The Faceless (33 page)

“The dead can’t touch or feel? Then what happened back in E Block? I saw–”

“Ah, well.” Gideon lit yet another cigarette. “Over the years, there’ve been many trespassers here at Ash Fell. They all died, because they all made the same mistake. They assumed the rowan woods are meant to keep them out. But you and I, I think, know better. We know that rowan wood is a charm against witchcraft. The woods weren’t planted to keep something out, but to keep something in.”

“Keep what in?”

“The creatures you call the Spindly Men. Do you know, Alan, what the name ‘Kempforth’ means?”

“No.”

“
Kemp
is a Saxon word, meaning
warrior
. A
forth
, or
ford
, is a
bridge
or
crossing
. Thus, Kempforth is
the warrior’s crossing
. In old legends, it was a place where slain fighters passed through to the afterlife. Another reason Daddy dearest built the hospital here. It’s one of a handful of places on earth where the lands of the living and the dead overlap.”

“And the Spindly Men?”

“‘When the night wind blows on dale and fell, the Spindly Men come up from Hell.’”

“You said there was no Hell.”

“The Spindly Men live in a sort of limbo, between life and death, belonging wholly in neither world. That limbo is a dreadful place, worse than the land of the dead. It’s as close to the religious concept of Hell as you’re likely to get. The Spindly Men have no faces; none at all. And without faces, they can only grope blindly, hunting by touch. The rowan trees confuse them and ensure they can never find their way out. Unless someone gives them a face.”

“The masks.”

“Yes. The dead, you see, can’t do much for themselves. But Ash Fell belongs to them if it belongs to anybody, and there were still old masks here. They’d suffice, until the women from the college could make new ones. You see, if you give a Spindly Man a face, you free them to walk in the world of men, and they’re bound to you. They’ll do your bidding. So, if you need someone to start a fire, or bring someone to you...” Gideon released a long breath of smoke. “And if necessary – well, you saw how the police died, in E Block. And you heard about the man who died on the Dunwich Estate?”

“Pete Hardacre?”

“Yes. And how he died?”

“Yes.” Alan swallowed thickly. “He tore his own eyes out.”

“And did you wonder why?” Before Alan could answer, he carried on. “‘The Spindly Men come up from Hell,’ remember? They live in a place we can’t even contemplate. That’s the other part of the legend, you see. If a Spindly Man touches you, you’ll see Hell. And the sight’ll strike you dead in an instant, or drive you mad.”

“But why?”

Gideon smiled. “There’s power here. A limited reserve, slowly accumulated, but power’s a bit like money. The more you have, the easier it is to get more. Opening a door is always simply a matter of applying the correct amount of force in the correct manner.”

“I don’t understand.”

They’d reached a heavy wooden door. “You will, Alan. It’s all about to become perfectly crystal clear.”

“W
ELL
?”

Anna took her glasses off, rubbed her eyes. “It’s madness.”

“I could have told you
that
. Go on.”

“What he seems to be saying is that the power generated at Ash Fell could then be used to invoke, and then control, the souls of all the war dead.”

“All of them?”

“The greatest blood sacrifice in human history, remember? All of this is about raising and controlling spirits of one kind or another.”

“Was it supposed to take this long?”

“Don’t think so...” Anna looked up from the journal to the hole in the wall. “Hang on.”

“What?”

“This passage is dated 20
^th
August 1929.”

“And?”

“This looks like Sir Charles Dace’s handwriting. But 20
^th
August was the night he died. So how did it get sealed up in the wall?”

“Don’t ask me. So what does it say?”

“‘I’ve been a fool. I barely escaped the Nexus Chamber with my life...’”

“Nexus Chamber?”

“The hidden chamber under the building, I think. ‘I had sufficient protection to escape the Chamber, but not the building. Their rage is at the whole world, but for now it’s focused on me. At present, they control the whole building
.
I have managed to erect some defences here in my office; if they hold till morning, I may escape alive, but I doubt they will. The telephone does not work and none hear my cries. Even if they did, they could do nothing.’”

Vera stubbed out her cigarette.

“‘How could I have been so blind? I no longer control the forces I’ve invoked. The dead whose souls I tried to call on are filled with anger – against the world they were torn out of, the Empire that sacrificed them and, of course, me, for attempting to press them into service after they had already made the supreme sacrifice,’” Anna read. “‘They aren’t just seeking vengeance. They want me dead to ensure my silence. Only I know the machine’s purpose–’”

“The machine?”

