me, is a fucking traitor and I’m tasked with killing him.’
‘Oh, babe.’ She pulled me in for a hug, holding me tightly for a few seconds before pushing me away. We both wiped at our eyes, Dawn muttering something about Faery dust in her eye.
‘Come on,’ I said, trying my best to sound professional.
Gandy Street was in the Roman part of Exeter, most likely a legacy from Saxon times. It was also supposed to be the inspiration for Diagon Alley. I always thought that was reasonable, especially as the street in Edinburgh claiming the same thing was nothing like Diagon Alley. Gandy Street, though, was packed full of ramshackle buildings from several different time periods. It was beautiful, and packed full of locals and tourists browsing the numerous shops, restaurants, pubs, and a wizard-that-shall-not-be-named themed diner. Before we’d left, Bert had told us that the Gate was hidden under the Masonic Lodge. The backdoor, which opened onto the street, was the front door for members of the Community. Flicking into the Sight, I checked that the Wards hadn’t been altered or deactivated. From what I could tell—I wasn’t a Mason after all—they seemed fine.
I’d placed myself on a table at a wine bar and was enjoying a nice Pinot Grigio. It was a bit early, but I found myself needing Dutch Courage, and it was too early to hit the malts. Although I could have had a Highball. A nice Johnny Walker Black. Movement from across the street caught my eye, and I shifted, blushing as I realized I’d been woolgathering whilst my apprentice was trying to capture my attention.
I just can’t keep my mind on the Mark! Being betrayed was far harder than I thought it would be. Anger, a bit of hurt, disbelief were all feelings that I’d expected. A near overwhelming sense of sorrow was not. I was grieving, something I hadn’t done since my grandfather died.
And the bloody Merlins expect me to kill one of my best friends. This wasn’t like the films where people get betrayed and switch straight to anger and a willingness to kill their betrayer. I knew what I’d said to Dawn about having to take the Mark on, but that had been in the heat of moment when I still angry and trying to process what had happened. I felt as though I was walking through water.
‘For God’s sake, Jane! Stop staring off into bloody space!’ Dawn’s face appeared directly in front me, startling me so much that I jumped, knocking my wine over.
‘Dammit!’
She plonked herself down in front of me. ‘The twonks who followed us have taken up positions at each
end of the straight. And that twat,’ she turned and jabbed her finger at a man roughly fifty feet away, ‘won’t stop staring at my tits.’
My eyes flitted to the subject at hand. It was an instinctive glance, which got an instinctive reaction.
‘My eyes are up here!’ her knuckles rapped me on my forehead.
‘Sorry, sorry, what were you signalling about?’
She pierced me with a hard stare. ‘Did you even listen to what I just said? I wanted you to give the perv a warning.’
‘Oh, okay.’ I turned towards the Merlin Agent. ‘Oi! Twat! Stop staring at my girlfriend’s tits!’
‘Oh, my God, you didn’t,’ laughed Dawn as she covered her mouth with her hand, the subject of our ire striding off to jeers from a couple of passersby.
‘It’s still way too busy,’ said Dawn once she’d caught her breath. ‘We’re going to be here for bloody ages.’
She was right, there wasn’t a chance in hell that John was going to be trying to make for the Gate during the day. What didn’t help was that Gandy Street was also a venue for nights out. Still, the dimpsy light and boozed up civilians would mean he could slip through the door and head for the gate.
‘Any chance we can get inside the lodge?’
‘Between fat and snowball in hell? No. This is a men-only lodge. We can’t be sure that the Masons know about the Gate either. I don’t want to have to explain what we want to do in the Lodge if they don’t know.’
‘Is John a Mason?’
‘John? No, well I don’t think so. The John I knew was a paid-up member of the Socialist Party. He bloody hated Masons, whether they were Mundane or not. But, as I say, that was the John I thought I knew.’
‘Bollocks. He’s going to come later, isn’t he?’
I nodded. ‘Most likely. It’ll be easier for the backstabbing bastard to sneak in.’
Dawn turned to look at the door, freezing halfway.
'I don't bloody believe it. He's here.' Her hand slipped down to her hip, reaching under her coat so she could loosen her pistol in its holster. I followed her gaze, and there he was. John. Stood in plain view, resplendent in a light-pink tweed suit and fedora, a silver-topped cane in one hand. Dashing to say the least, with a look on his face that spoke of utter commitment to the path he was on.
Lifting my glass, I took a sip. Firstly, to wet my mouth, which felt as dry as sand. Secondly, to hide my surprise that he should attempt to make a break for the gate this way. The John I knew was a stickler for avoiding collateral damage. Only this wasn't the John I knew. This John looked like he'd happily burn every person in the street if it meant he could get away.
'Stay calm,' I said, speaking into my glass. 'Don't draw. Let's see what he's going to do.'
John smiled, making a show both that and giving us a wave as he walked towards us.
'Ladies,' he said when we were close enough, lifting his hat, 'so pleased to see you. It would have hurt to have been unable to say goodbye. Do you mind?' He didn't wait for an answer, drawing a chair out and sitting down opposite us both.
'You're Marked, John,' I said, swallowing the lump that appeared in my throat as I spoke. 'There's no way you can get away.'
'I quite fancy my chances,' said John, lifting his cane slightly, whilst his other hand slowly drew his jacket back to reveal the handle of a Crocodile Dundee-sized knife. I flicked my Sight on. He was Iconed to the max, with the cane and knife giving off the largest Magical glows.
'I do hope, unrealistic I know, that we can say goodbye on civil—if not friendly—terms,' he said. 'I don't want to hurt you, nor be hurt by you. Believe it or not, I still care for you. You are my friends, it's just that we have differing views.’ He looked me straight in the eye as he spoke. 'Please, just let me go.'
