Timekeepers: Number 2 in Series (9 page)

‘This is very kind of you,’ said the woman, who introduced herself as Ursula.

‘It’s my job. What happened back there, you any idea?’

‘Probably kids.’ Sam knew she was lying. ‘Lonely house in the middle of nowhere, you know how it is.’

Sam said yes, he had a vague idea. ‘What do you do?’ he asked. ‘For a living?’

‘I’m in business.’

‘What kind of business?’

‘Oh, you know. I give advice to companies. It’s really not interesting.’

Don’t ask, in other words.
‘Married?’

‘No.’

‘A pity. An attractive lady like yourself should be married.’ He sensed her darting a look at him, running him up and down with her eyes.

‘You married?’

‘I had a girlfriend, but she buggered off. Last week, in fact… Do you have a boyfriend?’

‘Uh-uh.’

Sam smiled. ‘Is there a story here?’

She grinned in reply. ‘I’ll swap you mine for yours.’

‘Not much to tell. I was always working silly hours, she met another guy, an advertiser, who went to the gym, self-satisfied bastard if I ever saw one, and took off to live with him in Frankfurt. You?’

‘Do you miss her?’

‘Yes. But come on, I want to hear your story?’

‘Oh.’ She arranged her face into a little grimace. ‘Young, handsome, got freaked.’

‘By what?’

‘By me.’

‘Why?’ asked Sam, trying to sound surprised and indignant all at once.

‘Because I’m a witch, of course,’ she said with a laugh that sounded far too rehearsed. Sam laughed with her, forcing the sound out through vocal cords that had suddenly decided to have a sense-of-humour failure.

When the laughter had subsided, Sam tried again to steer the conversation. ‘What was that place that burnt down?’

‘Oh, my friend’s house. We were having a drink. She must be upset.’

You aren’t half bad at lying.
 

Heading into Berlin, Sam followed the signs to the centre of town, hoping that Ursula wouldn’t notice what a stranger he was to the area. ‘You look tired,’ she commented.

‘It’s been a bad week. Hell, the entire month hasn’t been good.’

‘Girlfriends,’ she agreed with a sigh.

‘Witches,’ he added with a laugh. She laughed too, suddenly uncomfortable at his tone of voice.

‘Do you believe in magic?’ he asked, confident that this strategy was the one. Go in hard, go in fast, don’t let her catch her breath…

‘What a strange question.’

‘Do you?’

‘Sometimes, yes,’ she admitted. ‘You?’

‘I know it sounds crazy, but – yes – I do really believe in magic. Sometimes I feel things, think things, and I can’t understand them. But they make so much sense.’

‘I know the feeling,’ said Ursula, just a bit too fast. Eager to please, her voice saying one thing, her hungry eyes saying something else.

‘Whereabouts in Berlin are you headed?’ asked Sam. Give her a taste, steer it away again, keep her on edge, let it haunt her…

‘I can take the U-bahn.’

‘No, it’s all right. I might as well take you to your door,’ he replied, eyes flicking between the road and the mirror. He felt terribly tired. When had he last slept? Proper sleep, not a regenerative trance; real, peaceful sleep…

They turned to discussing politics, movies, music, books, Sam all the time struggling to hide his ignorance of recent German culture. Finally Ursula changed the subject, to give directions. Left, right, here, there. Street lamps turned the inside of the ambulance yellow and orange for brief seconds, then black again as they drove past.

Following directions, Sam finally drove into a walled-off courtyard of balconied flats built over garages and ranged around a tall sycamore tree. It was late, and few lights were on. Ursula clambered out, thanking Sam all the way. He climbed out into the darkness with her, saying it was nothing, playing the nice guy.

Reaching a flight of stairs, Ursula turned, as he’d known she would, to look him over again. Then she said the words he’d been waiting for, the purpose of the exercise. ‘Do you want to come up for a coffee?’

He made a show of thinking about it, staring for a moment at a point past her head. ‘That’d be great.’

He followed her upstairs, thinking of the gun in his jacket pocket and the dagger up his sleeve. Coming to a front door no different from any other, she opened it and showed him inside, turning on lights as she went.

‘Sitting room is through there,’ she said, breezing through a bead curtain into what was evidently the kitchen. Sam stepped into a room full of cushions, crystals dangling from the ceiling, candles, not lit, on every surface, long silk tapestries hanging on the walls, and mirrors in every place to reflect light back at each other in a thousand directions. When Ursula entered after a few minutes, she ignored the two cups of coffee she put down on the table. Instead she sat next to him on the sofa and looked him up and down.

‘You’ve got potential,’ she said finally. Her voice was soft, and almost menacing. She smiled and held up her hand.

