Rites of Passage (5 page)

Burns gripped his arm again, warning him to caution. A sound came from across the room, the quiet lifting of a latch. The door creaked open and a tall figure appeared briefly in the doorway. It crossed the room, illuminated by the covered lamp beside the bed. Tommy was aware of his increased heartbeat – wait till he told Ratty and Miller about this... not that they’d believe a word, of course.

Prince Albert paused by the bed. He seemed stooped, not his usual upright, imperious self. His hand went to his brow and he wept quietly. It was as if he were a broken man, and Tommy wondered what tragedy might have occurred to bring about this transformation.

He glanced up at Burns, at the weapon in his hand, and he wondered if he should leap out now and warn the Prince, for all Burns’s assurances that good was on his side.

He was wracked by indecision as he crouched behind the screen and watched as Prince Albert slowly disrobed. Soon the worthy was down to his unmentionables and his garters, and then even these had been removed – and Tommy felt grateful that the light from the bedside lamp was dim.

All that the Prince now wore was a chain about his neck, at the end of which hung a shining silver oval.

Beside Tommy, Burns murmured under his breath, “Take it off, take it off, damn you.”

After a second, as if the Prince had been contemplating whether or not to do so, he finally reached up and slipped the chain from his neck and laid it atop the pile of discarded clothing on the chair.

Tommy was aware of Burns, tensing beside him, and he knew that if he were to act, then he should do so now – or forever regret his inaction. In the event he was caught in a funk of indecision – for which, later, he was eternally grateful.

With a sickening feeling in his gut he watched as Burns leapt up, levelled the pistol at the startled Prince, and fired.

Tommy heard a hiss, whereupon the Prince, after a frozen second in which he regarded Burns with horror, toppled forwards across the bed.

In a trice Queen Victoria sat up and exclaimed, “Burns, it is done?”

Burns strode from behind the screen and examined the prostrate Albert. He gestured to his weapon. “The deed is done, your Majesty. Disaster is averted.”

The queen was sitting up in bed, clothed in night-gown and sleeping cap, and clutching a counterpane to her throat. She gave Tommy an imperious glance, which had the effect of freezing him to the marrow. “And who, might I enquire, is this?”

Burns clapped Tommy on the shoulder. “Meet Tommy Newton, your Highness, without whom the country – nay, the very world – would be in a parlous state.”

Not understanding a tenth of what was going on, Tommy nevertheless felt a glow of pride as the Queen’s gaze softened and she favoured him with a smile.

Burns was bending over a groaning Albert, who was slowly coming to his senses. He eased the Prince further onto the bed and draped the counterpane over his long form. “I think his Highness will require a spell of rest and recuperation, your Majesty. I will call anon and regale you with all the details.”

He was brought up short by her Majesty’s words, “Burns, I don’t know who you are – or more precisely
what
you are – but I feel that the gratitude of the nation is owed to you, yet again.”

Burns bowed. “I am forever in your service, ma’am,” and so saying slipped quickly from the royal bed-chamber.

Soon they were outside in the freezing night.

“And now,” Burns said, “all that remains is to return the disequaliser to the Sentinel, and all will be well with the world.”

“The Sentinel?” Tommy said. “You mean that skinny little chap in the underwater ship – and just what is he, and the disequaliser? And as for all that malarkey in the palace...”

“I will explain everything in time, Tommy.”

Tommy shuffled uncomfortably and said, “I’ll meet you again, Mr Burns?”

Burns smiled. “Meet me? Why, what makes you think you might not?” He considered for a space, and then said, “I have a proposition to make, m’boy. There is a spare room to be occupied at 25 Garnett Place, and you seem to be a handy soul to have on hand. How does a shilling a week, three square meals a day, and a bed for the night sound to you?”

Tommy stared at Burns, open-mouthed. For once in his short life, he was speechless.

~

B
urns sat before the blazing fire in his garret with Tommy stretched out on the chesterfield at sleep’s door.

The boy had finished a huge mug of cocoa, and Burns was sipping at his china cup of Earl Grey.

Now the mudlark – or should that be, the ex-mudlark? – said, “Who are you, Mr Burns, and what in the Lord’s name was that craft doing under the Thames?”

