"Look how many there are," said the Fusilier with a deflated sigh.
"If you have tears boys, prepare to shed them now," said the Gunner.
He crouched beside the Fusilier on his knees and mused in angst as he silently assessed their situation. He started to feel very worried about leaving Nick and Edie on their own.
They had reached the junction where Queen's Street met Cannon Street, only a few hundred metres away from London Stone. They had already taken care of a few lone taints and knew there were more to come. They could just see in the distance a gather of them, huddling together, their silhouettes bobbing up and down as they wandered. At the Stone the moon illuminated the central isle of the street where a servant paced up and down with hands behind its back. They couldn't see its face due to the casts of deep shadow similar to the ones that lined both sides of the street. They all wondered about what they couldn't see lurking in the dark.
"Do you think that's him?" said the Officer, turning to the Gunner.
"No," said the Gunner, squaring his eyes to focus on the servant. "The Walker doesn't like being in plain view. And if it's a trap then he wouldn't use himself as bait."
"That's a shame."
"How so?"
"If it was him then we could use Nick."
"I think your overlooking the fact that Nick could be anywhere in the City by now, but I'll ask you again- how so?"
"As it seems, the Walker has no indication that Nick is working for us, therefore she could easily trick him…"
"I still don't reject the idea that he knows exactly what she's up to."
"That is a possibility. If our plan was concrete enough we could use Nick to get to him."
"I fear that's what he's doing to us. And to be honest our plan is what concrete is to jelly. Besides, if we did manage to outsmart him- which has very bad odds- I doubt he'd go that far beyond his comfort zone for her sake," the Gunner ground his jaw as he spoke. "I've seen the way he treats her."
"It's what he's always done. He made her stay at the orphanage so she would be around normal people. She would know nothing about this world. He would visit her but would keep her in the dark about who he really was or what was waiting for her. He wouldn't let her know her own potential. He would play with her mind, making her think she was going crazy, keeping her in that realm where she didn't relate to anyone. Keeping her separate. An outcast. She was like putty in his hands. He knocks her down because he knows what she's capable of."
"He's scared of her?"
"She has more power than any of us. It's more complicated than that though."
"It always is."
"From what you've told me there is a notable difference in how he treats her compared to the other servants."
"Really?"
"Just think. If you saved a little girl's life then spanned the time of centuries with her, taught her everything she knew, gave her everything she owned, wouldn't you at least feel some kind of connection to her?"
The Gunner paused but said nothing. The Officer continued.
"Nick has had few real friends or points of contact for the best part of her life. It has only ever been the two of them."
"What're you saying?"
"Whatever his reason or agenda for saving her life in the first place, no man could be with someone for that long without seeing so much of themselves in the person they've raised. Nick's had it bad, and it's amazing that she's lasted this long as a servant."
"So you're saying he…looks out for her?"
The Gunner couldn't believe what he was saying.
"In the best way he can," said the Officer without a hint of untruth. "Sure, that probably means she gets beat about a lot, but that's just him. He's mad and there's no denying it. But I would dare say he would move the earth not to let other dangers rain down on her."
"Hmm, I don't know. I see you're reasoning, and if it were anyone else then I would believe you. But the Walker's mind doesn't work like the rest of us, I don't believe we can use logic to predict what he knows and thinks."
"I'm on the Gunner's fence 'ere boss, sorry," the Fusilier interjected.
"His mind is a maze, awash with brilliance and evil," said the Officer unfathomed. "Those two qualities do not bode well together. He's a monster, I grant, but he is still a man. Men have faults. They have weaknesses. What is his weakness?"
"Power," said both the Gunner and the Fusilier instantaneously.
"And why did he save Nick?"
"…because he knew she was a Key and he wanted her power to release him," the Gunner said slowly, realising the Officer's theory was gaining more and more strength.
"Bingo," the Officer pulled a face of null acceptance. "She is his power. She is his weakness."
"You think that he would put himself in harms way to save her?"
"Remind yourself, Gunner, of the affairs that lead your group this far. Would you have found the right way if you'd not been supplied with the route shown by the gem stone?"
The Gunner thought deep about it and shook his head.
"And how did you acquire such a stone?" asked the Officer.
"In the alley, Nick…no, he... he-"
"Handed it to her on a plate?"
"Well… he threw it at her, really."
"He may rule with a stone heart, but I believe his thoughts are focussed on good when it comes to her. But of course being him, he would never let her realise that. She is in many ways his salvation. The one part of his life when he can make right. Make up for the past. He was normal man with a family once…you see it yet?"
