Always Forever (39 page)

"I still think I should come with you."

He shook his head firmly. "I'm not trying to protect you like some big
macho idiot. You'd be the first person I'd want alongside me in a fight. But I
told you, one of us has to be here to see things through."

"You're not being very consistent. You made a big thing about how you felt
all five Brothers and Sisters of Dragons had to be together to get a result. Now
you're saying I can do it on my own-

"I hate having smart people around me. Okay, I'll be back. Did that sound
like Arnie Schwarzenegger? Sorry, I wasted the eighties at the movies."

"You're so lowbrow." She put her arms around him and pulled him to her,
planting a wet kiss on his lips. "Be back soon. We have a lot of lost time to make
up for."

In the constantly changing corridors where the flickering torches never cast
enough light, the kiss brought an ache to his heart. More than anything, he
wanted to stay with Ruth, secure in their newfound world, but he knew that was
an illusion. He had to journey down into the deep, dark bowels of the ship
where there was no security, no softness. He drew his jacket around him, resting
one hand on the cold short sword that hung at his belt.

"Life's good as long as you don't weaken," he muttered, repeating the credo
he had once only half-jokingly spoken aloud. "Please don't weaken."

The ship grew icier and smelled danker the more he progressed, as if he were
journeying beneath the earth itself. He had adjusted to the constant gentle
rocking, but the creak of the timbers was like the background chatter of a hundred voices, obscuring other subtle sounds that might come as a warning. The
hiss of the torches brought sweetly perfumed smoke to his nose, but the underlying odour of dampness could never be hidden.

After a while he started cautiously trying the doors on either side. Most
were locked, some rooms were empty, but in one something that was a mass of
tentacles and snapping jaws rushed towards him squealing insanely. He
slammed the door and hurried on, vowing not to open any more.

The ship went on forever. More than anything, Church feared getting lost down
there, spending the rest of his life wandering around in the dark, living on rats
(although he had not seen any vermin-perhaps something else was already
feeding on them), slowly turning pale and mad. But he had a gut instinct that
the ship was sentient in some way he couldn't explain, and that while the corridors behind him might close and move, when he returned, they would lead him
back to the upper decks by one route or another.

At that point he began to wonder if he was really on a ship at all; if the spy
he had encountered in Edinburgh had been right and all this was a warped perception brought on by some outside force using drugs or deep hypnotism, for
whatever reason. As this thought entered his head, he was convinced he heard
the throb of machines and the hubbub of men's voices through one of the doors;
it troubled him inexplicably and he chose to hurry on.

Further on, the corridors took on a different appearance, so that it was no
longer obvious he was on board a ship. It might have happened so gradually he
didn't notice it, or in the blink of an eye, but suddenly the walls were in part
limestone, in others, rough-hewn timbers, peppered with holes of varying sizes.
It smelled differently, too. The saltiness that had permeated everything had been
replaced by a faintly sulphurous odour of dust. The heavy echoes of his tread had
taken the place of the constant creaking, nor was he even aware of the ship's
rocking. Other sounds were more prevalent now, through the walls or further
along the corridor: movement, fast and light like the scurrying of vermin, or
slow and laboured as if enormous creatures were shifting slowly.

He was startled at one point by the sound of small feet near to his ear. He
turned sharply to see a blur passing quickly across a hole in the wall at head
height. One of the Portunes, he guessed, spying on him. The little people were
everywhere, the eyes and ears of the ship. But why were they always watching?
What did it benefit them?

As the atmosphere became less like that onboard ship, the more the air of tension rose; it was enough to warn Church he had moved into an area of more
immediate danger, rather than the general background threat of the upper
decks. There was a quality to it that made him queasy. His palms grew slick
around the handle of the sword, his knuckles aching from holding it.

