Claws of Evil 1 Page 7

  Half-heartedly, Ben tried to bring some sort of order to the room. However, it didn’t take long to realize that everything was too far gone to be rescued, and all that he had the energy to do was to re-stuff the mattresses as best he could and gather the rest of the debris to one side. Even that exhausted him, and he sat for a while with his back to the wall, hugging his knees. The one thing he did do was to put the pages of his mother’s Bible together. It was a tiny book, so small that she might have carried it in her purse, and with print so dense that it made his eyes hurt. He placed a small kiss on the Bible’s thumb-worn cover and imagined that in that breath he could smell his mother’s perfume; a sigh of lemons and summer. He tucked it back under his father’s pillow, then he closed his eyes and tried not to think of anything at all.

  When he awoke, the hole in the roof showed Ben that the day had raced away from him and the night would soon be drawing in. He put on his topcoat over the burned remains of his jacket, and settled his billycock hat on his head. It would be bitterly cold again tonight. Sitting on the remains of his mattress, he ran through a long list of questions and came up with no answers at all.

  Ben still wanted to visit Professor Carter; he was convinced that the man might be able to shed some sort of light on this present darkness. That would have to wait though, because above all else Ben needed to be here when his father and brother returned. He had a vision of bird-men swooping down on them out of the sky, slashing at his family with sharp beaks and hands like talons.

  He shook his head vigorously. I’ve really got to stop reading such scary books, he thought.

  It was not unusual for Jonas and Nathaniel Kingdom to return home late. They would sometimes stop for a drink together at the Jolly Tar, which wasn’t much to ask after a hard day’s work. It was very unusual, however, for them to be out this late.

  Ben had listened to the chimes of distant St George in the East ringing out first ten, then eleven and now twelve o’clock.

  All was not well.

  The moon was out and watching the city like an owl preparing to swoop. Ben couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible had happened to his family. The wickedness that had come looking for him at Mr. Smutts’s was surely searching for them too. He stood in the window, watching and waiting. And shivering.

  Then, from above his head, Ben heard the scrape of a boot against the tiles, and voices whispering, low and urgent.

  Ben made a dash for the door. His own flurry of movement was matched by frantic activity overhead; there was no attempt to disguise the footsteps now.

  Ben charged down the stairs, almost tripping over his own feet in the dark as he tried to put some distance between him and his pursuers. He plunged out of the front door and into the Lane. Looking back towards his small window, he could see two figures on his ruined roof, stark against the moonlit sky.

  One of them was surprisingly small, Ben thought, probably not much older than him. It was the other one that scared him rigid. Ben recognized the silhouette and shuddered.

  Even without seeing the tears on his cheeks or the sword beneath his coat, there was no mistaking the Weeping Man.

  “Benjamin Kingdom!” called the Weeping Man, reaching out to him from the rooftop. “Come with me.”

  Before waiting for a reply, the Weeping Man’s accomplice drew a crossbow from a shoulder holster and aimed it in Ben’s direction.

  Panic grabbed him tight. He looked around, uncertain which way to turn, but knowing that each second he delayed might cost him dearly. Then another voice hissed to him and his eyes were drawn to a gloved hand emerging from the shadows of a side alley.

  “Oi, ginger! This way, if you fancy staying alive.”

  It was a pleasant voice, Ben thought. Certainly more reassuring than the one shouting at him from the roof.

  The gloved hand spurred him on with a beckoning finger. Hugging the wall tight for cover, Ben ran over to find that the hand belonged to a girl with short, jagged hair and the most incredible eyes he had ever seen. It was the best surprise he had had in a long time.

  She held out her hand to him and flashed her eyes.

  Ben took her hand and ran.

  It was all he seemed to do these days.

  Ben felt exhilarated although he didn’t quite know why. He expected that a lot of it had to do with the gloved hand that was holding his own, and the girl the hand belonged to. They were running for their lives in the midnight snow and all Ben could do was smile.

  “Where are we going?” he asked as she pulled him through the backstreets, turning left, then right, then left again, ducking and weaving as they went.

