Necropolis

DRAGON’S BREATH

They took Scarlett back to the same cell she had occupied – but they had been busy while she was away. Someone had carried in a bed, although the moment she saw it she knew she wasn’t going to be allowed the privilege of a comfortable sleep. It was little more than a cot with sagging springs and a metal frame and she wouldn’t even be able to stretch out without her feet going over the end. There were just two coarse blankets to protect her from the chill of the night and no pillow.

They had also supplied her with a table, a chair and a bucket which she guessed she would be expected to use as a toilet, although she didn’t even want to think about that. A candle in a glass lantern now lit the room and they had provided her with a meagre dinner. A bowl of thin, vegetable soup, a hunk of bread and a mug were waiting on the table. There was a spoon to eat with – and if Scarlett had any thought of using it as a weapon, her hopes were soon dashed. It was flimsy, made of tin. They hadn’t bothered with a knife or a fork.

She didn’t feel like eating yet. If anything, the sight of the starvation rations brought home the full horror of her situation. These people were utterly merciless. They wanted her to live but they didn’t care how miserable or painful her life became – they had made that much clear. Scarlett sat down on the bed and sank her head into her hands. She thought she was going to cry, but the tears didn’t come. The Old Ones. The Gatekeepers. The twenty-five doors around the world. Everything that Father Gregory had said seemed to spin round and round her, sucking her ever further into a tunnel of misery and despair. How could this have happened to her? Could any of it really be true?

Somehow, she forced herself to go over it, to unpick the words. Much of what Father Gregory had said sounded completely insane. But at the same time, she had to admit that a lot of it was strangely familiar. There were echoes. There had been strange incidents in her life and they had taken place long before she walked through the church door.

The dreams, for one. Father Gregory had mentioned five children – four boys and a girl. Scarlett had been dreaming exactly the same thing for almost two years. And how had this all started? She had actually seen Matt, in St Meredith’s. He had been the one who had led her through the door, although now she wondered if he had really been there at all. He had been silent, ghost-like. It wasn’t that she had imagined him. But perhaps what she had experienced was some sort of vision. If he had really gone through the door, wouldn’t he be here now?

And then there was the door itself. Scarlett had tried to persuade herself that she had been drugged and kidnapped, but the more she thought about it, the more she accepted that it hadn’t happened that way. Father Gregory had told her the truth. She had gone through a door in London and ended up in Ukraine. There had been no flight, no drugs. And if she accepted that, what choice did she have but to accept the rest?

She went over to the table and examined the food. It looked far from appetizing, but she made herself swallow it, the soup cold and greasy, the bread several days old. It was all she was going to get and she needed her strength. The candle in the lamp was only an inch tall and she wondered how long it would last. When it went out, she would be left in total blackness. The thought made her shudder. There was already so much to be afraid of but being on her own, locked up in the dark was somehow worse than any of it.

It would be better if she could sleep. She didn’t undress. It was far too cold to even think of taking off her coat. She climbed onto the bed and pulled the two blankets over her, burrowing into them like an animal in a cave. She lay like that for a long time and when sleep did finally come she didn’t even notice it. She only knew that she was no longer awake when she realized that she had begun to dream.

She was back in the strange, airless world that she had visited many times. She recognized it and she was glad to be there. She was desperate to see Matt and the other three boys. If anyone could help her, they could. At least they might show her a way to break out.

But there was no sign of them. While part of her slept, alone in her cell, the other part was stranded here, alone on the edge of a grim and lifeless sea.

Something in the dreamworld had changed. Scarlett became aware of it very slowly, not seeing anything but sensing it, a sort of throbbing in the air that was coming from very far away, from the other side of the horizon. She heard a faint rumble of thunder and saw a tiny streak of lightning, like a hairline crack in the fabric of the world. Her head was pounding. She noticed the water, the surface of the ocean, begin to shiver. A gust of wind tugged at her hair. The sand, or the grey dust, or whatever it was, spun in eddies around her feet, then leapt up, half blinding her and stinging her cheeks. She backed away, knowing that she needed to hide. She still didn’t know what she was hiding from.

And then, in a single moment, the ocean split open. It was as if it had been sliced in half by some vast, invisible knife – and the black water rushed in, millions of gallons pouring from left and right into the chasm – a mile long – that had been formed. At the same time, something rose up, twisting towards the surface. At first, she thought it was a snake, some sort of monstrous sea serpent that had been resting for centuries on the ocean bed and had only now woken up. She smelled its breath – how was that possible… how could you smell anything in a dream? – and cried out as it rushed towards her, its eyes blazing, flames exploding around its mouth. It was a dragon! Straight out of ancient folklore. And yet it was horribly real, howling so loudly that she thought her head would burst.

