The Black Tattoo (39 page)
Authors: Sam Enthoven
And as if that weren't enough by itself, he felt sick.
He'd first noticed the feeling just a couple of hours after his return from Hell:
it hadn't been too bad at first — just a light, nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach, particularly whenever he looked at food.
Over the following twenty-four hours, however, the feeling had got steadily worse.
There was a feverish sort of tingle in his shoulders and under his arms.
His mouth tasted furry and his stomach kept gurgling and twisting itself up, like he'd swallowed a snake and it was eating him alive down there, eating him from the inside.
Typical
, he thought.
What a time to get ill.
How absolutely bloody typ—
He froze, staring.
A patch of shadow in the corner of the room was moving, rippling — solidifying, as he watched, into a manlike shape of purest liquid black.
The darkness vanished, and a figure stepped out of the shadows.
"Charlie," said Jack.
"Hey," said Charlie.
He had a sword strapped to his back, and he looked very pleased with himself.
"Got a minute?" he asked.
"I suppose so," said Jack dryly.
"I'm not exactly in the middle of anything here."
"Cool."
Charlie grinned again and reached out a hand.
There was a sensation of huge black wings closing around them.
Then Jack and Charlie were standing in the open night air.
Jack looked around himself.
They had reappeared on some kind of rooftop:
a high one too — he could tell because of the breeze.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"We're on the roof of
Jack walked to the edge.
Of course Charlie was right.
Built in the 1960s out of ribbed concrete and glass,
It's still one of the ugliest.
Nonetheless, Jack had to admit, thee was a pretty good view from the roof.
London's streets were spread out all around him like the glittering threads of a spiderweb, the Thames cutting through them like a slash of darkness.
"Well?" Jack prompted, still in no mood to mess around.
"Well what?" asked Charlie, who was now sitting cross-legged on the concrete.
"You want to tell me what this is all about?" asked Jack.
"I thought you were staying in Hell with the Scourge."
It was difficult to keep the bitterness out of his voice — and to be honest, he wasn't trying very hard.
"I'm just... visiting," was Charlie's faint reply.
"Really!" said Jack, with heavy sarcasm.
"Staying long?"
"Just tonight," said Charlie, attempting to make it sound casual and once again failing pathetically.
"Just tonight," he repeated, and he let out a single hollow laugh.
"Huh."
Jack looked at him.
"What?" he asked.
At last, Charlie looked up.
His eyes glinted.
"This is it, Jack," he said.
"This is my last visit.
After tonight, if I go back to Hell, I can't ever come back here again."
Jack blinked.
"How come?" he asked.
Charlie sighed.
"I'm just too important," he replied, "apparently."
Jack rolled his eyes in disbelief.
"I guess it's kind of like with the prime minister or the queen or something." Charlie explained blithely.
"Every move I make'll be planned in advance, and they simply can't put the arrangements in place to guarantee my safety with the way things are over here.
You know how it is."
"Oh,
sure
," said Jack.
"Sure, I know how it is."
But the sarcasm flew over Charlie's head — again, Jack sighed.
"So?"
Charlie looked surprised.
"So what?"
"So, are you going to do it?" asked Jack, losing patience.
"Are you seriously telling me you're going to stay in Hell for good?"
He paused.
"Or — or what?"
Charlie looked down at his lap again before answering, and his hair swung forward over his eyes.
"I dunno," he said distantly.
"Maybe," he added.
"Yeah," he finished. Then he flicked his hair back, shrugged at Jack, and smiled.
For another long moment, Jack stared at Charlie, getting what he wanted to say in the right order.
It was difficult.
"Do you know?" he began finally.
"There's something I've been thinking about you for a while now.
I think it's time I told you, because you really ought to know."
"What's that?" asked Charlie.
"You're a complete and utter
git
," said Jack.
Charlie stared at him.
"What do you want me to tell you?" asked Jack.
"Am I supposed to beg you not to go?
'Don't go,
mate
— I'll miss you.'
Would you like that?"
Charlie shook his head.
"Jack—"
"No, really," said Jack, hitting his stride now.
"I want to know.
Would it make any difference if I told you again how stupid you're being?
I mean," he asked, "what about your parents?"
"It'll be dealt with," said Charlie.
"I've got a plan."
"Ooh, a plan," echoed Jack, with utter contempt.
"Well, hooray for that."
He sighed.
His anger was cooling now.
Truth be told, Jack wasn't very good at being angry, even when he had a right to be.
Being angry was too much bother:
he could never manage it for long.
"So what's the deal here?" he asked wearily.
"What exactly has the Scourge promised you?"
Charlie perked up visibly.
"Well, it's like this," he said.
"I can't tell you very much, it's kind of a secret, but me and Khentimentu are going to perform this ceremony."
"What ceremony?"
"There's this old temple kind of thing, in the deepest part of the palace.
No one's even been down there for thousands of years."
"Uh-huh," said Jack, already not liking the sound of this at all.
"When everything's all set up, we're going to do this, like, ritual.
