The bridge wardens decided immediately to seal the crypt. What bridge needed a crypt, anyway? Certainly not this bridge, and most certainly not this particular crypt.
Within hours of the decision being taken, stonemasons were at work sealing the staircase that wound down to the crypt. Once one sealing layer of masonry had been built, the wardens decided to inter Peter de Colechurch in the space before the next layer of masonry went down. It would be a fitting resting place for the man, interred in his beloved bridge, and who knew, perhaps his bones might assuage the anger of whatever malign evil inhabited the crypt.
There was a short religious ceremony held at the site of the internment, and then a full funeral mass held above in St Thomas’ Chapel while stonemasons laid the next layer of masonry.
Once the priests had gone, and before the masons laid more coursework, they held a small ceremony of their own. One of them opened a large bag, withdrawing from it several small dead animals, as well as the detached limbs of some larger beasts, all with red wool tied about their legs and claws.
These he placed atop Peter’s shrouded corpse, and then on top of the small animals another workman left a charm, given to him by a wise woman.
These added measures, they hoped, would ensure that the malignant spirit stayed where it was.
Hours after they left, and when the stairwell was in darkness, the figure of a small girl, black-haired and cold-faced, materialised above the several layers of stonework meant to inter her below. She looked upwards, a sneer on her face for the foolish efforts of those who thought to contain her, then she looked down to her feet, as if she could see Peter’s corpse beneath the stonework.
“Thank you, Peter,” she whispered. “May your journey to the Otherworld be sweet and gentle.”
ONE
Faerie Hill Manor
Sunday, 8th September 1940
They gathered, without summons, at Faerie Hill Manor. No one had slept the night before, but of them all, Noah and Eaving’s Sisters looked the worst. They had spent all of Saturday afternoon and the entire night in their mobile canteen, travelling through the City and the West End, visiting shelters and, eventually, helping to transport the shocked survivors of the devastation to relief centres. Matilda, Erith and Ecub were dishevelled, their faces white under smudges of dirt and soot, their clothes torn, their hands shaking as they accepted glasses of whisky or brandy from Stella.
Noah had not seen Weyland since the morning before, and when she trailed in after Eaving’s Sisters, he enveloped her in a tight embrace, weeping in relief, sure that he’d lost her the previous night. Noah clung to him as tightly, then reached out for Grace who was standing wan-faced to one side, kissing her cheek before pulling her into a shared embrace with Weyland.
“I have never imagined such horror,” Noah said, her voice strained and cracking. “Nothing…nothing I have seen…ever…I can’t…”
“Weyland, sit her down,” Harry said, indicating a sofa. As soon as Noah had lowered herself down, Weyland beside her, he thrust a glass of warm milk and brandy into her hand. “Drink it, Noah.”
Glad to have something to do, Noah raised the glass in trembling hands to her mouth, and sipped at it. “Harry—”
“In a moment,” Harry said. “Finish your drink. Let’s all just get settled, and then we can talk.”
Grace had been left standing in the centre of the room when Noah and Weyland had gone to the sofa, and now Jack walked over to her, put a hand under her elbow, and guided her to another sofa. He hesitated, as if he was going to sit beside her, then moved nearer to the fire and stood before it as if he needed to warm himself.
Silvius was also present, as were Malcolm and Ariadne. She and Weyland had glanced at each other, but there had been no other interaction—both were too worried or traumatised to be bothered with hostility.
“Harry,” Jack said, “what has happened in the Faerie overnight?”
Harry and Stella exchanged a glance, and Jack felt his stomach turn over at its bleakness.
Flopping down in a chair, Harry passed a trembling hand over his eyes, and Stella sat down on the arm of the chair and slid a comforting hand behind his neck.
In the end it was she who responded, not Harry. “Wherever a bomb dropped in London, Jack, so devastation spread over the Faerie. It isn’t as bad as here, in the mortal world, but tracts of forested hills have now been left blackened and smoking. We…we don’t know if they will ever regenerate.”
“Christ,” Jack muttered.
“The Faerie folk,” said Harry, so quietly everyone had to strain to hear him, “were terrified. They sat huddled atop The Naked, crying out every time another section of the Faerie exploded. I had no idea what to say to them.”
“It was terrible in London as well,” said Noah. She swallowed, taking a moment to collect herself. “It was not just the infernos and the death and mutilation, the destruction. It was the chaos…the realisation that there was no effectual help, that there was no escape. It was the people, terrified, running hither and thither, scurrying ants in the shadows cast by the flames, with no idea of where to go, or what to do…no idea what the hell was happening. No one knew what to do…no one expected…”
“And the noise,” Matilda said as Noah drifted into silence. “The noise. The whine of the bombs falling, the cruuuuuump as they exploded, the blast winds. The screams. The gasps. The sobs. The sound of ripping flesh. And the smell—the stench of burning buildings and people, of high explosive and molten metal. Noah’s right. I don’t think any of us could have imagined such horror. We had no idea.”
“Grace,” Jack said suddenly, “where were you?”
“In the Savoy’s shelter,” she said. “I was safe enough.”
Jack smiled, relieved, then for the next few minutes they talked about the raid, and what they’d seen of the devastation in London this morning.
“Did anyone see Catling?” Jack asked.
“I saw her in my bedroom,” Grace said, “just before I went down to the shelter. She didn’t even seem to notice me. She stood at the window and stared outside. Then, just as I was leaving the room, she turned to me, and smiled.”
Grace paused. “It was horrific. I have never seen anything so cold.”
Jack remembered what Catling had told him—that every death that occurred until the day he and Noah closed out the Troy Game would be on his conscience. Jack didn’t feel guilty as this was Catling’s guilt to bear, not his, but all the same he knew they needed to make faster progress. Find out once and for all if this shadow was a weakness of the Troy Game—or something else.
He looked towards his father. “You were right,” he said. “We need to probe this labyrinthine puzzle and discover once and for all what it is. We need to know if we can use it against Catling, before she murders half of the land.”
“Then be careful you don’t murder half the land with your probing,” said Weyland, his voice flat. “I’m with my daughter on this one. I think this shadow is something other than a weakness, and I fear it is more malevolent than you give it credit for.”
TWO
London
Wednesday, 11th September 1940
Noah?”
She’d been helping Matilda and Grace load the mobile canteen in the garage of the Savoy, but turned as Jack walked out of the shadows.
She smiled. “Jack.”
Matilda and Grace had stepped down from the back of the van and were standing, watching. Jack nodded to Matilda, giving her a brief smile, then looked at Grace. “I didn’t know you were helping your mother, Grace.”
“It is better than staying in the apartment at night,” she said. Then, for the first time, she spoke to him with her power, sharing what she didn’t want to say aloud before her mother, or Matilda. Don’t worry, Jack. The imps won’t attack me while I’m with Eaving’s Sisters.
Jack studied her uncertainly. He was worried about the imps, but he was also thinking about what his father had said. He did want to spend more time with Grace, but he simply had no idea how to go about it or even if he wanted to go about it. Every time he saw Grace he worried about what to say, or how to say it, and how either she or he might be hurt by it, and then the moment always passed, and Grace was walking away.
To one side Matilda raised her eyebrows a little, both at what Jack had said and at the way he was standing, looking at Grace, clearly indecisive about something.
Catling won’t harm me, said Grace. She can’t. To harm me would be to harm herself.