The City's son

CHAPTER 29

Fire. Strands of black-oil stretched between grinning lips. A lighter-flame, neat and symmetrical as a daggerpoint. ‘It coruscates, and cleanses,’ a slick voice was saying. ‘It maims and makes anew.’

Beth opened her eyes slowly and then winced. The daylight hurt her eyes. The warmth of the sun made her want to sleep.

She could feel the ground under her, the city rubbing up against her skin. She could feel the charge that built up between them. Urbosynthesis, she thought. A smile split her face, so wide it made her mouth ache.

She sat up. Fil was lying beside her — he looked exhausted.

Maybe I should let him sleep. She considered the idea for a second, then shouted, ‘Oi, Phyllis, wake up!’

He popped one eyelid. ‘This is an uncivilised bleedin’ hour,’ he grunted. ‘I’d kind’ve hoped that you’d see the merit of kipping in the daytime now.’

‘Kip? How can I kip when I’ve got this — when we’ve got this-’ She flailed for the right words; she was buzzing. The energy of the city was in her and she could feel it charging her. It felt like Christmas when she was little, when Mum would stomp around, scowling good-temperedly down the stairs with bundles of newspaper-wrapped presents she’d bought with their meagre…

Bought.

The word brought Beth up short. ‘Fil?’ she said, suddenly worried, ‘what did this cost? What did the synod want for changing me like this?’

He sat up, groaning, and scratched himself with his spear. ‘Not a lot, given what we asked ’em for.’ He yawned like a giant contented cat. ‘I told ’em to make you as close to a child of Mater Viae as they could. All they wanted in exchange was some poxy ingredient their stores were missing that I happened to have. Long as I live, not something I’m goin’ to use. But they were dead keen on it.’

‘Seriously?’ Beth was dubious. ‘That sounds… cheap.’

He shrugged. ‘There’s no predicting the stuff the synod are going to prize. Like Petris said, they’ll make a commodity out of anything.’

By the time he clambered to his feet Beth was jigging with pent-up nervous energy. He dusted himself off and picked up his railing. ‘All right, all right.’ He spoke with the knackered kind of good humour she’d overheard dads using to their toddlers in the park. ‘What do you want to do?’

There was only one answer to that. She shivered with pleasure as she said, ‘I want to run.’

*

Beth led the way, her gait impossibly smooth, as Fil stumbled behind her, missing his footing, groggy in the daylight.

She ducked inside the back door of the factory and raced between its mouldy walls, which echoed back their voices as they shouted with laughter.

The factory passed in an eye-blink and then they were back out into the sun. He was at her shoulder now, his face lined in concentration, his feet blurring as he ate up her lead. Exhilaration built in her chest as the urban scrub gave way to tarmac and they pounded along a main road. Horns screamed as traffic vanished in a smear behind them.

She caught a flash of his grinning face as he overtook her and she gritted her teeth and pushed herself harder. She understood now how he could run so fast: each footfall drew more power from the asphalt, each step charged the next. Their sprint was growing ever faster.

Beth crowed gleefully into the wind; Fil whooped in answer. Her feet were learning the city: every time her bare soles hit the ground she knew she would never forget that piece of slate, that patch of tarmac, the texture. She could find every inch again with her eyes shut.

Gradually, Beth pulled level. On the first day she met him she’d collapsed, breathless, in his wake. Now, children of the city, they raced side by side through their home.

A small marina opened up before them, a couple of hundred yards off the river, anchored boats bobbing in the murky water, sails furled tight around their masts. Without pausing, Fil sprang onto a sailboat, then his momentum bore him into the nearby rigging until he was swinging from yard-arm to yard-arm.

Beth stormed up to the marina’s edge.

Go round, a nervous voice in her head urged, go round.

And a louder voice overrode it. Screw that, she thought, and leaped. Her stomach lurched as she swung from a crossbeam, but her grip held. She let her new instincts carry her through the forest of masts to the far side of the marina where Fil waited, his arm pointing upwards to Canary Wharf.

Her eyes followed his finger, and widened.

‘Enjoy the climb? How about one of them, then?’

The three giant skyscrapers reared overhead, lights glowing in the oncoming evening gloom. They were only a few hundred yards away.

Beth swallowed hard. The middle one, Canada Tower, was the tallest in the city. The glass-and-steel edifice soared over the capital, the silver pyramid that capped it piercing the underbelly of the clouds.

He winked. ‘I’ll race you.’

