The Doorkeepers

Twenty-Seven

The Hooded Man locked Josh in a bare room with a view of the hospital lawns. In the distance he could see the glittering lights of London, with autogiros swarming over it like fireflies. He lay on the iron-framed bed without undressing and tried to rest, but his mind was teeming with fear and worry.

At eleven o’clock a burly male nurse unlocked the door of his room and escorted him along the corridor to the toilet.

“What if I try to make a run for it?” he asked, as he stood in front of the urinal.

The male nurse let out a sharp, humorless bark of laughter.

Josh was allowed to pour himself a Bakelite beaker of water, and then he was escorted back to his room. “Breakfast at seven,” the male nurse told him. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

He sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. He almost felt that if he squeezed his eyes tight enough, he would open them again and find himself back in Mill Valley, in his own bedroom, with the wind-chimes tinkling on the verandah outside. He tried to wish this world into disappearing, by the power of mind alone. If somebody had wished the six doors into existence, maybe he could wish that he had never heard of them, and that time could turn backward.

He was still sitting there when he felt something nudging his left leg. Something alive. Instantly – shocked – he opened his eyes. It was Abraxas, with his eyes bright and his tail slapping wildly against the frame of the bed.

“Abraxas! How the hell did you get in here?” But then he remembered that the male nurse had left his door ajar while they went along to the head. There wouldn’t have been any point in him locking it, after all – he wouldn’t have imagined that anybody wanted to get in.

“How’re you doing, boy? Hungry? I don’t have any food, sorry. But here, you can have a drink of water.”

Abraxas thirstily slurped from Josh’s beaker, and then he shook himself and sat down beside him, as if he were waiting to be told what to do next.

“You’re a good dog, you know that. You must have the best-tuned nose I ever came across. A Stradivarius of noses. And you didn’t let those mangy hounds find you, did you?”

Abraxas gave a whine of appreciation in the back of his throat.

Josh said, “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do now. I’m going to teach you the Montenotte Method. I’m going to teach you how to be fearless and brave and a little bit crazy. I’m going to teach you to fight your way out of here. You’re going to be the fiercest dog that ever was. That’s the least that Ella deserves.”

He started to stroke the top of Abraxas’ smooth, well-boned head. “Now you listen to me,” he began. “This is the last time I’m going to stroke you like this, because you and me, we’re equals.” He pressed one hand flat against his chest, and then he pressed it against Abraxas’ chest in exactly the same way. “We see with the same eyes,” he said, pointing to his own eyes, and then to Abraxas’ eyes. “We hear with the same ears, and we feel with the same heart. You wait. By the end of tonight, you and I are going to be so physically and mentally attuned to each other, you’ll be wondering why I’m wearing pants and you’re not. We’re going to be symbiotes, you got it? And more than that, we’re going to be friends.”

All through the night, until a ghostly gray dawn began to reveal the trees and the lawns and the hospital buildings, and the streetlights began to wink out, Josh talked and touched and trained Abraxas to understand everything he was thinking and everything that he needed from him.

It was almost a dreamlike experience for both of them, a Zen master and his pupil, and Josh found that he could ask Abraxas to do things that he had never asked of a dog before, such as growling to order, and walking around the room seven times, and jumping in the opposite direction whenever he jumped himself.

He taught him more than tricks, though. Josh taught Abraxas to look at him and know what he wanted him to do next. Sometimes he needed the slightest of winks, or an almost-imperceptible nod of the head, but by morning he was sitting and lying down just because Josh was thinking sit and lie.

At five after seven, the male nurse came into his room with a tray. He set it down on a folding table, and gave Josh a Bakelite knife and fork. “There you are. Better make the most of it.”

Josh lifted the aluminum cover off his plate. Underneath lay four rashers of fatty bacon, two sausages, two fried eggs, and two soggy slices of fried bread.

“Is this the punishment? Execution by cholesterol?”

“Very funny,” said the male nurse, as he walked back toward the door.

Josh waited until the door was closed and locked. Then he set his breakfast plate down on the floor. “Abraxas? Come and get it.”

Abraxas shuffled out from under the bed and wolfed down the entire plateful in less than twenty seconds. “Now, get back under there and grab yourself some zees,” Josh told him. “I can’t take you out for a walk, not just yet, so you’ll have to hold it.”

The Hooded Men came for him at five after twelve. There were five of them, with three dog-handlers and two drummers. As they escorted him along the corridors, the drummers let out an intermittent bang!-bang!-bang! that almost pierced his eardrums.