SIGNAL ONE

The two words had appeared in front of her. They were written in neon: huge red letters hanging from some sort of frame, the light so intense that they burned her eyes. Where had they come from? They must have risen out of the ground because only a moment before the landscape had been empty. The neon buzzed and flickered as some sort of electric power coursed through it. Scarlett looked down at her hands and saw that they were blood red, reflecting the light. It was as if she were on fire.

SIGNAL ONE… SIGNAL ONE…

It flashed on and off. The dragon was there one minute, then gone the next, lost in the darkness, reappearing in the light. But each time she saw it, it was a little closer. The wind was blasting her. If it got any stronger, it would throw her off her feet. She tried to run but she couldn’t move. The dragon opened its mouth, showing teeth like kitchen knives.

And that was when she woke up and found herself still lying on top of the bed and covered by the two blankets, but with the first, dreary light of the morning creeping in through the window and ice cold all around.

Scarlett sat up. She was already beginning to shiver. What had that all been about? Signal One? She had never seen the two words written down before. She had no idea what they meant, even if she was certain that they must be important. They had been shown to her for a reason.

She looked up at the window and guessed that it must be about five or six o’clock in the morning. It was difficult to say without her watch. Presumably the monks would bring her some sort of breakfast. They had made it clear that they needed to keep her alive. Could she somehow overpower them when they came in, fight her way through the door and make a run for it? She doubted it. The monks were thin and malnourished but they were still a lot stronger than her. If only she had a weapon! That would make all the difference.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she searched through her pockets. All she had was a blunt pencil, left over from art class, a comb and an Oyster card. The sight of it made her sad. It was so ordinary, a reminder of everything she had left behind. How many thousands of miles was she now from London buses and Tube trains?

There was nothing she could use. She considered taking off her coat, throwing it in the face of whoever carried in her food. But it was a stupid plan. She still didn’t know there was going to be any food and anyway, it wouldn’t work. They would just laugh at her before they took her away and whipped her or whatever else they planned to do.

There had to be a way out of the cell. Scarlett got up and examined the door a second time, running her hands over the hasps, pressing against it with all her weight. It was so solid it might as well have been cemented into the wall. That just left the window. There were three bars and no glass. The cell had been built to house a man, not a child – and certainly not a girl. Might it be possible to squeeze through after all?

She hadn’t been able to reach the window before but maybe these monks, as clever as they might be, had made a mistake. They had supplied her with a table and a chair. Quickly, she dragged the table over to the window, put the chair on top and climbed up.

For the first time, she was able to look outside. There was a view down a hill, the ground steep and rugged, thick patches of snow piled up against black rocks. A few buildings stood in the near distance, scattered around. They looked like barns and abandoned farm houses which might belong to the monastery but which were more likely part of a village, just out of sight. A series of icicles hung above her, suspended from a guttering that ran the full length of the building. She had forgotten how cold it was but she was quickly reminded by a sudden snow flurry, blowing in off the roof. Her lips and cheeks were already numb. It had to be less than zero out there.

There was no way down. The bars were too close together and even if she had managed to slip through, she was at least twenty metres above the ground. Try to jump from this height and she would break both her legs.

She was still in the cell two hours later when the door opened and they finally brought her something to eat.

Breakfast was a bowl of cold porridge and a tin mug of water, carried in by a monk she hadn’t yet met – for his face certainly wasn’t one that she would have forgotten. It was horribly burned. One whole side of it was dead and disfigured as if he had fallen asleep with his head resting on an oven. Scarlett turned her eyes away from him. Was there anyone at Cry for Mercy who hadn’t rotted over the past twenty years? A second monk stood with him, guarding the door.

“You… eat… little… girl.” Burnt Face was proud of his English but his accent was so thick she could barely make out the words.

He set the tray down, and Scarlett moved towards him. Her hands were clasped behind her back and she was clearly on the edge of tears. “Please,” she said. “Please let me out…” Her voice was trembling.

The sight of the girl, pale and bleary-eyed after the long night, seemed to amuse him. “Out?” He sneered at her. “No out…”

“But you don’t understand…” She was closer to him now and as he straightened up she brought her hands round and lashed out.

