The Empty Grave (Lockwood & Co. #5)(81)

That was our cue to get out of there. Kipps, Lockwood and I leaped away and across the room. We grabbed the guide-chain and bundled ourselves along it, Kipps first, then me, then Lockwood. We plunged forward, almost falling over each other, through the blast of cold, towards the swirling column of spectral air. We went so fast we outstripped fear; without pause, without thought, we stepped over the iron barrier and entered the psychic chaos of the gate.

We were right on top of the exposed Sources, and their occupants were very near. Unholy voices screamed and whispered in my ears, using languages I didn’t understand. Pulsing figures stood on either side, keeping clear of the iron chain that stretched away before us, over the bed and into dimness. They watched us, clustering as closely as they dared.

Ice crusted on the links of the iron chain; freezing air beat against my face. Ahead of me, Kipps was stumbling, slowing. This made sense; it was his first time. ‘Ignore it all!’ I shouted. ‘Keep walking! Follow the chain, and don’t let go!’

We reached the bed. It was covered in ice, which cracked as we clambered over it. Not just the ice – the mattress itself was cracking, solid and frozen. Crawling things with broken backs skittered under it on hands and knees, like sharks glimpsed through the glass bottom of a boat. When we jumped down on the far side, they darted clear of our swirling cloaks and rose behind us, calling out our names.

We paid no heed. Another couple of steps and we were out over the loop of iron chains again and into absolute silence on the far side of the room.

How quiet it was suddenly, and how cold.

Not only had the psychic hubbub stilled, but you couldn’t hear anything else, either – not the shouting of Sir Rupert or Winkman’s men, or the smashing of the door. The air was dead and motionless, lit by a soft grey half-light that made everything seem flat and dull. We were still in the bedroom but, it being a bedroom on the Other Side, things were different here. The wall, which was very close to us, was cracked and pockmarked. Frost glittered at our feet. Out of the window we could see a jet-black sky.

‘Move away from the chain,’ Lockwood said. His voice sounded small and hollow in the strange, dead air. Kipps and I backed away. The post beside us was caked with ice. The suspended chain hung still, stretching back into the haze of the circle. Ghosts still swirled there, but now they made no sound. Lockwood and I stood with our swords ready, looking back the way we had come.

We watched the gate. No one came through.

‘Thank God,’ I breathed. ‘I thought he’d follow us.’

‘It would have killed him without a cape,’ Lockwood said. ‘But I wouldn’t have put it past him to try.’

We moved slowly, carefully round the edge of the circle to the opposite side of the room. Holly and George were waiting for us there, two huddled, hooded shapes, their breath pluming white and fast. Beyond them, the door to the landing was a black, bare opening filled with mist. No one stood there. No Sir Rupert, none of Winkman’s men. We were in another version of 35 Portland Row, and here we were alone.

‘What happened?’ George said. His whisper echoed through the emptiness. ‘You took for ever. I thought they’d got you.’

‘No, we’re good,’ Lockwood said. ‘We’ve made it. Well done, everyone.’ He lowered his rapier, expelled a long breath of bright, white frost. ‘You all right, George? How are you feeling?’

‘Bruised, battered, scared out of my wits and, since we’re now on the Other Side, also technically dead. Apart from that, tip-top.’

‘Excellent. Good to hear. What about you, Quill?’

Kipps’s face was pale beneath his goggles and the feathery cape, but his voice was strong enough. ‘Fine.’

‘I thought Gale caught you there at the end.’

‘He did. It’s OK. There’s a bit of pain, but it’s not a problem. I feel fine.’

‘Good.’

‘Was it your side?’ Holly asked. ‘You want me to look at it?’

Kipps gestured at his voluminous robes. ‘Under all this nonsense? I don’t think you’d ever find it.’ He shook his head. ‘Thanks, Holly. It’s a scratch. No big deal.’

‘It’s best to keep ourselves well wrapped up anyway,’ Lockwood said. ‘Feel how cold it is? The power of the capes is strong, but it doesn’t extend far, and if you take them off, you’re done for.’

‘So,’ I said. I glanced over at the opening to the black landing, the wreaths of mist hanging over the stairs. ‘What now? How long do you think we have to wait here?’

‘Not long, I hope,’ Holly said.

‘I don’t know …’ Lockwood frowned in the shadows of his hood. ‘Sir Rupert showing up has put a spanner in the works. He knows Marissa well; if he knows what a spirit-gate is too, he’ll understand what we’ve done and he’ll take steps to stymie us. He may well hang around. Mind you, if I were him, I’d—’ He broke off. ‘No, I’d better not say.’

‘You’d do what?’ George asked.

There was a brief, dull thud behind us from the far side of the circle. The ghosts trapped within it whirled soundlessly in consternation.

Lockwood stared at us. He bit his lip. He walked slowly back round to the far side of the spirit-gate. The rest of us trailed after him. We all saw the iron guide-chain hanging limply from the metal post. It no longer cut straight through the circle at chest height, but meandered uselessly on the floor.