The Burning Man

1

London sleeps, London dreams.

In the quiet hour before dawn, the city breathes steadily. The river drifts, dark and slow. The trains have stopped, the traffic has slowed. Listen. You can almost hear each exhalation, and the whispers rising from the subterranean unconscious.

In Ealing and Richmond and Clapham, children wake, crying about a fire, a terrible fire, and their parents cannot calm them. In Battersea, a disconsolate mother sits alone in a dark lounge, sobbing.

Along the Strand, a policeman stops, troubled. Every night an old homeless man everyone knows as Glasgow Tom sits on his patch and babbles relentlessly from dusk till dawn. Tonight, for the first night the policeman can remember in three years, Glasgow Tom is silent. He sits against the wall, reeking of strong, cheap beer and urine, and traces an outline of a man against the dark sky, over and over again.

In the zoo, to the north, beyond the green expanse of Regent’s Park, the silence is shattered as animals howl and chatter and scream in a way their keepers have never heard before. The beasts look to the sky as if seeing things no human can see. In every cage and pen, animals looking to the sky. With jokes and shrugs, the keepers try to believe there is some rational explanation. There is not.

At the insect house, in the glass case of Solenopsis invicta, sixty-five million years of order have fallen. In their nest, the fire ants have turned on each other, killing their own kind wantonly. In the glass cases beyond, the arachnids are still and watchful.

The city dreams strange dreams.

To the east, in the commercial district bleeding out of the City and into the old Docklands, the rich and privileged dream of hard things, of their monumental buildings, and expensive cars, and well-tailored suits: of money and what money makes. Sleep here is easy.

But there are those who do not have the luxury of rest. High up in the tallest tower in Canary Wharf are the offices of Steelguard Securities, which prides itself on being the hardest, most driven, most morally ambivalent — and therefore most successful — company in the quarter. Here two employees still toil despite the lateness of the hour.

Mallory is beneath notice, in his blue overalls, his dark hair fastened back with an elastic band, with his vacuum and his cleaning products, maintaining his ironic disposition despite the relentless routine of emptying bins and cleaning phones night after night after night. When he is asleep, Mallory is not allowed to dream. His dreams come when he is awake, in flashes that are almost like memories, rich in detail and clarity of purpose. Yet they could not be real in any way, and so he is troubled by them. In his dreams, he is a hero with a magical sword, battling in a fallen world. One of five great heroes struggling to prevent life from slipping into endless shadow.

Yet here he is with his vacuum and cleaning products. No sword; no hero by any measure.

In the main dealing room, beyond the glass partition wall that Mallory cleans every night, sits another employee. Like Mallory, she is in her late twenties, with an intelligent and knowing face that Mallory finds intriguing. Sophie Tallent is not allowed to dream while she sleeps either. She watches the figures on her screen as the Nikkei 225 index rises and falls in minute increments. Like Mallory, Sophie has lucid flashes of another life that she fervently wishes was real. A life filled with meaning, the soothing pulse of nature, swelling emotions and deeds that help make the world a better place. In contrast, her existence at Steelguard is a ghost-life, where the dead perpetuate the meaningless rituals they followed when they were alive.

Sometimes she glances at Mallory, and sometimes he casts a furtive glance at her, but their eyes never meet. It has been that way for as long as they have worked there, which feels like for ever. Occasionally they wonder what they would see in those depths if their gazes did coincide.

On this particular night, Mallory was so engrossed in the woman that he did not hear any footsteps approach through the echoing annexe. Perhaps there had not been any. Startled by a cough, he turned to find the kind of man who could appear in any situation and leave no impression whatsoever: bland features, neither handsome nor unattractive; dark hair, cut short but not too severely; dark suit, not too expensive, not too cheap. Mallory even had difficulty estimating his age.

‘I’m Mr Rourke, the night manager,’ he said. ‘Haven’t you finished here yet? Stop dragging your feet.’

Mallory thought he knew everyone on the night staff, but he had never seen Rourke before. ‘Nearly done.’ Sullenly, he returned to his cleaning products. Something about the manager set his teeth on edge.

