Mark Chadbourn - The Burning Man

Church grabbed her hand as they ran. ‘I don’t believe that. The illusion is where its power lies.’

Shavi threw his arms around Laura and dragged her in the direction of the Virgin store as more masonry rained all around. They all raced in the direction of Oxford Circus amongst the scattering pedestrians, the pursuing creature crashing against the rooftops in its blind, stupid relentlessness. Crackling energy bolts sometimes missed them by only a few feet.

Together they stumbled down the steps to Oxford Circus Tube Station, hoping they could find shelter underground, but their way was blocked by a gate. Church shook it impotently; with the last train long gone it wouldn’t be open again until the morning.

At the street entrance, the sizzling energy eased down the steps one at a time as the creature manoeuvred itself into position.

‘We’ll be fried if we go back up there!’ Laura yelled above the din.

Church and Shavi threw themselves at the gate, though they both knew it was futile. Superheated air hit Church’s back in waves, burning him through his clothes. Then, as he desperately examined the chain and padlock, he glimpsed a fleeting impression of a broad, disembodied grin in the dark of the Underground station, like the final fading smile of the Cheshire Cat. When he looked back at the chain, the padlock was open.

‘What caused that?’ Shavi murmured in disbelief as he helped Church wrench open the gate.

‘Just accept it before it changes its mind.’ Church herded them through into the dark ticket hub.

‘I’m definitely sticking with you, Church-dude. The gods are on your side.’ Laura helped Shavi drag the gate shut and refasten the padlock.

‘I’m reserving judgment.’ Ruth stared into the gloom. ‘We might have just tumbled out of the frying pan.’

‘That glass-half-empty attitude is going to wear thin pretty quickly,’ Laura said. But as she turned, she realised Ruth might be right, for Church was nowhere to be seen, even though he had only been feet away from her a moment earlier.

‘Please help me. I don’t want to be left on my own.’ The little girl’s voice echoed across the lonely expanse of Battersea Park, but it was Caitlin who spoke, hugging her knees on the steps of the Eastern-styled Peace Pagoda.

‘What the hell’s wrong with her?’ Mallory had spent five minutes trying to quiet her, and had now diverted his energies to keeping watch across the park. His irritation was fuelled by mounting anxiety that the Enemy would be on them if they waited there much longer. A major disturbance was already taking place across the river in the West End, and though much of it was hidden by churning clouds and the constant wail of police and ambulance sirens, he feared the worst.

Sophie slipped an arm around Caitlin’s shoulders. ‘What’s wrong?’ she whispered.

‘I’m scared.’ Caitlin shivered into the crook of Sophie’s arm. ‘It’s too dark here.’

Sophie listened thoughtfully to the tone of the little-girl voice, then asked, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Why, it’s Amy, thank you for asking.’

‘Not Caitlin?’

‘Oh, she’s in here with Brigid and Briony. But I’m Amy.’ Caitlin looked up at Sophie with a bright, innocent face. ‘Will you look after me?’

‘Of course I will. I’ll be back in a minute.’ Sophie pulled free from Caitlin’s clinging embrace and joined Mallory.

‘So? What’s up with her?’ he asked, tense.

‘I think she’s got some kind of mental illness. Multiple personality from the sound of it.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’ A flare illuminated the depths of Mallory’s mind, gone in an instant. ‘The Broken Woman,’ he said dreamily.

‘What?’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry. Don’t know where that came from. They call it Dissociative Disorder now,’ he said, glancing at Caitlin who was rocking backwards and forwards, humming to herself.

‘Stress-induced, yeah?’

‘If she’s going to start flipping personalities every few minutes, it’s going to make things much more complicated for us.’

‘We can’t leave her behind.’

‘I guess not.’

Sophie fixed a cold eye on Mallory.

‘Just a passing thought.’ He turned away, uncomfortable with any hint of reproof from her. ‘So now what? I don’t know anything about ancient sites and all that shite our self-appointed leader was banging on about. There’s what … Avebury?’

‘Stonehenge.’

‘Too close to Salisbury.’

‘What’s wrong with Salisbury?’ Sophie asked.

‘I don’t like the place. It’s a prejudice. Unfounded, but it’s there.’

‘You’re very irrational.’

‘Yeah, but I’ve got a bad side, too.’

‘Then it’s Avebury.’

‘No. It is too obvious.’ The unfamiliar voice startled them.

His heart thundering, Mallory searched the dense shadows along the tree-line. Finally he identified the figure, standing so still it could have been a statue.

‘Who are you?’ Mallory weighed whether to escape or attack.

‘It’s okay.’ Caitlin was at his side, one steadying hand on his arm. ‘Brigid says, don’t worry.’

‘Fine. I always take advice from imaginary friends.’

The figure stepped into the glow of the lights running along the riverside path. It was a man in a smart 1940s-style suit. He wore a hat and kept his head slightly bowed so Mallory couldn’t see his face. His hands were his most prominent feature, which were parchment white. As he slowly and theatrically raised his head, the light caught a mask: one half was the laughing face of comedy, the other the downturned features of tragedy.

‘I’ll ask one more time: who are you?’ Mallory said.

‘I have gone by many names in my long and wonderful life,’ the new arrival said with a flourish. ‘Max Masque, the Darling of the Music Hall. Jester. Tumbler. Juggler. Sage. But you may call me Jerzy, the Mocker.’

Mallory sensed no danger, but he wasn’t in a mood to take anything at face value. Sophie was just as cautious, but Caitlin hugged the Mocker warmly. He appeared genuinely touched by her welcome, and tentatively returned her embrace.

‘We must not tarry,’ he said in hushed tones. He glanced around nervously.

‘Of course we’ll let you come with us,’ Mallory said sarcastically.

‘I have been sent to accompany you to the point of transition, and to give you whatever guidance I can.’

‘Who sent you?’ Sophie tried to read the eyes flickering behind the mask.

The Mocker shifted uncomfortably. ‘These Fixed Lands are still a place of wildness. Not everything follows the rules of the Void … or the rules of Existence. And there are forces at play that would take great comfort in seeing you succeed in your quest.’

‘Please, hurry,’ Caitlin implored. ‘Brigid says the spiders are drawing nearer. They’re determined to stop us crossing over.’

Mallory looked to Sophie who nodded her agreement. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this ship of fools on its way. Where do you suggest we go?’

‘We are humble pilgrims on a journey of enlightenment,’ Jerzy said with a deep bow. ‘And so we must to Canterbury.’

The Libertarian stood on the fifteenth floor of an office building just north of Euston Square and watched the black smoke rise up from the West End, fingers of crimson and gold licking the crumbling masonry. The vast shadow of the Riot-Beast moved across the face of the city towards the east.

Enough had been done to set the mice scurrying; the End was already in motion.

Behind him, every square inch of the room seethed with spiders. Everything was right with the world, finally, and that could not be allowed to change. There was order and cohesion and singularity of purpose. The debilitating terror of meaning and hope and yearning could not be allowed to spread, for that only caused chaos and uncertainty. He could not begin to comprehend the motivations of the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. They were terrorists, trying to overthrow a system that worked, that made people happy. How could they justify the suffering they were inflicting on their own kind?