EREBOS a Gaming Thriller by Ursula Poznanski about Artificial Intelligence Sample Translation by Romy Fursland (Plot Line) Erebos was asleep… and is awake now! Ready to catch you.
Imagine the harm EREBOS could do today…
ONE I haven’t slept more than three hours a night since I found out. I stumble through the world like a dead man walking. No, I don’t stumble – I just sit there, exhausted, staring at the wall, while terrible images flash before my eyes. Or I work like crazy. Our plan was flawless. We were so close to our goal. Someone must have betrayed us, and now I’m so scared I can hardly breathe. Not just for myself – though I’m well aware they wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of me the minute I said the wrong thing. They’d have me meet with an accident or just disappear, I’m sure of it. But I can live with that threat. What really terrifies me – so much so that I can’t think straight – is the idea of anything happening to you. That’s why I’ve decided to strike back. In my own way. In a way they won’t see coming. They won’t see it coming at all. […]
Chapter 1 […] Nick picked up his phone, unlocked it and was about to open his Contacts when something stopped him in his tracks. The screen looked different from usual. Or rather, it looked more or less the same except that the apps had all moved around. Runtastic was in the space where Instagram used to be. Instagram, weirdly, had moved down a row. Nick had put a lot of thought into the positioning of his apps, so why were they all…? Then he saw it. There was an extra app on the screen – it had squeezed itself in somehow. The icon looked familiar, but – […]
He hadn’t installed any apps in the last few days, he knew that. He had no idea how a new one could just pop up on his phone like this. But if that had been all it was, he’d just have thought it was a bit odd – he wouldn’t have had this queasy feeling in his stomach. It was the icon that made him consider taking the next exit and pulling over for a closer look. […] There was a new app on his smartphone – though the word ‘new’ felt wrong, because Nick recognised the icon. It was the same icon he’d had on his desktop for a while at school, before the programme it was attached to had deleted itself. This time it must have installed itself on its own. He took a deep breath. His thumb hovered indecisively over the icon that symbolised such misery for him. It looked so harmless, though. It was nothing more than a red E. […] Until this moment, part of him had genuinely believed it was just a strange coincidence. That some online retailer had picked the E as its logo and was secretly smuggling the app onto the phones of potential customers. But all these theories were swept away the moment he opened the programme. The sight was horribly familiar to Nick: a black background that seemed to pulsate, and red letters forming in front of it. Greetings, Nick. Welcome back. He heard himself exclaim in disbelief. Suddenly the memories of that time – those few weeks when the game had taken over his life – came flooding back. As did all the emotions experienced by his sixteen-year-old self. “Shit,” he whispered. The greeting vanished, and new blood-red text appeared. Get ready. We are waiting for you. […] As he swept aside a pile of papers, he saw out of the corner of his eye that one of the photos was opening on the screen. That meant the upload was complete and the whole photo folder would now be displayed – in the wrong order, evidently, because the picture he was looking at couldn’t be the first one in the series. He’d taken it after the ceremony – it was one of the shots that showed Cindy and Max as a married couple for the first time. […] The photo had turned out beautifully: they both looked gorgeous and happy, and the light and the colour were perfect. Nick would hardly need to do any retouching. He reached for the mouse to close the picture, wanting to view the photos from the beginning, but the pointer didn’t move. Instead, the photo started to change. The bride’s face twisted into an ugly grimace and blood began to seep from her eyes, trickle down her face and drip onto her white dress. Her fingers morphed into long, sharp claws. Nick let go of the mouse and recoiled from his computer, instinctively gripping the arms of his office chair. He couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. […] A dark, pulsating background appeared, with red letters in front of it. Welcome back, Nick Dunmore.