They went down the main staircase and across the hallway. Ahead of them stood two huge double doors, clad in polished copper. Two of the Hooded Men produced keys, and unlocked them. Two more pushed them open.

“Come on, now. This is your time,” said one of the Hooded Men, pushing Josh forward. They marched him down a long corridor, lit only by dim greenish skylights. Josh could feel a faint draft blowing along it, and the draft carried with it the pungent smell of camphor, mingled with the dry aroma of herbs. It reminded him of hiding in his grandmother’s closet when he was very small, and how he had once been accidentally locked inside it for a whole afternoon, crying and calling out for help.

They reached another pair of double doors, and swung these open, too. Inside, it was darker still, and it took Josh over half a minute for his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. He looked around and saw that they were standing in the entrance to a Victorian operating theater, with a hexagonal floor, and tiers of balconies rising up on three sides. Right at the very top, there were six clerestory windows, but they were glazed with dark blue glass, so that only the inkiest of lights could penetrate the theater itself.

As his eyesight improved, Josh saw that the balconies were occupied by Hooded Men, with their Puritan hats and their black tunics; and by other men in Puritan costume, their pale faces gleaming in the darkness like Hallowe’en lanterns. There was a murmur of conversation and a thick rustle of clothing, as well as the clank of scabbards.

The theater must have been very poorly ventilated. Apart from the smell of camphor and herbs, there was an overwhelming smell of stale sweat and tobacco. Josh found it suffocating, and had to steeple his hands in front of his nose.

Out of the shadows, Frank Mordant came forward, dressed in a black double-breasted suit with dandruff specking his shoulders. “The moment of truth,” he grinned. “I don’t know whether you’re going to enjoy this very much, but it’s going to be an experience like you’ve never had before, I promise you.”

“Where’s Nancy, you bastard?”

“Oh, she’ll be here in a minute, don’t you fret about that. In fact – look – here she comes now.”

Two doors at the rear of the theater opened up, and a high surgical trolley was wheeled in by two hospital orderlies. A figure lay on it, draped in a white sheet, one arm dangling. As it was wheeled nearer, Josh saw that it was Nancy, very pale, her hair tied back and covered by a white surgical cap. She looked like Saint Joan, on her way to be martyred.

Josh tried to step forward, but one of the Hooded Men immediately grasped his arm with a gloved hand that felt like a bag full of crushed bones. “Stay here and observe,” the Hooded Man breathed. “Your turn will come soon enough.”

Now the two surgeons entered the theater, Mr Leggett and Mr Crane, both of them dressed in white surgical robes. There was a spattering of applause, but they stayed in the background.

One of the Hooded Men raised his arm and called out, “Pray silence for Master Gordon Spire!”

The theater became suddenly hushed. A thin man in Puritan costume descended from his place on the tiers, and stalked stiff-legged into the center of the theater. He had a sharp, ratlike face, with a hairy wart next to his nose, and when he took off his hat he revealed a mane of steel-gray hair, curled up at the back.

“What we have come here to do today is historical,” he said, in a sharp, penetrating voice. “We have come here to judge, yes. We have come here to punish, yes. We have come here to uphold the law. But we have also come here to perpetuate the consciousness that gives us rule and dominance over every manifestation of our Lord’s creation.

“This man that stands before you, Joshua Winward, stands accused of heresy, conspiracy, subversion and murder. We have deliberated and found him guilty. This woman who lies here, Nancy Andersen, is similarly accused of heresy, conspiracy, subversion of the Commonwealth, and deception. We have deliberated, and we have found her guilty as charged.”

“On what evidence?” Josh shouted out. “Where are your witnesses? Where is your proof? You didn’t even give us a chance to speak in our defense!”

The Hooded Man gripped his upper arm even tighter. “Quiet,” he insisted. “This is a court of law.”

“This isn’t any goddamned court of law! Where’s our defense? Where’s the goddamned jury? This is a total travesty, and you know it!”

“Quiet” ordered the Hooded Man, and crushed his arm harder.

Now Mr Leggett stepped forward. He paused for a moment, for effect, and then he said, “What you will witness here today will be a miracle of modern surgery. Out of justice, comes perpetual life. This woman who lies here on this trolley is convicted of mortal offenses against the Commonwealth. But now she will have the opportunity to give the greatest contribution possible to its welfare and its survival.”

