The Burning Man

And then she did glance back, her gaze challenging, teasing and blase all wrapped into one. ‘Looks like we’ve got ourselves a deal.’

11

‘Where are we?’

After what felt like a walk through an icy, refreshing waterfall, Mallory stood in a long, stone corridor lit by torches with doors at irregular intervals. Beside him was a window that looked out onto a dark space lit occasionally by distant flares, like stars coming to life and dying in an instant.

‘The Watchtower between the worlds,’ Rhiannon said quietly. ‘Few come here.’

Turning away from the window, Decebalus spat. ‘I can see why. I do not like it.’

Responding to the subtle atmosphere of unease that permeated the Watchtower, Jerzy scampered close on Mallory’s heels.

The nearest door was locked, but as Mallory let go of the handle there was a sound of scuffling within, as if someone had leaped to their feet in anticipation.

‘Come on then, you tosspots. Where’s my grub?’ The earthy Birmingham accent was incongruous in the Otherworldly surroundings.

Decebalus’s severe expression broke into a puzzled but hopeful beam. ‘Ronnie?’

A moment of silence, then, dismally, ‘Don’t tell me they got you, too.’

Between Decebalus’s straining sinews and Mallory’s sword, the lock was soon shattered. In the dark chamber stood a young man in the field uniform of a British soldier from the Great War. He was stubbled and pale from his imprisonment, but grinning broadly. Decebalus and the soldier threw their arms around each other.

‘All right, you big old bastard! It had to be you, didn’t it?’ Ronnie said.

Decebalus thrust Ronnie towards Mallory. ‘One of us.’

Ronnie’s eyes gleamed. ‘Ronald Kelly, Second Army, Thirtieth Division. And a Brother of Dragons.’

‘You’re one of those Church pulled out of time to save you from Veitch?’ Mallory realised.

‘Yes, sir. That bastard — excuse my French, sir, but he is — he killed a lot of our kind. And we’re all just waiting for a chance to get back at him.’ His expression grew flinty. ‘But first we need to sort out that witch who threw us in here. Traitorous bitch.’

Jerzy tugged at Mallory’s sleeve. ‘We should hurry, good friend. The queen’s guard may be here soon to feed the prisoners.’

‘I’m surprised she didn’t just kill you,’ Mallory said.

‘Oh, no,’ Ronnie replied. ‘She’s scared of us. Or rather what we stand for. Better to lock us up than risk waking something she can’t control.’

‘It’s already woken,’ Mallory said.

‘That’s what I hoped, sir.’ Ronnie stepped into the corridor and got his bearings. ‘I know where they keep the keys. Shall we free the others?’

12

Along the endless corridors they moved, flinging open doors to reveal pale faces, blinking eyes, hope rekindled: women in dirty flapper dresses; men in sharp suits with slicked-back hair; a Spitfire pilot still wearing his leather flight jacket, goggles pushed back on top of his head; a hard-faced woman in rough, rural dress from some time at the end of the nineteenth century. And more, scores of them, from different eras, dressed in different styles, but the Pendragon Spirit clear and strong in all.

And when they found Aula, Decebalus crushed her to his chest and wept tears of joy. The Roman woman cursed and spat and forced her way free before giving him the briefest of revealing smiles.

Finally they climbed a set of stone steps to another corridor that was sealed by a newly installed iron gate. Breaking through it, they found that all the doors were treble-locked and marked with sigils that Rhiannon said were ancient spells of imprisonment. The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons shattered the doors to reveal the missing Tuatha De Danann, who emerged into the corridor with the expressions of people who still couldn’t comprehend how their world had been upturned. Math the sorcerer was bound with chains, his head sheathed in an iron mask. Another chamber was filled with an impenetrable darkness that persisted even when torches were brought to the door. Two red eyes glowed from the depths. All concerned left the Morrigan to emerge in her own time.

Lugh, the great warrior and god of light, was one of the last rescued. He hugged Rhiannon silently for several moments. When he turned to Mallory, his eyes were wet. ‘You have my thanks, Brother of Dragons, and those of all my people. A terrible blow has been struck against the Golden Ones, one from which we shall not easily recover. To be betrayed by one of our own, to be imprisoned and tortured, it strikes to the very heart of who we are.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘To be betrayed by my own sister.’

Rhiannon comforted him with a gentle hug.

‘From this day on, we will never forget what the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons have done for the Golden Ones,’ he continued. ‘This is the start of a new age, when Fragile Creatures will take their place alongside my people at the heart of Existence. We stand with you now, Brother of Dragons, and always.’

‘Then gather your people and get ready,’ Mallory said. ‘We’re taking this fight back to the Court of the Soaring Spirit. It’s war.’

Chapter Thirteen

WAKING UP IN THE SLEEPLESS CITY

1

The night was warm as summer reached its end. Frank Sinatra crooned ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ and the middle-aged Irish guys around the radio joined in as if they were on stage at the Sands. In their beer-fuelled exuberance there was a sense of good times just around the corner.

In the backroom of McSorley’s Old Ale House on East Seventh Street, a nude woman with a parrot looked down on the proceedings. Church, Shavi and Tom sat near the old fireplace under the motto Be good or be gone, blending into the background amongst the collection of weirdos, loners and curious tourists. They had spent three days searching the city without any luck. Halfway down his fourth glass of beer, Church was desperately trying not to behave like some lachrymose old drunk, but was unable to shake the memory of the last time he had heard the song performed with such abandon, in a pub on Dartmoor, with Ruth.

He gained some comfort from the bar’s long, rich history and the knowledge that he was drinking in the shadow of Abraham Lincoln, John Lennon and Woody Guthrie. Faces stared from the old black-and-white photos lining the walls, reminding him of the turn of events, large and small, and how the world was shaped.

‘Ruth is staying with Ryan to prevent him from doing any more terrible things,’ Shavi insisted quietly.

Tom had been oblivious to their conversation as he soaked up the surroundings, overjoyed to be back in the country he loved most.

‘It’s more complex than that,’ Church replied. ‘I could see it in her face. She wanted to be with him.’

‘We are all so close, bound by the Pendragon Spirit, that our feelings are often confused and distorted.