In it a tiny bead of fire sprang up, grew into a small ball about the size of a tennis ball, hung there. She let him stare at it for a long time, a smile tugging at her lips, before closing her fingers around it, letting it wink out.

He turned to her, careful to show amazement in his eyes. ‘How did you do that?’

‘You’d like to learn?’

He nodded dumbly, conscious that words might reveal him as the magician he was. A fireball wasn’t a particularly impressive achievement, not by his standards, but for a mortal it was probably a remarkable trick.

Ursula, still smiling, brushed one hand along his cheek, and held it at his chin, tilting his face this way and that to get a good look, as though sizing up a choice cut for the oven. ‘Yes,’ she said finally, ‘you’ll do.’

He gently caught her hand, smelling the perfume on it. ‘What must I do?’

‘You can be my apprentice.’

‘How? Tell me.’

But she seemed not to want that. What she did seem to want was to kiss him. Sam stood up and backed away. She rose too, looking disappointed. ‘I don’t bite, you know. I’ll teach you everything, honestly.’

‘What are you?’

She pouted, a coy expression too young for her. In the bright light, he could see lines beneath the thick make-up. ‘Ashen’ia.’

‘What’s Ashen’ia?’

She looked impatient, but told him anyway. ‘And soon the Powers will bow to us. They’ll bow to you too, if you join us,’ she finished.

‘Which Power do you serve?’

‘Fire.’ She caught him round the waist and pulled him towards her. He was taller than she was, and she had to bend her neck to look up at him. ‘Give your blood to Fire, and he will make you great.’

‘Do the Ashen’ia serve anyone else?’ he asked softly.

‘The master and the mistress, but they keep themselves to themselves, they won’t bother us…’

‘Who are the master and the mistress?’

She sighed. ‘Questions, questions.’

‘I’d like to know.’

‘No one knows, that’s the point. No one except Gail.’

‘Who’s Gail?’

‘A friend.’ She was tugging at his shirt. He reached round behind him and caught her hands, holding them gently but firmly.

She looked up at him with a pitiful, puppy-like expression, trying to pretend at being hurt. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Where is Gail?’

‘She moves around. But what does she matter?’

‘I’d like to meet her.’

‘Why?’

He tightened his grip on her hands. ‘I want to know who it is I’m expected to serve.’

‘I’ll take you to see her tomorrow.’

‘Can’t we see her now?’

‘What’s the rush?’ Pulling back from him now, dismayed.

‘You have her address?’

‘Yes, but why —’

Sam smiled, shook his head. ‘Bring it to me.’

Ursula had finally found the good sense to get worried. ‘Give me a reason.’

‘Please. Hunter sent me. Gabriel has turned to the enemy. I was sent to determine whether you have too.’

‘Hunter… Gail…’ Her mouth worked up and down several times. Then she managed to stutter, ‘You’re… Ashen’ia? Who do you serve?’

‘War. Hunter sent me, from London. Gabriel has betrayed the Ashen’ia; she’s working with the enemy. I’m sorry I lied to you but I needed to know whether you’d turned with Gail. Now bring me the address book, please.’

She looked paralysed.

‘Bring it now!’ he snapped.

The sound of command in his voice seemed to jerk her awake and she hurried into another room, returning a few seconds later rummaging through her handbag. She thrust a piece of paper at Sam which bore an address and telephone number. She was shaking with shock.

Sam patted her on the shoulder. ‘Just sit still, everything’s going to be fine.’ He headed for the door. But before he got there the phone rang.

‘Answer it,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t tell anyone I’m here.’

She nodded and picked it up. Sam looked round for another extension, and grabbed one from behind a door into the kitchen, pulling the wire taut so that he could watch Ursula while keeping his ear to the phone.

A familiar voice said, ‘Ursula, love, you there?’ Tinkerbell. Hunter. Call him what you would.

‘Yes. I’m here.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine.’

‘Look, I’ve phoned to warn you. We think Sebastian has come to town.’ Ursula’s eyes flew to Sam.

‘What… what gave you that idea?’

‘We think he might have found the address for der Engelpalast. If he has, then chances are he was the one who stabbed Hindsonn – and took your phone call. And if
that’s
so then he might have followed you home.’

Silence. Then Ursula in a weak voice said, ‘I… was given a lift home.’

‘Who by?’ Silence. ‘Ursula, who gave you a lift?’

Ursula’s eyes were locked on Sam. He slid one hand into his coat pocket, felt the gun. She followed his hand all the way.

Tinkerbell’s voice was now urgent. ‘Ursula! Ursula, who gave you a lift home?’ Sam pulled out the gun, slow, leisured, letting her see that he meant business.

