Child of Time Page 9

  He took another step backwards as the gargoyle creature turned its body towards him and started moving tentatively in his direction.

  Grinning at Emily, Honoré turned and ran off down the narrow street, his leather coat flapping around his legs. After a moment’s pause, the creature set off after him, a heavy stone cat in hot pursuit of a rather large mouse. Its feet raised sparks on the stones as it passed, way too close to Emily for comfort, and even when it was no longer in sight she could still hear it clattering off into the night.

  She hurried over to the junction where the woman was lying, muttering to herself and crying. Emily tried to help her to her feet, but the woman pushed her away and dragged herself back towards the wall of a nearby house. Her eyes fixed on Emily, and she seemed to calm down slightly as the younger woman crouched beside her and gently brushed stray hairs from her forehead, making quiet, soothing noises. She clutched Emily’s arm and whispered in a halting voice: ‘They’re fools, fools! I’ve said so all along. They can send their creatures to hunt me down, kill me, but it will do them no good. I have given them years of loyal service, and they know I speak the truth.’ She glanced round furtively before continuing. Emily leaned closer, realising that this could be important. ‘Mark my words, the Devil will not be satisfied with their paltry achievements; the flawed products of work yet to be completed. They should have waited! The Child of Time... the Child of Time is our only hope...’

  ‘Child of Time’. It was as if an explosion suddenly detonated in Emily’s mind. She reeled back, images and flashes of light filling her brain. Death and horror. There was a child being tortured, skin being scarred with burning hot brands – she could feel flesh shrivelling from bone, blackening, and it was all she could do to stop herself crying out in shared pain. Then there was a group of hooded men standing silently in a circle, incense fumes and chanting filling the air. And an icy pleasure suffused her entire being as a city burned before her eyes. She blinked and the sensory assault faded, leaving her gasping for breath.

  ‘Who is this Child?’ breathed Emily. She had to know.

  The woman shuddered and moaned. ‘She is the culmination. An innocent, unaware of her true power over time. She must come soon, soon...’

  ‘That gargoyle creature, what was it? Why was it after you?’

  A look of deep suspicion suddenly clouded the woman’s face. ‘Who are you? Why are you asking me all these questions?’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just...’

  The woman was recovering her wits now that the initial shock of the attack was passing, and Emily realised that she had been too insistent with her questioning.

  ‘Get away from me,’ the woman said, pushing Emily firmly backwards and scrabbling to her feet.

  ‘Please...’ Emily implored.

  ‘I’ve already said too much,’ the woman muttered, then turned tail and scurried away down the narrow alleyway. Emily briefly considered giving chase, but thought better of it. She wasn’t going to learn any more like that.

  Suddenly she felt a hand grasp her shoulder from behind. She span round in alarm, then gave a sigh of relief.

  ‘Honoré!’

  ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.’

  ‘Where did that stone thing go? How did you get away?’

  ‘Let’s just say that I led it a merry dance through the streets of Venice... until we crossed a bridge that was not quite strong enough to take its weight. I expect it’s wading around underwater now, looking for a way back to the surface. What happened to that woman?’

  Emily told Honoré what had happened, and what the woman had said.

  Honoré looked thoughtful and stroked his beard gently. ‘So... a Child of Time. Unaware of her true power, coming soon to help the Sodality... in some sort of bargain with the Devil.’ He shivered involuntarily.

  ‘Do you think it’s one of the children?’ asked Emily.

  ‘No idea, but it’s possible.’

  ‘Do you think it’s me?’ There. She’d said it.

  ‘I don’t know. What do you think?’

  She could tell from the tone of his voice that the same thought had already occurred to him. ‘I don’t know either,’ she replied, ‘but it could be... It feels... feels like something I should remember. When she first said it, I saw... things... random events, destruction, death... like a memory in some ways, but different in others. It could be connected.’

  Honoré nodded. ‘Seems that this time it’s all connected... You, me, Maria, the Sodality... Something is coming to a head, and we’re all involved.’

