Isabella's Heiress (6 page)

“You'll get used to this place, it just takes time.” Taryn moved down the rows and embraced Emma in a hug. “Please look at me. It's been so long.”

Emma was completely lost, not knowing how to react. Slowly she raised her arms and returned the embrace.

Taryn gently kissed Emma's cheek. “Hi, babe.” The words were delivered in a barely audible whisper.

Emma gulped, trying to catch her breath. Her words came in heaves. “Oh, God! H-how can you? After everything? A-after what I did.”

“All that's in the past. We're beyond those things now.”

Taryn's appearance opened the floodgates for Emma's repressed memories. All Emma's feelings for her family welled up as waves of grief and emotion swept over her until she thought she would drown. It was as if she had been set adrift but only now realised that there was no way home.

“It hurts so much! Make it go away.” Even as she said it, Emma knew that she didn't want the pain banished: it was the only thing connecting her to her mother. Right now she wanted more than anything to see her mother one last time. “I want to go home.”

“Em, you can't. You'll only cause yourself more pain. Believe me, babe, I know.”

“No, I've got to go. I have to. I have to see mum one last time - to say goodbye.”

“Emma, there is nothing to be gained; you will only cause yourself more grief.” Father Eamon had been
watching Emma's reaction to meeting Taryn and chose now to gently interrupt.

“I don't care. I want to see mum!”

Father Eamon nodded. “I understand, Emma but I must advise you that it will not lessen your pain. Your family are grieving for you; seeing them in that state will only hurt you more.”

Father Eamon's gaze moved towards Taryn. “Listen to those who would advise you.”

“I don't care, I want to go.” Emma's mind was made up; she was going, regardless of what anybody said.

Father Eamon breathed out slowly, “If that is your choice, then we will go. Taryn and I will accompany you. We should leave now if we are to be back before dark.”

Waiting outside the gateway, Emma stood next to Father Eamon, shivering as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. It was a raw morning as she drew her jacket around her and looked out at the square, careful to keep in the shadow of the arch.

“It's okay Em, it really is.” Taryn was just behind her, holding open one of the iron gates, ready to close it as they left.

“I'm fine. I just need a second.” The shock of meeting Taryn was still with her and she was starting to doubt the wisdom of her decision to see her family.

Father Eamon turned as he stepped out from under the arch. “They will not come after you again, Emma. Of that you can be sure.”

They stepped into the square and she braced herself for the reappearance of the mist, which had brought the Gentle Men the previous day. Instead there was silence. Nothing appeared at the end of the street or from within the borders of the square's garden. Emma wasn't sure whether she felt relief at this or a sense of anti-climax but for now she was just happy to be left alone.

The central garden in the square was now neatly manicured
and Emma could make out park benches and trimmed hedges. Two Victorian street lamps looked out from the entrance, partially obscured by four large trees, whilst, further down the street, metal poles set into the pavement had had their signs removed. Emma could see coarse hemp sacks piled up around the main entrances of the surrounding buildings: next to them, little pyramids of sand rose a few inches off the ground where small tears allowed their contents to escape in a whispery yellow cascade. Above her, white tape criss-crossed all the windows of the surrounding buildings in a web of diagonal crosses, their panes vibrating as a humming noise filled the air.

A loud scraping on the left of the square made Emma turn. She watched as a chunk of masonry crashed down the side of a large building. It came to rest with a thud by a set of stairs that led up to an ornate entrance, its once proud golden art deco doors now hanging off their hinges.

There was a sign just across the road, which she had noticed a little way back. She walked up to it and ran her hand through the dirt. It fell away to reveal a dirty blue circle with a red bar running through it saying Mark Lane Station. Below it was an arrow pointing left. Above her the humming continued.

Emma exited Seething Lane and found herself standing opposite a large church, which seemed untouched compared to the buildings around it. There was a dryness in her mouth as she found herself looking out at a decimated city. Some buildings still stood but others had been left with only their façade. It was as if the hand of God had come down and, with one swipe, demolished everything around her, leaving only the occasional chair or table sticking out from the rubble as a reminder of what had been.

She turned left and froze. “This is London?” Emma said it to herself but Father Eamon was now beside her.

“We haven't the time to waste, Emma, we must move on.”

She ignored him, concentrating instead on the deep orange and red glow, which silhouetted the Tower of London and Tower Bridge as a crackling sound was carried on the wind. The smell of smoke and dust hit the back of her throat while on a boiling Thames, ships bobbed aimlessly at anchor.

