Nick let three joggers pass him and looked around. Nobody was looking at him now. He could see a woman who was walking a dog, but she was still far enough away.
The back of his neck tingled as Nick got the box out of the bag. It was as big as a cigar box at most, but the contents certainly didn’t have anything to do with cigars. Nick held the box at an angle, and whatever was in there slid to the left.
It was probably made of metal, and not especially big. If you took into account the time it took to slide from one edge of the box to the other, it didn’t even fill up half of the container.
Nick stuck an exploratory fingernail under the edge of the adhesive tape. It was incredibly well sealed. Trying to get it off would take ages, and leave telltale signs. Not a good idea.
Furious yapping interrupted Nick’s thoughts. A Labrador and a light brown hunting dog had encountered each other a short distance behind him and obviously didn’t like each other’s looks. The owners of the dogs in question were yanking at the leashes in order to separate the animals.
Nick slipped the box into his bag and entered the forest, accompanied by the howls of one of the dogs.
It wasn’t difficult to find the Dollis Brook Viaduct – it rose high above the wood and the road, not to mention carrying the track for the Northern Line. An Underground line that ran sixty feet above the ground, in the bright sunshine. Underneath the viaduct, however, it was shady and damp.
One of the arches near the road, the messenger had said. ‘Near’ was relative. Nick decided on the second of the massive arched columns, and submerged the box in the grass, which was particularly rampant right at the foot of the brick pillar. Someone would be able to find it here, but no-one would stumble on it accidentally.
All done then. Nick was taking a look around until he remembered the messenger’s words: ‘Leave without looking back,’ he had said.
Because what would happen otherwise? If you thought about it logically, absolutely nothing. The game couldn’t know if and how he had followed the instructions. On the other hand it had known his name. The hiding place of the box and the inscription, Galaris.
A train thundered above Nick’s head on the way to Mill Hill East. He wasn’t supposed to turn round now. Actually there wasn’t the slightest reason to do so. Apart from a persecution complex, maybe, and Nick certainly didn’t suffer from one of those.
He folded the PE bag up into a small bundle and stuck it under his jacket. Then he left, without once looking back.
It was getting very close to midday by the time Nick got back home, carrying a paper bag with the four muffins he’d bought. Mum was on her second coffee.
‘We got talking,’ Nick murmured and arranged the muffins on a plate. He was dying of hunger.
‘Want a coffee?’
‘Love one. If it’s quick.’
His mother set to work on the espresso machine, although she kept sending covetous glances towards the plate of muffins. ‘Are they the ones with the chocolate chips?’
‘Yes, the two dark ones. Keep your mitts off the coconut ones – they’re mine.’
Mum put a jumbo-sized cappuccino with frothy milk under his nose.
Nick devoured his first muffin, feeling as though he’d barely escaped death by starvation, and chased it down with half his coffee.
‘I’m going over to your Uncle Harry’s this afternoon. He’s renovating. It would be nice if you came too. Dad has to fill in for a colleague, so you’re the only one who can reach the ceiling without a ladder – and someone has to paint it.’
Nick’s mouth was full, which gained him valuable seconds. ‘I’d like to,’ he said and put as much regret in his voice as possible. ‘But the thing is, I’ve got to hand in a really difficult Chemistry assignment in a few days – and I’ll feel terrible if I don’t keep on working on it. I thought I’d do that today . . .’
The look his mother gave him was amused and searching at the same time. ‘You want to study Chemistry? Not go down to the sportsground or to the cinema?’
‘No, I swear. There’s no way I’m going to the sportsground or the cinema today.’ Nick smiled at his mother, his conscience as pure as the driven snow. His last sentence was true, word for word.
CHAPTER 8
Turn the computer on. Insert the DVD. Put the headphones on. Wait. Tense seconds till the program starts.
‘Sarius,’ whispers a ghostly voice.
He is in the cave where he met with the messenger last night. But, unlike yesterday, light is radiating from the walls, which are bright and polished, like crystal. Wish crystal?