She was holding an icicle.

She had broken it off the guttering and she was holding it like a knife. The point was needle sharp. Using all her strength, she drove it into the flesh between his shoulder and his neck. The monk screamed. Blood gushed out. He fell to his knees, as if in prayer.

Scarlett was already moving. She knew that she had to take advantage of the surprise, that speed was all she had on her side. The second monk had frozen, completely shocked by what had just happened. Before he could react, she threw herself at him, head and shoulders down, like a bull. She hit him hard in the stomach and heard the breath explode out of him. His hands grabbed for her but then he was down, writhing on the floor. She pulled away and began to run.

According to Father Gregory, there were just seven monks in the Monastery of the Cry for Mercy and she had just taken out two of them. How long would it be before the ones that remained set off after her? Scarlett had to find the door that had brought her here. She knew where it was – a short way down the corridor, only a minute from the cell. With a bit of luck, she would be gone before they knew what had happened.

It was only when she had taken twenty paces that she knew she had gone wrong. Somehow she had managed to get lost. She was in another long corridor and it was one that she didn’t recognize. There was a picture of some holy person hanging crookedly on the wall. An ornate wooden chest. Another passageway with a flight of stone steps leading down. For a moment they looked tempting. They might lead her out of the monastery. But at the same time, she knew they would take her further away from the door. The door was the fast way back to St Meredith’s. She had to find it.

In the distance, a bell began to ring. Not a call to prayers. An alarm. She heard shouting. The second of the two monks – the one she had hit – must have recovered. Forcing herself not to panic, she continued forward even though she knew she was heading in the wrong direction and that the further she went, the more lost she would become. She heard flapping ahead of her, the sound of sandals hitting the stone floor and a moment later another monk appeared. He saw her and cried out. There was an opening to one side. She took it, passing between wood-panelled walls and a great tapestry, hanging in shreds, the fabric mouldering away.

The passage emerged in a second corridor and with a surge or relief she realized that she knew where she was. Somehow she had found her way back. There was the table with the candlesticks, the painting of the crucifixion. The door was just beyond. There was nobody in the way.

The noise of the sandals. If the monk had been barefooted, Scarlett might not have heard him. But even without looking round, she knew that someone had caught up with her, that he was running towards her even now. In a single movement she reached out, grabbed a heavy, iron candlestick and swung it round. She’d timed it exactly right. The end of the candlestick smashed into the side of the monk’s bald head, knocking him out. Scarlett hit him a second time, just to be sure, then dropped the candlestick and made for the door.

Someone appeared at the far end of the corridor.

It was Father Gregory. He saw Scarlett and screamed something – maybe in English, maybe in his own language. The words were trapped in his throat. The door was now between the two of them, exactly half-way. Scarlett wondered if she could reach it. Father Gregory was dancing on his feet as if he had just been electrocuted. His good eye was wide and staring, making the other one look all the more diseased. Scarlett was about thirty metres away, panting, gathering all her strength for one last effort.

The two of them set off at the same moment.

In a way it was weird. Scarlett wasn’t running away. She was actually hurtling towards the one man she most wanted to avoid. But she had to reach the door before he did. She had made her decision. It was the only way home.

Father Gregory was surprisingly fast. His limp had disappeared and he moved with incredible speed, his fury propelling him forward. Scarlett didn’t dare look at him. She was aware of him getting closer and closer but her eyes were fixed on the door. There it was in front of her. She lunged forward and grabbed hold of the handle, but at the same moment his hands fell on her, seizing hold of the top of her coat, his fingers against her neck. She heard him cry out in triumph. His breath was against her skin.

She didn’t let go of the door. She wasn’t going to let him drag her back. Instead, she dropped down, twisting her shoulders so that the coat was pulled over her head. She had already undone the buttons and she felt it come loose, falling away. Father Gregory lost his balance and, still holding the coat, fell backwards. Scarlett was free. She jerked the door open and threw herself forward. For a few seconds her vision was blurred. The doorway seemed to rush past. She heard Gregory screaming at her, suddenly a long way away.

The door slammed shut behind her.

She was lying, sobbing and shaking on the floor of St Meredith’s. And there was a man standing in front of her, a young policeman, dressed in blue, staring at her with a look of complete bewilderment.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I’m… Scarlett Adams.” She could barely get the words out.

“Where have you been? What have you been doing?” The policeman shook his head in disbelief. “You’d better come with me!”