Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) (24 page)

Church watched him disappear into the shop with an increasing sense of regard. His skills as a warrior were growing stronger with each passing day, as if ancient history were shouting through his genes. The Pendragon Spirit had chosen well, each of them maturing into a different role, the resources most needed for the task at hand. Perhaps there was a chance after all.

As they made their way back to the hotel they noticed signs of activity on The Mound just beyond the National Gallery. Two police cars were parked across the road, lights flashing, and armed soldiers had been discreetly positioned near walls and in shadows in the vicinity. A crowd had gathered near the cars with a mood that seemed at once irritated and dumbfounded.

“Looks like trouble,” Veitch said. “We should stay away.”

“I want to find out what’s happening.”

He grabbed the arm of a man at the back of the crowd to ask for informa tion. “They’re closing off the Old Town,” he replied, obviously troubled by an event which seemed to shake the natural order. “Public safety, they say. If the Old Town isn’t safe, what about the rest of us?”

“I hear there was some kind of Government laboratory up there doing top secret experiments and they had an accident,” a middle-aged woman whispered conspiratorially.

“Now why would they do experiments where people live and all the tourists go?” another woman said with a dismissive snort.

A young man with a shaved head and a pierced nose butted in. “No, it’s a serial killer. A pal o’ mine went to a club up there last night and he dinnae return home. The word is a whole load of people were murdered.”

Church listened to the theories bouncing back and forth until he was dragged away by Veitch tugging insistently on his arm. “One of the cops spotted us and went for his radio,” he said. “Looks like we’re still on the Most Wanted list.”

Church was back soon after, this time with Laura. After discussion, they had decided that, despite the risks, they had to get to the Central Library in the heart of the Old Town to search for the information they needed. At least in the daylight the supernatural threat was minimised, but it increased the danger of them getting picked up by the police.

“Why couldn’t they have closed the place off tomorrow?” Church grumbled as they surveyed one of the road blocks.

Laura fixed a relentless, icy glare on a woman who had been staring at her scars; the woman withered and hurried away.

“Don’t pick on the locals. They don’t have your power,” Church said drily.

“I always use my powers wisely.” Laura looked around surreptitiously, then fixed her sunglasses. The blockade at the foot of Cockburn Street was manned by one young policeman who kept glancing uneasily up the steeply inclining road behind him.

“God knows why I chose you. That blonde hair stands out like a beacon. It’s not the best thing for subterfuge.”

“Actually, I chose you, dickhead. And it’s my beauty that attracts all the looks, not my hair.” She scanned the street briefly before picking up an abandoned beer bottle at the foot of a wall. “What we need is a diversion.”

Before Church had time to protest she hurled the bottle in an arc high over the policeman’s head while he was glancing round. It exploded against the plate-glass window of a record shop, which shattered in turn. The policeman started as if he had been shot. Once the shock had eased, a couple of seconds later, he ran to investigate the shop, still obviously disorientated.

“There we go.” Laura ran for the shadows of Advocate’s Close, which disappeared up among the buildings.

“You like taking risks, don’t you?” Church said breathlessly when he finally caught up with her at the top of the steep flight of stairs.

“Life would be boring without them.” They both came up short against the eerie stillness which hung over the normally tourist thronged Royal Mile. “Spooky,” she added.

“The Fomorii are getting stronger. They’re slowly spreading their influence out from the castle to secure their boundaries. That’s what you saw last night at the club.” Church suddenly glanced back into the shadows clustered at the foot of the steps.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know … thought I saw something. I’m just jumpy.”

“If the copper was after us we’d know by now.” She strode out across the street. “So you’ve forgiven me, then?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“What, apart from my stupidity?” She didn’t meet his eye.

“Come on, anybody could have done what you did. It’s hard to adjust to all the new dangers that are out there.”

“Veitch doesn’t think so. The Cockney bastard wants me dead.”

“You’re overreacting. He’s our tactician and warrior. It’s his job to be cautious.”