"No. Whoever he was in his past life, he's not that man anymore. He's not John Dee. He's the Walker. The Walker is a murderer. He's not a man who cares about having an untarnished soul. He is beyond a worthy conscience, annulled from emotion, too clogged by dark treacle running evil through his veins. He's past the point of redemption and he knows it. What's worse is he doesn't even care."
"And what about her?" the Officer asked.
"You don't trust Nick?" the Gunner asked, surprised.
"No I do, it's just, she might find herself in a certain situation where she can't do anything else except make the wrong choice. Her position makes her vulnerable. It is an unfortunate circumstance that her way of succeeding may also cause her downfall. She must've known what a can of worms she was opening when she released him from stone. He could get his way and still keep her safe, but that way brings nothing but misfortune to the rest of us. The Walker has her trapped, and I doubt she even realises how deep she is. He can make her believe things that he's manipulated her into believing."
"I think she's stronger than that now."
"I do hope so," the Officer sighed.
"She has us now. We won't let her fall."
"Of course not. But what about the Stone? Surely that has more captive over her than the Walker could even imagine."
"That is a problem," the Gunner said, rubbing his hands across his tired eyes.
The Officer nodded with a sympathetic tone.
"That is a problem. She has its power therefore a part of the Stone already lies within her. She won't be able to just run away. I fear she has already been claimed by its destructive habits."
"You're scaring me now."
"Is it this hat?"
"No… it's the moustache."
"Ah. Right."
The two of them smiled but their humour didn't help them forget the situation, or the freezing cold that surrounded them.
"You two done yapping?" chirped another voice. "I do hope you realise that whilst you've been having a nice little chat we're probably being ambushed."
The Gunner had almost forgotten about the rest of their group. There were six of them in total. The Gunner and the Officer at the front, and the Fusilier just behind. Behind them was the Gurkha; a young Asian man who had just broke the conversation. He was wearing a kaki jacket buttoned up to the top. A utility belt hung around his waist holding a curved knife known as a kukri. He also wore shorts, long fitted boots that met his knees and a wide-brimmed, felt slouch hat with chinstrap, worn so it tilted down to rest on top of his right ear. On his back was a large rucksack and he held in his hands a rifle with a long, sharpened bayonet attached to the end.
"How's it lookin' out back, Co?" asked the Officer.
At the back of the flank were two Royal Tank Regiment soldiers dressed in black jump-suit overalls and berets. They each wore a hand gun around there necks hanging in holders strapped to their waist. The smallest and youngest of the group, called Driver, wore a scarf and had the thick collar of his overalls turned up around his neck. He shifted nervously up and down. The eldest and more experienced, known as the Commander, wore a shirt and tie beneath his overalls and was crouched looking back down the shadowy route of Queen's Street through a pair of binoculars. As he pulled them away from his face he brushed his moustache between finger and thumb, trying to figure out whether the suspected movements he could just about make out in the dark were cause for concern or just tricks of the mind.
"Capital," the Commander grumbled. "Can't see for toffee out of these 'nocs and I've got Driver 'ere tugging me shirt every five secs seeing something out of nothing."
"It's not nothing! I swear it," Driver replied in a tone that wanted to seem strong, but failed.
"What's got 'is knicks in a twist?" said Gurk.
"Said he 'ad a bad turn o'day," said the Commander.
"Point me to the man who has good ones," the Gunner scoffed.
"No, but this was unlike the others. I think it was a sign, you know, a premonition or something, warning us about what's to come," said Driver, looking both peeved and scared.
"Fill us with confidence, why don't ya?" smiled Gurk.
"E's all smiles and rainbows," said the Gunner.
"Firstly: stop putting the willies up everyone, Driver, and lastly: everyone else, shush, less of the hullabaloo," warned the Officer.
"Yes, sir. Sorry…sir," Driver replied meekly. The Commander slapped him over the head and went back to the binoculars.
They all looked around the darkness in silence for a few moments, their ears strained tight for hidden sounds.
"No sign of George," the Gunner mumbled.
"No. Nor the girls," the Officer whispered, "but then I wouldn't expect them to be walking out in the open, would you?"
The Gunner cocked his eyebrow and smiled. Once again the second of light relief between them eased their worry, but it didn't last.
A flap of air was heard above them and a dark figure dropped out of the sky with a light thud besides them. Driver yelled and went for his gun. The Commander stopped him, pinned his arm against his chest as their eyes adjusted to the figure as it straightened up.
"They're coming," said the figure, which they could now all see was an angel.
The winged spit of St Michael from Cornhill. He looked like a roman centurion, complete with bronze helmet and breast plate, and a long, twisted sword in his hand.
