by Nick Moseley
‘It might,’ said Oscar. ‘Or it might not. I’m not sure it’s a good idea considering we don’t know what the conduits are supposed to be for. Just because they look like the pillars of a Funkelay Cage doesn’t mean they do the same job.’
‘The darkness isn’t always kept inside the conduits anyway,’ Trev pointed out. ‘We saw it running along the wall, remember?’
‘Yeah, I’m not forgetting that,’ Oscar replied. ‘I think Stewart’s right when he says the conduits act as a focus. The darkness can move outside them if it’s concentrated enough, but it still traces the route of the conduits. Think of a river. The water level might rise and fall, but it has to follow the path defined by the banks.’
‘That was almost poetic,’ said Trev.
‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Oscar adopted a deep, dramatic voice. ‘If I should die, think only this of me…’
‘If you should die, there’d be a party,’ Trev said.
Stewart looked at his watch. ‘We’re into the afternoon,’ he said. ‘And it’s dark by four. If these “shadows” I’ve been told about come out at night we haven’t got much time to come up with an alternative solution, have we? Are we doing this or not?’
Trev and Oscar looked at each other. Stewart was right about the lack of time, at least. ‘Ask your boss,’ Trev said, unwilling to make the decision himself.
Stewart nodded and walked away a few steps to talk into his radio. Oscar watched him go.
‘I can’t make up my mind whether I want Barton to say yes or no to this,’ the cat said. ‘Hypothetically, there’s a reasonable chance that what Stewart’s suggesting could work. But there’s also a chance that it might be like accidentally drilling into a water pipe while you’re putting up a shelf.’
‘Except we won’t get wet.’
‘No, we might get dead.’
Trev kicked at the pile of rubble. ‘Yeah. But we aren’t really flush with options here, are we? I think I’d rather try something a bit risky than just sit around waiting for it to get dark and the shadows to come for us.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Oscar.
Stewart came back to them. ‘What did Barton say?’ Trev asked him.
‘He’s got his misgivings,’ the Custodian replied, ‘but he knows we’re running out of time. He’s given me the go-ahead to try it.’
‘All right then,’ said Trev. Despite what he’d just said to Oscar, he felt apprehensive rather than relieved.
Stewart picked up the drill and switched the masonry bit for a metalworking one. He peered into the hole in the brickwork. ‘Any suggestions which inlay I ought to try?’
‘Not really,’ said Oscar. ‘Don’t just plough straight through the middle of one, though. Just graze it to start with.’
‘OK,’ said Stewart. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and carefully lined up the point of the drill-bit with one of the silver inlays. ‘Ready?’
‘Go for it,’ said Trev, trying to edge away without being too obvious about it.
Stewart pulled the drill’s trigger. He’d set the tool to its lowest speed and it whined into action gradually. The bit dug into the metal. Tiny flakes of swarf spun away from it, vanishing down inside the wall. Stewart kept up a steady pressure, one hand on the drill’s pistol grip and the other on the back of the housing.
They all felt it when the drill broke through the inlay. A low vibration ran up through the floor, faint but insistent. Trev’s chest clenched. He reached out a hand to the wall to steady himself and then snatched it away; the buzzing sensation in his fingers was quite unpleasant.
‘Stop!’ said Oscar. Stewart, intent on his work, didn’t hear him over the noise of the drill.
‘Stewart!’ Trev yelled. He waved his arms. Spotting the movement in his peripheral vision, Stewart released the trigger. The drill squealed to a stop, still buried in the conduit. He gave Trev a questioning look, then noticed the vibration.
‘What’s that?’ he said.
‘We don’t know,’ Trev said. He massaged his chest with one hand. ‘It just–’
His eyes fell to the drill.
‘Watch out!’
Thirty-Three
‘Huh?’ said Stewart.
He looked down. Black energy was leaking from the conduit and flowing up the drill towards his hand. He let go of the grip just before it touched him and jumped back, stumbling against the wall. The drill fell to the floor.
‘You OK?’ Trev said.
‘Yeah, thanks for the shout,’ Stewart replied.