Sarius is bending down for something that looks like a gold coin when the cave entrance opens and the messenger enters. He studies Sarius with his yellow eyes.
‘You carried out my instructions,’ he says.
‘Yes.’
‘Out of interest: What was written on the box, other than “Galaris”?’
‘Numbers. 18.03.’
‘Very good. There is new equipment for you here. A breastplate, a helmet and a decent sword. I am satisfied with you, Sarius.’ He points to a rock that resembles a table, up against the crystal wall.
Curiosity drives Sarius over towards it at once. The helmet gleams in copper tones, and is ornamented with the engraved head of a wolf baring its teeth. Sarius is happy – wolves are among his favourite animals. He dons the harness – nine points of strength! – and reaches for the sword, which is longer and made from darker metal than his current one. It changes his whole appearance, right away. To crown it all he puts the wolf helmet on.
‘Are you satisfied?’ the messenger asks.
Sarius gives his wholehearted approval. He is a Two, and he looks cool.
‘There’s more to come.’
The messenger draws his cloak tighter around his lean body.
‘This is Erebos. You will see that loyal service is rewarded. Tell Nick Dunmore he should ensure that no outsider can intrude, then he should make his way to the inside courtyard of the block next door. The grating on one of the ventilation shafts is loose. If he removes it and reaches into the shaft, he will find something.’
Find something? Sarius doesn’t actually want any interruptions right now – he wants to get started and try out his new sword.
‘Right now?’ he asks.
‘Of course. I’ll be waiting.’
The messenger leans back against the crystal wall and folds his arms across his chest.
Delays, and more delays. Nick removed his headphones. To be on the safe side he would have to lock the door to his room. But if Mum noticed she would ask questions. He had to walk past her too, and if she asked where he was going, he couldn’t give her a sensible explanation.
He’d better get it over with quickly. He snuck out, turned the key very very quietly, and listened for sounds in the flat. He could hear Mum’s voice in the kitchen – she was talking on the phone. That was a stroke of luck. Nick crept to the front door, slipped his runners on quickly, and grabbed his jacket. He was outside. The inside courtyard of the block next door exuded benign neglect. Years before someone had attempted to grow flowers in the tiny open space – most of them had withered. Anything that had survived was growing wild.
There were three ventilation grates, all mounted at knee height. The first one was rock solid. Nick jiggled a bit, but nothing moved. He peaked through the square holes in the grating – there was only darkness and the whiff of damp basement.
The second grating seemed more promising. It sat in the wall loosely and barely offered any resistance when Nick pulled it out.
Only now did he wonder what was waiting for him in the gap behind it. Another box with his date of birth on it? Another task? Or would it be the reward that the messenger had hinted at?
Chocolate, Nick thought. A supply of jelly babies for long Erebos nights. He felt around in the square opening and drew his hand out again immediately.
Coward, he berated himself. What’s the problem? Afraid of rats? Pull yourse
lf together – this is the real world.
But he still got goosebumps when he pushed his hand back into the gap. At first there was nothing at all except dirt, but then he felt plastic. He grabbed it and pulled out a yellow Selfridges bag with something soft in it. The first thing Nick thought of was some sort of Erebos uniform that all players were allowed to wear from Level 2 on – that was ridiculous, of course, but it still made more sense than what he actually pulled out of the bag.
‘Hell Froze Over’ was printed in blue on the black shirt, with the icy devil’s skull grinning underneath.
For a few seconds everything stood still. Because that wasn’t possible. HFO was something between him and his brother. The only people who knew about the shirt were Finn and himself. Nick was absolutely certain that he hadn’t breathed a word to the messenger, or to anyone else for that matter. He glanced at the size on the label. XXL. So it was in stock after all.
He would ring Finn. There would be an explanation, of course: it was probably Finn himself who had hidden the shirt here. Nick held it to his nose. Did it smell of stale smoke, of Finn’s flat? No, only of laundry detergent and a trace of damp basement.
