Our Lady of the Streets (The Skyscraper Throne) (5 page)

Beth forgot herself and put a street-laced hand over her mouth, but it was the man in the turban who spoke.

‘My God. They’re just leaving them.’

The soldiers splashed and struggled, flailing their arms like children who didn’t know how to swim. They were up to their necks now, the vehicles invisible under them. Pen could almost read their lips as they prayed and begged and fought for breath.

Their outstretched fingers less than two feet from the
pavement, one by one, they slipped below the surface.

No one spoke. Pen switched off the TV. She turned to Beth, looking for someone to share her horror, but Beth wasn’t looking at her. She was bent over, crooked, staring at the floor.

Beth’s hand was still clamped across her mouth, but cupped, as though to catch something, and from between her fingers a liquid the colour of asphalt was dripping with a
plack plack plack
sound onto the marble floor.

Steeped in shock, the people in the crowd didn’t even notice when the scar-faced Asian girl grabbed her quiet friend by the front of her hoodie and dragged her out onto the fire stairwell.

Pen pushed Beth down onto the steps and squatted in front of her. Ignoring her friend’s weak attempts to bat her away, she put a hand behind Beth’s head, under the slick rubber cable of her hair and eased her backwards. Then she prised Beth’s hand from her face.

The tiny streets that marked the frown-lines at the edge of Beth’s mouth were brimming with liquid asphalt; the stuff seeped slowly out of them like blood from scraped open scabs.

‘Crap,’ Pen muttered. She hesitated, then struggled out of her jumper and slapped it against Beth’s cheek. ‘Hold that there. I’m getting Glas.’

Beth shook her head weakly, but Pen turned away and was halfway down the first flight of stairs before she heard the city-rumble of her friend’s new voice. ‘
Pen, it
’
s okay. They
’
ll re-clot. They always do
.’

Pen turned back slowly, a prickle crawling across her neck as she climbed back to the landing. ‘Always?’ she said, her voice taut. ‘What do you mean, “
always
”, B?’

Beth stared up at her from under heavy lids, the jumper still clamped to her face like an icepack. She didn’t say anything.

‘You know what?’ Pen said. ‘I’ve had about enough of this sealed-lip stuff. We never used to keep secrets.’

Beth’s lips curled upwards, but didn’t part as she said, ‘
Once upon a time, you told me we should have
.’

‘Yeah, well, I’ve changed my mind.’

‘
Why?
’

‘Because we’re crap at it!’ Pen snapped. ‘B, you’ve been shambling around looking sicker than my mum did after chemo – what, you think I haven’t noticed?’ Pen actually put her hands on her hips. ‘How many doctors am I related to, Beth?’

Beth smiled despite herself. ‘
About four thousand at last count
.’

‘So do I know sick when I see it?’

‘
I know you do
.’

‘And I know
you
know, which is why I’ve been trying not to say anything. Because I figured you didn’t want to talk about it, but,
but
 …’ Pen clutched at the air as all her anger and frustration came bubbling up into her chest.

‘
… fuck
, B! How can you
not
want to talk about it? I’m your best friend. You and me – together we’ve seen – we’ve, we’ve
done
—’ She gestured helplessly at Beth’s street-etched
cheeks, and then her hands dropped to her sides. ‘We always find each other, at the end of the day, you know?’

Beth nodded haltingly.

‘B, I’ve been trying. I’ve been trying to trust you, to make it your call. You’re obviously hurting and I don’t want to add to that, but … I’m sorry, but I can’t, not any more. You have to tell me, B. You have to
talk
to me.’

Beth bit her lower lip, and Pen mirrored the gesture, feeling the tougher consistency of the reconstructed skin between her teeth.

‘
I
’
m sick
,’ she mumbled. She shrugged, staring at the ground like a grumpy kid.

‘That far I’d got. Sick how, B? Sick
why
?’

Beth looked up. The light in her irises was dim. ‘
Because She made me so
.’

Pen didn’t have to ask who ‘She’ was.
She
was Mater Viae – the only other being to ever look at her with eyes like that.

‘How?’ she said.

‘
She infected the streets, and every time I feed from them, a little bit of their sickness seeps into me
.’ Beth’s mouth twisted into a tight, bitter smile and the voice emerged from her body in a growl of heavy machinery. ‘
Fever Streets, Tideways, what just happened to those soldiers – who do you think this is all aimed at, Pen?
’

‘Glas said he didn’t know.’

‘
He
’
s right. He doesn
’
t
.’ Beth exhaled heavily. ‘
But I do. I can feel Her malice in every brick, every stone, every scrap of concrete. Her mirror-sister ruled this city for centuries and no one was any
the wiser, but
She’s
only been here five minutes and She
’
s tearing the place apart with the plague – but why?
’

Pen shook her head mutely. She didn’t know.

