The Blood Line (8 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

London

Present day

T
he Auld Witch fixed the black-cloaked Riven woman with a beady-eyed stare. The woman, Morley, shifted uneasily under the Witch’s gaze and fiddled with her dark frizzy hair.

‘Found a new line have you?’ said the Witch. ‘Think this might be the one? The line in the plague pit that the King is so keen to find?’

‘Be quiet,’ snapped Morley. ‘It’s none of your business, witch.’

‘He’s been looking for that line for a very very long time. And you think you’ve found it now?’ The Witch laughed. ‘Only you can’t tell because your presence isn’t strong enough to allow you to see where it leads.’ She laughed again and wandered off into the front part of the newsagent store which she ran as a cover to allow the Riven hidden access to the areas deep under London.

Morley, left alone by the staircase which led down to the underbelly of London, shifted nervously from foot-to–foot.
Stupid hag
, she thought to herself. It was annoying that she was right. Morley couldn’t tell where the line led. But she was under strict orders, as were all the other Riven. If you found a new line, within or near a plague pit under London, then you were not to use it until someone more senior – and sufficiently powerful – had been down to check it out. All Riven moving in and around London were told that the King was very interested in finding a particular line. Its existence was whispered about in the halls of the Rivenrok Complex. The Blood Line they called it. It was said to be unique but no-one knew why. The King had been looking for it for a very long time and when it was found, and it would be found, only he was to use it. Anyone who found it would be rewarded handsomely. Morley wondered what riches or powers or status he might offer.

She continued to wait, nervous about who might come. Life hadn’t always been like this. She’d had a husband and kids, three daughters she thought although it was hard to remember. But the Riven had found her and had revealed that she was capable of magic, that she had a presence. It was either follow them or be killed and probably witness the death of her family too. She had gone with the Riven to protect those she had loved, reluctantly at first, but as time had gone on it had become easier. She had heard some kind of mind-control was being used, but if it had been used on her she couldn’t tell. What was clear though was that she couldn’t remember much about her earlier life, other than brief flashes of her family. It was as though parts of her memory had been affected. She had had another name, a first name, and she thought that once upon a time she might have been an artist or something, And she remembered baking, even now she felt sure she could have produced an impressive cake. How mundane given what she was capable of now with presence and the might of the Riven standing with her.

She was startled from her thoughts by the tinkle of a bell as someone entered the witch’s shop from the street. Morley heard an expression of surprise from the hag who said something indistinct in a respectful tone. Morley could not hear the other voice. Whoever it was he was speaking quietly. Morley felt her stomach lurch with nervousness again but she stood upright and put her shoulders back, trying to look confident.

That confidence pooled at her feet like warm icing when a black-cloaked man stepped into the room and give her a keen stare.

‘Master Pech,’ stammered Morley. ‘I…’

Pech spoke over her. ‘You’ve found a new line?’

She nodded.

‘Near a plague pit?’

She nodded again.

‘Did you use it?’

Morley shook her head.

‘Very well,’ said Pech. ‘Lead on.’

Morley stepped over to the spiral staircase and began to descend, Pech’s footsteps soft and almost silent behind her. She wound down and down through the rumble of the underground trains passing nearby, acutely aware that the Riven who walked behind her was one of the most dangerous and deadly men she had ever met, and that was saying something. He was said to be one of the most efficient killers in the upper echelons of the Riven hierarchy. It made her skin prickle to have him behind her. Eventually, they reached the bottom. Morley lit a lantern and turned to Pech.

‘It’s, um, it’s quite a way I’m afraid.’

Pech inclined his head and held out a hand towards the tunnel beyond. ‘Then we had better not delay,’ he said.

It took several hours to reach the line that Morley had found. She was nervous every step of the way, worried that she would take a wrong turn and lead Pech astray. They did not talk for the entire journey but eventually, thankfully, they reached the line.

Morley pointed to a blank space of wall. ‘I can feel it in there,’ she said. ‘Behind the dirt.’

Pech moved over to study the wall in the darkness. They had traversed several underground train lines, several sewers and now they stood in some kind of rough tunnel, a pocket of stale, deathly cold air underneath London. He looked closely at the wall. Morley looked too. She could clearly see bits of bone sticking from it, some teeth set in a jawbone here, a femur there. On the ground some bones had worked themselves free from the wall and Pech nudged them with his foot studying them in the dim glow from the light which Morley carried.

‘Very good,’ Pech said. ‘I can feel the energy of the line. Dig it out.’

