Ghost Dance (15 page)

"Three more bridges, maybe ten minutes," the other man said. "It's under the Mathematical Bridge. Urban legend says Isaac Newton built it, but that's bullshit. William Etheridge designed it to be an occult focus: oak above, water below. The mirror's mystically invisible there."

"But not actually invisible," Morgan said, and Coby grimaced and shook his head.

A second later, they were nosing between two more punts and Lahav was powering from beneath the bridge. He wasn't punting his own boat. A broad-shouldered man leaned on the pole behind him, teeth gritted as he put all the power of his back into each stroke. Was he another Israeli agent, Morgan wondered, or just a hired hand?

He realised it didn't matter as Lahav's eyes hunted and trapped his. This man alone was dangerous enough. There was another boat in front of the Israeli, a punt overloaded with drunk teens. It drifted sideways, the steering left neglected as the pudgy blonde holding the pole took a swig of champagne straight from the bottle. Morgan saw her throat work as she swallowed. And he heard the crunch of broken bone as Lahav drove an elbow into her nose, knocking her out of his path as his boot swung out to shove the boat clear.

The other people in the boat swore and screamed, but Lahav's expression of grim resolve didn't flicker and he was now only fifteen feet behind Morgan. Morgan could see the knife in his hand glowing red. "What the fuck?" he said to Coby. "The police took that off me. How the hell did he get it back?"

"It's not the blade that matters," Coby said. "It's the hand holding it."

Another bridge was approaching, two low stone arches spanning green banks. Stone spheres lined the railing above. Morgan didn't have time to think as the prow of their punt slid under it. He bent his knees and jumped.

Only his fingertips hooked over the top of the bridge and they took all of his weight. His arms screamed with the strain and his heart pumped too hard. Above him he could hear laughter and he imagined he had an audience. His fingertips dug as hard as they could into the rough stone. His T-shirt rucked up, leaving his stomach exposed as he pulled himself up an inch, then another, but there was no leverage and just no way he could get himself any higher.

All the breath huffed out of his body as it dropped and his nails scraped a millimetre nearer the edge of the stone. His feet swung, searching for purchase, but there was nothing except the empty air of the archway.

When he felt the clasp of a hand around his wrist he flinched away from it, almost falling into the water beneath. Another hand closed around his other wrist, fingers tight against the bone, and he made himself relax. It hurt like hell when they jerked upwards, tearing something in his shoulder that he knew he'd feel for days. Then a hand was under his armpit and the pressure on his arms was gone. There was another heave, his legs helping this time, pushing against the stone of the arch, and he was over. He lay on the bridge and stared up at his rescuers.

They grinned down at him, young and pleased with themselves. "Nice one, mate," the redhead said.

Morgan nodded as he stood. He managed a smile and a mumble they could interpret as thanks, but he didn't have any more time for them. When he looked out over the railing he saw that Lahav was almost at the bridge. The Israeli was staring up at him, frowning. His knife was white hot in his hand, brighter than the sunlight.

Morgan pressed a hand against the nearest stone sphere. It didn't move, didn't even rock, probably cemented in place. He'd been expecting that. The bridge was crowded with tourists and a small group of schoolchildren gave him an ironic round of applause.

He shouldered his way through them and ignored their protests. When he'd given himself a fifteen-foot run-up, he turned back round. The two men who'd rescued him were eyeing him curiously. They must have realised some of what he intended to do, because they started to clear a path for him, shoving the onlookers to one side of the bridge or the other. They grinned at him, like this was all a bit laugh, and he supposed for them it was.

He'd always been a strong runner and his thighs tensed and flexed easily as he pushed himself forward. When he was five feet from the railing he leant back and leapt forward, feet outstretched. He saw a brief flash of his helpers' faces, mouths open in shock. And then the shock jarred through his legs as the soles of his feet hit the stone sphere on the brink of the bridge.

His knees flexed and for a second he thought he'd failed. Then there was a crack, a grating of stone, and his legs straightened again as the sphere flew over the edge of the bridge.