‘
She
’
s doing it to
punish
us, Pen
.’ The word was a sudden plaintive shriek of train brakes. ‘
Not attack
, punish.
It
’
s aimed at me, yes, but more than that, at
them,
for believing in me: Glas, and Zeke, and Petris, and the Lampies, and everyone else She thinks should be hers
.’

Beth buried her face in her hands, but her voice didn’t break. ‘
The city
’
s been weaponised. She
’
s turned it against us. She is so, so much stronger than me, and we
’
re all out of allies, and now …
’ Only now did Beth falter. ‘
Now She knows it
.’

Pen struggled to swallow ‘What do you mean, “now”?’ she asked.

‘
She saw it
,’ Beth said. ‘
Through the eyes of Her Street-Serpent yesterday. Thames, Pen, I could barely run! If She ever works out where we are, She
’
ll come at us with everything She
’
s got
.’

Pen spread her hands in exasperation. She couldn’t believe she was having to say this. ‘Then don’t
be
here.’ She almost laughed at the simplicity of it. ‘If the city’s making you sick, then bloody well leave it!’

‘
I can
’
t
.’

‘Why not?’

‘
BECAUSE I HAVE TO FIND A WAY TO STOP HER!
’ Beth’s shout had the sudden violence of a car crash.

Pen fell back a step, but then she saw Beth’s expression: not angry but desperate, pleading for Pen to understand.

‘
Thames and Christ, Pen, you
’
ve met Her. You
’
ve looked into Her
eyes. You really think if I bail tonight it
’
ll all be hugs and cocoa and making up for the rest of
’
em tomorrow? You really think She
’
ll forgive them? Pen – they’re our friends, and they
’
re trusting me to save them from Her. They
’
ve put their faith in me
.’

‘Don’t lecture me on faith, Beth,’ Pen snapped. ‘You never understood it. They’re trusting you to save them? You said it yourself: She’s stronger. You really think you’re keeping faith with them by lying to them about that?’

She took a half-step closer to Beth and the diesel scent of her best friend filled her nostrils. ‘You’re right, Beth,’ she said. She held Beth’s gaze with her own. ‘I’ve looked into Her eyes. I’ve seen what She’s capable of, far closer up than you have, and I’m telling you, if this creature’s coming for you, you
run
.’

She searched for Beth’s hand; took it; threaded her fingers with Beth’s. ‘You run for your dad, and …’ She hesitated. ‘You run for your mum. Please, Beth, you run for
me
.’

But Beth wouldn’t meet her gaze. ‘
Pen, I can
’
t. I can
’
t do that to them
.’

‘Beth,’ Pen said in as even a voice as she could, ‘if you stay, this sickness – will it kill you?’

‘
Yes
.’

The determination in that one word chilled Pen. She heard Beth’s insistence on staying, her insistence on
dying
, and everything felt unstable. The thought of that loss filled her like a vacuum.

They put their faith in me.

Just like she had.

And just like that, Pen knew what she needed to do. She squeezed Beth’s hand, then released it and turned back down the steps.

‘
Pen, where are you going?
’

Even though her voice was made of engines and turbines and smoke, the fear in it was almost palpable. It made Pen’s stomach clench. But she had known Beth for a long time and she knew she wouldn’t change her mind, not as long as she thought people were depending on her. Whatever other changes the bizarre alchemy moving through her friend had wrought, one thing at least was the same: she was still more afraid of letting people down than she was of getting herself killed.

She looked back over her shoulder. ‘To see the friends you’re waiting on. Maybe they’ll be able to talk some sense into you when they know what’s happening to you.’ She took the first two steps slowly, then something broke inside her and she ran, half expecting at every step for Beth’s street-laced hand to clamp down on her shoulder before the next.

She was breathless by the time she reached the kitchen. Gutterglass had company. Now a woman, the old trash-spirit was pointing at one of the latest symptoms on the map with a ludicrous fake fingernail stuck to the end of a carrot broken in the places where the knuckles ought to be.

Two statues flanked her. The one carved into the form of a limestone angel was in considerably better repair. Ezekiel’s face was turned to Gutterglass in an expression of bored but saintly patience. The second statue was a granite monk with lichen patching him like mould.
His
face was hidden by the jut of his carved hood, but Pen knew his eyes were the first to track her as she burst in.

‘Kid’ – as ever, Petris’ voice sounded like he was gargling rock salt and it was pissing him off – ‘what do you want?’

