George Mann - The Osiris Ritual

Purefoy stared back at him with panicked eyes. He was breathing quickly, and the strain was starting to show. Newbury tried to keep him focused on the task at hand. "Don't look down. No!

Purefoy! Keep your eyes on me." Newbury heaved, trying to give the boy a better chance of grabbing hold of the stairwell with his other hand. Purefoy struggled, his feet kicking frantically as they sought something solid upon which to gain purchase. Instead, the result was to pul alarmingly on Newbury's arm as Purefoy swung out wildly, and Newbury felt his shoulder burning as he took the other's weight, his arm fully extended, his face pressed uncomfortably against the hard metal bars.

"Oh God!" Purefoy exclaimed in terror as Newbury's grip slipped and loosened, and he slid a little further towards the alleyway below.

"I have you." Newbury fixed his gaze on the other man. "I have you. Now pay attention. You need to get your other arm up here, right now!" Newbury was gasping for breath and struggling to gain leverage. The instructions registered with the young man, however, and, with Newbury still hanging on to him by his left wrist, he managed to get a grip on the iron frame with his right hand.

"Good. Good! Now, I'm going to let go and reach over to grasp hold of your collar. We'll heave you over the top. Hold on!"

Newbury waited a moment to be sure that Purefoy was not going to fall, and then scrabbled to his feet, leaned over the rail and used both hands to grab fistfuls of the boy's jacket. "On my mark.

One, two, three.. " He grunted as he lifted the reporter up, bodily, by his clothes. Purefoy was quick to get his feet into position, jamming them through the bars of the rail to support himself. A moment later, he swung over the top of the railing and col apsed beside Newbury on the cold platform, both of them struggling for breath. He stared with wide eyes at the drop beneath him. His eyes passed wordless thanks to the Crown investigator.

Newbury patted him on the shoulder. "You need to thank your tailor, dear boy." He wheezed as he tried to regain his breath. "That's an excellent jacket you have there."

They both laughed out loud, relieved, as they rubbed their aching joints. After a few moments, still gasping, Purefoy turned to Newbury. "Ashford?"

Newbury shrugged. "I'm in no doubt that he got away. Once I've regained my strength I'll head up there to take a look, see if here are any other clues that may help us to pick up his trail."

Purefoy looked sheepish. "I.."

Newbury interjected. "Best left unsaid. It's not necessary. Not at all."

Purefoy nodded gratefully.

After a moment, Newbury, who had been slumped on the platform, his back to the railing, climbed to his feet and regarded the building before him. Here, the metal stairs became a short ladder that terminated just below the lip of the roof. He shook his head, cursing that he hadn't noticed the ladder from above. Taking hold of the rungs, he levered himself up, leaving Purefoy where he was, stil panting and nursing his sore arms on the platform below. It was a short climb to the roof, and he was soon able to pull himself over again. He made a mental note of where the ladder was, scuffing the gravel with the edge of his shoe in case he needed to find it again in the fog.

Newbury looked around for signs of Ashford. The fog was thickening, but even so, he was shocked to see, a little further along the rooftop, the familiar red eyes of the augmented man staring back at him. Newbury could barely believe it. Why had he waited? Perhaps he wanted to be sure that Newbury and Purefoy were gone? Perhaps Purefoy had been right, and he intended to head back to Blake's apartment before Newbury was able to alert the police? Regardless, he couldn't waste the opportunity.

"Ashford!" The other man's head turned, and Newbury could no longer see his face beneath the darkness of his cowl. "Ashford, we must talk." Newbury rushed forward, and as he drew closer, the situation became quickly apparent. Ashford was perched on the corner of the building, his heavy cloak draped over his shoulders, giving him an ethereal, formless appearance in the foggy darkness.

Across from him, the buildings to the side and rear were both taller – at least a storey higher than the factory on which they were standing – and the leap across to either was impossible, even for an augmented giant such as Ashford. Newbury smiled. He had him. He knew, this time, he had him.

Digging deep for every last reserve of his strength, he thundered forward towards his quarry.

Ashford seemed to respond to this with an air of calm acceptance. He turned away from the approaching Newbury, stepping up careful y onto the raised lip of the roof. He seemed to be judging the distance to the bottom of the al eyway, far below, but Newbury knew there would be nothing to see but a thick river of fog. Ashford inched closer to the edge.

Suddenly, Newbury got a measure of the man's intention. Ashford meant to jump. He bel owed across the roof. "No! Don't do it, man! You'll fall to your death!"

Ashford, however, seemed not to hear him. With one last glance over his shoulder, the rogue agent leapt suddenly into the air.

Newbury darted towards the edge of the building, in time to see Ashford's black, fluttering cloak billow out like some obscene wing, as the man soared out into the gap between the two buildings, plummeting down into the milky abyss. Surely the drop would kil him?

Newbury gave an involuntary wince at the sound of Ashford impacting against the cobbles below. There was a sickening crunch – as of metal striking stone – a cry of pain, and then silence.

Newbury sighed. It was over.

Newbury turned back towards Purefoy and the metal stairwell. He'd have to recover Ashford's body, first to verify his death, then to keep the matter out of the papers and the police reports. He kicked at the gravel, frustrated. He wanted to know why. What had driven this man – this former agent -to such murderous lengths? Had he real y believed the secrets of Khemosiri would have granted him a new life? Newbury doubted that very much. But desperate men are often driven to desperate measures. He hopped down from the lip at the corner of the factory roof. Then, to Newbury's amazement, he heard the sounds of someone shifting around in the al eyway below.

There was a groan, fol owed by the ringing of tentative footsteps as Ashford, unseen due to the thick shroud of vapour, evidently climbed to his feet and continued on his way.

"Oh no, you don't!" Newbury rushed along the edge of the building, looking for some means by which he could quickly descend to ground level and continue his pursuit. If he lost Ashford now, he knew he risked losing him forever.

Below, bolted to the side of the building, Newbury spotted the top of an iron ladder, similar to the one he had ascended a few minutes earlier, and smiled with grim satisfaction. Another stairwell.

The platform would be fixed to the wal, a storey below. He glanced behind him. Purefoy was watching him from across the rooftop, nursing his bloodied hands where they had been torn clinging to the iron railing. Newbury weighed up his options. Did he risk the jump? Or did he waste valuable time on the ladder? He knew, with steady resolve, that there was only one answer to that question.

He didn't look back to see if Purefoy would fol ow. Hopping up onto the stone lip, Newbury casual y stepped off the side of the building, his body tautening as he prepared for the drop to the platform below.

This time, Newbury was ready for the impact and did not lose his footing, instead using his shoulder to take the brunt of his fall. It smarted painfully where it smashed against the hard railing, but he used the momentum to fling himself forward, tumbling down the first flight of stairs. He knew he would be black and blue with bruises by the morning, but he barely registered the knocks and scrapes as he dived headlong down flight after flight of metal steps towards the ground. His hands rasped on the worn metal as he slid from one storey to the other, his chest burning with the exertion.