Anthony Horowitz - Necropolis

“How are you killing them?” Father Gregory asked. “Would I be right in thinking it is something to do with the pollution?”

“You would be entirely correct, Father Gregory. Although perhaps I should not call you that, as I understand you are no longer in holy orders.” The chairman stood up and went over to the window, but the view had been almost completely obliterated by the mist which swirled around the building, chasing its own tail. There was going to be a storm. He could just make out the water down in the harbour. The water was choppy, rising into angry waves.

“There has always been pollution, blowing in from China,” he continued. “And the strange thing is that the people here have tolerated it. Coal-fired power stations. Car exhausts. They have always accepted that it’s a price that has to be paid for the comforts of modern life.”

“And you have made it worse?”

“The Old Ones have added a few extra chemicals – some very poisonous ones – to the mix. You’ve seen the results. The elderly and the weak have been the first to go, but the rest of the city will follow if they are exposed to it for very much longer. Which they will be. An unpleasant death. We are safe, of course, inside The Nail. The air is filtered. We just have to be careful not to spend too long in the street.”

Father Gregory pressed his fingers together. His sty had got much worse. The eyeball was now jammed, no longer able to move. Only his good eye watched the chairman. “I have to say, I’m disappointed,” he said. “I was looking forward to meeting – to actually seeing – the Old Ones.”

“The Old Ones have left Hong Kong. They have a great deal of work to do, preparing for a war that will be starting very soon. As soon as they heard that Matthew Freeman had been taken, they went.”

“I don’t understand why they don’t show themselves to the world,” Father Gregory said. “You have two of the Gatekeepers. So surely nothing can stop them…”

“It’s not the way they work. If the Old Ones told the world that they existed, people would unite against them. That would defeat the point. By keeping themselves hidden, they can let humanity tear itself apart. That is what they enjoy.”

There was a moment’s silence. Father Gregory licked his lips and something ugly came into his eyes. “I want to see the girl,” he said. “I still can’t believe that she managed to break free when I had her. I had plans…”

“Yes, that was most unfortunate,” the chairman agreed. “Well, right now they are together. The boy came all this way to find her, so I thought it would be amusing to let them spend one day in each other’s company.”

“Is that safe?”

“The two of them are locked up very securely and nobody knows where they are. The boy has certain abilities which make him dangerous. But as for the girl…”

“What is her power?”

“It seems that she drew the short straw. I’m afraid Scarlett Adams is not quite the superhero one might have imagined.” The chairman smiled. “She has the ability to predict the weather. That’s all. She can tell if it’s going to rain or if the sun is going to shine. As she will never see either of these things again, it will not do her very much good. We are sending her away tonight. To another country.”

“You can’t kill her of course.”

“It’s vital that both children are kept alive. In pain, but alive. We are going to bury them in separate rooms, many thousands of miles apart. They will be given limited amounts of food and water, but no human contact. The Old Ones have asked me to blind Matt Freeman and that will be done just before Scarlett leaves. We want her to take the horror of it with her. In the end, she will probably go mad. It will be one of the last memories that she has.”

“Excellent. I’d like to be there when it happens.”

“That may not be possible.”

Father Gregory was disappointed. But he continued anyway.

“What about the other boy?” he asked.

“Jamie Tyler?” The chairman was still standing at the window. “He is somewhere here in Hong Kong. We haven’t yet been able to find him.”

“Have you looked for him?”

The chairman blinked slowly. Far below, two Star Ferries were crossing each other’s paths, fighting the storm as they made their way across the harbour. Where had the storm come from? It seemed to be getting stronger. He was surprised the ferries were still operating and looked forward to the time when they finally stopped. It had always annoyed him, watching them go back and forth.

A boat will be the death of you. And it will happen in Hong Kong.

A prophecy that had been made by a fortune-teller. Well, soon there would be no more boats. There would be no more Hong Kong.

“Jamie Tyler can’t leave the city,” he said. “Unless, of course, he dies in the street and gets thrown into the sea. Either way, he is of no concern to us.”

There was another silence.

“But now, my dear Father Gregory,” the chairman said. “It is time for you to go.”

“I am a little tired,” Father Gregory admitted.

“It has been a pleasure meeting you. But – please – let me show you out…”

There was a handle on the edge of one of the windows and the chairman seized hold of it and pulled. The entire window slid aside and the wind rushed in, the mist swirling round and round. Papers fluttered off the desk. The stench of the pollution filled the room.

Father Gregory stared. “I don’t understand…” he began.

“It’s perfectly simple,” the chairman said. “You said it yourself. You let the girl escape. You let her slip through your hands. You don’t really think that the Old Ones would let that go unpunished?”

“But… I found her!” Father Gregory was staring at the gap. “If it hadn’t been for me, you would never have known who she was!”

“And that is why they have granted you an easy death.” The chairman had to shout to make himself heard. “Please don’t waste any more of my time, Father Gregory. It’s time for you to go!”

Father Gregory stared at the open window, at the clouds rushing past outside. A single tear trickled from his good eye. But he understood. The chairman was right. He had failed.

“I’ve enjoyed meeting you,” he said.

“Goodbye, Father Gregory.”

The old man walked across the room and stepped out of the window. The chairman waited a moment, then slid it shut behind him. It was good to be back in the warm again. He wiped some raindrops off his jacket.

The storm was definitely getting worse.

The Tai Shan Temple was very similar to all the other temples in Hong Kong.

It was perhaps a little larger, with three separate chambers connected by short corridors, but it had the same curving roof made of dark green tiles and it was set back behind a wall, on the edge of a park, in its own private world. Inside, it was filled with smoke, both from the coils of incense that hung from the ceiling and from the oven, which was constantly burning bundles of paper and clothes as sacrifices to the Mountain of the East. There were several altars dedicated to a variety of gods who were represented by standing, sitting and kneeling statues… a whole crowd of them, brilliantly coloured, staring out with ferocious eyes.

Despite the bad weather, there were about fifteen people at prayer in the main chamber, bowing with armfuls of incense, muttering quietly to themselves. They were many different ages, men and women, and to all appearances they looked exactly the same as the people who came daily to Man Mo or Tin Hau. And yet there was something about them that suggested that religion was not, in fact, the first thing on their minds. They were too tense, too watchful. Their eyes were fixed on a single entrance at the back of the building – a low, wooden door with a five-pointed star cut into the surface.