Redlaw - 01 (18 page)

Her voice took on an icy formality.

“John Redlaw, I am hereby stripping you of all rank and entitlement pertaining to your role as an officer in the Sunless Housing And Disclosure Executive. Effective immediately, you are no longer permitted to function in any capacity in, for or on behalf of SHADE, and any attempt to do so shall constitute a breach of the law, punishable by incarceration.”

It wasn’t unexpected. It had, in fact, been more or a less a foregone conclusion from the moment Redlaw threw in his lot with Illyria. It came as a shock, nonetheless, to hear Macarthur actually utter the words—to listen to the convoluted phrasing which, boiled down to its essence, amounted to
You’re fired
.

“I’m not glad I’ve had to do this,” she concluded. “It’s a sad day for us all. But you left me no choice, John.”

“I understand, marm.”

“I hope you do. And all I can advise now, as a friend, is turn yourself in. Abandon this path you’re on, this lunatic crusade or whatever it is. It won’t do you any good. Come in to HQ and we’ll see if we can’t smooth things over and make it easy on you. I’m sure I can convince BovPlas not to press charges. Maybe, given your long and exemplary service up to this point, we can even salvage your pension, which, needless to say, as matters stand, is forfeit. Otherwise...”

“Go on.”

“Well, otherwise, John,” Macarthur said, and sorrow vied with severity in her tone, “there’ll be nothing for it but to regard you as an enemy of SHADE, hostile to the Executive and all its aims.”

“No better than a rogue Sunless.”

“If you like.”

“Off-reservation and liable for dusting.”

“I wouldn’t put it quite so melodramatically.”

“But to be arrested on sight, captured by force if necessary.”

“You’d have no one to blame but yourself. One last time, John. Give it up. Come in.”

Redlaw was silent a while.

“John?”

“It’s going to have to be a ‘no,’ marm,” he said finally. “What I’m uncovering here, if it is what I think it is, is major-league. But I need my freedom if I’m to have any hope of excavating all the way to the truth.”

“At the expense of your whole future?”

“My future set against the future of countless humans and Sunless, maybe even the future of this country.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“If I’m wrong, I’m wrong,” said Redlaw. “But if I’m right, then somebody is trying to caused a rift between us and ’Lesses, for some self-serving purpose. Could be Stokers, could be another party we know nothing about yet. But if I don’t nail this soon, there’s going to be curfews, martial law, reprisal attacks, civil strife and Heaven knows what else.”

“John?”

“Yes?”

“You’re a fool,” Macarthur said, and hung up.

Illyria negotiated a series of mini roundabouts, passing between the hulking, temple-like edifices of outlet, DIY and department stores. At last she brought the truck to rest in a car park wedged between a railway embankment and the rear of a supermarket. She killed the engine and looked across at Redlaw.

“That was not a good phone call.”

“Not especially.” He tried to smile, but it just looked forlorn. “On the minus side, I’ve sacrificed almost everything I hold dear and made myself a wanted man. On the plus side... Well, there is no plus side as far as I can see.”

“At least things can’t get much worse.”

“There is that.” Redlaw got out of the truck for a breath of fresh air. “Oh, and my shoulder’s still hurting like hell. I forgot to mention that. Not helped by all your driving shenanigans.”

“There’s gratitude for you.” Illyria also exited the cab, leaping down with a lithe, feline grace. “You wanted me to get us away from those Night Brigaders without causing any injury or loss of life, I managed it, and now you complain because it made the journey a bit rough? Are you always so damn hard to please?”

“Are you always so damn prickly?” Redlaw snapped back.

“Prickly?
I’m
prickly?”

Their voices rose, echoing across the empty parking spaces and the conga lines of chained-up shopping trolleys.

“Yes, prickly,” said Redlaw. “Sensitive to criticism. Quick to take offence. And snooty, too. What were you, some kind of Albanian aristocrat before you were turned? Or were you a commoner but you think you’re special now because a shtriga isn’t your average vampire, as you never tire of telling me? One way or the other, you’ve got several world-class tickets on yourself, Miss Strakosha.”

