The Empty Grave (Lockwood & Co. #5)(91)

Before I could answer I heard Holly calling me. Limping as fast as I could across the room, I went in through the arch – and saw the gate.

Actually, calling it a gate doesn’t really do it justice. It was more than that. It was a bridge, a checkpoint, a highway for the living to pass through. George had been right. Lockwood’s parents had been right. For years, hidden here, in this basement below Fittes House in the heart of London, there had been a permanent route between our world and the Other Side.

It was a large chamber lit by lanterns, and in the centre was a pit. The pit was circular in shape and very broad, and it had a low wall built right around it. This wall, about the height of my knee, was made of solid iron. Thus, at a stroke, the Fittes Agency had dispensed with the hassle and impermanence of iron chains. Although the precise contents of the pit could not be seen, I knew it was stuffed with Sources – the familiar column of hazy light rose above it, packed with trapped and rushing forms.

To cross the pit, the designers hadn’t bothered with small-time stuff like hanging chains. Instead, an iron walkway or bridge – thin, but very solid – led up across the wall and spanned the centre of the pit before disappearing into the swirling haze. I couldn’t see to the far side, but I knew that if we passed along it, we would be back in the mortal world.

The others were waiting for me at the start of the bridge. I could scarcely recognize them beneath their crusted, steaming capes. Forget the spirits whirling in the pit beyond. We were five shapeless demons, made monstrous by our journey.

‘There’s just a chance someone will be in the room on the other side,’ Lockwood said. With stiff, hesitant movements he drew his sword. ‘I’ll go first. Holly, I want you to help George across. Kipps – you come behind George, with Lucy at the end. It’s the same deal as before. Heads down, ignore the ghosts. No one hang back for anything.’

He didn’t have the energy for more, but turned and stepped onto the iron walkway. You could see him flinch as he approached the psychic maelstrom, but he didn’t stop. The haze closed around him, and he could no longer be seen.

Holly followed him onto the bridge; she stood to wait for George.

As George climbed onto the walkway, he tripped and fell. Kipps reached out an arm to catch him. In doing so, his coat of icy feathers swung aside, and I saw his tattered jersey below, with the tear in its side where Sir Rupert Gale’s rapier had cut through. The fabric hung open, and I caught a single awful glimpse of the gaping wound beneath.

The coat fell back into place. Kipps steadied George, helped him stand upright. Holly held out her hand to him; she and George moved forwards. They shuffled up the walkway, shoulders bent, heads bowed, their cloaks humped and frozen like tortoise shells beneath their burdens of smoking ice. On either side, spirits moaned and chattered; pale arms reached out for them but broke asunder as they neared the strips of iron. Soon Holly and George had passed over the centre of the pit and were gone.

Kipps began to follow them.

‘Quill,’ I said. ‘Hold on.’

He looked back at me. ‘What? Come on! This is what we’ve been waiting for! We can find Marissa, bring her down!’ His eyes were sparkling; he was grinning with the thrill of the chase. I’d never seen him so alive.

‘Wait.’ My voice was thick. ‘Don’t go through.’

He scowled. For a second it was the old Kipps back again. ‘Why not? Don’t be stupid, Lucy.’

It wasn’t easy to talk, and not just because of the cold. ‘Why do you think you’re starting to feel so good here?’ I said. ‘So … at home?’

He stared at me. ‘What? What nonsense are you talking about?’

‘It’s just … just … Quill, that injury you got …’

He gave his little barking laugh. ‘When you say at home, Lucy, it’s almost like you’re saying—’ Through the icy goggles his eyes held mine, and then he understood. The light slowly went out of them, like a flower closing. His face was a pale mask. Then he lifted up his cape and, ignoring the steaming, cracking ice that fell from the feathers, looked underneath it at his shadowed side. He didn’t move for a while. He let the feathers drop back into position. He nodded once, very slowly, as if to himself. He didn’t look at me.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘That’s a mess.’

‘Oh, Quill …’

‘Typical. And I was feeling so chipper.’

I swallowed down my panic. I was alone with him, and I didn’t know what to say or do. ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘maybe you’d better stay here.’

He did look at me, then. ‘What, on my own? See you all go through without me? Leave me standing here like a pillock in the dark? I don’t think so.’

‘But, Quill, that wound … On the other side—’

Kipps didn’t speak for a moment. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Maybe. But if it happens, it’s got to be done right, in the proper place. Anyway, I’m not staying here. Especially in this stupid outfit. Now – we need to go through.’

Still I hesitated. ‘Quill,’ I said, ‘you were brilliant just now.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Without you—’

He grinned at me. ‘You and Tony and the others would never have made it, would you? Glad I made a contribution.’