‘Petris, don’t be such an arse.’ The rebuke came from behind Pen and she jumped as she realised there was a fourth figure in the room.

She turned, and her heart lurched to see Paul Bradley,
Beth’s dad, smiling his worried smile. His wide cheeks had turned pink in the heat put out by Gutterglass’ burners.

‘Is everything all right, Parva?’ he asked.

Pen felt unbalanced by his presence. She hesitated. She couldn’t do this, not in front of him. He was Beth’s dad; it would be too cruel. She heard brick-soled feet in the corridor outside and a green glow showed through the bubbled glass in the doors, growing brighter with every step. She felt a sick kind of relief. She’d lost her chance; Beth was here and she’d stop her, and then she would stay and keep her secret and die here, Beth would die and—

‘Beth’s dying,’ she blurted just as the door swung open again, framing her best friend. Beth’s city-face was etched in a kind of sad resignation.

‘W-w-what?’ Paul Bradley’s lower jaw was trembling, making him stammer. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What’s happening to the city,’ Pen said, ‘it’s happening to her too, in that new skin of hers.’

There was a long silence. Petris shifted, his stone feet grinding over the tiles. And now Pen could see his eyes, the way the mica glittered in them as he stared at her. ‘Urbosynthesis,’ he grunted.

Then the air blurred and he was suddenly facing Gutterglass. The trash-spirit put a hand to the front of her makeshift dress as Petris demanded, ‘Why in the fucking River’s name didn’t you tell us, Glas?’

‘Why?’ Gutterglass countered mildly. ‘What precisely would you have done, old man? Vibrate with worry against
the inside of that rock suit of yours until you liquefied yourself? The only one of us qualified to act on the information is me, and I am already acting on it. Trust me,’ she added, with a brittle smile. ‘I’m a doctor.’

Pen stared at her, remembering the frenzied energy with which she’d attacked the diagnosis of the city, the dozens of hands that must have been so exhausting for her to animate, the way she never slept. She remembered, too, that though the two statue-skinned men she stood by were both members of the priesthood, their zeal had never matched Gutterglass’. She’d lied for her faith and betrayed people for it, and ultimately she had cradled all the scraps of it that were left in her garbage hands and put it all in the girl who was now embracing her shaking father a few feet away.

Most of all, Pen remembered the cold anger in Gutterglass’ voice as she’d said, ‘
Faith I
’
m all out of, and not freshly, I
’
m afraid
.’

‘You told her.’ Pen sounded stunned, even to herself, as she turned to face Beth. ‘Her, but not him’ – she nodded at Paul, who tightened his embrace on his daughter – ‘her, but not me.’

Beth stayed within her dad’s arms as she said, ‘
Like she said, Pen, she
’
s a doctor
.’

Pen swallowed. She felt like she was going to be sick. She was panicking. She looked at tearful Paul Bradley and at Beth, and then she turned back to Gutterglass. She’d lost control. There was no making this right; there was only what she’d come down here to do.

‘As a doctor then, you have to tell her to go,’ she demanded. ‘It’s the city that’s making her sick – she can’t save you, none of you. She needs to leave. Tell her to go, all of you!’ she demanded, looking from face to unreadable face. ‘She needs to hear it from you, so tell her to get out. She won’t listen to me,’ she snarled, ‘so you have tell her to go!’

That last shout seemed to suck all the noise out of the room and left a heavy silence in its wake. Pen’s vision blurred. She felt moisture streak down her face. She tasted salt.

‘
I told you, Pen
,’ Beth was speaking as gently as she could. ‘
I can
’
t
.’

‘But … but why not?’ Pen didn’t understand. ‘They know now – they
know
. If you stay, in a few days or weeks or months you’ll be dead and then they won’t have anyone to protect them anyway. So what are you staying for?’

‘
A few days, or weeks, or months
,’ Beth said. She left off hugging her dad, but left a hand on his arm. ‘
You
’
re right, Pen: the city is killing me. Every time I feed on it it makes me sicker – but that doesn
’
t magically mean I can live off anything else. London
’
s become my substance, Pen. If I step off these streets, I starve
.’

Her green eyes reluctantly met Pen’s teary gaze. ‘
That
’
s what I couldn’t tell you, Pen. That
’
s what I didn
’
t know how to say – not that I
’
m sick, but that there
’
s no way for me to get better
.’

Pen stared at her. She lifted a hand towards her, but it felt clumsy, useless, and she let it drop.

