Jack of Ravens(41)

For a while he drifted with his eyes shut. When he opened them, the shock of what he saw brought a convulsion that tore the headphones from his ears. On the desk was a silver picture frame containing a snap of the Avebury stone circle, which he had recently visited. It was an unconventional choice for a desk at that company and had attracted many snide comments from his workmates, but in his more harried moments it calmed him to look at it.

Now, though, the Avebury circle was obscured by a head that appeared to be forcing its way out of the frame, writhing with the pangs of birth. Its features were barely formed, like a clay model with the barest indentations marking eyes, nose and mouth. A white, foaming, gaseous substance leaked out from where the head protruded, and quickly evaporated.

‘You called me,’ it said in a whining, faintly metallic voice. ‘Brother of Dragons, you called!’

Shavi was struck dumb for a moment. The head mewled as if in pain. Eventually Shavi managed, What are you?’

‘I am from the Invisible World. You called.’

‘I … I did not,’ Shavi said, but then realised he had been daydreaming, a cry for guidance to rescue him from the misery of his job.

‘This world is sour.’ The head spat and pursed its incipient lips. ‘I have no taste for it. I cannot understand why you tolerate it, Brother of Dragons, when it is in your power to change it.’

Shavi’s heart pounded, yet he was surprised to find the encounter was not as terrifying as he would have anticipated before it began. Brother of Dragons – why do you keep calling me that?’

‘Is that your question?’ The voice was a little too eager.

‘No,’ Shavi said hurriedly. ‘I have no question.’

‘Then I go. But heed my advice, given freely, though you have not heeded such advice in the past: beware the one with cold hands.’

The head wriggled back into the picture frame and disappeared with an obscene sucking noise. In the ringing silence of his starkly lit office, Shavi had the unnerving feeling of being cut adrift from mundane reality; yet it was a good feeling, too.

Eagerly he replaced his shoes and socks, picked up his coat and headed down the stairs. Questions raced through his mind and he was keen to start piecing together the answers.

In the quiet street, he came across a blandly handsome man frustratedly pacing back and forth. He turned when he saw Shavi and smiled warmly. Any idea where I can get a cab?’

‘There is a minicab office down towards the crossroads. I was just going there myself.’

‘Mind if I walk with you? If we’re going in the same direction, we can share one. Keep costs down. The name’s Rourke.’

He held out a friendly hand.



12



This time Church found himself in a flat. The furniture and decoration were threadbare, but it was clean and the occupant had made the best of it. Inexplicably, his attention was drawn to a wardrobe standing against the far wall. One of the doors was ajar, the interior as black as pitch.

He heard a woman humming to herself. Through the open door leading into another room he saw Ruth cross the lounge, tidying up as she went. She appeared happier than the last time he had seen her. Yet she was alone and he felt relieved that Rourke had not come back with her. She hummed a few more bars: it was ‘Fly Me to the Moon’.

Church’s attention returned to the wardrobe. What was it about it that bothered him so? It was filled with shadows. His instinct was calling to him. Had Ruth hidden something in there?

He approached the wardrobe slowly. With each step his nerves jangled a little more until they were ringing wildly. He peered into the thin, dark crack, trying to pierce the gloom.

So dark.

Another step, almost close enough to reach the handle. He stretched out an arm unconsciously, knowing in his ghost-like state that he couldn’t open the door. One final step …

The door slammed shut with a tremendous crash and Church was thrown across the bedroom. From inside the wardrobe, he could hear a sound like low breathing, warning him off.

In the other room, Ruth hummed on, oblivious.



13



Church reeled. Three Rourkes. Or one Rourke in three different places simultaneously.

He grabbed Jerzy’s shouders. ‘I saw three Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. I think they’re part of my five. There always have to be five—’ He caught his breath. ‘I think they’re in danger … Ruth … all of them—’

‘From what?’

‘I don’t know. The Wish-Post shows you things, but it doesn’t tell you what they mean. I need to try to make some sense of all this.’

Church and Jerzy left the Court of Peaceful Days within the hour. A storm rumbled on the horizon, and birds swooped and dived overhead, their cries agitated. Everything he had witnessed through the Wish-Post left Church with a feeling of dread, though he was unsure what he had seen.