Constable & Toop (11 page)

‘Thank you,' said Doris. ‘But I don't think there's anything to be done. Acceptance. That's what I tell new Residents. Acceptance is the first step. Once you accept you're never getting out then you can start to get on with things.' She sighed. ‘It's not so easy to tell yourself that.'

Stepping out of the school into the street, Lapsewood allowed an easy smile to spread across his face. He had done it. He had found Doris McNally.

All he had to do now was to write up his findings, return to the Bureau and tell them what he had discovered. When they saw what a good job he had done, not only in locating Doris McNally but in discovering the Black Rot problem, he would be rewarded. Perhaps he would be given a new assignment or maybe Colonel Penhaligan would get wind of it and request that he come back and work for him. He had showed them all. He was Prowler material after all. He imagined Alice's face when he returned the hero. The man who saved London.

‘What's next?' asked Tanner.

Lapsewood held out the London Tenancy List. ‘I must return. You need to carry on,' he said.

‘I don't need to do nothing,' replied Tanner.

‘We'll need a proper map of infected structures if we're to deal with this problem.'

‘We?'

‘The Bureau.'

‘I don't work for the Bureau. Remember, I'm just helping you out.'

‘And I'm asking you to keep doing that,' said Lapsewood. ‘Can't you see how important this is? Something is very wrong here and it will affect all of us if we do not deal with it immediately. There's much more at stake. If ghosts keep going missing the problem will grow and grow until it won't be safe to enter any building in London.'

‘Someone else's problem, ain't it?' replied Tanner, shrugging. ‘I said I'd help you find Doris, but we've done that now.'

‘Accepting responsibility for the problems of others is the only way to achieve a civilised, organised society. Caring for one another is what makes us human.'

‘You might not have noticed, but we're dead, mate. We ain't part of society no more.'

‘We still have a responsibility.'

‘Not me.'

‘So what will it take for you to carry on helping me?'

‘You could try asking, I suppose.'

‘That's what I have been doing.'

‘Not really.' Tanner shrugged. ‘Try dropping all this
you need to do this
and
we need to do that
stuff and actually ask me . . . nicely.'

‘Will you take the list and carry on checking for infected houses?' asked Lapsewood.

‘What's the word you're searching for?'

‘Please,' said Lapsewood.

‘Yeah, all right.' Tanner took the list. ‘Since you asked so nicely, I will continue feeding dogs to houses.'

‘Thank you,' said Lapsewood.

‘I'm getting new ones, though. I ain't risking Lil' Mags again.'

Lapsewood smiled. ‘I thought she was just a dog.'

‘Yeah, well. Sometimes dogs are more reliable than people.'

Lapsewood shook Tanner's hand and said solemnly, ‘Thank you, Tanner. I'll be back.'

Tanner laughed. ‘Sombre sort of fella, ain't you, Lapsewood?'

Lapsewood smiled, then turned to Ether Dust and drifted up into the sky.

Sam stood in the doorway of St Paul's church and peered inside. Sunlight spilt through the stained-glass windows, but when Sam looked only with his right eye, the interior appeared as dark as night. The wooden panelling had been eaten away by the mysterious black substance that covered the outside. Sam had never seen anything like it. It filled every crack. It had sunk into every gap. It had eaten away at the walls and spread up to the rafters in the ceiling. When he stared at it Sam almost felt as if he could see it slowly moving. Spreading.

‘I'll wait here,' said Rector Bray, holding the door.

‘You will not come in with me?'

‘I don't think I can,' he replied.

Sam stepped into the church.

‘The bell tower is just to your right there,' said Bray. ‘That's where the exorcism took place.'

Sam followed the spiral staircase, each footstep echoing off the walls. He stopped when he heard the front door slam.

‘Rector Bray?' he cried. ‘Rector Bray?'

There was no reply. Sam wanted to run back down and to escape this place but there was something compelling him forward. At the top of the staircase he stepped into the bell tower, where a long piece of white material hung down from the end of the rope used to ring the bell. A breeze blew through gaps in the brickwork and the sheet moved.