He ended almost as he'd begun, hanging by his arms from the edge of the bridge. This time no one rushed to help him, but it didn't matter. He had a better purchase with his elbows hooked over the top, and it only took a moment to pull himself up.

The crowd which had smiled at him backed away, faces white and shocked. He could see several running away, others with their phones to their ears, probably calling the police. He looked back down at the river. The boat was still there, but Lahav was no longer in it and there was a bright spatter of blood across the punt's wooden side.

He wasn't the only one to notice it. His former rescuer leant against the railing beside him, eyes wide. "Bloody hell," he said. "I think you killed him."

Morgan hoped he had, but he didn't want to rely on it. He took one last look at the water - no bubbles rising to the surface, no body either - then strode to the other side of the bridge. A few hands reached out to stop him only to flinch away when he glared at their owners.

It took him a moment to spot Coby's punt in the pack of boats crowding the water. It was nearer than he'd expected, almost close enough to jump to and he swore as he realised the other man must have stopped to wait for him. When Coby's eyes caught his he raised a hand, pointing onward. Without waiting to see the response, he launched himself over the side in a dive that was nearer to a belly flop.

The rank river water rushed through his nostrils to trickle unpleasantly down the back of his throat. He coughed and swam on, blinking his eyes clear. He could hear a hubbub of voices around him and knew there couldn't be a person left in this section of the river whose attention he hadn't drawn.

Coby's punt was harder to spot once you were in the water. Morgan pulled himself over the side of one boat only to find himself looking into the startled eyes of a middle-aged woman. The next boat was full of students and this time he was pushed roughly away with the punt pole, a bruising impact against already sore ribs. The fourth boat was Coby's. The other man didn't look much more pleased to see him than the strangers, but he paused in his poling long enough to haul Morgan over the side.

Morgan lay in the bottom of the boat, absorbing the sun's heat through his soaking wet clothes.

A second later, the rays were blocked by Coby's shadow. "What the hell were you doing back there?" he said.

Morgan shrugged, sighed, and rolled to his hands and knees. "Lahav's in the river - w-e can get the mirror."

Coby's brows drew down, suspicious.

"Get moving," Morgan said. "I don't know how long he'll stay under. Fuck, for all I know the bastard can breathe under water."

Coby frowned at him a moment longer, then shrugged and turned back to the river. It was clearer now, the boats around them hustling to get out of their way. To their left, a wide field of grass opened up, ending in a long, low building and another, tall and over-ornate, that was probably a church. At the end of the grass was another bridge, plainer than the one he'd scaled. Morgan alternated between scanning it and scanning the water behind him. He could see neither pursuit nor police, and Coby had said ten minutes. Surely they were going to make it.

"Next one," Coby said tensely as the shadow of the bridge blotted out the sun.

Then they were through and Morgan could see it ahead. Unlike the others this bridge was wooden, a complex puzzle that arced over the water like a kid's toy from the Early Learning Centre.

"Under there?" he said.

"Beneath it," Coby told him. "There's a null zone below the very centre. The struts form a rune whose shape is only visible from a thirty degree angle. No one who wasn't looking for it would see it, although there've always been rumours. It's been rebuilt twice, but it doesn't matter. The power's in the design, not the material."

Morgan studied the bridge as they drew closer, the complex shadows it cast on the water below. "Which side were they working for, the people who built it?"

"Doesn't really matter, does it? Sometimes our acts count for more than our intentions." He twisted the pole, spinning the boat 180 degrees and bringing it to a halt only a few feet from the centre of the bridge. "I'm not sure what they hid under the bridge originally, it's long gone. But it sure came in handy when I needed to stash the mirror."

"
Beneath
the water?" Morgan said. "Great."

Coby smiled. "Well, I guess you're already wet."

Morgan didn't bother to argue. He wanted the mirror in
his
hands, not Coby's. He was using the other man but he didn't trust him.

His soggy T-shirt clung to his body, tangling his arms as he pulled it off. His jeans were worse. Coby raised his eyebrows as he saw Morgan scraping them down his legs, but he didn't want anything dragging him down once he was underwater.

"How am I gonna find it?" he asked Coby when his jeans were round his ankles. He lifted them above his head, rocking back inelegantly on his hips to tug them off.

