‘Fix your eyes on the ground!’ Thorne hissed. ‘Otherwise you’ll draw attention to us!’
I glanced sideways and saw that she was walking with her head bowed. I did the same, though I wondered why it mattered.
‘Everyone is looking at the ground anyway, so how can they notice how we carry ourselves?’ I whispered back.
‘There’ll be more time for questions later, Alice.’ Thorne muttered this so low I could hardly hear her. ‘It’s not these folk we have to worry about. These are what we call the downcast dead – poor weak souls who are mostly just prey. What do you think the strong feed on? These dead are just a source of blood – that’s the currency here!’
WE TURNED A corner, and another similar street stretched ahead, still continuing upwards. There were more of the same shuffling dead, and more candle-lit windows too – behind which I sensed unseen hostile eyes watching us.
Suddenly I heard an eerie screech in the distance. I shivered, filled with dread. I knew I had heard that sound before . . . Where was it?
The cry came again. This time it was much louder. Whatever had made it was travelling fast and heading our way.
The third time it echoed along that narrow cobbled street, I realized that it was coming from the sky. And instantly I knew what it was. It was the screech of a corpsefowl, sometimes called a nightjar; a bird that flies by night in the County. I’d used that eldritch cry myself as a secret night-time signal when I wanted to contact Agnes Sowerbutts. How could I have forgotten? Then a chill went down my spine as I remembered someone who’d had one as a familiar. Someone whom Grimalkin had killed and sent here to the dark: Morwena, the most powerful of the water witches and another child of the Fiend.
The prospect of meeting her filled me with dread. She’d had great strength and speed, and a blood-eye that could freeze you to the spot while she ripped you to pieces and drank your blood. She’d been dangerous in life, and might be even more terrible now that she was dead. My heart began to race with anxiety.
The bird came into sight and swooped low over the rooftops, its plumage lit to fire by the light of the blood-moon. To my surprise, within seconds it had disappeared, and when I heard its cry again, it sounded some distance away. Was it still looking for us, just as it had searched for Tom Ward in the marsh near Bill Arkwright’s watermill? If it had indeed spotted us, its terrifying mistress would soon appear – of this I was certain.
With Tom Ward’s help, Grimalkin had killed both Morwena and her familiar. And I’d certainly played my part in the days that led up to her death – as she would no doubt have learned from others in the dark. I was her enemy and she’d be out for revenge.
There was one thing that worked in my favour, though; something that made the threat from her less immediate. Morwena’s natural environment was water and she could not survive out of a wet or marshy environment for too long. Away from water, she soon weakened. And this city was full of cobbled streets; the only liquid I’d seen so far was blood.
But what if the rules were different here? After all, she was one of the dead. Did she still need a watery environment to protect her?
Then, in the distance, from the direction of the basilica, I heard a bell begin to toll, each powerful chime vibrating through my teeth and jaw; it seemed that even the black cobbles beneath my feet were resonating with that terrible sound.
Thorne took my arm, pulling me off the street and into a narrow alley. She pressed down on my shoulder, indicating that we should crouch.
The toll of the bell stopped at thirteen. Almost immediately I heard a scream from further down the street, and then, much closer, someone began to wail in anguish.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked, keeping my voice low.
Thorne put her lips close to my ear and began to whisper. ‘That bell tolls frequently, but the precise time cannot be predicted so it is never safe to walk these streets. The bell marks what is known as the Choosing: if you are chosen to die again, you are summoned at the final chime – a terrible commanding voice booms out within your mind and you must go directly to the basilica to be drained unto death.’
‘What if the chosen don’t go?’
‘Most cannot resist the voice, but in any case, it is better to obey the summons. Those who do so die their second death with little pain. Those who flee are hunted down without mercy and suffer a long cruel end.’
‘Have you seen that happen?’ I asked.
‘Yes, once – not long after I died and found myself here. I watched a group of witches drag a man to the ground in the market square behind the basilica and slowly rip him to pieces. There were bits of his body strewn across the cobbles but he was still screaming.’
I cringed at the thought, but I sensed that there was something Thorne had not told me. I was right.
‘This is a dangerous time for another reason,’ she admitted. ‘Immediately after the bell there is a brief period when predators have a licence to hunt whoever they like; a single chime follows, signalling that this time is over.’
There were more screams from the street, and close by, deeper into the darkness of the alley, I heard someone moaning – though whether in pain or fear it was impossible to tell. One part of me wanted to investigate the sound and offer some help or consolation; the other was too scared to move. Even if I had forced myself into action, Thorne was still gripping my shoulder very tightly, and it would have been difficult to move.
Twice, something swooped low over our hiding place; first from left to right, and then the other way, as if it had missed us the first time but, sensing that we were there, had come back for a second look. It wasn’t the corpsefowl – I was sure of that; it was far too big.
A moment later the creature returned, letting out a cry like the raucous screech of a giant crow. This time it didn’t swoop over us. It hovered directly above our heads, and I had time to see it properly for the first time. It bore some resemblance to a bat, but it was at least as long as a human is tall, and extremely thin, with long, leathery, bone-tipped wings and glowing red eyes. It also had four spindly limbs, terminating not in feet, but clawed hands.
‘We are its chosen prey!’ cried Thorne, rising to her feet, ready to defend us.
Whatever it was didn’t look too powerful – though appearances could be deceptive. The claws were murderously sharp, and no doubt it had agility and speed.