  It was time. Honoré stood and shrugged on his leather greatcoat, preparing for his late night rendezvous at Marco’s shop. Roberto had arrived back at the house to show him the way, but Maria had not yet returned. Honoré hoped she was all right, but knew that she could look after herself.

  There was trouble afoot, that was certain. Marco had mentioned that the leaders of the Sodality would be at this masque, and the only way that could happen would be if they travelled through time to get there... and that meant that Maria was not the only one of their experiments that had worked. Was Emily another of their missing wards? Had she escaped from some terrible future only to find herself walking straight back into danger again because of the decisions they were taking? Was she really this Child of Time – whoever and whatever that was?

  He noticed that Emily was hesitating. ‘You coming?’ he asked her, holding out his hand. ‘We can do this together.’ He sensed that was important, somehow – to be doing it together.

  But Emily made no move to take his hand, and searched his eyes with her own. ‘I’m not sure I can.’

  Honoré frowned. ‘We’re just going to make the delivery for Marco, find out where this ball is taking place tomorrow, and... borrow... a couple of masks so we can be there when all the fun starts.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’ Emily shook her head. ‘I can’t be there. I have to try to help the children, Honoré. Remember when we met them before, I had this compulsion to protect them, to help them, as if I was one of them too... ? Well, that feeling is back, and stronger than ever. I need to go to the Palazzo to see what I can do there. Maybe I can rescue some of them, protect them from more experiments by the Sodality... but I have to do something. I can’t just sit back and let it happen. You do understand?’

  Honoré looked at Emily. He understood only too well. Emily had had some sort of affinity with those special children that he hadn’t been able to figure out, and until she worked through it, she would not be there for him. A part of her was attuned to them somehow. Maybe they were even calling out to her, as they had before.

  He nodded. ‘I understand. You be careful.’

  ‘Yes, of course I will. I’ll head up to the Palazzo and see what I can find out, while you and Roberto do the same for the masque. We can meet up back here afterwards and compare notes.’

  ‘Right.’ Honoré gave her a quick hug and looked around for Roberto, who was, as usual, hiding in the shadows. So it was up to him, then. He didn’t like being without Emily – it felt like a part of him was missing – but she knew she had to go, that she had to find out whatever there was to be found out.

  2

  Emily watched as Honoré and Roberto headed off into the night. She knew that she had to do this; it was a siren call to her... And then there was the mysterious Child of Time... Was that really her? Maybe the children could shed some light on that as well. She picked up one of the cloaks by the door and set off, walking in the opposite direction from her friends, keeping half an eye out for any more of those gargoyle creatures as she went. She had no wish to meet with one of those. Not now. Not never.

  The Palazzo was surprisingly easy to find, though she wasn’t sure that she’d be able to retrace her steps back to the house again, now that she’d left the maze of narrow streets and entered a wide, open piazza. It had started to rai
n and the water was washing the day’s debris down the gutters; she had to watch her step in the twilight to avoid treading in Venice’s waste. Sometimes she longed for 20th Century advancements like streetlights and sewers.

  At the end of the piazza, a wider street led gently uphill, the cobbles neater and the runoff directed to either side rather than straight down the middle of the road. The further she went, the more the area improved, until she rounded a neat stone building to find herself in the shadow of the Palazzo, its imposing round towers rising before her to pierce the clouds above. There were lights in some of the windows, but the grounds seemed empty and the main gates were invitingly open.

  She made her way around the base of the building, keeping an eye open for any guards and hoping she could soon find a less conspicuous way in. Surely these places had entrances other than the main one... or did they build them like fortresses with only one way in and out? But this place didn’t look built for defence – far more for comfort, with elegant statuary and ornate carvings in the walls. There must be a servants’ entrance, she reasoned, so that the staff and the nobles didn’t have to see each other or accidentally meet.