“The hospital, I think. ‘They seek to control the machine, for their own ends. They, not I, will sing the Black Song...’”

“The what?”

“The Black Song. According to his notes, it’s the final stage of the process – whoever sings it gets control of all the energy that’s been built up. ‘I will not survive the night; thus it must fall to others to avert the cataclysm. I will use a spell of concealment to hide this journal in a place of safety, until the time is right.’”

T
HE FIRST THING
Alan heard, as he went through the door, was the crying. It wafted out to meet him on a cold damp wind, the kind of weeping Alan knew too well. The low, relentless sobbing of a child beyond hope.

He stood in cold, dank darkness. Whatever night vision he’d had before was now gone. Behind him, the door clicked shut.

“My father isn’t your enemy, Alan,” Gideon said. “Or St. John – he’s here, somewhere, wandering endlessly with a procession of dead tourists. It isn’t even me. The enemy you’re facing are your heroes.”

The weeping grew louder. It came from all around now.

“The glorious dead,” said Gideon. “The fallen. So many names for them. For some, it’s the broken promises: a land fit for heroes, a war to end wars. For others, it’s decadence and immorality – interracial marriage, homosexuality. Others see hard-won rights and freedoms stripped away; saw a better world built in the years following their death, and now see it dismantled with no-one lifting a finger to stop it. Whatever your political or religious bias, there’s ample food for your discontent. You’ve heard the saying: for our tomorrows, they gave their today. Well... some of them don’t consider it a fair trade, and they want to cancel the deal.”

“So how do I stop them?”

Gideon laughed. “You don’t.”

“What?”

“They control this machine my father built, and allowed it to keep running in order to build up greater and greater power. As I found out when I became its sole resident. They didn’t waste a moment paying me back. And when I died...” His smile faded. “I’ve been here nearly sixty years, alive and dead. The ones since I died have been the worst. They’re very inventive, and they can torture me for eternity, if they want – or release me, if I do as I’m told. Which I have. You’re not here to stop anything, Alan. On the contrary. You’re part of this. You always have been.”

The room seemed to spin. “But my spirit guides.” Alan’s voice sounded strangled and feeble. “They told me you’d show me what I had to do.”

“Ah yes. Them.”

A pool of light appeared nearby; three small figures stepped into it.

“I’m sorry, Alan,” said Mark.

“‘T
HEIR SACRIFICE WAS
in vain,’” read Anna. “‘The world they saved is unworthy of it. So they are crossing. The Great War’s dead are coming back, to dispossess the living.’” She stopped. “Oh.”

“What?”

“‘Five are needed. Five who possess the Sight. Four may be brought by any means, but the last must come to the Nexus Chamber of their own free will. At their sacrifice the Black Song will be sung, and the gates will be opened.’”

“Allen,” Vera whispered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

M
ARTYN HAD BEEN
walking for a long time now. Wasn’t sure how long. Wanted to rest.
Needed
to. But couldn’t. Whenever he thought of stopping and resting – just for a moment – Eva’s voice seemed to grow a little fainter, and he’d press on lest it vanish altogether.

“Martyn. Baby. My big bear. Martyn. Baby. My big bear.”

He put a hand against the brickwork, closed his eyes. No. Don’t weaken. Close to her now. Close. He pushed himself clear. He ached but he’d keep going. Dedication. Devotion. He wouldn’t stop.

“Martyn. Baby. My big bear. Martyn. Baby. My big bear.”

Guilt? Yes. He’d abandoned Anna and Vera back there. A gentleman didn’t do that.
Fuck off, Dad.
They wanted to go, he wanted to carry on. Let them go their way; he had to go his. Best this way. He wasn’t leaving without Eva. Get lost anyway, if he tried to go back.

“Martyn. Baby. My big bear.”

She was calling him, knew he was here. Just round this next corner. No? The next one, then. He kept promising himself he’d stop and rest, but kept on going.

The endless corridor forked into three; he couldn’t tell which Eva’s voice came from. Didn’t help he was so bloody tired, or that he was one long ache from the knees down.

He shouted: “Eva.
Eva!
”

But all that came back: “Martyn. Baby. My big bear.”

