The Glass God (44 page)

“So… if I understand you… we need to find a secret temple to a not-entirely-glass god, within which will be a group of probably anti-social magicians armed with a blade copied from Old Man Bone’s own? And in order to destroy said glass god, we must find a telephone whose number begins with 07812 and free the Midnight Mayor from his captivity in the lines? Is that about correct?” Her smile was fixed, her voice light and pleasant.

“Uh… yeah.” Sharon’s voice was as far the opposite of Kelly’s as it was possible for a voice to be. “That’s kinda it.”

“And meanwhile you’re…⁠?”

“I figured I might have a shower. And maybe… a nap. Not,” added the shaman, “in a kinda lazy-off-the-job way, because that’s not what this is, and I really don’t want you to think that I’m fobbing you off with this because, like I said, as soon as I can speak without dribbling then I’m so totally on this deputy Midnight Mayor thing, but also, my brain is, like, coming out of my ears and Rhys looks really tired, too, and the guys are on it with looking after Old Man Bone’s blade and Kevin’s got a fresh pint of O- blood to see him through the day and I really think… I
really
think that this would be… like… a really good idea?”

Silence, as Sharon waited for condemnation and reproof.

“Ms Li!” Kelly’s voice soared high as a bat above an epic forest. “I think this is a marvellous idea! It’s all very well and good taking responsibility for the fate of the city, and may I say you’ve done it just brilliantly, inspirationally, even – but really, if we
are
having to fight a glass god…⁠”

“Dude.”

“What?”

“We – that’s Magicals Anonymous and that – figured ‘god’ had a negative connotation? Particularly when it’s got the words ‘have to fight’ before it.”

“Of course, a thousand apologies. If we’re going to have to fight a glass dude and all his confederates, then of course, but of
course
, a good night’s sleep and some clean clothes are entirely prudent!”

On the other end of the line, Sharon nearly collapsed with relief. Her eyes stung with a sudden heat which could not, absolutely
could not
,
be tears, since she wasn’t upset, wasn’t angry, wasn’t even near chopped onions or posters about lost kittens, and yet there it was, a hysterical, burning wetness building up around her eyes and she blurted, “Thanks. I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t…⁠”

“Of course not, Ms Li! We’ll get on with finding this glass temple and you just put your head back and relax.”

“It’ll only be a nap…⁠”

“Nonsense and tosh, Ms Li. Your overtime must be extensive by now, and I’m sure that if shamans were unionised there would be rules about having eleven-hour breaks between every shift of truth-seeking. So I really must insist that you take your health seriously and have a sleep. After all, what is there you can practically do right now?”

Sharon hesitated. Somehow she felt she no longer had to say the words, ‘well, I
could
dial every single mobile phone whose numbers begin with 07812 732???? and see if, nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine calls later I get lucky and the Midnight Mayor picks up… or I could walk round and round the city trying to find a temple to an angry glass god… or return Old Man Bone’s blade to Crompton or check my email because, actually, these things add up, or organise the witches’ bingo night or write a letter to my MP about discrimination against djinn in the workplace or…⁠’

“Sleep?” she squeaked. “I could… I could sleep.”

“Absolutely, Ms Li. Sleep and a sound meal. You just leave all of this in our hands.”

“That’s great,” she sighed. “You’re amazing.”

Later, Sharon wasn’t sure if she’d bothered to hang up before her head hit the pillow.

Chapter 75

Teamwork Is the Key to Success

Kelly set to work.

Or, rather, the Aldermen worked and Kelly supervised.

Supervising, it turned out, was also very hard work. Sure, Kelly Shiring had always suspected that management was tougher than it looked from the outside, not least as, in her capacity as personal assistant to the Midnight Mayor, she’d seen just how much paperwork landed on Swift’s desk every day and, more importantly, just how badly wrong things could go when he failed to deal with it. And obviously, it wasn’t her place – not at all – to make decisions for her boss. She was merely the vessel, she informed herself, through which these things passed. But then again, if a decision had to be made, and someone had to make it, and if Swift
wasn’t
going to deal with it but it really had to be done then, really, as a PA, as someone close, if that was at all possible, to understanding his state of mind, perhaps she was the only person who actually… could… make decisions after all?