  Her feet crunched on gravel and she peered into the damp gloom as a dark shape loomed in front of her. Edging closer, she saw it was an entrance of sorts: a short flight of hewn steps leading down into pitch darkness. At least she’d be out of the rain.

  Emily stepped down into darkness and held one arm in front of her to feel her way. Almost immediately her fingers brushed wood, and she knew there was a door there. Now, if only her luck held...

  She used her fingers to explore the door before her, and at around waist level to the right, she located a sturdy iron ring. She grasped it and pulled, but nothing happened. A little further investigation revealed that the ring turned, and also that the door opened inwards and not outwards. She smiled to herself at that mistake. She turned the ring and heard a satisfying snick as the latch on the other side was raised. She pushed, and with an agonisingly loud creak and squeal of hinges, the door swung jerkily inwards, revealing a pool of solid blackness beyond.

  Emily edged forward, leaving the door open for a moment. The scant light from outside barely scratched the surface of the darkness in the room, but it was better than nothing. She looked around, her eyes slowly adjusting. On a shelf by the door, she saw a shadowy shape. Running her hands over it, she quickly discovered that it was a candleholder, complete with candle, and a small tinderbox.

  She examined the unfamiliar mechanism of the tinderbox carefully with her fingertips, finding what felt like a rag, an iron plate and a piece of flint-like stone. She experimentally hit the iron plate with the stone and saw a brief spark flare. With a smile, she set to striking the stone and creating more and better sparks. When these hit the ragging, they glowed gently, and Emily breathed on them, trying to encourage them to catch. Soon, with a small flurry, the rag caught fire and a tiny flame licked around it. Emily brought the candle close and held it carefully above the tiny flame, not even breathing in case she accidentally blew it out. The wick caught and a warm yellow glow surrounded her. She gently moved the candle away from the door, blew out the flame in the tinderbox and tamped the smouldering rag with her licked thumb before popping the box in her pocket and closing the door.

  She was in a long, low basement or cellar of some description, with unidentifiable objects piled up against the walls and a haphazard pathway through the middle. She wandered through, keeping a watchful eye open for a way up and into the Palazzo and listening intently for any sounds. At the far end of the room was another door. There was a thin border of light flickering around its edges, obviously shining through from the room beyond, and she opened it carefully, not wanting to announce her presence. Unfortunately the guard posted on the other side had quicker reactions than she did, as he grabbed her arm and she dropped the candle, burning the man’s boot. He swore at her and dragged her across the room. It was a mess room of sorts – there were hooks with uniforms hung up on them and tables scattered with dice and tankards. She couldn’t have picked a worse entrance if she’d tried.

  Arguing with the guard was no use. He was in no mood to listen, and before she knew it, a door was clanking shut behind her and she was stood in pitch darkness in what felt like a damp and smelly cell. She’d seen a low iron bed in the corner before the door had shut, and she felt her way across the room and sat down, pulling the tinderbox out from her coat pocket. It wasn’t much use without a candle. The cell was as quiet as the grave. She shuddered gently to herself and wished she had come up with a better simile than that.

  As Honoré and Roberto made their way through the darkened streets, it started drizzling gently. Honoré raised the collar of his coat and pressed his hat down on his head to keep off the worst of it. At least the rain dampened down the smell, which he still couldn’t get used to.

  Roberto seemed unaffected by the weather and trotted alongside him like some sort of faithful puppy. He wondered how much money was driving Roberto in this – it always seemed to come down to money. Even in the London of 1951, he was best able to scrape a living together acting as a re-seller of goods. A fixer, a supplier... someone who could always be relied upon to come up with the right items at the right price. Not that much different from what Roberto got up to in Venice, he supposed.

  They turned a corner and stopped. Up ahead was Marco’s shop, and parked outside it a carriage lit with torches that hissed and steamed in the gentle rain.

  ‘Stay here,’ whispered Honoré. ‘You know what to do?’ The little man nodded and faded back into the shadows.

