Child of Time Read online

  Emily sipped at her oily coffee while he sat brooding, silently, beside her.

  After a while, Gray broke the awkward silence. He caught Honoré's eye, sighing. 'You understand that, after you've had something to eat, we're going to have to ask you to leave.'

  Honoré looked him squarely in the face. 'I don't really understand, no. We're both healthy – we can both use a gun.'

  'I'm sorry, it's just...'

  'It's just that you present a risk to us and the civvies simply by being here.' Hannah had come around behind them and was now placing trays of food in front of them; a bowl of grey stew and a piece of hard bread each. She sat down beside Honoré, and her demeanour seemed to soften a little. 'If we're right, if you're actually Hunted, then the gargoyles are going to keep coming after you, and we really can't afford to spend all our ammunition fighting them off. At the moment, they leave us alone.'

  Emily gave her a quizzical look. 'What do you mean when you say "Hunted"? Who would be hunting us, and why? We haven't done anything.'

  Hannah glanced at Gray, nervously, before continuing. 'Look. We don't really know what it is the creatures want. We don't even know what they really are. But we do know that some people have something they want. It's rare, and we don't see it very often, but when we do, it's always the same.'

  Gray chipped in. 'It's like they can smell it or something. Some genetic or biological trait that seems to drive them into a frenzy.'

  Hannah looked into the middle distance. 'I hate this,' she said. 'I saw one soldier taken by them. It was awful. The poor man.'

  Gray put his hand on her arm. 'Don't worry,' he reassured her. 'They won't get you.'

  'Which is why we have to be careful,' Hannah finished, looking again at Honoré and Emily. 'They'll search you out, wherever you go in the city, and if they can, they'll take you prisoner.'

  Honoré was paying attention now. 'Prisoner? I thought they were hunters? Killers? The one we met out in the street didn't look like it was trying to take us prisoner.'

  'It depends. It's unusual for them to attack at all. Usually they just ignore us, as if we don't really exist. But people like you,' Gray waved his hand, indicating them both, 'are clearly a target for some reason. Like Hannah said, we can't afford for them to come here, not with all the civvies.'

  'What do you mean, people like us?' pressed Honoré.

  'I mean people who seem to arrive out of nowhere. Strangers. Persons of unknown origin...' He let that hang for a moment. 'People from other places, other times, drawn here like moths to a flame.'

  Honoré and Emily glanced at each other, unsure what to say next. Thankfully for both of them, Hannah came to their rescue.

  'Anyway, eat your slop,' she said. 'Afterwards, we'll see you on your way. We'll give you a weapon each, a small amount of ammo, and some provisions. Then you're on your own.' Then, almost as an afterthought, 'Oh, and take some advice. Don't go anywhere near St Paul's Cathedral. It's not safe. There are monsters in the dark...'

  4

  'Dr... Smith?' The acolyte fidgeted nervously with a handful of paper. 'If you'd like to follow me.'

  The other man rose from his chair, a wry smile on his face. He was thin and gangly, his black hair receding to reveal a domed head, his features serious but care-worn. Given the surroundings – the semiruined splendour of the former Buckingham Palace – he seemed a little out of place in his plum-coloured velvet smoking jacket and formal black trousers, but if he was aware of the fact, he showed no sign. He nodded at the acolyte, who smoothed the front of his black robes nervously. 'Please, lead the way.'

  The acolyte led Dr Smith down a long, high-ceilinged corridor, the now-peeling walls of which were lined with an array of dusty old paintings. Dr Smith frowned for a moment as he passed a massive canvas depicting the beheading of King Charles I. He shook his head, mumbling to himself as he walked: 'No, no. That's not how it happened.' The acolyte chose to ignore the remark, fixing his gaze on the other end of the corridor and the large set of oak doors that marked their destination.

  Momentarily, they came to a stop. The acolyte bade Dr Smith remain outside while, after rapping briskly on the door, he turned the handle and stepped through into the room beyond. There was a brief exchange of voices, and then the acolyte reappeared and ushered Dr Smith in.

  A slim young woman was seated on an ornate throne at the other end of the enormous chamber. Doorways punctuated the walls on either side of the huge space, and at each of them stood another acolyte, arms folded behind his back, face half hidden behind the shadowy cowl of a black robe. Dr Smith looked around, taking it all in. 'It's cold in here,' he announced, to no-one in particular.

  'Indeed it is, Dr Smith,' the woman on the throne agreed. 'Come closer, please. We have much to discuss.'

  Dr Smith allowed his face to show his disapproval at the manner in which the woman was sprawled on her elaborate seat. 'Couldn't we go somewhere a little... cosier to talk?'

  'I think not. It would hardly be appropriate for the High Executioner of the Sodality to be seen treating her guests as equals now, would it?'

  Dr Smith shook his head again, his demeanour visibly darkening. 'Such vanity. Such egotism. I haven't come here to spar with you, or to pander to you, or anything of the sort. I simply await your answer. Have the Sodality's Ruling Council,' he nearly spat the words, 'reached their decision yet?'