The bricks smeared past. Beth’s blood, her new blood, pounded in her veins. Was it still red, she wondered, or tar-black? The few people skating on the ice-rink in Canada Square barely saw the grey-and-black pair blur past them.

He shinned rapidly up a steel pillar beside one of the skyscraper’s revolving doors and hauled himself up to the first floor. He started scuttling crabwise up the side of the building, squeezing himself flat into the dark spaces between the brightly lit windows. Somehow his fingers and toes found invisible crevices in the smooth metal on the outside of the building.

Beth skidded to a halt. Her feet felt suddenly heavy, lead instead of quicksilver. She found herself shaking her head. He’s scaling sheer steel.

She couldn’t She couldn’t do that.

She began to pace back and forth, squinting critically at the sheer metal escarpment, embarrassed that she couldn’t keep up with him.

A tendril of metal caught her eye: a cable running all the way up the side of the tower. It was supporting a window-washing platform. She grabbed it, and found it a perfect fit for the rough new texture of her hand. She lifted her feet off the ground and dangled, relishing the feeling of so easily supporting her own weight.

With a wide grin she set her shoulders and began to haul herself up, hand over hand, gripping the cable with fingers and toes. Her reflection slithered over the metal as the wind whipped her hood into her face, billowed her clothes out like balloons. She looked down only once, and laughed at the toy-like city beneath her.

She could see his wiry silhouette on top of the tower, waiting for her.

‘You took your time,’ he said as she pulled herself over the lip of the roof.

Beth lay back against the slope of the roof, the breath in her chest burning. ‘We can’t all climb like bloody squirrels, y’know.’

‘Really? You think I’m like a squirrel?’ He sounded proud.

‘I wouldn’t get too excited. Squirrels are just rats with a blow-dry.’

‘And what’s wrong with rats?’

Beth didn’t bother to answer. She rolled away from the edge. The silver pyramid rose steeply above them. A light flashed on and off, a warning to low-flying aircraft. Steam snaked from the air-conditioning vents, diffusing the beacon’s light, and directly below it She felt her jaw drop.

‘Um, Fil?’ she croaked.

‘What?’

‘Is that a throne?’

Cut into the western face of the pyramid was a seat with high sloping arms. It was vast — nothing could possibly be big enough to fill it. But even as the words left her mouth, Beth knew whose throne it was, because cut into the chair’s high back was the tower block crown.

He glanced upwards, snorted in amusement. ‘Nah,’ he said in a deadpan tone, ‘it’s the Maharajah of Madras’ diamond left buttock.’

He paused, then said, ‘Well identified, Beth: it is, in fact, a throne. Congrats. Your power to observe the bleedin’ obvious is a credit to the human race.’ He looked out over the view and whistled appreciatively.

‘It is quite something, though, don’t you reckon? I can never get over it when I come up here. You’ve gotta hand it to old Rubbleface, he can build.’

‘Rubbleface?’ Beth looked at him in astonishment. ‘You mean Reach?’

He looked at her. ‘Okay,’ he said slowly, ‘so maybe your grasp of the obvious isn’t quite as good as I thought. All skyscrapers are Reach’s children, Beth. Think you can build one of these things without cranes? Canary Wharf was his biggest, baddest accomplishment. A mirror to his ruptured face that the whole city could see — and Mater Viae took it, and sat on it.’

He chuckled. ‘You’d better believe that sent a message. No more petty heresies. Friar Archibald and his Apostates of Stone went awful quiet. No one said a bad word about the Old Girl for a good decade.’

The beacon flashed and lit his wicked grin. ‘Wanna try it out?’

Beth stood slowly, gazing up at this vast, empty chair on the roof of the City. ‘Are we — you know — allowed?’

The throne’s seat swamped both of them. They sat side by side, Beth cross-legged, Fil sprawled back on his elbows. Darkness rendered the city a mass of shifting squares of light, a puzzle waiting to be solved. It was a chaotic beauty, but no less pure for that. Beth gazed across it, her muscles knackered into relaxation. She was thrilled, and sad, and wistful, and ecstatic and- She didn’t have the words for the feeling, but she knew she’d never forget it.

‘Beth, what is it?’ Fil sounded alarmed.

‘What’s what?’

‘You’re crying.’

Beth touched her cheek, a little shocked to find it wet. Her tears smelled of chalk. She wiped them away and smiled ruefully. ‘I was thinking of Pen.’

‘Pen?’

