Chapter Twenty-five

W hen he looked back, all Josef remembered of his endless flight was terror.

Terror of being attacked, yes, but far worse, the terror of failing. Of not getting out, of not getting back to Lottie and Vi. Of not saving Alex.

It propelled him along the rubble-strewn tunnel, pushed him back to his feet when he tripped and went sprawling, the torch rolling away from him. Its light was failing now, barely enough to show the ground one step ahead. He knew if the light died, he would die with it.

At last, though, he found himself crawling through the hole in the wall that blocked off the abandoned station at King William Street. There was no sign of pursuit—he tried not to think what might have slowed the ghoul down—but he proceeded carefully, nonetheless. Trying to silence his heaving breaths, he crept into the station. He knew a ghoul had been here, had nested here. He knew it could be hiding in the dark, watching him. Skin prickling, he drew his gun and scanned the blackness for the gleam of dead eyes.

At length, he reached the platform and heaved himself up. His knee stung as he climbed to his feet; so did the palms of his hands. He ignored it, edging along the platform in search of the door they’d entered through.

His torch glowed faintly now, almost useless. But he was nearly there. He felt the papery old advertisements under his fingers as he trailed his hand along the wall. The door was on the right, at the end.

Behind him, something hissed. He spun, caught the gleam of blue eyes and fired. Right between them.

The gunshot ricocheted through the empty station, bouncing off the walls, deafening him.

The ghoul fell backward into the darkness and lay still.

A gunshot to the head will kill a ghoul , Alex had said, especially a newly minted one .

Josef’s heart failed. He dropped the gun, heard it clatter to the floor. “Alex?”

He fell to his knees next to the still body, the glowing ember of torchlight in his hand barely enough to show him what he couldn’t bear to see. What he had to see. Hands shaking, he lifted the torch and let the last of its light play over the dead face—young, handsome, a bullet wound just above the left eye, a private’s uniform, bloodied and gored. One arm was lost below the elbow. A man fresh from the battlefield.

And not Alex.

He felt ashamed by his flood of relief. That this poor boy’s miserable death should bring anyone relief was abhorrent. But it wasn’t Alex. Thank God.

Thank God .

Josef pushed his aching body back to its feet. The noise of the gunshot must have woken anything sleeping in these tunnels, and he had no desire to be here when they showed up. Staggering away from the dead man, feeling his way along the wall, he finally found the open door. Slipping through, he pulled it shut behind him, for all the good that would do. He just caught a glimpse of the patterned tiles on the wall before the torch went dark and all he could do was climb and hope.

He’d lost track of time in the dark. When he hammered on the door at the top of the stairs, he was afraid it might be evening, and the shop closed. “Open up!” he shouted. “Open the bloody door!”

Through the thick wood, a man said, “Lake?”

It took him a moment to remember. “Yes!” he shouted back. “Yes, it’s me, Lake! Open the door!”

There followed a ridiculously slow turning of a key in the lock, the drawing back of bolts before the door cracked open and light flooded the stairwell. Josef threw an arm up to protect his eyes. "Hell,” he cursed, pushing through the door and slamming it behind him. Squinting in the brightness—it was still broad daylight—he said, “Lock it. Brace it, too.”

The man—Mr Brooke—looked uncertain. “Where’s Colonel Montague?”

“In trouble,” Josef said, and that was honest enough. “I’m off to get help.”

Brooke looked alarmed. “Are there...? Is the Hun down there?”

Josef almost laughed, felt the hysteria rising and shoved it back down. “What’s down there is dangerous,” he said, “and can’t be allowed to escape. Do you understand?”

“Sappers...”

The second voice came from the other side of the room, and Josef saw the younger clerk standing there on his tin leg. He looked very bleak. “No,” Josef said straight away. “No, nothing like that. You’re safe up here, mate. Don’t you worry. Just keep that bloody door shut, all right? I’ll be back with...” With what? “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

With that, he left, racing out of the shop and into the bustle of London, surrounded by people who didn’t know that Alex’s life hung in the balance. He felt like screaming it as he ran, heedless of the occasional affronted ‘I say!’ as he pushed past people in his race for Monument Underground station.

Alex might be under his feet as he ran, he thought.