  'Come now, Dr Smith. You know you wouldn't be here if we hadn't.'

  'Well?'

  'I'm afraid we are going to have to decline your offer.'

  There was a long pause. Dr Smith reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a thin packet of cigarettes. He deliberately placed one of the small white sticks between his pursed lips, flared a match, and lit it. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled a ribbon of smoke through his nostrils. 'You try my patience.' He glared at her fiercely. 'You don't understand what you're dealing with.'

  'No, you're right. We don't. Did you honestly expect us to trust you? Really? A stranger, who appears out of nowhere, declares he knows all our plans and claims he can help us hunt down and terminate the remnants of our experiments?'

  'Experiments? They're people!'

  'They're vessels. They wouldn't exist if it hadn't been for the Sodality. Our reach is long, Dr Smith, and our intentions pure. We aim to change things for the better. To give humanity control over time...'

  Dr Smith sprinkled ash from the end of his cigarette with a flourish. He frowned. 'Something they little understand. Look,' he pointed at her with the tip of his cigarette, emphasising his point, 'the creature you plan to summon has already declared your experiments an aberration. If you leave even a single time channeller or time sensitive alive, it will destroy the Earth, and your whole species will be wiped out! I have no appetite for killing, I assure you, but in this instance, it is very much the lesser of two evils.'

  Anger flashed in the High Executioner's eyes. 'My agents have been dedicated and ruthless! They have scoured the timelines for the rogue elements, found and killed hundreds of them. A few remain, it is true. But how could you hope to succeed where my agents have failed? Besides, it is of no consequence. We have done enough. The creature will be satisfied.'

  'You really think you can pull off such a deception? Believe me, it will be seen through.'

  'You underestimate us, Dr Smith! We are the Sodality! No creature, however powerful, will prevail against us.

  'I suppose this wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you're a time channeller yourself, would it? Hmmm?'

  The High Executioner was visibly taken aback. 'How did you...? No matter. The ceremony will be a success, our plan will move forward, and the human race will survive and develop, as it always has. Your help is neither needed nor wanted.'

  Dr Smith dropped the stub of his cigarette to the floor, where it continued to smoulder. He met her gaze. 'These creatures, they're not what you think they are. They're scientists. To them, the human race is as much an experiment as your frankly loathsome tink
ering with your own evolution. If, or should that be when, they find you have deceived them, they will terminate their experiment without compunction and bring an end to human history.' He ground his cigarette stub into the carpet with his heel.

  The woman was smiling.

  Dr Smith turned to leave. 'I won't let it happen. I gave you a chance. You could have put things right. It ends now.' He made his way towards the door.

  'Guards!'

  The acolytes swarmed around him, grabbing at him fiercely, pinning his arms behind his back. They turned him around forcibly to face the woman, who was now climbing down from her ostentatious perch to walk towards him, her hips swinging and her heels clacking on the hard floor. 'My dear Dr Smith. You didn't really expect us just to let you walk out of here, did you?'

  Dr Smith smiled. 'Oh, how thoroughly predictable.'

  5

  The world was still lit by an eerie bronze twilight as Honoré and Emily climbed out of the manhole and up onto the road. The soldiers had told them it was now late in the evening, but there were no visible signs of change. To Honoré, it felt as if they were trapped in one long moment of time, a drawn-out, protracted second without end, within which the rest of the world was frozen and only what happened here, in this city, now, was of any consequence. Either that, or someone in this blasted future had been playing with the cycles of the Earth and the Sun. Nothing would surprise him any more. He turned to help Emily to her feet.

  'So, where next? Do we need to find somewhere to sleep?'

  Emily shrugged. 'I'm not really tired. Besides, after all that stuff about being hunted, I'm not sure I want to stay in one place for too long. You saw what that creature did to those desks...'

  'I guess you're right. I don't think I'd be able to sleep either.' He looked around, hunting for any landmarks he might recognise. Emily put her hand on his arm.

  'So what do you think's going on here anyway? We still haven't seen any sign of the woman whose body brought us here. I can't fathom how she'd be connected to this time period, unless she's like us, somehow?'

  Honoré shook his head, and then fidgeted with his hat. 'That's the only answer, isn't it? Her body was displaced. She shouldn't have been in the 1950s. But we're going to have to find her, eventually, if we want to get home.' He didn't have a clue where to start. 'I suppose we have to work out how we're going to put all of this right first, though.' He held both his hands up towards the sky, sweeping his eyes across the ruined cityscape. 'Any ideas?'

  'How about St Paul's?' She moved around to face him, to show him she was serious. 'If there really are monsters inside, they might be able to tell us more about what's going on, or point us to someone who will.'

  Honoré smiled. Emily was never one to shy away from a challenge. He nodded his consent. 'Come on then. St Paul's it is.'