‘Hello?' said Sam. ‘Is there anyone here? I come to make peace.'

Inside the bell tower the black substance was even thicker. It was as if it had worked its way into the brickwork of the church. He reached his hand towards it and felt only the cold brick, but as his hand passed through the substance it caused strange slow ripples. He withdrew his hand and clasped his fingers to warm them. Sam looked up at the bell above him, thinking of the poor heartbroken man who had hung there listening to the bell sounding his own demise.

‘Hello?' he called.

His voice reverberated around the inside of the bell.

He turned to leave, but the breeze picked up and the flapping material whipped against the back of his head. He pushed it away and felt it wrap itself around his arm then around his neck. He tried to free himself but it was strong and determined. Sam stumbled and fell, catching his chin on a table edge. He tore himself free from the material. He struggled to stand but the black substance was creeping up his legs and arms and up his back, keeping him rooted to the spot, growing over him like it had grown over the church. He felt it sink into the pores in his skin, seep into the marrow of his bones, chilling his blood.

‘Help, help, Rector Bray, help me!' Sam tried to shout. He pulled one hand free and grabbed the flapping cloth, attempting to heave himself off the floor. He felt the pull of the bell and heard the sound of it reverberate through his bones. He rang it again. And again. And again. But the sound it made was not that of a bell. It was a voice. A voice like he had never heard before. Low. Rasping. Inhuman.

TALKER,
it said.

‘What are you?' gasped Sam helplessly. ‘What are you doing here?'

TAL-KER!

‘What do you want?' he whispered.

TO KILL. TO FEED
, spoke the voice.

Sam lost consciousness.

Tanner rounded up more dogs on Cable Street, then continued working his way down the list until he reached an odd little church in Shadwell. Even in the night's gloom it was possible to see that it was deeply infected. It was the worst he had seen. He scribbled an
i
next to the name on the list, tied up the other dogs and picked up Lil' Mags to take a closer look. As he got nearer she barked and snarled at it.

‘Don't worry. You ain't going in there,' said Tanner. ‘I'm just having a look.'

The church virtually pulsated with Black Rot. Tanner felt as if the actual building was watching. Lil' Mags growled fearfully.

‘Hush now,' said Tanner, but nothing would silence her. ‘Calm down, girl.' He placed his hand over her mouth but she bit down on it.

‘Ouch.' He loosened his grip for a moment and she wriggled free. She ran towards the church.

The other dogs were barking too.

‘No, Lil' Mags. No.' Tanner charged after her but he wasn't quick enough to stop her leaping straight through the door, disappearing into the blackened church.

‘Lil' Mags,' he screamed, falling to his knees. ‘Lil' Mags!'

Why had she left him? It was his fault. He should have kept her on the lead. He cursed himself for naming her at all. The dead weren't supposed to get attached to things. And why call her Mags of all names? Why had he named her after the mother who had also abandoned him in life?
Stupid, sentimental boy,
he thought.
What were you thinking?

Tanner covered his eyes, but ghosts were not afforded the luxury of actual tears. He lowered his hands and, to his astonishment, saw that the Black Rot was receding. Vanishing. The substance was disappearing into the bricks. It was releasing the building from its corrosive grip. The building was healing itself. Tanner stared in amazement as the normal colour returned to the church and the black sludge that had covered it vanished. A few minutes and the building was back to normal.

The other dogs barked furiously. Tanner ran back and grabbed one, a whippet with dried blood down the side of its face. He hastily released it. There was no need to throw anything because the freed dog followed Lil' Mags into the building.

For a moment, Tanner waited anxiously, then there was a sudden barking and the dog returned, running straight past him and away across the road into the darkness. The building was safe. The Black Rot had gone.

‘Lil' Mags,' called Tanner. ‘I'm coming in to get you.'

He approached but, seeing the door rattle, stopped dead. Something was behind it. After a moment the doors burst open and a great cloud of black smoke rushed out, swirling around him. Tanner coughed and spluttered and covered his mouth. The smoke had an acidic bitter taste and an unworldly stench. Tanner was used to passing through people, getting that brief glimpse into the insides of their bodies. But this was different. The smoke, whatever it was, passed through
him
, giving him a vision into the utter darkness of it. It felt like being embodied by a scream. A world of horror and torment passed through Tanner's head and then was suddenly gone. He turned and watched as the black smoke vanished.

