Always Forever

Chapter Eighteen

"Are you going to talk to me at all?" Ruth had been keeping one eye on Veitch long enough to know he was fighting to ignore her.

She instantly regretted speaking when he flashed her a glance that was so harsh it jolted her. "What do you expect? Happy smiles and blowing kisses?"

"Not from you, no."

His long hair, lashed by the cold north wind, obscured his face so she couldn't read his response, but she had watched his eyes made darker by a brooding brow ever since they had picked up the last leg of the Ml. His handsome face had been transformed by the icy set of his features. Sometimes, when she saw him like that, he frightened her.

The Tuatha De Danann who rode in front, behind and on either side had added to her loneliness by alienating her ever since they had left the camp. They had taken to Veitch immediately, encouraging him to strip off his shirt so they could examine with delight the fantastic tattoos that covered his torso, so she knew it wasn't because she was a Fragile Creature. She had endured enough similar ignorance from men during her working life not to take it to heart. With what lay ahead, she could have done with a friend for support and she hated Veitch a little for not being there for her, even though she had no right to ask that of him.

At the end of the motorway they took the North Circular. It gave her a strange frisson to be riding a horse along deserted roads on which she had queued irritatedly in backed-up traffic so many times. At least the Tuatha De Danann force gave her some confidence. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands, armed with bizarre weapons that made her blood grow cold just to look at them. They stretched as far back as she could see, and fanned out slightly on either side ahead so the force resembled an arrow driving into the contaminated heart of the city. Lugh and Nuada led the way, both of them enthused with a warrior spirit that sickened her. She didn't take any pleasure in fighting, certainly not in killing; it was a job that they had an obligation to fulfil, but that was all. And she also despised the jealousy, or contempt, she felt coming off the two gods at her possession of the Spear. The weapon rested on her back in a specially made harness Lugh had grudgingly handed over, its power warming through her clothes to invigorate her spirit.

They broke off from the North Circular, passing down North End Road until they arrived at Hampstead Heath. The expanse of greenery was looking a little washed-out in the October chill, but it had been protected from the ash falls by its lofty position above the city and the direction of the wind.

From the heights all they could see was the pall of thick smoke and mist that drifted along the Thames Valley. Occasionally, though, it shifted enough for the black tower to loom up ominously in the east.

A blast from a strange horn resembling a conch shell brought the force to an abrupt halt. Ahead, Ruth could see Lugh and Nuada in deep discussion. After a moment they beckoned to Veitch. It was noticeable that they were ignoring her, but out of bloody-mindedness she spurred her horse to keep pace behind Veitch.

Both of the gods kept their eyes fixed on Veitch's face as they spoke. "We are debating crossing this heathland," Nuada said. "It is a wide expanse that could be dangerous."

Veitch scanned the heath. "If there are any of the Bastards out there, there can't be many. There aren't that many places to hide."

"The Night Walkers are a cunning breed," Nuada said.

"I say we continue," Lugh said. "It would not do to waste the hours following the edge. And if there are Night Walkers, they will fall before the might of the Golden Ones, as they always must."

Veitch rubbed his chin. "Well, I don't know. I wouldn't like to be caught out there."

"I heard you were a mighty warrior," Lugh gibed. "That strangest of things, a Fragile Creature who is not fragile!"

Ruth willed Veitch not to be swayed, but after a moment's thought, he shrugged. "It's your call, then. Let's get to it."

Ruth sighed, but none of them looked towards her.

When they returned to their positions, Ruth said to Veitch, "Why did you give in to them? You know better than they do. You're good at what you do, Ryan. You should have more confidence in yourself."

He grunted unintelligibly, but renewed his effort to scan the heath. Clusters of trees dotted the rolling grassland, with thicker woodland to the north. They were aiming for Parliament Hill, where they could press down speedily into Kentish Town, and then on into Camden, Islington and finally the City. Ruth was dreading the final leg of the assault where the winding streets and soaring buildings would make any mass approach impossible. She expected a long, gruelling fight to their destination, and if the Fomorii could hold them off for just thirty-six hours it would end in failure. If only there were a better way, she thought.

The Tuatha De Danann fanned out across the heath, giving Ruth an even more impressive view of their numbers. So concentrated were they that her perception could barely cope; the gods lost their individuality, became the untarnished power that lay at the core of them, merging into one, bright glow. It reminded her of a sea of gold, licking up to an oil-stained beach. The sight was comforting and she relaxed a little. The Fomorii wouldn't stand a chance.

They moved across the heath slowly. Nuada and Lugh were leading cautiously, constantly scanning the terrain. Veitch kept his eyes on the tree line.

Briefly the sun broke through the thick cloud cover, warming Ruth's face. She closed her eyes and went with the gentle rocking of her mount, enjoying the aroma of greenery the breeze brought from the north. In her mind she pictured a perfect autumn day, walking with Church amongst a wood turning gold, red and brown somewhere peaceful, Scotland perhaps, or the New Forest. Her mind plucked a soundtrack from her memory that had been pressuring to come forward since the journey began.

"What are you thinking?"

She opened her eyes to see Veitch watching her suspiciously. "I can't get an old song out of my head. It's sort of gospelly, traditional, but it was in a George Clooney film a while back. It's called-"

In the blink of an eye, the Fomorii were there. They rose up out of the ground, not there, then there a second later, an opposing army created from thin air. By the time she had realised what was happening, chaos had erupted.

Ruth was caught in a hurricane. Her nightmares of the forthcoming confrontation had suggested it would be as sickeningly ferocious and bloody as any mediaeval battle, but what she saw around her was much, much worse. The Fomorii wielded their ugly, serrated swords like propellers, hacking and slashing in a relentless whirl. Limbs, heads and other body parts showered all around, filling the air with a blizzard of golden moths.

The Tuatha De Danann were just as brutal. Their weapons were unleashed in furious rounds, turning the Fomorii into a mist of black droplets or a thick sludge with only the hint of component parts. And where the fighting was too close, they resorted to their swords, jabbing and hacking as fast as their enemy. In the fury of movement and the ear-splitting din of combat, with the mud and grue covering all, Ruth could barely tell them apart.

Veitch was matching them all for ferocity. His sword whisked around with the efficiency and blurring speed of a machine, while he somehow managed to manoeuvre his horse back and forth to attack and retreat, even in close quarters. It was a staggering display of instinctive ability that left Ruth breathless. That was why he had been chosen: he wasn't just good at the role that had been presented to him, he was the ultimate warrior.

