Authors: Michael Pryor
'Who's the other?'
Jack looked at his hands in his lap. 'You know how I
work. I don't give the name of my informants or my
comrades in the struggle.'
'This is important, Jack,' Aubrey said. His face was
serious. 'The fate of the country is at stake.'
Jack snorted. 'Well now, you can understand how that
makes me bleed inside, seeing as how this country has
been responsible for the plight of the working class.' He
stood. 'Do you know how many babies die in this neighbourhood
before they're six months old? D'you know
how many children leave school before they're ten, just
so they can earn some money to help feed the family?'
Aubrey reached out and put a hand on Jack's arm. 'I do
know,' he murmured. 'Remember?'
Jack blinked, then laughed a little, embarrassed. 'You
caught me making a speech.'
'You don't need much encouragement.'
'No, I don't suppose I do.' Jack sighed. 'Aubrey actually
does understand the way things are,' he said to Caroline
and George. 'If it weren't for him and his family, there'd
be no medical care in this whole part of the city.'
Aubrey groaned. 'Jack.'
'It's true. The Broad Street Clinic is funded by your
family, thanks to you.'
Caroline looked at Aubrey. He shrugged. 'Jack showed
me the sights when I first came down here. I realised
something had to be done. If we waited for the authorities
to act, we'd still be waiting at the end of time.'
'That's the truth,' Jack said. 'Well, I've been reminded of
my obligation. What was it you wanted to know?'
'Not through obligation, Jack,' Aubrey insisted. 'But
because it's the right thing to do. My father's disappeared
and we're trying to find him.'
Jack lifted his head. 'Why didn't you say so? Sir Darius
gone? How can I help?'
'You said someone today mentioned the burnt church,'
Caroline said.
'A friend of mine. A Holmlander.'
At the three-way intake of breath, Jack crossed his arms
and looked defiant. 'Yes, a Holmlander. I'm not afraid to
admit I have Holmland friends. Workers across the world
are united in their struggle. We don't see nationality as
important.'
'It's not that, Jack,' Aubrey said. 'It's just that
Holmlanders could be involved in this matter.'
'Sir Darius's disappearance?'
'And other associated intrigues. How long have you
known your Holmlander friend?'
'A few years. He travels a lot, he tells me. He goes back
to Holmland and then returns here. He's an organiser.'
'I'm sure he is,' George said. 'And what else does he
tell you?'
Jack frowned. 'He told me that he's on the run from
the authorities. They want to stop his activities. Another
example of the state trying to crush the workers.'
'You'd be hiding him, then?' Aubrey said. He kept his
tone neutral.
'In a manner of speaking. He's safe.'
Aubrey grinned and a little of Tommy Sparks crept
into his voice. 'Come now, Jack. You'll have to do better
than that. We're very interested in talking to this fellow.'
'You can't. When he found out where the burnt
church was, he left.'
Aubrey studied Jack. His friend was a committed man,
dedicated to improving the lot of people around him.
He'd educated himself through books he'd managed to
put his hands on and it was his fierce, untutored intellect
that led him to write and print pamphlets aimed at
rousing the masses.
His greatest flaw was, however, that he was too trusting.
Aubrey remembered the last time he'd seen von Stralick.
The Holmlander had been wounded in the confrontation
at the Society for Non-magical Fitness.
'And did you get medical help for him? Head wounds
can be messy,' Aubrey asked.
'He didn't need it. Most of his ear was missing, good
and clean. A plaster stopped the bleeding.'
'So it
was
von Stralick you were sheltering,' George
blurted.
Jack looked defiant. 'He's a good man.'
'It doesn't matter,' Aubrey said.
'We need to get to the burnt church,' Caroline said,
echoing his thoughts. 'Quickly.'
Jack looked at Aubrey, who nodded. 'It's very
important.'
Jack did not move for some time, then he lifted his
head. 'You're sure this is for a good cause?'
'On my honour,' Aubrey said.
'I'll take you, then. But I think it may be wise to get
someone to come along with us.' Jack fetched a coat and a
long scarf, which he wound around his neck. 'Follow me.'
The rain had grown heavier and was hammering on
roofs, making a noise like hissing drumbeats, all out of
rhythm. As they walked through the flooded streets,
Aubrey began to feel the night pressing in around him.
