“We shared similar views. A similar approach to the job. Leary talked a bit too much, but never about her private life. That sat well with me.”
“I’m sure it did. And I’m sure you miss her still. I think...” Macarthur hesitated. “I think we all do. But ever since what happened to her, you’ve not been yourself. You’ve been unpredictable, reckless—a ship without a rudder. It’s like you don’t care any more, or care too much, I can’t make up my mind which. God knows, this is demanding work. The hours we keep, the things we have to face on a regular basis... It’s not as though the salary’s much compensation, either. You could stack shelves at a supermarket and probably earn more. And personal relationships? Forget it. You sacrifice those the moment you sign on the dotted line.”
“When you put it in those terms, marm, I want to go and kill myself.”
“Join the queue. What I’m getting at is, we need one another in this line of work, even if we don’t realise we do. We tether one another. Róisín was your tether, and you may well have been hers. If you could find someone else to fulfil that role, I think you’d benefit from it. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I should go out and find a new partner? Good plan. How about Sergeant Khalid? He and I definitely bonded in the canteen just now.”
“John, if you’re going to be a snitty wee prick about this...”
Redlaw felt a little ashamed. The Commodore was only trying to help.
His apology was this: “Marm, I’d like to take a look into last night’s bloodlust riot, if that’s okay with you.”
Macarthur frowned. “Why? What about it? Bunch of Sunless got carried away. It’s happened before, loads of times. It’s in their nature. When blood’s involved, they can’t help themselves.”
“But it’s been happening a bit too often lately.”
“You reckon?”
“Don’t you?”
“I don’t have the statistics to hand. There are more Sunless than there used to be, I do know that. Maybe it’s the SRAs. Overcrowding. Too many residents, not enough space. Pressure cooker environment. I don’t honestly feel it’s worth your time and trouble.”
“And I beg to differ. I had to post mortem neutralise two men last night in Hackney. Two men whose last few minutes of life must have been spent in utter, abject terror. Two men with families. That isn’t right. There has to be a root cause to the riots, something more than simple thirst.”
“Thirst isn’t simple when you’re talking about vampires.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean. I just don’t get why you’re making such a big thing out of it all. A riot’s a riot. Sunless lose control. That’s just the way it is.”
“If I can prove it’s something else, though, that there’s some other factor involved, some underlying rationale...”
“What are your suspicions based on?”
“Nothing. Yet,” said Redlaw. “Instinct. A feeling.”
“Oh, dear Lord, please don’t say a hunch.”
That would have been the very next word out of his mouth. “I patrol the streets every night. Have done for a decade and a half. It’d be fair to say that I’ve developed a... sensitivity for how ’Lesses think and behave. What I witnessed at Hackney, the savagery, the intensity—it wasn’t normal.”
“Normal?” said Macarthur. “Normal got parcelled up and posted off the day the first Sunless turned up on these shores.”
“Will you let me do this, marm? Will you sanction it? At least let me have a try. What did you call me earlier? A ship without a rudder. Well, maybe this is a way of me getting my rudder back.”
“I don’t respond well to any kind of blackmail, John, especially not emotional.”
“And I would be a fool to attempt it on you.” The ghost of a smile touched the corners of Redlaw’s perpetual scowl. “Let me rephrase, then. What have I got to lose? Or you, for that matter?”
“Only my sanity,” Macarthur said, clutching her temples in mock despair. “All right. All right. Have a sniff around, see what you can turn up. If it’ll make you happy.”
“It won’t.”
“I can believe that. Just don’t go moaning to me when you find you’ve wasted your time, because I’ll only tell you I told you so. I’m guessing you have some kind of subtle strategy in mind? Some tactful, well-thought-out approach you can take to this that won’t upset anyone or cause any ripples?”
“I thought I’d go back to Hackney, give the hornets’ nest a kick, see what comes buzzing out.”
“Yes,” said Macarthur, lips pursed, nodding. “I was afraid it would be something like that.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Redlaw drove east from SHADE HQ. It was an overcast night. A thin sleety rain began to fall, misting the windscreen.
London was quiet.
His route from Paddington to Hackney wound through St John’s Wood, Primrose Hill and Islington. Each of these upmarket neighbourhoods boasted its quota of gated enclaves, where wealthy homeowners had erected defensive measures around clusters of houses and hired ex-servicemen to patrol outside. In many instances the perimeter fence supported a circuit of plastic tubing through which water was pumped in a continuous cycle. Redlaw had to smile. The old superstition about Sunless being unable to cross running water was just that. After all, they could travel overseas, couldn’t they?
Many of the fences also carried notices declaring “You are not invited in.” Another superstition, another waste of effort.
Metal crucifixes, stars of David, star-and-crescents, yin-yang circles and even the odd sacred swastika were a further adornment. But again, not an effective countermeasure, not unless there was a significant proportion of believers among those within the enclave. A religious symbol did not, by itself, repel a vampire. Faith was required—unwavering faith—to give it potency.
Redlaw felt the edges of his crucifix digging into his breastbone, and shifted it to a more comfortable position.
The security guards, though, were the greatest absurdity.
Amateurs
. He watched them striding up and down with their black jumpsuits and their air of big-bellied self-importance, and he knew they wouldn’t last ten seconds if any Sunless ever did get it into their heads to launch an assault on one of their enclaves. No question, these were competent, even well-intentioned individuals, experienced in combat, scared of little. But vampires were a whole different order of opponent, like nothing they’d ever confronted. It took more than nerve and martial prowess to handle them. It took more, even, than a stake-firing crossbow, the only offensive weapon this kind of unlicensed protector could legally carry. It took authority and righteousness. Whatever your strengths and aptitudes, without those two qualities you were to a Sunless as the antelope is to the cheetah: ambulatory dinner.