Was it possible that Finn played Erebos? Sure – why not? The craziest coincidences happened sometimes.
‘Where were you?’ Mum asked him when he burst into the flat. Just as well he’d thought to hide the shirt under his jacket.
‘Around the corner. I got myself some chewing gum from the kiosk.’
He even had an opened packet in his pocket, but Mum didn’t want to see it.
Back in his room he hurriedly checked that the messenger was still there before he grabbed his phone from the bedside table and rang Finn.
‘Hey kid! Good to hear from you. What’s new?’
‘Finn, did you get the HFO T-shirt after all?’
Short pause.
‘No, I wrote and told you that, remember? You can’t get them at the moment, but I’ll have a good crack at it, okay? I had no idea it was so important to you.’
‘No, don’t worry – it’s fine. Don’t stress about it.’
Finn wasn’t lying – of course not. Why would he?
‘Nicky, don’t be mad, but I’ve got to get back to it. The shop is full of people.’
‘Okay. Hang on, one thing: Have you been playing on the computer a lot lately? Role-playing games?’
‘Not at all. I don’t have any time – that’s life when you’re a businessman!’ Finn laughed and hung up, leaving Nick even more at a loss than he was before the conversation.
The messenger doesn’t appear impatient – rather the opposite. No sooner does Sarius move again than he leans off the wall – slowly, as if he has all the time in the world.
‘Did you find your reward?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘I hope you liked it. Are you pleased?’
‘Sure. Very pleased, actually. Can I ask something?’
It seems as though the messenger hesitates briefly.
‘Of course. Ask your question.’
‘How do you know what I would like? You couldn’t possibly know that.’
‘That is the power of Erebos. Be grateful it is on your side.’
The messenger puts his head to one side, and a smile contorts his gaunt features.
‘Do not disappoint us, and it will remain so. Now, tell me what you feel like doing. You can help destroy an orc village – there’s heaps of gold up for grabs. Or search for the secret portal to the White City. Arena fights will take place there tomorrow. It’s a good chance to make a Two into a Three. Or even a Four.’
‘That’s possible?’
‘It certainly is. In the Arena you can see what a fighter is really made of. You can win everything there – and lose everything. It’s better to win, of course: wish crystals, weapons, levels. Last time a vampire named Drizzel took three levels away from another vampire named Blackspell. In one single fight.’
‘That’s possible?’ Sarius repeats, thrilled by the opportunities that are suddenly opening up.
‘Of course.’
Sarius’s decision is made. To hell with the orc village.
‘I will look for the city.’
‘Good choice. I only hope that you find it in good time. Registrations for the fights close tomorrow when the tower clock strikes three. Good luck.’
The messenger dismisses him with a wave of his bony fingers, and Sarius steps out of the cave into a sun-drenched meadow full of flowers. Once again he is left alone to fend for himself.
Flowering trees, flowering bushes. He turns all around, but there’s not the slightest sign anywhere of a white city. Rather than stand around, he walks straight ahead. That worked out once already.
The chirping of the birds is getting on his nerves. It’s creating a holiday atmosphere instead of a mood of adventure. And there’s no secret portal in sight either. Not even a mole hill.
Although . . . there is something lying up ahead in the grass. Could be a piece of material, or maybe a flag. He goes closer, bends down, freezes. Lifts up a blood-soaked piece of cloth. Still dripping. A shirt.
In the distance he hears a noise like muted growling. Sarius drops the shirt and begins to run. Away from the growling that doesn’t sound like an animal or a human, but rather a hideous mixture of both. His stamina is better now, he’s pleased to find as he runs over a slight mound.