His eyes, by now well accustomed to the gloom, felt sore from continually probing the shadows ahead; so much that at first he thought the flickering
shapes he occasionally glimpsed were just the tremors of an over-worked eye
muscle. But gradually he came to realise there were things moving just
beyond the light of the now-intermittent torches, darting around corners at
the last moment. He was sure they weren't the Malignos; as Ruth had
described them, they would not be so restrained. It could, of course, be
Callow, playing some sneaky little game, waiting for just the right moment
to attack. But still-

Church almost jumped out of his skin when a hand protruded from an
unnoticed branching corridor to his left, reaching for his arm. It was just a
glimpse out of the corner of his eye, but he was whirling instantly, lashing out
with the sword. His reactions were perfect, but the hand became a blur of
golden lightning. Before Church had time to launch another attack, Baccharus
stepped out sharply, motioning for Church to remain silent.

Church's angry face passed on all the fury of the curses he wanted to yell out
at Baccharus's unthinking approach, but Baccharus, as usual, was oblivious.
They hurried several yards along the branching corridor until Baccharus turned
and said bluntly, "You must turn back."

"I'm starting to worry about you, Baccharus," Church snapped. "Do you
spend all your time hanging around down here? You know, is it the Tuatha De
Danann equivalent of the street corner where the furtively smoking teenagers
hang out? Or do you just wait in the shadows until Ruth or I come along?"

Baccharus gave several long, slow blinks while staring into Church's eyes.
Eventually he said, "You must-"

"Yes, yes, I know. Turn back. I know it's not a saunter through Covent
Garden-"

"You do not realise the extent of the danger."

Church sighed, running his fingers through his long hair. "Baccharus, I
really do appreciate you looking out for me. It's such a rare trait in your kind I'd
be a fool not to recognise it. But this is something I have to do. There's so much
at stake here for all ... all the Fragile Creatures. And at the moment only Ruth
and I can do something about it. I wish someone else was having to do the business, but that's not the way it is."

Baccharus's stare was still intense. "How does your journey here, in the
depths, bear upon your mission?"

The question was curious, the fact that Baccharus was asking it more so.
"How did you know I'd be here anyway? Have you been spying on me?"

Baccharus appeared a little taken aback by the question, but not hurt or irri- rated; the emotions of the Tuatha De Danann were so difficult to read he might
simply have had no idea what Church was talking about.

Church thought a moment. "The Portunes. Running through the walls.
That one was with you when you saved Ruth. So why are you particularly interested in us?"

Baccharus, in his usual honest manner, did not attempt to bat it away. "A
long story."

"And when we get back topside you're going to tell me. But right now-"

"You must not continue. The danger is out of control. The Malignos are
preparing for something unpleasant. Your fellow Fragile Creature, the one
tainted by the Night Walkers-"

"Callow."

"-he has whispered secrets to them, given them guidance. My associates
are searching for them now, but they can wrap the night around them."

Something was jangling deep in Church's head. "Your associates? Why isn't
Manannan doing something about this if it's such a threat?"

Baccharus didn't answer.

"What's going on here, Baccharus? The five of us, the Brothers and Sisters
of Dragons, we've been run like rats and had our lives ruined by your people.
I'm not having any more of it. I feel like some massive thing has been going on
all the time we've been on this ship, but Ruth and I have seen only a tiny part
of it. Used when your people feel it suits their needs. Ignored or barely tolerated
the rest of the time."

"No." Baccharus's voice was firm. "If you knew the truth, you would not say
that."

Church searched his face; something sharply human hung there, something
few of the other Golden Ones carried. A faint sound echoed nearby. Church
glanced over his shoulder. "This isn't the time. I have to find the Walpurgis."

"I will take you to him."

Church's attention snapped back. "You know where he is?"

"If it will prevent you blundering into the areas of greatest peril, I will
accede to your request." He strode out along the branching corridor, then turned
right down another branch that Church hadn't noticed. Church was rooted for a
second, but then he skipped into step behind the hurrying god.