“What’s he talking about?” Josh wanted to know. “What the hell’s he talking about?”

“Shh,” said Frank Mordant, lifting one finger to his lips.

Mr Leggett said, “The six doors which we all have sworn to protect for all eternity were created by one woman. Out of this one woman’s mind, out of this one woman’s consciousness – a flame that has been kept alight for two thousand years.

“She has outlived kings and emperors, uprisings and rebellions, invasions and conquests. She has survived so long because of the pharmacological skills of the Druids, and by mystical influences which we still cannot fully understand, even today, for all of our scientific advances. For century after century, she has been cared for by the finest doctors and surgeons and herbalists – still conscious today, where she is sustained by the latest in surgical techniques.

“This, gentlemen, will guarantee her survival through this new millennium, and into the next, and probably for ever. The six doors will never close!”

Josh tried to pull himself free, but another Hooded Man grasped his other arm, and all he could do was kick and twist.

Mr Leggett turned to Mr Crane, and said, “Shall we begin?” Then he looked around at the audience in the theater and shouted out, “What you are about to see now is a miracle! Praise the Lord!”

The doors at the back of the theater opened again, and a paler blue light suffused the auditorium.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr Leggett, his voice cracking with emotion. “I give you the queen of all queens. I give you Boudicca.”

Six hospital orderlies slowly pushed a black-draped carriage in to the center of the operating theater. It looked like a moving tent, because it was completely covered, so that only the lower half of its wheels were visible.

After the tent came a stainless-steel trolley, laid out with dozens of surgical instruments – saws, clips, scalpels, and some extraordinary devices which Josh had never seen before, and whose purpose he couldn’t even begin to guess.

The theater fell completely silent as one of the orderlies pushed Nancy closer to the tent-like affair. Then, like a waiter whipping off a tablecloth, he removed the sheet that covered her. Josh struggled again, but the Hooded Men were holding him far too tight for him to break free. Nancy was completely naked, her pale skin shining blue in the light from the clerestory windows. The orderly secured her wrists and ankles with leather straps, and tightened them.

Now – on a signal from Mr Leggett – another orderly tugged a string at the side of the black tent. It resisted for a moment, but then it abruptly dropped to the floor. Josh looked at what was underneath, and felt a prickling sensation of utter horror, like centipedes running up his back.

The carriage was an elaborate construction of slings and pulleys and supports. Suspended on all of these slings were layer upon layer of coarse dried-looking fabric, the color of rotten linen. Out of these layers hung scores of gnarled sticks, hundreds of them, like the legs of long-dead spiders crushed between the pages of an ancient book.

At first, Josh couldn’t understand what he was looking at, but gradually he realized that the layers of fabric formed a pattern, like a huge dead chrysanthemum. Toward the center of the chrysanthemum, the layers appeared to be thicker, and paler, and the sticks much less gnarled. Josh peered at them more intently, and then he saw that they weren’t sticks at all, but human arms, their skin dried out, their flesh desiccated. Between them, there was a distorted, twisted torso, thick with ribbons of scar tissue, and another torso attached to it, at an angle, and a third torso beneath them.

This enormous flower was nothing less than the mummified bodies of literally hundreds of people, all sewn together to form a single, immense being. And most terrifying of all was the face that lay in the very center of it. A woman’s face, as white as if she had been powdered with flour, her red-rimmed eyes staring out of this concatenation of arms and legs and bodies as if she were right on the point of screaming. Yet the minutes passed, and she didn’t scream.

She blinked, and that frightened Josh even more, because that meant that she was alive. She was actually alive, in the middle of all of these layers of atrophied skin and time-brittled bone.

There was no smell of decay, only a haunting mustiness. As each new organ was attached to her body, she must have drained it of all of its blood and all of its mucus, until it became nothing more than human paper. So this is why Julia had been emptied; and why all of the girls that Frank Mordant had murdered before her had been selectively dismembered. Their mutilations had depended entirely on this creature’s particular needs. New heart, new lungs, new stomach – whichever had been drained of all of its nourishment, and started to fail her.

Her face was both alarming and remarkable. It wasn’t the face of a modern woman at all. It was broad, with a heavy jaw, and the faintest trace of freckles across the bridge of a small, straight nose. A wide black band of cloth had been tied around her forehead, but underneath it Josh could still see traces of reddish-gray hair.

