The Ring of Five (30 page)

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"We haven't got time." Danny looked anxious. "We have to get him back to Wilsons."

"I can walk," Les said, tottering to his feet.

"About as well as you can fly." Dixie fingered his tattered wings.

"We need to make our way to the docks, see if we can find a ship. We'll have to help him. Put your arm around my shoulders." Les draped one arm over Danny's shoulders. Vandra took the other.

"I've never seen the like in all my born days," Granny Grimley declared. "What would the Society of Morticians say? I'd be drummed out."

"You've been well paid," Vandra said, "and we'll take our leave of you now."

Grumbling, the elderly Cherb led the group to the door and opened it. Thick yellow fog billowed in.

"It's the kind of night that the living shouldn't be about," Granny Grimley warned.

"You're not scaring us, Granny," Dixie said.

"You may laugh, but there's many that laughed yesterday lying on a slab cold and dead today." Granny Grimley wagged her finger at Dixie as she closed the door.

"Am I glad to get out of there or what?" Dixie did a little skip of relief.

"The fog will help a bit," Danny said. "Keep the Seraphim off our backs. I hope we can find the docks, though."

"Easy--just keep going downhill until we get our toes wet," Dixie said brightly.

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They started walking, slowly. Les turned his head painfully to Danny.

"I knew you wouldn't leave me there," he said, speaking with difficulty. Danny said nothing. He had condemned Les to the prison in the first place.

Down the hill they went, but not alone. A shape followed them in the fog, keeping just the right distance.

Granny Grimley took out the money and looked at it. It was far too much for a skinny Messenger. And where had the boy in black got it, never mind the fancy uniform? After thinking for a moment, she reached for her big black telephone, pausing only to pick off a few globs of greenish matter adhering to it, and began to dial.

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THE FLYING WESTMAN

The damp fog clung to them, tendrils wreathing inside their clothes, plastering their hair to their foreheads. The yellow streetlights cast their own shadows on the fog, enormous and crabbed. Danny thought of an old picture he had seen of grave robbers. Sounds were muffled, so that once, when they heard the long and mournful blast of a ship's foghorn, they could not tell from which direction it had come.

They had walked for about ten minutes when they heard another noise cut through the fog, one that they had never heard in Westwald before, though they knew instantly what it meant. It was a siren, a high, piercing, urgent sound, rising and falling and making the hairs on the backs of their necks stand up. It rang out for only a few minutes, but panic began to set in, and they moved

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more quickly, dragging Les between them. Just as the siren halted and the hollow silence rolled back again, Danny felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder.

In an instant he wheeled around, the Knife of Implacable Intention in his hand.

"Don't move or I'll slit your throat," he said, a snarl in his voice that surprised even him.

"I heard you had become the Fifth. I wasn't sure whether to believe it," a familiar cool voice said.

"Starling!"

"What is it, Danny?" Vandra's voice coming through the fog was anxious.

"It's okay," Starling called out, "I'm a friend."

"Are you?" Danny asked. He met the gray eyes and for the first time they could not meet his. With sudden insight, he knew that Starling was carrying a great secret, and had been doing so for many years. He took the knife from the man's throat as the others joined them.

"They say that the Ring can see right into a man's mind," Starling said. "Is that true?"

"This is Starling," Danny said, without replying. "He helped me get across."

"The siren means an alert at Grist. They'll be scouring the city for you."

"Can you help us?" Vandra asked as Les swayed and almost fell.

"Why should I help the Fifth?"

Danny looked at Starling again and, in a flash of dark insight, knew his secret.

Danny leaned close to his ear.

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"I know who you are."

Starling looked at him, uncertain.

"If you know who I am, then the Ring ..."

"They don't know anything. I only just realized."

"Can you hide it if they enter your head again?"

"I don't know."

"Shh!" Starling suddenly crouched down.

"What is it?" Then Danny heard wings flapping close by. The flapping slowed, then halted.

