The London Pride (5 page)

‘What do you mean?’ said Will, eyes locked on the broken statue as the bells rang through the carillon that came before the ominous single strokes that would sound out the hour.

‘Well, you know like when people say you see a green flash at the moment the sun goes down?’ said Selene. ‘I mean, they say it, but no matter how hard you try and see it, it’s gone before you can, or you blink and miss it.’

The carillon ended, and there was a ponderous beat of silence. Will and Jo stared. Will’s eyes began to sting, but he was not going to blink now until the hour sounded. It was like a staring contest. It seemed like the longest short pause ever. How long could it be? He counted in his head. One elephant. Two elephant, three eleph— blink … Damn, he thought …

He missed it.

At least, he thought he did. Maybe he caught a blur, or perhaps that was his eyelid’s involuntary opening and closing to bring relief to his screaming eyeballs. In the silence the Fusilier had been there with his core burned out and melted, his head flopped horribly back down over his shoulders like a grotesque rucksack on a headless torso. Yet as the resonant ‘bong’ of midnight rang out over the city, he was whole and unbroken, head on his shoulders, staring down High Holborn, eyes steady and alert, rifle held loosely in one hand, leg cocked up on the stony plinth, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

Except he didn’t.

He looked mended and ready for action. But he didn’t move.

‘Wow,’ said Jo. ‘That’s cool.’

‘Hi!’ said Will, looking up into the Fusilier’s face. He waved. ‘I’m down here. Me, Will …’

The Fusilier didn’t look down. Didn’t move at all. Will walked up to the plinth and looked closer.

‘No,’ he said, voice catching in disappointment. ‘That’s frozen. He’s mended but still frozen.’

He looked across at Jo.

‘So much for the 7Ps,’ he said.

‘We just make another plan,’ she said. She didn’t sound convinced. She was trying to put a brave face on it.

‘Yup,’ he said. ‘I’m open to suggestions.’

She shrugged and looked away.

He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He’d been pinning all his hopes on the Fusilier coming back to reassuring life and taking charge. But the soldier was covered in the thin, not-quite-water, not-quite-frost layer of blue, like all the rigid and unmoving people on the streets around them, and was no reassurance at all.

‘All the soldiers is going to be frozen then, love,’ said Selene. ‘Midnight doesn’t break this blue magic, I reckon. That’s going to be the big problem.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I just thought that midnight might heal all. I’m sure someone said that.’

‘Well,’ said Selene. ‘May not have healed all, but it cured something. He isn’t all twisted and torn like he was. So now he’s no worse than the others, and there’s every chance he’ll be right as a trivet, soon as this all gets back to normal.’

She sounded bright and breezy, but it was the kind of bright breeziness adults put on to cover up the fact they were running on wishes rather than solid fact.

‘And exactly how are things going to get back to normal?’ Will said. They were still on their own. And still thrashing.

She chuckled and shrugged. When she raised and lowered her shoulders the cloud of stars moved with her, shrugging too.

‘Haven’t got a Scooby!’ she said. ‘I’d be lying if I said I did, but shall I tell you what I do know …’

‘What?’ he said.

‘Time for you two to come with me. You’re falling asleep on your feet.’

She pirouetted between Will and Jo in a slow twirl of sparkling light that enfolded them both as her hands took theirs. Her grip was warm and firm, and as she pulled them within the aura of her sparkling cloud it felt as if the stars were tickling them gently, in the way bubbles in a champagne glass tickle your nose. It wasn’t a bad feeling at all. It was surprisingly gentle and comforting and lifting to their spirits, and yet at the same time quite relaxing.

It was so lifting and relaxing that Will noticed he was smiling, and yawned before he noticed they were actually being lifted physically too, as Selene flew them up into the night sky of the new-minted day.

‘Wait …’ he said.

‘I think it’s OK,’ said Jo. ‘It feels OK.’

‘And I promise you the beds are going to feel ten times better,’ said Selene as she wafted them over the rooftops. ‘And then after a good night’s sleep you’ll feel like things ain’t so bad after all. Sleep’s a great healer. And I should know. I’m a moon goddess, aren’t I.’

‘Are you?’ said Jo.

Selene chuckled.

‘I might be. I don’t know, tell the truth, quite what I am. Depends on the day. I’m a bit of a hodge-podge of things, like everyone; bit of a mongrel. Moon goddess, lady of the night, sleep-bringer, dream-weaver, sing-a-bit-dance-a-bit girl, sassy star-juggler and all-round bundle of fabulosity is what I am!’