Chapter 2 […] He was about to put his phone away again when he spotted something weird on the screen, something that didn’t belong there. It was a new app – one he’d never seen before – sitting in between the icons for Google and Candy Crush. […] He clicked on the icon. The screen went dark and after a moment red letters appeared against the black background. Not now. Not here. Patience, Derek. […] He pulled his phone out of his pocket to find that Syed had sent him a meme over WhatsApp. Something to do with swans – the joke wasn’t really that funny. But Derek replied with three cry-laughing emojis before turning his attention to the new app. He wasn’t expecting much. If all the programme had to offer was little mottos and advice on how to behave, he’d delete it straight away. Although the tip about patience had been a good one. He tapped the red E. Blackness spread across the screen. It was weirdly slow; last time the writing had popped up straightaway. Was the Wi-Fi playing up again? Derek looked at the blackness on the screen, which seemed strangely animated. It was as if there was something moving underneath it. As if it was breathing. Then, in the top left-hand corner, a red dot appeared – no, it was more like a droplet – and floated across the screen. It left behind letters, words, phrases, as if somebody was writing them with an invisible pen. Greetings, Derek. You have been chosen. He laughed out loud. This app really did come out with some crazy shit. Though at least it was flattering crazy shit. He tapped the screen, and new red words appeared. A new world awaits you. A new life. We are waiting for you. He shook his head, half in amusement and half in annoyance. What was all this? Some kind of ad campaign? Whatever it was, it wasn’t for him. He quickly closed the app and at the same moment, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something light up. His laptop. It was standing open on the desk, and the screen cast a red glow across the dimly lit room. A few seconds later the screen went dark. The red glow had shrunk to three words. Come to me. […] Slowly he stood up, went over to his desk and sat down in the swivel chair. The red text quivered and disappeared, only to form new words a moment later. We will play together. If you are good, we will both win. If not, only I will win. Derek laughed incredulously. ‘Very funny. And what if I don’t want to play?’ The writing dissolved and re-formed itself again. Then you will lose before you have begun. Every day from now on. You will lose everything that matters to you.
[…] Having mystery messages popping up on your computer was never good. And not only did he have them on his computer, but on his phone as well. Perhaps he could find out a bit more about them, though, if the programme could talk to him… ‘Are you a virus?’ Derek asked. No. ‘Okay. Some kind of malware?’ No. […] ‘What are you then?’ For a few seconds nothing happened; the screen stayed black. Then new letters appeared, in a deeper, darker red. This is Erebos. Erebos. The name didn’t ring any bells, but it did explain the E that had appeared on his phone. He’d Google it and then decide whether he wanted to risk playing it or not. He reached for the mouse to minimise the open window, but it was frozen. Brilliant. No matter, though – he had a smartphone. It would definitely work on there. Derek opened up Google on his phone, typed in ‘Erebos’ and clicked the search button, but no results came up. The screen just flickered for a moment, and suddenly there was a completely different text in the search field. Do not do that. Oh shit. This was bad. If this new app could stop him using all his other apps, then Derek really was screwed. […] He looked up at the computer screen again. The phrase This is Erebos was still there, in blood-red letters that pulsed and shone like thick veins. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Let’s play, then.’ The screen went black.
Chapter 3 […] ‘Give the photos back,’ he whispered. ‘Right now. Then I’ll play with you.’ He’d expected the screen to go dark immediately, but it did nothing of the sort. Nick’s throat went dry. What if the game, with its own ruthless logic, really had deleted itself? Permanently? He’d taken it off his phone himself, so presumably Erebos hadn’t heard what he’d just said. He felt slightly sick. Cindy and Max would be upset and angry, and rightly so. This was appalling. After this he wouldn’t blame them if they warned other people not to use his services. ‘I need the photos,’ he hissed through gritted teeth. ‘Please.’ Darkness spread across the screen, and this time Nick was relieved to see it. You remember the rules? Yes, of course he did. The rules were what had left his schoolmates practically unable to say a word to each other, for fear they’d be chucked out of the game. ‘Don’t tell anybody about the game; don’t show anybody the game,’ he muttered sullenly. ‘And don’t post anything on