It’s pure chance that he slows down just in time before he plunges into a crater that opens up unexpectedly on the crest of the hill. Sarius glances down into the depths, which look fissured, precipitous and not at all inviting. Behind him the growling is getting louder. However curious he may be, he still doesn’t want to find out who or what is making this noise. A few steps further to the right he discovers a rusty ladder that doesn’t inspire any confidence whatsoever, but nevertheless seems to present an attractive opportunity to escape from the growling creature. He thinks about the blood-soaked shirt, and puts a foot cautiously on the first rung. There’s a grinding sound, but at the same time the wonderful music starts again, strengthening Sarius’s conviction that he’s on the right track. He can do nothing wrong. Without further hesitation he climbs down the ladder, borne by the melody and happily anticipating what awaits him below. With every rung of the ladder he descends it gets darker. By the time he reaches the bottom he can make out only what the torches on the wall are bathing in flickering light: roughly hewn rock faces, paths, passageways, turn-offs. He has landed in a labyrinth. He sets off blindly, and loses his bearings within seconds.
There’s nothing in his inventory that would be suitable for marking the walls. No chalk, no thread. The only thing he could try is making scratches in the rock, but there’s no way he’s going to do that. Not with the new sword.
A glance upwards reveals to him that the cleft he descended through is already a long way behind him. The daylight doesn’t reach all the way in here, but torches have been mounted on the walls at irregular intervals. Every shade of darkness prevails in between.
Sarius walks on, his footsteps echoing over and over. Are they his? He stops, and the echo dies away.
The music encourages him to continue on his way. He tries his luck with the first turn-off to the left, and regrets it at once because the next torch is an awfully long way away. He hurries to reach the light, but stops just before it. Something is glittering on the rock face. A wish crystal? Sarius fumbles for it eagerly, but under his touch the sparkling something dissolves, flowing down the wall in a slimy trail. He turns away, revolted. Finally – the next torch. Beyond it yet another junction awaits him. To the right or to the left?
It’s lighter to the left. He creeps cautiously around the corner, keeping a firm hold on his sword. Every step echoes – if there are monsters down here, they’ll have heard him long since.
Once again Sarius reaches a fork. Something like anxiety is stirring in him. He still has plenty of time to register for the Arena fights, sure . . . but everything looks the
same here. Dark rocks, torches, puddles of water. And nothing else. Not another fighter anywhere to be seen, he’s thinking, only to stumble over a body immediately past the junction. The shock turns Sarius’s legs to jelly. He jumps back onto his feet as quickly as he can and points his sword at the obstacle that tripped him up.
A cat woman. Sarius checks her name: Aurora. There’s only a tiny trace of red left on her belt – the rest is black as coal. So she’s not quite dead yet. When he touches her, she moves her hand weakly. It takes Sarius a moment to figure out what she wants. He lights a fire.
‘Thank you. I’ve just about had it. Can you help me?’
‘What did this to you?’
‘A giant scorpion There are three or four running around here. Damned bugs – if they sting you, you’re done for.’
‘Giant scorpion’ doesn’t sound appealing to Sarius.
‘Are we the only ones down here?’
‘Of course not, there are heaps of people here. Listen, do you happen to be able to heal?’
Sarius needs to think quickly. She’s taken so much punishment that the injury tone must be almost unbearable.
‘I can. But I’ve never done it.’
‘Damn. I can’t do it, and I don’t even know how it works.’
It will be like lighting a fire, Sarius reasons, and has a go. It’s not long before there’s a red flash. Aurora’s belt regains some colour. Sarius’s life force sinks considerably in return. He wasn’t expecting that – he needs every scrap of energy not to perish down here.
‘You could have told me that,’ he snarls at Aurora.
‘What do you mean?’ The cat woman is sufficiently recovered to struggle to her feet and draw her weapon. A cat-o’-nine-tails – how appropriate.
‘That healing you reduces my own life span!’
‘Keep your shirt on. It will regenerate again. Not like real injuries.’
Still furious, Sarius stares at his belt. Something on there is moving, in fact. The grey is turning red again, bit by tiny bit.
‘Are you on the city quest too?’ Aurora asks.
‘Yes. I didn’t feel like having a punch-up with orcs.’