The Ring of Five (25 page)

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became too much for him he summoned a picture of his parents--a day at the seaside with them, or a birthday party--until even these bright images began to fade, and he could call on only one picture to drive his weary limbs onward: Brunholm. That was the reason he was there. That was the reason he had sought the Ring of Five.

Many miles away Master Devoy stood on the balcony of the fourth landing of Wilsons. It was a Balcony of Distant Perception, known only to the masters of Wilsons, from which you could see great distances. But he could not penetrate the gloom over Westwald.

"What have we done, Marcus?" he said softly to himself. He went down the main staircase, his feet leading him to the Gallery of Whispers. He hesitated, then mounted the narrow stairs that brought him up to the walkway under the great dome. He tried to frame a question in his mind. He knew that the gallery would answer his question truthfully, but in a puzzle.

"Has Danny found the Ring of Five?" he asked, and waited. The question moved around the gallery as if it was passed from voice to voice in whispers, the sound of his own voice repeated many times echoing in the dome above his head. It faded as it reached the far side, then grew louder again, until, in his own voice, he heard the whispered reply:

"They have found him."

Devoy considered the answer. It told him something and it told him nothing. The web had been spun--his

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web, with Danny at the center of it. The others were in place. All he could do now was wait.

Danny did not know how many days had passed. He was sleeping, and in his dreams a Messenger swooped from the skies and deposited a parcel in his hands.

"Fish and chips," the Messenger announced, but when Danny opened it, it contained feather-conditioning powder, which he threw away in disgust. He heard voices and tried to ignore them. Then a rough hand shook him by the shoulder, and a boot kicked him in the ribs. He cried out in pain and turned to see two Cherbs standing over him.

"Get up," they commanded. "We're taking you with us."

Danny knew better than to argue. He clambered stiffly to his feet, blinking. His joints felt like those of an old man, and the skin on his hands and knees was cut and broken from clambering through tunnels. One of the Cherbs appeared to be an officer. He was taller than most of the small-statured Cherbs, perhaps six inches bigger than Danny, and there was an air of authority about him. He carried leather gloves in one hand and slapped them lightly and impatiently against the palm of the other as Danny straightened; then he set off through the tunnel, walking quickly so that workers had to jump out of his way.

The tunnel was busy--as one shift slept, another worked--and Danny could see other captives watching

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him with a look of dread mingled with relief at not being the one singled out. Danny thought about bolting away and running into the darkness, but it wouldn't do him any good. There was nowhere to go.

At the end of the tunnel there was a bank of steel-cage elevators. Danny was shoved inside one. The tall Cherb pulled a lever and the elevator juddered to life, building speed as it rose upward. The two Cherbs stood in silence, Danny dry-mouthed between them.

After what seemed an eternity, the lift stopped with a metallic clang. Danny breathed in--fresh air! Pushed from the cage, he could see the night sky, the smog gone for once, and the stars glittering against a black backdrop. It was cold, but he didn't mind. It was good to feel the crisp air in his lungs.

He was pushed across an open space toward an office, its windows covered in wire mesh. There was a dim light on inside.

"Wouldn't be in your shoes, mate," the smaller Cherb muttered.

"Quiet!" the tall one barked, his voice like a pistol shot in the cold night air. They reached the office. Danny could feel the fear from the Cherb beside him. What could be so frightening?

"Push him through the door first," the tall Cherb said.

I don't like this, Danny thought. I don't like this one bit.

The two Cherbs stood to either side. One of them

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opened the door. The other pushed Danny in. As he pitched forward onto his knees, the door slammed behind him.

He lifted his head slowly. His eyes, used to the darkness of the tunnel, found even the dim light harsh. In front of him was an old desk, and behind that a filing cabinet. Beside the filing cabinet was a tall coat stand, with brown coats hanging from it.

No. Not a coat stand.

The brown folds stirred. Danny, his knees weak with fear, realized that what he had taken for coats were enormous wings, folded round a tall thin body. And above the wings was a face. A long dark face, the color of burnished mahogany, with slanted yellow eyes and jet-black pupils. Lank strands of black hair hung to the creature's shoulders. Danny lifted his eyes to meet the yellow orbs, and he fell back, such was the force of the proud cruel stare that met his. From the folds of the wings a long skeletal arm appeared, the finger crooked, beckoning him near. Without getting off his knees, Danny shuffled forward. As he neared he could hear the creature's rasping breath. There was an odor that was musty and ancient, as of some unwholesome thing lain forgotten in a crypt.

"What ... Who are you?" Danny whispered. The creature put its head on one side, and Danny could feel its eyes move over his body, like dead things crawling on him.

"I am Conal," the creature said, its voice like that of some proud and cruel old lord. "I am Seraphim."

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The burning yellow eyes examined him. There was something familiar about them, something that Danny had seen before.... The Messengers!

"You're ... you're a Messenger," he croaked.

"Messenger?" There was cold amusement in the tone. "Perhaps. Once. But now I am Seraphim. Stand up."

Danny stood up, as though invisible strings lifted him. He sensed something strange from the Seraphim. At first Danny had felt like a worm; such was the way that the Seraphim looked down on him. But now there was something else in the Seraphim's eyes--almost respect. Don't let it see you are afraid, he thought.

"What are you looking at me like that?" Danny kept the fear out of his voice.

"You are as they described you," the Seraphim replied.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Danny's voice sounded shrill in his own ears, but the Seraphim regarded him gravely.

"You are clever," he said, "and you feel the power of the Five. And there is anger too, and bitterness. But all of those things would be of no avail if you did not have the Mark of the Fifth."

"What's that?" Danny tried to sound as if he was indifferent.

