The Dark Detective: Venator (21 page)

“Right,” said Max. “We have to assume that the Bruce woman knows about you, because I’m guessing she’s got the doppelganger
Malleus
and was only waiting till now to find out who could read it.”

“Mmm,” said Sophie moodily, “I think we have to assume she’ll know everything: all about me and all about you, too. I don’t think trying to pass myself off as one of her minions is going to work.”

“Agreed. And she’ll know we’ve got the amulet, too, seeing as her Brood escort never materialised at the press conference. That’ll be her main target: well, you and the amulet, but she’ll probably want to be discreet – at least until she’s summoned the Mother completely. Once she’s got the amulet’s power she won’t care who sees her for what she really is. That buys us some time. She’ll want to get us on our own – which is exactly what we want, too.”

“It sounds just perfect,” said Sophie coldly. “She lures us into an empty room. We go with smiles on our faces. Then she rips you limb from limb, swallows your soul and sends me for permanent termination. Yes, just super.”

“Sophie! Have a little faith – or whatever passes for faith in the demon world. The
Malleus
said that you’re the Saviour of the world, remember? We’ve got this far.”

“Save your pep talk for the tourists,” snarled Sophie. “If these are my last minutes as a conscious entity, I’d rather not have to listen to you bleating greeting card inanities at me.”

Her near drowning in the Thames hadn’t improved her temper.

“Fair enough,” said Max.

She certainly had a way of telling it like it was.

Darkness blossomed over the Tower and the temperature dropped dramatically. The Thames began to freeze – something that hadn’t happened in over 200 years – let alone in summer.

Max peered cautiously into the cobbled courtyard of the main entrance. The only other entrance was the watery one of Traitor’s Gate; somehow Max didn’t think he’d be getting Sophie anywhere near the Thames again today – even though he guessed she’d like the name.

A fleet of black sedans encircled an enormous limousine in the courtyard.

Max was on tenterhooks, waiting to see whether or not the Bruce woman’s security staff were human or demon, although he suspected he already knew the answer.

The men getting out of the first car wore dark suits, white shirts and dark glasses. They were also swathed in a violent purple aura.

“Ng’ demons,” whispered Sophie. “Level Twos – like to inflict pain.”

The next sedan was filled with similarly dressed men, but their aura was olive green.

“Brood,” whispered Max.

The last sedan had still more security staff: these had jet black auras.

Max didn’t need Sophie to tell him that these were Level Three Mamlaka demons – real nasty ones. He’d read that their speciality was to absorb the brain energy of humans without actually killing them. But it left the humans damaged and unable to communicate or function as people and yet still subject to the most appalling nightmares.

It was strange to think that less than 72 hours ago he had never seen a Level 3 demon. Max decided he’d give an awful lot to wind back the clock.

“So we’ve got four Level Twos and eight Level Threes,” said Sophie, totting up the number of opponents. Did I mention, Max, darling, that I wish I’d never met you?”

“Sophie!” said Max, “You really know how to hurt my feelings.”

He felt her look of disdain bounce off his damp, leather overcoat.

Lily Bruce stepped out of her limousine, smiling. She’d certainly grown more powerful since the press conference because Max could see that the aura surrounding her was so vast that it reminded him of a huge, towering thundercloud.

With the President Elect were three female demons, smartly dressed in stylish suits.

“Oyeb demons,” whispered Sophie. “Level Threes. Very rare to find them cooperating with other demons – they believe that everyone is their enemy.”

“And the hits just keep on coming,” said Max to himself.

The Presidential party was ushered into the Tower by a bemused looking Beefeater.

Max squeezed into the back of the room where the official photographs were being taken. The chief Yeoman Warder coldly appraised his crumpled and filthy suit. Max stared back and the man quietly took a step sideways, bumping into trays of delicate sandwiches laid out on large, silver salvers.

Max marvelled at the British ability to produce sandwiches in the face of an apocalypse.

The President Elect was rather tense. Her eyes swung round towards Max. He felt a sudden, physical pain in his chest and a constriction around his throat, cutting off his windpipe.

“Max!” hissed Sophie, her voice filled with urgency. “Break eye contact! Now!”