Mr Leggett stepped forward and raised his hand for attention. “Today you will witness the removal of the donor’s legs, arms and head, and the attachment of her entire body to the queen. At the moment, the queen is breathing with only one lung, the other having been misplaced during her most recent transplant. Today’s operation will strengthen her respiration, her digestion – and something more.

“We have been planning for over a year to give her reproductive capabilities. Ovaries, and a womb. Today we are going to attempt to make it possible for her to have a child. It is possible that – if she can do this – her child will eventually be able to carry on her conscious existence in her place. In other words, she will have an heir to keep the six doors open for her.”

“You’re crazy!” Josh shouted at him. “All of you! You’re all fucking crazy! How can you think of killing anybody to keep that thing alive? How can you do it? And you call yourselves men of God!”

One of the Hooded Men clamped his hand over Josh’s mouth. Josh tried to bite into his glove, but it was too thick, and it tasted of sour, untanned leather.

“We will commence by removing the donor’s legs,” said Mr Leggett. “You will remember that this is a punishment as well as a surgical operation, so it is the law’s requirement that this young lady should suffer as much pain as possible. If she screams and begs for mercy from the Lord, then you will know that Master Spire’s judgement was true.”

Mr Crane handed him a black surgical crayon and he drew circles around Nancy’s upper thighs, as close to her pelvis as possible. Josh wrenched himself from side to side, almost blind with anger and fear, and with the Hooded Man’s glove clamped so tight over his mouth that he could scarcely breathe. This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. He felt that he must have gone mad, and that he was hallucinating that he was here in this operating theater, with all of these faceless men and this grotesque thing that was lying in front of him, staring out at nothing with her death-white face.

Josh dropped to his knees, but the Hooded Men heaved him upright again. He tried to turn his head away so that he wouldn’t have to watch what Mr Leggett was doing, but they seized his hair and made him look straight toward the operating trolley.

Nancy herself said nothing at all – just lay on the trolley making no attempt to struggle. Josh guessed that she had put herself into a medicine-trance, which badly-wounded Modocs used to do to numb their agony. Whether it would be enough to anesthetize her when Mr Leggett started to saw through her thighbones, he couldn’t tell. God, please help her, he said to himself, with tears in his eyes. This one time, God, please help her.

Mr Leggett held out his hand and Mr Crane slapped a scalpel into it. “Now,” said Mr Leggett, “you should watch this closely. It’s always fascinating how quickly the human body protects itself against massive injury – how rapidly the bleeding stops of its own accord.”

He leaned over Nancy and started to cut. A thin rivulet of blood ran across her thigh. Because of the dim blue light, it looked almost purple. Nancy shuddered, but she didn’t cry out.

Josh raised his eyes to the tiers surrounding the operating theater. He couldn’t watch any more, even if the Hooded Men were gripping his hair. He saw tier after tier of faces, the Masters of Religious Observance, and apart from the hessian hoods with their torn-open eyes, all he could see were lit-up expressions of ghoulish curiosity, almost a sexual excitement.

He lifted his eyes to the very top tier, which was empty. He tried to remember a prayer that his mother had taught him and Julia when they were children – a prayer that we would all find Jesus one day, and that when we did, He would pick us up in His arms and comfort us for ever.

And then he saw Abraxas.

The dog was standing in the middle of the tier, alone, staring at him through the railings. Josh couldn’t believe his eyes. He must have gotten bored and restless in Josh’s room, and decided to find out where he was.

The theater was gloomy, and Josh couldn’t even be sure that Abraxas had seen him. But he stared up at him hard; and he tried to convey with every ounce of his will that he wanted Abraxas to jump down into the center of the theater. Jump, Abraxas! Jump, you stupid bastard! Jump!

Abraxas’ ears pricked up, but he stayed where he was. Josh heard Nancy cry out, but he didn’t take his eyes away from the topmost tier. Jump, Abraxas! For God’s sake, jump!

Abraxas turned and started to trot away. In desperation, Josh twisted his neck violently to the right, and then to the left, and cleared the Hooded Man’s glove away from his mouth.

“Abraxas!” he yelled, and gave a high-pitched, curling whistle. “Here, boy! Here, boy! Jump!”

The Hooded Man fumbled his glove over Josh’s mouth, but Josh managed to twist his head sideways again and shout, “Kill!”

Abraxas came leaping down from tier to tier, until he landed with a scrabble of claws in the middle of the operating theater. There were cries of surprise from all around. Some of the Masters started to laugh. Mr Crane shouted, “Get that dog, somebody!” and Mr Leggett looked up from the operating trolley in alarm.

