wrong step meant plummeting to the ground far below?
Crawling to the edge of the platform, he peered around. There was no sign of where the maze began. Leaning out, eyes screwed shut, he flailed about but felt only thin air.
From his jacket, he pulled the can of spray paint he had bought in a convenience store on the way from Grand Central Terminal. He had no idea if it would work. Reaching out again, he sprayed a small amount. The paint particles were caught by the wind.
Edging along the platform, he tried again. When he was near the end of the second side, some paint remained, frozen in the air. With relief, he sprayed a strip extending out from the platform. The first steps of the maze were revealed.
That was the easy part. Steeling himself, Church stood up and stepped into the gulf. His heart flipped and his knees buckled, but the maze held his weight.
Away from the platform, the vertigo was even more debilitating. He felt as if he was suspended in the air, with nothing beneath his feet but the street far below. An overwhelming sensation of falling made him spasm from side to side, or pitch forward. Only his willpower stopped him going over the edge. Every step he had to steady himself, shut his eyes and fight the rushing fear that threatened to paralyse him, and, he thought, drive him mad. Gradually, he established a kind of control by keeping his eyes fixed as much as possible on the horizon or the sticky paint at his feet.
He discovered the maze was barely two feet wide. He sprayed a section, edged forward, desperately holding on to his stomach, and then sprayed some more. But the paint wouldn’t last for ever, and if the maze was extensive, what would he do then?
Thirty feet out the wind blew even more fiercely. It came in intermittent high gusts, and each time he had to crouch down and brace himself to resist being blown off. It felt like only a matter of time until a gust took him unawares.
Every now and then he would stop and close his eyes, and breathe deeply, pretending he was on solid ground. And that was when he heard the sound of clapping. Wobbling as he looked over his shoulder, he saw Veitch sitting on the platform at the top of the Empire State Building.
Rage exploded in Church with a ferocity that shocked him. He thought of all the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons Veitch had slaughtered over the years, the agonising wound he had inflicted on Church in Beijing, the spell that had sucked at Church’s Pendragon Spirit and driven a wedge between him and the woman he loved. But most of all he thought about how Veitch had stolen Ruth from him.
‘You’re expecting me to risk my neck out here just so you can steal the Key when I get back?’ Church said.
‘Something like that.’
Veitch’s nonchalance made the blood thunder in Church’s head even more.
‘Actually, I was just having a little bet with myself,’ Veitch continued. ‘How long before the path turned left and you went right, or before you leaned a bit too far to one side and went over the edge. But carry on, mate — don’t let me stop you.’
Consumed with anger, Church drew his sword. ‘We end this here and now,’ he shouted, marching back along the precarious path.
His own anger sparking viciously, Veitch drew his sword and stepped hesitantly onto the path. Church could see him cursing under his breath as he walked out over the void, but soon his rage made him forget where he was, and he focused solely on Church.
‘We’ve come a long way, you and me,’ Veitch said, ‘from strangers to friends — until you abandoned me.’
‘Don’t give me any of your pathetic whining. You can’t blame me for what happened to you. You can’t blame anyone, not even yourself. You got a raw deal, and that’s just the way it was. But everything that’s happened since — that’s all you, through and through.’
Veitch’s face darkened. ‘You know what pisses me off about you? You give me that look my dad used to give me when I was a kid — that I
Church levelled Caledfwlch, instantly feeling Veitch’s own sword sucking at the power it contained. ‘Made sure you got your equaliser in place before you faced me properly.’
‘If you want to chicken out, mate … The truth is, we’re tied together on some level you don’t understand, and if you were smart enough, you could suck all the nasty, black misery out of me and make yourself stronger. Only maybe you’re just not as smart as you make out.’
‘I don’t want to pollute myself with what you’ve got.’
‘You’re not smart, or you’d get the fact that we’re the same. Or maybe not exactly that — different sides of the same coin, perhaps. We’d each benefit from a little bit of the other.’
‘Been doing some thinking, have you?’
‘Yeah, I have.’
‘Think harder.’
Church attacked forcefully, oblivious to the gulf on either side. As Veitch blocked the blow, blue and black lightning flashed across the sky.
They moved back and forth along the narrow path amidst the furious storm of energy discharges, a whirlwind of swords, both fixed intently on the other, the world, the stakes they had both striven for, all of it forgotten.
The wind caught droplets of blood from Veitch’s arm, and from Church’s cheek. They were evenly matched in skill and motivation.
Occasionally, Church would duck a blow and come sharply up against the precariousness of his position as he teetered on the edge of the path, fighting to regain his balance, the world rushing beneath him. Veitch didn’t give him a second to recover. Returning his attack, Church drove Veitch back, trusting his own instinct to keep him in the centre of the path.
‘What are the pair of you doing?’ Ruth’s desperate cry interrupted them. Fearfully, she clung to the mast.
Veitch was distracted. Unable to stop carrying through with his thrust, Church sliced Veitch’s upper arm. In his pain, he lost his footing and went over the edge.
Ruth shrieked.
At the last, Veitch’s silver hand crashed against the edge of the path and clung on. The strain was clear on his face.
‘Go on, then. Let me die,’ he shouted. ‘You get your girl back. I pay the bill for all the shit I’ve done. You win.’
Veitch was right — everything would be simpler if Church just let him fall. For a moment, he even considered it, but then he saw the Libertarian’s grinning, cruel face in his mind, and wondered if this was the turning point on his path to becoming that twisted mass murderer: one death for his own benefit could easily become two, become many. In the end, wasn’t Veitch right? They were both capable of the same thing, given the right circumstances. Veitch had slaughtered in the past and Church would do so in the future. The seeds were inside them, two brothers from the same stock. How could he judge?
He grabbed Veitch’s forearm and hauled him back onto the path.
‘You’re so bleedin’ noble, you make me sick,’ Veitch said.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Don’t get all girly and think just ’cause you saved my life it’s going to be all smiles. All you’ve done is help balance things out a bit.’
‘Ryan, we’re more than a thousand feet above a messy death. This isn’t the place.’
Veitch glanced back at Ruth, who was tearing herself apart with concern. ‘All right. But I’m coming with you.’
‘So you can stab me in the back and take the Key?’
‘You’re going to have to take a punt, aren’t you, ’cause you haven’t got a choice.’
Now that his anger had subsided, Church could see Veitch was right. Creeping to the edge of the path, he began to spray.
