Graveyard Shift (16 page)

I felt a chill as I stood there with the warm telephone receiver pressed to my ear. A shadow flashed past the booth to my right, but there was no one nearby on the street when I turned to look.

After hanging up, I leaned against the glass-paneled door, fighting the huge ball of pressure building in my chest. It took a minute to keep the sobbing at bay. It shouldn't, but it upset me to hear her making future plans when neither of us knew how much of a future she had.

How could she be so positive? How could she be so brave?

The feeling passed. I shouldered the phone booth door open and stepped out. As I did, something flickered at the edge of my vision, a sudden movement farther down the street.

No one there. No one who wanted to be spotted, at least.

I set off for Islington at a jog, not looking back but certain I wasn't alone. If the enemy had sent another agent after me, it would be wiser to keep to the streets, avoiding the canal's quiet corners and dark bridges. Anything might happen down there.

Rush hour was a while off, but the streets past Southgate Road were busy enough to help me relax. At Essex Road I checked behind me for the first time, but by then the follower could've been anywhere in the throng of people and traffic.

Had I imagined someone there? Perhaps all I'd really seen from the corner of my eye was a bird flying by, or its shadow.

I wished I could believe it, but nothing in my world seemed imaginary now. When I woke in the night with cold sweats, I wasn't waking from dreams of imaginary monsters. These were dreams of the Deathhead stepping into the morgue, of the Mawbreed rising from McCready's bed, and the last look on McCready's face before it dragged him inside the room.

Just because I couldn't see it didn't mean it wasn't there. I sprinted the rest of the way to Camden Passage, running to stay ahead of my fears, not slowing until I'd found the damp crevice between the walls and snaked through it again, passing from daylight into dark.

N
o matter how often I came to the Ministry, that shift from day to dusk never failed to amaze me. A few short paces from daylight, Eventide Street stood secretly under the stars, its streetlamps bathing the cobblestones in amber.

I moved indoors, flustered after the run. Upstairs, along the musty hallway, a dull light shone under the receipts office door. Before I could open the door wide enough to see inside, a small voice chirped, “Oh, hi, Ben. Won't be a min. Just finishing my shift.”

A petite girl dressed all in black hunched over the desk —
my
desk, as I'd started to think of it. She looked to be in her midteens and had pale alabaster skin and a wild maze of back-brushed black hair. She didn't look up as I came inside, focusing all her attention on the card in the typewriter.
Her typing, like mine, was basically two-fingered hunting and pecking. Next to the desk, the telegraph machine gave a worn-out sigh after pumping out another list of unfortunates.

“Uh, hi,” I replied. “How do you know my name?”

“Everyone knows your name around here,” she said. “You're usually in about this time of day, aren't you?”

Finishing typing, she took out the card and compared it with the printed sheet. Satisfied that they matched, she sat back and smiled up at me. A kink in one of her eyes made her seem to be looking in two directions at once, left and right of me.

“I'm Sukie,” she said. “Pleased to meetcha. I've heard lots about you, but we keep missing each other coming and going. I usually clock off before three.”

I stared at my shoes, not quite able to meet her look.

“Good to meet you too.”

“Is it true what they say, that you saw a Mawbreed up close and lived?” she asked.

“Not that close,” I said. “But close enough.”

“Still, it's astounding. Not many see them and survive to tell the tale. No surprise they're calling you Wonder Boy around here.”

I felt myself flush. “I didn't actually do anything, though.”

“Modest too. Well, whatever you say.”

“I didn't know we had to deal with things like that,” I said.

“Well, the minute you take sides against them, the enemy are at you all the time. They'll throw everything they've
got at you. You'll always have that feeling — better get used to it.”

“What feeling?”

“Of being followed, like just now.”

I looked at her, surprised.

“Sorry,” she said. “I must stop doing that, looking inside people's minds. It's intrusive and rude of me. But they tell me it's a gift, so I can't deny it.”

“It must be hard, though, knowing what everyone's thinking all the time.”

“Tell you the truth, it gives me a headache,” Sukie said. “All those voices jabbering away at once. And if I'm ever anywhere near a demon, that's the worst. They think thoughts I wouldn't want to repeat. But then, I hear good thoughts too, like the ones you're having about your mum. I'm sorry to hear she's been ill. I hope she'll be well.”

There was something creepy but fascinating about this. “Can you tell me what else is on my mind?” I asked.

