Furnace 5 - Execution (19 page)

‘Find what you were looking for?’ asked Zee. I sat down, remembering the photo in my hand and sliding it over the table. Lucy picked it up.

‘Is this really you?’ she asked, smiling at the image of me and my parents.

‘Look at the back,’ I said.

She turned it over, her hand going to her mouth as she read the words aloud.

Zee smiled at me. ‘I knew they weren’t as bad as you kept making out,’ he said. ‘You can thank them for this when you see them.’

I thought of the river of corpses and I knew I’d never see them again. Not in this lifetime, anyway. There was a slap of feet and the blacksuit entered, leaning against the counter.

‘Nice tags,’ said Zee, nodding approvingly. ‘Does this mean you’re a “tracksuit” now?’

The blacksuit scowled.

‘Seriously, though,’ Zee went on. ‘If you’re gonna be hanging around with us then we should at least know your name. You remember what it is?’

‘We don’t need names,’ said the suit.

‘Fair enough,’ said Zee. ‘I guess we’ll just have to make one up for you. How about Bob? No? Norman? Maybe Algernon.’ We could all feel the anger from the blacksuit boiling up like water, the heat in the room
seeming to rise. Zee decided not to push his luck, ending with a muttered, ‘Bob it is, then.’

‘Why
are
you hanging around with us?’ Lucy asked. ‘I mean, days ago you lot were trying to kill us, and now you’re here as, what, a bodyguard?’

‘I’m just following orders,’ he said, and his contempt was unmistakable. ‘Alfred Furnace made it clear that your compadre here is his new general. That means we have to do what he tells us.’

Lucy looked at me, one eyebrow raised.

‘You’re his new
what
?’ she asked.

‘I’m not,’ I replied. ‘It’s because I killed the warden. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can tell you this right now: I’m not Furnace’s general. I never will be. I’m still going to find him, and then I’m going to kill him,’ I blurted out. ‘That’s the only way this is going to end.’

I looked at the blacksuit, worried that I’d said too much.

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he grinned. ‘Furnace has told me all about your little plan.’

‘So he talks to you too?’ I asked him, genuinely curious. I picked up my tea, taking a big sip. It was only lukewarm, but it still tasted like heaven in a cup. I waited for the kick in my guts, for the puking to start, but my system must have just thought it was water because it settled pleasantly in my stomach. ‘The same way he talks to me, inside your head?’

‘He gives me my orders,’ he replied. ‘That’s all there is to it. I keep you alive – we all keep you alive – and get you to him.’

‘And then what happens?’ I asked.

‘That’s up to Furnace,’ said the suit.

‘So let me get this straight,’ said Lucy, talking to me. ‘Furnace knows you want to kill him, and yet for some reason he appoints you his general and does his utmost to help you find him. Something here doesn’t add up.’

She was right, but when I tried to think about it my head felt weird, like I couldn’t get it in gear. It did seem strange that Furnace was so desperate to meet me face to face, despite my vow. It was better not to think about it. Thinking could get you killed. I drank the rest of my tea in one go, the taste seeming to wash a little of the confusion away.

‘You know, Lucy’s right,’ said Zee, his forehead creasing. ‘Furnace wanted you to go to the tower, back in the city. You thought you were going after him then, but instead you had to face the warden. He wanted you to beat Cross. That’s exactly how he planned it.’

‘So?’ I said.

‘Furnace is clever. He knows what he’s doing. If he’s making it easy for you to reach him then there’s a reason for that, it’s part of his plan. He wasn’t in the tower, he might not be waiting for you now, either. Maybe he’s leading you there to fight something else, something
worse
than Cross.’

‘He’s there,’ I said, and I wish I could have been as confident as I sounded.

‘I’m just saying, that’s all.’ Zee slumped back in his chair.

‘But I already told you, we don’t have a choice.’

‘I know,’ said Zee. ‘I know. But be careful, Alex. Things might not be what they seem.’

Quiet held the room for a moment, all of us trying to work out what was going on. I glanced out of the window, saw the tiny back yard there drenched in night, and beyond it the street where I was finally caught by the police. On that night, so long ago, I’d thought that if I could just make it past those cops, back into the kitchen, then everything would be okay, I could forget about what had happened and go back to my life. Well here I was. Surely now the nightmares would go away. All I needed was a plan. But every time I grasped for an idea it sank back into the fog of my thoughts.

‘Let’s get some sleep,’ I said, giving up. ‘Maybe it will be clearer in the morning.’

‘We leave at dawn,’ the blacksuit said again. ‘There’s no time to waste. I’ll take watch.’

‘Thanks,’ said Lucy, and I could tell she meant it. ‘There’s a cup of tea there for you, if you want it.’

The suit looked at the steaming mug on the counter, then back at Lucy, and I could see the surprise registering in his expression. It was only there for an instant, hidden behind Lucy and Zee as they traipsed out of the kitchen and into the lounge, but it was unmistakable. Simon stayed where he was, still fast asleep.

‘Night, Bob,’ chanced Zee. ‘Enjoy your tea.’

‘I don’t need tea,’ the blacksuit shouted. I nodded a goodnight at him and walked after the others, trying not to smile when I heard the scrape of ceramic and the fast, deep gulps that followed echoing after me down the hallway.

I didn’t remember falling asleep – didn’t even remember where I’d sat down to rest – but I must have done because I was dreaming again.

I was dreaming of the boy.