‘My best friend.’ She looked at his narrow concrete-coloured face with some astonishment. Had she really never told him about Pen? ‘Inseparable, they used to call us,’ she said, ‘like it was ordinary. Like it wasn’t a bloody miracle to have someone who can tell you’ve got a broken heart by the way you button your coat.’ She exhaled hard into the cold night air. ‘I could never put how I feel right now into words, not if I had a hundred years. But with Pen, I wouldn’t have to. She’d just know.’

‘How did you get so close?’ he asked.

‘Don’t know — I guess if I could explain it, it wouldn’t be a miracle.’

He smiled, maybe a little sadly. ‘Sounds like you were in love with her.’

Beth shut her eyes, remembering Pen’s face. ‘She made me feel brave.’

‘What?’ He sounded puzzled. ‘You’re brave anyway, stupidly brave — suicidally brave, else there’s no way you’d be here.’

Beth was touched by his confusion. ‘Nah,’ she said, ‘I was never smart enough to be properly scared. So how could I be scared enough to be brave? Pen always said: “Only the people you love can scare you witless enough for true courage.” I thought she was quoting someone, but knowing her she probably made it up. She was scared of everything, especially heights, but she’d still follow me onto any roof. ’

Beth waved a hand over the echoing night below them. ‘One night we were muralling this rooftop in Camberwell. It’d been raining, and the slates were all slick and shiny, y’know? You could see the moon in them, it was beautiful…’ Beth felt the memory cinch her throat tight. ‘But it was slippery, and Pen fell.’ She rubbed her fingertips together; she could still feel the silk of Pen’s hijab where her desperate fingers had snagged it as her best friend slipped away.

‘ Thames! ’ Fil swore, ‘she died?’

‘Thank Christ and your Mother, no. There was another rooftop about six feet down. She didn’t even break an ankle.’ Beth snorted. ‘Happy endings all round. But for one second, the longest second of my life, I thought I’d lost her. That was the most afraid I’ve ever been. There was enough loneliness in that one heartbeat for a lifetime. She was the thing I cared about most in the world, and I thought I’d lost her — and the worst of it was she wouldn’t have even been up on that sodding roof if it wasn’t for me.’

She felt a wiry arm around her shoulder pulling her in close. She felt the rough texture of him, the matted tangle of his hair against her cheek. ‘You can’t begin to know what that’s like,’ she said.

‘Yes I can.’ He hesitated before he whispered back, ‘That’s exactly how I felt when I saw you in the fire.’

Beth kissed him — it happened before she let herself think about it. Her lips pressed against his and for a moment she was acutely aware of every tingling inch of her skin. His rough fingers brushed her neck.

Neither of them melted into the kiss; instead they held it, electrically still, each terrified the other would pull away, but neither of them did.

Eventually, Beth broke contact. Fil’s skin was hot as she laid her own face against it.

‘Wow.’ He was actually stammering. ‘That was… that was-’

Weird? Fantastic? Scary? Hot? Beth licked her lips nervously. Did he think it was rubbish? No, ’course not, he’s probably never kissed a human being, got nothing to compare it to. But still, that Lampgirl, they looked tight, maybe they were even in love…

The word leaped out at her: love. Oh Christ, Beth, she thought in alarm, what if that’s-? What if this is — ?

How would she know?

Love. There was a hollowness to the way the thought rang in her head, like chiming glass.

Love…

The thought wasn’t hers.

Beth’s eyes snapped open. She twisted her head, hardly daring to…

A tiny spider dangled from an air-con vent by a filament wire. It was no larger than a common house-spider, but it glittered like fibreglass and hissed and buzzed with static.

Love…

‘Fil!’ she cried, and threw herself at the spider with the speed of a chemical reaction. Her hands clamped around it.

‘ What? What?’ He sprang to his feet, spear already in hand.

Beth’s voice came out in an excited hiss. ‘It’s one of them — one of the spiders! I can feel it crawling all over the inside of my fingers. Ow! It’s like shuffling thistles — Fil, don’t just stand there, bloody help me!’

He merely gestured with his spear. ‘Let it go, Beth.’

‘What? Are you mental?’ Beth was scandalised. ‘It’s one of those spiders. I’m not letting it go, it’ll eat my face!’

He frowned. ‘Pylon Spiders don’t eat faces, Beth.’

‘It’ll make an exception for mine, I have a very pretty face.’

‘Um… er… yeah.’ He looked uncomfortable.

‘How about a little more enthusiasm?’ she snapped. ‘You kissed it-’

‘Seriously, Beth…’

‘It’ll kill us,’ she said stubbornly.