"It's in an oak box, about half a foot square," Coby said. "I only hid it three weeks ago, so it shouldn't be buried in silt. I guess you'll just have to feel around."

"Great." Morgan knew if he gave himself time to consider it, he'd reconsider. He
hated
the water. He had only dark memories of what lay beneath it. But he slid himself to the side of the boat, took one deep breath and tumbled over.

He didn't keep his eyes open. There was no point. He kicked with his feet, hands still and spread out in front of him. The bottom came sooner than he'd expected, a slimy brush of mud and weed against his fingertips that made him cringe away before he forced himself forward.

His eyes opened on instinct, but he could see nothing. There was no light beneath the muddy water and he had to fight hard not to panic. He felt his heart pounding as his fingers trailed through the mud. He stayed down as long as he could, until the air was burning in his lungs, but his fingers found nothing except pebbles and eventually he had to kick up to the surface again.

When his head struck wood, he felt a fierce moment of fear before he realised he'd come up beneath the boat. Coby was leaning over to look at him when he'd worked his way to the side.

His face fell when he read Morgan's. "No?" he said. "Nothing?"

Morgan didn't answer, just took another big gulp of air and jackknifed in the water to dive back down. This time his fingers found something solid within seconds, but when he tried to grasp it a piercing agony shot up his arm and he let out a great gulp of air in a silent scream. His feet felt weak as they kicked him to the surface and when he neared it he could see the cloudy trail of blood flowing behind him.

"Jesus," Coby said when Morgan grabbed the side of the punt, only to snatch his hand back with a hiss of pain as the cut on his palm opened wide and oozed blood.

Morgan shook his head, teeth gritted, annoyed with himself. "It's nothing. Just some junk on the bottom of the river. Piece of scrap metal, I think."

"I'm sorry," Coby said, but he didn't look it. His hazel eyes were flat and Morgan thought the only thing he regretted was that Morgan hadn't yet found the mirror.

Morgan didn't much like the idea of diving again with an open wound in his palm. The water was filthy and god knew what sort of infection he could pick up from it. Childish memories of watching
Jaws
crowded his mind, creatures hidden beneath the water which were drawn to blood.

"Fuck," he said, then dove back down into the water.

He used his knuckles to brush the surface this time. The wound ached deeply and he had visions of finding the jagged metal again. He imaged it catching against a finger this time, cutting it through. When he felt something hard beneath the mud he flinched back from it instinctively. But it was smooth and warm: wood, not metal. He'd been down a minute at least and he already felt the burn of oxygen deprivation in his lungs, but if he surfaced for air he'd never find this same spot again.

The box was buried deep in the riverbed, sucked down by the hungry mud. Morgan's fingers were clumsy as they scrabbled to find its edges, digging for purchase. His lungs hurt and his palm throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

When he finally fought it free of the mud's grasp the release of tension opened his mouth and he drew in a lungful of water. After that, it was pure, unreasoning panic. He hugged the box against his chest and kicked his legs and it seemed like nothing more than chance when he finally made it to the surface.

He was further away from the punt his time, and it was hard to tread water with the box pressed to his chest. The blood from his palm seeped into the wood to leave a growing red stain. Coby cursed and poled towards him. As soon as he was within arm's reach, he dropped the pole and fell to his knees, reaching out to grasp the wooden box.

Morgan held on to it stubbornly, kicking with his legs until he was outside the other man's reach.

Coby huffed in irritation. "I can't use it without you," he said. "I'm not going to let you drown."

Morgan hesitated a moment longer, then released his hold on the box and let Coby lift it into the boat. The other man eyed it for a moment, and Morgan knew he was itching to open it, but instead he turned back and helped drag Morgan over the side of the punt for the second time.

He knelt on his discarded jeans and T-shirt, the sun warm on his bare back. "Well?" he said to Coby. "That's it, right?"

Coby nodded, and Morgan could see that his hand was shaking as he reached around his neck and drew out a thick silver chain from beneath his shirt. There was a key hanging from it and Coby leaned forward to fit it into the box's lock.