“Tactician and warrior?” she sneered. “That’s a strange euphemism for wanker.”

As they made their way up to George IV Bridge Church couldn’t help looking behind him again. The apprehension he felt from the moment they entered the Old Town was increasing rapidly.

“Stop being so jumpy,” Laura cautioned sharply. “No one’s behind us.”

Church found himself involuntarily grasping for the locket the young Marianne had given him before she died; it felt uncommonly hot in his hand, as if it, too, was responding to something that couldn’t be defined by the five senses. Despite its cheapness, with its crudely snipped photo of Princess Diana, it gave him some comfort. Infused with the power of faith, it represented to him the tremendous power of good that had come from the terrible changes in the world, a counterbalance to everything else they experienced. Instinctively he felt it had even stronger powers than the inspirational ones he attributed to it.

They walked quickly to the Central Library. The evacuation had obviously taken place hurriedly that morning after the discovery of the carnage at the club, for the swing doors at the front were unlocked. They slipped in and ducked beneath the electronic barriers to reach the stacks in the sunlit room at the back. It didn’t take them long to find the section dedicated to Edinburgh history.

“It’s like technology never happened,” Laura said with distaste as she glanced at the rows of books.

Church ignored her; she was only trying to get a reaction, as usual. He pulled out a pile of general history books and heaved them over to one of the reading tables. They spent the next hour wading through the tales of murder, intrigue and suffering which seemed to characterise Edinburgh, reading beyond just the plague years in case the spirits had been less than direct in their guidance.

While Church quietly immersed himself, Laura attempted new levels of irritation by announcing every time she came across something of interest. “Listen to this,” she said, ignoring his muttered curse. “This used to be the most crowded city in Europe. There’re six thousand living in the Old Town now. Back then there were nearly sixty thousand. That’s like Bombay or something. No wonder the plague went through here like wildfire. They were all crammed inside the city walls so instead of spreading out, they just built the houses up and up. Eight, nine, ten storeys. Sometimes just shacks of wood on top. They were collapsing all the time or catching fire, killing-“

“Fascinating.”

“Hey, there’s another great fact here.”

“Really.”

“Yes. It says all people with the surname Churchill are pompous windbags.”

It took a second or two to register and before he could say anything she’d grabbed him and pulled him halfway across the table to plant a kiss on his lips. “Get the poker out of your arse, dull-boy. Just because it’s the end of the world doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.” There was almost a desperation in her comment. She glanced around, then leered at him. “A good place for sex. How many people can say they’ve done it on a reading table at the public library?”

“You’re only saying that to get out of doing boring work.”

“You reckon.”

He gave her a long kiss, but as he pulled away his gaze fell on a passage in an open book next to them. “There it is!”

“That’s it. Change the subject-“

“No, listen.” He levered her to one side so he could read: “Down where Princes Street Gardens are now there used to be a lake, the Nor’ Loch, which was the main source of drinking water for the city. It was also where all Edinburgh’s sewage used to flow-“

“Very tasty.”

-so everyone’s immune system was low, particularly those who were close to the Nor’ Loch, like the residents of Mary King’s Close-which is why they suffered particularly badly when the plague came.” Church traced his finger along the tiny print of the book. “There was a nearby village called Restalrig, which has been swallowed up by the city now. Next to Restalrig’s church was a natural spring which was a major source of clean water during the plague years.”

“So that’s the place that gave succour to the plague victims.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Now there was a stone surround to the spring and when they decided to build a railway depot on the site in 1860 they moved it to another natural spring. At the foot of Arthur’s Seat.”

“We saw it!” Laura exclaimed. “When we drove past on our way to the top. There was a grille and a big pile of stone shit set in the hillside-“

Church grinned triumphantly. “That’s the way in. A natural spring which was always seen as somewhere sacred, probably because it was a potent source of the earth energy-” They were distracted by a faint sound.

Laura looked round anxiously. “What was that?”