Every nerve screamed at Max to do as she said, but he was unable to take his eyes from the woman’s face.

Sophie took swift and decisive action: she slapped him smartly across the face. Several Beefeaters looked around in surprise as the sharp crack echoed around the room.

The force of her blow jerked Max’s head to one side, breaking his eye contact with the Mother.

He rubbed his reddening cheek.

“Lover’s tiff,” he said to the astonished bystanders. “Thanks, Sophie,” he wheezed. “I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry, Max, darling, I’m keeping a tally,” said Sophie, smiling happily.

The President Elect had made a tactical mistake: she had revealed her weapon to Max too early. It showed that she was off balance, unused to the new power that was flooding through her. Max knew that this gave them a slight – and temporary – advantage.

“Sophie,” he whispered, “does eye contact with her affect you in the same way as it does me?”

“Probably,” said Sophie. “I think she’d struggle to control Level Threes quite so easily, but I suspect that demons like me are simple fare for her, after that little demonstration. At least, I would have thought so.”

“So we need something to get round the Medusa touch,” said Max.

He glanced at the sandwich trays.

A hint of a smile formed on Sophie’s lovely face.

“Are you suggesting that we steal some of these highly polished silver salvers?” she said, “in the absence of any handy, portable mirrors? It’s a good thing I still have my gloves.”

“Borrow, Sophie, borrow,” said Max. “Let’s hope that if we don’t look at her directly, we won’t be affected – or at least not so badly.”

“Of course that’ll work, Max, darling,” said Sophie. “Magicks can’t go round corners, it has to travel in a straight line – surely you know that?”

Max shrugged. He wasn’t going to admit to her that he’d never heard that one before. He scooped up the two silver salvers, tipping the delicate sandwiches onto a table and handed one to Sophie.

His attention was drawn to four men in dark suits moving through the crowd.

“Uh oh, we’ve got trouble,” breathed Max.

The President Elect had used their momentary distraction to her advantage. The Ng’ demons were moving towards them in a pincer movement, forcing them from the Stateroom into an empty reception room.

As discreetly as possible, Max and Sophie edged into the anteroom. Sophie took position behind a heavy and rather ugly Jacobean desk with thick mahogany drawers.

Max sprinted to the far end of the reception room and hid behind some heavy drapes. He held his breath. His heart thumping in his chest sounded unnaturally loud.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” chanted the Ng’ demons. “We know you’re here, little mice. Come out and play with the cat. Hssss!”

“Weapons!” hissed Sophie.

Max tossed her a water pistol and some silver letter openers. He saved the crossbow and gold censer for himself.

Sophie let rip first with the Holy water pistol.

“You’re too stupid to live!” she yelled.

It was immediately obvious that the Holy water was hurting the Ng’ demons but not killing them. Max said a swift prayer under his breath then took aim with the first of the silver letter openers.

He struck the tallest Ng’ demon in the face and had the disgusting sight of seeing the skin peeling away like an over-ripe melon, revealing a tiny, porridge-coloured brain.

The brain writhed around before attempting to leap out of its stolen body and landed with a squishing sound on the rich carpet. It was wriggling its way towards Max when it was promptly terminated by the heel of his boot.

The combination of Holy water and silver letter openers quickly despatched the other three demons, but not before Max’s boots were completely ruined. He looked like he’d been wrestling a slime monster.

Sophie was frowning down at her wrinkled, slime-spattered dress.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said.

“What?!”

“I’m not meeting the end of the world looking like this!” she snorted. “People will talk!” and she stalked off.

Max gaped in disbelief. Her timing really was something else.

She returned, as she’d promised, in one minute. She was magically restored to catwalk elegance, as fresh as a lily and twice as beautiful.

Max had to smile.

“Sophie, how come I look like I’ve been sleeping in a rubbish dump and you look like you’ve just stepped out of a photo shoot for
Vogue
? How do you do it?”

“Scotchguard, Max darling. You should try it.”

He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

He forced his mind to concentrate on the job in hand.

“Hopefully,” said Max, “the Bruce woman will send more of her henchmen to find out if the Ng’ were successful. I bet they’re itching to get in here and join the fun.”

