The City of Fear Page 4

  Which meant finding the key. Ruby had been given a description. It wasn’t the sort of treasure that made her own green eyes light up, but someone else was desperate to get their hands on it.

  Or rather their talons.

  Why Grey Wing wanted the Gehenna Key was no concern of hers. All she knew was that she had to find it for him…or else.

  Grey Wing squatted beside the pit.

  The key is hidden beyond your reach… Those had been Josiah’s exact words. A mere slip from the Weeping Man’s lips, but it was enough to seal the fate of the Watchers… Of London… Of the world.

  The Feathered Man croaked a laugh which reverberated through the cavernous chamber. The sanctuary of the Under was the Legion’s cathedral. It was here that they carried out their ancient rituals. It was a place steeped in history and stained with blood. And beneath the huge vaulted ceiling was the anti-spire. A hole of impossible depth, filled to the brim with blackness.

  No one knew what lay at the bottom – no humans knew, anyway. Grey Wing hopped, birdlike, around the rim of the pit, gazing into the dark. His unforgiving eyes filled with delight. With his long talons he felt around the flagstones at the lip until he found one that lifted. The long, lean muscles of his arms strained until the stone was removed. Beneath it was a keyhole. Almost affectionately, Grey Wing let his talon trace the shape. All that was missing was the key. The Gehenna Key.

  And what did a key do, except unlock a door?

  Josiah had not told him where it could be found, not even as his wings were hacked off. But he had given Grey Wing an inadvertent clue. The key was beyond the reach of the Feathered Men…somewhere that Grey Wing and his kind could never go. That could only mean that it was on consecrated ground.

  It might take time. It might mean that every church in London had to be reduced to rubble. But the Gehenna Key would be his.

  Grey Wing listened intently, bending his head towards the lip of the pit.

  It was very faint, but it could definitely be heard. Echoing from the depths.

  Chittering. Scratching. Slithering.

  “Not long,” Grey Wing whispered. “Not long.”

  With night came the fear.

  Ben could feel the sheer weight of it as the Watchers sneaked through the abandoned streets. Like a blanket smothering the city. A wet blanket at that, Ben thought, as he tipped the rainwater from the brim of his billycock. The storm was worsening. The clouds were gathering, circling overhead like carrion birds above a carcass.

  The Watchers had made slow progress and they were in danger of not reaching the rendezvous in time. If they could have used their rooftop paths they would have covered the distance in half the time, but they knew that the Feathered Men were up there somewhere in the storm-ridden sky. And so they were forced to take a zigzag route through the streets, turning away each time a patrol came near or a curtain twitched at a window.

  London had always been Ben’s home. Noisy, smelly, raucous London. Life had never been easy, not for him or for any of the other kids growing up on Old Gravel Lane. Always hungry, always cold, always poor. But he could almost laugh; looking back now, it had been a walk in the park compared to trying to survive in the London that Mr. Sweet had made.

  Ben picked up his pace, but then froze in his tracks as a hideous howling resounded through the darkness. Part bark, part shriek. All evil.

  “Three Feathered Men,” hissed Moon, his exceptional hearing making out the details even above the drumming of the rain, “and five Legion handlers. Heading…” Moon paused. “West.”

  Ben released his breath slowly. The Legion had taken to using the fearsome fallen angels as attack dogs, keeping them hungry and then patrolling the streets, letting them sniff out curfew breakers, escapees, Watchers. But tonight the Watchers were lucky – they were heading in the opposite direction to the patrol, north and to the east.

  They skirted St Pancras station, then broke through a fence and scrambled out onto the silent train tracks, running low to the ground. Ben suddenly felt exposed and doubt came in search of him. As always when he felt vulnerable, Ben saw the faces of Josiah and Mother Shepherd and his own mother. All dead because of him.

  Ben slowed, blinded by the torrent of images. Then stopped altogether.