He gazed down at me from a throne of corpses, their bodies stacked so high that I almost didn’t see him perched on the top. The dead were dressed in clothes that should have belonged in a museum, and I noticed that some of them wore armour, sightless eyes peering out from beneath cone-shaped helmets. All carried horrific wounds, their blood pooled around the mound like a moat. When I looked to my left and right I made out a battlefield filled with piles like this one, cairns of the countless dead.

The boy himself, Alfred Furnace, looked like he had been bathing in blood. It coated every inch of skin, making his hair stand upright, slick with gore, and when he smiled at me I could see it on his teeth. His eyes were empty wells, puncture wounds in his head, their depths endless. And yet I knew he was looking at me.

‘You did this?’ I asked him, my voice whipped away by the wind. I tried to move just to see if I could, but like in my other dreams I was paralysed, stuck fast in the bloodied mud of the field. ‘You killed these people?’

They killed me first
, he answered, and it was as if all the dead were speaking, their voices loud enough to crack the earth. He cocked his head, and it felt like a demon was watching me.

‘Is this a memory too?’ I asked, thinking back to the visions I’d had of the orchard. Furnace nodded. He wiped a hand across his face, mopping up the blood, and for a second he looked like a kid again, his features crumpled. Then those eyes came back into view, blazing darkness.

This was my life
, he said, making my ears ring.

‘But how could you do this?’ I asked. Not that I needed to. I already knew. I could see the stranger’s blood at work inside him, his veins so dark they looked like tattoos. He followed my line of sight.

He sacrificed his blood so that I could live
, he said, and I knew he was speaking about the stranger in the orchard.
But he lives within me now. I can feel him there.

‘But what was it, that thing?’ I asked.

Furnace laughed, the sound of a soul tearing in two.

You don’t need me to answer that
.

I shook my head, more bewildered than ever, trying to understand what he was saying. But all I could see were the faces of the dead, the people Furnace had killed.

‘There’s … there are so many of them,’ I whispered.

Not yet there aren’t, but there will be
.

I felt the ground begin to shake, like an earthquake. I turned as best I could, looking over my shoulder to see what I thought was a tidal wave surging across the field. Then I saw the figures in it, realised that it wasn’t a wave but an army, hundreds of men charging this way. There was a grunt as Furnace leapt off the mound of bodies, landing by my side and grabbing my face in his hands. His fingers burned, blood steaming from his superheated flesh, and there was no escaping his bear-trap grip. He forced me to watch as the army approached, a hundred metres away now and closing fast. Most were holding spears, some had swords. Others must have had bows because an arrow thumped into the soil close to where we were standing, more following, turning day to twilight.

I struggled. I knew this was a dream, but it felt so real. If I didn’t move now then I would be trampled to death, or impaled on a hundred blades.

‘What are you doing?’ I screamed, the men now fifty metres away, so close I could see the spittle flying from their howling jaws. ‘Let me go!’

They cannot harm us
, Furnace said.
I will not let them
.

And then he was off, running at the army, leaping into it with a cry that threatened to knock the heavens loose. A fountain of blood spewed up from the middle of the crowd, turning the sky red. It seemed to bleed into my vision, drowning the world in colour. But it didn’t matter that I couldn’t see. I was safe now that Furnace was here.

The world fell silent and I opened my eyes again. I was still inside the dream, but my location had changed. I was in a barn of some kind, straw on the floor, ancient farm equipment on the walls, moonlight streaming in through the single skylight. And I wasn’t alone. There was a group of people here, three men and a woman. They were passing a jug between them, and they all looked drunk. Their flushed faces and toothless grins were directed at a shape on the floor, a small figure that curled into itself as they kicked and spat at it.

It was a kid, my age I think, his pale flesh covered in bruises. He was painfully thin, his brittle bones pushing against his parchment skin, his bird-wing shoulders shaking up and down as he cried. I tried to help him, feeling the nectar power up inside me. But I still couldn’t move.

We are so cruel
, Furnace said, and I turned my head to see him standing beside me, his body now clean of blood, watching the attack with his empty eyes.
We hurt and we kill, all for what?

‘Save him,’ I said, expecting the men and woman to turn at the sound of my voice, to see me there. But they just howled their banshee screams at each other, delighted by their brutality.

Would you save him?
Furnace asked.

‘Of course,’ I shouted back. And I would have. I’d be saving him now if the dream hadn’t been holding me back.

What if it’s too late?

‘But it isn’t too late!’

The four adults continued their drunken assault, even though the kid now lay still. The anger inside me surged, so much so that I almost managed to move a foot, the sheer force of the nectar shredding the dream. But Furnace was already stepping forward, a throbbing, dog-like snarl emanating from his throat. The men and woman heard it, staggering away from the body on the floor. The jug dropped, shattering, as they retreated. But there was nowhere to go.

Furnace knelt down beside the boy, lifting his head in his hands. He was still alive, but only just and not for much longer. There could be no helping him.

And suddenly I understood what Furnace had meant when he’d asked me if I would save him. He hadn’t been talking about protecting him from his attackers, he had been talking about
bringing him back
. I watched as Furnace pulled a knife from his belt, jabbing it into one of the charcoal veins in his wrist. A bead of tainted blood appeared, then another, and by the time the flow had started he had pressed his arm against the kid’s mouth. The boy drank hungrily, sensing perhaps that this was the only way he could survive his injuries. I wanted to tell him to stop. But what choice did he have? Was death really better than this?