  The cathedral loomed out of the twilight like a leviathan rising out of a swamp. Its massive central dome testament to the architectural skills of Christopher Wren: still standing after around 870 years. To Honoré, it seemed to be an enormous dark shadow holding court over a scene of devastation, rubble from collapsed buildings strewn chaotically all around it; supplicants brought to their knees. The silence was extraordinary, too; the lack of animal life, particularly birds, seemed more acute here, and even the wind had lost its plaintive howl. Honoré felt that he and Emily were like interlopers arriving after the event; ghosts haunting the scene of a once-great battle. Calm had set in, and it felt incongruous in the surroundings, the tension of the place seeming to demand something more. Honoré hugged Emily closer, reassuring himself. 'You sure you want to do this?'

  'I can't think of anything else we could be doing right now.'

  'True.' They stood for a moment, contemplating the view, the silence seemingly infecting them too.

  The walk had been uneventful, with no sign of any of the gargoyle creatures tracking them through the empty streets. Nevertheless, Honoré had kept a hand in his pocket, curled around his gun – a constant companion he was reluctant to let go. Micah had loaded it with explosive rounds, which he hoped, if necessary, would be powerful enough to bring down one of the weird stone entities. Preferably he wouldn't have to find out.

  Emily made the first move. She started forward, making her way across the rubble-strewn plaza leading up to the building. Honoré followed, watching their backs. As they drew closer, he became aware of a series of large, indistinct objects that had been hung across the entranceway, five or six of them dangling on ropes, swaying in the slight breeze. From this distance, he couldn't tell exactly what they were, but he felt the stirrings of a dark, brooding feeling welling up inside him. The short hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end and every sense he had was telling him to turn and run in the opposite direction.

  With a dawning sense of fear and disgust, he realised that the things hanging on the ropes were human corpses. Worse than that, though, each of them had been flayed and strung up by its neck, with its arms and legs hacked off near the torso.

  Emily gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.

  Honoré was by her side. 'Still sure you want to go ahead with this?'

  She turned to him, eyes wide, unable to speak. He watched the look in her eyes turn from animalistic terror to steely resolve. She nodded and then, pulling herself together, continued towards the scene of carnage. 'I'm okay, Honoré. This is something we have to do.' He hurried to catch her up.

  As they mounted the steps near the mouth of the building, both Honoré and Emily used their sleeves to cover their lower faces, in an effort to stave off the stench of the rotting bodies. It was probably the foulest thing Honoré had ever had the misfortune to smell. Back in his army days, during the War, he'd seen all manner of terrible things, including a rotting cadaver that his squad had happened upon in a farmhouse in Normandy. He'd thought then that nothing could ever be worse than the stench it gave off. But that corpse hadn't been left exposed to the elements as these had; and it hadn't been deliberately mutilated, either. He tried not to look at the remains of the six people dangling in front of him. Emily, however, seemed overcome with a macabre fascination, staying rooted to the spot before them, unable to look away.

  Honoré gently took her elbow and moved her along. 'We can bring an end to this, Emily, if we try. Come on. We've got to be ready for whatever it is that did this.' He'd already reached for his gun, almost unconsciously. He brushed past the hanging corpses and approached the large wooden door ahead of them, which seemed to be the main entrance to the Cathedral. There was a circular metal handle to one side, and he reached out and tried it.

  It was unlocked. He heaved the door open with his left hand, brandishing the gun in his right, and peered into the gloom beyond, alert for any signs of movement. A moment later, confident that they weren't going to be immediately set upon, they both slipped inside.

  6

  The High Executioner stared intently at the monitor screen on the desk in front of her. It showed an image of Dr Smith in the drawing room where she'd had him taken after their confrontation in the throne room a couple of hours earlier. He was seated in a comfortable armchair, legs stretched out lazily in front of him, lighting yet another of his infernal cigarettes. He had made no attempt to leave the room, even though she had posted no acolytes inside with him, and looked for all the world as if he was passing a relaxing evening, enjoying a leisurely smoke. She wasn't fooled though. He would obviously have realised that there would be guards posted outside the room, and probably also that he would be under surveillance, so this studied nonchalance was no doubt just a show for her benefit. She had hoped to leave him stewing there, so that he would be more willing to talk when she eventually went to question him, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that the tables were being turned on her, and that it was she who was being left to stew. Clicking her tongue in frustration, she turned off the screen, rose from the desk, snatched up a file of papers and strode from her room, her acolytes scurrying to keep up with her.

/>   Dr Smith looked up as, in response to a barked command, the door to his room was pushed open and the High Executioner stalked in, motioning her attendant acolytes to remain outside. She was wearing a long black dress and high heels, which clicked noisily on the floorboards as she walked. She placed the file of papers she was carrying on a table to one side, then lowered herself gracefully into the chair opposite Dr Smith.

  'Dr Smith, I trust my acolytes have been treating you well?'