‘One that size? Against both of us?’ He cocked his head. ‘Let it go.’

Beth glared up at him. ‘Come and stand here,’ she ordered him.

‘Why?’

‘So if you’re wrong, it’s your face gets eaten,’ she grumbled.

‘Let it go, Beth,’ he said again calmly.

Gradually, she lifted her palms half an inch off the metal and peeked under them.

Needle-pointed feet flickered. ‘ Love,’ the glassy voice whispered gleefully in her head, ‘ weird and fantastic and terrifying love- ’

‘Shut it,’ she told it as she retracted her hands.

Fil squatted in front of the spider and cocked his head to one side as though listening. ‘Speak up,’ he said after a moment. ‘Let Beth hear.’

‘ Weird, fantastic… ’ The tinny chorus broke off suddenly and another voice spoke: ‘You survived, then.’ The words carried an unmistakable note of disapproval. ‘Harder to shift than a takeaway curry-stain, the both of you.’ It was Gutterglass’ voice, coming from the spider.

‘Mostly they swallow voices.’ Fil didn’t stop watching the creature while he murmured in Beth’s ear. ‘But you can persuade ’em to spit one out every now and then, if you make it worth their while.’

‘The two of you have been gone for almost a whole day,’ Gutterglass’ voice lamented, ‘so what in Thames’ name have you been up to?’

They exchanged a look, and then both erupted into a simultaneous fit of embarrassed coughing.

‘Nothing much,’ Fil managed.

Gutterglass emitted a sceptical snort. ‘ Fine. Well, while you two were gallivanting around in the docks, I went on a bit of a recruitment drive. You’ll be happy to know we have some proper soldiers on side now: some of the Pavement Priests — a minority, admittedly, but a significant one — have seen the light.

‘They’ve come in under the nominal command of the angel-skinned one, Ezekiel. Did you know he can actually fly? Limestone wings and all. It’s quite astonishing to watch. He says you can lead the stoneskin regiment with him if you like.’ The voice was positively smug. ‘How’s that?’

Fil’s face fell. ‘Ezekiel? What about Petris?’

‘Alas, the old sinner broke out in a rash of democracy and decided to stay with the majority of the priesthood. Funny moment for a man like him to come over all gallant, I must say. He said: “I can’t in good conscience lead my people back into bondage.” Honestly! Ezekiel ought to be High Priest really; he’s a much better advocate for Our Lady. A true zealot, a dying breed almost, but still there if you know who to talk to.’

Fil folded his arms, hugging his spear to his chest. He looked slightly irritated that his old tutor had succeeded where he’d failed in recruiting his own mother’s priests.

‘Do come swiftly, Filius,’ Gutterglass was saying. ‘I’ve heard rumours; the pigeons and the gargoyles on the taller towers say there’s been movement at St Paul’s. Reach’s cranes are restless.’

The young prince nodded, his face set. ‘We need to strike before he gets moving,’ he agreed. ‘If his wolfpack catches us in the open, they’ll take us apart.’

‘My sentiments precisely. Oh, in the name of all that is clean and holy…’ the voice crackled away for a second and then returned. ‘That Russian of yours wants me — hurry, Filius! Ms Bradley,’ she acknowledged her formally, and then the spider dissolved into the air with a white-noise fizz.

Fil smiled at Beth. For a second, she wondered if he was going to kiss her again, then his eyes fell on her crownscar. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Like you said, it’s your fight too now. Time to join it.’ He grabbed the cable attached to the window-washing platform. ‘This how you came up, was it? Nice. Economical. I approve.’

Without another word, he swung back off the roof. She watched his narrow form plunge into the night and start abseiling down the tower.

Beth made to follow, but then paused. She reached into her backpack for one of the black Magic Markers she kept there. After all, she thought, I can hardly come to London’s highest rooftop and not tag it, can I?

Crouching, she did a rough sketch of them both on the rooftop, side by side. Underneath she wrote an inscription: Beth Bradley and the street-urchin Prince on the day they stood on the roof of the world.

Sounds like a fairy-tale, Beth. Here’s hoping it ends like one. The taste of the kiss was still on her lips, as heady as petrol fumes. For a second she imagined Pen’s face, drawn in beside hers, watching her. What would you think of him, Pencil Khan? What would you say?

Maybe one day soon she could ask her.

‘Oi, Bradley!’ His voice echoed up.

Beth seized the cable and, daring herself with a shout, leapt out across the city.