  Lucy knew that they couldn’t risk being caught out in the open. The rest of their group had already moved on ahead, not noticing Ben falter. She touched Ben’s arm and looked deep into his eyes. She had been doing that a lot recently. Ben had found it disconcerting at first – he wasn’t used to someone, especially a girl, fixing him with such an intense gaze. But now he was glad of it.

  She let her hand move to his shoulder, not letting her eye drop. “What would Mother Shepherd say?” she asked softly.

  Ben listened and heard that magnificent old girl inside his head. “Watchers aren’t slaves to fear,” he replied.

  “Damn right,” said Lucy. “Now, let’s keep going.”

  Together they left the tracks, clambered over a slick mountain of coal and into the depot yard where the others were waiting. Composed again, Ben was ready to deploy his team. His forces were going to be spread very thin.

  “Mr. Moon, Ghost, Lucy, are you ready with the ‘diversions’?”

  Jago Moon patted his bulky rucksack and gave a broad grin.

  “Nathaniel, Valentine, Professor Carter, pick your positions carefully. We’re going to need your covering fire.”

  Nathaniel gave a mock salute. “Aye aye.”

  “Pa, are you sure you can fly the Liberator in this storm?”

  “We’ll soon find out, son,” said Jonas Kingdom.

  “And you’ve got the flare gun?”

  Jonas nodded.

  “Molly,” said Ben, stepping in close and giving the little girl a hug. “This is goodbye for a while. Pa’s going to get you out with the others.”

  Molly looked sad and excited at the same time. “Will I see you again?” she asked.

  “Course,” said Ben reassuringly. “As soon as this is all over.” If I live to tell the tale…

  There were no more words to be said as the Watchers went their separate ways into the night. With one arm round Molly and one round his father, Ben quickly guided them towards the shed where the Liberator was waiting.

  Ben’s pulse always raced when he thought about the Liberator. It was such a magnificent airship. A long streamlined balloon, filled with gas stolen from the gasometer near the Oval before the Wall went up, hung above a gondola of wood and brass. Sleek wings emerged from each side, with long propellers powered by steam pumps, fed by a large copper furnace. Harpoon guns were mounted on each side, ready to fend off aerial attacks. It had been built for speed and could carry about eighty passengers at a push. Without it, their war against the Legion would have ended at the Feast of Ravens. Since then the Watchers had been repairing her in secret, ready for this night.

  Ben opened the huge shed door a fraction and all three of them slipped inside out of the rain. As they saw what waited for them, Ben and his pa exchanged glances. There must have been more than two hundred figures huddled together in the darkness. Ben looked around at the frightened faces. One woman had five children, all under the age of seven, clinging to her skirts. A mother cradled an infant in her arms, rocking her gently while she tried to stifle her own tears. An old man, bent double with age, stood side-by-side with his wife, their gnarled fingers interlocked, their knuckles white.

  Ben did a quick calculation. The fathers and husbands in the crowd would all know that this flight was not for them, but plenty of the older lads would have to stay back too. He’d have to break it to them gently.

  “You climb aboard, Pa,” said Ben. “You too, Molly. Get the engines prepped and ready, I’ll handle this.”

  Ben turned over a crate and stood on it to give himself a bit more height so that he could address the crowd. His quick mouth had got him in trouble most of his life and earned him more than one thick lip when he was running wild on Old Gravel Lane.
But in the last few weeks his way with words had served him well. He smiled reassuringly at the anxious faces around him, pulled the lantern from his pack, unwound his matches from their waterproof canvas wrapping, lit the wick and let it shine.

  “You all know me,” said Ben. “I’m that ginger boy who’s put the wind up Mr. Sweet’s nightshirt.”

  “We know who you are,” said one man gruffly. “You and your Watchers are the ones who brought all this down on our heads.”

  Ben hadn’t been expecting that. “The Watchers risk their lives every day to keep London safe.”

  “And who asked you to, eh? Not me, not my family. We never asked you to bring your war to London.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Isn’t it? We were all getting on with our lives when – bang! – suddenly it’s the Legion calling the shots and your lot stirring ’em up.”