‘W.. w.. what with?’ stammered Morley.

‘I do not care,’ said Pech. ‘Presence. Your hands. It is your choice. But do it quickly or I will use the bowl of your skull to do it.’

Morley hurried to the wall and began to use presence and her fingers to tear at the mud and stones and bones in an effort to reach the line quickly. Before long her hands began to bleed. The look Pech gave her when she held them up to the light to inspect them encouraged her not to stop. By the time she had pulled away the dried mud to reach the edge of the line, which was only a dozen centimetres behind the wall, her hands were a mess and she almost sobbed with the pain. She could feel tears in her eyes which made the light of the lantern sparkle in front of her. But eventually, the line was accessible.

Pech withdrew a knife from within his cloak.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘Use the line and return here immediately.’

‘What? Me?’ said Morley. ‘But I thought this line might be the one that is, you know, very powerful. Only for the King.’

‘It may be. In which case you should consider yourself very lucky,’ Pech lifted the knife and studied its edge. ‘If it is not the line that the King seeks then return promptly. I will not wish to be kept waiting for long.’

Morley turned to the line and opened it clumsily with her presence. She dropped the doorway once before managing to hold it open. Taking a deep breath she stepped though and vanished.

In a couple of minutes she was back. Pech was waiting impatiently, but at least he had put away his knife. She could tell by his demeanour that she had not found the Blood Line. In a sudden moment of insight she realised that she would have been killed if she had found the Line. How had she not realised that before? The Blood Line was the line that the Riven King craved beyond all others. He had been searching for it for ever. If she had found it she would not have been allowed to stay alive to reveal the location to anyone else. Morley gave herself a mental telling off. She constantly underestimated the cruelness of the Riven. She decided to play dumb.

‘Um, I don’t think I feel any different,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what the line is supposed to do, but I feel the same as before.’

‘This is not the line,’ said Pech. ‘Keep searching,’ and with that he strode off into the darkness. Before he disappeared from sight he turned back briefly to her. She stood immobile with her back to the line.

‘Just out of interest,’ Pech said. ‘Where did the line lead?’

‘Into one of the cells under the Rivenrok Complex,’ said the woman. ‘I spoke to one of the prisoners.’

‘Huh,’ said Pech and turned on his heel and strode away. His voice echoed back from the gloom. ‘I will send someone to guard this line so that we do not have any escape from the cells. Do not move from here, then when someone comes, you may leave and continue looking for the Blood Line or whatever it is that you are supposed to be doing.’

Morley, in a moment of madness, answered back. Before she knew what she was doing she had called after him. ‘It’s okay. He didn’t have any presence, the prisoner. He couldn’t get out anyway. You don’t need to guard him.’

Pech stopped and Morley saw his head turn a fraction. She froze, realising she had crossed some invisible boundary.

Pech turned and in a few strides he was back. Morley was shaking before he got to her.

‘I.. I…I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to question you.’

Pech stood very close to her, so close she could not see whether he had retrieved his knife from the folds of his cloak. His eyes bored into hers and she quickly dropped her gaze to the floor. He leant forward slowly so that his mouth was next to her ear.

‘If you ever speak to me like that again,’ he whispered ‘I will personally feed you to Shuk. Can you see the future? Do you have any idea what might happen if a slave escaped? What if this person was important for some reason? Don’t ever question me again.’

Morley trembled and managed a quick nod. And then he was gone.

Morley watched him leave. Once she was sure he had gone she took a deep breath and composed herself. How dare he scare her like that? She hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just a bully. It would serve him right if she did open the line and let the young man escape. The thought terrified her. But, Morley remembered, she used to be someone. A mother. A wife. A good person. And somehow the Riven had taken that from her. They’d messed with her mind. They’d robbed her of everything.

Suddenly, she made a decision. She turned and opened the line. A moment later the youth appeared looking cautiously around from under tousled blonde hair. He looked at Morley suspiciously.

She smiled. She hadn’t smiled in a long time. It felt good.

‘It’s okay,’ she said to the young man. ‘I’m letting you go.’

‘Why?’ he asked. ‘No-one has ever gotten out of those mines alive. Why help me? You don’t know me from Adam.’

‘I’m not going to be bullied by the Riven any more. Now run.’

