The Hounds of Avalon (Gollancz S.F.) (29 page)

‘It’s a sword. They went out with chastity belts and pigs’ bladders covered with bells.’

‘It’s not just any sword.’

‘What – it’s got a built-in iPod?’

Mallory steadied himself against the wall. ‘Don’t you ever shut up?’

‘Wit and conversation are forgotten arts in this modern world. Anyway, don’t be such an ungrateful bastard. I’m getting you out of here. Your
master plan
had so many flaws it must’ve taken you –
what? – four minutes to put it together. Left to your own devices, you’d have been back in your cell before the painkillers wore off.’

‘You think.’

‘Crawling on your hands and knees in deep snow leaving a trail of blood through the centre of Oxford is a bit of a giveaway.’

Hunter paused outside a nondescript door. He’d already conned his way past three sets of guards. That would virtually guarantee a treason charge once his crimes had been revealed in the morning light, but his next act would be the final straw. Moving to a security panel, he tapped in the numerical sequence he’d memorised the one time he’d accompanied Reid to the store, when the spy had very rudely ordered him to wait outside. This was a good way to get his own back for such gross disrespect.

‘Thirteen-thirteen,’ he said. ‘The number of betrayal twice over. If Reid had a touch of art in his soul he’d appreciate the irony.’

The door slid open and they slipped inside. Rows of glass cases gleamed in the light. ‘What is this place?’ Mallory asked weakly.

‘The Museum of the Damned. Every magical artefact and weapon we’ve managed to steal, loot or stumble across since the Fall.’

‘Reckon we could find something else of use in here?’

‘Not worth the risk,’ Hunter said. ‘Half these things would turn you into stone or make you sprout an ass’s head before you had a chance to work out what they were for.’

‘There it is.’ Mallory came alive when he saw the sword in its new case three aisles down. He hurried towards it with what Hunter considered the eagerness of a junkie.

‘It really is special?’

‘You don’t know the half of it.’ Mallory smiled with a mixture of relief and desire. ‘Myth says there are three swords of power, three weapons that could shatter the world. And this is one of them.’

‘You didn’t get it in a Christmas cracker, then?’

‘It was a gift … from the gods. In Otherworld.’

Hunter stiffened. ‘You’ve been there?’

Mallory nodded without taking his eyes off the sword.

‘What’s it like?’ Hunter said hopefully. ‘I’ve read the briefing papers. Some stories say it’s like heaven … others reckon it’s more like a land of dreams.’

‘It’s whatever you make it,’ Mallory replied. He crooked his
elbow and shattered the glass with one blow. Once the sword was in his hand, blue light limned its blade.

‘All right,’ Hunter said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ Now that the mission was entering its final and most serious stage, Hunter became workmanlike and focused.

They hurried back up the aisle and then came to a sudden halt. Near the door stood an old-fashioned lantern, a blue flame quivering behind its glass. It hadn’t been there when they’d entered.

Hunter’s gaze flickered rapidly around the room. ‘I wonder who left that there.’ His words were clearly meant as a warning for any intruder.

The mystery deepened after they had searched the room and discovered that they were definitely alone.

‘Do you think it’s meant for us?’ Mallory said as they stood over the lantern. ‘I’ve had some experience of this supernatural shit and nothing ever happens without a reason.’

Hunter was entranced by the blue flame, which was bent at an angle as if continually blown by a draught. Steeling himself, he waved his fingers over the lantern’s handle, then snatched it up. The flame continued to bend; it was not due to a draught.

‘Weird,’ he said.

‘Let’s take it with us. At worst, a lantern on a dark night will come in handy.’

Mallory hid the sword and the lantern in the depths of his parka and then they made their way out into the silent city. At one point, Mallory almost stumbled and fell, and Hunter gave him an arm to support him. It had stopped snowing, but the last fall was still thick on the ground; it was beginning to surpass the abilities of the street workers to clear it.

‘How are we going to get out of this city?’ Mallory said. ‘Anything that hasn’t got tracks will be snowed in.’

‘Horses,’ Hunter said. ‘There’s a Government stable at Nuffield College. They use them for expeditions into the countryside around the city. Saves fuel.’

Mallory grumbled. ‘What a way to go – frozen in the saddle.’

‘We can pick up some winter gear and supplies from the quartermaster near the stables. It’s not going to be a fun jaunt.’ For
the first time, Hunter couldn’t hide his deep concern beneath a glib manner. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

‘Just get me out of the city. Once we’ve found a place to make camp, get some sleep, food, I’ll pull myself together.’ Mallory came to a halt, the pain making him look much older than he was. ‘Look, thanks for getting me out. I appreciate it. But I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to forgive you for Sophie. Every time I look at you, I just think of how she …’ The words stifled in his throat.

‘I don’t expect you to like me,’ Hunter said, ‘just to do whatever it is you’re supposed to do.’

Mallory nodded once, tersely. He could live with that arrangement.

They reached the stables within the hour, shivering intensely from the harsh wind that swept down New Road. The night watchman was a youth of about seventeen who appeared to know who Hunter was and acted with due deference. Two horses were brought quickly, saddled and ready to go. Hunter left Mallory to rest and returned fifteen minutes later with two bags filled with supplies, warm clothes, tents, cooking equipment and anything else they might need on their long journeys.

In the bitter night air, Hunter helped Mallory on to his mount. Mallory’s face was as white as the snow that was once again falling, and Hunter was afraid his comrade would be dead before the day was out if he didn’t get rest, Pendragon Spirit or not. The going was hard for the horses until they reached the roads outside the built-up area beyond North Hinksey where the wind had made the snow drift to the sides, allowing a clearer path.