‘Fabulosity,’ yawned Will. ‘S’not even a proper word …’

‘Who wants to be proper when improper is so much more fun?’ she said proudly. ‘Anyway it’s so much more than a word, isn’t it? It’s more like a state of being. Now, hold on, we’re nearly there.’

Jo looked down at the strange cityscape passing beneath their feet. Rooftops made dark islands around which the streets below seemed to flow like canals, the watery effect made by the bluish light coming from the crowds of static pedestrians on the pavements.

She could see Filax running along beneath them, looking up to check their progress. She tapped Will on the shoulder and pointed.

‘That’s some guard dog you got there,’ said Selene, following the direction of Jo’s finger. ‘Never seen one like him before. He’s tenacious!’

‘Have you seen anything like
any
of this before?’ Will said.

‘No,’ said Selene. ‘No. But no fears, my dears! If there’s one thing I’ve learned from a life spent stooging round in Soho, it’s that nothing new is bad just because you haven’t seen it before. Some of the most shockingly new things turn out lovely when you least expect it.’

‘And some don’t,’ said Will.

‘But some do,’ insisted Selene. ‘Chin up. What I believe is the universe likes to even things out. So just like night balances day, good eventually makes up for badness.’

‘That’s just optimism,’ said Will.

‘No,’ said Selene. ‘That’s fabulosity.’ She grinned at Jo. ‘But optimism’s a good start too. We’re here.’

And she dipped and flew them down towards the front door of a very smart-looking hotel.

‘Now. There’ll be a room on the fourth floor, on the corner, just for you. Door’s open. You’ll have to take the stairs. But I’ll be up there guarding you all night.’

She pointed at a plinth on the wall directly over the door.

‘You’ll be safe as hotels, which is much safer than houses. I’m here to guard you, but don’t wander about. Sleep tight. And don’t leave the room unless it’s me or Tragedy comes for you. OK?’

Will wanted to say nothing was OK, that they should be trying to get all this sorted, but the wave of tiredness engulfing him was too strong.

Jo took his arm.

‘You want me to carry your shield thing? You look exhausted.’

He looked at her, leaning on her stick, smiling gamely despite the dark rings under her eyes.

‘No,’ he said, hefting the dragon shield onto his shoulder by the strap. ‘No. I’m fine. But Selene – I mean Sal – is right: we need to sleep.’

There was a panting noise and Filax bounded up to lick Jo’s and Will’s hands. Will ruffled his fur.

‘Good dog,’ he said.

Selene smiled and gestured towards the doors, her hands leaving a wash of stars trailing in the air behind them. The doors swung open.

‘Sweet dreams,’ she said with an encouraging smile. ‘Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.’

The Temple Bar dragon flew in low over the buildings to the east of the forecourt that separated the portico of the British Museum from the road in front. The frozen soldier-statues had been cleared away, and the only figures now standing there were knots of frozen people, glowing as if coated with the blue frost.

He landed without a bump, going from flying to walking without even the hint of a jolt. He strode confidently, straight up the steps, and walked towards the large double doors that barred the entrance.

He tried to open them. They stayed shut. He rattled the handles. Nothing moved. He raised his talons, bunched them into a tight metal fist and clubbed imperiously on the doors, three times.

Then he stepped back and listened for any movement from inside.

Within the museum, in the Egyptian Sculpture Gallery the lioness-women looked at each other. Bast lay sleeping beneath the pool of blue light in the deep man-shaped depression at the centre of the sarcophagus. The sound of three more knocks echoed across the Great Courtyard.

The look they exchanged now was more urgent. One nudged another and the nudgee passed it on to the next one. It was clear they were all trying not to be the one who woke Bast.

Three more knocks and then a low roaring noise, like a wind.

This new noise broke the spell.

It would, it appeared, have to be investigated.

Two of them left the others and walked out. As they threaded through the unmoving crowd of visitors they saw a new and different light beginning to glow from within the entrance hall, and they hefted their sticks and picked up the pace, jogging towards it.

‘It’ was the glow of wildfire-heated metal.

Outside the heavy doors the Temple Bar dragon had got tired of waiting. He was now
reasonably
calmly breathing fire on the doors, heating the metal so that it popped and crackled as it became red-hot and began to shimmer in the heat. It was a very controlled thing, almost surgical in its precision.

