The Liberators (12 page)

‘I will join!' Jennifer Brook yowled.

‘Eeeyoh! Eeeyoh!' Strawbones gave voice and then a very bright light enveloped the room and seemed to Ivo to become part of everything. He watched the light descend upon Jennifer Brook, and she was lifted up into the air, her mouth open in ecstasy.

The cry was reverberating around them, cannoning around the room like a living creature. The air smelled rich, everything was sharper. Ivo pressed his jaw fiercely closed, feeling Felix and Miranda shaking beneath him, tensing and shivering. The Acolytes slowed now, and some stopped entirely; Jennifer Brook stood in the centre, her eyes shining.

‘So near!' she cried. ‘So near!' Her voice was thrilling with energy.

‘You see,' came the voice of Strawbones, the Liberator, ‘what will be yours! You are now an Acolyte, bound to the Liberators! Swear to me!'

‘I swear to you, O Liberator! My life is yours!' Jennifer Brook stood, ecstatic, her arms out wide, as if she wanted to embrace the universe; and then she bowed, and dropped to her knees, her head almost touching the ground. A figure came and stood before her – Ivo thought that it was a man, and that he was wearing a long fur coat, and that bones were hung all over it – and placed his hand on her head; he was holding a staff, which Ivo saw was glowing. The figure held his hand on Jennifer Brook's head for a second, and then she screamed, and he released her. She stood up, and even from a distance Ivo could see that she had been transfigured, and that her eyes were empty.

The other Acolytes let out a clamour of approval, clapping and jumping.

‘Follow me!' yelled the Liberator, and they all, dancing, stamping, some making sounds like animals, some singing, some shouting ‘Eleutheros! Eleutheros!' went in a clamorous rout out of the room through the door behind the tapestry. Perkins, luckily, went with them.

Ivo noticed that Jennifer Brook's discarded shoe lay near to them; for some reason it appalled him. He removed his hands from Felix and Miranda's mouths. They were gasping furiously for breath. Felix's face was in an angry snarl of rage.

The roar died away as the Liberator and his followers clanked further away from the room. Ivo, Miranda and Felix slipped out in silence, back up the corridor to the statue of the tiger, and they did not stop until they had cleared the park gates and had the width of Oxford Street between them and it.

They fled through the streets to Charmsford Square, bounded up the stairs of the Rocksavages' house, and went to Miranda's room and collapsed on her sofa.

‘There's an invitation on the mantelpiece in the drawing room, shaped like a vine leaf. It's to the National Gallery party. We've all been invited,' Miranda said.

‘Yeah, I was really looking forward to it,' said Felix.

‘I keep thinking about Perkins . . .' said Miranda, rubbing her arms as if she were shivering. ‘He looked
mad
.'

‘Yeah, he's not even like that when I haven't done my Greek,' said Felix, trying to make a joke out of it. He didn't laugh.

‘Liberation,' said Miranda, and the word hung, strange and fiery, between them. Felix was as white as Ivo. Miranda was curled into the sofa, heavy blankets around her, despite the central heating being on full blast.

Ivo was thinking about Strawbones. He had dismembered Blackwood on the tube. Strawbones had murdered somebody in the most savage way possible, in broad daylight, he'd dulled the passengers on the tube with madness. It made him feel nauseous.

Felix suddenly said, ‘You know I was enjoying that.' He held his head up, as if expecting to be shouted down.

‘What do you mean?' Ivo said. ‘How?'

‘Didn't you feel it? Couldn't you feel what it would be like? It would be amazing.' He flung his head back on to the sofa. ‘To be totally free –'

‘How can you say that?' interjected Ivo. ‘Didn't you see what they did to Juniper – and they killed Blackwood.'

‘So what do we do?' moaned Miranda, from inside her protective shell of blankets, her head peeking out like a tortoise. ‘They've got some plan about the National Gallery, it sounds like they're going to . . . to
liberate
everybody who's been invited . . . and we've seen what that means. Did you see Jennifer Brook? What are we going to do?'

‘We can't tell anyone. Ma and Pa would never believe us. Police wouldn't either.' Felix was matter of fact, decisive.

‘And I can't tell Lydia and Jago – I mean, Lydia's
painting
Strawbones, for Christ's sake, she's actually arranging the whole shebang with Julius!' Ivo made a gesture of despair, and there was a silence in which nothing could be heard but the rumble of the outside world.

A thought struck them all at the same time, and Felix said carefully, ‘Do you . . . do you think that she knows about it? Lydia, I mean. Do you think she's involved?'

Ivo considered for a moment, letting the silence fill the room, and said, blowing his cheeks out, ‘No. I think Lydia just enjoys this sort of thing. She loves parties. She'd never believe anything against Julius, anyway. She's completely in love with him. And with Strawbones, I think.'

