The Parliament of Blood Page 15

  The whole assembly slowly bowed their heads. Opposite George, Christopher Kingsley also bowed.

  ‘What you waiting for?’ Eddie whispered in the silence. ‘This is our chance to get out of here.’

  They wouldn’t be bowing for long. But Eddie was right. If they waited any longer, it would be too late. Heads bowed, as if joining in the ceremony, George and Eddie backed away from the altar and stepped down from the dais.

  The chanting had started again. The low murmurs of the crowd echoing the sound of the pumps, growing slowly louder and more enthusiastic. The Coachman was speaking over it, but George wasn’t listening.

  As soon as they were out of the main light and in shadow, Eddie and George hurried for the nearest tunnel. George had been afraid he might be lost down here for ever. Now that seemed the better option.

  They were almost at the tunnel when the voice of Orabis cut through the chanting and the words of the Coachman.

  ‘Stop them!’

  George looked at Eddie. The boy’s wide eyes probably mirrored his own.

  ‘Run!’ they both said together.

  George’s feet splashed in puddles of thick, dark liquid. The lights on the walls threw flickering crimson shadows across the tunnel. Their footsteps echoed another thump-thump-thump of sound.

  ‘You know the way out?’ Eddie yelled.

  ‘No. Do you?’

  ‘Not me. I came by coach.’

  ‘Why? What are you doing here?’ George demanded.

  From behind them came the sound of more feet – running.

  ‘Thought I was being clever,’ Eddie said, a bit sheepishly. ‘Wish I hadn’t bothered.’

  Their own shadows chased them along the tunnel walls, distorted and grotesque parodies of the human form. They skidded to a halt as they reached a junction with two other tunnels.

  ‘I don’t remember this,’ George said, hands on knees and bent double to catch his breath.

  ‘Me neither. Want to guess?’

  ‘That way.’ George pointed to the tunnel off to the right.

  Almost at once, they heard the rattle of wheels on stone, and saw the dark shape of the Coachman’s black carriage hurtling down the tunnel towards them.

  ‘Or maybe this way?’ Eddie suggested.

  George didn’t waste breath agreeing. He grabbed Eddie’s hand and they ran for all they were worth.

  They could hear the carriage gaining on them. The sound of their ragged breathing might have been the snorting of the horses bearing down on them. George risked a backward glance as the tunnel curved slightly. He saw carriage and horses getting closer. The Coachman on the driver’s seat, whip raised. The shadow of the carriage on the tunnel wall – a shadow that was just the carriage. No Coachman. No horses.

  ‘In here!’

  A deeper shadow in the wall ahead resolved itself into a side passage, too narrow for the carriage to follow. Eddie dragged George inside, and they stood panting in the blackness. Had the Coachman seen them?

  The carriage rattled past, and George breathed a heavy sigh. ‘Well done, Eddie.’

  Eddie was grinning in the near blackness. ‘Reckon we’ll be safe here for a minute or two, till we get our breath back at least.’

  Behind Eddie the passageway was dark and unlit. There was just a pale smudged shape in the gloom. The shape moved, came closer, resolved itself into a face. The mouth opened in a smile, to reveal the sharp teeth within.

  ‘Safe?’ The voice was deep and dark. ‘Do you really think so?’

  CHAPTER 16

  The tall, dark figure stepped forward, allowing the erratic light from the tunnel beyond to fall across him. ‘Nowhere is safe from Orabis and the Coachman.’ It was Lord Ruthven.

  ‘You going to turn us in, then?’ Eddie asked defiantly.

  Ruthven shook his head.

  ‘Why not?’ George wanted to know.

  ‘Cos he’s sick of it,’ Eddie said. ‘I saw his face during some of that. When I wasn’t acting mesmerised.’

  ‘There comes a point,’ Lord Ruthven said quietly. ‘Even vampires have morals. Well, some of us.’

  ‘And what’s with this vampire business?’ Eddie asked. ‘I thought they were monsters in penny dreadfuls that drank people’s blood and turned into bats, or something.’

  ‘Later,’ George said. ‘Let’s get out of here first. Then we can find Sir William – he’ll know.’