"Seraphim," Starling whispered. "They can't hunt from the air in this fog, so they're landing. Keep down!"

Only twenty or so feet away, a shape loomed out of the mist, a Seraphim, its wings wrapped around it like those of a vulture stalking the night for carrion. The fog swirled and it was gone again.

"Follow me," Starling said. Danny didn't argue.

The next few hours were nightmarish. Every time they got near the port a Seraphim appeared in the fog, so that they had to turn and carry Les back up the hill. Even there they were not safe. It was Danny who shoved them into an alley, where they crouched, terrified, as a Seraphim passed close enough to the entrance for them to hear its hissing breath and the rustle of its feathers. A foul odor hung in the air behind it. When they could carry Les no longer, Starling forced open the door of an old warehouse and they crawled inside, exhausted.

"We'll have to wait until morning and try then," Starling said.

"We can't wait," Danny said.

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"Why not?"

"They're using the tunnel they've dug to come out in the parade ground at Wilsons. We have to warn them."

Danny could see Starling thinking; then the man drove his fist into the palm of his hand.

"Fool! I knew there was something. The old pumping station north of Tarnstone--there was talk that it was working again and that Nurse Flanagan was seen there. The tunnel goes under the sea, so it needs to be pumped out continuously."

"What would happen," Danny said slowly, "if we turned the pumps back so that the water went back into the tunnel ..."

"Yes," Starling said, "yes ... it might just work ... the water that was no longer being pumped from the tunnel and the water that was being pumped in--that would flood it, I think ... but we have to get there."

"And we can't get near the docks," Vandra said gloomily.

"There is a way ...," Starling said slowly, "a last resort."

"Yes?" Danny looked at him.

"The Flying Westman."

"Sounds exciting." Dixie turned her big eyes on Starling. "What is it?"

"A train. I've been working on it. All it needs is a head of steam. I've been keeping it in case I need to get out of here in a hurry. And there's a station at Wilsons, behind the parade ground."

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"I thought the railway bridge to Tarnstone was destroyed?" Danny said.

"The railway line is intact--just. The structure of the bridge is still there. It definitely wouldn't support the weight of a full train. It might take the Flying Westman, but there's no telling how weak it is...."

"Until you take a train over it," Dixie said. "Absolutely too thrilling!"

"Do you ever take anything seriously?" Vandra said crossly.

"Don't argue," Danny said. "How long does it take to get up a head of steam?"

"About half an hour."

"And where is the train?"

"On a siding near here. We can take them by surprise, but we'd better hurry. It'll be dawn soon."

Dragging themselves with tiredness, they left the warehouse and made their way through another maze of side streets. The fog had lifted slightly, and above their heads was the first pale glimmer of dawn.

"The Seraphim will be up again soon," Starling said. "Hurry!"

At last they saw a tumbledown railway shed ahead of them, and a length of rusty track. Out of the remaining fog loomed old coaches and freight wagons.

"There she is--the Flying Westman," Starling said.

The Flying Westman didn't look like much. Most of her paintwork had gone, and her rusty metal was battered and dented. Her funnel was at an angle to her body, and

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her bell was held on by a piece of wire. The wheels were caked in old grease and oil. Vandra sniffed meaningfully, but Danny was thoughtful. Underneath the neglect, he could see her clean, low-slung lines. The Flying Westman wouldn't let them down for speed.

Starling clambered into the cab and lit the boiler. He helped them get Les up into the heat.

"Where am I?" Les moaned, his eyes barely open. "My wings ... my wings hurt...." His face contorted with pain. With a glance at Danny, Vandra leaned over him. In a moment he was asleep.

"We need to get him somewhere comfortable," Vandra said.

"Danny," Starling said, "get up on the tender and start throwing down wood."

For half an hour Danny threw down wood and Starling fed the firebox. Vandra held Les's head in her lap. Dixie found a bit of rag and set about polishing the bell.

It was not quite dawn by the time the fire was roaring, and steam was starting to wreathe around the wheels.

