The Liberators (18 page)

‘I'd forgotten about you, Ivo. Don't think that you were ever important. It is wonderful to have you here, with me, with us, at our final hour – it almost disappoints me that I shall have to kill you before Liberation takes place,' said Strawbones, licking his lips. His tongue, thought Ivo, was too red, too bright.

Ivo saw Felix straighten up.

‘And you.' Strawbones came forwards, step by step, towards Felix. Ivo could see Felix was trembling. Strawbones came within an inch of Felix, and put his long white fingers under Felix's chin. Felix turned his head away. Strawbones slapped Felix suddenly and stood back. Felix said nothing. ‘You,' continued Strawbones. ‘What do you think about all this?'

He's sensed it, thought Ivo. He can feel Felix's need. He knows what Felix thinks. Stay with me, Felix.

As if in answer, Felix snapped his head up and shouted, ‘I hate it! And I hate you!' Phlegm joined his lips together. He scrunched up his eyes.

Mocking laughter engulfed the children, and they shrank back into the wall, feeling it cold and unresponsive behind them.

‘What black fates have you allowed to control your lives?' said Strawbones. ‘What Furies have you set loose upon your souls? You who were so innocent, so happy, so
free
. . .'

‘What are you going to do to us?' said Miranda shakily.

‘I think I've said that before!' said Strawbones. ‘Oh, what was it again, will you remind me? Er . . .'

He pointed at Jennifer, who said, slowly and langorously, ‘Wasn't it something about killing them?'

‘Oh, Ivo, do you hear that sound?' Strawbones exulted.

It was the sound of tramping feet, and he flung the door open into the corridor, and Ivo saw trooping past the figures of the Acolytes. They were in the building, and they were going to surround the guests; at that moment Ivo knew it was over.

‘It is nearly time, Ivo, nearly time. It's a long time since I've had such
fun
,' yelped Strawbones, giving a little jump in the air and kicking his heels together, his whole long body shaking with excitement. ‘Not since I massacred a village in Switzerland in, when was it . . .' He gestured towards Jennifer. She shrugged her shoulders.

‘When was it?' he said again, more forcefully.

She stood up a little, and raised her hands. ‘I . . . I don't know,' she said.

‘When
was it
?' he screamed, and Jennifer quailed.

‘Oh, I forget these things, don't you know,' he said more quietly. Without warning he reached out a hand and grabbed Felix by the neck and began to throttle him. Ivo ran to Strawbones and tried to force his hands off Felix, but Strawbones lifted him up above the ground and flung him aside as if he were a doll. The Acolytes didn't need to do anything. Electricity crackled in the air, and there was a sound like the wind rushing around them; it smelled of battles and flames, the beacon fires of beseiged cities, of infected corpses thrown over walls.

Ivo watched in horror as Felix struggled and gasped, his face going purple, his veins popping out on his forehead like thick ropes. Felix is going to die, he thought, and it is all my fault, and there is nothing that I can do to save him.

Something bashed into Strawbones, and the shock made him release Felix, who collapsed panting on the floor. Miranda immediately pulled him towards her and stood over him protectively.

‘How . . . how could you do that?' said a voice, and Ivo looked in amazement at Jago, who had stormed into the room, disarmed the nymph and, having knocked her over, was now pointing her pistol at Strawbones. The other Acolytes stood at bay. Hunter was behind him, the leopard mask off her face. Then there was a bang, and smoke, and silence. Ivo saw Jago stand over Strawbones, still pointing the pistol at him.

Strawbones lay on the floor, his long body jerking, blood flowing freely from his wrist and from his mouth. Then he sat up, his eyes totally green now – his body all red, caked in coagulate gore – and spat, collapsing into juddering laughter.

‘You . . . are just . . . all . . . so . . .
funny
,' he said, the words coming between gasps. ‘I don't know why you even bother
.'

‘What are you?
' said Jago, his voice curiously edgy now. ‘Tell me what you are. What do you want? What were you doing to that poor boy?'

‘That would take too long to explain,' said Strawbones, reaching out a hand and clutching Miranda by the hem of her dress, drawing her towards him. ‘If you won't let me kill that one, then I guess it will have to be
this
one first.'

