فصل چهل و هشتم

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Time to Go

Back at the Monument, the Gunner watched the spot where the Walker had disappeared around a corner, and slowly exhaled.

“You get all of that?”

There was no reply. The Gunner turned and snapped his fingers impatiently.

“It’s all right. You can come out now. He’s scarpered. Gone to guard the Stone. To stop you getting there without him adjusting things a little.” George emerged from the door in the plinth. He looked white and exhausted. His eyes were fixed on the distant corner that the Walker had disappeared around.

“Who was he?”

The Gunner crouched down and picked up the two empty shell casings from the ground at his feet. He looked at the empty cylinders and put them in his pocket as he straightened up.

“The Walker. You get her heart stone?”

George pulled the sea-glass from his pocket. The Gunner grunted.

“Don’t lose it. She’s gonna be in a bad enough way as it is. If we manage to get her out of this and you don’t give her the heart stone, she’s gonna be scuppered.” “What’s happened?”

“The Bull’s running,” said the Gunner, sniffing the air and peering into the distance.

“What?” asked George.

“The Minotaur’s got her.”

“Minotaur?”

“Half-bull, half-man. And all bad. Man half of him hates the bull part, and the bull part thinks the man part’s what makes it unhappy. Primitive, ugly bastard—pardon my French. Dangerous too, dangerous for her.” “Why?” asked George, his mind racing back to Greek legends he barely remembered his dad having read him one long-ago holiday on an island in the Mediterranean.

“Because Minotaurs think they can make themselves less bull and more man by eating the thing they want to be.” “He’s going to eat her?”

“Not as such. He’s gonna be pulled that way, but he’s under the Walker’s orders, see. The Walker’s a Servant of the Stone. Cursed, like—” “Weirded.”

The Gunner looked at him, impressed for an instant.

“You been getting an education while I been getting my strength back, I can see that.” “I met the Clocker.”

The Gunner looked closely at him.

“Did you now?” he said slowly.

“Is he good or bad?” asked George, all of a sudden needing to know very urgently why the Gunner had used that tone.

“Plenty of time to talk about that after we get the glint.” “Edie,” said George firmly. She’s called Edie. “And how are we going to stop a Minotaur? I mean, that man, that thing, he took all your bullets.” The Gunner looked ashamed for an instant.

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you let him?”

“Because he’s a tricky bleeder. It was give him the bullets, or he gave Edie to the Bull. You heard that, right?” “Yeah, but I didn’t understand. About the oath either.” “The oath’s the thing a spit can’t break. Swear by a Maker’s hand, and you’re done if you break the oath.” “Done? Like a statue that isn’t on its plinth at turn o’day? Like the Grid Man?” The Gunner’s head jerked around at the sound of a distant roar that added itself to the rumble of traffic.

“Worse. You Wander. Now shut it and let’s go. We don’t have time,” he said fiercely, closing George’s mouth with a look as he ran off.

“Where’s he taken her?” asked George, running alongside him.

“Ain’t you had an education? Where do Minotaurs always take their victims? Where do they live—in the stories?” he said, leading off at a fast clip.

George racked his brains. He remembered the Greek hero and Ariadne, the king’s daughter, who helped him with a spool of string so he could find his way out of a— “Maze! He lives in a maze?” he shouted.

“In the Labyrinth. That’s right.”

Then questions were out of the question for a while, as George needed all his breath for keeping up with the Gunner as they crossed roads and sprinted along pavements, always heading gently uphill, mostly north, always away from the river.

The Gunner stutter-stepped on the curb edge as a bus punched past, then grabbed George and carried him in a fast jinking run across a busy, crowded street. George saw unseeing drivers racing at them, and lurched in the Gunner’s arms from side to side as the Gunner dodged them, so much that he felt nauseous when the Gunner deposited him on the opposing pavement.

“But there isn’t a labyrinth in London,” said George unsteadily.

The Gunner snorted in derision and set off northward again.

“Some say the whole boiling lot’s a labyrinth. But don’t worry . . .” He pointed to a tall dark swerve of brick buttress ahead of them. Signs for the Museum of London flashed past, and a sign reading: LONDON WALL.

“We’re nearly there.”

George was struggling to keep up. It seemed like he’d been running forever. His life was divided into the past, when he hadn’t really run after anything except footballs, and now, when he ran all the time.

“I never heard of the London Labyrinth,” he gasped.

The Gunner pointed at a wall of concrete, pierced with walkways, topped with narrow spiky high-rises.

“Lucky you. Because this is it. As dark and labyrinthine a maze as any Minotaur could want.” He pulled George into a stairwell and pounded up the steps. George read a sign and an arrow as they passed.

It read: BARBICAN.