Mark Chadbourn - The Burning Man

‘It means we’re not going to get much help from anyone,’ Sophie said.

‘Then come quickly,’ Jerzy said. ‘The Enemy has recruited many foul things and they will be attempting to prevent you from returning to the Far Lands.’

As they moved on, Jerzy drew a blanket over his head and shoulders and lowered his gaze to divert attention from his mask. Soon the cathedral was in sight, its gleaming stone incandescent in the morning sun. All was still around the remnants of the monastic buildings and grand old houses to the north. To the south, they lost themselves in the sprawl of streets and alleys of the medieval town that converged on Christ Church Gate, leading to the lawns surrounding the cathedral. Winged angels looked down at them from the gatehouse.

‘That’s us,’ Caitlin said in her little girl’s voice.

‘That is our destination.’ Jerzy indicated a circular tower on the eastern edge. ‘Known as Becket’s Crown, it is the oldest part of the site. The first church was built there, but before that there was another temple dating to the earliest days of your people. Thousands of years of unbroken worship empowering the ground.’

‘How come you know so much about it?’ Mallory asked.

‘I came here for a while after the Blitz.’ It sounded as though Jerzy was smiling beneath the mask. ‘I was made more than welcome by the local people, despite my appearance. They all helped me with my mission.’

‘What mission, Jerzy?’ Sophie asked.

‘Gathering any and all information that might help with the work that lies ahead. Your work.’

‘You’ve been planning for this since the Second World War?’ Sophie asked in disbelief.

‘Oh, it has been planned for much longer than that.’

Mallory checked his watch. ‘Still more than three hours till this place opens up. Let’s find some breakfast.’

‘Don’t you think we should be staying out of sight?’ Sophie asked.

‘Got to eat.’

‘What happens if our photos are on the morning news?’

‘We fight our way back here.’

‘You really are pig-headed.’

Mallory shrugged. ‘I don’t like hiding. It’s not in my nature. You can stay here if you want. I’ll cover you with branches.’

‘No thanks,’ Sophie replied. ‘I think I’ll come along just to hear whatever creative excuses you come up with when everything goes pear-shaped.’

‘You’re so negative.’ Mallory wandered off, whistling. ‘You need to enjoy life more.’

In the sizzling, hissing confines of a cafe patronised by early-morning workers, they ate their breakfast at a table with a clear view of the dawn-bright street.

‘I don’t understand you,’ Sophie said. ‘You actually seem happy to be doing this.’

‘Whichever way you cut it, it’s better than the life I had before. I suppose it boils down to slavery and freedom.’ He sipped his tea thoughtfully. ‘You can be a slave to all sorts of things — fear, guilt, self-loathing. You can be a slave by trying to keep yourself from feeling anything, trapped in a little world where you know all the boundaries. You throw yourself into everything the world has to offer without any fear, yeah, you suffer. You encounter a lot of bad things. But it’s exhilarating.’ He chose his words carefully. ‘We were all made to experience. Good or bad. It’s about learning. And by giving yourself up to that you become free.’

‘A philosopher, too.’ Sophie had intended the comment to be faintly sarcastic, but it came out tinged with admiration.

‘I’ve experienced so many bad things.’ Caitlin stared into Mallory’s face as if he had given her some great revelation. ‘My husband and son died, in that other life. That almost destroyed me. I want some of those other experiences. The good ones.’

Her words touched Mallory. ‘We’ll make sure you get some.’

‘I think we should move from here soon.’ Jerzy had been intently watching the street throughout the meal.

‘You’ve seen something?’ Sophie asked.

Jerzy lifted the edge of the blanket so that his mask caught the light. ‘I think I see shapes … people … but they fade like the mist.’

‘What’s up with you, then?’ A burly man with grey hair coiffured like a fifties movie star leaned across his fry-up to peer at Jerzy. ‘You in a play or something?’

‘That’s right, mate.’ Jerzy slipped into fluent cockney. ‘Have to keep the image up when I’m off the stage.’

The burly man nodded. ‘Your mask — it’s the one that old music hall star used to wear, ain’t it?’

‘That’s right. Max Masque.’ A note of warm surprise was clear in Jerzy’s voice.

‘My old man loved him. Saw him up in the Smoke when he was a kid. He still remembers some of the old routines. Wears a bit thin when you’ve heard ’em a hundred times, but keeps him happy.’

‘You can’t beat the old stuff,’ Jerzy said proudly.

Caitlin pointed past him through the window. ‘Foxes!’

Ten russet forms darted across the street, investigating one shop, then another, and another, drawing closer all the time. The burly man and the other diners were drawn by the spectacle.

‘Oh, that’s beautiful,’ Caitlin said.

‘And weird,’ Sophie added, frowning.

As the foxes crossed the street, they stepped into direct sunlight and disappeared. Sophie caught her breath. The animals reappeared in the shade on the other side of the road. ‘Yes, definitely weird. Let’s get out of here.’

The foxes’ purposeful movement turned from mesmerising to unsettling. They shimmered as they ran and often appeared mistily insubstantial. Mallory’s hand went instinctively to his side, reaching for a sword that wasn’t there.

‘Foxes,’ Caitlin said distantly. The wonder faded from her face, and her eyes narrowed. She palmed a knife from the table.

‘That won’t do much good against a …’ Mallory paused. ‘What do you call a group of foxes?’

‘Dead.’ Caitlin was still and cold.

‘You see what you get for banning hunting,’ the burly man said. ‘Bloody Labour.’

As the foxes neared the cafe, their eyes began to glow with emerald fire. They ran purposefully, their prey identified.

‘Oh dear,’ Jerzy said.

The foxes leaped as one towards the window, but instead of shattering the glass they passed through it, becoming smoke, fluidly changing shape again inside the cafe on the graceful downward arc of their leap. When they landed at the front of the cafe, they were foxes no more. Ten slim, strong, oriental men balanced athletically on their toes, poised to throw themselves forward. They wore loose-fitting brown silk, but their faces had a vulpine cast, their eyes still glowing green.

The one at the front scanned the cafe’s occupants. When his gaze fell on Mallory, Sophie, Caitlin and Jerzy, he smiled slyly.

‘Greeting,’ he said with a heavy Chinese accent, ‘from the Hu Hsien.’

To the surprise of the others, it was Jerzy who stepped forward. ‘You serve the Devourer of All Things. Like all the foulest things in Existence, you have crawled over to its side.’

The leader’s nostrils flared. ‘You dishonour us with your tone. We demand respect.’

‘Demand away,’ Mallory said.

‘Our master, the King of Foxes, received a request for aid. It was delivered with utmost respect to our Great Dominion, and so we have responded.’ He gave a small bow. ‘We know of your power and prestige in this world. We hold a great funeral once you are gone.’

‘You’re not going to stop us,’ Caitlin said.

‘Sadly, not true. You cannot be allowed to cross the boundary to the Far Lands. Your time has passed.’ His left hand snaked out from his side and touched the chest of the bemused burly man, continued through his shirt, his flesh, his bone. When the leader withdrew it, he clutched the still-beating heart. The burly man stared at it in dopey bemusement before emitting a small whimper and keeling over.