The Parliament of Blood (38 page)

‘Some of the women make baskets,' Eve said. ‘Sort of square, wicker baskets with lids. I help them, so I know where they are.'

‘And I know where to take them,' Eddie said. ‘George told me just the place.'

‘Excellent.' Sir William clapped his hands together. ‘You know, this might just work. Now, I must leave you in Eddie's capable hands.'

‘Aren't you coming with us? Where are you going?' Eddie asked in surprise.

‘I have an appointment with Mr Gladstone.'

‘The Prime Minister?' Eve said.

‘The very same. I'm going to see if I can stop or at least delay the ceremony.'

‘The Coachman will kill you,' Eddie said.

Sir William put his hand on Eddie's shoulder. ‘If we don't stop him, the Coachman and his kind will kill us all.'

The graveyard was like a battlefield. Fog drifted like smoke over the churned and broken ground. George picked his way round the holes and crevices back to the path. Gravestones had tilted and fallen as the ground opened. The place seemed deserted, but George listened carefully for any sound, staring into the grey night for any sign that he was not alone.

He was still half expecting Clarissa to appear fully recovered out of the mist in front of him. He didn't know if she was dead or merely unconscious, but George remembered what Sir William had said about the mountains being a place of sanctuary, and the vampires' fear of running water. It was all to do with oxygen, with breathing, with the strength of the heart pumping richer than usual blood round the body.

The grave he was looking for was a short distance from the path. It had no headstone of its own. It never would. George looked down into the gaping hole, remembering with a shudder how he and Eddie had forced their way out of it. It would be a brave man who went back down there. Or a foolish one.

He wasn't sure which of those he was, but George had a plan. He sat by the edge of Christopher Kingsley's grave and swung his feet into it, then lowered himself carefully into the catacombs below.

There were several MPs in the Central Lobby, talking quietly.

‘You any idea what this is all about?' one of them asked Sir William as he hurried in.

‘I'm afraid I have,' he said grimly. ‘And I would advise you to go home immediately.'

The man stared at Sir William. ‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Sir William will have his little joke,' a voice said from behind him.

Sir William turned to find Anthony Barford standing there. ‘How kind of you to join us, Sir William. Please, if you will come this way? We are nearly ready to begin.'

It would have been easy to walk away, but Sir William needed to know what was happening. He needed to buy time for Eddie. And in any event, he could see the pale emaciated figures standing beside the exits. It was not difficult to guess what they were, or what would happen to him – and the genuine Members of Parliament – if he caused any trouble now.

‘I've been looking forward to it.' He turned to go.

But Barford's hand caught his arm. ‘Not that way. Not to the House of Commons. Mr Gladstone and his colleagues are taking their seats there, but I am afraid it will be necessary to bring them along to the other chamber.'

‘To the House of Lords?'

Barford's bloodless lips drew back in a smile. ‘Where else would the Lord of the Undead watch over his parliament?'

‘Right,' Eddie declared. ‘Time to get going.'

They hurried along Mortill Street, each with a basket clutched tightly. The wicker was rough and grazed Eddie's hands.

‘You do this sort of thing a lot?' the new boy asked. He'd told them his name was Alex.

‘Seems like it,' Eddie admitted. ‘I used to be a pick-pocket. But things have got a bit hectic since I gave that up. Come on, let's find a cab.'

‘We'll never see a cab in this,' Alex said.

‘And how do we pay?' Jack wondered.

Eddie jammed his basket under his arm and with his free hand pulled a bulging wallet from his pocket. The leather was scuffed and worn. ‘I think I can afford it,' he said proudly.

‘Where did you get that?' Alex said.

‘Just sort of fell into my possession,' Eddie admitted. ‘When I pushed past Mr Pearce. And a policeman gave me tuppence.'

They all stopped as they heard the sound of carriage wheels. A cab rattled out of the fog, and Eddie shouted and waved with his free hand. But it did not stop.

Mikey had to leap out of the way as the cab sped past. He glared after it, as usual saying nothing.