The Spear was in her right hand-she didn't recall withdrawing it-and she clutched the reins with her left. Numerous Night Walkers fell at the touch of the weapon, but she was nowhere near as good as Veitch. In fact, she felt a liability. Her own abilities were useless in that kind of situation, while the sheer senseless slaughter left her unable to think clearly.

Veitch appeared to sense this for he suddenly spurred his horse round to her side. "Let's get out of this fucking hell-hole!"

With his sword cutting down any opposition he drove the horse in as direct a line as he could to the open ground beyond the battlefield. Ruth was quick to follow in his wake, bracing the Spear against her side to take down any opposition Veitch missed. By the time they had forced their way through the final ranks, her ribs felt as if they had been beaten with metal bars.

Veitch continued until they had put a hundred yards or more between them and the fighting, then he rounded to survey the scene. "Shit. Look at that." His voice was barely more than a whisper.

From their new perspective the true horror and brutality of the fight could be seen. The Fomorii and Tuatha De Danann never turned from a confrontation, driving on from one fight to the next until they eventually dropped. The heath was thick with the essence of both of them-hundreds had already been slaughtered-but the Fomorii had a slight advantage in that they had no concern for their own preservation; one would sacrifice itself so another could gain a better position in a fight. The shimmer of golden moths over the scene added an incongruous touch of beauty to the horror, so that after a moment Ruth felt she was watching a strange, detached cartoon, shifting in a syrupy slow motion as golden snow fell languorously.

"Are they going to fight to the last man?" she said when she couldn't bear to look any more.

"They're not men." Veitch was seized with a cold anger. "They've forgotten the job. We're going to lose everything because they're locked up in their own stupid, bleedin' rivalry."

Before Ruth could answer, their attention was caught by frantic movement in the air down in the valley. Rising from the drifting smoke were black shapes that looked like flies from their perspective. "Fomorii," Ruth said. "Flying ones."

It was never easy to get a fix on the fluid shapes of the Fomorii, but Ruth was sure she could make out wings like a bat, but gleaming and rigid, as though they were made of metal. As the creatures fell down towards the heath, their insectile body plates shifted, folded out and slotted into place until they were covered with a hideous ridged and pitted armour. Numerous horns rimmed the skull while the eyes glowed a Satanic red from deep within Stygian orbits.

As Ruth and Veitch watched, a pair of the flying Night Walkers broke away from the formation and targeted the two of them. "Come on!" Veitch turned his horse in a bid to outrun them.

The flying Fomorii were like small jets, flattening their wings against their backs to build more speed. As their shadow fell over Ruth, she threw herself to one side. It was enough to avoid a killing blow from talons of black steel but she still felt a ringing impact on the side of her head, knocking her from the horse. She hit the ground hard, seeing stars, feeling a wetness seeping into her hair.

When she next looked up, the two creatures had zoned in on Veitch. They hovered, avoiding his blows, then diving in between his sword thrusts with the speed of hummingbirds. Even so, they'd only managed to land a couple of minor blows on him; blood trickled from a cut on his temple, another on his cheek.

As Ruth pushed herself dazedly to her feet, she saw Witch feint and then rip his sword along one of the creature's bellies. Thick, black liquid gushed out, steaming in the cold air. It narrowly missed Veitch, splattering on the grass where it sizzled like acid. But in the Fomor's dying spasm it had knocked Witch's sword from his hand, and the other one was preparing to sweep in for the kill.

Though her head felt like cotton wool, Ruth acted on instinct. She snatched up the Spear from where it had fallen and hurled it with all her strength. As the creature dived down, the Spear rammed through its skull, neck and out of its belly. It dropped to the ground like a stone.

Veitch snapped round towards her. At first his face was unreadable, but then a grin crept across it. "So you can be as big a nasty bastard as the rest of us."

After reclaiming the Spear and Ruth's horse, they only had a second or two to consider their options before they realised a section of the Tuatha De Danann force was rushing towards them. The flying Fomorii were wreaking havoc amongst the outer reaches of the Golden Ones, but hadn't yet progressed to those fighting in the thickest of the melee. It was obvious they had tilted the balance firmly in the direction of the Fomorii.

Lugh and Nuada patently recognised this for they were in the forefront of the retreat. The conch-like horn sounded insistently above the clash of battle and the bloodthirsty screeches of the Fomorii. The Tuatha De Danann attempted to extricate themselves from the thick of the fighting. Many fell in the course of the retreat.

Soon Ruth and Veitch's horses thundered across the heath. The airborne creatures continued to harry those at the rear, but away from the battle there was more room to use Goibhniu's weapons. Once a handful had plummeted from the sky the other Fomorii hung back, waiting for the right opportunity. Dropping back further, the Night Walker forces regrouped to drive the Tuatha De Danann eastwards; once the gods hit the built-up areas, their retreat would fragment.

Ruth could see this was not lost on Nuada. His face was drained of the arrogance that had turned his earlier smiles into a sneer; a stony cast hid his concern.

Veitch knew it too, was probably aware of it before anyone else. "We can't keep running!" he yelled above the pounding of a thousand hooves.

"Then what do you suggest?" Nuada snapped.

The thoughtful expression that crossed Veitch's face brought a smile to Ruth's lips; she recognised it instantly. "There's one route that'll take all this lot, horses and all, right into the heart of where we want to go," he said.

"Then why was it not proposed earlier?"

"Because it's probably bleedin' dangerous." Veitch turned to Ruth. "The tube."

Ruth was struggling to keep up, but Veitch's suggestion gave her added impetus. "Of course! The whole city's got tunnels running under it everywhere!"

"Not just the train tunnels. There's other shit down there. Secret passages for the Government and the army. Disused lines and everything."

Nuada reined in his mount; they had reached the eastern edge of the heath. Within a couple of minutes, the rest of the Tuatha De Danann would be milling around them, jammed into a bottleneck and ready for the slaughter.

"Make haste! There is little time!" Ruth thought she sensed a hint of respect in Nuada's voice.

"Okay, here's the deal. If we all head to the nearest station the Bastards'll follow us down and pick us off. But what they really want is you, Lugh and the other top dogs. Me too, probably. We're going to draw some of them off, try to lose them. Ruth's going to lead as many of your lot as she can to Archway station and then move up with some more to Highgate." He winced. "The rest are going to have to fend for themselves."