"There's a line of taints on patrol coming from Cheapside. More on Queen Vic'. A few towards Holborn. Tallymen on the periphery. Dowgate is a no go. They're closing in on us."
"Maybe that's what the Stone wanted," said a nervous Fusilier, "to post sentries on the outskirts and when we made our way in they would corner us from all angles."
"That's why we put posts around us, to stop further oncoming attacks from the outside. They'll reach them first," said the Officer turning back to the angel. "What's our situation?"
"If they bypass our other groups then ten minutes, max."
"The cathedral?"
"Suffered a few initial attacks but we seem to have it covered. The taints don't want to enter it. Too spiritual for them. And there's not enough servants to take it on their own. All other secured posts at the Monument and the Tower."
"The pub?" said the Gunner.
"Blackfriar's is secured."
"Good. Keep us posted."
St. Michael saluted then rose up into the air. Before soon he could only be tracked by the stars blinking as his silhouette past in front of them.
"Dowgate…" whispered the Gunner, his face strained with an aching remorse.
"I know," said the Officer, laying a hand on the Gunner's shoulder. "They'll be OK."
Driver was certain he heard a whistling through the air. He strained his eyes and ears into the dark around him. A shallow puncture of air. A ruffle of sound.
"Could be worse," said the Gurkha in a surprisingly deep cockney accent. He was the only one of them standing, twissling his bayonet around in his hands so fast that it blurred into one big circle.
"How so?" said the Fusilier.
"We could be in the middle of a dark street with an impending ambush….oh wait," Gurk smirked then retrieved his cigarette packet out of his pocket whilst effortlessly continuing to spin his bayonet in the other. He opened it and frowned. "We could've run out of smokes too."
"Umm…guys?" said Driver.
"You're having a whale of a time here, aren't you Gurk?" said the Gunner.
"Man's gotta have a bit of fun every now and then, ain't he?" Gurk smoothly replied.
He got returning stares suggesting he was a crazy man, but the Gurkha's cool demeanour and relaxed attitude relieved the tension around the group, if only slightly.
"Guys seriously…" said a more panicked Driver, raising higher on to one leg, trying to get a better view.
"Shhhh." The Commander grabbed Driver's arm and pulled him back to his knees. "You want to get spotted?"
Another swoosh ran past, this time it seemed closer but Driver still saw nothing.
"You're not afraid of dying then?" said the Fusilier.
"I'm afraid of dying without having a fight to go out on," said Gurk.
Gurk stopped spinning the rifle and cocked his gun to provide substance to his remark. The sound echoed down the street and almost instantly there was a loud crack as an arrow flew between the group and struck into the shaft of the rifle. Gurk was primed in an instant; all the loose, care-free mannerisms promptly stripped to a bare animal instinct, ducking to his knees and yanking the arrow out in a neat, swift move and placing it behind his ear. His senses focused, he moved like a leopard forward, shuffling on his arms and legs behind a red telephone box. Everyone else had also removed their weapons from their holsters but aimed them wildly into the pitch black shadows. Three more whistles sailed inches past them, and they ushered backwards into Cannon Street, low and to the ground, the Commander dragging Driver down with him as an arrow skimmed the top of his head.
They all ran to the other side of the junction, hidden in the dark shadow of an overhanging shop front. All except Gurk, who remained his cover. Their cold breaths caught in their throats as they heard footsteps and whispers from down the street just in front of the telephone box. Their eyes caught the glimmer of a floating flare in the middle of the street.
Another whistle.
BANG.
The whistle was an arrow of fire. It projected into the side wall of the street, suddenly illuminating the shadows, pointing them out in swirling reds and oranges.
"RUN!" shouted the Officer.
His voice sparked a stampede of enemy footsteps chasing towards them. Firing crashed the silence as Gurk started shooting at the backs of the servants that had now run straight past him. A few of them ducked out of view and the rest sprinted after the group. Gurk then followed and also gave chase.
The Gunner ran with the rest close behind. They fired off random shots with their arms reached out behind them, hardly looking behind, never slowing and barely aiming as they paced the ground. Shown up brightly in the light of the moon, they shortly reached the group of taints guarding close by the Stone, which with oafing shrieks and stumbling, urgently took heed and started coming towards them. Other servants spilt out of the shadows.
The spits pulled back the triggers of their weapons again and again, feeling the bullets hammer a hole in the air with delight. They punched, ripped, kicked, knifed, any form of aggression escaped out of them. It filled them with a manic desire of rage. The prospect of a final end. A defeat to the enemy of such a long standing feud. There was to be no more waiting. This was it now. The war had begun. They just hoped the rest of their army would be along shortly.