‘Oh, B,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Beth came to her then and wrapped her arms around her. Pen returned the hug fiercely, feeling the warmth of their cheeks next to each other, street to scar. Something bubbled up in her chest and Pen was mortified to find she was laughing and there was nothing she seemed to be able to do about it. ‘I’m sorry, I just … don’t know what I … I thought I was … I—’ She managed to fight her breath back under control. ‘I’ve really screwed this up, haven’t I?’

Beth shook, laughing silently herself. ‘
Yeah, a little bit. It
’
s okay, Pen
.’

Behind her, Pen heard stone grinding against stone as the Pavement Priests moved. ‘This doesn’t leave the room,’ Petris was saying. ‘If it gets out we’ll have fifty per cent desertion by sun-up and we’ll lose the rest before Monday.’

‘Gutterglass’ – this was Ezekiel’s haughty drawl – ‘does your expertise with chemicals run to a memory solution?’

‘A crude one,’ Glas replied, in a tone that suggested she was making a show of modestly inspecting her nails. ‘I’m not Johnny Naphtha, but I can manage a little amnesia if pressed.’

‘Consider yourself pressed,’ Ezekiel said. ‘Best prepare several doses, just in case. If word gets out, it would be nice to have at least a chance of containing it.’

‘Who do you think’s going to tell?’ Paul Bradley asked.

‘I couldn’t possibly say, but there are six of us now who know, and that’s usually five more than can keep a secret for any length of time. Isn’t that right, dear seneschal?’ he added to Gutterglass with a waspish snap. ‘You’re our resident expert on secrets.’

Pen barely heard all this; she was focused on stalling the tremor in her limbs, focused on breathing in and out, slowly and regularly. ‘Forgive me?’ she whispered to Beth. She was still holding her.

‘
Of course, Pen. Always
,’ Beth answered.

‘Okay.’ Pen looked at Beth’s dad. His face looked bruised, swollen with grief, and to her shame she felt herself recoil from it.

‘I’m going to leave you and your dad to …’ She faltered. ‘I’ll be back upstairs afterwards if you want to talk.’

‘
No
,’ Beth said in her shushed tyre whisper. ‘
You won
’
t
.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘
You have to go, Pen
.’

Pen’s heart thudded in her chest. She pulled back against Beth’s hug and felt Beth’s concrete-textured fingers come away from the back of her neck. ‘Beth, I’m sorry, I really am. But it’s me – you can trust me. Please don’t do this.’

Beth looked puzzled for a moment, then her eyes widened in appalled sympathy. ‘
You think I
’
m
punishing
you? God, Pen, no! I would never … It
’
s just – you were right.’

Pen shook her head, not understanding. It was like there was a sudden loss of air pressure in the room. Beth sounded muffled; she could barely hear her.

‘
If She
’
s coming for you, you run. You said that, and you were right. But we can
’
t
.’ The light from Beth’s gaze fell on Petris, Ezekiel and Gutterglass in turn. ‘
We
’
re
of
the City, all of us. We have nowhere else to go
.’ Her gaze came finally back to Pen. ‘
But you do
.’

‘B, please don’t do this—’

But Beth’s right hand had already dipped into Pen’s pocket, quick as smoke, and now she held it out in front of her. Resting in the cross-hatched grey palm was a glass sphere, no larger than an ordinary marble. A ribbon of dark images twisted through the heart of it like a stormcloud. ‘
Take it to the Chemical Synod and sell it to Johnny Naphtha. Get your parents
’
memories back. Go to them. It’s time to leave us behind
.’

Pen just stood there, blinking and stammering and feeling like a fool and not managing to say anything.

‘
Go home, Pen
.’

Pen stared at her, shaking her head, not even in denial, just astonishment. ‘You are my home,’ she said at last.

Beth flinched, but didn’t look away.

‘B, I already made this choice.

‘
Make it again
.’

Pen felt sick and heavy, like she’d drunk liquid lead. ‘If I don’t,’ she asked, ‘what are you going to do? Have Petris throw me out?’

Beth didn’t answer. The muscles in Pen’s stomach locked up. She felt humiliated.

‘If you do this,’ she said, ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you.’

Beth pursed her lips. She was weighing the threat, taking it perfectly seriously. ‘
If it will keep you alive
,’ she said at last, ‘
I can live with that
.’

‘Screw you, Beth,’ Pen mumbled around a throat full of
tears. ‘You aren’t the one who’ll have to.’ She snatched Goutierre’s Eye from Beth’s hand and shoved past her to the door. She stumbled on the steps and the glass Eye clacked loudly on the stone as she put her hands out to catch herself. Blurrily, out of the corner of her eye she saw a little pile of cigarette ash and the ground-out dog-end of a roll-up, but she barely registered it. She pushed herself back up and with an angry burst of energy threw herself onwards.