“Mmm,” said Sophie. “They’d probably have been here sooner but were warned off: the Mamlaka don’t play well with others. Things could get interesting if she sends all eight together.”

“She won’t risk her best soldiers just yet,” said Max. “She’ll send the Brood next. Don’t underestimate them though; we’ve been lucky so far. Let’s get out of this rat trap – we don’t want to make things easier than necessary for them.”

Max headed for the stone staircase that led off the Reception room.

He skidded to a halt in front of the Jewel Room. It was the part of the Tower that guarded the Crown Jewels. He stared at the poster that showed HRH’s amassed jewel collection. There was the State Diadem, the Coronation Crown, a variety of swords, sceptres and orbs – and an amulet.

“Really, Max, darling,” said Sophie. “Whilst I admire your interest in British history – and some rather stunning and unique jewellery – is this really the time for sight-seeing?”

“Look!” said Max. “Doesn’t that remind you of anything?”

Sophie stared where he was pointing at on the poster.

“Why! It looks just like the Mother’s Amulet. Do you think...?”

“Let’s find out,” said Max.

“Oh fun!” said Sophie. “Now it really does feel like the end of the world: we’re going to steal the Crown Jewels!”

“Just one of them,” warned Max.

“Spoilsport!”

Max used his mystical key to open the door to the Jewel Room. It was like walking into Aladdin’s cave. Sophie’s eyes glowed with greed.

“Just a teensy weensy one, Max, darling? Nobody would notice.”

“No.”

Sophie pouted.

Max spotted the amulet immediately. It stood out from all the more splendid and valuable objects around it – which probably had something to do with the fact that ice was forming on the display case around it.

Sophie smashed her silver salver into the case with inhuman strength. The glass shattered.

“Sophie! I have a key!” said Max, shaking his head.

“Oh! Silly me!” said Sophie, laughing like a blocked vacuum cleaner. “Oops!”

Max sighed.

He picked up the amulet and dropped it instantly. It was almost too cold to touch. He stared at it lying on a bed of purple velvet, surrounded by shards of glass.

“What do you reckon? Is this the doppelganger for the Mother’s Amulet?”

Sophie picked up the jewel and laid it in her hand. Apparently she was immune to the icy cold.

“Yes. There’s no doubt,” she said. “But even so, it feels different to the Mother’s Amulet.”

“Sophie! I haven’t got time for twenty questions: how is it different and can it help us?”

“I’m not a Malka demon,” she sniffed. “It just feels different. All I can tell you is that... it’s the opposite of the Mother’s Amulet.”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?” said Max, the frustration clear in his voice.

“I don’t know so there’s no point shouting at me,” said Sophie stiffly. “It’s an instinct – and that instinct tells me its powers are the
opposite
of the Mother’s Amulet.”

Max felt like his brain was going to explode. He breathed deeply, trying to ignore the voice in his head that reminded him the world would be ending in approximately half an hour.

“Okay. Let’s think this through. The Mother’s Amulet
increases
mystical powers – right? So, if you say this does the opposite, then it must
decrease
powers.”

Sophie shrugged her shoulders. “It’s possible. But you could be wrong.”

Max felt a migraine coming on.

He made a decision.

“The Bruce woman knows we’ve got the Mother’s Amulet. I don’t see how she could possibly know we’ve got this one. If we get the chance, we’ll give her the wrong one.”

“Good idea,” said Sophie. “Let’s annoy the most powerful demonic force currently on the planet and live for an extra 30 seconds so she can eviscerate us, starting with our eyeballs. Great idea.”

“I’m willing to hear any better ones you’ve got,” said Max sharply.

Sophie was silent.

Max pocketed the amulet.

They both heard the footsteps behind them at the same time.

“Quick!” said Max. “Up here!”

They ran up the nearest turret and laid their ambush in a narrow corridor. Max tied a piece of silver wire half way down it – if the Brood moved up the stairs quickly enough, they’d decapitate themselves and save him the effort.

He placed Sophie at the end of the corridor.

“Look as if you’ve realised it’s a dead end. You’ll make the perfect bait.”

“Why do I have to always be the bait?” said Sophie crossly.