  “Hush,” she said, but there was no anger in her voice.

  Ben clasped her hand tighter and let her lead him on. High over their heads, they could hear voices and the rattle of boots on roof tiles, as each twist and turn they made on the ground was matched by their pursuers above. The street started to widen out, and as the girl dragged Ben onwards, he looked up to see the Weeping Man take a running leap from one side to the other.

  He’s never gonna make it, Ben thought...and then was proved wrong by the rattle of feet on the far side and a fine rain of tile fragments falling on his head.

  “Who are those people?” he asked, impressed in spite of himself.

  “Hush,” she said again, her eyes sparkling like emeralds in the moonlight. She hauled him left and right through the maze of backstreets and then stopped at a wooden trapdoor.

  “What’s down there? Are we going to hide in a cellar?” Ben guessed.

  The girl pushed him up against the wall then and pressed her finger to his lips. “Hush,” she said. “Don’t you ever stop asking questions?”

  Ben felt very warm and he wasn’t sure if it was because he had been running hell-for-leather or because he had never met anyone like this girl before. It took him a moment to realize that in fact the air itself was noticeably warmer here, and as he looked down he saw steam rising from the cellar door, carrying with it the harsh tang of carbolic.

  Ben watched as the girl crouched and rapped on the hatch with her knuckles: two short knocks, then three long, then two short. Some sort of code, he supposed, and he was proved right when, after the rattling of bolts being drawn, an oriental face appeared from beneath the hatch.

  With a furtive look left, right and skyward, the Chinese man beckoned them both into his underground lair. Ben clambered down the wooden steps behind the girl, while the man waited to bolt and lock the hatch behind them. No escape that way, thought Ben, and it occurred to him for the first time that he had put his life in the hands of this mysterious girl, based on her dazzling eyes and her smile alone.

  Lucy Lambert scanned the streets below her in vain. The Kingdom boy was even more stupid than she had feared. One glimpse of a pretty face and he had run off with the Legion, hand in hand. Damn him!

  She saw the Weeping Man walking towards her across the rooftop; they had split up in an effort to double their chances of getting to Ben. He still appeared to be at total peace, but Lucy couldn’t stop the awful despondency that crashed down on her. She wandered to the edge of the roof and sat down heavily, her feet dangling in the empty air.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not looking at the Weeping Man’s face as he sat down beside her. “I’m so very sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” said the Weeping Man.

  “But I do, don’t I?” Lucy protested. “I was sent to guard him and I lost him. You know what the Legion is like; you know how twisted their ideas are. If Kingdom is taken in by their lies, you know what he will become.”

  The Weeping Man nodded but said nothing.

  “He’ll become the Hand of Hell!” Lucy was almost shouting with frustration. “He’ll lead the Legion to victory and all this –” she flung out her own hands for emphasis – “this city, these people, will be destroyed.” Tears brimmed in her one eye but she refused to let them fall. “Why didn’t you stop him?” she challenged. “You could
make him join us.”

  “Because it doesn’t work that way,” the Weeping Man replied gently. “We can never force anyone to join us; everyone has to choose for themselves.”

  “But Ben Kingdom is such an idiot!” Lucy protested.

  “Have faith,” said the Weeping Man. “He’ll do the right thing.”

  The Chinese man stood impassively before Benjamin and the girl, his expression unreadable. Although he was quite short, he made an impressive figure, Ben thought. He might be dressed in some sort of blue silk frock, but there was definitely no messing with him.

  The man bowed low, his hands clasped together in front of him, palms together. “Honourable Sister,” he said. His movements were slow and precise, in stark contrast to the hectic activity behind him. Ben had heard of these Chinese laundries before, but they were such a tight-knit lot he never thought that he would see inside one.

  “Master Cho Jee,” Ruby replied, matching his bow with one of her own.

  He continued to eye Ben coldly though, leaving him in no doubt that his presence was not welcome.

  “He’s with me,” she said, and that was apparently sufficient to appease Cho Jee, because he immediately gave another gracious bow and indicated a low table with a sweep of his hand.

