Ruins (28 page)

He clutched the Drujblade at his belt.

“Remarkable,” Sam said, peering around the tunnel. “Some myth. People used to say they were used by the monks when the Abbey was still standing. Supposedly there’s a network of them under the entire town. If the stories are true, you could cross the whole of Bury without ever seeing a soul. Apparently they were sealed off at some point. Forgotten about.”

“Somebody remembered,” Nicholas said.

“Let’s go. And, lad–” Sam tapped his nose. Nicholas nodded his understanding. Cautiously, they worked their way through the catacombs. It felt like they were foraging through the dried-up arteries of the Earth itself. Nicholas wondered where they were in relation to the town. Were they heading toward the Market Square? Or nearer to Aileen’s safehouse? It was impossible to tell as the tunnel wove on.

“Do you think he’ll do it?” Nicholas whispered when he couldn’t bear the blood thumping in his ears any longer.

“What?”

“Raise them. The Dark Prophets.”

Sam’s shoulders stiffened and the pounding in Nicholas’s ears quickened.

“No,” the old man whispered gruffly. “He’ll fail just like the rest.”

“Other people have tried it?”

“Course. Any adept or Prophet worshipper worth their weight has tried to resurrect the Prophets; or at least claimed to. Fools. It’s nothing more than an arrogant endeavour to inspire awe in those around them.”

“And they all failed?”

“We’re still here, aren’t we, eh?”

The thought reassured him until Nicholas thought of Laurent. No matter what anybody said, he didn’t seem crazy. An extremist, definitely, but not a madman. Not somebody with a convoluted plan that served only to set him apart from the other servants of the Prophets. He was deadly in his intelligence. You could tell that from his predatory glare and the way he carried himself, as if the secrets of creation were in his keeping.

And Laurent wanted the girl. Possibly had her already. That was the most important part. Laurent had searched for her just as, Nicholas presumed, Esus had. How long had Esus looked for her? Ever since he chose Jessica as his successor? That was almost five-hundred years.

Sam made a hushed sound and came to a standstill before him.

The passage divided into three. They could carry on straight ahead, follow it to the right, or go left. The final option seemed the least likely; the tunnel appeared to make a U-turn and run parallel to the one they were already in.

Nicholas paused. A familiar, uncomfortable prickling stirred in the pit of his stomach and he felt drawn to the tunnel on his left. Cautiously, he peeked around the corner.

His grip on the Drujblade tightened.

Two figures stood on either side of a circular door. A man and a woman. The passageway was short and unlit, ending in a dusty round door with an ornate, hammered-iron lock. Nicholas was thankful that he and Sam weren’t visible from this angle. The odd couple must be Harvesters. They were festooned in weaponry. Daggers hung from their belts and the woman had a sword mounted on her back. The man clenched a blood-stained whip.

There’s something in there
, Nicholas thought.

He stared at the cobwebby door that the Harvesters were guarding. It was fashioned out of black wood with large, dull rivets. Neglected. Something important resided inside. The prickling in his stomach confirmed it. Nicholas’s skin crawled, as if snakes were slithering all over him.

Sam tapped his shoulder and jerked his thumb to the side. Nicholas nodded. He followed Sam’s back down the tunnel to the right, out of view of the Harvesters. This one was brighter. There was a glow ahead and the drone of voices. Nicholas thought he was imagining it at first, but the sound grew louder as they walked. His insides shuddered with dread.

What now?
he wondered.

Sam raised the rifle, which Nicholas took as a sign of impending danger. He drew the Drujblade from its sheath. If only he didn’t have his stupid arm in a cast. When he was younger, he’d thought kids with casts were cool. Now he understood how annoying they really were. Potentially life-threatening, too, in his case. He was a one-armed fighter and not by choice.

He snapped to as the hum of voices was replaced with a sharp tone that whistled through the catacombs.

There was no mistaking the voice. It was Laurent.

The tunnel was deserted, though. Where was he?