Church lost track of how many junctions they came up on, and the constant
branching made his head spin. When he had set off below deck, the corridor had
stretched on and on with no other side route, but Baccharus found a myriad,
lurking in shadows, or disguised as hanging drapes. At first Church fired numer ous questions, but when the god refused to answer any of them, Church fell into
a steady silence, trying to make some sense of his topsy-turvy thoughts.

Eventually Baccharus came to a halt before a stretch of corridor that was lit
more brightly than most of the others. The wall in this area was of wooden timbers, uneven and nondescript. He rested one hand on it, fingers splayed, bowed
his head and muttered something under his breath. The wall became like the
running water of a waterfall. Baccharus strode through it. Church jumped
behind him, expecting to get soaked, but it felt like the overhead hot air heaters
some shops treat their customers to on a wet winter's day.

On the other side was a large chamber, comfortably fitted out with thick
rugs, heavy tapestries on the polished wood walls, chairs and tables bearing a
few half-filled goblets and trays of dried fruit and nuts. Several figures were scattered around. They broke off from what appeared to be intense conversation to
stare at him. There were a few members of the Tuatha De Danann Church recognised by sight, but whose names he didn't know, a smattering of Portunes scurrying around like mice, and one or two of the odd figures he had glimpsed at
the banquet. At his gaze, these moved back into the shadows where the torches
did not reach.

"What's going on here?" he asked suspiciously. His hand moved towards his
sword as the half thought entered his head that Baccharus might have led him
into a trap.

"We are all friends here." Marik Bocat squatted on the back of a chair,
shouting, although his voice sounded barely more than a whisper.

"Then why are you hiding away?"

"The situation is complex," Baccharus said. "Perhaps it is time to unveil it
to you." He turned to the others. "This is Jack, Brother of Dragons." All those
who had not been introduced to Church before bowed their heads.

"Maybe later." Church walked to the centre of the room and looked around.
"First, I want to talk to the Walpurgis."

A fluttering bundle of rags emerged from the gloom at the back of the
chamber. Beneath the broad-brimmed hat, the hot coal eyes glowed as intensely
as Church recalled. "I am here." His voice was a chill wind over a graveyard.

Church put the confusing scenario to the back of his mind. There were more
important subjects. But first he had to know if he was right. "Did you kill
Cormorel?"

"He did not," Baccharus interjected.

"I want to hear it from him."

"I do not kill."

Church nodded thoughtfully. "You said you were a Messenger. With a mes sage for me. A message that was very clear." The Walpurgis stared, said nothing.
"What is the message?"

"Do you not want your dream examined?"

The Walpurgis was talking about the hidden memory of who had really
killed Marianne; the identity of the traitor amongst them. "Yes. More than anything. But first, this."

The Walpurgis came forward, pushing cold air before him that raised the
goosebumps on Church's arms. When he was only a few feet away, the tattered
creature intoned gravely, "You will find no peace in this world. For some, that
is the way it must be."

Church's heart fell. The Walpurgis's words were like a death knell, tolling
out his deepest fears.

"But you must not lose hope." The Walpurgis reached out a papery hand.
"You must never lose hope. You are part of something much larger than what
lies around you. Many will benefit from your sacrifice."

"Do you think that's enough?" The bitterness in Church's voice shocked
even himself. He looked around the gathered faces and was unnerved by how
they were hanging on his every word. "All the pain I've already had. My girlfriend ... my love ... the love of my life ... murdered. All the grief that followed, beating myself up because I thought she'd committed suicide, that I was
responsible. Laura ... the young Marianne ... all the other ones I've seen die."
Ruth's face flashed into his mind, followed by a sharp pang of regret that was
almost painful. "And now I can see a way out, some kind of good life ahead for
a change, and you're telling me it's not going to happen? No fucking way."

The Walpurgis took another pace with his outstretched hand, oddly comforting now, but Church waved it away.

"I don't want to hear it."

"These things are written, Jack." Baccharus's voice was sympathetic too.

"What do you know about it?"

"You are a Brother of Dragons-"