"Your eyes and your face. The Fifth was half human and half Cherb. His descendant was always one of the Ring of Five. The line was lost. It may now be found." There was harsh excitement in Conal's voice.

"If I am this ... this Fifth"--Danny made his voice

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harsh and cold--"why did you put me down a hole to dig filth with rabble?"

"We did not know. One of the Seraphim told us that someone had been asking for Rufus Ness and the Ring. It was only when I heard your description. If it is true ..."

"Longford," Danny said, in a voice that did not seem to be his own. "Take me to Longford."

For a moment he thought he had gone too far. The creature's wings shot high in the air. The Seraphim loomed over him like a giant winged insect. He was enfolded by the wings and the scent of decay as Conal brought his face close to Danny's. Danny allowed everything that he felt about Brunholm to show in his face, even as the Seraphim's hissing breath filled his ears. He couldn't bear the weight of Conal's searching gaze. Then suddenly the Seraphim rose to his full height and Danny heard him call the Cherbs.

"Bring me food and something to drink," Danny said in his new hard voice.

"Be quick," the Seraphim hissed. "The Ring awaits."

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THE FORTRESS OF GRIST

The Cherbs brought water and sandwiches containing a pink meat. Danny didn't dare ask what it was, but he wolfed them down, along with the fresh water, some of which he saved to wash his face. There was a small mirror in the office and he looked at himself in it. His face was thinner and harder--he looked more like a real Cherb than ever. He was amazed to see that his overcoat was clean. He had refused to take it off despite the heat of the tunnel, and now felt reassured that he had it, along with all the gear in the pockets--the Cherbs had searched him, but, true to its nature, the Marburg coat had appeared empty.

He tried to take his time, aware of the waiting Seraphim, the golden eyes following him impatiently, the hissing breath filling the room. But at last he stood up.

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"Time to go," he said, as if the Seraphim had been holding him up.

"More than time," Conal said, throwing the door open. Outside, the waiting Cherbs shrank away from them.

"Put your arms around my waist from behind," the Seraphim said. Danny hesitated, then did as he'd been told, finding his face pressed into the Seraphim's feathered back, the odor almost unbearable.

"Don't let go," Conal warned. With a dozen powerful strokes of the wings, Danny found himself aloft, clinging grimly to the Seraphim's bony sides as the ground fell away. He was flying from danger into even deadlier peril, but he shut his eyes, and for a moment remembered the time he had clung to Les's back and glided from the Roosts to the ground, and the way they had laughed. And he grinned to himself, remembering how Vicky the siren had charmed the old Messenger into flying. How long ago had that been? A week? A month? He no longer knew. The Seraphim gave a harsh cry as he flew over cold sleeping Westwald, and Danny awoke from his thoughts of friendship and remembered that he was clinging to an evil beast, flying through the frozen skies of a hostile city, on his way to meet a spy ring of terrible power.

The flight did not last long. He was aware of the slumbering city under him. They flew by two great factory chimneys belching sulfurous yellow smoke. Then, without warning, they were above the grim bulk of the fortress of Grist. There were towers around the perimeter, hard and cold. The high walls were topped with spikes. Inside

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the walls there were armories, parade grounds, barracks, cookhouses, firing ranges, factories and, interspersed with the others, windowless stone buildings, their walls stained with age. All the buildings were roofed with the same gray slate. All had metal doors and gun slits cut into the walls. The fortress, Danny thought, must have spread across the top of the small hill over hundreds of years. He felt a shiver run down his spine, a dark thrill. He was so close to the Ring.

There was a green square at the center of the fortress, and it was this that Conal was aiming for. They were gliding downward, across the tops of ancient beech and chestnut trees, toward the square, with its well-cut lawns and redbrick buildings. Swooping through low branches, the Seraphim landed gently on his feet. With huge relief Danny slid to the ground. He did not see the figure watching them from a mullioned window at the far end of the square, a coffee cup in his hand.

"Where are we?" Danny asked.

"Suzerrain Longford's residence," Conal replied. "Follow me."

The building was not what he had expected as part of the fortress of Grist. He followed Conal through a low stone doorway, emerging into a hallway that was homely in a shabby way. There were oil paintings of smiling men and women on the walls, and a worn carpet over polished floorboards. A narrow staircase led off the hall, and Conal mounted it. In the shadows, with his wings folded around him, he looked like some kind of sinister statue.

They went up to the second floor and paused in front

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of a wooden door. Danny could feel his heart hammering in his chest.

Before they had a chance to knock, the door swung open. Suzerrain Longford stood before them--but instead of the proud and shrewd man from the portrait in Wilsons, here was a smiling, boyish-looking man with warm blue eyes and a flap of hair that fell over his eyes so he had to push it back with his hand.

"Danny!" Longford cried, seizing his hand and wringing it warmly. "I'm so glad to meet you. Sorry about that awful old tunnel. Between you and me, I can't say I approve of the Cherbs' methods, but we're stuck with them for the time being. Come in, come in!"

He threw out his arms to welcome Danny into the room, knocking over a vase, which Danny caught and replaced without Longford's seeming to notice.

"Thank you, Conal, thank you," Longford said distractedly. The Seraphim loomed in the doorway, then disappeared.

"Sit down." Longford waved to a comfortable-looking armchair beside a glowing fire. The small room was decorated with flower-patterned wallpaper, and there were drawings of country scenes on the wall and golf trophies on the mantelpiece.

Longford poured a cup of coffee for Danny and pushed a plate of hot buttered muffins toward him.

"You're looking at me a little strangely," Longford said. "Ah, yes--you've seen the portrait in the library at Wilsons. Not really me at all--the painter tried to jazz me up a bit. How's Master Devoy getting on? We fell out,