The thoroughfares grew narrower, buildings crowding on
either side. Shadowy figures, solitary or in small groups,
flitted through the wet, never talking, never acknowledging
each other.
The rain lessened and turned into fog, then back again
to rain. They trod along an old towpath beside a canal
that had become a communal dumping ground. It was
choked with ash, chunks of concrete and stone, household
refuse and dead animals, and was heavy with the
stink of decay.
Jack Figg led them under a road bridge, then through
an abandoned factory that now seemed to be the home
for a thousand people. By the light of a few guttering
fires, they wound their way through the piles of rags that
were sleeping men and women. Moans, the cries of babies
and the deep, phlegmy cough of the terminally tubercular
were the accompaniment to their night journey.
Aubrey clutched his coat shut as they stepped through
this nightmare. When he emerged once more into the
drizzle, he tilted his head and let the rain run over his
face. He glanced at George and Caroline and saw their
dazed expressions. 'Many people live like that,' he
murmured.
'It's inhuman,' Caroline said.
Jack shook his head. 'They're as human as you, Miss
Hepworth. They're just struggling to live, that's all.' He
jabbed a finger at the factory. 'They say there's a war
coming, but I've been fighting a war for years. A war
against that.'
They walked on in silence. Jack brought them to the
remains of a small quarry where brickworkers had long
ago given up on scraping out more clay. It formed a bank,
along the top of which ran a railway. The bottom of the
quarry was a heap of scrap iron and timber.
Jack took a length of iron from the heap and banged
on a rusty oil drum.
A slab of timber lifted and fell aside to reveal a hole.
Faint music rose from it and Aubrey smelt an odd
mixture of soap and cloves
A huge, bald head poked up. A huge neck followed,
then a mighty pair of shoulders. 'Jack?' said a voice like
thunder.
'Hullo, Oscar,' Jack said. 'I've got some friends who
need to go to the burnt church.'
'The Mire?' Like a whale sounding, a vast white shape
emerged from the debris. 'Righto, then.'
When Oscar dragged himself from the rubble and
stood, Aubrey realised that he was the biggest man he'd
ever seen.
He was at least seven feet tall, but his bulk made him look
even taller. He rolled as he walked, settling each foot on the
ground as if unsure it would support him. Aubrey could
only see his legs from the knees downwards, so immense
was his belly. His bald head was round and enormous,
but smooth and unmarked like a baby's. The rain rolled
off his naked scalp. He wore a robe-like garment, made of
old hessian bags, and he carried a large, empty sack slung
over his shoulder. His feet were bare, and Aubrey guessed
it was because he'd couldn't find shoes to fit.
Oscar smiled and took a step forward. 'Who are you,
then?' His voice was a basso profundo, a voice that could
have come from deep in the earth.
Aubrey couldn't help myself. He took a step back.
Jack interposed himself. 'Oscar, these are my friends.
I want you to take care of them.'
Oscar stopped, smiled once more and stared. Again,
Aubrey was reminded of a baby and he wondered how
old Oscar was. 'Righto, then. Friends.'
Without another word, the giant heaved his bulk
around and waddled off. Aubrey and the others stared at
his mighty back.
Jack chuckled. 'You're not the only one with interesting
friends, Aubrey. No-one will bother us with Oscar
along for the ride.'
'I can believe that,' Caroline said. 'Who is he?'
They set off. 'I don't know, and neither does he,' Jack
said. 'I found him a few years ago. He was in a cellar,
naked and afraid. He was about half his current size, but
had no idea how he got there or who he was. I cared for
him until he was capable of managing for himself. He's
still growing, you know.'
George steadied a plank and they crossed a noxious
pool. 'Still growing? But he's a monster!'
'I fear that may be right,' Aubrey said. He leapt off the
plank. 'There's magic involved, isn't there, Jack?'
Jack sighed and patted Oscar, who towered above him.
'Things happen in this part of the city that you wouldn't
believe,' he said. 'It's a desperate place. People do things
to survive.'
Caroline looked at Oscar, pity in her eyes. 'What
happened to him?'