"Agreed. They can honour themselves by holding off the Night Walkers until we reach our destination." He made to go before turning back to Veitch. "You are a true champion of your kind, Brother of Dragons." And then he was away, passing on the plan to his lieutenants.

The flush of pride rose up in Veitch's cheeks and he tried to turn away before Ruth could see. She rode up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder so she could pull him closer to whisper in his ear. "You're the hero, Ryan. Everybody knows it."

He looked deep into her face, unable to find any words that could express his thoughts. Instead he pulled her closer to kiss her just once, on the cheek; it was a kiss for old time's sake. And then he spurred his horse to round up the men he needed.

Veitch, Lugh and Nuada led a band of about thirty eastwards through the pleasant streets that bordered the heath. Within a couple of minutes they were at the place Veitch had identified from his encyclopaedic strategic memory. Highgate Cemetery brooded behind stone walls and chained iron gates, a maze of paths amongst the crumbling Victorian monuments to the dead, festooned with ivy, shadowed by clusters of dark, overhanging trees.

Lugh smashed down the main gate with one blow of his boot. They drove their horses deep into the heart of the cemetery where they dismounted. Veitch knew he had made the right choice: plenty of places to hide amongst the stones and mausoleums, the groves and hollows and mounds that gave no clear line of sight.

Yet he couldn't help a shudder when he looked round at the stones. It was the Grey Lands all over again. Images of the dead beneath his feet rose unbidden into his mind, and however much he tried he couldn't stifle the thought of them listening and shifting, gradually clawing their way up to the light.

Before he made any further move, he climbed into the low, twisted branches of an ancient yew. Through the thick greenery he could just make out the cemetery perimeter. He had been right there too: the Fomorii were milling around in the streets beyond, confused. Their hive-mind was good for any obvious confrontation, but anything involving guile and difficult choices left them at odds. It helped that he could not see any that stood out as leaders. No flapping crows, no enormous, powerful warriors like the one that had pursued them from Edinburgh.

After a moment the main body of the force set off to track Ruth through the trees, but they had hesitated long enough for her to have a good headstart. A large group turned towards the cemetery. A chill ran through Veitch as they flowed over the walls and amongst the stones like shadows at twilight. Several of the flying Fomorii joined them, swooping low over the graves, searching for any sign of their prey.

Veitch dropped from the branches to Nuada and Lugh. "You know what guerrilla warfare is? We split up into ones and twos, pick off as many as we can while we make our way across the cemetery. We meet up on the other side and head to Highgate station."

"What about the horses?" Nuada asked.

"We scatter them. They'll confuse things."

Nuada and Lugh barked something to the others in a language Veitch couldn't understand. A moment later they had slipped into the surroundings like ghosts.

A film of sweat covered Veitch's entire body despite the cold. He stepped out from behind the lichen-streaked obelisk towering over his head into plain view of three Fomorii, who moved cautiously along the path two hundred yards away. They heralded their discovery with a barrage of monkey shrieks.

The other Fomorii nearby were too distracted by the wildly galloping horses to heed the call. The mounts ran back and forth along the winding paths, in sight just long enough for their presence to be registered but disappearing before the Fomorii could see if there was a rider on their backs.

Veitch's heart thundered as the Fomorii started towards him. They moved so much quicker than their bulk suggested: efficient killing machines filled with unquenchable energy. There was something hypnotic about their power that kept him rooted and they were dangerously close by the time he had turned and was running over the lip of the hill. He knew he wouldn't be able to outrun them for long.

The strain of the last few days was beginning to tell as he darted from the path amongst the stones in the hope that it would slow down his pursuers. Exhaustion brought a dull, aching heat to his thigh muscles, his usually bountiful reserves of energy close to empty.

The Fomorii veered from the path, smashing down grave markers that had stood for a hundred years with a flex of their leg muscles or a sweep of their arms. The wind picked up the thick, unpleasant musk of them; every time Witch smelled it he felt sick to his stomach. Now he didn't even have the strength to combat the queasiness. He hurdled a tilting cross, ripping his calf on one of the arms, then landed awkwardly back on the path. He was convinced he had broken his ankle, but after he limped a few more paces he realised it was probably only a twist, but it was enough to hamper him.

A chunk of old stone crashed against a statue of an angel, missing his head by only an inch. He rounded a bend in the path and came up on a large mausoleum covered with so much ivy it looked like a natural formation.

Gripping the ivy hard, he hauled himself on to the roof to leap to a tree branch beyond. His reactions were still sharp enough to catch the shadow falling across him. The talons of one of the flying Fomorii raked the air where his head had been. Quickly he lashed upwards with his silver hand. Nails extracted as Nuada had showed him, slicing through the creature's left leg. It lost control of its flight and he hacked again, half-severing a wing. It crashed down amongst the graves, still alive but badly wounded.

He didn't have time to catch his breath. The Fomorii were now dragging themselves up the mausoleum, but they were slowed by the ivy, which was being pulled away by their bulk; they were still managing to find enough of a foothold to progress.

Veitch leaped for the branch and swung, dropping down on to another path. Pain flared in his ankle as he landed. He stifled a yell, clutched at it and hobbled off as the path wound round into a dense thicket of trees.

A minute later the Fomorii were there. But as they turned into the shadowy grove they were confronted by Nuada and Lugh poised on either side of the path.

Veitch was leaning against a tree, taking the weight off his ankle. "Could be worse," he said with a shrug. "You could be dead."

The Fomorii were still struggling with their surprise as Lugh stepped in and gutted one, while Nuada lopped the head off another. As the third started to transform into something more offensive they both swung their swords to dismember it.

"Oh, well." Veitch eyed the steaming corpses with a confident grin.

Across the cemetery, golden shapes flitted like autumn shadows. The remnants of gleaming sable bodies hung from crosses and angels, were strewn across stone boxes or were slumped against the walls of mausoleums where the ivy flapped against their caustic cavities.

Veitch guided it all with a consummate eye for detail, and when he was convinced enough damage had been done in the limited time they had available, he directed the Tuatha De Danann to depart. They slipped amongst the stones to the perimeter wall, and even with Veitch limping, they were not seen once.

Ruth waited in the shadows of Highgate Station ticket office, watching the loosed horses canter along the road in the fading afternoon light. Hundreds if not thousands of the beasts were now roaming through the streets of North London, covering their tracks with great efficiency.