  Back in the day Ben would have got into a scrap over less, but Mother Shepherd had taught him that soft words could turn away anger. Some of the time, anyhow.

  “It must feel like that,” said Ben, changing tack. “But this war isn’t something that we started or ever wanted.”

  There were murmurs of agreement.

  “You must know that the Watchers are on your side, otherwise you wouldn’t have risked coming here tonight.”

  More nods.

  “Listen,” said Ben, “the Watchers didn’t start this war, but we will end it.”

  “1st of May,” said a big man near the back of the shed, holding his wife and daughter. “That’s the day, ain’t it?”

  “Revolution Day…” said Ben. He had given this speech over and over, in back rooms, in cellars, behind locked doors, telling the story of the Watchers, the ancient guardians of the city. One last time…

  “When Big Ben sounds two in the morning, the Legion patrols will be at their lowest ebb and I’ll need people like you to make the first step towards taking back our city.”

  “Do we look like soldiers?” said another worried man.

  “Do I?” Ben challenged. “I’m only a lad but I’m not going to let that stand in my way.”

  The man was abashed. “Go on.”

  “I’m calling on every free Londoner to do whatever they can to keep the Legion busy.”

  “What sort of plan is that?” another man interrupted, before his friends shushed him.

  “There are Watchers, like us, scattered all over the city,” Ben explained. “By now those Watchers will have spread the word on the streets under their protection, just as I’m telling you…” Ben chose not to mention how many Watchers were imprisoned or missing, how many gaps there might be in the uprising. “On May 1st on the chime of two, all those who are prepared to be part of the rebellion, to stand up and fight to get this city back, will identify themselves by flashing a lamp from their window three times. With a Watcher to guide them, these units can then be deployed strategically. If a Legion patrol comes down the street, then it must be stopped, decisively and effectively—”

  “Killed, you mean?”

  “No,” said Ben emphatically. “The Legion are the killers, not us. We’ll have to use force, but remember, once we free Queen Victoria, then the army can come in and do any serious business.”

  “Supposing we join, what else might we have to do?”

  “It’s a long list,” said Ben. “Every guard post, every watchtower on the Wall has to be disabled and put out of action, and the fence around the detention camp has got to come down. Then there will be Feathered Men to look out for…”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “It is,” said Ben, “but it’s got to be better than hiding in a shed for the rest of your days.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Jonas from the deck of the Liberator.

  Someone at the rear of the shed began to applaud in agreement. The clapping was taken up, but Ben raised his hands to silence it.

  “Thanks an’ all that,” he said, “but we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

  Almost on cue, the Liberator’s engines began their low thrum as the steam from the boiler surged through the pipework. The balloon started to glow from within as the gas jets flared. There was no way that the Liberator was going to get over the Wall without someone spotting it.

  “Right,” said Ben. “We can start boarding now, but you can all see that the Liberator was only made to carry eighty. We’ll do our best to get all the most vulnerable on board somehow…but some of you are gonna have to stay behind.”

  Ben braced himself for a barrage of abuse.

  “I want to stay,” piped up a lad, only a little older than Ben. “I want to say that I was part of Revolution Day.”

  There were murmurs of agreement all round and Ben breathed again. “Well done, all,” he said with relief. “Now let’s get going.”

  A young mother was first up the rope ladder, followed by two boys only five years old by the look of them. “You can be stokers,” Ben told them. “My pa is the captain, he’ll tell you what to do.”

  An old man with a wooden leg approached. “I was a sailor all my life,” he told Ben, “reckon I can handle one of them harpoons.”

  “It’s all yours, grandpa,” said Ben.

  Quickly the deck began to fill. “Move down as far as you can,” Jonas urged, as those at the back of the queue saw their chance of escaping dwindling. “We’ll take as many as we dare, I promise.”

  One little girl started to cry as her father lifted her on board the Liberator.

  “Goodbye, ducks,” he said, his own eyes misting up. “Be a brave girl for yer mum.”