  ‘He will indeed,’ Ruthven said. ‘But it may be too late for him.’

  Eddie remembered what the Coachman had said. ‘Been dealt with,’ he echoed.

  ‘What do you mean?’ George demanded.

  ‘I am afraid he may be dead already. Or undead.’

  ‘Undead?’

  ‘He means he’s been turned into a vampire,’ Eddie said. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sir William has been bitten. His blood is tainted.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ George’s voice was trembling. ‘First Kingsley, now Sir William.’

  ‘Charlie too,’ Eddie murmured. ‘Friend of mine,’ he explained. ‘We got to get out of here, that’s the first thing we do. We got to find Sir William. And Liz.’

  ‘Liz?’ George was aghast. ‘What about Liz?’

  ‘You mean Miss Oldfield?’ Ruthven said.

  ‘Of course. But how is she involved in all this?’

  ‘She is to be –’ There was a sound from the main tunnel close by, and Ruthven stopped abruptly. ‘You must go,’ he whispered. ‘The Coachman’s horses will smell you out if you stay down here.’ He pushed past Eddie and George and looked out into the tunnel.

  ‘How do we get out?’ George asked.

  ‘Go back that way,’ Ruthven pointed back the way they had come. ‘At the intersection, take the second tunnel on your left. That will bring you back to the Damnation Club.’

  Eddie asked: ‘But, aren’t you coming too?’

  Ruthven shook his head. ‘The Coachman will soon be back. I shall delay him.’

  ‘Is that dangerous?’ George said.

  ‘I am already dead,’ Ruthven told him. ‘The worst they can do is to kill me again.’ But from the tremor in his voice, Eddie guessed that was not true.

  The tunnel was empty, but it still resonated with the dull throb of the distant pumps. George and Eddie hurried back to the junction leaving Lord Ruthven hiding in the shadows. The low sound of the steam pumps was joined by a closer noise – the rattle of a carriage.

  ‘Better get a move on,’ Eddie said.

  They started to run, the noise growing closer behind them. Looking back, Eddie could see the shadowy outline of the carriage approaching. The horses were galloping along the tunnel, their hoofs echoing off the walls and splashing through the viscous puddles.

  ‘Not far now,’ George assured Eddie as they ran.

  Sure enough, they were soon at the junction. Second tunnel on the left, Ruthven had said.

  But as they turned into it, both of them could see Clarissa standing at the head of a dozen figures. Her scarlet cloak glowed in the uncertain light.

  ‘Not that way,’ George decided, dragging Eddie back.

  The carriage was almost on them. Their only option was to take the first tunnel and try to outrun the Coachman’s horses. But Eddie knew it was a matter of moments before the carriage reached them and ran them down.

  Flickering lights flashed past as they ran for their lives. The damp from the floor was seeping through Eddie’s shoes. He skidded, almost fell, caught his balance and ran on.

  ‘What’s this?’ George pulled up sharply as they emerged into an enormous area.

  Eddie recognised it as the huge chamber where he had first arrived in the carriage. Where Kingsley’s coffin had dropped down on to the carriage.

  ‘Keep running,’ he yelled.

  But it was too late. The horses were charging straight at them, just yards away now. At the last moment, Eddie pushed George to one side of the tunnel opening and dived the other way himself. They both went sprawling a
s the carriage exploded out of the tunnel between them. The horses snorted and turned, bringing the carriage in a wide arc within the cavern.

  ‘Where now?’ George shouted.

  ‘This way!’ Eddie was sprinting towards the area where the roof was lower – the area below the graveyard.

  ‘But there’s no way out,’ George yelled as he followed. ‘All the tunnels are back this way.’

  ‘Trust me!’

  The engraved slabs of the roof rushed past as Eddie reached the lower section. Names of those above, sleeping, Eddie realised. Or those who had been removed and were perhaps now searching for him. So many names …

  ‘Where are we going?’ George demanded.

  Behind them the horses had completed their turn and were charging again – right at Eddie and George.

  ‘Up there.’ Eddie pointed at the roof. At the dark rectangle where Kingsley’s coffin had fallen through on to the carriage. The floor beneath was scattered with earth and stone.