A number of the security guards waved at the patrol car as it drove by—
hail, brother in arms
. Redlaw did not acknowledge or return the gesture.
At the Hackney SRA, he parked and got out into the seeping rain. He turned up his coat collar, both warding off the weather and adding to the neck protection already afforded by his steel-reinforced shirt collar.
At the entrance he nodded to the two SHADE officers on sentry duty. The younger of the pair demanded to see credentials. The older tutted at the younger’s ignorance and unlocked the gate.
“Not sure why you’d be wanting to go in, Captain,” he said.
“Me neither,” said Redlaw, and went in.
Give the hornets’ nest a kick, see what comes buzzing out
.
He’d said that partly to wind up Macarthur, partly to entertain her. It was what she expected to hear; it jibed with Redlaw’s public persona.
In truth, he was going to tackle matters with a little more finesse.
But not much.
The Residential Area was calm tonight. The rain helped—one type of running water that did have an effect on Sunless, in as much as they didn’t relish getting wet and so preferred to stay indoors. The streets were more or less deserted, just the occasional resident to be seen scurrying through the drizzle from shelter to shelter.
Not that Redlaw didn’t think he was being watched. Of course he was being watched. Vampires always watched.
He followed the route he had taken when chasing the squat little informant, Grigori. Soon he was nearing the outcrop of modern flats which, a sign informed him, were called Livingstone Heights, christened in tribute either to the great Victorian missionary explorer or, possibly, to one of London’s more notorious civic leaders from recent history. Somebody had amended the name so that it now read Unlivingstone Heights, proof that the Sunless weren’t without a sense of humour.
The decrepit recreation ground was where Redlaw took his stand and waited.
They came for him eventually, creeping out from cover, as he had known they would. He let them encircle him, keeping his empty hands low, non-threatening. Red eyes blinked in the rain. Breaths huffed wheezily around him, little gusts of vapour that spoke of a reflex the creatures no longer truly needed but somehow hadn’t managed to dispense with—a piece of core code that survived the system reboot of vampirism.
“Her,” Redlaw said to the dozen or so Sunless that had softly assembled around him. “I want to see her.”
“Who?” somebody grunted.
“You know who I mean. Bring her out here or take me to her, I don’t mind which.”
“Or we maybe kill you, heh? How about that instead? Kill you to drink.”
“Yes, yes. Heard it a million times before. Not impressed. I just want to talk to her. I’ll even let you take my weapons if that’ll convince you.”
“Night Brigader give up his weapons?” Incredulous.
“All of them, to show I’m sincere.”
There was debate among the vampires. One of them was delegated to go indoors with a message. Several minutes later he returned.
“She says okay. You come. No weapons.”
Redlaw removed his weapons-laden vest and passed it over to the Sunless. They handled it like a ticking bomb. When it came to his Cindermaker, he took the precaution of sliding out the clip and ejecting the round in the chamber beforehand. Even so, the Sunless treated the gun like something red hot.
“Your cross?” one of them said.
“It stays,” Redlaw replied. “Or do you really want to hold it?”
They all, in unison, shook their heads.
“Thought not. Now, take me to your leader. Oh, and whichever of you’s keeping an eye on my stuff, look after it. I’ll be wanting it back in the same condition. You’ll be sorry if it isn’t.”
They led him up the cloacal staircase, eleven flights to the top. The vampires trod blithely—many of them barefoot—through the globs of faecal matter that had piled up on the steps. Redlaw placed his feet with care and fought to keep from gagging.
He was ushered into a flat with low ceilings and poky little rooms. Its redeeming architectural feature was a covered balcony overlooking the darkened SRA to the bright parts of the city beyond. The London where Redlaw lived was, through the gauzy rain, a thing of dazzle and distance, as shimmeringly unattainable as Atlantis.
The female Sunless stood on the balcony, silhouetted against the glow of the skyline. Redlaw was prodded to join her. The access door, whose window panel was lined with several thicknesses of newspaper, closed behind him. A key clicked.
He was aware that he was at close quarters with a vampire, in a limited space, and he’d been deprived of an exit route. There were no other balconies within leaping distance. In fact, his only way off the balcony was a sheer drop of some hundred feet straight to the ground.
Well done, Redlaw. Another fine mess you’ve got yourself into, you tactical genius, you
.
The woman turned.
She was—and Redlaw could not hide his surprise—striking. Pale-skinned, yes, but she lacked the greasy pallor common to the Sunless, and her eyes were not scarlet, just dark. Dark like a starless night. There was, too, none of the familiar slouchy cadaverousness about her. She held herself straight. She had presence. Her hair was thick, glossy and black as ink. Her features were fine, not feral. Even her clothing—jeans, tailored jacket, a blouse, knee boots—was a cut above the shabby vampire average. Not brand new, to be sure, but in good condition and showing signs of having been laundered not so long ago.
She smiled at his confusion.
“You’re asking yourself, ‘What is this?’” she said. “‘I do not recognise this. What am I looking at?’ Oh, John Redlaw. Captain in the Night Brigade, valiant vanquisher of the undead, who believes he has seen everything there is to see—how discomfiting it must be for you to learn that there is more than you thought you knew.”
“A name,” Redlaw said, clawing back some of his composure. “I’ll take a name, for starters.”
“My name, old bean? What use would that be to you? I’m nothing more than vampire filth, am I not?”
“You seem to have a very low opinion of me.”
“How shocking, when you people have such a high opinion of my kind.”
“You prey on us. You kill us for our blood. You can see how we might have formed the view that you’re not very nice,” said Redlaw.
She grinned, and her fangs were the sharpest and most even that Redlaw could recall ever laying eyes on. Not a tangled snaggle of teeth but a neat array, like spears in a rack or knives in a drawer.