It's called 'waking the Dragon.'
And after that, every demon in Hell will do whatever I say."
"But his ritual," said Jack.
"What does it involve?
What happens?"
Charlie shrugged and grinned.
"What do I care?
I mean, it's just some public-relations thing, right?
Me and the Scourge do a bit of hocus-pocus, some bogus religious ceremony, then all the demons'll follow me forever!"
"That's it?" asked Jack.
"You're sure that's all it is?
I mean, how do you know?"
"I know," said Charlie heavily, "because the Scourge told me."
"The Scourge told you," echoed Jack.
"It actually said to you, 'This dragon business means nothing'."
"Yes!"
"Those exact words."
"Yes!"
Jack waited.
"Well," said Charlie, "no.
But I promise you, Jack, it's no big deal."
The two boys looked at each other.
"All right?" prompted Charlie.
"Not really," said Jack.
"There's obviously more to it than that.
Something's happening, and you don't know what.
And," he added, seeing Charlie shaking his head again, "I don't trust the Scourge."
"Well, I do," said Charlie.
"I
do
trust the Scourge!"
The boys looked at each other.
There was a pause.
"Look," said Charlie, shuffling himself a little closer toward Jack across the gritty concrete.
"You don't know what it's like.
I've tried to tell you, but you just won't believe me."
Jack looked at him.
"Meeting the Scourge is the best thing that ever happened to me," said Charlie.
"Do you understand?
Since that day I took the test, it's like every part of my life — every step, every breath — is magical and important and
real
.
Now, I'm asking you, man, what is there here that could possibly be better than that?
Go on," he prompted, when Jack didn't answer straightaway.
"Tell me."
Jack still didn't answer.
Charlie smiled.
"When's term start again?" he asked.
"A couple of weeks' time?
So are you seriously telling me I should come back to school, on top of everything else, when I could be, like, ruling the universe?"
Still Jack said nothing.
"That's the choice," said Charlie.
"I can rule in Hell — or come back here and be...
ordinary
."
He snorted.
"As for my parents..."
He smiled bitterly.
"Well, like I said, I've got a plan.
The whole thing's going to blow over.
Pretty soon, no one'll even remember I've gone.
So there's nothing for me here," said Charlie, edging closer to Jack.
"You see?
Nothing.
Except you."
There was another long pause.
"You know," said Charlie, "you could always come and visit me.
I'll always make time for you, mate.
You know that, right?"
"Come on, man," he added when Jack still didn't reply.
"Say something!"
For another long, slow moment, there was a silence between them.
Then Jack did say something.
"You're an idiot, Charlie."
Charlie blinked.
"I can't believe you can't see how stupid you're being," said Jack.
"And it just makes me sad, because whatever I say, whatever I do, you're just going to go ahead and do this stupid,
stupid
thing, and there's nothing I can do to stop you."
He looked at Charlie.
"That's right, isn't it?" he asked.
"There's nothing I can do?"
"No," said Charlie thickly.
'There isn't."
"Then," said Jack, standing up with an effort, because he was fed up and sad and sick and his feet had gone to sleep, "you might as well take me back to the theater."
Charlie sniffed.
"You go," he said, still sitting, his face obscured by his hair.
"I've got stuff to do."
'You're going to make me walk?" asked Jack.
"No.
You don't understand.
You're going back.
You'll be there in less than a second.
Don’t worry about it."
"Oh," said Jack, doing his best not to.
"Okay."
"Goodbye, Jack," said Charlie.
"I'm sorry it has to be like this."
"Bye, Charlie," said Jack.
"I'm sor—"
He felt a rush of blackness, then he was back in the locked room.
"—ry too," he said to the empty air.
And that was when it occurred to him that he could have asked Charlie to put him wherever he liked.
Typical
.
On the roof of
On his shoulders, two ink-black shapes suddenly hunched outward, then Ashmon and Heshmim ran down his arms and nibbled at his fingers with their sharp little teeth.
Charlie stroked their shiny black bodies absently for a while.
Well, he thought,
that
hadn't exactly gone as well as he'd hoped.
Them or us.
One or the other.
Forever.
Frankly, the choice didn't seem like such a big deal.
At any rate, if the world was going to persuade him to stay, it would have to work pretty hard to impress him now.
Charlie stood up.
His familiars vanished into a cloak of darkness, and as the cloak spread billowing about him, he walked to the edge of the roof.
For a moment, he looked out over the city.
Then he stepped off, plunging into the night.
THE LAST NIGHT
Number 27 was thinking of pastries.
Specifically, he was thinking of mille-feuille, his favorite pastry, and just how delicious it was.
He was beginning to doze off, when a single red light on his control panel suddenly started to wink.
Instantly he was awake, reaching for the radio on his desk with one hand even as the other was punching the relevant display up onto his monitors.
"Two here," said the radio.
"Sir," said Number 27, "we have a problem."
At that moment, every one of the newly installed speakers dotted all over the top floors of the building let out a dreadful rising shriek.
The intruder alarms had kicked in.