‘No!' said Jago; there was an exploding sound, and it seemed to Ivo as if everything had gone very quiet, and very slow, and he watched in awe as a bullet flew from the pistol Jago was holding. A star-shaped, bloody hole appeared in Strawbones's chest. As Strawbones collapsed on to the floor.

Jago took command. Strawbones's body lay limp. The nymphs were petrified by the gun. ‘Quick,' said Jago, and Miranda, Felix and Ivo tore off strips from the sheets around them, and gagged and bound the three nymph and Jennifer.

‘Come on,' said Jago. They ran towards the main galleries.

.

Chapter Nineteen

What are you doing?' shouted Ivo as they ran down the echoing passage. Jago was slightly ahead, Felix to his right; Miranda was by Ivo, Hunter behind them.

Jago replied, ‘I saw what he was doing to Felix . . . it was evil. I thought . . . I don't know what I thought, I was seduced, I can't believe I was taken in by them. They're monsters.' They sprinted down a red-carpeted corridor, old masters flashing by them.

‘Is Strawbones dead?'

‘No. He won't be out for long,' said Hunter suddenly. ‘Here. Wait here.' They turned a corner. They were in a quiet antechamber, a hundred feet or so away from where the main dinner was taking place. Ivo could hear the noise. Hunter shepherded them into a group. Ivo could feel the heat coming off them all. He was panting. Sweat rolled down his cheeks.

‘How did you find us?' Ivo asked Hunter.

‘I was watching Strawbones, and saw Jago, so I followed him. Bob's your uncle, as they might say.' Hunter laughed grimly. Ivo heard Jago sigh. He saw Felix clutching Miranda and moved towards them, but they drew back. He hung on his heels, and then dropped back, into the wall, wishing that it could open and dissolve him.

‘What about our parents?' said Felix roughly. ‘They said they were drugged and bound. We have to find them!'

‘They aren't our first priority,' snapped Hunter. ‘If we don't deal with Julius now, everything will be lost.'

‘Well, I don't care. I'm going to find them.' Felix turned and sprinted off. Miranda made to go after him, but Hunter said quietly, ‘You'll die if you go with him. Stay with us.'

Miranda gulped. She was numb. ‘OK.' She nodded. ‘Just . . . just tell me what to do.'

‘Good girl,' said Hunter.

‘They're not . . . they're not human, are they?' It was Jago. He put the back of his hand to his forehead and leaned against the wall. His carefully slicked-back hair had fallen forwards. His features had softened. He put a finger to his right temple. Ivo looked behind them. Hunter was keeping guard. ‘I've been mad,' Jago said. ‘I don't want this. I never wanted to do this.' He righted himself. He looked at Ivo keenly. ‘Do you know how to stop them?'

‘Yes,' said Ivo, and once more he felt the sharp edge of power inside him.

They ran straight into the gallery where the dining tables had been laid out. It was a cacophony of brayings, commotions, people spilling wine, knocking over glasses with their elbows, rocking back on their chairs, dropping napkins; a dowager with a diamond necklace guffawed, spraying her neighbour with crumbs; an old billionaire who'd pulled himself up by his bootstraps put his arm companionably around the young man sitting next to him, whispering to him the secrets of success; everybody was intent upon their own pleasure, so nobody noticed when the four of them skidded in.

They stood in the wide arch, the red chasm of the gallery yawning in front of them like a mouth, white-jacketed waiters flitting here and there, nymphs shimmying between tables, still part of some performance, still looking as if they had no idea they were in twenty-first-century London.

‘Look,' whispered Ivo to Jago, pointing at the walls surreptitiously with his elbow.

There, for all the world like footmen, were more Acolytes, waiting for their moment. Ivo couldn't tell if they were armed or not. He knew now that many of the nymphs and fauns and satyrs amongst the performers were Acolytes too. He wondered if any of the guests were.

‘What is he going to do?' whispered Jago.

‘He's going to Liberate them all – and us if we stay here . . .' said Hunter.

‘And you mean we'll all become like Strawbones?'

Hunter nodded. Ivo empathised with the terrifed look in his uncle's eyes. But not me, he thought, remembering the riots. I will stay sane, and I'll be torn apart if I cannot escape.