“What happened here? This is all different from what I remember…” Emma's voice trailed off.

She recognised the two landmarks but such buildings as there were, were different to what she remembered. They weren't the coffee houses and newsagents that she had known. Those buildings that were still standing were blackened brick with row upon row of shattered rectangular windows. Waves of rubble stretched out to her right and above her the humming she had heard a short while ago was now a low, incessant droning. Looking up she saw huge beams of light cut through a smoky sky in lazy arcs. She stood transfixed, watching as the beams swept first left then right, illuminating huge floating balloons. Trying to take in the scene in front of her, Emma stepped back and tripped on a dislodged paving stone. It was enough to break her trance. Emma looked over to where Father Eamon and Taryn now stood, both of them waiting for her to come round.

“We have to head towards London Bridge if we are to reach your parents,” Father Eamon said, motioning for Emma to join them.

As they headed west, towards Cheapside, Emma found herself having to walk round the piles of rubble and debris, silently grateful for having chosen a set of trainers
and jeans that morning. “I don't understand. None of this was here yesterday.”

“No, you're right - but did you not notice how things started to decay as we made our way to the sanctuary?” Father Eamon was in front of her and was negotiating their passage around a large hole in the road. Emma thought for a second and remembered back to the buildings she had seen after they had left the sunken garden.

“That was the twilight setting in. As your consciousness left your body, so it came to this plane; but it is not an instant transition. It takes time and what you saw were the first elements of this world.”

Emma tried to take this in but was more interested in not breaking something on the loose rubble. Behind her, she heard a noise and looked around. Taryn was picking herself up having just lost her footing on some loose half-bricks. She shot Emma a disgusted look.

“This is ridiculous. Why do I always end up having to travel through London after a bombing raid? Other people get it in a heavy storm or during the Great Fire. I end up in rubble! It's the third time this month!”

The buildings around them flickered and spat, as orange and red tongues licked hungrily at window frames and doorways. Glass exploded, causing Emma and Taryn to duck as they worked their way along Byward Street whilst behind them, they heard a low rumble, followed by a roar as an avalanche of bricks and wood finally succumbed to the heat and flame.

At Cheapside, Emma looked up nervously as a building to her left threatened to collapse at any second. She found herself heading to the centre of the street in an effort to minimise any danger from falling bricks, as an initiate and guide silhouetted in the distance narrowly avoided disappearing under a cascade of masonry.

“Oh my god! Are they going to be okay?” Emma strained to see if they were still standing and breathed a sigh of relief as the debris settled to reveal them dusting themselves down.

“Watch out for the rats.” Taryn had now caught up and followed Emma's path into the middle of the road

“Rats?”

“Yeah, rats. They love this place. I had one run across my feet last week.” Taryn gave an involuntary shudder.

“You've been here before?”

“Yeah. I seem to be stuck with this place.” Taryn was looking around her with barely disguised contempt.

Taryn's words caused Emma to pause whilst negotiating her way around a large chunk of debris. “Hang on. What do you mean stuck with this place?”

Taryn slowed down “What has Father Eamon told you about this plane?”

“Not a lot, really.”

Taryn huffed. “Typical. You have to do a task - you know that much, don't you?”

Emma hesitated, remembering what Father Eamon had said about the cardinal rule, “Yeah. He said we mustn't speak about it.”

“Individual tasks, yeah, but I'm talking about the whole thing. Did he explain what's going on here?”

“No, not really. He said it would all become clear in time.”

“Yeah, right, clear as mud if you leave it up to these guys. You have to complete a task to move on. It's all to do with the treaty of Cordoba and the betrayal of…”

“That's enough, Taryn. Do not fill Emma's mind up with things she need not yet know.” Father Eamon had stopped to let them catch up and had been listening to
their conversation as they approached. He was resting on a large chunk of concrete that had once been a piece of the road in front of him; now there was a gaping wound stretching between the pavements. As Emma looked into it, she saw fractured pipes spewing their contents in to the bottom, creating a muddy soup of dirt, rock and metal.

“I'm only telling her what she needs to know.”

“I understand but the whole thing eludes you - and me for that matter. It is better that Emma sees as well as hears, would you not agree?”

“Yeah, but it's not fair. It's bad enough that we've ended up here. The least you could do is explain what else goes on here apart from our trials. What about all the people I see? What are they doing here? Sister Ignacia goes all mysterious when I ask her about it.”

Emma was trying to follow the conversation and failing. “Aren't the other people here because they have to complete the trials just like us?”