‘Does Jago mind?'

‘I don't think he notices. What about your parents? Do you think they know?'

‘I don't think they know about it,' Miranda replied. ‘Honestly, I really don't. I mean, Ma's an interior
decorator
. She's not likely to be part of some, like, terrorist thing, is she? And Pa – well, Pa is Pa.'

‘The thing is, are you sure?' said Ivo.

‘Well, are
you
sure about Lydia?' asked Felix angrily.

‘What are you suggesting?' Ivo too was in a temper, and it felt as if everything that had happened to him was now suddenly boiling up in him, all ready to blow up.

‘Just that your aunt might have more to do with it than you think! I mean, she has Julius and Strawbones over all the time. Don't you think that they might be, like, influencing her? They might have made her into an Acolyte.'

‘She can't be! And what about your parents – your mother's friend was initiated, we saw her, why can't your mother be too?'

‘Don't you dare say that about my mother!' Felix stood up. He was much taller than Ivo, but Ivo didn't care and threw a punch at him; he heard the impact, and Felix was knocked back but quickly jumped to his feet and lunged at Ivo, thumping him in the stomach and winding him; Felix had him in a headlock, and Ivo was being crushed; he summoned up all his strength and broke free, and aimed his fist at Felix's nose; Felix yelled out, blood spurting from his face, and kicked Ivo savagely in the shins; they knocked over a table and a vase of roses came crashing down to the floor. The deep crimson flowers lay splayed on the ground, soaking in wetness, and still the boys fought each other among the shards.

‘Guys! Guys! Stop it! Stop it!' Miranda's voice rose high above the melee. ‘Stop it, you idiots – what the hell are you doing? Stop it!'

The door swung open and Olivia Rocksavage came bursting in. She surveyed the scene of destruction, and tightened her lips. Miranda ran to her; Felix released Ivo and snarled at him, a pure, animal noise. Ivo put his hand to his lip and tasted blood. They looked, all of them, at Olivia, expecting a tirade of anger; but she merely said, ‘That's enough. Clear this up, you two. And don't be late for dinner. Ivo, you won't be staying?'

‘No,' he said, in a subdued manner.

‘Well then,' said Olivia Rocksavage, and departed.

Felix and Ivo sat staring at each other glumly. Miranda rushed to her brother to give him some tissues, which he took roughly and pressed to his nose.

‘I've got an idea,' said Miranda.

‘What?' asked Felix, in a depressed lilt. He had lost the burst of anger that had overtaken him, and now felt like a deflated balloon. He also felt ashamed.

‘Hunter. Tomorrow we'll use the Koptor to call her. We should tell her about Perkins' plans and the National Gallery.'

Felix and Ivo looked at each other, and, despite themselves, they both smiled.

‘You got me pretty badly,' said Felix, touching his nose with care.

‘Yeah . . . sorry . . . my father taught me how to throw a punch once, he needed to learn how to fight when he was going around Central Asia and stuff.'

‘Cool!'

‘Yeah, pretty cool,' said Ivo.

‘Good,' said Miranda.

Having shaken Felix by the hand, and hugged Miranda, Ivo slipped downstairs and out of the house, and went back across to the Moncrieffs'. It had stopped raining, and he was feeling stronger in his heart, now that he was aware of the dangers he faced. The rest of the city, he thought, was moving blindly towards Christmas, the festival of light in the darkness, the shining beacon fire in the black wilderness of winter. Lights went up everywhere; trees appeared and presents were laid out; and all were unaware of the madness that lurked beneath the very streets they trod.

.

Chapter Eleven

Above the three of them a helicopter hovered, its blades slicing through the air, splitting the dim rays of light as they fell to the ground. An alarm was ringing in the distance, agitating the air with its high-pitched screams. It was a crisp day, winter sunlight washing the world, the day after Ivo had punched Felix.

‘Felix,' said Ivo dreamily, ‘
kopto
means break, doesn't it? Or cut? In Greek, I mean.'

‘Yes,' Felix replied, looking at him from over a newspaper. They were sitting on some swings in a deserted playground, somewhere near Holland Park. They'd gone there on the grounds that it was far enough away from Marylebone and Mayfair, and nearer to Kensal Rise.

‘And
helios
– it means sun? You know, like Helios the sun god,' Ivo continued.

Felix pushed back on his swing, nodding, the rusting chains making a not unpleasant creak. He twisted round and round, until he could twist no further, and then suddenly let go, spinning quickly, mimicking the movement of the helicopter's blades, letting out a yelp of excitement. He came to a breathless stop facing Ivo, and grinned at him wolfishly.