Once they had put a few miles between them and the city, Hunter led the horses into the centre of some dense woodland where they would not be seen. He pitched a tent, collected as much dry-ish wood as he could find to build a roaring campfire and then cooked some food while Mallory lay wrapped in his thermal sleeping bag.

Yet as they ate their food, Hunter was surprised to see how quickly Mallory was recovering; a faint flush had returned to his cheeks and he had more energy to talk.

‘I think you’ve pretty effectively burned all your bridges,’ Mallory said as he cleaned the last of the soup from his bowl.

‘It’s a fair guess that I won’t be going back to my day job. No great loss.’

‘This business has a habit of taking over your life. When I found out I was a Brother of Dragons I was trying to set myself up for a life just looking after number one. Suddenly I was lumbered with obligation, duty and all those things.’

‘Complaining?’

Mallory considered this for a moment. ‘No. Having a purpose is like … going on holiday. A break from worrying about what you’re going to do with your life. Have you left anyone behind? A wife? Girlfriend?’

‘Many, many girlfriends. So many women, so little time. I’m pretty rootless.’ He thought about Samantha and her kiss, and how he had briefly felt a real connection with her. ‘The world’s falling apart. Getting involved would only complicate matters. And with what we’re going into, it wouldn’t be very good for the woman, would it?’

‘Maybe when it’s all over.’

They exchanged a long glance, silently recognising the truth and the lie.

‘So where are we going?’ Mallory said, changing tack.

‘Government intelligence says that one of the three survivors has set up camp in Glastonbury. Got some kind of college for magicians going on, or something. The name we’ve got is Shavi – don’t know if that’s first or last.’

‘That’s not far from my old stomping ground. All right if I give that a try?’

‘Sure,’ Hunter said, ‘but it’s not an easy ride. No one we’ve sent down there has returned.’

‘He killed them? I thought he was supposed to be a champion of humanity.’

‘I don’t know any more than that. We were on the brink of sending a full force in there to haul him out when this whole thing blew up.’ Hunter paused, considering his words. ‘Suddenly things look a whole lot different from this side of the fence.’

‘That happens. Sounds like the Government hasn’t changed – still fucking with people’s lives. What have they done with the other two – locked them up in Dartmoor?’

‘We haven’t been able to track them down. From what we hear, they’re travelling together. One of them is called Ruth Gallagher—’

Mallory nodded. ‘She’s the big witch-queen. Trained Sophie.’ Mallory felt a twinge of desperate emotion, battened it down.

‘The more you look, the more you see these strands tying everything together. It could get a little unsettling if you let it.’

‘The other?’ Mallory asked.

‘Some woman called Laura DuSantiago. Don’t know anything about her.’

‘So if you have no idea where they are, how are you going to find them?’

Hunter leaned out of the tent mouth to throw another log on the fire. It sizzled and spat as the frost-rimed wood hit the heat. ‘I think I’m getting the hang of this. Whatever made us Brothers of Dragons brings us together to do a job. So I’m just going to let it.’

Mallory held out his hands, inviting the warmth of the fire to ease the bitterness from his bones. ‘You’re just going to sit here until they turn up?’

‘I’m going to ride and see where I find myself.’

‘Very Zen. Or stupidly optimistic. One of the two.’ Mallory leaned back into the tent and pulled out the lantern. ‘You’d better take this, then. You’re going to need something to light your way on those dark, lonely nights.’

Hunter took the lantern and fastened it to his bag. ‘I’ll treat it as a good-luck charm. Until it turns into some monster in the middle of the night and slits my throat.’

‘When we get back, where do we meet up?’

Hunter thought for a moment, then said, ‘There’s a brothel on Saint Michael’s Street in town. Ask for Mrs Damask. Anyone will direct you.’

‘You’re sure it’s wise to come back to Oxford?’

‘The way I see it, we’re all being drawn there. We need to regroup there in case anyone else turns up.’

‘Start at first light?’

‘If you’re up to it.’

Mallory smiled as he unzipped his parka and tugged free the bandages wrapped around his midriff. The wound beneath had almost healed.

Hal had stoked the fire in his office every fifteen minutes, but it had little effect on the biting cold that insinuated its way through the very walls. He’d bundled himself up in his overcoat and wore a pair of fingerless gloves while he worked, occasionally taking a swig of some bitter alcoholic concoction that the main gate security guard had brewed up in one of the secret stills that now proliferated across the city. The only relief from the bitter temperatures was losing himself in his project, as he now grandly called it.

He’d worked feverishly, oblivious to all sense of time, until the chime of the clock told him it was getting on for dawn. His room was a claustrophobic space crammed with paintings and books and mysteries, illuminated by the flickering light of several candles. In search of clues, Hal had immersed himself in anything he could find on the Poussin painting and its symbolism, and on the Shugborough Hall monument. Instinctively, he was somehow convinced that his investigations would lead to a devastating revelation that would change the course of the war. Everything pointed to the vital significance of the Wish Stone – the way it had been hidden, the way it had been found, the coded message designed to deter the unworthy. If he was right, he had finally found his role.

Hal couldn’t decide if it was a by-product of his obsessive investigation, or even a sign of encroaching madness brought on by a world where anything was possible, but he was starting to see hidden connections slowly developing into a sense of some arcane master plan. The more he delved, the more connections he saw, so that at times he looked up from his books unable to tell what was real and what was a product of his overworked imagination.

So engrossed was he that he didn’t hear the knock on his door. He only jolted out of concentration when a figure loomed over him. It was Samantha.

‘I saw your light through the window. What are you doing working at this hour?’ she asked, concerned.

‘Important business for Mister Reid.’ Hal considered how much he should tell her for fear of putting her in danger, then added, ‘I think it might lead to something that could change the course of the war.’

‘Really?’ The admiration in her eyes excited him; he wanted more of it. ‘Can you talk about it?’ she asked animatedly.