Barely a quarter of the Tuatha De Danann force had streamed down the cramped winding staircases of Archway tube station under her guidance before she had decided to move on to avoid the Fomorii. Many more now waited at the foot of the terrifyingly deep shaft at Highgate, the deepest-if her memory served correct-on the entire tube network. Without any of the lifts working, it had taken them an age to filter through the tiny station and on to the stairs, clutching makeshift torches from any wood they could find in the vicinity. And all the time her heart had been in her mouth, expecting the Fomorii to sweep down on them when they were in no position to defend themselves.

But somehow they had done it, leaving her to wait alone in painful anticipation for Veitch and the others to arrive. She clutched the Spear close to her side for comfort, feeling the warm pulse of it, the soothing heat. Strangely it appeared slightly different from when she had first received it, less rough, with more delicate inlays of brass and silver.

She hadn't given a thought to what the next twenty-four hours would bring; indeed, if she were honest with herself, she would have admitted that for several weeks she had anticipated a terrible end for all of them. It didn't frighten her anymore. When things were so likely, you made your peace with the outcome and moved on. As she stood there, she was surprised and a little disturbed to realise the worst thought that crawled around her head was that Veitch would not make it. Had his uncontrollable anger driven him to make some stupid mistake? Had his overweening bravado left him lying in a pool of blood in some Godforsaken backstreet? She was afraid of examining the subject too deeply for fear of what she would find.

She loved Church-she knew she did-but a part of her still had deep affection for Veitch; more than friendship, less than amore, not enough to make a song, more than enough to fill her with a consuming sadness that she might never see him again. Even her emotions had been so much simpler before the big change; now she couldn't even count on herself.

When she saw the glimmer of gold skin in the grey streets, and Veitch at the centre of them, dark hair flying in the breeze, she wiped her eyes, heaved in several deep breaths and turned towards the stairs.

"You're falling apart, Ryan. Losing a hand, now twisting an ankle." Ruth held the torch higher. The darkness receded along the walls of the stairwell like a living creature.

"We all heal quick." Veitch limped down the steps heavily, clutching on to the rail for support. Behind them Nuada, Lugh and the other Tuatha De Danann traipsed silently.

Veitch's mood had turned dark once more. Ruth saw it in his face the moment he had entered the tube station. Once he had passed into the gloom of the stairwell he locked himself off even further, his replies to her questions clipped and curt. There was something ineffably dangerous about him. In its milder form it was attractive, but when he got like this she was glad he was on their side.

By the time they reached the platform, Ruth's heart was pounding and her breath was short. She was surprised and disturbed by how much the claustrophobic darkness was affecting her; even with the torches, it was impossible to see more than a few feet. Although she'd been on that platform several times before, in that state it was oppressive and alien. She was acutely aware of the massive weight of earth piled up over her head. The air was stale without the circulation system working and it smelled of damp and burnt oil. It was also extremely cold. With an effort, she fought back a desperate urge to get back to the light.

"Where's the rest of them?" Veitch asked.

"I sent them down the line to rendezvous with the others at Archway." Her voice sounded strained, with incipient panic tightening its grip around her airways.

"You know it's a bleedin' maze down here. They could get lost-"

"Sorry," she snapped, sarcastically. "I foolishly thought there wasn't any time to lose."

"All right. I suppose we just have to take chances." He lowered himself down and slid off the lip of the platform on to the tracks.

Ruth hesitated a moment before following suit. She moved in close to Veitch. Lugh and a couple of the other Tuatha De Danann led the way cautiously, while the rest guarded the rear.

At the end of the platform, the black hole of the tunnel loomed up in the flickering torchlight; a mouth ready to swallow them, Ruth thought. Her skin grew cold as she stared into the darkness and she was overcome with a sudden premonition of a grave and none of them ever seeing the light again.

"What's that?" Her heart rattled frantically when she glimpsed a fleeting movement on the edge of the light.

Everyone froze. "Didn't see anything," Veitch whispered.

"There's definitely something there." Her voice was taut.

Lugh had found some oily rags on the tracks, which he tied into a large knot and lit with his torch. He whirled it once round his head and hurled it along the tunnel in front. The shadows rushed fearfully along the arc of the tunnel, but what was caught in the light for the briefest moment made Ruth shudder.

A sea of rats were frozen in the sudden glare, from wall to wall and as far as the light carried, their eyes glittering coldly. The sickening tableau was there only for an instant. As the burning rag fell, they retreated frantically, one brown-furred mass, rippling sinuously, until a second later the entire area was clear. The sound of scratching on metal rails faded away down the tunnel.

"Good job we have light," Veitch said. "They're fierce little bastards when they're hungry or cornered. I wouldn't fancy our chances against them in the dark."

"There were so many of them!"

"These tunnels were always infested. The whole city was. They used to say you were never more than three feet away from a rat. I expect it's worse now, with all the bodies and everything."

The image conjured by Veitch's comment made Ruth sick. "You know there's a danger some of the tunnels could be flooded," she said, changing the subject. "None of the pumps are working."

"That's the least of our worries."

"Do you think the Fomorii are down here?"

"They might use some of the tunnel system, but they'll be going about their business. They won't be looking out for us."

Ruth thought about this for a moment. "Are you sure? They've always been pretty smart in their planning. Second-guessing us, setting up all those backup plans if the main one didn't work. I know Calatin's gone, but there's always Mollecht and God knows what else-"

"Well, you be the bleedin' strategist, then."

"I'm just offering an opinion. I'm allowed to speak, you know."

"That's all you bleedin' well do."

"Get lost." She shoved him hard so he fell on to his injured ankle.

He cursed vehemently and turned, his face transformed by fury, his fists bunched. It was so terrifying she dropped the torch, which sputtered and fizzled but didn't go out.

"Give me that!"

"No!" She fended him off and snatched up the burning wood.

"If the torches go out we're screwed!"

"I know that!"

"Well, keep a hold of it then, you stupid-"

"What?" She rounded on him.

"Nothing." He realised he'd overstepped the mark.

"What were you going to say?" Her voice was edgy and shrill.

"Come on." He marched on ahead sheepishly. "Don't do this here," he said under his breath, "not in front of them."

"Who cares what they think?"

"I do."

They continued in silence for several minutes while Ruth's seething temper calmed. Finally she said, "You should see a therapist about all that repressed anger. The slightest thing and it comes bursting out."

He wasn't going to answer, but then he said quietly, "It never used to be a problem."