“Oh, and you haven’t, Mr Redlaw?” Illyria retorted. “The way you barged into Livingstone Heights that first night, into my home, without so much as a by-your-leave...”

“I was entirely within my rights, as stipulated in the Sunless Settlement Act. I had due cause to enter the building, being in pursuit of a Sunless who was germane to an enquiry that was ongo—”

“Bureaucratic balderdash. My home!”

“Technically, the borough’s, not yours. You have no property rights. You’re not even a tenant. If you’re anything, you’re a squatter. But we’ll overlook that little nicety, shall we?”

“I live there.”

“Live? Again, technically...”

Illyria let out an infuriated growl, baring her fangs. “Are you trying to provoke me to violence? You’ve hit rock bottom and this is some kind of coward’s suicide bid?”

“You couldn’t take me. Not even on your best day.”

“Don’t tempt me. Gun or no, I could still—”

She broke off and raised her head, sniffing the breeze.

“What?” said Redlaw. “Finish the thought. Gun or no, you could still...?”

“Redlaw,” she said softly. “You know I told you things can’t get much worse?”

“Yes.”

“I may have been mistaken, old bean.”

At the brow of the railway embankment a stooped figure appeared, silhouetted against the orange-brown sky. More figures joined the first, loping into view, heads up, questing.

Illyria glanced at the truck. There were streaks of wet cattle blood on the bodywork. Not much of it, not even a pint in total, but enough. Enough to give off an alluring aroma to those that could detect it.

The vampires atop the embankment gave moans of appreciation, and hunger, then set off down the slope, bounding through the dense growth of brambles and nettles like hounds on the trail of a hare.

There were perhaps a score of them in all, and nothing stood between them and the BovPlas truck.

Nothing except Illyria and Redlaw.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Redlaw’s hand immediately, instinctively, went to his Cindermaker, and a sudden burst of agony left him bent double, almost whimpering. His shoulder felt as though it was tearing itself open.

Trembling with the pain, he groped for the gun with his left hand and fumblingly unholstered it. The Cindermaker felt ungainly and off-balance as he lifted it. What had been a trusty servant on his dominant side was an unruly mutineer on his non-dominant. Then there was the matter of drawing back the slide, which his right arm refused to make easy for him. Even aiming was tricky. Sighting along the barrel with his left eye just seemed wrong.

Never mind, Redlaw. You’ll just have to do your best
.

The vampires flowed across the car park, fanning out into a ragged line. Their focus was on the truck, their prize, but they were all too aware of the presence of Redlaw and Illyria.

“Neasden,” Redlaw muttered to Illyria. “That’s where this lot are from, I’ll bet. The Neasden SRA’s not far from here. They’ve broken out.”

“Or been driven out by humans laying siege.”

“Still, not where they should be.”

“It isn’t wrong to run away from somewhere if you’re not safe there.”

“Dusting them’s the only answer, though.”

“No!” Illyria said, with vehemence. “Not necessarily. Maybe I can resolve this without you resorting to blasting away with that weapon of yours—which, by the by, you look like you can barely hold. I’m a vampire too. I can talk to them.”

Redlaw weighed it up. He wasn’t, he had to accept, anywhere near his fighting peak. He wasn’t, for that matter, a SHADE officer any more, and so was under no professional imperative to destroy these or any other vampires. The only good reason to start shooting at them was self-preservation, and Illyria was holding out the possibility that that might not be an issue here.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s give it a bash. Your way first, and if that fails, then mine.”

Illyria gave him a look of approval that was just discernibly condescending. Then she turned and addressed the approaching Sunless, who were now only a few metres off.

“Listen to me, my friends. It may not look like it but we mean you no harm. You want what’s in this truck? Then have it. Feel free. In return, all I and the human wish is to be allowed to go on our way, unmolested. Do we have a deal?”