And then he stopped thinking about that because he couldn’t bear to remember that he’d left him alone and frightened in the dark.

You fucking coward!

When he reached the station, a train was just rattling into the platform and Josef launched himself, breathless, into the third-class carriage. It wasn’t full—there were plenty of seats—and he dropped down into one, bent forward, elbows on knees, catching his breath.

The train pulled away with agonising slowness, plunging back into the dark of the tube tunnels. Not far from Alex, he thought again, he might be able to hear the train. If he could hear anything, if he wasn’t already—

He shot back to his feet, too agitated to sit, and paced towards the doors. In the mirror dark window, he caught a glimpse of himself—hatless and dishevelled. He didn’t remember losing his cap; it must have come off somewhere in the tunnels. A woman, sitting close to the carriage door, stared at him in alarm, looking quickly away when he caught her eye. Glancing down at himself, he saw with surprise that one knee of his trousers was torn and bloody. As he looked, his knee began to sting, or at least he recognised its stinging. Same as his hands, and when he turned them over, he saw that they too were dirty and bloody where he’d skinned his palms. When he’d fallen, he supposed.

And then there was the gun tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Visible to all.

Good God, no wonder the woman looked alarmed.

Pulling his jacket tighter around himself, hiding the gun, he went and sat down again.

It was a half-hour journey to Kensington, and standing up wouldn’t make the train go any faster. Arms wrapped around himself, he sat back, eyes closed and tried not to think.

***

By the time he reached Kensington, Josef ached all over. Given time to rest, his body had started screaming about every little injury. But never mind that, he had no time for aches and pains. Josef was off the train as soon as it pulled into the station and running up the steps to the street above.

The museum was open, visitors milling around its grand entrance as Josef took the steps two at a time and hurried into the entrance. Knowing how he must look, he didn’t give the museum staff time to stop him, running across the vast hall and up the sweeping staircase.

There were more people in the ordinary corridor where Lottie’s office was located too, and he kept his head down, ignoring their curious looks, as he hurried up to her door and rapped on it hard.

“Hold your horses!” Vi said, pulling open the door. Her expression changed the moment she saw him, eyebrows rising. “Lord above,” she said and held the door wider, letting him in. Cautiously, she added, “Where’s Lord B?”

“Hurt,” Josef said as she shut the door behind him. “I couldn’t get him out.” He took the vial of blood from his coat pocket, holding it out to Violet. “Do what you must but do it fast. I’m going back for him.”

Lottie stood at the table, examining a plate of sandwiches. She looked up at him, alarmed.

“Out of where? Where is he?”

“An abandoned Tube tunnel,” Josef said. “He fell and broke his leg. The bone…” He shied away from the memory of Alex’s injury. “Please, you’ve got to hurry. I need to get that potion to him before…” He couldn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t need to; Lottie’s expression told him that she understood, probably better than he did.

“A potion ain’t something you can rush,” Violet said, exchanging a look with Lottie.

“I’ll prepare things,” Lottie said in response. “Can you get Mr Shepel cleaned up a little? That knee of his looks nasty.”

“Never mind me,” Josef said, “Alex needs—”

“I’ll go as fast as I’m able,” Lottie said, brooking no argument. “Vi, sort him out. I’ll get everything else.”

Josef felt like a fool sitting there while Violet dabbed his hands with iodine and, rolling up his trouser leg, bandaged his knee with professional speed. It felt wrong that he should be treated while Alex—

“I don’t know how I’ll get him out,” he said, more to himself than Violet. “His leg is badly broken. I’d need a splint and dressing, but even then, he won’t be able to put any weight on it. The bone’s through the skin.”

Violet looked up. “Which bone?”

“Tibia.”

She grimaced. “No, he won’t be walking on that. Were you a medic at the front?”

“Only a stretcher bearer. I’ve seen plenty of broken bodies, though, and patched a few up myself.”

“Any chance of getting a stretcher down there?”

Josef shook his head. “Even if there was, how could I manage one on my own?”

“Oi, what do you think I am, chopped liver?”

“ You ?”

She sat back on her heels, affronted. “And why not? I’m good enough for the London Ambulance Service, aren’t I?”