"You've had it as long as I've known you. And let me tell you, it's a liability. You fly off the handle at the slightest thing and you stop thinking rationally-"

"All right."

"We can't afford that-"

"I said all right!" He realised a second later that he'd done it again, but instead of apologising he speeded up his step until he caught up with Lugh and the point men.

They continued that way for half an hour, with Ruth wrapped in a shroud of loneliness, listening to the unforgiving echoes bounce crazily around, hinting at strangers nearby but never quite revealing anything. No one spoke; the atmosphere had grown more intense the further they progressed into the tunnels. Ruth couldn't shake the feeling there was some terrible threat lying in front of them, staying only a step or two ahead of the advancing torchlight.

Veitch kept his head down, but she could tell from his rigid shoulders that he was aware of her behind him. She wondered if she had been too harsh on him; the strain had been making her increasingly snappy. The niggle of guilt she felt told her it probably wasn't as one-sided as she had pretended. Veitch had performed an exemplary service; if only the stupid emotional side didn't keep getting in the way, she would be able to give him the wholehearted praise he really deserved.

As they passed through Archway station, the torchlight flared up over the tiled walls and a nagging doubt grew full-born. "Where are the others?" she asked to no one in particular.

Veitch hesitated before turning round. "Probably took a wrong turn somewhere," he replied. Ruth thought he sounded a little abashed.

"With a whole army traipsing through here, you'd expect to hear some echoes. Wouldn't you?"

They all halted to listen. There was nothing at all; the air felt dead. "Maybe they accidentally crossed over to the northbound tunnel," Veitch suggested. "Who knows? There might be a whole load of service tunnels we don't even know about. In the dark back there anyone could have taken a branching track without knowing."

Veitch could easily have been right, but the weight on their hearts grew heavier nonetheless.

Ruth lost all track of time. The only sign of the passing minutes was the growing ache in her legs and the dull parade of platforms that had once meant nothing more than a commuter liminal zone between work and home. Now they were stations on the road to Hell, their names emblazoned on her mind: Tufnell Park, Kentish Town, Camden Town, Euston, King's Cross, Angel. She knew the next one would be Old Street and then they would be in the heart of the City. And by that time, she guessed, they would know exactly what troubles they were facing.

At one point, near King's Cross, they had heard the dim sound of clashing weapons and shouts echoing from one of the myriad tunnels converged there. They presumed it was the main Tuatha De Danann force encountering resistance somewhere.

Nuada was keen to reunite with his comrades to offer support if needed, but Veitch argued fiercely against this. The tunnel system was so complex the chances of locating them were slim-they could spend days wandering around down there, he stressed. And time was not on their side; at least some of them had to reach their destination.

After a heated debate, Nuada once again gave in, though Ruth could sense his patience with a Fragile Creature was growing thin.

Veitch came back to her side once Old Street and Moorgate stations were behind them. The air had grown several degrees colder and there was a deeply unpleasant smell that Ruth didn't want to examine too closely.

"Back in your good books now, am I?" she asked tartly and instantly hated herself, but she had been unable to resist the gibe.

This time it washed over Veitch; he had other things on his mind. "Bank next. We'll have to go up top soon." He paused. "That fighting we heard must mean there are Fomorii down here. We've been lucky not to meet any of them."

"Luck doesn't begin to explain it. I can't believe they've left one of the main routes into their most sacred places completely free from guards."

Lugh hurried back, hushing them into silence.

"There," Ruth hissed childishly, "tempting Fate again."

Distant sounds carried to them from ahead. It suggested many bodies on the move; the occasional foul stink caught on the air currents told them it was the Fomorii.

"They're going to push us all the way back to Moorgate before we can find somewhere to lie low," Ruth said dismally.

"Shit!" Veitch looked around like a cornered animal. "We can't waste the-"

One of the Tuatha De Danann was motioning to a shadowy area on the eastern wall. They hurried over to see a small tunnel wide enough for a couple of people. Veitch dived in to investigate. Less than a minute later he was back, grinning broadly. "It leads to another tunnel. We can hide in there."

"Haste, then," Nuada said. "They are almost upon us."

They bustled in as silently as possible. They had barely vacated the Northern Line when they heard the heavy tramp of many feet drawing closer. From the noise and the time it took them to pass, Ruth guessed there must have been at least five hundred, possibly on their way to fight the Tuatha De Danann. She hoped that meant the Fomorii forces they were joining were doing badly.

At one point, it sounded like the Fomorii were coming down the connecting tunnel so they all hurried several hundred yards away and flattened themselves against the wall, desperately trying to shield their torches. After a couple of minutes, Ruth's pounding heart subsided a little.

The tunnel had patently not been used for a long time. Most of the tracks had been torn up, and the occasional signs appeared to date back to the earliest days of the tube system in the late nineteenth century. Ancient junction boxes rusted against bricks covered in the white salt of age and damp. Where the rails should have been there were numerous hummocks and rough piles that Ruth guessed were the dust-covered detritus of work on the other tunnel.

Once all the sounds of the Fomorii had faded away, they relaxed. "God, they smell so bad!" Ruth protested.

"They are being driven by their Caraprix." Nuada was looking back and forth along the tunnel. "When the Caraprix take an active role in direction it stimulates a powerful aroma."

"Even in you?" she said acidly.

"We, of course," he said with a smile, "smell divine."

They set off back the way they had come, but after they had been walking for five minutes it became apparent to Ruth they had gone past the connecting tunnel in the dark. "We must have missed it," she called out to the others.

"I didn't see anything," Veitch said, much to Ruth's irritation. "Let's carry on a little way."

Three minutes later their torches began to illuminate irregular shapes in the distant gloom. "Look, it's a station," Ruth sighed when they were closer. "I told you we'd gone past it."

Veitch held up his torch to read the sign over the platform. "King William Street?" he said. "Never heard of it."

"It must be one they don't use any more," Ruth said. "There are quite a few, aren't there? But you're right, I've never heard of this one."

Veitch's torch illuminated dirty, broken tiles and some torn, peeling posters. One said Light's Out! Another, Loose Lips Sink Ships.

"Looks like it was used as an air raid shelter in the Second World War," Ruth said.

"We need more wood," Lugh said. "The torches are burning through quickly."

"There might be some here," Veitch said. "Send your men in to check."

Lugh eyed him darkly; this sounded very much like an order, but then he motioned for three of the Tuatha De Danann to investigate.