‘A… a man in an ambulance. He’s gone now.’

‘Look, love, don’t move. I’m coming over.’

‘Fine,’ she said quietly.

Sam gestured with the gun for her to put the phone down. She obeyed. They stood staring at each other.

Sam said, ‘Okay, I know this seems nasty, but there is purpose to it. And the Ashen’ia are mad if they think anything they did would make me discharge the Light against a Greater Power. Tell them that. The Ashen’ia are right, I am alone, and you people may be my only potential ally. But you’d have to help, rather than hinder me. And how long have you people been waiting for me to become weak enough so you can risk using me? Because you’ve screwed up big time.’

‘You will share in our glory.’

‘Lady, if you could see as many flaws in the scheme as I can, you’d never say that.’

She gave no answer. Sam smiled wanly. ‘Anyway I did like your company, kinda. A bit off-key for my tastes, but that’s forgivable. So sorry about this.’

She was already trying to move, but not fast enough. The air distorted around him as Sam swept his hand up and pushed, sending a disturbance that smashed into Ursula, picked her off her feet and sent her flying backwards, smacking hard against a bookcase. Briefly she slumped, head on one side. Sam pocketed the gun, looked down at the address in his hand and went in search of Gabriel.

C
lose to Gabriel’s Berlin flat, while navigating a tricky roundabout, Sam felt someone scry for him. Dizziness washed through his mind and images flickered in front of his eyes. He hastily pulled over and put his head in his hands, leaning on the steering wheel and trying to focus on the source of the scry.

He sent his mind out, and felt…

He could feel Jehovah hammering away at his shields, trying to pinpoint Sam’s exact location. And behind Jehovah, another mind. Sam reached out for it, felt anger and strength combined into a particularly lumpy combination. he added.

Thor didn’t answer. A sudden stab of pain as Jehovah tried to worm his way into Sam’s eyes, see as Sam was seeing, and Sam recoiled, lashing out with tendrils of wild magic, burning across Jehovah’s senses. The scry abruptly winked out, leaving Sam shaking.

He gripped the steering wheel and tried to breathe steadily, wondering how much Jehovah and Thor had gleaned. It was a worrisome reminder that there were other things out there, more powerful and potentially more dangerous than the Ashen’ia.

But what to do about them without the Ashen’ias’ help?

He drove on.

In a tiny courtyard of high red-brick buildings, dripping black iron pipes and slippery black iron steps, lived Gabriel. Sam could see the light on in her flat. He could also tell where she was, from feeling her archangel’s power. He jogged up the stairs to her front door, and knocked, leaning away from the spy hole on the door. Gabriel’s feet sounded in the hall, and, after a pause, the door opened.

Sam waited until she stepped out on to the metal stairs in front of her door. He looked to see that her hands were empty, and stepped forward, meeting her eyes squarely. She froze, fear bleaching her skin.

‘I gather,’ he said into the ringing silence that followed, ‘that I’ve been playing the puppet to your clown.’

Gabriel made no response. He gestured at the door. ‘Shall we?’

She moved like a robot, knowing that even though his hands held no weapon at any moment he might hit her with all the anger of a Son of Magic.

The flat, Sam thought, looked like something Gabriel
would
use. Artful dabs of paint in red frames hung on the walls, a collection of small potted plants, well tended, sat on the radiator casing by the window, the table was swept clear of all but a few neatly folded newspapers, the carpets were clean and matched the wallpaper, the wallpaper matched the sofas, the immaculate kitchen, just another section of the main living room, was all stainless steel. Sam sat down on a giant sofa and smiled thinly at Gabriel, who stood looking at nothing.

‘So,’ he said, ‘you’re Ashen’ia. But you’re also an archangel. Admittedly a traitor, like myself, who refused to countenance Jehovah’s orders when you found out about the Pandora spirits and Cronus, but still an archangel. Shouldn’t you know better than to think I’d play your little game of let’s-threaten-the-Powers-with-the-Light-and-see-what-happens?’

Gabriel shrugged and met his eyes. ‘We need the Ashen’ia, Sebastian, if we’re to stop Seth from freeing Cronus. When we’ve finished using them we can still just walk away.’

‘Who’s “we”? You, and the elusive master and mistress?’

‘Sebastian,’ she said reproachfully. ‘Remember when we had to get out of Mexico because of the Pandora spirits? As I fled, I was met by the Ashen’ia.

‘They’d been watching you. They said that with the Bearer of Light threatening the Greater Powers with destruction, the Powers would have no choice but to give the Ashen’ia magics beyond what anyone, mortal or immortal, has dreamt of. All I had to do was help them catch you.’