The youth didn’t need to be told twice. He gave a nod of gratitude and then he was gone. Morley waited a minute and then, choosing a route which neither the youth nor Pech had taken she ran too, both horrified and excited at what she had done. And if that young man turned out to be important in some way, well, so much the better. Perhaps her small act of kindness and defiance would be worth something. She hoped so. She had risked everything to do it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

London, England

Present day

A
drian Fiddler pushed away the legal papers in front of him, bound in that soft cloth ribbon that lawyers were so fond of using. He leant back in his faux-leather chair, put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes with a smile. It had been a good day. He had made only the briefest of appearances at the Old Bailey, his client giving a plea of guilty at just the right moment to get credit from the judge and for Adrian Fiddler & Co. Solicitors, to collect a handsome fee. Yes, business was coming along nicely and even the inheritance and wills side of things was doing well. He would, he reminded himself, have to look at those Carly Jowitt papers tomorrow. Funny business that one. The husband had probably killed her. That was usually how it went. Shame, nice girl like that.

He opened his eyes to adjust the green glass shade on the faux-brass lamp on his desk so that the light did not shine in his face. He liked turning out the rest of the lights and just using the lamp. It made a pool of light around him and made the office feel bigger. The room was dark except for his island of yellow and green glow. He pressed the intercom button on his phone.

'No more calls or meetings today, Lotta,' he said.

'Sure,' came the reply 'There's no-one here anyway.'

Adrian Fiddler looked out into the darkness beyond the window which was still speckled with rain from the drizzle that had fallen earlier. From this height he could only see the tops of other buildings, orange in the glow of the street lights and shiny in the wet night. He got up and locked the door and then leant back again in his chair and closed his eyes as he put his feet onto the desk. What was he going to say to this Jowitt chap?

He was just starting to doze when suddenly he sensed a change in the room, a feeling that something was different. A presence that made the hair on the back of his neck and arms tingle. A sudden draft caused him to shiver. He opened his eyes but as he did so the light in the room shifted suddenly. The green glass shade on the lamp was quickly tilted back so that the light from the bulb shone directly into his face making him blink and wince. Just beyond his desk stood a dark figure. Adrian whipped his feet off the desk so quickly that he almost fell off the chair.

'What the...?' he croaked as he managed to get his feet underneath himself and sit up straight. 'How did you...?' he trailed off, suddenly aware of the open window behind him.

The figure moved forward and placed a sheet of paper squarely on the desk between them. Adrian could make out nothing beyond the light bulb shining into his eyes.

'The Hain account,' came a voice, low and quiet.

'Um, yes,' said Adrian cautiously after a moment's thought. He remembered the strange man who had set up the account and the odd boy who he had met in the church at the funeral and had been sole inheritor of the old man's estate.

'Put the money in this account,' came the voice again, just loud enough to hear. 'The house burnt down. The insurance goes in too.' A finger tapped the page.

Adrian had heard about the fire. The police had been to see him about that and had asked him what he knew about it. The firemen had suspected arson but had not been able to find the usual evidence of an accelerant or even the source of where the fire had started. He remembered that the fire investigator had said something strange, that the fire had not seemed to move naturally through the building in a standard pattern, that it was almost as if it had been controlled. Adrian Fiddler hadn't been able to help much but he hadn't liked the police coming into the offices. Bad for business.

He looked down at the page on the desk before him, aware that his mouth was hanging open. The page had been torn from a book or journal of some sort and there was a small amount of neat handwriting on it.

'Entry 119' he read 'If, Sam, you ever do read this journal and you need money in an emergency and I'm not around go to see Adrian Fiddler and get him to transfer the funds he holds to this account. I'll put details of how to access it inside the cover.'

There followed an account number and sort code.

'Do it now,' came the stranger's voice. Again the finger came out of a sleeve and rested on the numbers on the page. Now that he looked Adrian could see what looked like blood caked around the nail and a swollen knuckle. The finger rose slowly to point at the desk-lamp. Adrian found himself watching the finger as it moved up from the desk, like a cat following a toy, and found himself staring right into the light. There was suddenly a flash and a loud pop as the bulb blew, plunging the room into sudden darkness and making Adrian jump and blink as the light of the bulb and flash echoed on his retina. After a moment the swirling paisley patterns faded and his eyes adjusted enough to see the room by the orange streetlights. He was alone. The window was closed. The paper was still sitting on his desk.

Two floors above him, crouched on the flat roof, Sam took deep breaths as he tried to get his heart rate to return to normal. He looked out over the city, thinking for a moment. A light rain began to fall again. The nearest roof was a good fifty metres away. Taking a deep breath he pointed his hands towards the moss and gravel beneath his feet and pushed with his presence as he jumped, launching himself upwards in a great arc. A second later he was gone, swallowed by the darkness.