"What time do you reckon it is?" Veitch said, leaning against the edge of the platform.

Ruth shrugged. "My body clock says eleven… midnight… Maybe later."

"We should rest."

Ruth was glad Veitch had raised it. She felt exhausted, but she was afraid to bring it up herself in case the others thought her weak. Nuada nodded in agreement and passed the information to his followers.

"We're close enough to spare a couple of hours," Veitch continued. "And we'd be no use to anyone if we turned up at the Big Bastard's door completely knackered."

"You don't have to convince me." Ruth clambered wearily on to the platform and found a spot against the wall at one end. Behind the windows of an old office she could see the torches of the Tuatha De Danann moving around like lazy fireflies as they searched for wood.

Nuada, Lugh and the others sat quietly at the other end of the platform, talking in low voices. Ruth was surprised when Veitch sat next to her; he didn't speak, but the fact that he was there was a loud statement. He closed his eyes and was asleep in an instant. Ruth wished she could rest just as easily, but by the time the thought had entered her head she was out.

She stirred uncomfortably, irritated by the cold surface of the hard platform floor against her behind. As her eyes flickered open when she tried to shift into a more comfortable position, she realised she couldn't have been asleep for very long at all because lights were still moving behind the office windows, beautiful, like a golden snowstorm, lulling her back to sleep.

She was so tired, enjoying the comfort of rest. Her limbs felt light and airy, after the leaden weight of the long march. Her troubled mind was cocooned in a fuzzy, yellow warmth. Yet as she tried to snuggle back into her pleasant state, she was annoyed to feel something nagging at the back of her mind. With annoyance, she tried to damp it down, but it wouldn't go away. The warmth slipped further away. Finally she realised the only way she was going to get any sleep was to examine it; something about what she had seen.

She opened her tired eyes again. The platform and track was quiet and still. The Tuatha De Danann sat in close conversation. Veitch was beside her asleep. Nothing out of the ordinary.

She tried again to get back to sleep, but it was lost to her now. The feelings of alarm wound up a notch. There was something there. What was she missing?

She looked around once more before settling on the light in the windows. She pulled herself shakily to her feet. Still half asleep, she focused hazily on the light shimmering through the panes. Earlier she had thought of it as fireflies, and now it seemed even more like that. Through her daze it was hypnotic in its dreaminess. Fireflies. No, more like butterflies. And then she had it. At first she felt shock, and then a deep iciness, before she was running along the platform to raise the alarm.

A face loomed up against the glass, hollow cheeked, contorted with terror, a sight made worse by it being the face of a god. The eyes bulged, pleading with her, with anyone, and then it snapped away as if it was on elastic.

The clouds of golden moths ebbed and flowed, fluttering against the glass, caught in the torchlight.

"No more!" Lugh was yelling. "How many Golden Ones must depart this day?" All the Tuatha De Danann looked on in horror, paralysed by the realisation that even away from the field of battle their kind were being wiped from existence in a manner they could never have realised in all their time.

Veitch powered past Ruth, his sword already out. "No rest for the bleedin' wicked." He levelled a flying kick at the office door. It burst from its hinges.

The three Tuatha De Danann lay dying on the floor, their bodies slowly breaking up. All around grey shapes flitted, although at first Ruth thought they were shadows cast by the flickering torches that lay where they had fallen.

While she was transfixed by the activity, Veitch was backpedalling along the floor where he had fallen and then propelled himself to his feet with undue haste, his sword waving in front of him. "Shit," he muttered.

"What is it?" Ruth asked.

Four figures burst from the doorway, their mouths held wide in an eerie silent scream, grey like mist, and at times just as insubstantial before there was the faintest shift and they took on a terrifying substance. They moved like light reflected off mirrors; Ruth only had an instant to take in their appearances: all women, beautiful in a haunted way, dressed in shrouds, their hair flying wildly behind them as if they had been caught in a storm. Ruth had a flash of talons like an animal's, of too-long teeth, sharp and pointed, and then they swept by her and she had only a second to throw herself out of the way.

The talons caught in her hair, ripped out a chunk, but she had avoided being caught; she had evaded those teeth.

"The Baobhan Sith!" one of the Tuatha De Danann said in fearful awe.

But Ruth didn't need reminding of the bloodsucking creatures that had attacked them on the lonely Cumbrian hills when Tom had betrayed them.

"They did have bleedin' guards posted!" Veitch threw himself out of the way of clutching hands, rolled and jumped to his feet. He lashed out with his sword, but it either passed through the creature or the Baobhan Sith avoided the blade so quickly Ruth didn't see it.

Veitch grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the way of another of them. He chopped with his sword again. This time the spectral woman became mist as the blade cut through her, reforming as it passed.

"Christ, there's no fighting them!" He yanked Ruth hard and they both fell off the platform, landing with a bone-jolting impact on the hard stones of the track.

The Baobhan Sith moved up and down the platform wildly, twisting and turning in an imaginary wind, avoiding any attack the Tuatha lle Danann made with any of their weapons. As Ruth watched in horror one of the creatures distended its mouth seemingly wider than its head and the razor sharp teeth folded out like kitchen knives. It flew towards one of Lugh's soldiers and clamped on his neck, the teeth snapping through the substance to suck up the god's essence; and however much he threw himself around or lashed out with his sword it could not be removed. A moment later the golden moths began to fly.

"Let's get out of here," Veitch said quietly.

"We can't leave them!"

"We stay here, we die. There's too much at stake." He could see she was still unconvinced and added, "They'll soon catch up with us."

The Tuatha lle Danann already had formed a phalanx and were backing rapidly across the platform. One of the Baobhan Sith tore another from their midst.

"Look at that," Veitch said. "No point dragging our heels. Just bleedin' run."

He made to grab Ruth's hand again, but she had jumped up to snatch a torch from the edge of the platform where it had fallen. Then she was sprinting at his side, glancing over her shoulder. One of the Baobhan Sith had left the platform to pursue them. "They're coming!" Ruth gasped.

Their breath formed white clouds in the cold. Ruth was afraid she wouldn't have any energy left to escape. The ground was uneven, threatening to trip them, and the motion put the torch in danger of going out so that she had to shield it with her body. She didn't dare look over her shoulder any more because she couldn't go any faster if she tried.

"Which way? Where's the other tunnel?" Her thoughts fell over each other in her panic. This is a nightmare. The words blazed white against the background darkness of her mind.