Sam’s face said nothing, but his eyes spoke freely enough. ‘Who did you sell your soul to, Gail?’ he asked bitterly.

She looked down. ‘It hardly matters.’

‘Did it make you happy?’

Her eyes flashed. ‘Sebastian, listen to me. I told the Ashen’ia that if we moved too fast on you, you’d fight us to the last. I told them that the longer you’d have to operate against Seth, the more you’d realise you needed us!’

‘Yet you didn’t want me finding you.’

‘I knew there was no way you’d agree to help the Ashen’ia.’

Sam’s voice was low and dangerous. ‘If you knew I wouldn’t help, why bother trying?’

‘The Ashen’ia are going to fight Seth, even though they’ll almost certainly destroy themselves. But they’ll severely weaken Seth in the process. Possibly so that you, the Bearer of Light, can finish the job.’

Sam stood up and turned towards the window, staring into the darkness. ‘This could just be an elaborate trick.’

She shrugged. ‘Where will you go if it isn’t? You know that alone you can’t win. And you know that only the Ashen’ia can resist the power of the Pandora spirits, because the spirits target souls, and our souls are split, hidden in places they can’t find.’

‘If the Ashen’ia are so powerful, let them deal with Seth. I can tuck myself away in a quiet corner of Hell and let this pass me by.’

Her laugh sent a chill through him, made his hand twitch near the gun. She said, ‘The Ashen’ia won’t move without the Light. Somehow they’d drag you back in. Assuming, of course, that Thor didn’t find you first.’

He looked at her, saw the expression on her face, and turned back to the window. ‘I can deal with Thor,’ he said quietly. He added, ‘Who’s the master and who’s the mistress?’ His voice had a low, insistent edge.

The smile in her eyes died, and something hard passed over her face. ‘They are Waywalkers who have given their souls.’

‘To whom, Gail?’

She didn’t say.

He looked sadly down at her. ‘When you served Freya I thought so much of you. You had abandoned Jehovah, your master for a thousand and more years because he was freeing the Pandora spirits, you had put your life on the line for others, risked everything, become an outcast from Heaven. What happened to the archangel I knew?’

‘Cronus will be freed, Sebastian. Not-living, not-dying, not-changing. This puts the steel in anyone’s soul.’

Sam sagged wretchedly against the window, eyes fixed on a distant point. ‘You know I have nowhere else to go.’ Time have mercy, he was tired. ‘You know I’ve no choice.’

‘You never did have a choice, Sebastian,’ she replied. ‘From birth to death your single purpose has been this – stop Seth from freeing Cronus. That’s why they called you the necessary child.’

Sam didn’t say anything, he was watching her with a look of half-recognition, half-disgust on his face. Disgust at what? At her? He didn’t think so.

Gabriel ignored his look. ‘Of course, you couldn’t be legitimate. That’s common sense. The more you’re alienated, the more you’re pushed into being alone, the less dependent on others you are. You’re sharpened against betrayal, cynical, suspicious, a fighter. Everything that Balder wasn’t.’

‘Time loved Balder,’ said Sam bleakly, wanting to close his eyes, forget about everything, sleep…

‘And his beloved child died. How much easier, therefore, to risk losing a child that he doesn’t love?’

Sam smiled faintly. ‘You’ve learnt to play nasty, Gail. I should have expected that.’

‘Why bother to fight, Sebastian?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said with a half shrug. ‘Pride? Perversity?’

There came a knock on the door. Then a hammering. Sam sighed. ‘That’ll be Tinkerbell. Does he know you plan to destroy the Ashen’ia?’

‘No,’ said Gabriel, heading to the door. ‘I don’t think he’s in it for the power. But involved he is, whatever his reason, and I’m not going to test his loyalty to the Ashen’ia.’

She pulled the door open a few inches. A large, red fist caught her squarely across the jaw, then picked her up and threw her backwards across the floor. A long red arm followed the fist, one large sleeve rolled up over bunching muscles. A red nose, a square red face, red hair. Thor himself stepped through the door, turned, looked at Sam, smiled.

‘Little light, little fire,’ he whispered. In a strange voice that reminded Sam of… Hindsonn?

Sam sighed and pulled the gun out of his pocket. ‘It’s been a really bad month, have I mentioned this?’

Thor looked at the gun with a frown on his huge butcher-slab face, as if trying to work out what it was.

‘You pull the trigger and it kills people,’ Sam explained wearily when Thor didn’t move. ‘I’ll demonstrate.’ He raised the gun and pumped four shots into Thor, with perfect accuracy.