The darkness didn’t continue spreading, instead gathering as a small, dense cloud that clung to the surface of the conduit. Thin tendrils drifted away from it, dissipating into the air. As Trev edged forwards for a closer look he felt the vibration begin to die away.
Stewart’s radio squawked. Barton, demanding to know what was happening. The lanky Custodian ducked away down the corridor to answer it.
‘What’s going on?’ Trev asked Oscar. ‘Why was the building shaking like that?’
‘I think we pissed it off,’ Oscar said.
‘The building?’
‘No, dimwit. The thing that lives in the building.’ Oscar inclined his head towards the conduit. ‘On the plus side, it looks like Stewart managed to weaken the conduit’s focus at this point after all.’
‘Really?’ said Trev. ‘You think his plan’ll work?’
‘No,’ said Oscar. ‘It’s only a small anomaly and there’s a lot of darkness flowing through this place. I don’t think there’s any chance of it all draining away before it gets dark.’
‘Bugger,’ Trev said. ‘I thought it would come pouring out.’
‘If this was a Funkelay Cage, I think it would have,’ Oscar replied. ‘There’s just energy cycling through one of those. But this darkness seems to be able to control itself. A little’s escaping at the edges, look. Not much though.’
‘What’s it doing?’
‘Protecting the conduit, I think. If you tried drilling into it again that darkness would just run up the drill and onto your hand. Which wouldn’t be good.’
‘Shame we haven’t got time to go after a few more of the conduits. You know, sort of a ‘death by inches’ thing. Spread the damage around.’
‘I reckon if we did that, it might provoke a more vigorous defensive reaction than the one we’ve seen here.’
Trev moved a little closer to the conduit. ‘Just what is this thing?’ he asked. ‘Is it alive?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Oscar. It was, Trev knew, an admission he hated making. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it before.’
‘Do you think it’s watching us?’ Trev wondered. The closer he came to the cloud of darkness, the tighter his chest felt. Bad Trev was reacting to the stuff leaking out of the conduit, as it had before. Trev wanted to know why.
As part of his “recharging” ability, he could reach out with his senses to detect the small wisps and clouds of psychic energy that all sentient beings shed, and draw them to him. Given that overuse of the ability caused nosebleeds and nausea and was likely to turn his brain into about three pounds of grey custard, Trev generally avoided using it unless it was a life-or-death situation. He hadn’t attempted to recharge himself in the time he’d been at Spectre’s Rest, instead choosing to allow his body to replenish its reserves naturally. Now, though, a little splinter of curiosity had dug itself into him. He closed his eyes and reached out–
‘Trev! Trev!’
He opened his eyes again. He was lying on his back on the floor of the corridor with Stewart crouching next to him.
‘The hell?’ he mumbled.
‘What happened to you?’ Stewart asked. ‘It looked like you fainted or something.’
‘I…’ Trev’s brain began to boot up again, albeit very slowly. What had he been doing? Something about darkness and shadows and a hole in a wall. Where was he? A big, red-brick building…
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Stewart asked Oscar, having had no se
nsible response from Trev.
‘He’s had a shock to the system,’ said the cat. ‘Not sure what caused it. Trev? Are you still in there?’
‘What… happened?’ Trev slurred, echoing Stewart’s question.
‘You went over to the conduit, then you suddenly tensed up, like you do when someone else reaches for the last slice of pizza,’ Oscar explained. ‘After that you just keeled over.’
‘Oh,’ said Trev. The last few neurons fired up, and his memories flooded back in. He sat up. ‘It’s pure negative energy,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘The darkness! It’s negatively-charged psychic energy!’
‘But that’s…’ Oscar’s whiskers twitched. ‘Holy crap, I think you’re right! I didn’t recognise it because it was so concentrated, but now I know what to look for…’
‘What do you mean?’ Stewart said, frowning. ‘Psychic energy’s just, well, energy. It doesn’t attack people, like this stuff does.’ He pointed to the conduit.