"What's that?" Veitch was pointing into the shadows ahead; the edge in his voice turned her panic up a notch.

No more, she prayed.

There was movement on the ground ahead, not just in one spot, but in many. The soil and stone of the track floor was moving in little piles. Obliquely, Ruth realised it was the strange hummocks she had taken to be building rubble.

From one of them, a grey hand rose slowly.

Ruth couldn't restrain a brief shriek. They skidded to a halt. The hand became an arm as the stones and soil sloughed away. Across the myriad other humps the same scene was being played out as the Baobhan Sith emerged from their resting places. Earth showered from their wild hair and fell from their open mouths as they levered their shoulders up, then their torsos. Their faces turned towards Veitch and Ruth, all of them shrieking in silence, scattered from wall to wall and away into the shrouded distance. Ruth was too terrified to consider how many of them were waiting there in the tunnel.

The sheer weight of terror elicited by the Baobhan Sith emerging left Veitch and Ruth rooted for an instant. But then Veitch shoved Ruth forward and they were sprinting once more, throwing themselves into a wild dance away from grasping hands.

Behind them, the first to emerge were already on their feet, shaking off the lethargy of slumber, flitting in pursuit. Ahead, the hummocks in gradual upheaval stretched on forever.

The Baobhan Sith rose up with increasing swiftness, and however fast Veitch and Ruth ran it was obvious they would soon be surrounded. Talons bit deeply into Ruth's ankle. She yelped as Veitch's flashing sword forced the creature to become insubstantial. They continued to drive forward, knowing that if they slowed an instant they would be lost, but already the Baobhan Sith were massing ahead of them.

A few seconds later the route ahead was blocked with shimmering bodies. "Shit." Veitch ground to a halt and whirled round, his eyes feral. The Baobhan Sith swept up from all sides.

Ruth jabbed a finger excitedly. "There's the tunnel!"

To get to it would mean passing through the flickering creatures. Veitch gave Ruth a reassuring smile. "Head down. Stay right behind me. Don't let them get a hold of you."

He barrelled into the mass of them, lashing his sword in front of him. Ruth kept exactly in his step, her heart thundering as hands clutched at her clothes; some caught but were pulled free; others ripped through her hair without getting any purchase.

Just as they were about to dive into the tunnel, one of the Baobhan Sith latched on to Veitch. Ruth saw the transformation from mist to solid form as its mouth tore wide to expose the unbelievably pointed teeth. The powerful jaw muscles heaved as the head swept down to Veitch's neck.

At the last moment Ruth jabbed the Spear into the creature's mouth. The fangs smashed down on it and the thing shimmered into nothingness. Veitch dragged Ruth into the small tunnel.

Though breathless, they couldn't slow down. They could feel the presence of the Baobhan Sith at their backs like an icy shadow. In the main tunnel they headed southbound, acutely aware that they might run into more Fomorii and be trapped between the two forces.

The torch cast barely enough light to see, and it was hard running across the uneven tracks without tripping, but the Baobhan Sith drove on ceaselessly.

"They're not going to let up, are they?" Ruth gasped. "What do we dokeep running until we're face to face with Balor?" At the mention of the name the air temperature noticeably dropped several degrees and a deep, resonant rustling, like whispering voices, rose up on the edge of their hearing. Ruth resolved not to say that name again.

"We've got to lose those grey bastards before we can do anything." Veitch spotted another side tunnel, this time leading to the northbound tracks. He headed towards it. They continued southbound, both beginning to flag. A hundred yards further on they came upon a doorway leading to the conduit for power lines and fibre optics. The Baobhan Sith were almost upon them as Veitch wrenched the door open, thrust Ruth inside and slammed it shut behind him. He jammed his sword into the frame and twisted it so the handle wouldn't open.

They could sense the Baobhan Sith moving beyond the door as they collapsed against the wall and sucked in mouthfuls of air. "That should hold them until they raise the alarm." Veitch rubbed his tired eyes. "Good job they're morons with no initiative."

"We better get moving before the Fomorii turn up," Ruth said. "I tell you, I could do with a sleep."

"We'll get some downtime once we find a safe place to hole up."

"I suppose we've lost the others?"

"We can't go back for them, can we? They'll be there." A heavy pause. "At the end. You can count on it."

The conduit lay beyond another door. It was lined with cables and wires, but they could walk along it at a stoop. Every time they came to a branching conduit, they turned, right, then left. After half an hour they found another inspection door and exited into a tunnel.

"Well, I have no bleedin' idea where we are now." Veitch headed left, hoping it would lead them back towards the City.

"All we need to do is find another station." Ruth eyed the torch worryingly; the flame was burning very low.

They continued along the tunnel for a little way until their path was blocked by a large, dark object: a tube train. "Don't worry-we can squeeze by it," Veitch said.

But as they edged along the side of the train, Ruth looked up and cried out in shock. The torchlight revealed the dirty windows were streaked with blood in explosive, paint-gun patterns. Inside she could just make out the shapes of bodies. It was hard to tell from her perspective, but they didn't appear to be in one piece. The sour-apple stink of decomposition was thick in the air.

Veitch noticed it too. "The doors have been torn off," he noted.

Ruth could just make out small figures too, and frail, old ones. She fought back tears; the terrible waste still tore a hole in her heart. "The Fomorii must have moved out across the city through the network when their leader was reborn."

Veitch peered in through the ragged doorway. "Poor bastards. Didn't stand a chance."

From ahead came the tramp of many feet. Ruth and Veitch were halfway along the carriage, squeezed tight against the dirty, oily walls. They wouldn't be able to make it back to the open tunnel before the Fomorii arrived.

"In here," Veitch whispered. He crawled up through the doorway into the body of the carriage, pulling out his handkerchief and pressing it against his face. Ruth shook her head furiously in primal disgust, but she knew it was the best option. She screwed her eyes shut, covered her nose and mouth and followed Witch in.

He guided her along the floor away from the open doors, but even with her eyes shut she had a visceral image of the scene around her. She brushed against hard and lifeless things that swung or shifted dramatically with a soft, wet sound. The floor was puddled with a thick, sticky substance; though her mouth was covered, the stench made her retch. Her stomach heaved time and again, and she didn't know how she managed to keep it silent, but then her eyes filled with tears at the thought of what had happened and somehow that helped.