Trouble was, Thor had moved.

And Sam had never seen anyone shift so fast. Not even a Son of War should be able to move that quickly! There were four holes in the wall behind Thor – and a loud ringing in Sam’s ears – and Thor was straightening up, axe raised in one giant’s paw, a grin on his big, idiot, bearded face.

His eyes had a translucent film over them, like a fish…

‘Hell, you really have sold out to Cronus, haven’t you?’ muttered Sam, disbelief temporarily drowning out the fear. He dropped the gun back in his pocket and fumbled for his sword. Thor caught Sam’s wrist as he tried to yank the sword from its bag, picked Sam up bodily and slammed him against a wall. The ringing in Sam’s ears grew. Thor’s face was an inch from his. His breath stank like a misused chemistry set.

Thor dropped his axe and closed his fingers round Sam’s other wrist, which went up above his head to join its partner, pinning him helplessly against the wall. Seen this close, the grey film over Thor’s eyes was resolved into a whirlwind of strange colours and patterns. He grinned, and spoke in the strange, distorted voice Sam recognised from Hindsonn when possessed by War. ‘Little light, little fire,’ he said again. ‘That’s what they called you in Heaven, wasn’t it?’

Sam brought a knee up into Thor’s groin. Thor’s eyes widened, he made a little
whump
sound, and staggered, head rebounding against Sam’s, but his grip on Sam’s wrists hardly faltered. Slowly, catching his breath back, Thor raised his head again and grinned. His teeth were yellow and uneven: clearly this was one Son of Time who hadn’t appreciated the dental revolution.

‘Little light and little fire needs to grow up,’ he said softly. Bones grated together in Sam’s wrists, taking a lot of nerves with them.

‘You’re imprisoned, Cronus,’ Sam managed through gritted teeth. ‘You’re possessing a Son of Time in the universe of Time. And I guess Daddy won’t be happy about that, so bugger off before the cavalry comes!’

‘I’m coming back, little light, little fire. I’m coming back – and then see what your “Daddy” can do to protect you.’

‘Clearly you’re worried.’ Sam gasped as the pain in his arms shot down to his elbows and up to his fingers, turning them numb. ‘That’s why you’re so interested in killing me: you’re afraid. Cowardy Cronus, doesn’t dare come out of his prison for fear of a little light, a little fire…’

Thor, or the creature possessing Thor, growled, shook Sam like a doll. Sam forced out an agonised laugh, which acted like sandpaper down his throat. ‘Thor, you always were a great one for wit. I see Cronus takes after you.’

Cronus/Thor gave a snarl of rage and pulled a hand free of Sam’s wrists, hitting him hard across the face. Sam fell to the ground and tried to crawl away, but the possessed Waywalker still moved fast. A boot connected with his side, then hands grabbed him and pushed him back against the wall, his legs sprawled in front of him, hands limp at his side, eyes dazed.

Thor’s face swam in front of his vision. ‘Little light, little fire dies as easily as the first one,’ he growled.

‘First one?’ echoed Sam dully. ‘Oh, Balder. Only you see, Time loved Balder.’

The dagger was out, Sam’s hand shot forwards, drove into Thor’s thigh. A faint sigh, a whimper escaped Thor’s lips as Sam pushed harder with all his might, driving the blade in.

‘That’s something you can’t say about me,’ muttered Sam, worming his way out from Thor’s grasp. Thor staggered to his feet, stared in horror at the dagger embedded in his thigh. The weapon of a Son of Time would create a wound that couldn’t be easily regenerated, it would take time to heal, real time…

As Sam watched, he saw Thor grit his teeth, reach down and pull the dagger out. The merest act of touching Sam’s blade seemed to cause him more pain, and Sam wasn’t about to waste a weapon in another’s hands when it was specially tuned to him. He called to it, whispering of fire and lava, and the blade began to glow red hot in Thor’s bloody hands.

Thor yelled, dropping the blade, backing away. As he did, the door opened again, and Sam saw Tinkerbell, a crossbow held in either hand. Thor swung on Tinkerbell, and raised his hands with a roar, sending ripples through the air that threw the other man off his feet. He called his axe across the room to his hand, and turned towards Sam, a huddled figure in the corner.

But instead of delivering the expected blow, he smiled – a weak smile, which faded into a look of pain as the eyes cleared. Thor staggered a few paces to the doorway and paused; and Sam saw on the old Waywalker’s face a look of such longing and torment that he almost, but not quite, felt guilt. Thor’s mouth moved, with a dry sound that might have been Thor’s ordinary voice coming from Thor’s ordinary mind as he whispered, ‘For Freya’, before he turned and limped away.