London Falling (51 page)

This was what he was now: a police specialist in . . . well, call it the London underworld. ‘There are gaps,’ he announced. ‘Look at it, someone’s been through
this.’ He opened up a polished wooden case with brass handles, and found a velvet interior with . . . he put the vanes he’d used to find this place into the gaps, and they fitted
perfectly. ‘There’s been a bit of looting but, of course, it’s only been by those who’ve got the Sight. We might get a lot of evidence here, but the site’ll have been
filleted for anything that’s powerful in itself.’

They were going to need at least a large van to take away this haul. The light was failing them, the big shadows of the skyscrapers obscuring the ruin, more and more people passing through the
square as they headed home from work. They all looked at them curiously.

Quill and Costain went to commandeer bags and boxes from anywhere they could, and Ross called Mehta to tell him to take his boat back to his nick. There was no authority onto which they could
pass this crime scene, if it was one; no experts to examine all this in situ. Forensics just would not
see
anything out here, so this had to be their business now, thought Sefton, and theirs
alone.

They started to put everything into the bags and boxes systematically. Until suddenly Sefton realized that, in his hand, he was holding something like a personnel file. He called everyone over.
Inside the file were just photographs of five people. The looks on their faces were proud, almost smug. ‘The “Continuing Projects Team”,’ he said, reading aloud. He had a
quick look through the job descriptions on each photo and raised an eyebrow. ‘A brief, an architect, a priest, a senior civil servant, even someone from the BBC.’

Ross looked up from her phone. ‘None of whom are recorded anywhere.’

‘All of whom,’ said Quill, ‘have been forgotten.’

‘Think of the energy,’ said Sefton, ‘that someone is putting into keeping that going.’ He gestured around him. ‘Into
this
.’

They ended up reading by torchlight amid the ruins. They were all too interested to wait until they got it back to the Portakabin. ‘It’s all about . . .
buildings,’ said Sefton, ‘shapes. Nothing much here about people.’

‘And this lot,’ observed Quill, ‘go on about “protocols” all the bloody time.’

‘I think they,’ Ross flapped the folder, ‘must be the “old law” that Losley talked about.’

‘And maybe this,’ Costain gestured at the ruins around them, ‘was when those goalposts got moved.’

They thought about that in silence for a while. Sefton was about to suggest that it was time to pack up and summon that van over, when Ross made a sudden noise. She held up a personnel file with
nothing inside it, which she had just found between the remains of two filing boxes.

On the front of it was written:
Detective Superintendent Rebecca Lofthouse.

‘Oh, bloody hell,’ said Quill.

There was a noise from nearby, and they all looked up. Standing there was Lofthouse herself. She looked very uncertain, and was holding what looked like an ancient key. It had a gravity about
it. It was a thing of the Sight.

‘Oh,’ said Quill, ‘and I’d seen that on her charm bracelet so many times.’ He stood up, and they all did.

Sefton suddenly remembered his sensation, inside the circle in the bookshop, that there should be five of them, rather than four. He looked back to the pentagram on the broken table: there had
been five members of this team, too. And there had been that weird moment when Lofthouse had got them to sit at very particular places around that meeting table. ‘Five,’ he said to
Ross, under his breath.

‘Five is better than four,’ she replied. ‘Like the fortune-teller said.’

Lofthouse stepped forward, looking between them and the key in her hand.

‘There’s something here I can’t see, isn’t there, Jimmy?’ she said.

Quill could only nod.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘now I know why I’ve been supporting you all this time.
This
explains
a lot
.’

I’ve been helped by a great many people in writing this book, a number of whom chose not to be named, being serving undercover police officers and intelligence analysts.
Where I’ve got it wrong, or used artistic licence (for instance in keeping Gipsy Hill police station open and hugely increasing its size) the fault is mine, not theirs. Decades ago, these
characters were first created for a television series pitch overseen by the tremendous talents of Steven Moffat and Beryl and Sue Vertue. The story has changed out of all recognition since those
days, but their support and encouragement remain, and I owe them many thanks.

I’d particularly like to thank my editors Julie Crisp, for a life-changing set of notes, and Bella Pagan, for her continual good stewardship, as well as Chloe Healy, the publicity genius.
I couldn’t be happier to be part of Team Tor. And this book wouldn’t have happened at all without the support and friendship of my agent, Simon Kavanagh.

I’d also like to thank:

Rob Appleby; Ali Blackburn; ‘DC B’ of the Specialist Crime Directorate; Liam Brison; Tracy and Darren at the Faringdon Coffee House; Cerys Clarke; Rev. Sheena Cleaton; Hywel
Clifford; Simon Colenutt; Jessica Cuthbert-Smith; Robert Dick; Jac Farrow; ‘SJG’; David Gifford; Toby Hadoke; Joanne Hall; Jennifer Heddle; Lyn Holmes; Simon Holmes; Tom Hunter; Fazana
Saleem-Ismail; ‘JPL’; Matthew Kilburn; Paul Kirkley; Peter Lavery; Rabbi Markus A. Lange; Tony and Tracy Lee; Patricia MacEwen; Seanan McGuire; Mike Maddox; Inspector Dick Malcolm;
Laurie Mann; Harry Markos; David Matthams; Ian Mond; Mike Perkins; Rabbi Danny Rich; Claire Ridgway of www.theanneboleynfiles.com; Al Robertson; Guy Robinson; Graham Sleight; Chief Inspector Andrew
Smith and ‘T’.

Paul Cornell has written some of
Doctor Who
’s best-loved episodes for the BBC. He has also written on a number of comic book series for Marvel and DC, including
X-men and Batman and Robin. He has been Hugo Award-nominated for his work in TV, comics and prose, and won the BSFA Award for his short fiction.
London Falling
is his first urban fantasy
novel.

First published 2012 by Tor

This electronic edition published 2012 by Tor
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ISBN 978-0-230-076506-1 EPUB

Copyright © Paul Cornell 2012

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