  Ben realized that this might be the last time he saw his pa, too. Ben looked deep into his father’s eyes and then tipped his finger to the brim of his billycock hat in salute. They both understood the love that passed silently between them.

  Before emotion got the better of Ben, he jumped down off his crate, pulled out his telescope and went over to the shed doors. It was time to make sure that everything was in place. How much longer could their luck last? Ben wondered. He scanned the yard, searching for his friends. And for the Legion.

  He rubbed his hand over the end of his telescope, trying to clear the lens. He searched the abandoned yard again, looking for some sign of movement. Still nothing. Then he spotted Ghost, Lucy and Moon at the far side of the yard, surreptitiously planting packages around a row of huge oil tanks. The parcels were connected by a reel of wire, which Lucy was winding out behind them as they went. That’s my girl.

  Ghost flashed his lantern twice. The diversion was ready. It was time.

  Nathaniel, Valentine and Carter were out there somewhere, in position to provide covering fire. Ben couldn’t find them with his spyglass and that had to be a good thing. It meant that the Legion wouldn’t be able to pick them off.

  This is it, thought Ben. He raised his own bullseye lantern. It was the sort of light favoured by burglars, with shuttered doors which could be opened and closed to release a narrow beam of light. He signalled to his team. The last escape from London could begin.

  This one’s for you, Mother S.

  The rain was playing ragged percussion notes on the corrugated iron roofs in the goods yard but it was not enough to completely drown the noise from the Liberator’s engines. The airship was roaring into action.

  “Stand clear!” Jonas ordered, making sure that no one was near the great propellers as he engaged the gears that brought them to life. The blades of wood spun slowly at first but soon they became a blur and the shed echoed with their steady throb.

  The Liberator was dangerously overloaded. The entire deck was packed shoulder-to-shoulder. They had managed to get everyone on board. The question now was whether they could still fly.

  There was only one way to find out.

  Ben pushed open the shed doors and released the stow lines that held the airship down. Slowly the Liberator began to nose out of its hiding place and into the yard. The flames from the gas canisters illuminated the balloon.
It was strangely beautiful. And perilously visible.

  The Liberator was soon completely out in the open, but it didn’t rise into the air as Ben had expected it to. For the plan to work, the Liberator had to get as high as possible as quickly as possible. However, to Ben’s horror, it seemed to be bumping along the ground. It was too heavy for lift-off.

  Ben was so fixed on the Liberator that he almost didn’t hear the rush of feet behind him, heavy boots crunching on gravel. But at the last instant he spun and found himself face-to-face with a huge bruiser of a man, wearing a Legion armband. Ben ducked instinctively as a meaty fist swung through the air, missing his head by inches. Then he brought himself in close to the man’s fat belly and jabbed upwards with a one-two-three flurry of rabbit punches.

  The big man laughed. “Is that all you got, sonny?”

  Ben had seen some ugly faces in his days, but this giant took the biscuit. His nose had been flattened against his broad face, presumably by better punches than the ones Ben had just thrown. His shaven head was criss-crossed with scars, and his jaw showed the signs of more than one knife fight. Ben took a step back, reaching for his quarterstaff even as he dared a glance over his shoulder.

  He could see his pa ordering more gas to be released in a desperate attempt to get the Liberator off the ground. Some of the men from the shed had run out into the yard and were putting their shoulders to the gondola, trying to use their bodyweight to help the heavily laden airship to launch. Come on, Ben pleaded, willing the Liberator into the air. Come on! He breathed again as the airship bumped off the ground and began to rise, at last.

  Taking advantage of the distraction, the Legionnaire lunged for Ben again. Ben whipped his head away from the blow and flicked his quarterstaff out to its full fighting length. The Legionnaire was strong, Ben could see, but how sharp were his reflexes?

  Ben spun the staff in a blurring circle and then lashed out: a slash to the head; an uppercut to the body; a swipe to the legs. The Legionnaire swatted them away like flies.