Church silenced her. Nothing moved in his field of vision across the library. No sound came through the windows from the normally bustling Old Town. Cautiously he moved forward, motioning to Laura to investigate one side of the library while he looked down the other.

He soon lost sight of Laura among the stacks. Although he could feel on some instinctive level they were not alone, there was no sign of anyone else in the building with them.

He’d got to the edge of the stack dedicated to religion when he heard Laura cry out. He sprinted across the library to find her slumped against the wall in a daze, her eyes flickering with fear as they focused on some inner landscape.

“The black wolf,” she said, as if she were drugged. “He looked at me. And his eyes were yellow.”

Once Church was sure she was physically unharmed he quickly turned his attention back to the room. It was still empty, but there was an increasing air of tension; someone was definitely nearby.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered distractedly, “it’ll be okay.”

“No,” Laura said forcefully. “It’s the Black Wolf.” The fear surged up in her; she covered her face with her hands.

Church moved on. The stacks rose on all sides; the interloper could be round any corner. His attention was drawn to a door away to his right which seemed to be moving gently; it might have been simply the result of an air current. Holding his breath almost involuntarily, he approached. The movement of the door stilled. Apprehensively, he reached out for the handle.

The door crashed against him, forcing a yell of surprise. Before he could recover, boney fingers were clamped around his wrist, wrenching him towards the gap. Through the shock Church registered the bizarre sight of what appeared to be tracings of black veins against parchment-white skin. By the time he reacted, his hand was already through the gap and the door had been yanked back sharply against his forearm. He cursed loudly and struggled to drag his hand back, but it was held tight.

“One for the unified force of my anger. And one for revenge.” Church’s blood ran cold. The voice was barely human; it was like hot tar bubbling in a pit. “And five is the number of my despair. Each digit a catechism in the ritual of salvation. A symbolic death to be followed by a real one.”

A new pain, harsh and focused, erupted in Church’s hand. With horror, he felt the skin of his middle finger break open, the blood start to trickle down into his palm.

He’s trying to cut it off! The terrible thought burst in his mind, and with it came the certain knowledge that this was the one who had mutilated and abducted Ruth.

He wrenched at his hand with increasing desperation, but it was pinned with an inhuman strength. And the blade bit deeper. Red hot needles danced across his skin. His forehead felt like it was on fire, his vision fracturing around the edges as he started to black out.

No, he pleaded with himself.

It felt like the blade was down to the bone now. His head started to spin, his knees grew weak.

Somehow he found an extra reserve of strength to give one last pull, but it was not enough. Just as he started to lose consciousness, arms folded around him, adding to his strength. Laura set her heels and heaved and somehow he found the will to join in. His wrist felt like it was going to snap, his arm like it was popping from its socket.

But then something gave and he found himself flying backwards. He landed on the floor several feet back, with Laura pinned beneath him.

“You big bastard,” she gasped.

Desperately he rolled off her and pulled out his handkerchief to stem the flow of blood. The cloth was soaked crimson within seconds, but the blood slowed enough for him to tie it tight.

Laura was anxiously watching the door which had swung shut. “I think they’ve gone,” she ventured. Then: “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” Church still felt nauseous at the memory of the voice. It had sounded like something from The Exorcist. Fighting off the rolling waves of pain that were rising up his arm, he moved forward cautiously and pulled open the door. There was no one on the other side. Splatters of his own blood, that had run off his attacker, marked a trail out of the building.

“Whatever it was, it’s not going to be satisfied until it’s had us all,” he said.

“I need my fingers. They’re a lonely girl’s best friend.” Although she was trying to make light, there was no humour in her words. “Come on, we’ve got to get some stitches in that.”

In spite of having found their next step forward, their confidence had ebbed as they made their way up the street from the library. Apprehension almost prevented them crossing the Royal Mile, with its clear vista from the imposing bulk of the castle at the top, but they pulled themselves together enough to continue towards the worrying darkness of Advocate’s Close.