Without any hesitation, Abraxas launched himself at the Hooded Man holding Josh’s right arm. He sank his teeth into his leg and furiously tussled his head from side to side. The Hooded Man fell backward, knocking over another Master. He grabbed Abraxas’ front legs and tried to pull him off, but Abraxas was part bull terrier, and once his jaws were locked, they stayed locked.

“Get it off me!” roared the Hooded Man, smacking and punching at Abraxas’ head. “Get this infernal mutt off me!”

The other Hooded Man released his grip on Josh’s left arm and drew his sword. But Josh – his adrenalin fired up – was even quicker. He grasped the Hooded Man’s wrist and forced it violently backward, snapping all his tendons. The Hooded Man dropped his sword and Josh picked it up.

Now he went mad with rage. He grasped the sword in both hands and swung it around, hitting the Hooded Man across the chest. It cut through cloth and leather and bone, and the Hooded Man collapsed on to his knees. Next he thrust the point of the sword straight into the hessian face of the second Hooded Man. It went right into his head and stuck in the back of his skull. Abraxas looked up from the man’s leg.

“Come on, boy, kill!” Josh urged him.

“Seize that man!” shouted Master Spire. “Seize him at once!”

But Josh yelled out, “Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” and advanced into the center of the operating theater with his sword whirling over his head and nobody was ready to take him on – not even the Hooded Men. Mr Leggett dropped his scalpel and pushed his way toward the rear doors. Mr Crane came hurrying after him, knocking over the trays of surgical instruments.

One-handed, Josh unbuckled the straps that held Nancy’s wrists and ankles. Her thigh was bleeding but it was a clean, sharp wound and Mr Leggett had only just started to cut.

“Come on,” Josh told her, and helped her off the operating trolley. He reached down and grabbed the sheet which had covered her and said, “Here – wrap yourself in this.”

Two more Hooded Men had drawn their swords and were climbing down from the tiers, but Abraxas rushed at them, barking wildly, and all they could do was circle around, cautiously prodding at him.

Josh crossed over to the wheeled carriage where Boudicca lay. She watched him from the middle of her dried layers of human flesh as he lifted his sword and pointed it toward her neck.

“What are you doing?” screamed Master Spire. “If you kill Boudicca, the six doors will close for ever!”

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing,” said Josh. “I’m making sure that Miss Andersen goes free, and that you give her safe passage through the nearest door. If you don’t, I’ll cut your precious Boudicca’s head off. And don’t think I’m joking.”

Frank Mordant stepped forward. “You’re an idiot, Mr Win ward. I always said that Yanks were idiots. If you kill Boudicca, then you’ll be trapped in this world for the rest of your life – which probably wouldn’t be very long, if the Doorkeepers have their way.”

“That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.”

“My, my! You are selfless! But, you see, I’m not going to let you hurt one wrinkle of our lovely Boudicca’s skin, because you won’t be the only one who’s trapped here. I will be, too. And without the doors, I won’t be anything more important than the sales director of an electrical company out on the Great West Road. So you see – I can’t possibly have that, now can I?”

Nancy said, “Josh, I’m not going without you. There’s absolutely no way.” There was a wide bloodstain on the sheet that she had wound around herself.

“Honey, it’s the only way. I want one of these people to take you to Star Yard. When you’re there, and when the candles are lit, I want you to call me from the phone booth down on the corner of the street. Tell me that the Hoodies are staying at least a hundred feet away from you, and that you’re ready to go. Then run, and jump, and get yourself back to the real world.”

“I can’t live without you, Josh.”

“You’ll have to. We don’t have any choice. Now, go.”

Nancy still hesitated. Josh said, “Please, Nancy. Don’t make it any harder than it is already.”

He held out his left hand for her. At that instant, however, Frank Mordant ducked and feinted like a boxer, and snatched Josh’s sword. With a grunt of exertion, he lifted it like a giant dagger and aimed it directly at Josh’s heart.

But Abraxas was even faster. He bounded from the floor, landing right on Frank Mordant’s shoulders. Frank Mordant shouted out, “Shit!” and stumbled forward, catching his foot on the frame of Boudicca’s carriage.

Josh saw it happen almost as if it were in slow motion. Frank Mordant’s expression, wide-eyed, horrified. Boudicca’s ghostly face, staring at him in an extraordinary mixture of fear and relief. And the sword breaking through the layers of dried skin, crumbling and cracking, deep into her many-layered abdomen.