‘He could have killed Mikey,' Eve said angrily.

The next cab was going so fast it almost knocked Jack down. Eddie hauled the small boy out of the way as the cab clipped the kerb.

‘What's got into them?' Eddie said. ‘No call to be driving like that, especially in the fog.'

The next cab stopped. But only for long enough for the driver to yell at them from his seat above and behind the horses.

‘Don't go that way. Get off out of it while you can.'

‘Why?' Eddie shouted back. ‘What's going on, what's wrong?'

‘They're coming. Out of the graveyards, out of the derelict houses. Out of everywhere. You got to keep out of their way. Get in, I'll take you. Don't worry about the fare.'

‘We need to get to the Houses of Parliament,' Eddie said, grateful but confused.

The driver immediately cracked his whip down at the horses. ‘I ain't taking you there,' he yelled back. ‘Looks like Westminster's where they're heading.' The cab lurched off into the fog, gathering speed and leaving Eddie and his friends staring after it.

‘What's he mean?' Jack asked anxiously.

‘I think we'd better get a move on,' Eddie said.

The next cab they found was abandoned. The horse stamped its feet and puffed in the cold of the night. The driver and several passengers were lying on the pavement a few yards away. Their broken bodies were pale and bloodless. Eddie spared them a brief look, then climbed up on to the driver's box and settled his wicker basket beside him.

‘Get in then,' he called down. ‘Next stop, the Houses of Parliament.'

Eve climbed up beside him while the others clambered into the body of the cab. ‘You know how to drive, do you?' she asked.

‘Can't be that hard. Cabbies do it.'

‘Thought not.' Eve took the reins from Eddie. ‘So leave it to someone who does.'

‘Take your hands off me, sir!' the Prime Minister demanded.

Sir William was seated in the front row of the ornate red cross-benches, facing forward. Barford had promised him a good view, and he certainly had that. The House of Lords was almost full. Pale, drawn figures sat and stood so closely together that only the central aisle was empty. He could see several figures he knew – the small grey-haired Mrs Brinson, and the Curator of one of the other departments of the British Museum, as well as several peers of the realm and other notable people …

The whole place was more like a chapel than a debating chamber. The end of the high-vaulted chamber was dominated by the ornate gold-leafed throne and the canopy behind it. There were two less ornamental chairs in front of the canopy, either side of the throne. On one of them sat Liz, looking every bit as pale as the other vampires. On the second seat was the Coachman, still wearing his cloak and his hat. On the floor beside him stood the canopic jar with its scorpion-shaped lid containing the heart of the Lord of the Undead. The Coachman's
skull-face stared out over the assembly, and Gladstone's voice rang out again.

‘I have never known such a thing!'

‘Be silent!' the Coachman roared as Gladstone and several other people were dragged to the front of the chamber.

Sir William recognised many of them – prominent government ministers. All were doing their best to look dignified and confident. All were obviously terrified as Anthony Barford, Harrison Judd and several others dragged them before the empty throne.

‘Henry Malvern should be here,' Barford said quietly.

‘I'm sure he will make an appearance,' Sir Harrison Judd said. ‘He had to cancel his dinner with Stoker from the Lyceum Theatre. You know how touchy the man can get.'

Alone of the half-dozen men now arranged before the throne William Gladstone looked angry rather than fearful. He was in his seventies, stooped but assured. Wisps of white hair clung to his balding scalp and his heavily lined forehead and face made him look even more severe.

‘I demand to know what is going on,' Gladstone said. ‘What is the meaning of this, Barford?' he demanded, turning to face the man who held him tightly by the arm.

‘All will be explained,' Barford said.

As he turned back, Gladstone caught sight of Sir William watching him. He frowned, looking round at the other pallid faces staring back at him. Then he looked again at Sir William's more ruddy complexion. His eyebrows arched in a silent question.

Sir William could not answer, but he nodded slightly, hoping to give whatever reassurance the Prime Minister needed to get through the long night ahead.