‘Not on its own, no,’ said Oscar. ‘There’s something more at work here. But Trev’s right, whatever else the darkness is, the most part of it is negatively-charged psychic energy.’
Stewart looked doubtful. ‘But where’s it come from?’
‘Good question,’ said Oscar. He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t spot this before. Talk about not being able to see the wood for the trees.’
Trev got to his feet. The effects of the psychic overload he’d inadvertently given himself were passing, though he was still a little wobbly. When he’d reached out with his “spooky senses” he hadn’t been prepared for the darkness to reach back. It was a seething mass of malign intent, and the sheer power of its animosity had panicked his nervous system into shutting down.
‘I know I’ve said this a lot lately, but we need to get out of here,’ he said. ‘If I wasn’t sure before that this thing wants to kill us all, I bloody well am now.’
‘What did Barton have to say?’ Oscar said to Stewart.
‘Everyone felt the vibration,’ the Custodian replied. ‘Other than that, nothing happened anywhere else.’
‘That we know of,’ said Trev, darkly.
‘All right, settle down,’ said Oscar. ‘So what’s the plan? Are the other teams going to drill into their conduits?’
‘No,’ said Stewart. ‘Barton wants us back at the library for a debrief.’
‘Maybe he’s seen sense and we’re going to evacuate,’ Trev suggested.
‘Maybe you shouldn’t hold your breath on that one,’ Oscar said. ‘Still, let’s go and find out, shall we?’
They were the last group back to the library. All the other Custodians were there, plus Grace Montano and a handful of the prison guards. Barton was literally pacing up and down with impatience.
‘At last,’ he said as they arrived. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Sorry, Trev had a funny turn,’ said Oscar. He hopped up onto the big table.
‘Are you all right?’ Desai said.
‘Yeah, fine,’ Trev replied. ‘Nothing to worry about.’ Except for the malevolent mass of dark energy that’s going to suck out our souls, he silently added.
‘We all felt the vibration when you damaged the conduit,’ Barton said, apparently uninterested in Trev’s wellbeing. ‘What happened?’
‘The darkness began to escape, but it wasn’t an uncontrolled leak,’ Stewart explained. ‘It tried to run up the drill and get to me, then when I backed off it formed a layer on the surface of the conduit to stop me doing any more drilling.’
‘So it can defend itself,’ Barton observed. ‘Interesting. Anything else?’
‘It’s composed mainly of highly-concentrated negative psychic energy,’ Oscar chipped in. ‘Which probably explains why it seems so angry at us.’
There were doubtful expressions around the room. ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ said Montano. ‘As I understand it, you only get negative energy in small pockets. It doesn’t accumulate.’
‘Not usually,’ Oscar agreed. ‘But this thing isn’t usual, I think we can all agree.’
‘It means us harm,’ Trev said. ‘I don’t know whether it actually thinks, or if it’s just a bundle of nasty instincts.’ He shrugged. ‘Either way, it’s very, very dangerous.’
‘And you’ve provoked it by drilling into it, right?’ said Dawn, giving her colleague Stewart a harsh look. ‘Nice work.’
‘It was killing people before we got here,’ Stewart replied mildly.
‘Pack it in, you two,’ said Barton. ‘We’re running short on time. Do you think there’s any possible way we can neutralise the darkness? Any weaknesses?’
‘Well, a large amount of positively-charged energy ought to at least damage the thing,’ Oscar said. ‘Though how we can gather enough of it and direct it on target is another matter entirely.’
‘There’s no point suggesting solutions we can’t possibly put into practice,’ Barton snapped. ‘Any other options?’
‘If you take out the unrealistic stuff we’ve nothing left,’ Oscar said. ‘The fact is we just don’t have enough of an understanding of this… whatever it is. Another couple of days’ research and we might have an inkling, but we aren’t going to get that time.’
‘Anyone else?’ said Barton. There was a lot of muttering and shaking of heads but nobody piped up with a sudden flash of inspiration. As if to reinforce Barton’s warning about time, another wave of vibration rumbled through the building. It had the effect of quelling the mutterers, and the library’s occupants exchanged worried glances in silence. Barton waited for the tremor to pass before he spoke again.