‘You'd better go back to your seat,' Hunter whispered to Jago. ‘Wait there. Defend yourself, defend your loved ones. Don't give in.'

Jago nodded. He turned to Ivo, and put his hand on Ivo's shoulder. His tie had come loose, and the top button of his waistcoat was undone. He was sweating. ‘Ivo . . . I . . . I'm sorry.' He bent down and kissed Ivo on the forehead, and then turned swiftly and paced back to his table. Ivo saw him sit down and nod to Lydia, who looked at him enquiringly.

There was a pinging noise, of a spoon being rapped against a glass, and the whole room was suddenly quiet, apart from the odd cough, and one person who continued to tell a joke until he was shushed by the people around him. The noise of the spoon grew in volume until it seemed to fill the whole room, and as it died, Julius stood up slowly, magnificently. Somewhere some clocks started chiming midnight.

All eyes turned towards Julius. Unobtrusively, a few of the Acolytes made their way to the exits, taking up a stand in the middle of the archways. Hunter, Miranda and Ivo slid over to a pillar and ranged themselves around it.

‘The Thyrsos,' said Ivo, a sickening feeling in his stomach. Julius was holding it casually in his right hand.

‘Your Royal Highnesses,' said Julius, bowing in the direction of the Prince of Wales and his Duchess. ‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming here for such a worthy cause.' All the tables erupted in applause. Some people cheered, one or two got to their feet and raised their glasses. ‘It gives me great pleasure to welcome you all here.' His voice took on an avuncular tone, as if he were a priest giving a Sunday morning sermon. ‘I suppose you're all wondering what you are doing here, really, are you not?' He threw the question out, and there was a puzzled silence, broken by Julius laughing.

‘It is a question that haunts us all – what is it that brings us to this strange rock of a world, spinning for eternity in blackness?'

There were murmurs in the crowd, neighbours whispering to each other; Ivo heard a man saying, ‘What's he on about? Can't we get on to the port?'

‘Well, your Royal Highnesses, ladies, gentlemen . . .' he said, a wicked grin on his face. He raised the Thyrsos. ‘Tonight I will show you why . . .'

A bloody, enraged figure emerged into the gallery from the side, knocking aside some Acolytes. Strawbones advanced, his mouth dripping with blood, his clothes ripped. He was laughing, a horrible, high cackle. He strode up the centre of the room. Lydia saw him, and put down her glass. Her neighbour bent into her. ‘Some kind of performance, eh, Lydia?'

A man, emboldened by wine, stood up as Strawbones walked past. ‘Hey,' he said. ‘What do you think you're doing?'

Strawbones stopped, and turned very slowly on his heels.

‘What?' asked Strawbones.

The man said, louder this time, ‘I said, what do you think you're doing?'

Strawbones tossed his head, so that his long hair rustled and shook. He snapped back around, and waved the man away dismissively. The man advanced. Two Acolytes came forwards and grabbed him by the arms.

‘Lydia,' said her neighbour, ‘going a bit far, isn't it?'

Lydia sat, her eyes reflecting the green lights. Trembling, she knocked over her wine glass and a dark stain spread over her dress.

The Acolytes pushed the man back down into his seat. A roar of sound spilled from the tables. People stood up, knocked over chairs. Through the hubbub, Strawbones marched, tall, terrifying, alien, up the middle aisle, and stood by his brother.

Strawbones, crimson, and Julius, white, stood, each with a hand on the Thyrsos.

‘What is going on?' Ivo heard Lydia's voice rise above the rest. ‘Julius? What are you doing?'

‘Silence!' shouted Julius. The voice was so loud, so full of hellish authority, that, after the last echo had rung out, the room was totally quiet. ‘Do not try to leave. The exits are secured. If you do not cooperate, you will die.'

‘Who the hell are you?' shouted a dowager. She stood up, sheathed in silk, diamonds crowning her head. Ivo saw that she supported herself on a cane. ‘Impudent man!' she cried.

‘Yeah!' came some cries of support. ‘Is this some kind of a joke?'

In answer, Julius merely inclined his head. A shot rang out, and the dowager crumpled, as if she had been no more than a slender white sapling blown over by a gust of wind. Screams rang out around the room, but everyone was too frightened to go to her aid.

