The darkness bulged from the doorway, gaining shape and form. Ruth just had time to turn back to the giant before whatever was behind caught hold of her. Fear came down like night. She gripped onto the curtains, but was dragged back inexorably. Her eyes locked onto the giant’s, and she saw fear in them, too: for her.
The darkness pulled her back, and back, until she was sucked into the depths of the wardrobe. She felt the presence close behind her, its breath on the back of her neck.
Ruth had time for one final scream and then the wardrobe door slammed shut.
7
‘She’s not there. I’ve got an address for her flat.’ Laura marched down the path from the care home, Shavi and the Bone Inspector hurrying in her wake.
‘They gave out her address?’ Shavi said.
‘Not exactly.’
Laura paused as she neared the van. Someone leaned jauntily against it: long, dark hair, a grinning, charismatic face.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Laura said.
‘Ryan Veitch,’ he replied. ‘Ring any bells?’
‘We were about to search for you,’ Shavi said.
‘And I’ve been searching for you.’
Veitch held out his hand. When Shavi took it he was surprised by the coldness of the grip.
‘Yeah,’ Veitch said. ‘I’m not all there.’ He held up his silver claw.
Shavi felt he should be remembering something, but it failed to surface.
‘See?’ Laura said bitterly. ‘I told you — he’s already lost a hand. Well, I’m too beautiful and sexy to give up any body parts.’
‘You’re right there, darlin’.’ Veitch held his arms wide and Laura gave him a tentative hug.
‘You don’t get any more until you get me drunk. I’m not a cheap date.’
‘How’d you find us?’ The Bone Inspector watched Veitch suspiciously.
Veitch tapped his nose. It’s a Brothers and Sisters of Dragons thing.’
‘We were looking for another of our group,’ Shavi said. ‘Ruth Gallagher?’
‘I know exactly where she is,’ Veitch said. ‘Come on — I’ll take you right to her.’
8
‘You don’t really expect me to get in there?’ Church stared with disgust into the ruby-red waters flowing out from under the Court of the Final Word.
‘I think you’re insane even to consider venturing inside. Given that, this is just a baby step.’ Tom smoked to make himself forget. He wouldn’t look in the direction of the court, which lay further along the valley floor.
‘It’s disgusting. I think I just saw some clots.’ The river gurgled and spat.
The sky was also the colour of an opened artery. The bloated red sun sinking behind the distant mountains cast the featureless landscape in hellish tones.
‘You’ve got time to turn back.’ Tom’s voice cracked, and Church glimpsed tears in his eyes.
‘You know I don’t have a choice-’
‘You always have a choice!’
‘Tom, this needs to be done. I have to reclaim the lamp. I need the strength it will give me to deal with what lies ahead. And if the gods in there are as bad as you say, we can’t leave the Pendragon Spirit in their hands.’
Tom finished his smoke and stamped the butt underfoot. ‘Don’t forget, the one you need to watch out for is Dian Cecht. It’s his court.’
‘In the old stories he was the god of healing, right?’
Tom laughed bitterly.
‘I thought he was in charge of some kind of spring that restored dying gods to life.’
‘A metaphor,’ Tom said. ‘But you’ll find all that out when you’re in there. Just watch your back. Never relax your guard, not even for a moment. The court is vast, but sparsely populated. With any luck you stand a … reasonable chance …’ His voice faltered at the lie in his words. ‘Just take care.’
Tom walked away before Church could respond. Church called goodbye, but Tom did not turn or even acknowledge Church’s presence.
Church looked one last time at the gleaming white marble of the Court of the Final Word caught between the bloody landscape and the bloody sky and then he stepped into the red river.
It was warmer than he had anticipated and had the sickening consistency of oil. The butcher’s shop smell made him gag. Keeping as close to the bank as he could, he waded towards the court.
It took him fifteen minutes to reach the complex. The river emerged from the dark mouth of a culvert under the external wall. Church mentally prepared himself for what lay ahead and then plunged into the shadows.
It was warmer still in the enclosed space. Through the walls Church could hear a deep throbbing that sounded like machinery. There were other noises, too — sharp staccato bursts and the crackle of energy discharges, along with others that Church didn’t want to consider.
As he progressed slowly in the dark, trailing one hand along the sticky wall, he felt the movement of swimming creatures brush his legs and wondered what could survive in that foul stew.
When he thought his stomach could bear no more of the gruesome atmosphere, he saw a shaft of light ahead. Positioning himself beneath it, he looked up at a grille at the top of a short shaft in the roof — some kind of drain for sluicing down the detritus from the room above. An iron ladder ran down the wall of the drain, for cleaning, probably. Standing on his tiptoes, Church could just reach the lowest rung. He hauled himself up and began to climb until he heard muffled voices in the room above. He clung to the ladder and waited, glad to be out of the river.
After five minutes, footsteps approached the drain. Church held his breath and looked up at the grille. But instead of seeing the occupant he was suddenly deluged with hot, sticky liquid, rushing across his face and drenching what little of him remained dry after the journey along the river. It was only when the torrent stopped a minute later that Church realised it was blood.
Fighting the urge to be sick, he held on, dripping, eyes shut tight. No more sounds came from the room and he decided to continue. He pushed upwards against the grille and it raised easily.
The chamber was empty. It was about twenty-one feet square with walls, floor and ceiling of the whitest marble that gleamed unbearably brightly after the dark of the culvert. There were two vats in one corner that Church chose not to investigate, and nothing else apart from a channel in the floor down which the discarded blood had flowed.
Church pulled himself into the chamber and headed towards the doorway, leaving a telltale trail of sticky red footprints. He tried to wipe off as much residue as he could and hoped the remainder would dry quickly.
The doorway opened onto a long corridor with many other doors leading off it. Everywhere was brilliant white, distorting perspective. His heart beating uncomfortably fast, Church edged along the corridor. The constant machine thrum hung in the background, occasionally punctuated by a distant high-pitched whine like an electric saw.
Tom had suggested that the lamp with the Pendragon Spirit would be kept somewhere in the heart of the complex, where the Tuatha De Danann conducted their most important experiments into the nature of Existence.
He had no way to get his bearings, and so he had no choice but to explore randomly and hope he would find something that would lead him in the right direction.
After a while he came across the first signs of life. An archway provided a view across three adjoining chambers, and in the furthest one he saw six people wearing robes of the deepest scarlet. They wore matching masks and hats that reminded Church of surgeons. He guessed that was a good analogy, for they were gathered around a table involved in some kind of operation. Church could see no instruments in use, but something lay on the table twitching and jumping as they went about their business. He watched for a moment, but what little detail he could garner hinted at something that disturbed him immensely and he moved on.
As he stood at the junction of three corridors, he realised that the constant thrum was louder down one corridor and he selected that route. At one point he had to slip into a room to hide from a young male and female wearing white togas with gold braid at the edges and a gold brooch at the shoulder. They had the air of clerical assistants about them.