Veitch took the torch, which was so low it barely cast any light, and said he'd shield it with "something he'd found"; Ruth didn't ask what that was. They'd barely ended their exchange when the carriage rocked madly as the Fomorii barged past on either side. The two of them slid backwards and forwards on the slick floor. Ruth had to jam her hands and feet against the sides of the seats to stop herself skidding back towards the doorway. She almost lost her grip when Veitch slammed his boot heel into her face, but a moment after that the violent movement subsided. They exited the carriage a little sooner than safety would have suggested, but even then they couldn't escape the stink from their fouled clothes; nor the thought of all the atrocities that had been committed.

A little further on they smelled smoke, and as they progressed they realised they could make out a faint glow tinting the tunnel walls. They moved in closer to one wall and edged forward cautiously. The smoke grew thicker, the light brighter.

Round a bend in the tunnel they glimpsed several fires burning. After so many hours of darkness it took a while for their eyes to adjust to the glare, and when they did they pulled back quickly. Several Fomorii were moving amongst piles of burning rubbish. It was obviously some kind of checkpoint or guard camp.

Veitch cursed quietly. "We're never going to get past that."

"I bet they've got camps like that all around the perimeter of their core area."

"There was a door further back. We will find a way past the bastards."

"I wish we could get some of that fire." Ruth examined what remained of the torch.

They retraced their steps to an unmarked door almost lost in the gloom. Veitch used his dagger to smash the lock and they slipped into a clean corridor that led on to a large thoroughfare. It had a hard Tarmac surface and there were military-style stencils on the wall pointing to locations obviously written in code.

"These must be the tunnels the Government set up in the fifties and sixties in case of a nuclear strike," Ruth said. "A good way to save all the great and good and leave the poor bastards to die. Probably a favour. Who'd want to live in a world filled with politicians, the military, businessmen and the aristocracy?"

"We're well and truly bleedin' lost now," Veitch said angrily. "Why did it have to be me who fucked up again?"

When he was like that there was no consoling him. "Pick a direction," she said dismally. "It'll take us somewhere."

His anger grew more intense as it became obvious they were moving off the beaten track. The well-tended road gave way to rough ground, the tunnel became unfinished: bare brick, then girders and scaffolding, before they came to a thick barrier of sleepers and planks.

Veitch smashed his fist against the wall, as hard as if he was punching someone in the face, but his rage wiped away any pain he might have felt. When he turned, Ruth could see his knuckles were ragged.

She cowered as he stormed around searching for something to attack. "We fucked up!" he yelled.

"We can go-"

"No! We! Can't!" His furious face thrust an inch away from hers. Suddenly she was terrified; she couldn't see any sign of the funny, gentle Veitch she had known from the quieter times they had shared.

She took a step back, but didn't show her fear. "Pull yourself together."

"What?" His eyes ranged wildly as though she wasn't there.

"I said, pull yourself together. You're the hero here-"

"Hero! I'm the bleedin' loser! Same as I always was!" He flailed his arm, obviously some sort of primal gesture to wave her away. But instead he caught the torch and knocked it from her weak grip. It smashed into pieces on the floor, the flame now a faint flicker along one of the shards.

"Ryan!" Ruth dropped to her knees desperately, but there was nothing to save.

"Oh, fuck! Now look what I've done!" He ran over and kicked the wall hard.

Ruth only saw what happened next from the corner of her eye as she bent down trying to pull the remaining pieces of wood together to keep the flame going. Weakened by his punches, the wall collapsed. Veitch plunged forward into a gulf beyond and a shower of rubble fell down reclosing the opening.

Ruth covered her head until the fall had ended, but none of the debris touched her. She looked at the faint flame and then slowly took in her surroundings.

"Oh, Ryan," she whispered. And then the tears came in force.

When she finally regained control of her emotions, Ruth wiped her eyes and resolved to find a way out of her predicament. She wasn't going to be beaten. She certainly wasn't going to die down there. Balor had to be beaten, humanity had to be saved and, more importantly-she had to laugh at that strange truth-she had to see Church again. Even if she had to crawl along pitch-black tunnels to find a way out.

The flame was barely more than a candle's height on the splinters of wood. It became trimmed briefly with blue and then began to gutter.

Here we go, she thought. Prepare yourself.

Then, as the flame finally began to die, she became aware of other lights in the dark. At first she dismissed it as an optical illusion caused by the sharp contrast of shadow and light on her retina. The flame became the size of her fingernail.

Almost gone now.

But the other lights remained; tiny, glittering stars sweeping across the firmament. She scanned them curiously, and then, just as the flame finally died she realised what she was seeing and her blood ran cold.

Darkness swept up around her and she heard the sharp skittering sound as the first rat moved forward.

Veitch fell fifteen feet into freezing water, slamming his head hard on the way down. The cold and wet kept him conscious, but the dark was so all-consuming he couldn't tell up from down. The water came up to his thighs and by stretching out slowly on either side he realised he was in some kind of small tunnel or gully as wide as the span of his arms. He spent ten minutes trying to find where he had fallen and attempting to climb back up, but it was impossible to see, and more rubble kept falling. Dejected and afraid he might be pinned by another collapse, he began to wade wearily forward.

He continued for what he guessed was around an hour, pausing occasionally to rest against the wall and catch minutes of microsleep. He couldn't even feel his lower legs and he wondered how long it would be before hypothermia set in. But whatever set him apart as a Brother of Dragons made him resilient, helped him to heal; he'd keep going, he thought dismally. He hated himself. He hated himself so much he considered lying down in the water and drowning himself, but it wasn't in his nature. So he had to continue with the infinitely worse burden of his guilt, thinking about what he had done to Ruth, punishing himself by images of her wandering along inky corridors until the inevitable end came. It had all been his fault; he could almost have scripted it.

The water began to rise soon after, a half-hour later it was up to chest height. He was racked by convulsive shivers, drifting in and out of a fugue state brought on by the cold. Gradually he became aware that the tunnel was becoming increasingly steep. By the time he had grasped how sharply it was falling away, his feet would no longer give him purchase and suddenly he was sliding down. He barely had time to take a breath before the water washed above his head, and then he was rattling down an incline, faster and faster, until it became a vertical drop.

The rush of water burst out into thin air. He could vaguely feel his legs bicycling as he plunged thirty feet into more water, deeper this time and rushing in a torrent. One random thought flickered through his head: Ruth's beautiful face as she told him about London's old River Fleet, now buried beneath the city as it rushed down towards the Thames. And then the impact stole his consciousness and the water closed over his head.