the internet. Keep the names of the characters in the game a secret. Only play when there’s no-one else around. And try not to die, because then the game will be over.’ Good. All of those things still apply. What has changed are the consequences you will face if you do not follow the rules. Or if you die. […] This time you will not be banished. You will be punished. On the tip of his tongue was the question: ‘How?’ but he didn’t really need to ask. He’d already had a taste of what might happen: all the work he’d done over the past few days was gone. Whether he ever got it back depended on the good will of the game. ‘Okay,’ he muttered. ‘So? Can we get going, then? I’ve got stuff to do.’ The writing disappeared, but the screen stayed dark. […] When he looked up again, the screen was still black. He couldn’t see anything – but perhaps he’d be able to hear something? The headphones were plugged into the computer, and Nick reached for them hesitantly. […] He put the headset on and it was immediately clear that the game was still active. Tock tock. A distant knocking, like a heart beating deep underground. This, too, was a sound Nick recognised, and now his reluctance was mingled with something like… nervous anticipation. Which was utterly ridiculous, of course, but he couldn’t help it. […] Welcome back. Enter. This is Erebos. He sighed. Clicked Enter. […] The figure – standing there in a field of knee-high grass squinting into the light of the setting sun – was one he recognised immediately. Nick had created him, after all. Even after all this time, every detail was familiar to him. It was his dark elf. […] Nick glanced at the clock. It was already half past two – the more time went on, the less likely it was that he’d be able to send some of the photos to the newlyweds today. If he got the photos back at all, that was. It was infuriating. […] When Nick looked up again, something had changed in the woods around Sarius. He wasn’t immediately sure what it was – perhaps it had got darker. Quieter. Yes, the birds had stopped singing and now, through Nick’s headphones, there came a sound like the rumble of distant thunder. As if a storm was approaching. Some way away, between the tree trunks, he saw a momentary gleam of light. A signal? Nick made his dark elf stand up and walk slowly towards the place where the light had come from. […] The wind dropped. Now complete silence reigned in the world of Erebos; the only sound was that of Sarius’s footsteps. Nick moved him slowly forwards, putting one foot cautiously in front of the other, knowing that there could be traps everywhere. […] A moment later a figure emerged from the trees, larger than he remembered. More frightening. ‘Sarius.’ The voice sounded like two stones being rubbed together. ‘You have returned.’ […] ‘I have,’ Nick answered. ‘Though not out of choice.’ The gaunt figure came a little closer. […] ‘Out of choice or not – that is irrelevant,’ he replied. ‘You are here, and you will stay as long as you are useful.’
Nick frowned. ‘What does that mean exactly? Last time I was told I could end the game whenever I wanted.’ The messenger’s face was impassive. ‘That was then. This time, you belong to us until we have no further use for you.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out something that looked like a scroll. ‘This is what you are looking for, is it not?’ He unrolled the paper and showed Nick what was on it. […] It was one of Nick’s photos – one out of 1,700. ‘Not far from here is a hill where a great battle was once fought,’ the messenger went on. ‘That would be a good place to begin your search.’
Chapter 4 […] Something moved on the screen. Derek leant forwards. A pale hand with long, dark fingernails came into view. Every wrinkle, every vein was clearly visible. Then the hand’s owner appeared: a kind of dwarf or gnome with a bald head and a long, hooked nose. He folded his arms across his chest and looked Derek up and down. ‘I’ve been sent to meet you.’ […] ‘You have been chosen.’ […] ‘I didn’t ask to be chosen,’ he retorted. ‘So either leave me alone or let’s just get on with it. Is there more to come?’ The gnome’s eyes narrowed into little slits. ‘Oh yes,’ he whispered. ‘There’s more. You wouldn’t believe how much more there is to come.’ The next moment, he was gone. […] He was armour-plated from head to toe, just like his horse. The armour was black and gleamed red in places, as if smeared with fresh blood. Yellow eyes in a pale face, the skin stretched so tight over the skull that you could clearly see the bones beneath. ‘Derek,’ he said; his voice was rough, as if the vocal chords were rubbing drily against each other. ‘Get ready.’ […] ‘Ready for what?’ Derek’s voice was hoarse; he cleared his throat. The yellow-eyed messenger stared at him intently, watching his every move. It made Derek feel uneasy. ‘Ready for the first ritual,’ the messenger replied, pointing to the ragged figure who was leaning on his long stick looking from Derek to the messenger and back again in bewilderment. ‘You are a Nameless One, and thus useless to Erebos. The first ritual is your first step into your new life.’ A new life – this was more like it. A life without Riley and Morton in it? A life where Dad didn’t secretly keep comparing him to his other son, the one nobody ever talked about? A life where Derek might be able to pluck up the courage to ask Maia out on a date, or at least smile at her? No – that wasn’t what this was all about, he realised that. This was about a virtual life – one that would distract him from his real existence. Still. It was better than nothing. ‘What does this ritual involve?’ Derek asked. The messenger pointed to the castle gate behind the game character, which was now opening with a creak. ‘You must choose.’
