Order of Britain: Stone of Madness (7 page)

She smiled, and laid her hand on his as he stared moodily at the city.

“Is there anywhere else you'd rather be?”

He grinned at her.

“I suppose not.”

They stared at each other in silence for a couple of moments, before an awkward cough came from behind them. They glanced over their shoulders at Nathaniel, who was smirking at them from the lounge.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Nothing that can't be dealt with later,” Elizabeth replied coolly. She brushed a strand of raven hair back from her forehead. “Is it warm out here or is it me?”

Nathaniel laughed, and walked out to join them. A tray of drinks was in his hands, and he passed them one each.

“Have you been raiding my good scotch?” Callum asked.

“Yes. Next order of business, how are we going to get out of here?”

Callum leant back against the balcony, and sipped from his drink, relishing the heat of the liquor as it ran down his throat. The other two watched him carefully.

He lowered the glass and smiled slightly.

“I've got a plan,” he said. “But you're really not going to like it.”

***

Cameron watched as the two leading agents of his party approached the door of the townhouse, and pushed open the door. Darkness gaped like a wound within the hallway, deep and menacing. The lead agent shivered, and stepped inside. 

“There's nothing here!" he shouted back towards the door, his eyes showing the relief he felt. He failed, however, to notice the tendrils of solid darkness that reached from the shadows towards his limbs.

A deep rumbling sound vibrated through the house as the tendrils grabbed him. The man standing by the door instinctively launched a fireball of magic into the depths of the darkness to rescue his colleague. The spark of magic vanished into the depths of the house, extinguished like the head of a match. A moment passed... and then a larger tendril reached out of the inside of the house and snatched him from his feet, dragging him into the depths.

Cameron stood stunned, his eyes wide as the tendrils reached out from the house towards the men on the street. 

“Sir, what shall we do?” one of the agents asked him.

Cameron said nothing. Instead, he turned, and ran. Around him, the agents lost any semblance of order, hurling spells at the tendrils whilst running for cover. Above the street, the lamps exploded as a wall of darkness began to rise from the paving stones, seeping like oil, then moving up into the air to form a barrier of inky blackness.

Cameron ran. Jumping up onto the running board of a hansom cab, he glanced at the driver.

“Move! Back to the Guild!”

The driver glanced over his shoulder, then froze as he saw the horror bearing down on them. Cameron swore, and gave the man an almighty shove.

The driver hit the cobbles hard, his head cracking on the pavement, and lay still. Cameron ignored him and seized the reins. Lashing the horses hard, he pushed them into a run, steering the cab towards the Guild.

Behind him, the wall of darkness rose up to become a dome over the house. Then it began to expand, creeping, inch by inch outwards.

Flattened by the withdrawing tendrils, the agents in the street got to their feet. They looked around, seeking guidance, and finding none.

One of them, a young mage, newly promoted to the forward team, drew his gun. Looking down at his hand, he stared at the weapon as if he'd never seen it before. Then he raised the pistol, and shot one of his fellow agents in the chest.

As if a dam was bursting, the other agents hurriedly drew their weapons and gunned the young man down. Then they began to turn on each other, rapid gunshots ringing through the empty street. Screams began to emanate from the houses along the road as the darkness reached them. In one of the houses, a wealthy banker smothered his wife with her pillow before hanging himself with the belt of his trousers. In another, a previously well behaved dog tore out the throat of its elderly owner, then submerged itself in the back garden pond until it drowned. Up and down the road, and orgy of violence began to take place.

And it was only the beginning.

***

In Trafalgar square, a group of soldiers were lounging, bottles of cheap drink in their hands. One of them, Johnny Dunham, glanced up at the massive one hundred and seventy foot tall column at the centre of the square. At its pinnacle, Lord Horatio Nelson stood guard, his features a dark relief against the night. 

Dunham could have taken him a bit more seriously if there weren't pigeons nesting on top of and around him, their heads tucked under their wings.