And so, quietly, and without anyone really noticing, Kelly had slipped up through the ranks of the Aldermen, from merely a PA given a job which no one else would touch with a fully charged iron wand, to quietly running things, for the good of everyone else. Not that her pay grade had improved; but then again, it seemed too cheeky to ask. Not least as she’d probably have to ask herself.

So when Kelly turned to the assembled Aldermen of Harlun and Phelps and uttered the immortal words, “hello team – I’m looking for a glass god, any ideas?” somehow no one questioned her right to command.

She sat and supervised, and, in its own way, it was rather fun.

Chapter 76

A Good Night’s Sleep Clears All Woes

Sharon woke at 3.34 p.m., sat upright in bed and exclaimed, “Of course they shouldn’t charge VAT!”

The words rang round her room in the tiny flat in Hoxton, ripping through the afternoon sunlight drifting in through the dirty window, and caused the person sleeping on the floor by the foot of the bed to sit bolt upright, too, a potion bottle clutched in one hand, a pillow in the other, and cry out, “Did they, where?”

There was a moment. It was the moment in which two waking minds shook themselves down, brushed themselves off, took a steadying breath and, like released prisoners curious to see if the world is as they remembered, opened their eyes to their surroundings.

Sharon was sitting in her small bed in last night’s clothes. The blanket was a shuffled mess at her feet, the pillow a pounded lump. She’d been planning to hold Magicals Anonymous’ first ever singles night (no enchantments, glamorous or polymorphic transformations please) at the local community hall, and at 3.33 she’d been hit by the thought that they couldn’t possibly be charging her VAT for the night. The sudden rush to consciousness was merely an inevitable by-product of this nagging little doubt, which had been scratching at the back of her mind for weeks.

The resulting flash of triumphalism faded, as a recollection of everything else flooded back in oppressive detail. Her gaze drifted to the floor, as her ears contributed their penny’s worth and declared that it wasn’t usual for her bedroom to respond to her thoughts by shouting answers of its own.

Rhys sat on the floor by her bed, his eyes swerving round the room as he struggled with his own revelations. Revelation the first – contrary to all expectation, he was still not dead, in itself a remarkable achievement. Revelation the second – his back hurt, his neck had a crick in it, his nose itched and somewhere just proud of his vocal chords a deep-throated sneeze was forming. If none of this brought him contentment, then revelation the third – that he had spent the last six hours sleeping, amid a mess of thrown-down duvet and pillows, on the floor of Sharon Li’s bedroom – brought a stab of adrenalin that nearly knocked his head from his shoulders. And there she was, Sharon Li, staring down at him from her bed, mouth hanging open as her brain tried to work out how he’d got there and why.

“Hello, Ms Li,” he managed to say.

“Hi.”

He looked round her room, then realised that looking round a girl’s room might be considered ungentlemanly, so stopped looking, and stared at the floor. This, he concluded, might be construed as disapproving, since it was a lovely room really, and not that messy all things considered, and he didn’t want Sharon to get the wrong idea. So he looked up again, this time at the ceiling, and as he looked some deep, dark voice inside, which had been with him for as long as he could remember and only ever said one thing, whispered…
you idiot…

He sneezed.

Then sneezed again.

As the third sneeze approached, he scrunched up his face, stuck his chin down to his chest, and…

… a box of tissues appeared beside him. The shock of relief at being profferred such blessed objects briefly suppressed the allergic instinct. “Thank you,” he gasped, and grabbed a handful. Then he worried that he’d seized too many, and unstoppably, inescapably, inevitably…

… he sneezed.

Sharon said, “You know, I can’t actually remember how I got here?”

“Um… you fell asleep in Magicals Anonymous,” said Rhys, dabbing at his nose. “And Gretel said she’d carry you home and Mr Roding said that was a stupid idea and Kevin ordered a taxi and I put you in it and you were kinda awake, Ms Li, but you were mumbling something about bingo and plague and community support schemes, so we took you home and you said you had to call Ms Shiring and you did that and we put you in bed and I didn’t want to leave you alone in case anything bad happened so I um… I stayed here.”

A pause. Then, “Okay, Rhys, I feel like there’s a few things I oughtta say right now.”