Nicholas and Sam edged further toward the voice. Nicholas couldn’t help feeling they should be turning around and running in the opposite direction. They were here now, though. Why had they come into the tunnels if they were just going to retreat when they found Laurent? They had to find out what he was up to. Nicholas hoped it wouldn’t hurt. He glimpsed the end of the passage. Dark red curtains obscured whatever lay beyond. There were no guards, which only served to increase Nicholas’s unease. What was going on?

Sam went ahead. He turned to the side, rifle raised, and put an eye to the gap in the drapes. His expression was as unreadable as ever. Nicholas crouched next to him and Sam raised his finger to his lips before letting Nicholas peek inside.

A sickly radiance struggled to illuminate a congregation of people. Not people.
Harvesters
. The chamber had a low ceiling but it was large enough to fit at least fifty of them – and a stage to the back. The figure on the stage surveyed his audience down his long, straight nose, bright eyes glittering. The soupy light was cast by mottled bronze lamps that Nicholas imagined had once held candles, but were now hooked up to a power supply. There was a dull buzz in the air. The crackle and moan of electricity.

“This night belongs to us.”

Laurent’s voice swept over the audience. Variously scarred and blade-bearing, each Harvester sneered or hunched against his or her neighbour. Nicholas realised this must be why only two Harvesters had been spared to guard the peculiar door they had passed – nobody wanted to miss Laurent’s address.

“We were born into the night, and it is the night that we shall reclaim,” Laurent called. He wore a dark red jacket and he looked just as Nicholas remembered him from that day in the Abbey Gardens. Sharp shoulders were drawn back arrogantly, blond hair swept up from a brooding brow. “We shall be the first to succeed where others have failed. We are the children of the Dark Prophets. Blades, fire, poison. None shall stop us, for we are the undying things of night and nightmare. We are possessed of enough might and wisdom to raise the Prophets in all their majesty.”

The Harvesters jostled together in eagerness, heads craned, nostrils flaring.

For a moment, Nicholas glimpsed what they must see in Laurent. A man of such confidence that it seemed he could achieve anything. Nicholas shivered. Laurent’s words were as purple as his lips, but every Harvester appeared to have fallen under their spell.

“The Tortor will rise,” Laurent said. “The Tortor will rise and the skies will rain blood and ash.”

A cheer arose. Blades jabbed the air and Nicholas wished he was far, far away from here.

Tortor
, he thought. Just what was it? Whatever it was, it appeared to be crucial to Laurent’s plan.

Laurent surveyed the crowd. He tipped his head, appearing to listen to something other than the adoration of his assembled devotees.

“They whisper to me,” he said softly when the cheering had subsided. “They see each and every one of you. They are the disseminators of every dark thought that was ever turned into action. It is Their desire that stabs and strangles and drowns. You are Their fists. You have been chosen.”

He stopped again, listening to something that nobody else could hear. The sneering grin that split his face made Nicholas shudder.

“We have guests,” Laurent called over the collected Harvesters. He looked right at the gap in the curtain where Nicholas was peeking through. “Welcome, Nicholas and Samuel.”

Nicholas’s knees almost buckled. Every single head swivelled toward where he and Sam were listening.

“Nicholas, run!” Sam hissed. He tore the curtain aside, pointing the rifle into the room and firing at the first Harvester that lurched toward them.

“Seize them,” Laurent commanded calmly.

There was an explosion of smoke and blood as Sam fired again, followed by the peal of angry shrieks. Together, Nicholas and Sam hurried back the way they had come. The old man paused a moment to fire once more. Bricks erupted violently.

Still the Harvesters surged forward.

Nicholas staggered down the tunnel. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a large Harvester swing a leather-strapped fist at Sam. The elderly man ducked out of the way and the knuckles scuffed his temple.

“Sam!”

Nicholas’s voice echoed in the passage. A sea of eyes flashed in his direction.