‘So does helicopter mean a sun-cutter?' said Ivo, watching the machine's blades as they cut through the sunlight, making stripy shadows in his eyes, the chugging, constant sound filling his ears. He was still a little wary of Felix, of the energy coursing in those skinny limbs.

‘That's a nice idea,' said Felix, coming to rest next to Ivo. ‘But it means something different – winged screw, I think.
Pteros
means wing, and
helix
means screw. Like in DNA, you know, double helix. Double screw.' He stretched his legs out, thin as wires, and scraped the soles of his shoes across the ground.

‘Oh,' said Ivo, swinging back gently. Sun-cutter. It had seemed a beautiful way of naming a machine – to give this ugly, unnatural monster that tore through the skies a poetic label would have been somehow glorious; to find out it was just as bland as anything else was disappointing.

‘I'll always think of it as a sun-cutter,' he said quietly, and watched as the helicopter juddered away into the distance.

Ivo was about to continue, when he noticed a figure moving towards them, swaying from side to side, mumbling and wailing. As the figure approached, its features became more defined. What had seemed to be a mass of dark, bearish hair showed itself as a wrinkled face, bounded by black matted locks and a beard which looked capable of supporting several life forms. The man was almost circular, he was wearing so many coats. He carried a black plastic bag, and he shuffled towards them.

The man was muttering and sputtering to himself; as he came nearer, words became distinguishable. ‘Mr Bumblebee . . . hello . . . what have you done with my clock?'

Ivo realised the question was being addressed to them. Without speaking, they all got off the swings and backed away. The tramp came nearer to them. A dense stink of alcohol and dirt came off him. His skin was broken and red veins stood out on his cheeks, his nose was as purple as a bunch of grapes.

‘
What have you done with my clock?
' His voice was deep and gravelly.

Ivo, Miranda and Felix continued to walk backwards, and when they were several metres from him, Ivo said, ‘OK, now run,' and they sped away, up a slight rise until they had enough distance between them and the tramp to stop. They were now on the southern side of Holland Park, near to Kensington High Street, in the quiet, hidden groves of trees and shrubs. They concealed themselves behind a clump of bushes.

‘Does it look like he's following us?' asked Miranda, panting.

‘No.' Ivo watched as the vagabond spiralled away. He caught his breath, unnerved.

‘Shall we call Hunter then?' said Felix.

‘All right. Do you think it will work?'

Ivo shrugged. ‘I'll have a go.'

Ivo felt in his pocket for the Koptor, and pulled it out. He held it rather self-consciously.

‘Remember – you have to think very hard of her, and the quantum particles will be activated,' Felix reminded him.

Ivo did, trying to bring up in his mind a picture of Alice Hunter; but she kept being overlayed by other people, by his parents, by Julius, by Strawbones with the snake hissing out of his mouth, and Ivo knew he hadn't done it.

‘It's no good,' he said. ‘It's impossible. I can't concentrate on her. It's like when you say don't think of orange dogs and then all you can think of is orange dogs.' Despondent, he drew away from the others. Felix bounced up and down on his feet.

Miranda, who had been thinking carefully, uncreased her forehead and said,‘Wait! What if we all do it? If we all join forces. Maybe we can do it then.'

‘Might as well.' Ivo came back to them, and Felix and Miranda grabbed hold of the Koptor, and all three closed their eyes in concentration.

‘Just picture her as we saw her when she opened the door,' Miranda said. ‘Think only of her. Only of Alice Hunter. There, can you see her? I can see her, standing there, with her cardigan on. She's here, standing in front of us, now.'

Nothing happened. They could hear the calling of birds, the whisper of the wind in the trees; a dog barked far in the distance; a jogger pounded past, music blaring from his headphones. Once more Ivo felt the weight of the future upon him, feeling that these ordinary things were somehow massing together to spell out some truth. He shook his head and looked at Miranda. He was about to speak, when there was a subtle change in the quality of the air, and Hunter appeared.

She was wearing a brown mackintosh and a dress with red polka dots on it, as well as what looked to Ivo rather like bedroom slippers; from her left hand dangled a ladle, smeared with soup.

‘Phew! That really takes you apart. Hah!' Following Ivo's quizzical glance, she said, ‘I was making my lunch.'

‘Sorry,' said Ivo. ‘It's just . . . you know, it's quite hard to believe that you've just . . .' He tailed off.

‘So,' she said, ignoring him, ‘what have you got to tell me?' She was agitated, looking around, her eyes shifting quickly over them. They told her about Strawbones's plans for the National Gallery. Her eyes became more and more alarmed. ‘This is it,' she muttered. ‘Liberation. The moment when the Eleutheroi will rule the earth, when all conscience will be gone.' She lifted the hand holding the ladle to her forehead; thick red tomato soup dripped on to the ground.