Ivo barely noticed the explosion. He had gone into a sort of trance. His mind was fixated upon the two figures standing tall and strong. This was his destiny, this was his fate; he was reaching out his hand and he was taking it. The rest of the room was a blur around him, as if it was happening in another dimension. He slipped away, glinting silver in the light, like a fish under the surface of a stream.

‘Ivo!' whispered Miranda after him, and made to follow, but Hunter held her back. Hunter had seen the look in his eyes, and she thought that she understood. Ivo dropped to the floor.

‘None of you can get out,' said Julius, his voice normal now. ‘I was telling you why you were here. And you should all listen to me, because tomorrow you will all be thanking me – no, more than that, you will be
adoring
me for what is about to happen.

‘How do you all do it?' he continued. ‘How do you all fill your lives with the petty things that you do? Trundling, ever and on, to school, to work, being polite, being kind. You know you have to do these things. You know you don't want to. You know that if you really could, you would be freed from all that. Imagine it!' he said, his tone growing louder. ‘A world without restraint . . . a world in which each and every one of you was liberated from that voice in your head which stops you from doing things. Every thought that you ever suppressed, every action that you didn't fulfil, you will now be able to revel in.'

Ivo was crawling along the carpet, under the tables, avoiding people's feet. The Koptor was glowing and burning, tucked into the waistband of his boxers. He was moving swiftly, mechanically, full of an energy that wasn't his. I will give them freedom, he thought. I am the Liberator, I am and I always have been. I hold destruction in my hands.

‘So, my friends, ready yourselves,' exclaimed Julius. He began to chant, in a language unknown to Ivo, and Strawbones intoned with him, though he was speaking different words; their voices joined together in harmony. It was like before the riot in Oxford Circus; ivy began to grow out of the cracks of the building. Hysteria was overwhelming the guests; Ivo could feel the rumbling of their laughter as he neared Julius and Strawbones.

He came out from under the table nearest to them. The Thyrsos was glowing, emanating a strange and deviant light that glistened and filled the room, casting everything into a deeper hue, making everything look hyper-real, as if he were hallucinating or dreaming. The carpet beneath his hands felt richer, thicker, the breaths he took sent oxygen through his blood faster. He took out the Koptor and watched as it grew into the thin, blade-like weapon, coruscating in the light, its spark and shine reflecting the thousands of little flames that gleamed in the chandelier above, and showing back to him his own face, distorted, devilish, deathly.

A glass crashed beside his hand. He watched it shatter, spilling wine over the floor. He brought himself up, slowly, to his knees, so that his head was bowed; he looked as if he were about to be knighted. His own mind was immune to the ancient song of the Liberators. He moved as if he were wearing armour, ponderous but lethal.

The two brothers were so intent upon their chanting that they did not notice as Ivo got to his feet, feeling the Koptor in his hands as if he had always been meant to use it, as if he had all his life known that this was what he was meant to do.

He walked up to them, the Koptor gripped tightly, so tightly that he felt blood trickling down his hand; he held it horizontally, feeling it break the air as he moved, feeling it sense its prize near.

The brothers were now so close to him that, if he had wished, he could have sliced their heads off; it was then that Julius saw the glimmer of the Koptor and, faltering, stopped chanting; Strawbones did too, and the light from the Thyrsos dimmed.

‘What is this?' screamed Julius. ‘What is this? How dare you! Get back!' His hair was lengthening, his eyes becoming green, his civilised mask falling away.

Julius lashed at Ivo with the Thyrsos, but Ivo neatly sidestepped the blow, like a dancer, his body fast and light. It was as if he could anticipate everything that Julius might do, as if he could interpret the future. His mind was singing, as clear as crystal and as cold as ice.

‘You have forgotten something,' said Ivo, speaking slowly and formally. ‘You who think you are indestructible, you who think you are gods. You have forgotten that you can be destroyed, and by one who is weaker than you. Or maybe you have always known,' said Ivo, as Strawbones lunged at him, teeth bared. Ivo jumped out of the way, the Koptor whistling through the air.

With the Thyrsos dimming, the crowd were coming back to their senses. A commotion broke out. Acolytes pressed in.

‘Ivo!' It was Lydia's voice. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Stay back!' said Jago, grabbing her. ‘Leave him.'