Rhys braced himself for retribution. Sharon took in a long breath, then blurted, “So, yeah, it’s, like, really bad management to get involved in relationships in the office and that, and I do not believe – I mean, it’s just a bloody stupid idea, isn’t it? – but I do not believe that just because you’ve been through hell together and people have tried to shoot, stab, cut, fry, strangle, suffocate or blow you up or whatever, that going through all that trauma together is a proper basis for a relationship. But…⁠” – she stopped to heave down another breath – “⁠… all this besides I figure sometimes you just gotta take a plunge so, when this is all over and that, I mean, if we live that long, do you wanna… get a drink sometime?”

For a moment, Rhys’s mouth worked silently, even as his nose and his ears flushed the colour of ripe tomatoes. Then, in a voice which was meant to be cool and savvy, but which came out as a squeak, he blurted, “Um… yes, Ms Li? That would be… very nice?”

“Great. Then maybe you can also start calling me Sharon.”

“Yes, Ms Li – I mean, Sharon – sorry, Ms Li.”

“That’s sorted then.”

Only later did Rhys realise that he’d got through the entire exchange without a single antihistamine.

Chapter 77

Embrace the Inter-Connectedness of All Things

The city moved on.

It moved from the saggy part of the day, that mid-afternoon lull when children slumbered in the classroom and teachers regretted having that extra portion of potatoes; the post-lunch-hour sag when shop assistants drifted between the shelves, waiting for the evening rush, and the Underground breathed a sigh of relief as the platforms stood reasonably quiet, reasonably empty, in expectation of the great punch of people bursting to go home – towards dinner time. The sun twisted the shadows across the streets, sinking down until the reflection of its rays cast new shadows as they shone back from the high windows of the office blocks and flashed off the roofs of elongated lorries, and the coffee shops pushed their staler products to the front of the shelf, ready for the sugar-craving at the end of the day. Schools were released with a great clattering of bells, and on the top deck of every double-decker bus girls and boys with ties askew clamoured to be loudest and widest as they sprawled across the back seats, furthest from the stair.

In the high offices of Harlun and Phelps, dinner was announced by the delivery of sandwiches to the desks of all employees as they worked on towards the night. Every sandwich had been handcrafted by skilled artisans, Kelly assured them, and provided gratis by the firm in grateful acknowledgement of their labours.

This, Sharon realised as she sat in the great oval-tabled office where so regularly the Midnight Mayor had failed to attend board meetings, was management on a different level. Kelly Shiring had even arranged salad for the gluten-intolerant members of her team, and knew precisely how many cups of tea the office required.

Sharon Li, in fresh clothes and looking a few hours less like a sleep-deprived panda, sat at one end of the boardroom table, eating a bacon and lettuce sandwich which was eight parts lettuce to only two parts bacon (‘healthy living, Ms Li!’) and said, “
How
do you know how many gluten-intolerant Aldermen there are, Kelly?”

Kelly Shiring looked up from her tablet computer. “Well,” she said, “I suppose it’s just something I picked up.”

Sharon wondered what she herself had failed to pick up as head of Magicals Anonymous. Beside her, Rhys’s sandwich lay untouched. The druid, Sharon noticed, had been wearing an inane grin all the way from her flat down into EC1, and was still beaming brightly, at not much in particular. She suspected his mind wasn’t entirely on the job at hand; certainly his merry disposition seemed incompatible with the direness of the situation. Even more alarmingly, she hadn’t seen him sneeze for a good hour and a half. He just sat there, calm and cheerful as reports came in for Kelly’s attention, remarking whenever pressed that wherever this glass-god-dude chap was, he was sure it’d all be all right.

Sharon took another watery bite of sandwich. Positivity was, according to
Management for Beginners
, an absolutely vital component of any office environment. There was no such thing as too much positive thinking, since a positive attitude could almost invariably find a way to overcome all managerial problems up to and including bankruptcy. At least, that seemed to be what the book suggested. She tried to imagine unleashing Rhys’s overwhelming good nature on Old Man Bone. Somehow she couldn’t picture it going well. The slow, deadening revelation that, actually, modern management techniques could not, as the cover claimed, be applied to all aspects of her life, was a realisation only slightly dented by the thought that during their initial research the authors probably hadn’t considered the problem of ancient plagues and walking dead. Then again, if management was a philosophy – or at least a quirky lifestyle choice – then it was rather disappointing how little its techniques were helping her now.