The silence in the theater was overwhelming. Boudicca’s eyes looked down at the sword that was piercing her many bodies, almost up to the hilt. She let out a thin, reedy whine, and a trickle of watery blood ran down the side of her chin.

“You’ve killed her,” said Master Spire, rigid with shock. “You’ve killed Boudicca.”

Frank Mordant stepped back, licking his lips. Boudicca’s chest rose and fell, rose and fell. One of her desiccated hands twitched up, its fingers curled like an autumn leaf. Nobody moved. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Boudicca coughed, and it sounded as if she were trying to say something.

“She’s not dead yet,” said Frank Mordant. He turned and stared at Josh. “She’s not dead yet!”

Josh suddenly understood what he meant. As long as Boudicca was still alive, the doors would still be open. He seized Frank Mordant’s sleeve and said, “Get us all out of here! Now! The nearest door you know!”

“What? So that you can have me arrested?”

“If you get us back through that door I’ll forget I ever heard of you.”

Two of the Hooded Men approached them, their swords held high. Without hesitation, Josh bent down and swept up the sword of the first Hooded Man who had fallen, and stalked toward them, swinging it wildly around his head. Abraxas jumped at the Hooded Men, too, snarling and barking. They backed away, confused, and as Nancy and Frank Mordant and Josh retreated out of the operating theater, they made no attempt to come after them.

Josh said, “They’re not even following us.”

“They don’t think they have to. The second Boudicca dies, that’s it – we’re going to be trapped here, and they can hunt us down at their leisure. And you can imagine what they’ll do to us then.”

They reached Frank Mordant’s car in the hospital parking lot. He fumbled with the keys, but he managed to open the doors and start up the engine. Josh sat in the front. Nancy sat in the back with Abraxas. The dog was quivering with excitement and Nancy had to stroke him to calm him down. He obviously couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to continue biting Frank Mordant’s head off.

Frank Mordant was sweating now, and he backed out of the hospital gates with a jarring clash of gears.

“Candles?” asked Josh. “Do you have any candles?”

“Glove box,” said Frank Mordant. Josh opened it and took out a carton of six.

They sped through the City, weaving in and out of traffic, running red lights. They drove across Ludgate Circus at nearly fifty miles an hour without stopping. A double-decker bus had to swerve to avoid them, and two other cars slewed around and careered up on to the pavement. “We may be too late already,” said Frank Mordant, as the Armstrong-Siddeley squealed around the corner of Carey Street. He hit the curb, switched off the engine, and yanked on the handbrake. They scrambled out and ran up Star Yard as fast as they could, dodging in between passing pedestrians.

Frank Mordant knelt down and lit the three candles with trembling hands. “Oh God, don’t let her be dead yet. Please God don’t let her be dead.”

He and Josh recited the rhyme between them. “Now, go!” Josh urged Nancy.

Nancy jumped awkwardly over the candles and started to walk into the niche. Abraxas jumped after her.

“Please God, let it still be there,” prayed Frank Mordant.

Nancy limped to the end of the niche. She stopped. Then she turned around and said, “It’s OK! It’s still here! I’m going through!”

She disappeared from sight. Frank Mordant stepped back in preparation for following her. As he did so, Josh punched him hard in the face, and then in the stomach. Frank Mordant gasped and dropped on to his knees.

“I’m going to keep my promise,” Josh told him. “I’m not going to hand you in to the cops. But you deserve to be punished, you bastard. You murdered my sister and God knows how many other girls. You would have stood there today and watched us die, and enjoyed it. Well, this is your punishment. Staying here with the Hoodies. I hope you live a long and miserable life.”

With that, he punched Frank Mordant again, so that he fell backward on to the pavement, and lay there, stunned.

Then, with a last quick look at the world of the Doorkeepers, Josh jumped over the candles and started to make his way through the dark brick passage between the buildings.

He was only on his second turn, however, when he realized that the passage seemed much narrower than it had before. His shoulders were actually scraping against the walls. By the time he reached the next turn, he had to turn sideways, and even then it was difficult to force his way through. With a rising feeling of panic and claustrophobia, he realized what was happening – Boudicca was dying, and as she died her consciousness was fading, and the door was closing up. With him still inside it.

