The Memory Keepers (29 page)

89

The car sped through the night-time streets. They heard the wail of sirens in the distance; the London Guard were chasing them. Over the growl of the engine Jacob and Axel discussed the Movement’s plans in low voices. They cut off as the beeping of a tablet sounded.

‘It’s them,’ Axel said, then fell quiet; Seven guessed he was reading a message. A moment later, he let out a shout. ‘They’ve done it! Detonated the bomb! They had to go ahead early as the guards at the Ball just got the message about our break-out – they didn’t want people to start leaving.’

Seven’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Bomb? No one said anything about
bombs
.’

‘Kola told you, Candidate. He said it would be dangerous.’

‘I don’t care what he said! Alba’s there. If she’s hurt –’

Axel cut him off. ‘Look, we’re almost there. Just keep a hold of the gun I gave you and be ready to go.’

‘It’s all right, Seven,’ Dolly said, reaching across Loe to take his hand in hers as Axel fell back into conversation with Jacob. She gave him a small smile. ‘Alba will be fine. I know it. She’s strong, you know. Stronger than anyone gives her credit for.’

Seven’s glower dropped away. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s just  … ’ He trailed off, frowning, a sickening feeling twisting in his stomach.

Something was wrong.

Gazing down, he let go of Dolly’s hand –

And his palm came away slicked with blood.

‘No,’ he breathed. He looked back up, feeling as though he’d just been winded. His voice flew higher. ‘No! You said you weren’t hurt!’

Dolly drew back her hand. She slid it behind her, holding it low on her back. Seven leant over and saw the dark, blooming stain that had spread across the bottom of her pinafore and white of her tights.

‘No!’ he cried again. He jerked forward, grabbing Axel’s shoulder. ‘Stop the car! We need a doctor!’

‘Seven,’ Dolly said gently.

‘Axel, stop the car!’

‘Seven, please.’

Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to face her. Her eyes were filled with tears. Under the cuts and bruises and swollen mess of her face, he saw her then the way Alba saw her: a woman who was more of a family to Alba than her own flesh and blood.

Tears filled Seven’s eyes, too.

‘You’re gonna be just fine,’ he croaked.

But she shook her head. She reached for his hands again. ‘Listen to me. Alba – she is a treasure. She deserves the world. If I find out you’ve hurt her in any way, I’ll be coming for you. Even if it’s from my grave.’

Seven’s face twisted. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘Just promise me.’ Dolly’s hands were grasping his with such a fierceness he could feel her fingernails marking his skin. ‘You’ll keep her safe.’

It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway.

‘Yes. I promise.’

And it wasn’t like promises Seven had made in the past. This promise was different. It was real and true, and Seven knew the moment he made it that he’d spend his life doing everything he could to keep it.

Dolly let go of his hands just as the car growled to a stop. Without Seven noticing, they’d entered the grounds of Hyde Park Estate and pulled up to the Whites’ house. Gold flames flickered in the distance. He heard shouts and screams piercing the night. Figures rushed about in the shivering darkness. The sirens that had been tailing them wailed louder.

‘We’ve got to go,’ said Axel, turning round in the front seat.

Seven shook his head. ‘Dolly and Loe –’

‘Jacob’ll drive them to our getaway spot by the lake. They’ll be safe. Come on.’

Axel opened the door. Sounds that had been muffled now flooded in, sharp and clear. Gunshots rang out. He got up, the car shifting as his weight was lifted, then slammed the door. A moment later, he yanked Seven’s door open.

‘Come on!’ he barked again. ‘Now!’

Seven looked back at Dolly. He was about to tell her he’d see her soon, that he’d find Alba and keep her safe, but then he saw Loe’s expression and how still Dolly had gone, how her eyes were glazed and blank.

The words died in his throat.

‘Seven, go,’ Loe said, looking at him with tear-streaked cheeks.

What else could he do? Biting back his own tears, he turned and stumbled out of the car.

The night was a mess of gunshots and screams. Bursts of light studded the darkness. The glow of the fire at the heart of the Ball made everything look as though it were trembling, like the world was melting away. Or maybe it was because Seven was shaking so hard he was throwing off his own vision.