“Run, boy!” Sam yelled, fighting a raging tide of fists and blades. He was caught. The Harvesters closed around him and Nicholas couldn’t see him anymore. Gritting his teeth, he charged at the mass of bodies, slashing blindly with the Drujblade. He heard muffled grunts and felt something hot and wet. The blade was stuck, so he wrenched it free.

Then his feet left the ground.

He was in the air, gripped by one of the Harvesters. The large one who had struck Sam.

“NO!” Nicholas cried. Pain ricocheted through his broken arm as it was crushed to his chest. He felt bone scraping bone and weakness engulfed him, rendering him useless.

“Come, come,” Laurent’s voice drawled. “Welcome to our gathering.”

Through a bright haze of pain, Nicholas saw that they weren’t in the tunnel anymore. Sallow light ebbed from the bronze lamps and Nicholas found himself on the stage. The Harvester set him back on his feet. His arm throbbed, felt boneless and heavy. Then Laurent’s bright blue eyes loomed closer, scrutinising him coolly, and Nicholas knew there was no escape.

“Young Nicholas, how wonderful to see you again. You’re still recovering. Funny how cumbersome a broken arm can be. You must feel so fragile. A cub with an injured paw.”

Sam. Where’s Sam?
he thought.

“You survived the aledites.” Nicholas couldn’t tell if there was admiration or annoyance in Laurent’s tone. “Few would have; fewer still in such fine form. You have mettle, boy.”

The nausea began to subside, overtaken by fear, and Nicholas saw that Sam was standing a few feet behind him. His hat was missing and his arms were behind his back, held fast by a woman with dark, curly hair. She hissed something in Sam’s ear.

Laurent reached a hand out, fingers splayed.

“Stay back,” Nicholas growled, fumbling at his belt. The Drujblade was gone. What had happened to it? He must have dropped it during the scuffle. He was utterly defenceless. A mouse in a nest of rats. All he could do was hug his broken arm and push his chin out defiantly.

Don’t show the fear. They’ll eat you alive.

Laurent laughed. “Bravery eh?” he said. “The size of the fight in the dog is what matters. You’re an example to us all.”

“You’re sick,” Nicholas spat. His head cleared as the throbbing in his arm dulled.

Laurent’s amusement only seemed to increase at the insult. He reminded Nicholas of a swarthy gameshow host – there to entertain the audience no matter what.

“Sickness,” Laurent said firmly, “is nothing to trivialise, young man. Take the Sentinels. The corruption there is quite something. If you knew anything about your own history, you’d understand a thing or two about sickness. Did you know that certain Sentinels drill holes in their foreheads? They believe it will open their third eye and a direct line to the Trinity.”

A few of the Harvesters spat on the ground and heckled.

“They–” Nicholas began.

“Others hack off their ears and cut out their tongues, believing it will enable them to hear the Trinity’s secret whispers,” Laurent interrupted with all the importance of a world-weary teacher. “And that’s just the self-mutilation. What they’ve done to those you might consider ‘innocent’ is even more disturbing.”

“Lies.” Sam’s voice gruffed over Nicholas’s shoulder.

“Samuel.” Laurent regarded the old man with undisguised disdain. “Still fighting after all these years. You just don’t know how to die, do you? You must tell me your secret.”

Secrets
. Nicholas found himself thinking back to the night he’d encountered Laurent in the Abbey Gardens.
“Secrets between friends can be deadly,”
he’d said. What had he meant by that?

“Bury St Edmunds is fascinating, don’t you think?” Laurent continued. He seemed to like the sound of his own voice. “The power emanating from the Abbey ruins is remarkable. It’s one of the most powerful sites in the country. Which is, of course, why we’re here. Surely you can feel it?”

Sam didn’t answer.

“Nicholas? No? A pity. It really is invigorating, especially here in these catacombs. You can practically hear the earth’s heartbeat.”

He turned to address the Harvesters.

“The Prophets have surrendered a gift this night,” he called over the crowd. Nicholas imagined he could see black thoughts polluting the space above their heads. Their eyes were on him and Sam. A young Harvester wet his lips and pressed a thumb-ring with a spike to his cheek.