'If a magician needs a human subject, they always come
to this part of the city. I can't say for certain, but Oscar
could have been someone's idea of an experiment.
Perhaps it went wrong. Perhaps it had the desired effect.
I can't say.'
'Sometimes people volunteer,' Aubrey said. 'For a
pound or two, it doesn't matter how ghastly the proposed
experiment is, someone will step forward.'
Caroline touched Oscar on the arm. 'Is that what
happened to you?'
'I don't know.' He smiled.
'He has a music box,' Jack said. 'He makes enough
money as a bodyguard and labourer to feed himself. He's
happy enough.'
'Are you?' Caroline asked the giant.
Oscar smiled again. 'I don't know.' He lifted his arms
and dropped them to his sides. 'Righto, then.'
Oscar turned and climbed up a muddy slope, littered
with broken bottles. He waited beside a tumbledown
fence and called to them. 'Righto, then. Nearly there.'
Jack puffed up the slope, reached his gigantic friend
and patted him on the hand.
Aubrey slipped as he clambered up the slope. George
grabbed his arm, digging his boots into the mud and
steadying them both. He dragged Aubrey up, then
reached out and helped Caroline. With George's solid
strength, they were able to reach the deserted road where
Jack and Oscar stood. The uneven cobblestones were
slick where the rain had melted whatever ordure and filth
had gathered there. A single street light hissed, shedding
a sickly yellow glow that made urinous streaks along
the surface of the road.
Jack pointed towards it. 'The Mire.'
The Mire had the narrow streets and uneven cobbles of
the other districts they'd passed through. The two- or
three-storey houses leaned against each other, as if they'd
had a very fine night out. Slate roofs were slick with rain,
but few boasted functional gutters, so water cascaded in
waterfall-sized torrents to the stones below.
Aubrey paused. Even at this distance the Mire sounded
distinctive. It was noisy, with the sounds of music,
shouting and general carousing, a good-natured happiness
that had been absent from the tired and despondent
districts they'd been through. As they turned corners,
they began to run into more people. Hurrying, staggering,
crawling, running, chasing, darting people.
The Mire
. Aubrey grinned.
It might be grubby, but it has
energy.
When they plunged into the Mire, passing through a
narrow lane that was flanked by two competing taverns,
it became obvious that not all the passers-by were poor.
Three well-dressed men walked past, flanked by two
scowling bodyguards. Two of the men seemed to be
enjoying themselves, but the third had an expression of
barely controlled terror on his face.
Despite his Tommy Sparks persona, Aubrey was glad
for Oscar's presence. They kept close by the massive giant
like pilot fish around a great whale. He rolled along the
cracked and uneven pavement, his head turning from side
to side, constantly smiling.
'Don't look about too much,' Aubrey urged his friends
as they passed an oyster shop where a brawl was sending
bleary-eyed patrons into the streets amid a hail of shells,
cheering and abuse. 'Act as if you know your business,
that you belong here.' He grinned as he walked, letting
everyone know that this was the most natural place in the
world for him to be.
A woman leaned out of a second-storey window. Her
hair was fiery red and her dress was made of purple
velvet. 'Tommy!' she sang out. 'Tommy!'
Aubrey waved and threw her a kiss. Then he saw both
Caroline and George staring at him. 'Ah, yes. Irene
Dubois. Ballet dancer. Loves it here.' He turned and
waved again, but the woman had vanished.
Humanity swirled around them and Aubrey revelled in
the way that the strange mingled with the ordinary. He
saw a casual assault as a pedestrian had a bag dragged over
his head before being whisked away. A few moments
later, he saw a woman with snakes for arms wrap them
around the neck of a sailor and haul him in through an
open window. The sailor was laughing.
The crowd thickened and Oscar surged ahead. Light
spilled out onto the pavement from an upper-storey
window and the sound of a badly tuned but enthusiastically
played piano accompanied singing that Aubrey was
sure was inspired by alcohol, not talent.
He had a feeling that they were walking in a gigantic
spiral, always bearing left at intersections, making their
way through the riot that was the Mire. He glanced
up, looking for landmarks. They were passing a pair
of narrow whitewashed buildings, three storeys high.
Aubrey shepherded his friends back just in time to miss
being hit by a deluge of foul-smelling liquid.