Jack of Ravens(119)

‘Veitch,’ Church said.

‘You’re not thinking of confronting him, are you?’ Tom interjected. ‘There’s only one of you this time.’

Church wavered. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Veitch is playing the long game,’ Tom pressed. ‘You should, too.’

‘That’s easily said. How do you walk away when you know something bad’s happening that you might be able to influence?’

‘Best stay away. You don’t want to be forced into facing him before you’re whole.’

‘If it is any help, there was another sighting of Spring-heeled Jack in the vicinity,’ Cole added. ‘If such a fearsome thing exists, it may well have been involved.’

‘Walk away, Jack,’ Tom insisted.

Church was torn, but before he could reach a decision he glimpsed a familiar figure through the crowd. It was fleeting, but Church was sure he had seen correctly. ‘Jerzy’s here,’ he said.



4



Veitch leaned against the chimney stack, examining his silver hand. The view across the rooftops had been spectacular, to St Paul’s and beyond, to the gleaming white manses of the West End. But now it was rapidly being obscured by the descending smog as thousands of fires pumped up greasy smoke from the cheap coal slack the poor shovelled into their grates.

Veitch clamped the mechanical fingers into a fist. ‘Not even a whole man any more.’

He slipped his other arm around Etain, who was sitting next to him. ‘Who’d ever have thought a dirty little urchin from South London would end up here? When I was at school, the careers wanker told me I wouldn’t amount to anything. Not smart enough to take my exams. I could train as a mechanic if I was lucky. No point having any hopes.’ He said the word bitterly. ‘Can you imagine telling a kid that? Basically saying, ‘‘Sorry, mate, you life’s over.’’ Wanker. All those nice middle-class kids, they have parents who tell them they can do anything. Then they’re set up, no boundaries. They just head off and do the best they can.’

He kicked a loose shingle, sending it slithering down the roof to pitch over the edge and shatter in the street far below.

‘Then I started having all these dreams. Not the kind of dreams you might have. Like drug trips. Movies in my head. Every night. Drove me mad. Everyone thought I was bleedin’ nuts.’ He unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the technicoloured tattoos dappling his torso. ‘Only way I could deal with them was to get them drawn up here. Turns out they weren’t dreams. They were my …’ He wrestled to find the right word. ‘Heritage. Who I was. Stuff that was going to happen.’ He traced his finger around the outline of a green dragon. ‘And then my life exploded from nothing into something. A Brother of Dragons. A Champion of Life.’ He laughed. ‘I hooked up with the others and we were going to change everything. Shavi, he was all right. Laura … bitch. And Ruth …’ He fell silent. ‘Sorry, darlin’, but she was something special. I loved her. I bloody loved her. And then that bastard Church came along and ruined it all. We were a team … they were the best friends I ever had. Or so I thought. I’d have done anything for them. We could have done anything. No boundaries. You get it? The sky was the bleedin’ limit. All thrown away. Me, tossed back on the scrapheap. Left for dead. I was dead … until I got a second chance. This time I’m using it right. I’m not going to let anybody screw me over again.’

He balanced on the pitch of the roof and stretched. The smog hung so densely all around that it felt as if night was coming in early.

‘You going to help me, darlin’? I can’t do this bit on my own.’ He held out his hand and Etain took it. Together they walked to the roof’s edge, and then over, vertically down the face of the building. Veitch directed Etain to a window through which candlelight glimmered. Veitch leaned back and smashed the glass with his boot, at the same time drawing his sword. Black fire danced around the blade.

Inside, a young man and woman cowered in one corner. They held each other’s hands, for strength; allies, not lovers. ‘Who are you?’ the man said defiantly. He tried to push the woman behind him for safety.

‘I’m your worst fucking nightmare, mate.’ Veitch lifted the sword and stepped towards them.



5



Church dashed through the halls of the Great Exhibition, pushing his way through the genteel crowds. He caught sight of what he thought was Jerzy in the Indian court and then again amongst the agricultural implements of the United States court. It was only ever a fleeting glimpse of white skin or a fixed grin, enough to identify the figure as the Mocker, yet rationally Church couldn’t understand how it could be him: there were no shrieks, no swooning women or angry, shocked men.