Spiral (22 page)

He made sure his mother and sister were safely tucked up in bed, then set off for the North Cavern. He went through still more deserted streets, not seeing a soul. Not even any Darklit New Germanians. Some streets he went down stank powerfully of raw sewage. Now that the regular work details had been suspended, nobody was going below the city to make sure the sluices were flowing freely. There must have been blockages in the main drains, and as a result the whole system was backing up.

“What have we come to?” the Second Officer mumbled to himself as he suddenly stopped. Sure enough, at the mouth of the passageway into the North Cavern, there was a single piece of thick rope strung across the entrance, an official notice forbidding entry suspended from it. As the breeze rocked it gently, he considered the black-edged warning sign, then stepped over the rope and went in.

And, as he emerged into the cavern, there were no longer any luminescent orbs on stands — they’d all been taken away — so he used his police lantern to light the way. Either side of the main track, there were only empty fields. No shantytown, no evidence that anyone had ever been there.

The Second Officer thought he saw something. A movement. He tensed, fearing the worst, that he’d bumped straight into a Limiter. But after a few moments, when no one appeared, he carried on.

A little farther down the track, he stopped again and shone his lantern before him.

“Oh, G —!” he gasped.

A shape, black and amorphous, rose from the ground. The Second Officer was absolutely convinced his luck had run out, and that this time, it could be nothing else but a Limiter.

The flapping wings immediately told him he was wrong. He’d disturbed a small flock of miner birds that had been picking over the ground. They were unsightly-looking scavengers, with raggedy black feathers and spindly bodies, rather like etiolated sparrows. With no sound but the beat of their wings, they took flight, returning to their nests high in the canopy.

Holding his chest and breathing heavily, the Second Officer took a moment to recover his composure, then began a thorough investigation of the area where the town had stood. It was strange to think that the last time he’d been here, he’d been examining three bodies while the Third Officer himself had looked on. But it was a different story now; he couldn’t find a single clue to help him.

“Hopeless,” he complained, kicking at the sodden soil in sheer frustration. Then he froze. As though the ground had been raked over, just under the surface were unusual deposits. A darker, almost black material seemed to be mixed in with the soil. And it had nothing to do with the miner birds or the cultivation of penny bun crops. He knelt down to take a pinch of the material between his fingers, then held it to his nose.

“Ash,” he said, sniffing. “Burned timber.”

Whoever had cleared the area, they’d razed the town to the ground. They’d done a thorough job. As only the Styx could.

He stood up, directing his lantern around him.

“But what happened to the people?”

He was still half expecting to hear the crack of a rifle and feel the sharp pain in his neck as a Limiter executed him for contravening the Styx edict. But there didn’t seem to be any of the ghoulish soldiers in the cavern, either.

He continued to comb the area, going over the ground inch by inch. He was coming across pieces of broken crockery and glass, then he found a spent rifle cartridge. It smelled of cordite. It had been fired recently. But the people in the shantytown couldn’t have been burned along with their huts. He couldn’t believe that. And if they’d been taken away by the Styx, then where had they gone?

He saw something glint as his lantern beam flicked over it. He almost knew what the object was before he stooped to retrieve it. It was a brass button with the motif of the crossed spade and pickax cast into it. The three-hundred-year-old crest of the Founding Fathers of the Colony. And this button could have come from only one place.

From a policeman’s tunic.

From the Third Officer’s tunic, to be precise.

With the button gripped tightly in his hand, he returned to the main track. He walked faster and faster as it became clear to him what he had to do. He crossed the South Cavern, returning to the incline that he’d descended only a couple of hours previously. He continued up past the Fan Stations, then came to an abrupt stop.

Making sure he hadn’t been followed and that there was no one in the tunnel up ahead, he ducked into the dark side passage. After thirty feet the passage opened out into a small chamber. In its center was a penned enclosure with straw scattered across the floor of bare rock. Although the Second Officer could still detect the smell of pigs, it had long ago been emptied of its occupants, slaughtered to feed the army of New Germanians.

But the Second Officer hadn’t gone there for the pigs.

At the far side of the chamber, he found where the door blown open by Drake and Chester had once been. It had since been shored up with huge chunks of rock, and most likely the Labyrinth tunnels on the other side had also been collapsed so that no one could ever again use it to enter the Colony.

The Second Officer counted his paces as he followed the chamber wall along to his left, then stopped to examine the ground with his lantern. He found the depression, filled with pieces of rock, and began to excavate it, trying to make as little noise as he could.

Then he saw what he’d come for. It was a black box the size of a pack of cards, with a wire aerial trailing from it.

Look on it as a last measure
, Drake had told him.
If you ever need help, for any reason, I’ll do my best to come.