[…] The game was here, so he might as well try it out. ‘The first step into a new life,’ he murmured, as he made his game character – the ‘Nameless One’, the messenger had called him – go marching up to the castle gate. No sooner had the Nameless One stretched out his hand towards the rusty knocker than the door opened of its own accord. […] CRASH. The door had fallen shut behind him, and now he found himself in impenetrable darkness. If he was attacked now, the Nameless One wouldn’t stand a chance. […] ‘Shit,’ muttered Derek. ‘Shhhhh,’ came the voice through the headphones a moment later. ‘Patience.’ […] ‘You will learn to be patient,’ the voice whispered in his ear, and he nearly wrenched the headphones off his head in annoyance – he wasn’t going to be patronised by a computer game – when a window appeared in the wall in front of him and lit up the room. […] Then the fire morphed into burning words. Welcome, Derek. Welcome to the world of Erebos. If you wish to play, you must acquaint yourself with the rules. ‘It is important that you follow the rules to the letter,’ murmured a velvety voice in his ear. ‘If you break them, there will be consequences. Do you understand?’ ‘What sort of consequences?’ Derek asked, more amused than worried. The only time he took the threat of consequences seriously was when it came from his teachers. ‘Unpleasant consequences, Derek. It is best that you never find out.’ ‘The first rule: you only have one chance to play Erebos. If you waste it, the game is over. If your character dies, the game is over. If you break the rules, the game is over. Okay?’ ‘Okay.’ […] ‘The second rule: when you play, make sure you are alone. Never mention your real name inside the game. Never mention the name of your game character outside the game.’ Ooh, very cloak-and-dagger. Derek grinned wryly. ‘Fine by me.’ […] ‘The third rule: the content of the game is a secret. Do not talk to anybody about it. Especially not unregistered people. You can communicate with other players at the fires while you are playing the game. Do not share any information with your friends or family. Do not share any information on the Internet.’ […] ‘Okay, I accept.’ ‘We will take you at your word.’ […] Choose your name. […] Torque. Exactly. Just like that, his decision is made. He’ll call himself Torqan, and if anyone asks him why, he’ll be able to give a reason for his choice. ‘I’ve thought of a name,’ he says. […]
Chapter 5 […] A little way away, a ragged flag is sticking up out of the dry, burning grass – perhaps it marks some place of interest? He walks towards it without really bothering to look around, and remembers almost too late that carelessness is nearly always a mistake in this world. As if out of nowhere, a lizard warrior appears before him, her neck crest spread aggressively. The machete she’s wielding looks a lot more powerful than Sarius’s short sword. ‘Back off.’ […] ‘Back off yourself. I’ve got things to do.’ […] But the lizard woman is definitely coming for him now. Sarius parries her blows automatically; to his surprise, it feels good. He certainly hasn’t forgotten how to fight. But he wonders what on earth is going on with his opponent. Hasn’t anyone told her how this works? […] Just as he thinks she’s about to retreat, he’s thrown to the ground. The lizard woman pounces on him and strikes a blow to his shoulder. The dreaded injury tone sounds. Not at full volume, but still excruciating. […] With a quick backward roll he dodges the next blow, deftly parries her attack and drives her away from the treasure chest. She takes three stumbling steps backwards: Sarius pursues her, lunges forward with his sword and strikes a powerful blow to her thigh. She falls. There’s almost no red left on her belt. Cringing, she drags herself away from Sarius. He lets her go. […] Nick locked his fingers together. ‘Erm… I want to tell you something, but I’m not sure if –’ His phone vibrated in his trouser pocket. ‘Yeah?’ Jamie carried on chewing, his eyes half-closed. ‘Go on, tell me. I won’t breathe a word to anyone – you’ve got leverage over me now, after all. If you tell Tara about this burger-fest, I’m a dead man.’ […] ‘It’s…’ he began, and then his phone buzzed again. Cindy, was Nick’s first thought. Messaging me to say how much she likes the photos. He pulled his smartphone out of his pocket. Blinked in disbelief. The yellow eyes of the messenger, against a black background. Underneath, in red letters: Don’t. Nick took a deep breath, swallowed, and coughed. The eyes and the writing disappeared, to be replaced by one of the wedding photos showing the bride and groom in a white pavilion. Max had his arm around Cindy. But now he withdrew his arm, lifted his hands, put them around Cindy’s throat and squeezed. She opened her mouth and gasped for breath, her eyes bulging… ‘What’s wrong?’ Jamie sounded alarmed. ‘Nick! Has something happened? You’re as white as a sheet!’ […] Erebos could hear everything Nick said. It probably knew who he was with right now. ‘Sorry,’ he stammered. ‘I have to go.’ […]
Chapter 6 […] The stones are impossible to shift, let alone pick up. But a pair of shimmering silver boots appears before him – their owner walks with a silent tread. Torqan looks up, and for a
moment he forgets to breathe. A vampire woman with dark skin and eyes and hair as black as the night. Her face is familiar to him – it’s the most beautiful face he’s ever seen. Her name is Soryana, and she smiles at him. Suddenly, this alien world feels like a wonderful place. Torqan would never have expected to meet her here – her of all people. Now he just needs an opportunity to talk to her. What was that thing about the fires again? But before he can think of a plan, Soryana raises her hand in farewell and vanishes into the woods, melting into the darkness. […] Any minute now he’ll lose sight of Mandrik and BloodWork… But hang on, didn’t he choose night vision as his special skill? Yes, he did; all he has to do now is switch it on. As soon as he does so, everything gets much easier. […] And then he spots something else. A kind of dirt track leading off to the right. In this direction the wood seems less dangerous, but more mysterious. […] Something else is new. Torqan can hear music – he isn’t exactly sure when it started playing, but it’s definitely there now. It makes him think of awakenings, of adventure. It tells him that he’s the main character in this world, even if no-one else has realised it yet. He hesitates, gazing after Mandrik and BloodWork – they haven’t noticed he’s fallen behind. […] Slowly he takes a first step onto the path, and the music grows louder. It’s like a welcome. […]
Chapter 7 […] Nick got off at his usual stop, Hammersmith, and hurried home. Tonight he’d try and get back as many of the photos as he could, and maybe do some kind of a deal with Erebos. He knew it couldn’t just be about completing quests on the computer this time, any more than it had been last time. There was no point kidding himself: the game had its own agenda, there was some goal it was trying to achieve in the real world. Otherwise why would someone have resurrected it after all this time? And if that was the case (and he was sure it was), then he might as well just make the game an offer, say he’d do whatever it wanted straight away in exchange for getting all the photos back. Would Erebos take him up on it? […] You are at home. We are waiting for you. But we don’t like waiting. But it wasn’t even twelve o’ clock yet, and that was the time they’d agreed. Erebos was summoning him early, just because he was already at home. And it knew he was at home. […] The game could locate him, of course it could. So he decided to deactivate the GPS on his smartphone and then turn the phone off completely for today. It didn’t work, though. The screen switched itself on again a few seconds after he’d pressed ‘Power off’. That is pointless, the familiar red writing informed him. Save your energy. […] Sarius lets go of the rope and looks around. The candle gives off a little light, just enough for him to see that someone’s written something on the walls of the well. With a muddy finger, by the looks of it.