He dragged himself through the passage faster and faster, his knuckles scraping against the brick. He managed to maneuver himself around the last corner, and ahead of him he could see daylight, and Star Yard, and Nancy waiting for him, still wrapped in her sheet.

He stopped, and tried to calm himself down, and exhaled. Don’t panic, whatever you do. Take it steady, take it easy, and you’ll get out safely.

Inch by inch, he edged himself nearer the opening. Now he could hear traffic, and Nancy shouting out, “Josh! Hurry! It’s getting smaller and smaller!”

He was nearly at the opening when his left shoe caught, wedged in between the walls. No matter how he twisted it, he couldn’t dislodge it. The walls were so close together now that he could hardly breathe, and he felt his ribs cracking.

“Josh!” screamed Nancy, and seized hold of his arm. She pulled him as hard as she could, and gradually she managed to inch him out. His foot came out of his shoe, and he fell sideways on to the pavement, gasping for breath. Nancy lay beside him, oblivious to the stares from passers-by, sobbing and laughing at the same time.

“We made it. We made it. I can’t believe we made it. What happened to Frank Mordant?”

Josh lifted his bruised knuckles. “I kind of discouraged him from coming with us. I think he’ll get quite enough punishment for killing Boudicca.”

They slowly stood up. As they did so, however, Abraxas started to bark at the last narrow crack in the wall.

“What’s the matter, Abraxas? What’s wrong, boy?” Josh tried to pull him away, but he stayed where he was, still barking. “Come on, Abraxas. I want to get the hell out of here. Nancy needs to see a doctor.”

It was then that he heard a gasping sound, and then another. He shaded his eyes and peered into the niche.

“Don’t let it close!” choked a voice from inside. “For Christ’s sake, whatever you do, don’t let it close!”

“My God,” said Josh. “Frank Mordant’s in there.”

They could just see him, trying to make his way around the last corner in the passageway. He was thinner and much less muscular than Josh, but it seemed almost impossible for any man to be able to squeeze himself through such a tight crevice.

“Let your breath out!” called Josh. “Try and wriggle like a snake; that’ll help you get through!”

“Don’t you think I’m fucking wriggling?” Frank Mordant gasped back at him.

There was nothing they could do but watch in horror as Frank Mordant pulled himself painfully toward them. The passageway was now so narrow that his face was scraping against the brick, and as he came nearer he stopped, and let out a breathless cry of agony. A few seconds later, they heard his ribcage crack.

Somehow, his face lacerated and his fingernails bleeding, he managed to drag himself right to the opening. “I’m sorry,” he panted. “I’m sorry for what I did. Just get me out of here.”

Josh took hold of his sleeve and tried to pull him out. The sleeve tore from shoulder to cuff, so he had to grip his bare arm. He wedged one foot against the wall and leaned backward, tugging Frank Mordant out of the niche inch by scraping inch.

Frank Mordant’s head was out, and half of his chest. “Come on,” said Josh. “One last pull and we’ll have you out of there.”

But it was then that Frank Mordant turned to look at him with an extraordinary expression, almost sad. The bricks closed completely together with a soft, suppressed crunch, and the top half of Frank Mordant’s body dropped into the niche, among the leaves and the candy wrappers and the empty cigarette packets. He stared up at Josh and for three or four seconds he was still alive.

“Sorry, old man,” he repeated, in a small bubble of blood.

DS Paul sat and listened to Josh and Nancy’s explanation of Frank Mordant’s death without interrupting. When they had finished, she closed the file in front of her and said, “We’ll be making a press announcement later today.”

“Saying what?” asked Josh. “You’re not going to charge us, are you?”

“Saying that the mutilated body of a man was discovered in Star Yard by two American tourists. The man is thought to be the victim of a drugs war in South-East London.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all that anybody needs to know.”

“I don’t understand,” said Josh. “Are you telling me that you believe us?”

“Let me just say that to a very few people, you are one of the greatest heroes of the century.” DS Paul gave a secretive little smile. She dropped the file into her desk drawer, closed it, and stood up. “I hope you feel that you found justice here in London, Mr Winward. It’s the very least that you deserve.”

“I think I found a whole lot more than I bargained for.”

DS Paul shook their hands and showed them to the door. “By the way, your friend Petty. Nice girl, even if she is a little … well, idiosyncratic. We passed her case on to Kensington & Chelsea social services. They’ve found her a job at Burger King.”

“Thanks,” said Josh. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“Have a safe journey home,” said DS Paul, and closed the door behind them.