Sukie answered without hesitation. “‘Creepy but fascinating . . . ' and you're also thinking of an address in Dartmouth Park — Spencer Rise, I think — but I can't see the house number. Seems urgent. Am I right?”

I shook my head. “No, I don't know that address. Never been there.”

“Oh.” She looked momentarily puzzled. “Then someone else is thinking it. I've got a fairly wide radius and pick up things from all over the place. It's probably one of the girls in dispatch.”

She rose from the desk, taking one of the two sets of typed cards. “Mr. October's due in soon. Can you see he gets those?”

“OK.”

“Uh-oh, here comes another one. I'll leave that to you, if you don't mind.”

The telegraph moaned and coughed out a solitary name.

“Time to face the old dragon in records,” Sukie said from the door. “Nice talkin', Ben, and apologies for reading your thoughts.”

“That's OK. They weren't all mine.”

She laughed and slipped away.

After she'd gone, I took the printed sheet to the desk and sat down to type.
Wonder Boy,
I thought. Was that what they really called me here?

Rolling a card into the platen, I set to work.

The next half hour went slowly. I stared at the telegraph, willing it to be still. Not that I minded the work, but as long as the machine kept quiet, the living kept living. I took paper from my backpack and fed it into the typewriter, then stared at the blank page a moment before typing:

The first time I set eyes on Mr. October, he didn't look like anything special.

But first impressions weren't everything, and I'd learned so much since this all began. In the receipts office I'd had plenty of time to think over what had taken place since we met, and now I wanted to record it — for myself, if no one else.

I was on my third page when the telegraph drew breath, exhaled a jet of steam, and clattered into action. I snatched the sheet from the typewriter and put it away. As I did, the door flew open. The candle flame shuddered and nearly went out.

“Ah, there you are,” Mr. October said, poking his head around the door. “How's it going?”

“Not bad. It's been fairly quiet till now.”

He glared at the working telegraph, blew air through his lips. “It's bedlam out there today, and it doesn't look like it's slowing down soon.” He came over and perched on the edge of the desk. “My poor old aching dogs.”

“Huh?”

“Isn't that slang for
sore feet
in your neck of the woods?”

“Dunno about my neck of the woods. We haven't been there long,” I said. “Though I did once hear Dad say ‘dog's barking,' and I had to ask what it meant. He said it meant the phone was ringing. Dog and bone, telephone; rhyming slang, you know? I've always remembered that.”

Mr. October looked at me, nonplussed. “Never mind. I've been on my feet all day, that's all. Three 6457
S
and a frankly bizarre 1312633. Hard to explain. Very complicated. So how's my star apprentice today? Do you know what they're calling you around the department now?”

“Yeah, Sukie told me. Oh, and she asked to make sure you got those.”

“Did she read your mind?” he asked, collecting the cards.

“Mine and someone else's, she didn't know whose.”

“She'll be a major asset in the field one day,” he said. “We're still undecided about how to put her talents to best use, but we'll have a better idea when she learns to distinguish one voice from another.”

He rifled through the cards, a grave expression deepening the Y on his pirate's brow until his eyebrows met in the middle.

“Not good. Very nasty. Oh dear,” he said as he read the last card. “Looks like you'll have to join me tonight, Ben.”

“OK. But what about this?”

The telegraph rocked away, spitting out names and smoke.

“We'll draft someone in,” he said. “Don't worry about it now. Get yourself ready while I talk to dispatch. I'll meet you outside.”

Pushing himself off the desk, he went out.

The noise of the still-working telegraph chased me out a minute later. The smell of stale varnish followed me downstairs. As I stepped outside the main door and started down the steps, a figure moved out of dark cover across the alley, giving me a start when it spoke.

“Ben? Is that you?”

She took one tentative step forward, then hurried toward me. Light from the gas lamps fell across her face, but it still took me a second to place her.

“Becky? What're you doing here?”

“What do you think? I followed you.” She looked anxiously around. “Ben, what is this place, and why is it night?”

“There's no time to explain. If they see you . . . I don't know what they'll do. How long have you been here?”

“Seems like ages. I'm not sure. I found my way in, but then couldn't find a way out. Where'd it go, that place between the walls?”

I shook my head, trying to think. Mr. October would be out any minute.

“I'll walk you back,” I said. “The entrance is still there. You just have to know how to look.” We started across the cobbles to the far wall. “Listen. You've got to promise not to breathe a word of this. You can't tell anyone, not even your friends.”

“I won't.” She dug in her heels, stopping halfway across the alley. “But I don't want to leave, either. Now that I'm here, I want to know more.”