“Those tunnels are no place for a woman,” Josef insisted. “And those things , they’re dangerous and—”

From across the room, Lottie said, “Dangerous, yes. Driven by insatiable hunger, but essentially mindless.” She smiled, a thin and rather dangerous expression. “Violet and I have subdued far stronger and more cunning creatures over the years.”

“You… Have you?”

Her smile sharpened. “You’ve dipped your toe into a world you barely comprehend, Mr Shepel. We’ve lived in it our whole lives. Trust us.”

Violet grunted, standing up. “Besides, Lord B’s broken leg is the least of his worries. You won’t have time to bring him back here.”

“I wasn’t planning to. I’ll take the potion to him.”

“Like cough medicine?” She shook her head, apparently amused by his na?veté.

His turn to feel affronted. “Why not?”

“Because Lottie will need to perform the enchantment.”

He looked between the two of them. “The… what?”

“Magic spell,” Lottie said, “in layman’s terms. The potion must be enchanted. Otherwise it’s simply an unpleasant mixture of inert ingredients. Enchantments only last a few moments, you understand.”

He did not understand. Why should he? He didn’t understand any of this. “I thought—if I’d known I couldn’t just bring the potion back to him, I’d never have left him—” His voice cracked, and he stopped speaking.

“What would you have done?” Lottie said, not unkindly. “Slung him over one shoulder and run for it, fighting the ghoul with your free hand?”

He couldn’t answer; his throat had seized up.

“You did the right thing. If you hadn’t brought me this,” she indicated the vial of blood, “all hope would have been lost. Now we must hope we reach him in time.”

Thickly, Josef said, “He was already changing… He could see in the dark, and his eyes…” He shivered at the memory. “They had a… a blue cast to them.”

Lotti’s lips thinned. “Good.”

“ Good ?”

“It means the ghoul will probably see him as one of their own. Not prey.”

Josef’s heart thumped with a lumpen kind of relief. “Really? God, that’s what I hoped. They were ignoring him, going for me. That’s why I—” His voice failed, and he had to clear his throat. “That’s the only reason I left him.”

“And all we can do now is work as fast as possible.”

“I’ll fetch the first aid kit,” Violet said. “And we’ll need a splint.”

“We’ll need light, too.” Josef pulled out his useless hand torch. “This is dead, and you can’t get batteries for love nor money these days.”

But at that, Lottie smiled. “Light, I can provide. You should rest while you can, Mr Shepel.” She gestured at the plate of sandwiches. “Eat something. We’ll be off in under an hour.”

Josef didn’t want to eat. His stomach rebelled at the idea, but he’d learned at the front to eat whatever you could whenever you got the chance. He forced down a fishpaste sandwich, and then a second. They tasted of nothing, going claggy in his mouth, making it difficult to swallow.

Or maybe it was the guilt making it difficult to swallow, because how could he eat while Alex suffered?

If he’d brought Alex out, he’d be minutes away from a cure, not hours. Maybe he should have carried Alex out? He could have tried a fireman’s lift, couldn’t he? He’d seen men carry comrades on their backs from the firing line. Why hadn’t he tried to do the same?

You fucking coward!

Alex’s curse rang clear as a bell in his ears.

And perhaps he’d been right, too. Perhaps they’d all been right, everyone who’d called him a conchie coward, a yellow belly, a disgrace. Because dress it up how you liked, Josef had run away from the fight—be it for his country or for Alex. Oh, he had his reasons, and they were good reasons, but in the end maybe they’d just given him an excuse to run.

A better man would have carried Alex out or died trying. That’s what Alex would have done.

“Chin up,” Violet said, and he looked up to find her putting on her coat and hat, a large first aid satchel slung crosswise over her shoulder. “It might never happen.”

“I’m afraid it already has,” Josef said, rising too. His knee stung, and a deeper pain in his knee joint twinged—he’d stiffened up, sitting still for so long.

“No point thinking like that,” Lottie said crisply. She too was dressed in her hat and coat and had a smaller bag slug across her body. “Today, we must all be jusqu'au boutistes , yes?”

She meant they should fight to the bitter end, accept no quarter from the enemy. Win at all costs.

And she was right. In this, at least, she was right.

“So,” Violet said, eyebrows rising in query. “Where are we off to?”