  George stared at it. ‘You are joking.’

  ‘You got a better plan? Give us a bunk up.’

  ‘But where’s it go? There’s no light coming in – no way out.’

  ‘We’ve got to dig.’

  ‘What?’

  There was no time for argument or explanation. George stooped down and made a cradle for Eddie’s foot by lacing his fingers together. As soon as Eddie stepped into it, George hoisted him up.

  Eddie managed to get his arms into the hole above. His head was in cloying, earthy darkness – inside the grave. He got his elbows over the edge, pulling himself up further.

  A slab of stone broke away from the roof as Eddie put his weight of it. The stone crumbled and fell. It shattered on the ground ten feet below.

  ‘Come on!’ George yelled.

  The carriage was almost on him. In a moment it would run down George, and crash into Eddie’s flailing legs.

  Finally, Eddie managed to get a good grip and hauled himself up into the hole in the roof, feeling the earth crumbling at the edges. The Coachman’s whip cracked past Eddie’s legs as he pulled them clear, thwacking into the side of the hole. Eddie could see George hurling himself to one side as the carriage almost caught him.

  The horses were turning already, coming back.

  George was on his feet, arms raised, leaping for the hole in the roof. But it was too high. Eddie braced himself and leaned out of the grave. George’s fingers brushed against Eddie’s hands.

  ‘Higher!’ he called.

  The carriage was coming back.

  George backed away – where was he going?

  Then, with the carriage racing towards him once more, George ran towards Eddie. He took off, leaping high into the air. His hands smacked into Eddie’s and like a trapeze artist George was swaying beneath the roof. Eddie struggled to take the weight, to pull him up. He could feel the ground – the roof – giving way under his knees.

  Clods of earth showered down from the ceiling and scattered across the top of the carriage as it came to a halt beneath the hole. The Coachman was climbing back along the carriage roof towards George and Eddie.

  But with the carriage there, George was able to brace his legs on its top and force himself upwards to join Eddie.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘Your mate’s grave,’ Eddie told him. ‘Get digging!’

  They thrust their hands up into the soil above them, forcing a way through the hard-packed earth. Beneath them the cavern roof was giving way under their weight. The Coachman’s bone hands reached into the grave, scrabbling round as he grabbed for them.

  Eddie braced himself against the crumbling stone slabs and forced himself upright. His head sank into the ground above, but he kept pushing. Not yet shored up by an engraved slab of stone for Kingsley, the earth was held in place only by its own weight. It fell away as Eddie forced his way through. How far up did he need to go? How deep was the grave? Soil and dirt clogged his nostrils and worked into his mouth. He was choking, gasping, drowning in dust.

  Then suddenly he could taste fresh air. He opened his eyes, and found his head was poking up into the night. Mist swirled round the nearby gravestones. And a hand grabbed his leg.

  With a yelp, Eddie forced his hands and arms upwards and heaved himself out. The hand was still tight on his ankle. An arm followed. And then – George.

  ‘Oh, thank God it’s you.’

  ‘He’s got me,’ George gasped. ‘Pull, for goodness’ sake.’ Even as he said it, he started to disappear into the ground, hauled back by the Coachman below.

  Eddie heaved at George’s arms, but it did no good. Slowly but surely George was being pulled into the collapsing earth.

  Then suddenly there was a rasping, muffled cry from below the ground. The sound of a heavy stone shattering on the roof of the carriage as it fell. The earth round the grave collapsed, leaving a dark hole. George shot forward out of the ground and he and Eddie rolled across the damp grass.

  ‘I think the whole area of roof gave way,’ George said. ‘There’s just the turf keeping it together up here.’

  ‘That won’t stop him for long,’ Eddie said.

  Together they ran through the gathering fog, away from the empty grave.

  Orabis, Lord of the Undead, looked down at the silent assembly. Before him stood the Coachman and Christopher Kingsley, their heads bowed in penitence.

  ‘They have escaped, my Lord.’

  ‘Nothing will deter us from the great task,’ Orabis declared. ‘Soon we will rise and feed, and rule this Empire.’ He raised his dark eyes towards the roof.