When he had retrieved the window cleaner, he was surprised to see that another person had arrived silently behind Rourke. Mallory had a second to take in the man’s determined face before a fiery crackle severed Rourke’s head from his shoulders.

At first Mallory had difficulty perceiving the assassin’s weapon. His mind told him it was some kind of clockwork machine, much too large for him to hold, then a crystal glowing a brilliant white. Finally he realised it was an ancient sword with a thin blue flame flickering along its edges.

And suddenly he was no longer the Mallory who cleaned the toilets five times a day. Instinctively, he whisked his mop handle to the stranger’s throat like a sword. The stranger simply smiled.

‘You killed him,’ Mallory said incredulously.

‘I’ve been looking for you for a long time. They hid you well,’ the stranger said. ‘My name’s Church. I’m here to take you back to your real life.’

Mallory’s thoughts were already racing ahead, evaluating numerous strategies for disarming the assassin, defensive positions to protect the woman in the next room.

Church appeared to know exactly what Mallory was thinking. He wagged one cautionary finger, then pointed down.

Where Mallory had expected to see Rourke’s corpse and severed head, there were now spiders, lots of them, some small, some as big as his fist. Rourke’s body was also disintegrating rapidly as more spiders poured from its depths. With a single mind, they surged towards Church, and where they passed it looked as if the very fabric of the building was being scoured away to reveal a hole into space.

‘Don’t ask questions now,’ Church said. ‘If the spiders get you, you’ll be gone from this world in an instant.’ He grabbed Mallory’s arm and hauled him away from the black stream. ‘To the stairs. I’ll explain everything once we’re safe.’

Mallory half-resisted, but in the same instinctive way he had wielded his mop like a weapon, he knew Church could be trusted. ‘There’s a woman-’

‘She’s being taken care of.’

Through the glass, Mallory saw an unfamiliar woman who reminded him of a Pre-Raphaelite painting, dark, curly hair framing a pale, attractive face. She was talking intently to the woman he had been watching work at the terminal.

‘Her name’s Ruth,’ Church said. ‘She’s one of us. She’ll get your friend out.’

Mallory had no time to question Church’s use of the word ‘friend’ for the spiders were now flooding in pursuit. Mallory flipped over a desk to block their path, but they cut through it with such ease it appeared illusory.

‘What the hell are they?’ he hissed.

‘The things that really rule this world. Now move.’

Ruth and the other woman emerged from another door into the lobby near the lifts.

‘Two for two,’ Church said to Ruth. ‘Result.’

‘We’re not out of here yet.’ Ruth flashed a smile at Mallory. ‘This is Sophie Tallent,’ she announced. ‘She feels as if she knows me from somewhere.’

Sophie. Mallory turned the name over in his mind. He was oddly pleased to see a determination in her face, somehow familiar. Her eyes met his for the first time: an instant connection, deep and puzzling and exhilarating.

Casting a glance at the spiders flooding into the lobby, Church threw open the door to the stairwell. ‘We’re not risking getting trapped in the lifts. You’re the one with the power,’ he said to Ruth. ‘Can’t you do something?’

‘It’s not like turning on a light switch,’ she snapped. ‘I really need a ritual-’

‘Just do what you can.’

Cursing under her breath, Ruth turned to face the spiders, half-bowed her head and closed her eyes. Mallory heard her whisper a word he didn’t recognise, but which made his stomach turn. An instant later the lights went out.

‘Brilliant,’ Church said.

‘I told you I needed a ritual!’

Mallory felt himself being propelled into the inky stairwell and heard the door slam behind him.

‘That won’t hold them at all,’ Ruth said.

Church sighed, said nothing.

A cool hand fumbled into Mallory’s and he realised it was Sophie’s.

‘If we can get down three floors there are windows,’ she said. ‘The spotlights aimed at the outside of the building will give us enough illumination to see what we’re doing.’

‘If we haven’t all broken our necks by then,’ Ruth said sourly.

Clutching onto the handrails, they moved down the stairs as quickly as they could in the pitch darkness. An intense rustling came from the door at their backs.

‘Moan, moan, moan,’ Church said. A faint blue light began to glow. Mallory realised it was coming from the sword that Church was now holding aloft like a lantern.