The vampires halted, exchanging glances. They were nonplussed, unconvinced. Redlaw himself wouldn’t have made as generous an opening bid as Illyria was making, especially considering that the blood might well be dangerous. But it was her show. For now.

“Who are you?” one of the vampires demanded, a girl who must have been barely in her twenties when she’d been turned. She was dreadlocked and nose-ringed and spoke with a London accent—a local victim from the early days, most likely, before the UK government girded its loins and started implementing measures like the Settlement Act and SHADE.

“I am Illyria Strakosha and I am one of you.”

“No, you’re not,” the girl shot back. “You don’t look right. You don’t
smell
right. I’m not sure what you are, but I don’t like your face and I really don’t like you being with him.” She jabbed a finger in Redlaw’s direction. Her talons gleamed with black nail varnish. “Fucking shady there. You and him, all cosy together, and him waving his ruddy great cannon at us. You’re ‘one of us,’ why ain’t you ripped the bastard’s lungs out?”

The others grunted and growled in accord.

Illyria gazed at them, placid, imperious. “Redlaw and I have set aside our differences for the time being, in pursuit of a common goal.”

Probably shouldn’t have told them who I am
, Redlaw thought. Mention of his name brought agitated hisses from the tongues of several of the vampires, and the crimson malevolence in their eyes darkened.

“So you’re Redlaw,” the girl said, looking him over from head to toe. “Shorter than I expected. I always imagined you was a giant, the way everyone goes on about you. But you’re just an old man. Bit wobbly on your pins, too, looks like.” She put her hand on her hip. “Can’t say I’m impressed.”

“Your opinion is of no consequence, child,” said Illyria. “Let me repeat. We don’t want trouble. The truck is yours. It has most of its load left—more cattle blood than the twenty of you can possibly drink in one go. Gorge on it. Enjoy it. But leave us be.”

One of the vampires muttered something about a trap, and others agreed.

“Yeah,” said the girl. “Talk about too good to be true. We’ve just left our Residential Area, where we’re supposedly protected, and where all night long shadies have been garlicking and holy watering us all to buggery and Stokers have been lobbing Molotov fucking cocktails at us over the fence, and now here’s another shady and some hoity-toity cow offering us a BovPlas truck to do with as we please, no strings attached, and we’re meant to just go ‘Oh, okay, that’s nice, thank you very much’? Yeah, right. Pull the other one.”

Redlaw could see that Illyria was making every effort to keep her cool and finding it next to impossible. The Sunless girl had no idea what she was dealing with, just what sort of beast this was whose tail she was tweaking.

“Why should I deceive you? Why betray my own kind? I’m presenting you with a generous free gift. You can do me the courtesy of accepting it.”

“Free,” said the girl, “but it buys you and the shady your lives.”

“My life,” said Illyria hotly, “is not yours to take, you ignorant little slut.”

Redlaw knew then that this was not going to end well.

“Slut, am I?” the girl replied. “Least I’m not a dry-titted old hag who hangs out with Sunless Public Enemy Number One. What d’you get out of it, being with him? A cheap thrill? Tips on how to knock us off? Because obviously we’re lesser beings, not good enough to mix with the likes of—”

She didn’t say anything further. She couldn’t. Where she had had a throat there was suddenly a cavity, tatter-edged, running crosswise over the front of her neck, narrow but deep. Had she been human, blood would have fountained out, drenching the ground. As it was, the wound merely oozed drips of the glutinous fluid that suffused a vampire’s body.

The girl lifted a disbelieving hand; touched the gouge; frowned at the sticky dark stuff that came away on her fingertips.

Then, with a single swiping blow, Illyria finished what she’d started, taking the girl’s head clean off. Decapitated, the body crumpled to the tarmac, turning to ashes as it fell.

There was a moment of shock. No one moved. Then another of the vampires, grey-haired and bearded like a grandfather, sprang at Illyria with a vengeful yowl. He was fast, but she was faster—infinitely faster. He looked almost astonished to discover that she had evaded his leap and punched a hole clear through his ribcage. His baffled face was the last part of him to disintegrate.