Bryant & May 04; Ten Second Staircase

∨ Ten Second Staircase ∧

47

The Moon Curser

April looked at the rainswept green quadrangle with the darkened street running around its edge and felt uncomfortable. The old panicky fear of open spaces settled over her. “Where are we going?” she asked Luke, but he had already moved on ahead.

“You want to find out the truth, don’t you?” he called back. He seemed so thin and vulnerable that she found it hard to imagine his involvement with anything sinister. If he had lied because he was being threatened, why had he not confided in someone who could help him?

They entered the dim corridor of concrete and made their way to its rear staircase. “The lift’s not working,” Luke explained, climbing the steps. April felt safer away from the bare breadth of the estate, but when Luke continued ascending, she realised with horror that they were heading for the great flat roof of the building’s central block.

“Luke, I can’t go any further,” she warned, stopping outside the fire exit as he pushed it open.

“You don’t have to,” the boy promised, coming to a halt.

Ahead, a terrible wide sky beckoned, drawing her forward into the effulgent mist and rain.

She did not see the gloved hands dropping on either side of her. They held a roll of nylon rope that pinned her arms to her sides before she could make a move. The Highwayman stepped forward, dragging her out onto the gravelled roof. She tried to twist around and study him, but he kept her facing forward.

April felt the scudding grey sky bellowing down above her head in a funnel of wind, until it seemed as though it would pull her out into the moisture-laden air.

As the Highwayman began dragging her towards the far side of the roof, she dug the heels of her boots into the gravel. His grip on her arms tightened. She screamed just once before realising that it would make no difference up here. Gradually, her fear of the vast open rooftop was replaced by the sinking knowledge that no-one from the unit knew where she was.

April was in greater danger than she realised, for in her headstrong haste she had duplicated the fate of her mother, unwittingly running into the arms of a killer.

♦

Arthur Bryant dragged on Victor’s handbrake, but the rusting Mini Cooper was difficult to bring to a halt, and the engine continued to chumble on after he had removed the keys. The engine had never run smoothly since Maggie Armitage had poured her own blend of sealant into the radiator in an effort to consecrate the vehicle against accidents. Miraculously, his mobile was finally working once more, and he called his partner as he walked towards the estate’s central block.

“John, is that you? Have you finished with Kingsmere?”

“I’m just about to take his statement,” came the reply. “Congratulations, you’re using a mobile.”

“Yes, but you won’t like what I have to say on it. I need you to leave him and get over here. I know who the Highwayman is; I just don’t have a reason why.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the estate, heading for the roof where you saw the graffiti. I’m going to need your help. Banbury was right; the Highwayman isn’t a man at all. He was hidden in plain sight right from the start. You encouraged me to be sensible and practical, but I should have followed my instincts.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Arthur. Don’t do anything until I get there, all right? Promise me?”

But Bryant had already closed the mobile and set off into the estate. His legs were failing, but his long-distance eyesight was excellent. And he had just spotted the windswept black figure striding across the roof of the central block.

♦

The Highwayman threw April to the ground, where she lay gratefully hugging the gravelled roof. When she finally summoned the nerve to look up, she saw that he was disrobing, splitting the tricorn hat into two black baseball caps and casting them aside before shucking his gloves. The tall boots, she noticed, had heavily built-up heels and soles, and appeared to be stuffed with old newspapers. She could hear the murmur of other voices beneath the rising wind. As the Highwayman turned to face the boy who had led her here, she recognised her captor.

“You brought the wrong one, Luke,” he said tonelessly. “I thought you said the old man would come to you.” Luke dropped to the floor cross-legged and dug a pack of Marlboros from his blazer, oblivious to the falling rain.

“I guess he’s not so smart after all. We can still do seven in seven days and set a new house record. You don’t need to know about the backup plan.” He crouched down beside April and smiled. “You do see now, don’t you? I mean, why there’s no such person as the Highwayman. You can’t catch a murderer who doesn’t exist.”

♦

Arthur Bryant stopped to catch his breath on the staircase. Trust the lift to be out of action on the one day I need to reach the roof, he thought. Leaning on his stick, he studied the sprayed graffiti. He should have read it as a series of arrows leading him towards the truth; that was what had been expected of him. What he still didn’t understand was why this had happened. If not for revenge, then what? When he looked down, the stairs retreated in a spiral, like an unwinding clock spring.

In the poem by Alfred Noyes, he thought, the highwayman was saved by his lover’s sacrifice, only to die on the road and be resurrected as a ghostly apparition. In this way, he achieved a form of immortality. Bryant held out his right hand and studied its liverspotted back. He was shaking, either through anticipation or sheer exertion. He pushed on to the roof, frightened of what he might find but unable to stop himself. Understanding the truth had become more important than anything, even survival into an uncertain future. He and John had enjoyed a good run. Perhaps this had always been destined as their endgame.

He stood on the dark concrete landing behind the roof exit, gathering himself, waiting for the pounding of his heart to subside.

Then he turned the handle and pushed the door wide, flooding light into his vision.

The Highwayman swivelled to face this new arrival. “You got here after all,” he said, smiling pleasantly as the others surrounded him. “We’re glad you managed to make it – even though you’re earlier than expected. Tell me, do you know what a Moon Curser is?”

“No, I don’t – ” Bryant was momentarily confused by his appearance before a group of six people.

“It’s a term taken from the Thieves’ Key. A Moon Curser is a link boy.”

Bryant fought to think clearly, exhausted by the stairs and the mistimed medication. “You mean a boy who used to run ahead of his client, leading the way through the night with a torch, in return for a few coppers.”

“That’s right. A Moon Curser is a specific kind of link boy. He’s the one who lights the darkness, only to lead his employer into a gang of thieves and murderers.” He pointed down at the boy seated on the roof. “Appropriate, eh? We read about that in some boring old book we thought you would find interesting. Luke is our Moon Curser. He brought you here to us. To your death.”