'Are you forgetting the fact that you worked with people who tried to kill us and a whole load of other people? What do you think would have happed if the Hound had been released? Hundreds dead, Merlins working overtime to contain it and remove any mention of it, and a bunch of Fae glorifying in the chaos. Not to say what it would have done to the balance in Elsewhere.'
John sighed, looking down for a moment. 'No, Jane, I've not forgotten that. And I'm truly sorry you were involved. Truly.' I snatched my hand away as he tried to hold it. Letting an enemy have such close contact was too much of a risk to take. Even a Mundane could have killed me with a Spell if he had an Icon that allowed it. I felt like I'd kicked a puppy when I met his eyes. Either he was a good actor, or his eyes were genuinely filled with tears.
'Damn, you're good,' I said, not feeling charitable in the least. I couldn't afford to let doubt weaken me. Any hesitation would be fatal. 'I do hope you're not planning on causing any…fuss?'
'All depends on what you decide to do, doesn't it? If you try to arrest me, or stop me, I'll have to cause some fuss.’ He looked around at the crowded street. 'A fuss which will give all these lovely people cause for concern. Might even see some of them hurt if Dawn decides to open up with her guns. Do take your hand off your pistol my dear. I'd appreciate it greatly.'
'Sorry, darling,' said Dawn, just as calmly and politely as he had spoken, 'but if you think I'm going to slow down my draw just because you're a tad nervous, you've got another thing coming.'
'Think, it's another think coming,' snapped John. 'I'm surprised you' don’t swap of with have when you speak.'
'Gently, John,' I cautioned, 'raised voices draw attention. Especially when it's nattily-dressed men with two women.'
John leaned back, both hands raised. 'Apologies. I'm a tad stressed. On a bit of a timetable. I really do need to leave. All you have to do is just let me go. Say you couldn't find me. Let me disappear for a few hours. Then you can come after me, chase me for as long as you like. Let the Merlins believe you're trying your hardest to catch me.'
'Not happening,' I said, making my voice as hard as possible. I tried to draw on the anger that had filled me hours earlier but, even with him before me, I found it hard. I felt more tired. Emotionally and physically. Drained. The only thing I could summon up was a determination to not let him escape. My life, Dawn's life, depended upon us not letting him go. He must have known that. And yet he was still playing us, trying to pull on my heartstrings. 'God, you're a bastard.'
'Of course, I am you stupid cow,' he hissed. 'I was raised by an order that specialises in looking after such children. All of us were bastards, or orphans. Raised to be foot soldiers for the Merlins. No family. No one to miss us when we'd served out our usefulness.' I'd never seen John like this. His face was florid, twisted with anger. Hatred. He spat as he spoke, jabbing a finger at me as a form of physical punctuation.
'Easy now, John,' I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could. John was on a knife-edge, acting completely out of character. I couldn't see any way out of this situation. If I let him walk now, the Merlins would kill us. The men who had followed us weren't there to help us per se. They were there to ensure that we carried out the Mark, and if we even let him enter the Lodge, we'd be the first to die.
'So, what do we do now, Jane?' asked John.
I tried to think of an answer. There was only one option, and I couldn't bring myself to make it.
'We take you in, you utter git,' said Dawn, lunging for John with one hand, whilst drawing her pistol with the other.
'No!' I cried.
Ozone filled the air, along with a loud crack, and Dawn flew through the air to land with a crash and the sound of smashing glass and cries of surprise from the table's occupants.
Activating my Shield, I punched John in the face, knocking him backward slightly as I reached to activate a Slow Charm. It would halve his reaction times, letting me get close enough to take him down. There was a thump, more felt than heard, followed by a dull, throbbing pain. It was only when he raised his hand for another blow that I realised he had hit me with the cane.
The pain worsened as I tried to parkour my way across the table, gracelessly kicking him in the chest as he tried t
o come at me. Too many people have watched films where the heroes—or heroines—fought with perfect technique. Real life wasn't like that. Proven by John lashing out with his cane as he fell, rapping the hard wood across both of my shins. We both cried out. Pain. Anger. It was a melee of emotions to match the melee we were engaged in.
John landed on his arse. I landed on my knees, hitting the cobbles of the street hard. Tears of pain blinded me, but instinct took over. Spinning on one knee, I lashed out with my foot, tilting it so the hardened tip of my boot could connect with his face. It was solid, causing him to yell once again.
Putting my injured hand on the ground to push myself back to my feet, I screamed as a panicked Mundane stamped on it as they scrambled to escape the fight, bones breaking as they put their full—and considerable weight—down. John, too, was buffeted by the mad dash. Dawn came flying back in, pistol blazing, smoke still coming from her hair. Every single bullet sparked off a Shield that John had activated. Pushing himself to his feet, Shield raised, he weathered the storm until Dawn's pistol clicked dry.
A glint from his hand told me he'd drawn the knife. Crouching, Shield hand—also holding the cane—before him, he held his knife out, tip pointing towards Dawn, weight hinged forward at the hips.
Classic buckler fighter, I thought with some surprise as I tried to get to my feet. I knew that the Handlers were trained in several different fighting styles, but they were mostly modern. Firearms, unarmed combat, boxing, wrestling, knife fighting. I'd never have thought they would be trained in Historical European Martial Arts.
Dawn whipped her hand out towards him, throwing the now-empty pistol at him, buying time to draw her sticks.
'Fucking calm down, Grandad!' A man, wearing a football shirt of some sort wildly launched himself at John, fists and feet flailing. What he lacked in skill he certainly made up for in enthusiasm. It made no difference. John killed him in less than a second. Blocking two wild swings, he stepped in and thrust his knife deep into the man's gut.
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