Burns smiled and took a breath. Where to begin, he wondered? Why not at the beginning?

“Who am I, Tommy? Well, I am a Guardian,” he said. “You see, the universe out there is a very big place, m’boy, and many strange and various alien races inhabit the stars beyond this one, and not all those races have the best interests of the so called ‘lesser’ races at heart. Now planet Earth and the human race are relative youngsters on the scene, unaware of the teeming cosmos beyond, and therefore must be protected from the dangers that beset it.” He paused there, then said, “Tommy?”

He looked across at the silent figure of the boy, but Tommy was fast asleep.

Smiling, Burns rose and moved to his armchair beside the window, and stared out at the night sky.

For a while he contemplated planet Earth, and the stars beyond. Then, when he was sure that Newton was sleeping soundly, he crept from the room and left the house.

~

O
ne hour later he was seated in the cushioned seat opposite the braced form of the Sentinel. He passed the disequaliser, and the manikin stowed it carefully upon the rack at his side.

“You have once again shown endeavour and initiative, Mr Burns.”

“I was not alone,” Burns reminded the shrivelled being.

“True – Tommy Newton, despite his size, his somewhat haphazard education, is... shall we say... an asset we might utilise.”

Burns smiled. “The same thought occurred to me, Sentinel. I have accordingly acquired his services.”

The Sentinel regarded Burns with a piercing gaze. “You’ve guessed, of course?”

Burns nodded. “Turqan, if I am not mistaken, is but the first?”

The Sentinel gestured wearily. “I have information to the effect that Turqan is the advance guard, that others of his kind, transporting memory crystals, are at this very second making their way across the void towards this planet. The intelligence is that they might very well be aided by other nefarious races. We need, my friend, to be vigilant in the days and weeks ahead.”

“You have my reassurance on that score,” Burns murmured.

The Sentinel nodded its over-sized head. “I will remain here and in contact for as long as this confounded gravity allows, Burns. There are others in this city who will aid you over the coming weeks. They will be in contact.”

“And they are?”

The Sentinel waved. “You will find out in time, my friend. For now, go home and rest, for the fight ahead will be long and hard.”

Presently Burns said farewell to the manikin and took his leave. He climbed from the muddy gully of the Thames and strode through the cobbled lanes towards Kensington, suddenly tired. Once he paused long enough to turn his gaze towards the massed stars, brilliant and icy overhead, and thought of home.

Then he shivered at the thought of the battle ahead, shrugged deeper into his greatcoat, and hurried to a planet far away.

I
t was dawn when we set off from beneath the twisted skeleton of the Eiffel Tower and crossed the desert to Tangiers.

We travelled by day through a blasted landscape devoid of life, and at night we stopped and tried to sleep. I’d lie in my berth and stare through the canopy at the magnetic storms lacerating the troposphere. The heat was insufferable, even in the marginally cooler early hours. When I slept I dreamed of the women I had seen in old magazines, and when I woke in the searing heat of morning and Danny started the truck on the next leg of the journey, I was silent and sullen with melancholy longing.

Two days out of Paris, heading through what Edvard informed us had once been the Auvergne, we picked up the fifth member of our party.

~

A
round sunset, as the horizon burned and a magnetic storm played out in a frenzy overhead, the truck stuttered and came to a halt. Danny hit the steering wheel. “Christ! It’s one of the main capacitors.”

“Not again?” Fear lodged in my throat. This was the third time in as many weeks that the truck had failed, and every time Danny’s desperation had communicated itself to me. He tried to disguise it, but I could see the dread in his eyes, in the shake of his hands. Without the truck, without the means to cross the ravaged land in search of water, we were dead.

Danny was our leader by dint of the fact that he owned the truck and the drilling rig, and because he was an engineer. He was in his fifties, small and lean, and despite what he’d been through he was still optimistic.

I’d never heard that word till I met Danny, four years ago.

I stared through the windscreen. We were on the edge of a city: its jagged skyline of ruined buildings rose stark against the dying light. Over the decades sand had drifted through the parks and esplanades, softening the harsh angles of the buildings, creating beautifully parabolic curves between the shattered streets and vertical walls.