“I don't mean those other people. I mean the
other
people. You know, the people that live here.”

“What people?” Emma was startled. This was something that Father Eamon hadn't mentioned. She was starting to wonder what else he had been holding back.

“You see my point. This is something Emma needn't have found out about until a more appropriate time; but now she will wonder why I did not tell her, and also wonder if there is anything else I have held back.

“Well I can tell you now, Emma, that there are many things that I have held back, some of which I will share with you when the time is right and some of which I will keep my council on as they are of no issue to either you or Taryn. Do not think any the worse of me for this. You have to understand that I must only allow you enough
information to complete your time here. Anything else is a distraction and would not serve you well. As for the people of whom Taryn speaks, she is right to say that they live here but it is more complicated than that and I will tell you about them when…”

“…The time is right. I know. Just don't ask me to like it.”

“I understand, but you are strong and I have faith in you and your abilities.”

Emma just hoped he had enough faith for both of them.

They carried on down the road in silence, both Emma and Taryn more concerned in avoiding the man-made rock-falls than talking. Father Eamon seemed to navigate his way through it all with consummate ease.

“Oh for fucks sake!” Taryn took yet another tumble as a small pile of rubble and brick dust gave way beneath her. Emma allowed herself a quiet giggle, remembering how Taryn had always been completely hopeless at team sports when they were at school.

Taryn looked ruefully at Emma as she gratefully took her outstretched hand and dusted herself off. “The sooner I'm out of here the better.”

“No argument here.”

Taryn's eyes dropped down to Emma's waist as they caught up with Father Eamon, “Ooh, nice jeans. D & G?”

“No DKNY. I got them just before…well you know.”

Taryn gave Emma a consoling hug, “I know it does take some getting used to but there is a bright side.”

Emma almost choked. “Oh really? And what would that be?”

“Well, now you're dead, there's no danger of growing out of them.”

Emma gave Taryn a look.

They turned left on to King William Street and Emma
stopped. There was mist drifting across the road. Her stomach did an involuntary cartwheel.

“Fear not the mist, Emma, ‘tis off the river. There is no change in temperature is there? That is the sign of the Gentle Men.”

As they approached, the mist parted around two stone columns, each with a gas lamp on top. They were ten foot high and rectangular, the granite giving off a purple hue. She could only see a short distance ahead, maybe fifteen feet, before everything was swallowed up again; but it was enough for Emma to make out the start of a wide bridge, whose elegance was only partially masked by the mist now drifting across.

“I don't understand. Where are we?”

“We are exactly where we should be,” said Father Eamon. “London Bridge.”

“This isn't London Bridge.” Emma was confused. She had crossed the bridge a thousand times when she was alive and the mist could not disguise the fact that this was different.

“Not the one you remember, maybe, but it is London Bridge none the less.”

Emma stood looking at him nonplussed.

“This is the old London Bridge, not the new one. There is a shifting reality here: elements change. Over the course of a city's life, events leave a mark for better or worse within the plane; they come and go in the form of realms, each one distinct from the others. What is here now may not be here tomorrow.”

Emma tried to take this in but all she could do was look at the cobbles stretching out ahead of them into the mist. Heat from the ornate two-headed gas lamps placed along the bridge caused the mist to rise as they walked revealing
the cold luminescence of the marble blocks.

Father Eamon looked over at the women. “I think it is time we cross over.”

There was a groan from Emma's left. Taryn was grimacing. “This is the bit I hate.”

Father Eamon smiled. “Come, Taryn, you are used to this now.”

“Used to it, yes. That doesn't mean I enjoy it.”

Father Eamon moved them to one side of the road.

“Grab my arms.”

Emma and Taryn took hold and the sensation of falling was instant. The mist cleared as marble and iron gave way to the granite and concrete Emma was familiar with, complete with rush-hour traffic and commuters.

A wave of heat hit them as, once again, Emma had to shield her eyes against the low morning sunlight. The noise of the rush hour traffic threatened to overwhelm her. Buses, motorcycles and lorries all vied for road space.

Emma moved closer to Father Eamon, as the new surroundings made her feel suddenly vulnerable and exposed. A feeling of envy for the people walking along, oblivious to what might await them, rose in Emma's stomach.
They have it so easy,
she thought, as they headed into their jobs and she found herself having to dance a minor ballet, pirouetting to avoid oncoming city workers. It was an art that Father Eamon and Taryn seemed to have got down to an elegant side step.