He fell to his knees. He was crying. Like a big kid. Fucking mardarse. Mum, Dad, take me home; don’t like this game anymore. But he was far from home now, that state of innocence was long gone.

And then: “Martyn. Baby. My big bear.” It came from his right, clearer than ever. “Martyn. Baby. My big bear.”

Martyn stood. Stumbled to the right-hand corridor. Cold air blew in his face.

“Martyn. Baby. My big bear.”

Stand, you bastard. Walk. Find her.

“Martyn.” He stood up straight.

“Baby.” A first, lurching step.

“My big bear.” Down the corridor, closing in.

“I
DON’T UNDERSTAND,
” Alan said. “You said it was the last time, before.”

“It should have been.” Like Gideon, Mark spoke normally now; Warbeck belonged far more to the dead than the living. “But we had to see you again.”

“Why?”

“Do you know how it felt,” Sam said, “when you left us to die?”

“Sam, I–”

“It hurt,” said Mark. “It felt like betrayal.”

“We do understand,” Johnny piped up. “Your sister only wanted to save you. You just wanted the pain to stop. We understand that
now
. But at the time...”

“It’s our turn to betray you now,” said Sam. “But we wanted to face you.”

“Get on with it.”

“Shut up, Gideon,” Mark said. “We’re sorry, Alan, for what it’s worth. But we’ve suffered enough. Do you know what death is? What it really is? It’s not like the fairy stories you tell people. There’s no miraculous transcendence to a higher state. We died brutalised children, and that’s how we remain. Prey.”

Alan looked at Gideon. “What about him? Gideon Dace died in his seventies.”

Gideon tittered. “Tell him. You’re going to love this, Alan.”

Mark closed his eyes, or at least the lids briefly covered the empty holes that had been his eyes. Alan had never seen that before. “Promises are kept here. In the Nexus Chamber. There’s a lot of power in Ash Fell. You don’t need me to tell you that. Power to change things. In Gideon’s case, to restore his old appearance. A partial inducement.” He spat the words out.

“They needed my help, you see, Alan,” Gideon said. “Even in death, there’s no justice. You can always make a plea bargain.”

“For the dead to come back,” said Mark, “they needed five people. You know the first four: Tahira Khalid, Roseanne Trevor, Danielle Morton, Ben Rawlinson.”

“Why them?”

“They all had the Sight. Maybe only a touch, but that’s enough. It’s a rare gift. There are only two others in Kempforth, and they were both forbidden. One of the dead, one of their leaders – they’re his family. And he said, don’t touch.” Mark shook his head. “But that didn’t really matter.”

“The Spindly Men could only take four by force,” Johnny said. “The fifth and last had to come of his own free will.”

“You had a vestigial trace of the Sight,” said Sam. “When we died, the others here came to us. They offered us something we wanted if we acted as your guides, developed your gift...”

“And won your trust,” said Gideon. “Oh yes, Alan. The plan went back as far as your childhood. Your whole life has been a preparation for this. Once you were here, I could guide you. It’d stop you guessing the truth till it was too late. I agreed, in return for... parole. I’ve done my time. So I’m restored, and free to go.”

“Better than you deserve,” said Mark, “but we’ll let that pass.”

“Well, if we’re going to debate morality, Mark, it was you who mentioned betrayal. What’s in this place can’t reach far beyond Kempforth. But your trusted spirit guides could.”

Alan couldn’t speak. He looked at the boys, their empty eyes.

“We wanted to have the courage to tell you to your face,” said Sam. “And to show you something.”

“What?”

“The price
we
demanded.”

The light behind the boys widened, to expose three men kneeling naked in the centre of the room. Their hands were lashed behind their backs, ankles tied together, ball gags in their mouths. On the left, a big, fat man with piggy eyes; on the right, a lean one with a craggy face and iron-grey hair. “Mr Fitton,” Alan whispered. “Father Sykes.”

“Yes,” Johnny said.

And in the middle–

“Walsh.”

“Yes. The policeman’s still alive. But we’ll take him soon. Tonight.”

“What about the Shrike?”

“He’s beyond reach,” said Mark. “He isn’t truly human. He’s nothing to do with this. Just something... that passed through.” He looked back down at Walsh, Sykes, Fitton. “This was our price. The power to take revenge. For you as well as us, Alan.”