  The whole assembly also looked upwards. All except one. The tall, gaunt man held by Clarissa and Sir Harrison Judd.

  Lord Ruthven was pushed forwards. He stumbled in front of Orabis, standing between the Coachman and Kingsley.

  ‘We have been betrayed,’ the Coachman said. ‘What should we do with those who do not share your vision, my Lord?’

  ‘We shall release them from that vision. And from this earthly life.’ Orabis twisted in the grotesque framework of pipes until he was staring down at Lord Ruthven. ‘My powers have been sapped by the long sleep, and without the casket I can never be whole.’ His face twisted into a mixture of snarl and smile. ‘But taste what power I have. You betrayed us – you betrayed me. And you will pay for that.’

  The Lord of the Undead’s eyes seemed to shine, glittering in the lamplight. Lord Ruthven gasped and shuddered, held immobile in the gaze of Orabis. Clarissa and Harrison Judd let go of their captive and stepped away, watching in fascination.

  Ruthven’s whole body was shaking. His hair thinned and his cheeks sagged. He was crumpling up, collapsing to his knees as the life was drawn from him. His scream was a thin, pitiful sound as he finally fell forwards.

  For a moment there was silence. Clarissa drew the toe of her shoe slowly through the pile of grey dust that had been Lord Ruthven, scattering it across the cavern floor as the chanting began again.

  ‘Those pumps must feed blood into his body from storage tanks somewhere,’ George said.

  They were nearing the British Museum, both quickening their step as they approached.

  ‘I can guess where they get the blood,’ Eddie said. ‘Lucky we didn’t get ours added to the brew.’

  ‘But why do they need so many engines, so many pumps?’ George wondered. ‘Perhaps they really do pump out river water if the tunnels flood.’

  ‘Or perhaps they need blood for something else too,’ Eddie suggested.

  George grimaced. ‘They’re like great steam hearts, pumping the lifeblood round the system.’ He shivered. ‘Maybe they ventilate the tunnels. I guess even vampires need to breathe.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘They don’t need pumps like that though. You know,’ George said as they started down the corridor towards the Department of Unclassified Artefacts, ‘to ventilate the Houses of Parliament they just light a fire.’

  ‘How’s that help?’

  ‘Ho
t air rises through the chimney in the middle and that draws in fresher colder air through the clock tower and the other towers. It’s a terrific system. There are vents and shafts all through the Palace of Westminster to make it work. All planned in when it was rebuilt.’

  Eddie stifled a yawn. ‘Fancy.’

  The door to Sir William’s office was standing open. George and Eddie looked at each other, both suddenly anxious. George carefully, slowly, pushed the door fully open.

  The body lay motionless behind the desk.

  ‘Sir William?’ George exclaimed. ‘Get some water,’ he told Eddie.

  ‘Might be too late for that. Look at him.’

  The old man’s white shirt was a spattered red mess. Sir William’s white hair was tangled and soaked in sweat. A dark scar was burned across the blood-slick wound in his neck – the shape of a cross.

  As George watched, the pale old man’s eyelids flickered. His lips parted slightly in a weak smile. Revealing his strong, white teeth.

  CHAPTER 17

  ‘He’s all right,’ Eddie said with relief. ‘Isn’t he?’ he added anxiously as Sir William struggled to sit up.

  ‘I hope so.’ George was backing away warily.

  ‘Of course I’m all right,’ Sir William protested. He touched the wound at his neck gingerly and winced with the pain. ‘Though I could do with a glass of water. And perhaps I could impose upon one or both of you to help me bathe this and examine the damage.’

  ‘You were bitten,’ George said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘By a vampire thing,’ Eddie added.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Is that … dangerous?’ George asked.

  ‘Extremely. But a good splash of holy water and a makeshift silver cross work wonders. Miracles even. Now stop fussing about, we have a lot to do.’

  Sir William’s strength quickly returned and he was soon back to his usual self. The wound seemed to have healed over, cauterised by the silver and holy water. By the time Eddie had finished recounting his adventures at the work-house, the cross-shaped scar just above his collar was the only sign that Sir William had been attacked.