Inside the doors the lioness-women saw the metal beginning to glow, and one turned and ran back to the Egyptian Gallery.

The front runner skidded to a halt, gulped, then leaned over the sarcophagus and reached down with her stick, hesitating for an instant before poking the sleeping Bast.

The others all stepped another couple of paces back, looking at the would-be poker with a mixture of apprehension and respect. The poker looked back at them, shrugged and was about to jab the cat when Bast’s eyes snapped open, and one sharp-clawed paw lashed out and stopped the stick.

WHAT WAKES ME?

The lioness-women looked out of the gallery towards the main door.

Before their eyes could catch up, Bast had sprung out of the blue bath and was streaking towards the growing red glow at the front of the museum.

The lioness-women caught up with Bast at the entrance. She sat calmly in front of them, tail flicking slowly back and forth, just as if she was a normal cat basking in the welcome heat of a fireplace. She did not appear a bit concerned.

On the outside of the doors the Temple Bar dragon continued to breathe fire as he approached the doors – now almost white-hot – and reached forwards, pushing the handles with both talons.

This time the metal of the locks buckled and bent and snapped, and the doors opened wide.

From within it was like the blast doors to a furnace opening. The entire giant rectangle of the doorway was a billowing wall of flame that uncannily held the shape and pattern of the door’s panelling for a moment, like an impression made in molten red, yellow and purple plasticine. Then it broke up as the black jagged shape of the Temple Bar dragon stepped through the standing wall of fire and looked down at the cat.

The cat held its ground, though its tail stopped moving.

The dragon looked around the Great Courtyard, the frozen schoolchildren, the tourists, the lioness-women hanging back, but already fanned out, as if waiting for an order to attack. He chuffed out a grunt of smoke that was definitely unimpressed.

WHAT DO YOU WANT?

Bast’s voice was everywhere. The dragon did not speak, or if he did it was not at a frequency normal ears could catch. He looked at the cat as he walked past it, and some kind of communication passed between them.

I DO NOT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT A DRAGON’S SHIELD.

The dragon stopped in the centre of the courtyard and looked back at the cat.

NOR DO I CARE.

The dragon cocked his head to the right.

I DO NOT CARE FOR THE SHIELD THAT IS LOST.

The dragon cocked his head to the left.

I DO NOT CARE THAT MIDNIGHT WILL PASS AND YOUR PRECIOUS MINION WILL BE MAIMED FOREVER BECAUSE IT HAS NO SHIELD TO MAKE IT COMPLETE.

The dragon did not move. He did not move in that very particular way that was a threat, because the not-moving was clearly a last chance of not moving, before he moved very drastically and finally for whatever was in front of him.

The cat read his eyes and then, without a shred of fear but a bucketload of contempt, slowly turned her back on the dragon.

NOR DO I CARE THAT YOU THINK YOU GUARD YOUR CITY.

The cat had turned, and her tail was now flicking back and forth again.

BECAUSE YOUR CITY IS LOST. YOUR CITY IS NOT YOURS. YOUR CITY IS MINE. AS ARE YOUR DRAGONS.

The Temple Bar dragon centred his head on his shoulders and cocked it straight backwards, this time like the hammer on a gun.

FEAR YOU?

Bast’s voice dripped with contempt.

WHY WOULD I FEAR A DRAGON? A DRAGON IS NO MORE THAN A WINGED CROCODILE THAT VOMITS FIRE. FIRE CANNOT HARM ME, AND I HAVE SLAIN ENOUGH CROCODILES TO DAM THE NILE ITSELF. CROCODILE MEAT IS SWEET AND LEAN. YOU ARE AN OVERGROWN LIZARD WITH DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR.
BUT I AM BAST!

And with that the cat spun and hissed at the dragon, seeming in that moment to grow in size, although it was the voice that did that, cracking like a thunderclap.

YOU WILL BOW TO ME!

The dragon did not bow to anyone. Ever. So he snapped his head forwards like a whiplash, spitting fire instead, a great roiling billow of twined flame, jetting towards the cat.

Bast hissed, showing a snarling mouthful of teeth as her eyes flashed blue.

The wildfire hit a barely invisible wall that the cat had projected in front of herself, a wall made from magic and blue light and held in place by the intensity of hatred in its hiss.