  Honoré walked forward towards the carriage. Hearing Marco talking to someone inside the shop, he looked through the door. A lavishly-dressed gentleman was examining one of the masks, turning it over and over in his hands as though it was some jewel-encrusted crown.

  ‘Lovely work, Marco... You have excelled yourself.’

  Marco smiled a million-watt smile. ‘Oh thank you, my Lord. Most kind.’ He noticed Honoré at the doorway and beamed. ‘Ah, my good friend. My Lord, here is the man to help load the masks into your carriage.’

  Honoré stepped in and nodded to the gentleman. The man glanced at him and sniffed.

  ‘A man of colour... Needs must, I suppose. What is your name, sir?’

  ‘Name’s Lechasseur. Whom do I have the honour of meeting?’

  The gentleman made an extravagant flourish, and bowed to Honoré. ‘You have the honour of serving the Comte Di Meglio.’

  Honoré caught the ironic lilt to the man’s voice and realised that this was a person not used to dealing with the lower classes. Someone who fancied himself above it all. Well... Honoré smiled a pinched smile to himself.

  ‘Where are the masks that have to be loaded?’ he asked innocently.

  Marco gestured to five sacks piled in the corner of the shop, each anonymous and sealed at the mouth with ribbon.

  Best get to work then. Honoré picked up the first sack. He carried it out to the carriage and stood there waiting while the Comte flounced effetely out after him, struggling with a small parasol to protect himself from the drizzle.

  ‘Could you get the door?’ asked Honoré.

  The Comte looked at him as though he had just been asked to clean the street with his tongue.

  Honoré shrugged and dumped the sack to the ground. He opened the carriage door himself and threw the sack in before heading back to the shop for the next. The Comte shrunk back under his parasol and looked around nervously.

  ‘Can you hurry, please... ?’

  At that moment there sounded the clatter of heels on the cobbled street and Roberto came running full tilt out of the darkness. He slammed into the Comte and sent him and his parasol flying, the two of them crashing back into the wall of Marco’s shop and then down to the damp stone beneath. The Comte let out a high-pitched scream like a girl and started flapping his arms a
round. Honoré dashed from the shop in time to see Roberto take the opportunity to land a couple of well-placed punches to the man’s overindulged stomach.

  He stood over the two men as they tussled on the wet pavement. With one hand, he gently pulled Roberto away from the Comte, and the thief stood beside him panting and with a crazed look in his eye.

  The Comte struggled like a beached fish on the ground. Honoré looked at him steadily.

  ‘Now my friend...’ He nudged the Comte with the toe of his boot. ‘A few answers if you please. Or I will allow my colleague here free rein on your body.’

  The Comte gasped and nodded, sudden obsequiousness surfacing. ‘Oh, please sir, please. Yes... I cannot bear physical pain... Anything...’

  ‘Good... Let’s start with what these masks are for.’

  ‘The masks? For a celebration, sir, a magnificent masque in honour, sir.’

  ‘In honour of what?’

  ‘Why, it’s the summoning. The day of revelations, sir.’

  Honoré frowned. ‘Should I have heard of this?’

  The Comte paused and thought momentarily, unsure what to say. ‘Why... no, sir. It has been carefully planned and concealed from all but those who truly need to know.’

  At a gentle nudge from Honoré, Roberto snarled and stepped forward, causing the Comte to whimper in terror and press himself back against the wall.

  ‘But you, sir, I can see that you have the credentials... The word is that the ball will be attended by the highest of the high, the rulers of the Sodality – the Grand Master, even – and that, on the stroke of midnight, they will present their magnificent Child of Time to the very Devil himself. Yes, you heard me right, sir: the very Devil himself. He will be summoned, and will grant the Grand Master power beyond imagining. It is to be a great celebration...’

  The Comte looked from Honoré to Roberto. ‘I am just a humble foot servant, sir, one of the many drawn in to help make the ball a success... I am to provide the masks... that is all...’