“Look up at this big bastard,” he said. “Gets shot in his big battle, gets pickled up in a barrel of brandy, and they put a statue of him on top of a big pole. I could do all of that.”

“Yeah, but you'd have to get shot, Johnny,” said one of his colleagues.

“That might not be so bad. Least it means I don't have to go back to my wife!” 

The group laughed at the joke, and continued drinking. As his brain began to succumb to the sway of alcohol, Dunham squinted up at the statue once more. The light of the lanterns around the square no longer seemed to reach it, and Dunham frowned. Atop the column the pigeons were slowly unfurling themselves from sleep, their heads cocking to the side as if listening to a sound the soldier couldn't hear. Despite the darkness, the birds took to the air, flapping their wings and circling around the granite column. 

Dunham watched, a sensation of dread building in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, he began to back away from the column, his eyes looking for any shelter. There was none. As he turned he began to run for the distant cover of the national gallery, its columned facade seemingly miles away.

The first pigeon hit the ground next to him with a sickening, splattering thud. Adrenaline booting him into unruly sobriety, Dunham sprinted, dodging left and right as the birds thumped into the ground around him. He dived headlong between the columns as more pigeons slammed into the ground, their small bodies bouncing with their momentum.

Dunham looked back across the square with wide eyes, at his colleagues. They were slowly starting to move towards him, their hands raised into the air to ward off the feathered assault. One of the soldiers stumbled and fell under the barrage as bird after bird slammed into his back. As he fell on his face, a final bird slammed, beak first, into his head. The sharp beak scored through flesh and bone, and he screamed. Another pigeon landed on his back and began to tear at the ruined flesh around his skull, digging into the wound with claws and beak. He heard the screams from around the square as others were caught in the flurry of birds attacking from the skies.

Dunham hunkered down against the doors of the gallery, his staring eyes watching as bird after bird slammed down from above, leaving bloody smears on the paving.

***

In Whitechapel, the pubs became scenes of violence. In itself, this was nothing unusual, but when the first knife was drawn it became more than the usual brawl and, instead, descended into a blood bath. It changed even more when the pub's customers began to seize the broken shards of glass scattered around the room and use them to slit their own throats.

***

On London Bridge, two gangs of youths engaged in a pitched battle, pounding each other to death with clubs. The police initially tried to stop them. And then – as the darkness took root inside them – they began to join in, their truncheons joining the chaotic melee.

Those that survived the initial brawl threw themselves into the Thames, their bodies vanishing out to sea.

***

A Beefeater on duty at the tower of London was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to kill the ravens. The ravens, however were overwhelmed by the sudden urge to kill their erstwhile guard. It was the ravens that came out top of the battle. Strangely, however, they did not abandon their posts, instead choosing to resume their vigil over the tower, their hunger sustained by the Beefeaters flesh.

***

And so it spread, a tide of darkness flowing across the city, bringing violence and horror in its wake. Some were affected instantly, giving in to their baser desires. Other managed to shut it out, and close their doors, turning on all the lights in the house to keep the darkness at bay.

London blazed with lights that night, huddling within a cocoon of luminescence as the darkness spread through the streets, seeking minds that would bend to its intentions. It was not malicious in and of itself, but it sought its twin darkness in men's souls, the seed at the heart of all the evil men do.

And no-one does evil quite like humans. 

The Guild of mages could probably have stopped the chaos, had they had a leader capable of guiding them. But their current leader was more interested in consolidating his power base than aiding the people of the city.

***

“We need to seal the Guild,” Cameron said sternly. “Whatever is out there, we do not have the power to combat it.”

“But...” began Joyce Emerson, the head of magical research, “The city is in chaos, Mr Cameron! We can't leave those people out there! Our duty...”

“Our duty is to fight another day, Joyce!” Cameron almost screamed. “Now do as you're damn well told, and seal the damn building! That's an order.”

The tousle-haired, rather mousy researcher raised herself up, and looked into the councilmans eyes. 