“Edvard!” Danny called. “Kat!”

Edvard’s balding head appeared through the hatch. A little later, on account of her limp, Kat joined us. Her lined face wrinkled even more as she peered through the windscreen.

Danny indicated the scene before us. “Do you know what happened here?”

Edvard looked at the map on the seat between Danny and me. “Clermont-Ferrand. It wasn’t a nuclear strike. I know that much. Too small a place to be a target, nuclear or biological.”

Danny looked at him, scratching his greying beard. “So you reckon it’s safe?”

Edvard thought about it, then nodded.

Kat said, “I just hope there’s no one out there.”

Stalled like this, we’d be easy pickings for marauders – not that we’d come across any of those for years.

“Okay,” Danny said, “come on, Pierre. Let’s see what the damage is.”

I took my rifle from the locker, hung it over my shoulder, and followed Danny from the truck. Even though the sun was on its way down, the heat was ferocious: it was as if we’d stepped into an industrial oven. We walked down the length of the truck, pausing at the foot of the ladder welded onto the flank, and Danny gingerly picked open a small hatch. He pulled out a toolbox and two pairs of gloves and passed one pair to me. The rungs of the ladder would take the skin clean off our palms if we ascended unprotected.

Danny nodded, and I followed him up the side of the truck and across the top. The heat radiating from the solar arrays and the steel surface of the truck hit me in a blast. I picked my way carefully after Danny, wary of allowing the exposed flesh of my legs to get anywhere near the hot steel.

Danny stopped at the apex, hauled open an inspection cover and passed it back to me. For the next ten minutes he rooted around inside, grunting and cursing as he checked each capacitor in turn.

I unslung my rifle and scanned the darkening city, wondering what this place might have been like fifty or sixty years ago, when the streets and buildings had been full of people going about their everyday business – before the nuclear and biological wars, before the governments collapsed under the strain of trying to hold together a dying world.

I heard the hatch open below and saw Edvard limp out of the truck and across the sand to the nearest building. He paused before it, looking ragged and frail, staring up at the ruin before stepping inside

I scanned the horizon, looking for signs of life. A part of me knew it was a futile exercise. I hadn’t seen a live animal for months, or other human beings for three years now. Even so, I searched the ruins with hope, and a little dread – for if we did happen upon humans out there, then chances were that they’d be as hostile as the last lot.

“Pierre!”

I started. “Sorry, I–”

“Just pass me the cover.”

He took it from me and slipped it back into place. “Fixed?” I asked.

“For now. Don’t know how long it’ll last.” He shook his head. “But we’re lucky. If it’d been something major...”

I nodded. Danny laughed, trying to make light of his own relief. I backed down to the ground and, as Danny slipped into the truck to tell Kat not to worry herself sick, I waded through the sand towards the shattered buildings.

Edvard had moved into the shadowy interior of the nearest shell. I followed his dimpled prints in the drift and leaned in the doorway, watching him.

Edvard was Norwegian, and he’d had to explain to me what that meant, now that nations no longer existed. He’d been a doctor in Oslo before the colony died out. He was slow and wise, and as ghostly-pale as the rest of us. It was Edvard who had taught me how to read and write.

He had aged quickly in the four years I’d known him. He’d slowed down, and the flesh had fallen from his bones, and when I’d asked him if he was okay he’d just smiled and said he was fine, for an old man. I reckoned he was in his late forties.

The room was empty, but for drifts of sand, scattered paper, and a skeleton in the far corner. The bones had collapsed, and the skull had rolled onto the floor and come to rest on its right cheek; in the half-light of the room, the empty eyes seemed to be staring at us.

“Ed,” I said. “The truck’s okay. A blown capacitor. Danny fixed it.”

He turned and smiled. “Excellent.” He seemed distant, lost in thought.

“What?” I said.

He pointed at the skeleton. “I remember when I would have taken those bones, Pierre. Can you believe that? Nutrients, you see. The marrow in the bones. Boil them up, make a soup. Pretty thin, but nourishing...” He shrugged. “No good now, of course. All dried out, desiccated.”