  “Please,” he said crisply, “avail yourself of my humble hospitality.” He bowed again as he retreated and left them alone. This time his robe parted slightly to reveal a meat cleaver strung to his belt. Ben had no doubt that the display was for his benefit and, as he settled himself cross-legged on a cushion, he wondered whether he had exchanged one set of troubles for another.

  “Who’s he?” Ben asked in a low whisper.

  This time the girl with the emerald eyes did condescend to answer him. “A friend,” she replied.

  “And more to the point, who are you?”

  “I’m a friend too,” the girl replied. “That’s all you need to know.”

  She might have had a gorgeous smile but her tongue was a little on the sharp side, Ben decided.

  A moment later, Cho Jee appeared again, bringing them a pot of steaming hot chrysanthemum tea, before slipping back into the shadows. They sipped at it from tiny cups without handles, Ben keeping his thoughts to himself now.

  He stirred his tea slowly with his left hand and, when he was sure that no one was looking, he slipped the spoon into his pocket. Might be silver, he thought.

  As the silence stretched between them, Ben took in his surroundings. They were sat in a small corner of calm in an underground world of industry. Ben watched as Chinese men, women and children busied themselves at vast copper pots full of scalding hot water. Some scrubbed at dirty washing with waxy bars of carbolic soap, others worked it against washboards, their hands red from the boiling water. Men hauled the sheets from the cauldrons and then fed them through giant mangles, squeezing them dry. Then the clean sheets were strung from heavy lines across the ceiling, row upon row, like some huge armada setting out to sea.

  Now that he had stopped running, Ben allowed himself to enjoy the softness of the cushion he sat on, the clean smell of the soap and the sweet comfort of the tea. He took a sideways glance at the girl and, in spite of the way that she spoke to him, he realized he was enjoying her company too.

  “I’m Benjamin,” he said with a grin. “Ben Kingdom.”

  “I know,” the girl replied and, taking off her glove, she held out her hand. “Allow me to introduce myself,” she said with a flourish. “I am Ruby Johnson.”

  He had no idea how she knew his name but he didn’t think twice about taking her hand again. Her skin was warm and her grip was as firm as a man’s. “Pleased to meet you, Ruby Johnson,” he said.

  “Likewise, Benjamin Kingdom,” she replied.

  It was Ruby who let go first. Ben took another sip of his tea. “So who were those roof-runners? Are you going to tell me now?”

  “They were Watchers,” said Ruby, no humour in her voice, her green eyes narrowing. She didn’t elaborate further.

  “And you’re not a Watcher?”

  “Definitely not,” said Ruby. “I am...something else entirely.”

  Well, thank you, Miss Johnson, Ben thought sarcastically. You are really making everything so much clearer.

  “So,” she said abruptly. “Down to business.”

  “What?” said Ben.

  “Business,” said Ruby. “I find so much of life comes down to business, don’t you? All you and I need do is settle on the amount for my reward and then let me bid you ‘goodnight’.”

  “Your reward?”

  “Of course,” said Ruby. “You don’t imagine that I go around rescuing people for free, do you?”

  Ben hadn’t been thinking along those lines at all. Suddenly it was not peaceful at all to be locked underground in a Chinese laundry with a girl that he didn’t know and didn’t understand, watched over by a mysterious man who gave every impression that his cleaver was not for show.

  “What sort of reward did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, nothing much,” she said, almost casually. “A small silver coin should do it.” She examined his face, looking for a reaction. “A Roman coin,” she continued. “You do have one of those, don’t you, Benjamin Kingdom?”

  “And you believe that Benjamin Kingdom is the one our prophets foresaw?” The old woman’s voice cracked like lightning striking home. When she spoke, both angels and demons sat up and listened.

  To her followers, she was Mother Shepherd. Her enemies called her by other, less flattering names: the Hag, the Witch Queen of Spies.

  Jago Moon straightened his back and stood to attention as best as arthritis and the weight of years would allow. “I think that he might be,” he said. “He definitely has the Touch, Great Mother. I’ve never felt it so strong before.”