“It isn't up to me,” I said.

“Then who?”

“You should be going.”

I took her arm, a little more firmly than I meant to. She brushed me away.

“Becky, I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Why shouldn't I see?” She looked at the starlit sky, then at me. She wasn't afraid; she was about to burst with excitement. “Besides, if I leave now, I won't be able to tell you the news.”

“It can wait.”

“No, it can't.”

“Then hurry. What news?”

“Hold on, it's best if I show you.”

She rummaged through her bag, picking out loose papers and tissues, pushing them back.

“Where is it?” she said. “I know it's here somewhere. You won't believe it, Ben. I could've kicked myself when I found out. It's all about —”

The main door thumped behind us. Becky clutched at me, nearly dropping her bag. We turned to see Mr. October coming down the steps, still in the guise of the raggedy man, the pirate.

Nests of shadows swarmed around his head as he strode toward us. His boots clicked and squeaked on the cobbles. With the streetlamps at his back, I was seeing him as I'd never seen him before: a sinister silhouette. Stopping short of us, he craned his upper body closer, then still closer until we were almost nose to nose.

“What's the meaning of this?” he said. His dark gaze skipped between me and Becky. “Shall I call the Vigilants, tell them we have an intruder?”

“I . . . I can explain,” I mumbled.

“You'd better. Do you know what happens to uninvited guests here? Can you imagine what happens to those who assist them?”

My mouth went dry. For the first time ever in Mr. October's company, I began to feel something like dread.

Becky shrank from him with a whimper, hiding behind me.

Mr. October's eyes burrowed into us, brimming with darkness, unreadable.

My heart lurched. I tried to inhale but couldn't.

Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter, howling at the moon.

“Gotcha!” he said. “That's four times now, young man. You fall for it every time, hook, line, and sinker. That's why it's so irresistible.”

“Do that again and I'll walk. I'll quit.”

“That'll be the day.” Now he turned his eyes on Becky, studying her as if she were some strange undiscovered species. “So who've we got here?”

“It's my fault,” I interrupted. “Don't be angry with her.”

“Have you ever seen me angry?” He still looked more amused than anything. “Well, yes, fair enough, there are times when the work's so intense I lose my temper. I've been known to hurl the odd fireball in anger . . . but my argument's with others, not you.”

“I know this man,” Becky whispered. Slowly loosening her hold on my arm, she straightened herself up to face him. “I've seen him before. I'd know him anywhere.” She was watching him with bewildered eyes. “But he didn't look anything like this last time. He looked like . . .”

“Very perceptive,” Mr. October said. “My, Ben, there's so much talent at your school.”

“You remember him from your great-gran's funeral?” I said to Becky. “How come?”

“Her gift isn't like yours,” Mr. October said. “She senses but
doesn't see so clearly.” To Becky, he said, “It was a long time ago. In your case half a lifetime ago, in mine just a heartbeat. I stood with your grandmother at her burial service. And yes, I looked different then. I had on my mourning clothes.”

“How . . . I mean, why . . .” Becky looked at me for answers, but she hadn't fathomed the questions yet. “I mean . . . what were you doing there with my great-gran?”

“Helping,” I said. “This is Mr. October, and that's what he does. He helps — we help — the dead.”

It took her a moment to absorb what I'd said. She fell back a couple of paces, openmouthed, and I could all but see the cogs turning behind her eyes.

She recovered quickly, though, taking a breath before she spoke. “So you help them how?”

“We provide for them, help them along to the next stage,” Mr. October said. “Some are ready as soon as the life force leaves them. Others, like your great-grandmother and Ben's aunt, hide away and don't come out until the very last minute. In fact, your great-gran was so late, she only just made the funeral, but it ended well.”

The stunned look faded from Becky's face. She nodded to herself, as if weighing everything up, coming to a decision.

“OK,” she said, reaching back inside her bag. “In that case, if that's the truth about what you do, you really have to see this.”

“Sorry, there's no time,” Mr. October said. “We're already behind schedule. You'll have to wait till later. Lu, where's our transport?”

I hadn't seen Lu follow him out, but now she appeared behind him, hauling her rickshaw from its cover of shadows in front of HQ and pulling up alongside us.

“Hi, Lu,” I said.

“Hi, Wonder Boy.”

“Is there room for three inside?”

“Room for as many as you like,” she said. “Bigger, smaller, any size.”

Becky looked at me askance. “What's going on? What's she mean?”