Sam opened his eyes, but it was too dark to see now with either eye. The thought that he might be dead was speedily expelled by the pain in his back. One thing he had learnt from his dealing with ghosts was that pain was the property of the living. But where was he? Why was he lying on this cold wooden floor in the dark?

Slowly the memory of what had happened came back to him. The church. The black substance. The blow to the back of the head.

He felt something brush across his face. He reached up and grabbed it. It was the piece of material that hung down from the bell. He used it to pull himself to his feet, creating a soft, sustained note from the bell above. He wondered what had happened to the ghost of the bell ringer. He had met enough housebound spirits to know that their houses were like prisons to them. Yet here was a prison with no prisoner.

He remembered seeing a candle on a table. He moved slowly and cautiously towards it, feeling for it with his hands like a blind man. His fingers moved uncertainly, unable to identify objects in the dark, until he felt the cold wax between his fingers. By its side was a box of matches. He struck one and lit it.

In the weak yellow glow of the candlelight Sam could see for sure what he already knew; the black substance which had covered the walls was gone.

‘Mags! Lil' Mags!' The voice came from downstairs.

‘Rector Bray? Is that you?'

‘Who's there?' called the voice.

Sam fell silent, fearful, wishing he had not spoken. He crept across the creaking floorboards, the candle in his hand casting dark shadows behind him. He followed the stairs down and stepped into the main body of the church. He held up the candle, illuminating the rows of empty seats that led up to the pulpit and the pipe organ.

‘My name is Sam Toop,' he said. ‘I mean you no harm.'

The outline of a boy stepped out from behind a lectern. It was too dark to make out his features but the silence of his approach gave away that this was a ghost. He stepped into the candlelight, looked Sam up and down and said, ‘You ain't dead.'

‘And you aren't the bell ringer,' replied Sam. ‘You're a boy.'

‘You ain't so old yourself.'

‘Why are you here?' said Sam.

‘I'm looking for my dog. Her name's Lil' Mags. Mine's Tanner.'

‘You have a dog?'

‘She's a spirit hound, but a good one nonetheless.'

‘You're very young for a ghost.'

The boy smiled. ‘There's no age limit on dying,' he replied. ‘But you're right. Most littl'uns that pop their clogs head straight through the Unseen Door. No stayin' power, most of them. Not me, though. I thought I'd hang around.'

‘You're very odd,' said Sam.

‘Oh, a real charmer you are,' said Tanner. ‘I've never met a Talker before. They all as charmin' as you? I heard those who got the gift were the ones who rub up against death so close they see it everywhere. What you, then? An executioner? A gravedigger? A murderer?'

‘Undertaker's son,' admitted Sam.

The boy laughed. ‘Well, you needn't look so worried. I got no business with a Talker. I got no messages to pass on. Unless you seen my dog.'

‘I haven't.'

‘I'll see you round, Talker. Hey, I just thought, you ain't exactly talkative for a Talker.' The boy laughed, then turned to Ether Dust and flew out of the building. Sam followed him, pushing open the great doors in time to see the boy walking away into the night with four spirit hounds on leads.

‘Hey,' shouted Sam. ‘What happened here? What was wrong with this church?'

But either the boy ignored him or else his words were carried away by the cold wind that drove the drizzle into the side of his face.

‘Tanner,' Sam yelled.

Usually the ghosts he met begged him for his help or else they wanted him to listen to their woes and sympathise with the tragedies of their deaths. This boy was different. He wanted nothing from Sam.

Sam looked up at the church. The black substance had gone now. He wondered if the boy had got rid of it. It had just gone three o'clock according to the clock on the spire of the church. Sam crossed the damp ground to the rectory window, where there was a dim flickering light. Rector Bray was inside, asleep on the floor in front of the final dwindling remains of a dying fire. Next to him on the threadbare rug lay an empty whiskey bottle.