Down two flights they hurried, stumbling and cursing, until small objects began to fall on Mallory’s head and shoulders, each igniting a burning sensation that made him yell. Church brought the sword closer. In its glow, Mallory was horrified to see spiders clinging to him, eating through his thick overalls and into his flesh. More were raining from above.

‘Get them off!’ he shouted. ‘I hate spiders!’

The others helped tear them off him as they stumbled down the stairs. The spiders felt hard, almost metallic, and they writhed sickeningly under Mallory’s fingertips. His overalls sticky with blood, he hurled the spiders away as fast as he could pull them loose. Some burst against the walls, but the majority merely bounced and renewed their attack.

They were only a few steps ahead of the cascading spiders when they reached the windows that looked out over London’s glittering cityscape.

‘Is this supposed to be some kind of rescue?’ Mallory snapped. ‘Because if it is, it’s the worst one ever.’

They made it down three more floors, their injuries mounting with each level. Finally they could go no further. The volume of spiders behind them was so great that the stairwell was covered — floor, walls and ceiling — apart from a small semicircle where the four of them had been backed against the window.

‘How many of them are there?’ Sophie said, aghast.

‘About ten billion,’ Church replied. ‘Give or take.’

‘You’re pretty blase about this,’ Mallory said, tension hardening his tone.

‘You’re taking it in your stride, too.’

Mallory was surprised to realise this was true.

‘Give me your hand,’ Ruth said to Sophie. ‘If everything’s right, you should still have some vestige of ability to manipulate the Craft.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Sophie bristled, unable to take her eyes off the advancing black line. Ruth took her hand nonetheless.

‘Try not to make things worse this time,’ Church said.

Ruth mouthed some insult, but she was already focusing her attention internally.

‘What am I supposed to do?’ Sophie asked.

‘Don’t think. Just feel.’

Mallory was surprised to see that Church was now oblivious to the threat of the spiders. He had returned the sword to a scabbard strapped across his back and was standing with his hands pressed against the glass, looking out over the Thames and the lights of the City.

Mallory kicked out at the nearest spiders. The toe of his boot soon hung ragged where it had made contact with them. ‘A little help here, maybe?’

‘I am helping,’ Church said quietly. ‘You need to lighten up.’

Behind the skyscrapers of the financial quarter, lightning illuminated the clouds. ‘Okay,’ Church said to Ruth. ‘Do your stuff.’

Ruth bowed her head, her hair falling across her face. The stale air of the stairwell suddenly took on the freshness of the seaside and the advancing spiders came to a hesitant stop. All movement in the stairwell ceased. Outside, a distant rumble of thunder; another flash of lightning.

Sophie stiffened, her eyelids fluttering as a flush coloured her cheeks. The hand Mallory still held was limp and unresponsive.

‘Now would be good,’ Church said.

Ruth threw her head back and said a single word. Mallory was brought to his knees by a force that came from nowhere. In an eerie silence, the windows blew out, glass shards glittering as they fell to the railway far below. Standing on the brink, Church was oblivious to the powerfully gusting wind that raged inside, threatening to pluck them all out.

Sophie staggered, shook her head. ‘What the hell happened there?’ As she came to her senses, she noticed a curious thing: the spiders had moved back several feet. ‘They’re scared,’ she said, puzzled. ‘Of us.’

‘It’ll pass.’ Ruth grasped Church’s shoulder and he slid his arm around her waist; automatic, familiar gestures in which Mallory recognised tenderness. ‘This would not be a good time to screw up.’

‘Don’t worry. Look.’

Mallory followed Church’s pointing arm to a strange motion in the sky far away over the City. The lights of the Lloyd’s Building were briefly obscured before reappearing.

‘The spiders are moving again,’ Sophie warned.

Mallory was fascinated by the shifting patterns of shadow and light outside. Gold and red flared briefly against the towering structures. Deep in the dark at the back of his head, where his true self had been locked away for too long, memories stirred: feelings of danger, awe and wonder.

Church saw the thoughts play across Mallory’s face. ‘The world doesn’t have to be like this,’ he said.