At the time the Second Officer hadn’t given much thought to it. After half of the Laboratories had been demolished by their explosion, it had been vital that Drake and Chester escape from the Colony with Mrs. Burrows as quickly as they could. And the Second Officer himself had also been more than a little preoccupied about quite how he was going to convince the Styx of his innocence.

He knew that he should have reported the device and had it removed, but his knowledge of it wasn’t going to be easy to explain away. So, in the end, he chose to simply forget about its existence.

Until now.

He inspected the device’s shiny black casing. Its appearance was similar to the beacons that Drake had provided to Will to mark his way down to the inner world, but this one was different. It also emitted a radio signal that was detectable through the crust, but on a completely different wavelength.

With his clumsy fingers, the Second Officer located the microswitch on the side of the casing and slid it into the on position. Then he placed the beacon carefully back into the depression and made sure it was well buried again.

He didn’t know quite when — or even if — Drake would pick up the signal, but he also didn’t know where else to go for help. He regarded the beacon as a message in a bottle, which he’d just cast into the ocean in the hope that it would be found and that he’d be rescued.

That the entire Colony would be rescued.

AS MRS. BURROWS ENTERED
her quarters, the intercom beside the door was buzzing. She snatched the handset from the cradle.

“Yes, it’s done,” she said. “It wasn’t easy — I reduced my breathing almost to nothing and moved slower than a snail so she wouldn’t hear me. She didn’t, and it’s a good thing, too, because I would’ve been hard-pressed to explain what I was doing in there.”

She listened to the caller for several seconds.

“I will,” she confirmed, moving toward the cradle as if she thought the conversation had come to an end.

“Bartleby?” she gasped, turning in the direction of the oak desk in the small study at the end of the room. Between the two pedestals of drawers that formed its base, Colly was sitting like a Sphinx, her large amber eyes fixed on Mrs. Burrows. “Yes, it’s a terrible shame, but I suppose he was only doing what any wild animal does — he was following his instincts.”

Mrs. Burrows twirled her finger around the flex of the handset as she listened to the caller. “Don’t worry, we’ll be there when you arrive,” she said, then hung up.

With a very human sigh, the Hunter lowered her muzzle onto her forepaws.

“I know,” Mrs. Burrows said. “But you’ve got so much to look forward to.”

“Elliott,” Mrs. Burrows said, speaking softly in the darkness.

The girl was instantly awake, rolling from her bed with her long rifle in her hands.

“What is it?” she asked urgently. “What’s wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing to be concerned about,” Mrs. Burrows assured her. “Only Will and Drake have arrived, and I thought you’d want to see them. They’re up in the Hub.” Mrs. Burrows didn’t give Elliott the opportunity to decide whether or not she wanted to come as she switched on the lights to the room.

Parry hadn’t been misleading them when he’d said that the accommodation was comfortable. Elliott’s and Mrs. Burrows’s rooms were next to each other, the doors labeled gov 1 and gov 2. The quarters had evidently been intended for cabinet ministers, the interiors resembling something you might find in a luxurious ocean liner, with mahogany furniture and brass fittings, but minus the portholes.

The main room in each quarters was some thirty feet square, with its own en suite bathroom and a small adjoining study just large enough for a writing desk and a couple of chairs. Everything in them — the cupboards, carpets, linen — was the very best that early-twentieth-century Britain had had to offer. The only modern addition to the rooms was the ugly plastic trunking that had been run along the top of the skirting and by the sides of the doors, where intercoms with incongruous aluminum faceplates had been installed, so that each room had a communication link with the Hub.

“Do I need to get dressed?” Elliott asked. She was wearing a baggy white T-shirt that she’d found in the wardrobe, along with a pair of blue shorts far too large for her.

“Maybe a bathrobe,” Mrs. Burrows suggested, hugging herself inside hers, which was cut from a thick blanketlike material. Far from being airless, if anything the quarters were rather chilly as fresh air pumped in through vents in the ceiling.

When Elliott was ready, Mrs. Burrows said, “All set?” and they left the room together.

“Chester!” Elliott exclaimed, surprised to see him slumped against the wall in the corridor. Elliott’s voice roused the boy, and with much grunting, he hauled himself to his feet. He yawned so cavernously, it looked as though he might dislocate his jaw.

“Oh, hi . . . sorry . . . I was in such a deep sleep when Mrs. Burrows came to get me,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Only had a couple of hours.”

They went down the corridor, then turned into a lobby where the elevators were located.

“
Level 2
,” Chester read through another yawn. He was squinting through one eye at the floor plan on the wall. As Sergeant Finch, with his bevy of cats in tow, had taken them down in the elevator to show them to their quarters, he’d told them that the Complex had six levels in total. He had also told them that all the power for it came from the nearby electricity lines outside, the clever thing being that, because it was taken straight from the grid, no one could tell that current was being siphoned off for the secret establishment.