“With all due respect, Mr Cameron, you don't have the authority to give me orders – and it is my belief that the city is in need of our aid. We all swore an oath to defend Britain, sir, and I will not break it now.”

Cameron hit her. He was a tall man, and strong, and his punch sent her reeling across the room. As she came to her feet, he levelled a finger at her, and let loose a blast of energy. The bolt took Joyce in the chest, lifted her off her feet, and slammed her into the wall. She fell to the floor and lay there, unconscious.

Cameron's eyes, the spark of madness burning deep within them, swept over the council members. He raised his hand, and stared at them.

“Seal. The Guild. Now.” 

One of the younger councilmen began to rise, and Cameron blasted him back into his seat.

“I gave you all an order. Do as you're told.”

The members of the Guild council shared a look. Doris Markham, one of the oldest members of the council, glared impotently at Cameron.

“We will do this, sir, but understand that it is under protest.”

She placed her hand on the table, and glanced around her fellows. Each of them, including the young man Cameron had assaulted, placed their hands on the segment of the round table before them. The gold hub at the centre of the table began to glow.

***

Outside the Guild building, the empty street was free of observers. Had there been people outside, they would have seen a light golden haze rise from the paving stones around the building, creeping up the side of the stones like ivy, coating the windows in a golden sheen.

The Guild had sealed itself from the outside world, becoming a bastion against the darkness. But with all the most powerful mages in London sealed inside, there would be no-one left to face the darkness.

Cameron, however, had already made the mistake of discounting the agents of the Order of Britain.

Callum glanced down the hallway, and then back towards his colleagues.

“Alright, Cameron has sealed the Guild, because he's a bloody idiot. We need to get to Clarence.”

“I really don't like this idea, Callum,” Gordon said. “You're talking about a high mages challenge – that hasn't been done in seven hundred years.”

“If you've got an alternative, I'm open to it,” Callum muttered.

He glanced down the hallway again, watching the guards outside Clarence's rooms.

“Right. Let's do this.”

He focussed, and muttered a spell under his breath. As if he'd never been there, he vanished. Gordon let out a breath, and stepped into the corridor, walking purposefully towards the ex-chairman's quarters. One of the guards glanced at the bespectacled little man and frowned.

“What are you after, Gordon?”

Gordon shrugged, and raised his briefcase.

“Papers for Mr Somerby to sign.”

“What, now? With the Guild sealed off and all that chaos outside?”

Gordon gave him a wry smile.

“Do you really expect Mr Cameron to let me stop working, even with everything going on?”

The two guards shared a look, and laughed.

“You make a good point, Gordon. We have to search the case, is that okay?”

“Of course.”

Gordon held the case lengthways, and popped the clips. The lid sprang open to reveal sheaths of paper.

“God almighty, what is all this?” the guard asked.

“Transfer of accounts, authority statements. You know what it's like, any change around here generates paperwork.” He smiled.

“Rather you than me. Alright, I'll let you through.”

Her pushed open the door, and Gordon entered the room. Clarence was sat at his desk, meticulously writing notes on a sheet of paper. He looked up as the researcher entered, and smiled.

“Ah, Mr Daltrey, how good to see you.” He glanced at the guard. “Thankyou, Roger. You may go.”

The guard nodded, and exited the room, shutting the door behind him. Clarence settled his bulky frame back into his chair, and steepled his fingers.

“And now, Mr Drake, if you would care to drop that cloaking spell?”

Callum appeared in the room, fading into view as if emerging from the fog.

“You knew?” He asked,

“Of course I did. In some ways, my boy, you're rather predictable. Can I ask what you're doing here?”

“We need to get out of the building,” Callum said. “I thought you might be able to help us with that.”

“I assume your usual methods are unavailable?”

Gordon nodded.

“Mr Cameron has sealed the Guild. We're cut off.”

Clarence's eyes gleamed.

“Is that so? Ah well.” He heaved himself to his feet. “I was rather hoping to get a day or two of rest out of Cameron's little coup, but needs must when the devil knocks, I suppose.”