Following that troubling revelation came another: that Rourke was going to drag Laura out of reality completely. What awaited her was too frightening to contemplate. Shavi acted on instinct.
While Rourke was occupied with creating his exit, Shavi ran forward. All he knew was that he couldn’t abandon Laura, whatever the risk to himself. Rourke began to turn just as Shavi reached Laura. Shavi glimpsed Rourke’s face becoming aware of his presence, and then starting to unfold to reveal the spiders beneath.
Shavi grabbed Laura’s waist and there was a blue flash and a smell of burned iron. Whatever had happened, it had thrown Rourke several feet away, his face split wide open with long legs thrashing wildly out of it.
Laura had revived and, struggling to her knees, she retched violently. Her convulsions propelled spiders from her mouth, all of them dead. The flow appeared never-ending, but by the time Shavi had helped her to her feet she was only coughing up handfuls of the smaller ones.
Rourke was on his feet, his body breaking up into its component parts just as the other Rourke’s had at Avebury. Laura clutched hold of Shavi, sick with terror born of incomprehension.
The sound of a protesting engine filled the street. Shavi’s van appeared, being driven with insane disregard for its surroundings. It careered off three parked cars and mounted the kerb. Shavi had to thrust Laura out of the way at the last moment to save both of them from being killed.
The Bone Inspector threw open the passenger door. ‘If I’m going to keep doing this, you’d better give me some lessons.’
Shavi pushed Laura in and jumped in after her. The Rourke-spiders were already swarming onto the nearside, and appeared to be eating at the very fabric of the vehicle.
The Bone Inspector had seen them, too. With deafening grinding and a fountain of sparks, he ran the van along the brick wall. With the spiders scraped off, he accelerated towards the end of the street, where Shavi took the wheel.
‘Worst. Rescue. Ever.’ Laura’s stomach was still churning from the thought of the spiders nestling inside her.
‘You’re alive, aren’t you?’ the Bone Inspector snapped.
‘I was nearly mounted on the radiator grille!’ Shavi thought she was going to cry, but then she put her head back and laughed silently. ‘Fucking head rush. Spiders, urrh!’
‘Mad woman,’ the Bone Inspector mumbled.
Laura glanced at Shavi, her eyes bright. ‘I nearly died and I feel as if I’m flying. How fucked up is that?’ She smiled to herself. ‘You can’t go back to the day job once you’ve had spiders crawling around your gullet.’
Shavi had been through exactly the same process of awakening: that the life they had been ushered into should be more terrifying and dangerous than anyone could bear, yet he felt more vibrant than he ever had in his safe, secure, mundane existence.
Laura turned on the radio and scanned across the stations until she found the Chemical Brothers singing ‘Hey Boy Hey Girl’. She cranked it up to full volume.
‘The blue spark that flashed between us,’ Shavi said. ‘I think it was important.’
‘You’re right there. It means we’re two of a kind, pretty boy.’ She put her feet on the dashboard and stretched like a cat. ‘All right. Now what?’
8
Wearily, Church tramped up the long, winding staircase to his chamber in the Court of the Soaring Spirit. His officer’s uniform was filthy with the mud of Flanders, and he was sickened after seeing wave after wave of fresh, hopeful young men shot and gassed and blown to pieces over a few inches of soil. For the first time he could understand why the Seelie Court had turned its back on Earth.
Tom sat by the fire, smoking. ‘Anything?’ he asked.
Church shook his head. ‘One of the Watchmen in Paris gave me a lead, but it didn’t pan out. He said the Germans had the skull and box for some kind of ritual. I think it was just wishful thinking.’ Church flopped into a chair and tossed his gas mask to one side. ‘Tell you what, though — the spider-zombies are everywhere. All over Europe I came across people with spiders stuck in their neck, or arm, or whatever.’
‘The Enemy is exerting its influence. I imagine a war of that magnitude would spread despair like the plague.’
Church could tell Tom had seen some of the horrors of the First World War with his premonitory powers. ‘That’s it, I think. They’re controlling people who can position themselves to generate despair. How do we fight something like that? It’s like an infestation.’
‘You spread hope.’ Tom’s eyes sparkled.
‘I managed to save one of the Brothers of Dragons before Veitch got to him,’ Church said. ‘He’s just a kid, but when you look in his eyes it’s as if he’s a hundred years old. The things he must have seen on the battlefield-’
‘Death forges the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons,’ Tom said.
‘Then he’s going to be one of the strongest of all of us,’ Church replied bitterly. ‘I’ve left him with Decebalus and Aula. They’re doing a good job with all the others I managed to bring back. Our recruits will be ready when we need them.’
Niamh walked in clutching a letter. She looked troubled. ‘I found this on my bed,’ she said, puzzled. ‘I was in the other chamber. No one could have entered without my knowledge.’
‘Who’s it from?’ Church asked.
She handed it to him. The writing was copperplate and dignified. ‘Jerzy,’ she said. ‘He’s inviting you to a show — and offers an answer to “The Question of the Skull and the Box”.’
Chapter Nine
1
London, November 1940.
‘Gor Bimey, you’ll never see a night like it! Forget old Mr Hitler — he’s a twerp! Goering’s barmy, so’s his army! Get inside for the time of your lovely lives!’
The man in the garish yellow and black pinstripe suit clapped his hands and threw his arms wide. Behind him the glittering lights of the Holborn Empire formed a golden halo that promised warmth and comfort amidst the thick, chilly fog and the bomb-blasted rubble-strewn street.
Church shivered even in the depths of his suit and thick woollen overcoat. From the shadows across the street he watched the couples in their Sunday best troop up arm in arm from all directions. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, no gods, no spider-controlled politicians, no misshapen beasts or magical beings; just working-class people out for a night of beer, laughter and song to help them forget the day’s labours and the rigours of war. Jerzy’s message had specified the time and the place, and Church had no choice but to investigate.
The foyer was grand with a plush red and gold carpet, polished mahogany and chandeliers harking back to its music hall glory days in the Victorian era. Church eased his way through the chattering crowd and bought his ticket. The bar was packed to the brim with men swilling pints of bitter and women sipping on halves of mild beneath a fug of smoke. Raucous laughter and spontaneous song thundered around the walls.
‘Wouldn’t believe there’s a war on, would you, mate?’ a rat-faced man said as he pushed his way to the bar. ‘I wish they’d go back to the old days when they’d let you take your beer into the auditorium. Bloody Council.’
Using the Far Lands glamour Niamh had provided him with for cash, Church couldn’t resist indulging in a pint, the first he’d had for months, and then he made his way to the auditorium. Before the First World War it had been laid out with rows of tables where food and drink were served up all night long, but now it resembled any other theatre, with velvet-seated stalls, boxes and a balcony.