‘All right, if we can’t destroy or restrain the negative energy then we need to start planning to make the prison as secure as possible overnight,’ he said. ‘Grace, I want you to–’
‘No,’ said Montano.
Barton’s right eye twitched. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘No, Ralph.’ Montano’s voice was soft, but firm. ‘I was prepared to give you a chance to try and find a way to stop the darkness. If you can’t, then I’m not going to force my staff to stay here and die. We leave. Now.’
‘You’re a Custodian, Grace,’ said Barton. A red flush was creeping up his neck. ‘I’ve been put in charge of this operation, and you’re under my command.’
Montano’s face remained set. ‘I know you have your orders. But neither you nor I have the right to ask all these people to die for them.’
‘You realise what this means for you,’ Barton said.
‘My career was over as soon as I called in the Code Black,’ said Montano. ‘I can’t make things any worse.’
‘I think you might,’ said Barton.
‘Then I’ll live with it.’
Having been on the receiving end of Montano’s stubbornness himself, Trev could understand Barton’s frustration. Now that her unflinching stare was aimed at someone else, though, he found himself cheering her on. Regardless of what she’d claimed, Trev was certain that leading a mutiny against Barton would make things worse for her, career-wise – substantially worse – and he was also certain that she knew it too. She was standing up for her staff, and he respected her for it.
‘Grace,’ said Barton, his voice taut.
‘I’m not debating this with you,’ said Montano. ‘You can help us evacuate while there’s still time, or you can stay here tonight on your own.’
‘You can’t leave without my authorisation,’ Barton snapped. His composure was hanging by a thread now.
‘The gate guards are my staff, and I think they’ll listen to me over you,’ said Montano. She spread her hands. ‘Ralph, I’m trying to save the lives of everyone in this building, including yours. I’ll take full responsibility.’
Barton glared at her and didn’t reply; Trev could almost hear his mind working. No doubt he wanted to stick to his orders, stupid as they were, but Montano was offering him a literal “get out of jail free” card. They could all walk away in one piece and someone
else would take the blame. The Custodian hierarchy could hardly expect him to try and secure the prison with a team of four if everyone else walked out.
‘All right,’ he finally said. ‘I can’t force you to stay at gunpoint.’ His tone suggested that he wished he could. ‘But I’m not going to sugar-coat this in my report. I’ll call it exactly what it is: a mutiny. And so will my team.’ He eyeballed his fellow Custodians as if daring them to disagree.
‘You can call it a mutiny, a rebellion, an insurrection, whatever the hell you like,’ said Montano. ‘Let’s just get moving.’
Barton grunted. ‘If we’re going to get this done before it gets dark, we’d better start moving the prisoners. Dawn, go and get the trucks backed right up to the front doors. Grace, you’d better nominate which prisoners to move first. Get me a list.’
He was pretty quick to drop his resistance and start organising, Trev thought. He frowned. Was it possible that Barton had been hoping Montano would stand against him, giving him a reason to disobey his orders? If so, he was clearly a more devious character than Trev had given him credit for. Might want to keep an eye on him.
Dawn slipped out. Montano called over a couple of the guards and they fell into a discussion about moving the prisoners. Desai left her seat at the table and walked over to Trev.
‘That was tense,’ she said.
‘Worked out all right though, didn’t it?’ Trev replied.
‘It doesn’t resolve the problem of moving the prisoners into the new facility without causing a riot,’ Desai said.
‘Depends if what Barton said was true or not.’ Trev aimed a sidelong look at the Custodian commander. ‘I’m starting to think old Ralph might be a sly one.’
Desai was considering her response when Dawn came back into the library and hurried over to Stewart. They had a brief whispered conversation which involved a lot of finger-pointing on Dawn’s part and a lot of shrugging on Stewart’s. Dawn eventually threw her hands up and pushed her way through the busy room towards Barton. He didn’t look at all pleased with what she was telling him.
‘What’s that about?’ Oscar said, watching the exchange with interest.