Destroyer of Worlds

2

The crowd smelled of lime and vinegar and allspice, woodsmoke, bitumen and sulphur, and the hot odour that came off skin on a summer's day. From a feverish dream or a nightmare drawn from nursery storybooks, the inhabitants of the court came in a vast wave, sweeping in eddies around obstacles, fallen bodies, sleeping beasts, surging off each other, too-fast, too-slow, with everywhere and nowhere to go. It was impossible to see more than a couple of feet on any side. Some begged for food, or board, or information, others ran with the hope of a destination or fled some unrevealed threat, fear burning in their faces. Some had murder in their eyes, or the sly desire to make gain from misfortune.

'Jesus Christ, this is worse than Oxford Street just before Christmas,' Veitch complained as he and Shavi pushed through the throng. Overhead, people hung from windows, two or three crammed into the gap, wailing or yelling to people across the way. The din made his ears hurt.

'You can almost smell the desperation. These beings have known nothing but always-summer, and now they sense the twilight coming in.'

'There you go again, feeling sorry for a bunch of people you don't know.' Veitch roughly thrust aside a man rippling with rolls of fat, his clothes sodden with sweat. 'I've missed you. You're my conscience.'

'And I have missed you, my friend. More than you might know. We were all bereft when we thought you dead after the Battle of London, but I felt as if I had truly lost a brother. A brother more than the brothers of my own family, who disowned me when I failed to follow their path.'

'Don't go getting sentimental on me. I can't be doing with that… Hey, what the bleedin' hell's that?'

Veitch pushed through the dense flow to one side where a puppeteer was performing a show in the shade of an inn. He was at least eight feet tall, with long, black robes that Veitch presumed obscured his stilts, and he wore a white mask with a curving nose like a bird's beak. He looked like the wall painting in the Halls of the Drakusa. But it was the dancing puppets that caught Veitch's eye: they resembled Church, Shavi, Ruth, Laura and himself. The Church and Ruth puppets were hugging, while the Veitch one stood off to one side, holding a sword, before turning to attack. Veitch experienced a brief burst of anger moderated by the knowledge that he was surely imagining the resemblances. He took one step towards the puppet-master, and was sent flying by a woman weaving frantically through the crowd.

Cursing underneath the figure sprawling on top of him, Veitch was shocked to see she was human, wearing modern clothes, and gripped by such terror that her eyes barely saw him.

'Calm down.' He caught her shoulders as she prepared to throw herself off him to run again. 'Where the hell did you come from?'

His words cut through her fear and she gradually focused on him. 'You're from Earth? Oh God, oh God, what's happening to me? Where is this place?' Sobbing fitfully, she collapsed into him.

Veitch helped her to her feet. After her fugue, she was now shaking uncontrollably. Awkwardly, Veitch tried to calm her. 'I'm Ryan. What's your name?'

'R-R-Rachel,' she stuttered. 'Something was chasing me! Making me come this way. I–I remember… a grin, like it couldn't decide if it wanted to eat me up or kiss me… and those eyes… and… and…' The memory slipped from her and she shook her head in frustration.

'How did you get here?'

Before she could answer, a column of smoke soared up above the rooftops accompanied by a boom that echoed off the metallic walls. Sizzling, coloured lights arced out from the direction of the explosion.

The crowd responded with panic, and in the melee Veitch and Rachel were torn apart. Already forgetting her, Veitch fought his way to Shavi and said, 'Let's get back to Church till we know what's going on.'

'No. If we can help, we should.'

Veitch set his jaw. 'I bloody hate you, Shavi.'