  “Mmm,” was all Mother Shepherd gave as a reply.

  It was the tradition of the Watchers to meet in the high places of the city. That night they had been summoned to the bell tower of St Peter’s, Dock Lane, an isolated and unloved church situated on the notorious Ratcliff Highway, breeding ground for the lawless and the lost. The wind whipped around the tower, making the candles gutter furiously in their sconce.

  “And what about you, Lucy Lambert? What do you make of the boy?”

  Lucy trembled slightly beneath the intensity of Mother Shepherd’s gaze; her eyes, though old, were as clear and sharp as diamonds.

  “Well, he seems...” Nice, she nearly said, and then brought herself up quick. Benjamin Kingdom isn’t “nice”, she thought angrily, he’s a liability. Lucy composed herself. “He seems reckless,” she continued, “unreliable. A bit of an idiot.”

  “Mmm,” said Mother Shepherd, then turned to the fourth member of their party; a man dressed all in black. “What are your thoughts, Brother?”

  “His destiny is in his own hands,” said the Weeping Man, his deep voice filling the belfry.

  “But that’s not good enough!” Lucy burst out, unable to hold the words back. “How can we trust him with the fate of the Watchers? With the fate of London?”

  “It’s the greatest mystery in the universe, isn’t it?” said Mother Shepherd. “I have never understood why our God would do something so foolish as to grant mere mortals free will; every single one of us containing the seeds of both our success and failure, each of us capable of great mercy or unspeakable evil.” She allowed the full weight of her words to sink in. “Think of it...we face a thousand choices every day. A thousand opportunities to change the world for good or ill.”

  “But how can Ben be the one?” Lucy demanded. “The prophecy is so...”

  “Vague?” Mother Shepherd suggested with surprising softness, and then she began to recite:

  “One will come to lead the fight,

  to defeat the darkness,

  bring the triumph of the light.

  One will come with fire as his crown,

  to bring the Legion tumbling down.

  One will come with fire
in his eyes,

  to pierce through the veil of wicked lies.

  One will come with fire in his heart,

  to overcome all odds and play his part.

  One will come with fire in his hand,

  to purge the evil from this land.”

  The old woman smiled. “Faith is about trusting in what we cannot see.”

  “I know Ben Kingdom,” said Jago Moon. “I know that he’s mouthy, and light-fingered, and cocky with it. But –” and here he lifted a gnarled finger – “were we any better when we were his age? I know I wasn’t.”

  Mother Shepherd chuckled. “Well said, Mr. Moon.”

  Lucy wasn’t convinced, but this time she managed to bite her tongue.

  “What people don’t see about Ben,” Moon continued, “is the goodness in his heart and the struggles that he has overcome already.”

  “Well, seeing as how you already know so much about Benjamin Kingdom,” said Mother Shepherd, “I suggest that you take him under your wing, Mr. Moon, and be quick about it.”

  “Yes, Great Mother,” said Moon, although he hadn’t the faintest idea of how he might win back the boy’s confidence having scared him away so successfully.

  “Benjamin might not seem worthy,” said Mother Shepherd, “but he can change.”

  “He’ll have to,” Lucy muttered, not quite under her breath.

  Slowly, Mother Shepherd turned and walked over to her side. She placed her gnarled hand on Lucy’s shoulder and Lucy felt such tenderness, such safety, that she allowed the dam to burst within her and let her feelings come spilling out.

  “I’ve fought for the Watchers my whole life,” said Lucy, tears stinging her eye now. “You’ve been my mother, ever since...” The tears came more freely, and snot began to stream from her nose. Lucy cuffed it and continued. “I just can’t bear the thought...”

  “Shhh,” said Mother Shepherd, smoothing the hair on the back of Lucy’s head and letting the girl bury her face in her shoulder, snot and all. “I know,” she went on, “and I’ve never doubted your love or your devotion to duty. But, in their own way, the years have taken their toll on both of us, haven’t they?” She held the girl close. “My bones ache, Lucy. I’m tired of all this fighting. Don’t you ever long for the war to be over?”