As the car squealed off behind them, Axel grabbed his hand and led him towards a line of people. Seven thought for a second they were London Guardmen, and his gut swooped.
You bastards
. Then he saw their ragged clothes and realised they were Takeshi’s Bakerloo Boys.

‘I’ve got Candidate Seven!’ shouted Axel over the roar of noise.

The gang lowered their guns, letting them past. Seven guessed they were here to stop anyone entering or leaving the party.

Slowing a little, Axel steered him into the main throng of the Ball. It was chaos. There were people everywhere. Women whose expensive dresses were ripped, men with singed hair, waiters and guests and performers alike all crushing together, straining to leave but beaten back by the studs of the gang’s gunfire. Seven stumbled over a body on the ground. He tried to look back to see who it was but Axel was moving too fast. He pulled him down a narrow path between the back of a bombed-out stage and a line of melting ice statues.

‘Kola!’

Seven looked ahead at Axel’s shout and saw the tall outline of his flatmate crouched next to something on the ground. As they neared, he saw what it was –

A girl.

His heart flew into his mouth. Then he realised the girl had blonde hair and was older than Alba. He sagged with relief but immediately felt sick at himself.

This was still someone. Someone else’s Alba.

As Axel hurried to the girl, Kola stood and turned to Seven. His face was tight.

‘We need you. Now.’

‘Not until I find Alba.’

Frustration flashed across Kola’s face. ‘There’s no time for that! It’s about to begin.’

But Seven was already backing away. ‘I promised!’ he shouted. Then, quieter, ‘I promised Dolly.’

And before Kola could stop him, he span on his heels and ran back into the flame-lit crowds.

90

She didn’t know where to go. What to do. Everywhere she turned there seemed to be something that made her want to turn back, get away: bodies flung across the ground; a woman whose dress was on fire; a man in a purple suit sitting calmly on the edge of a stage, holding the bloody stump of his leg, looking down as though wondering where on earth his foot had got to.

Alba was shunted aside as a man carrying a young child shouldered past her. She only caught the girl’s limp wrist, how one of her little sparkly shoes had fallen off. She stared hopelessly after them, confused about how this had happened, how in a few minutes the whole world had been torn apart, when –

A voice cut through the night air.

A voice she had never quite believed she’d hear again, and yet had never quite believed she wouldn’t.

A voice that put her world back together with one shout.

‘Alba!’

Seven was on her at once. Slamming into her, they staggered back against a broken statue. His arms clung tight around her. She squeezed back, imagining that if they held each other hard enough they could disappear into each other, dissolve away from here. His heartbeat raced under her cheek where her face was pressed to his chest.

When Seven eventually drew back, Alba stood on her toes to kiss him.

‘I was so worried,’ she breathed.

She pulled back to look over him. Though he looked haggard and haunted, Seven didn’t appear to be hurt. His clothes were scuffed but there was nothing that indicated he’d been tortured by the London Guard.

Alba’s mind flicked to her handmaid. ‘Where’s Dolly?’ she asked.

Her heart skipped as she noticed for the first time the red slicking one of Seven’s palms. She glanced down at her dress. Dazed, she saw dark patches smeared where he’d touched her.

She looked back up, something wild dashing through her. ‘Is that  …  blood?’

‘I love you,’ Seven said suddenly.

Alba blinked.

‘I’m sorry, and I love you, and you have to know –’

But before he could go on, a great, booming voice blasted through the fire-torn night.

‘LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, WELCOME TO THIS YEAR’S WINTER-TURN BALL!’

The noise of the ruined party fell at once. It wasn’t silent; there were still sobs, murmurs, cries, the crackle of flames. Gunfire cracked in the distance as the London Guard fought Takeshi’s boys on the edge of the Whites’ grounds. Shouts drifted across on the burnt air. But a chilling hush spread through the crowds at the sudden announcement.

It took Alba a few moments to find the source of the voice. She was still dazed from Seven’s words; had he just told her that he loved her? But why was he sorry about it?
Everyone was turning to the main stage, a large platform backed by a screen that had earlier been drifting with glittering silver snow, but now was a deep blood red. Written across it in bold black print were the words:

THE MEMORY KEEPERS IS MURDER

Alba let out a gasp.