"I think she's ready," Starling said. Danny jumped down and Starling eased the engine into gear. Groaning and protesting, the train began to move forward.

Keeping up a fast walking pace, the train creaked through the predawn fog. Anyone who had seen it might have supposed it was a ghost train. Starling looked anxiously down the track. The light in the east was growing.

"I can see the bridge ahead," Danny said. The Flying Westman began to pick up speed.

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At the heart of Grist fortress, a terrified Cranbull cringed in a corner of the Ring of Five gallery. Rufus Ness stood over him. Longford sat at the table. There was no sign of the amiable academic whom Danny had first met. Longford's eyes were cold and hard.

"You have told us everything?" he said coldly. Cranbull nodded, too petrified to speak. The door opened and Nurse Flanagan came in.

"They took the Messenger boy from Rue Morgue. He wasn't dead after all."

"They'll be heading for Wilsons," Longford said.

"The invasion ..." Rufus Ness looked up from Cranbull.

"Must be launched immediately. Alert the tunnel and summon the Seraphim."

"So much for the Fifth," Nurse Flanagan said.

"It doesn't matter. He has joined the Ring. Sooner or later he will be ours--do you not understand? He betrayed his friend, and now he has betrayed us. Treachery will stalk him from now. His only home will be with us, the most treacherous of all. Whether he wants to believe it or not, the blood of the Fifth flows in his veins. He will come back. And as for you ..." Longford transferred his gaze to Cranbull. The jailer's layers of fat shook like jelly. Longford gestured with his hand. A figure stepped out of the shadows.

"No ...," Cranbull said hoarsely. "No ..." A physick neared him, one who did not have Vandra's liquid

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brown eyes and gentle, serious expression. Instead, her eyes were red-rimmed, her face a ghastly white. Her mouth stretched wide in a mirthless grin that showed two long yellowed fangs, and her long black cloak muffled Cranbull's screams as she bent over him.

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A CROSSING

The Flying Westman picked up momentum on the slope down to the bridge. The sky to the east was bright. Starling eased the throttle open and the engine responded. They sped past the tall begrimed buildings that backed onto the track.

"We've got a clear run!" Vandra cried.

"Not quite." Dixie pointed ahead. A Seraphim stood on the track, great wings spread wide, hot yellow eyes glowing. Starling's hand did not leave the throttle. The train bore down on the Seraphim. Dixie hid her eyes. At the last moment the Seraphim sprang aside, its wings brushing the smokestack as it soared upward.

"Hold on!" Starling shouted. Ahead of them was what looked like a tangle of steel girders. Starling opened the throttle fully, and this time, even Dixie looked

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worried. At the last minute a gap appeared, just wide enough for the Flying Westman. With a great clang, the engine was on the bridge. Danny grabbed the side of the cab as the train swayed alarmingly. Behind them a massive girder crashed onto the track. Everywhere were signs of shelling--scorched sleepers and twisted metal. The track was bent and buckled in places. It held, but the train pitched each time it struck a twisted rail.

"She'll derail!" Danny shouted.

"I have to keep up speed!" Starling shouted back.

"Get down!" Dixie roared. They ducked as a protruding piece of metal from the bridge struck the side of the cab and gouged the metal where they had been standing. They raced across the bridge. In places there were only the rails left--or at least, that was the way it looked as they gazed down on the dark, angry sea below them.

"At least the fog is lifting," Vandra said. "We can see where we're going." And then she cringed as a shadow fell over her. They looked up. Keeping pace easily, but distanced from them by the twisted latticework of girders over their heads, was Conal, his yellow eyes fixed on Danny. Ahead, Danny could see the chimneys of Tarnstone nearer by the minute, the speeding train far outpacing the steamer he had come across in.

Then Danny felt a strange sensation steal over him: warmth seeping into his brain. He felt as though pleasurable things were being offered to him, or as though he was slipping into a hot bath filled with scented oils. He heard Dixie shouting at him.

"The gun! Give me the gun." Without thinking, he