‘What will you do?' asked Miranda.

‘We must go to Julius's flat and find the Thyrsos. We'll have to go by normal ways,' she replied, striding off, the three friends scampering behind her to keep up. ‘You can only materialise like that with the Koptor, and it isn't nice. I'm not, unfortunately, like the Liberators. They can move quickly – very quickly – like the gods coming down from Mount Olympus. That's why,' she said, ‘no one saw Strawbones on the tube. He was too fast for them.' She was breathing very heavily, her face grey and drawn, and she looked to Ivo almost insubstantial.

They were coming to the playground where they had been earlier, and Ivo was discomfited to see that the tramp had not left, but was now sitting on one of the swings, gently rocking to and fro, his feet just touching the ground, the tips of his toes poking through his rotting boots, showing his disgusting nails. He felt the tramp's eyes upon them as they sailed past him, and as they reached a safe distance Ivo was filled with relief. The creaking of the swing stopped, and Ivo heard the tramp getting off. He consciously sped up, and motioned to the others that they should do so too. They made towards the car park that spread its grey tarmac nearby, Hunter powering on ahead of them.

‘What? What is it, Ivo?' asked Felix, noticing the anxiety in Ivo.

‘Just . . . I don't know, come on, quickly!'

A voice cracked the air. ‘Hunter! Hunter! I have seen you. Come back here!'

Hunter reacted quickly, leaping round like a kangaroo and facing the sound. It was the tramp. ‘Hide!'
she whispered urgently. ‘Quick, behind that car. And listen – to stop them, you have to become like them. Remember that.'

‘Hunter! What is the point of resisting! You know you're powerless!' The tramp's voice was unfeasibly loud, rolling and cannoning around them.

Ivo, Miranda and Felix hurried behind the car, peering awkwardly through the windows. They saw that another car was drawing up, and in it were two men. One of them was Perkins. The engine's throbbing filled their ears; the car came to a slow, menacing halt. The radio was on and music spilled out into the air. The doors opened, and Perkins got out followed by another Acolyte.

‘Hunter,' he shouted, as Alice began to back away from him. ‘I could make a joke here,' he continued. ‘What does it feel like to be hunted?' He guffawed.

Alice turned and began to run, away from Ivo and the Rocksavages.

‘It's no use,' shouted Perkins, pushing his glasses back on his nose, his eyes magnified threefold.

The Acolyte advanced upon Hunter, a grin on his face, as Perkins stood by, laughing. The tramp, meanwhile, had discarded his overcoats and ripped off his beard; now he looked lean and tall, heading directly to Hunter.

‘She's
toast
,' Felix whispered to Ivo.

There was the sound of a fist connecting with flesh, and Ivo was surprised to see that Hunter had taken on one of the Acolytes. He stumbled back, putting his hands up in a defensive position. The other Acolyte wheeled round to the back of Hunter. Her skirts flapped in the wind. She swung the soup ladle round and round and struck him on the head with it; he retreated. The first came forwards again and tried to rugby tackle her, but she evaded him, kicking him in the stomach with her slippered feet; one of the tartan slippers came off and she nearly fell. ‘Dammit!' she said; but she'd winded him, and he was bent double, and she took the opportunity to kick him again, and then brought the ladle down on his neck. The other Acolyte advanced once more, and Hunter turned round, and appeared to collect herself; then in a whirlwind of speed she spun on her heels and karate-chopped him in the shoulder.

Perkins all the while stood by the side, a smirk on his face; Hunter advanced upon him and he held his hands up, in a slightly mocking gesture.

‘Hunter. Where is it?'

One of the men raised himself up from the ground and lunged at Hunter, but without looking she kicked him in the face and he fell again.

‘I will never give it up,' she said. She crossed her arms.

‘But you're the only one left, Hunter. You might as well give up now.' Perkins' voice was wheedling; he glared. Hunter backed away as he began to approach, and then turned and ran.

A jogger appeared over the brow of a hill, headphones on, focused on his running. Perkins stopped, seeming to calculate, and then called to his Acolytes, ‘In the car, quick,' and, staggering, the two followed him, one holding his shoulder, the other pressing both hands to his ears; they tumbled into the car and drove off.

After a few moments, Hunter reappeared over the rise, panting, her cardigan flapping open. The jogger, when he reached her, saw only a mad old bag lady muttering to herself. She picked up her slipper and put it on ruefully.

She went round to the side of the car where Ivo and the others were hiding. ‘Get home, as quickly as you can,' she said. ‘Go on, home. We'll meet again soon. Home!' She shooed them away, and, startled, they ran off back to the bus stop. Ivo turned back to see her running away in the opposite direction, head bent, cardigan clutched tightly round her, her breath making little clouds as she went.