‘Church, we can’t wait any longer.’ The urgency in Ruth’s voice jolted them both from their reflection.

The spiders inched forward, gaining confidence.

‘Whatever you did … can’t you do it again?’ Mallory asked.

‘It doesn’t work like that.’ An edge of weariness sharpened Ruth’s words. She pressed Sophie back towards Mallory and Church at the window.

Another strong gust. Mallory grabbed the window jamb to stop himself being pulled out. He had a brief, head-spinning view down the vast expanse of the tower to the railway line so far below it was barely visible.

‘Okay, out there,’ Church said decisively. He motioned to a thin ledge that ran around the outside of the tower just below the window.

‘You’re joking!’ Mallory saw that Church wasn’t.

‘Come up with a better plan, you get to be king.’ Steeling himself, Church stepped out of the window, pressing his back against the smooth wall of the tower. Mallory could see the strain in his face as he forced himself not to look down. The wind gusted, a deafening roar.

A surge of spiders drove Mallory, Sophie and Ruth out after him. Sophie gave a small cry, her face drained of blood, and Mallory grabbed her and pressed her back as she almost lurched over the edge.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Mallory yelled to Church over the wind. ‘There’s nowhere to go from here! Why did I ever come with you?’

‘Because you chose life.’

Mallory’s ironic laugh was stolen from his lips by the raging wind. He could barely hold on. Closing his eyes, he thought he was going to be sick.

‘Keep moving,’ Ruth shouted. ‘The spiders are still coming.’

‘This is pointless!’ Mallory yelled. ‘We’re all dead!’

‘I’m trying to buy us some time.’ Church edged further along the ledge.

Eyes screwed shut, Sophie was paralysed, barely even breathing. Closing his own eyes so he didn’t have to see the drop, Mallory squeezed her hand and urged her to match him step for step along the ledge. The wind tugged at his feet, slipped behind his back and lifted him away from the wall. He forced himself against it, gasping. ‘Nowhere to go,’ he said to himself.

‘Yes, there is,’ Church shouted. ‘Look!’

Above the Thames, whatever Mallory had spied earlier was moving closer. Occasionally it was caught in the spotlights illuminating the new buildings that lined the river, and then it gleamed like something jewel-encrusted. It was still a silhouette against the city’s lights, but Mallory could tell it was the size of an airliner. A burst of fire erupted from the front with a roar, and in its glare Mallory saw burning eyes and a serpentine tail, and the billowing wings that carried it on the currents that surged amongst the skyscrapers.

Gaping, he almost forgot where he was. It was a dream, of the city, of his own troubled, imprisoned mind. Behind him, the spiders swarmed along the side of the building, many plucked off by the wind and sent spiralling into the dark gulf, forgotten now in the face of approaching wonder.

‘Is that …?’ Sophie had opened her eyes as though she had sensed what was coming.

‘Yes,’ Mallory said, ‘it is.’ He was puzzled why he wasn’t more surprised. He saw Church smiling and that didn’t surprise him either.

The Fabulous Beast caught the thermals and soared over the Thames.

‘Come on!’ Ruth urged. ‘I’ve got spiders nibbling at my fingers!’

‘You’re summoning it?’ Mallory asked.

His eyes glassy, Church didn’t respond.

The Beast glided languorously around the towers of Docklands, the beat of its enormous wings echoing louder than the wind.

As it neared, Church came alive. ‘When it passes beneath us, jump.’

Mallory and Sophie looked at him with horror.

Before they could protest, Ruth placed one hand in the small of Sophie’s back and propelled her off the ledge. Church did the same with Mallory.

The wind tore at Mallory as he fell, kicking. Two seconds of plummeting stretched to an age, and then he hit the back of the Beast, winding himself. He slid, grabbed a bony tine along its spine, felt the others land nearby. The wings thundered with a steady, deafening beat and they rose higher, and higher still. Mallory watched the lights of the towers fall away as he clung on for dear life.

He realised he must have been wearing an odd expression, for Church was looking at him curiously. ‘Scared?’ Church asked.

‘No,’ Mallory replied, baffled. ‘I just had the strangest feeling of deja vu.’