‘Let’s give a round of applause to the White family. They have been such welcoming hosts, have they not?’

No one clapped, apart from the speaker on the stage. He was a tall, slim man, an oriental slant to his elegant features. Dark hair fell to his cheeks. Unlike the rest of the ball-goers’ clothes, his were still immaculate: metallic black suit and white shirt loosened at the top, with a red bow-tie open and slung round his neck. A microphone was clipped round one ear. Though his smile was warm there was an edge to it. Alba could sense the tension thrumming underneath. He was flanked by a group of people; she spotted Kola and Nihail among them.

The Movement.

She wondered why no one was shooting at them. Where were the security guards? The London Guard? Surely they couldn’t all have been killed.

Her stomach flipped at the thought. All those men, all those people who’d just been doing their jobs  … 

Seven shifted closer. He didn’t hold Alba, but there was something protective in the way he stood with his chest pressed to her back, as though ready to shield her at any moment.

‘I love you too,’ she whispered, though she knew he couldn’t hear.

‘I’m sorry for the nature of our entrance,’ the speaker on the stage went on, holding his hands out in an apologetic gesture. His smile vanished. ‘There was no other way to guarantee you would stay to hear us out, to see the things we have to show you. And they must be seen, ladies and gentlemen. It’s finally time for you all to know the truth.’

There were murmurs among the crowd. Alba noticed several people shoving their way through to the stage. She froze, recognising the tall, striding figure of the man who had raised her.

Alastair White’s face was murderous. He was shouting something, but Movement members surged forward, cutting him off as they grabbed him and dragged him on stage along with Christian Burton-Lyon, Rossmund Pearson and a few others Alba didn’t recognise.

Christian Burton-Lyon and Pearson were fighting and shouting, trying to throw off the men holding them, but her father had fallen still. He stood tall and quiet, staring at the speaker at the centre of the stage with such a dark, intense gaze Alba was amazed the man hadn’t keeled over and died.

Something twisted in her heart as she watched him now with the knowledge of what her mother had told her.

Alastair White wasn’t her father.

And at the same time, he was.

Ignoring the struggle going on at the back of the stage, the speaker continued to address the crowd. ‘My name is Kite Sung. I am the leader of the Free Memory Movement, a group dedicated to revealing the despicable practices of these men behind me, among others, and the project they call TMK – The Memory Keepers.’

A ripple ran through the crowd. Alba caught snatches of conversations whirling through the air around her.

‘ …  Memory Keepers  … ?’

‘ …  someone from Intelligence once mentioned something about a TMK  … ’

‘ …  don’t believe it  … ’

‘ …  where the bloody hell is security  … ’

On stage, Kite Sung’s expression was stormy. The dark red of the screen backlit his figure in a glowing halo, casting shadows across his face. He opened his mouth to speak and the crowds fell quiet once more.

‘I have worked on TMK since the very beginning as part of their Science team, led by Harold Merriweather. Some of you knew him, I am sure. A brilliant scientist, but more than that – a brilliant man. When he understood what the results of TMK’s experiments were being used for, he knew he could not continue to stand idly by. Along with me and a few others who knew of the cruel, dark secret of the Memory Keepers, Harold Merriweather formed the Free Memory Movement.’

Sung took a deep breath. For the first time, there was a crack in his façade. His voice shook slightly when he continued.

‘Harold Merriweather would have been here today, addressing you all instead of me, the true leader of the Movement, if he had not been murdered by the London Guard five days ago in a bid to silence him.’

Gasps of shock threaded through the ball-goers. It felt like the air had suddenly thinned, making the night feel even tenser, even more taut.

‘But what’, continued Sung in a low, dangerous voice, ‘is one more murder to men like Alastair White and Rossmund Pearson? Even our very own Lord Minister? What is one more murder to those who kill innocents in cold blood every day?’

He strode to the side of the stage. The other Movement members also shifted to clear the space in front of the screen.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Sung announced, spreading out an arm, ‘let me present to you the truth about The Memory Keepers!’

The screen turned white. A second later, a face flashed onto it, Alba’s heart flying as she took in its tangled flop of hair, those sharp, grey eyes, and that beautiful, beautiful grin, lopsided and messy and just about the best thing in the world.

It was Seven.