greases my palms as I try to push myself up and I fall back. My wounds have reopened; I can see blood oozing down my arm.
Drive your spear into his throat.
If I was just on Reach’s chin, then that lump of rock I’ve headbutted is exactly where his Adam’s apple would be.
The pain in my ankle changes, becomes deeper, bloodier. There’s something sharp punching through the bone. I scream, shove myself up with one arm, raise the iron spear in the other and plunge it down into the rock.
Everything stops.
I know this because suddenly my scream is the only sound and it cuts through the air with shocking clarity. I hear no cranes, no diggers, no construction; even the wolves behind me have stopped growling (although for the one that’s got its chops wrapped around my ankle that’s not surprising; I am quite a mouthful).
My heart almost stops.
For an ecstatic, terrified moment I think, I’ve done it. I’ve killed the Crane King.
‘FIL!’
Beth’s shout rips my head around. Gears whir. A metal lanyard rotates. Suddenly all I can see is a hook on a cable, swinging in fast and low over the broken ground towards me. I try to get up, but the wolf has my ankle and anyway it’s too late.
The hook slams into my gut.
CHAPTER 51
Beth hung uselessly from the crane arm. Her warning curdled in the air, souring to a horrified, useless cry. Far below, Fil crumpled to his knees, then forward onto his elbows. The point of the hook emerged from the small of his back for an instant and then flashed out as Reach withdrew it. Blood welled at the base of his spine, gleaming wetly in the morning sun.
‘Fil,’ she echoed herself softly. ‘ Filius.’
As if answering her call, he began to pull himself arm over arm through the rubble, his legs dragging clumsily behind him, like an anchor. His spine must be severed, Beth thought. Nausea and pity welled up in her. All his nimbleness and city grace was gone. He looked as frail as a broken bird.
The Scaffwolves pawed at the masonry around him. but they didn’t attack. They snuffled at his spear for a few seconds, and then loped away.
I am Reach…
With a screech of gears and a growl of engines, the machines in the site returned to work, spewing clods of earth and rock. The motors on the crane holding Beth kicked in and her stomach plunged as she shot towards the ground.
As she dropped, she saw Reach’s expression had changed. That childish curiosity was gone; now the Crane King looked bored with her.
Her bare feet touched earth and the hook ripped itself free from her shoulder. The pain drenched her, but she gritted her teeth against it and staggered over the broken world to Fil’s side.
‘It didn’t work,’ he gasped as she knelt beside him. He sounded perplexed. His eyes lolled dangerously in his head.
‘Glas said — his throat- But it didn’t work.’ He pawed at his spear, still stuck into the ground like an empty flagpole, marking the spot where he’d failed.
‘I know,’ Beth said, ‘I know. It’s okay.’ It was nowhere close to okay, but she didn’t know what else to say to him. She pulled the railing-spear free, wormed her good arm behind his shoulders and hoisted him into an almost- standing position. She felt horribly exposed, just standing here in the heart of the site, and she didn’t trust Reach’s sudden indifference to them. The skinny boy was frighteningly light, and his legs hung lifeless under him, like a doll’s. With his arms clasped around her neck, Beth dragged him back the way they’d come. His toes etched tracks over the dusty rubble.
The wolves prowled, their hollow eyes following the fragile boy and girl, but uninterested in them.
I am Reach.
The cacophony of the diggers battered Beth like storm winds. Her arm hung prickling and cold at her side. The sleeve of her hoodie was so saturated that it drizzled blood onto the ground.
Just inside the entrance to the labyrinth she stopped, dizzy and exhausted from blood-loss. She could go no further. She propped Fil against the wall and gripped the spear in her good hand.
Why did you let us go?
She eyed the doorway mistrustfully. Almost the instant that Fil had driven the spear in, Reach had lost interest. She had seen the bored expression on that huge, infantile face, the way the wolves had snuffled at the spear shoved into their God’s throat and just left it there — because it hadn’t hurt, she realised suddenly: the spear had done nothing at all to Reach. All the Urchin Prince had done was to prove he wasn’t a threat.
Beth found herself laughing out loud, caught somewhere on the wrong side of hysteria. Reach was a baby, with a baby’s attention span. They had shown themselves to be neither novel nor dangerous, and so they weren’t of any interest.
‘Where is she?’ Fil muttered, slumped over like an empty glove puppet, his hands gripping his knees. ‘ Where is she? ’ He drew down a shuddering breath. ‘Where is she, Beth?’
‘Where’s who, mate?’ she asked. She forced lightness she didn’t feel into her voice. She didn’t know what she’d do if he gave in to despair now.
‘Where’s my mother?’ His eyes flickered and he stared at the wall, but Beth knew he was really staring east, towards Docklands and the pits of the Chemical Synod where Mater Viae was last seen.
‘She should have been here… by now… I thought-’ He was rambling. ‘I was so stupid — I thought I could be her.’ He tried to laugh, but it sputtered out after a few breaths. ‘Where is she?’
Where’s my mum? The question caught in Beth’s chest. She remembered all the desolate months she’d asked the same question. Now she smothered the question instantly whenever it arose in her mind. Awkwardly, she tried to embrace him. ‘I don’t know — I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t know.’
He laid the hot weight of his head against her shoulder and she smelled the petrol tang of his blood.
‘I wish-’ he began.
The world shook and a haze of cement dust washed down from the roof. Beth felt him tense against her.
‘ What in Thames’ name was that?’ he whispered.
Beth gently released him and propped him against the wall before sidling to the doorway. Her stomach clenched. She was half-expecting to see some new beast of Reach’s clattering towards her. Gripping the spear tight in her good hand, she ducked her head out of cover and looked — and gasped.
The whole back wall of the building site had collapsed, as though punched through with a vast fist, but that concrete barrier had been replaced by another made of stone: stone bodies. Rank upon rank of war heroes, scientists, suffragettes, leaders, even abstract geometrical shapes, hundreds of them: the Pavement Priests had come. More stoneskins than Beth had ever seen stretched back up the narrow brick alley and out of sight.
She breathed in sharply and a wild hope swelled her chest. ‘It’s Petris,’ she whispered.
The granite monk was in the front rank. When he spoke, his voice was as merciless as winter homelessness. ‘ Delenda Reach.’ The command boomed over the shattered wasteland. The Pavement Priest battalion stirred. ‘ Sic Gloria Via. Delenda Reach.’
‘ Delenda Reach.’ They took up the chant, singing it like a hymn, their voices deep, liquid. ‘ Delenda Reach.’
The warrior priests stepped forward as one, the thud of their feet the percussion to their chant. They were the guardians of the old faith, wearing skins in the shapes of London’s heroes from other times. They sang their eulogy for their fallen city.
Metal wolves and metal men and other, stranger shapes clambered from the faces of the tower blocks and