Silence is golden, talking is death, the truth is a sharp sword, too long left unsaid. He has no idea what this means, but he’s not planning on ‘talking’ anyway. Although he might just let out a whoop of joy, because there on the muddy ground is a chest with highly polished brass fittings. His reward. He pounces on it, opens it up and finds exactly what he’d been hoping for. Pictures, hundreds of them. […] He can’t climb with the chest under his arm. He can’t put it in his inventory like he did with the last one, which was smaller. He looks around. It’s obvious he needs to get out of this well, and take his prize with him. But every time he tries to climb the rope while holding the chest, he slips off. The candle stump in the alcove is almost burnt out. Is this the messenger’s plan? To make Sarius think he’s done it at last and then confront him with an unsolvable problem? […]
Chapter 8 […] Idmon is silent. Runs his fingers along the grain of the wooden tabletop. Then: ‘It’s not the messenger you should be interested in,’ he says quietly. ‘He’s only a messenger, do you see? The nature of his task is to be sent by someone.’ It was a good point. ‘Sent by who?’ His question is met with hearty laughter. ‘There are some things which nobody here will risk saying out loud.’ Idmon leans forward. ‘He is sent by someone who wishes to remain anonymous.’ […] ‘There is something else you should know.’ The fire has burned low, and the embers give off no more than a faint glow; he can hardly see Idmon’s face anymore. ‘There is a sign among the warriors and wanderers of Erebos.’ He places a hand flat against his chest, as if to swear an oath, then clenches his fist for a moment before stretching his hand out flat again. ‘Now you try.’ Two attempts, and then Idmon is satisfied. ‘Now you will be able to recognise fellow initiates, but you must not give them away and you must not talk to them – you know that, don’t you?’ […]
Chapter 9 […] As he ran, he pulled out his phone. The yellow eye. Red lettering. Did you think it was over? There was the cafeteria – he hurried inside and spotted Merrill at a tall table in the far corner, where he was chatting to a younger colleague. Nick straightened his back and walked over to them. ‘Dr Merrill, I’m so sorry – I don’t know how you came to receive that email turning down your offer.’ That was a lie. ‘I didn’t send it – someone must have tampered with my computer.’ ‘Seriously, Dunmore?’ Merrill took a bite of his croissant and shook his bald heard in amusement. […]
He took the phone out of his pocket again. He was so angry he could hardly breathe. If this bloody game thought it could dictate the course of his life, it was mistaken. The screen was dark, but as soon as Nick unlocked it the familiar red letters appeared once more. You have no choice. You should know that already. ‘I played,’ he snarled softly. ‘Surely that’s enough.’ The words changed. Not your decision. But a risk you will have to bear. […] Nick used the last of the coffee to make himself an espresso strong enough to wake the dead, then sat down and went over his plan of action step by step. The old computer was on – it was still loading – and the new one was switched off. Nick checked it carefully, then unplugged it just to make sure. There. He wrote a few carefully considered phrases on slips of paper and tucked them into his pocket. Just the smartphone to go now. ‘Phew, I’m knackered,’ Nick murmured to himself. Hopefully that little soliloquy would do the trick. He buried the phone under a pile of dirty laundry, then threw himself onto his bed so that the springs creaked. Five minutes later he stood up again, grabbed his jacket, shoes and keys and crept quietly out of the flat. He felt incredibly stupid. All these precautionary measures were probably way over the top. Then again, perhaps not. […] It felt strange not having his phone with him. He was so used to using it as a clock or a map. And most of all he was used to people being able to contact him. Without it he felt like part of him was missing. […] He hadn’t checked whether Victor still lived here. For the time being he wasn’t going to Google anything that might help Erebos find him. He’d just have to cross his fingers and hope for a bit of luck for once. He stopped outside the front door of the building. The bell buttons were the same as before, and… yes, there it was. V. Lansky. Nick took a deep breath and pressed the bell. […] When he saw Nick his jaw dropped. ‘I don’t believe it – this is a surpr–’ Nick held up one of the pieces of paper and put a finger to his lips. ‘Er… a surprise. Conrad.’ With an expression halfway between amusement and bafflement, he ushered Nick inside. ‘I certainly wasn’t expecting you.’ The second slip of paper. Turn your computer off. And your Wi-Fi. Put your phone in the bathroom and wrap it in towels. Victor laughed out loud. ‘You’re kidding me, right? Why do I need to…?’ The third piece of paper. PLEASE! I’ll explain it all in a minute. […] His job must be something to do with IT, because there were five computers running simultaneously. By this time Victor had shut down and unplugged three of them. Now he looked around, bewildered, and grimaced at Nick before writing his own message on a piece of paper. There are still processes running on two of the computers and I don’t want to interrupt them. Is that okay? Nick thought for a moment. Then he pointed to the graffiti-covered door to the room where they’d often sat before. […] With a sigh, Nick sat down and waited for Victor to close the door behind them. ‘Can I call you Nick again now, Nick?’ ‘Yes. Sorry.’ […] ‘Sorry for acting so weirdly just now. You must think I’m completely insane. Unless – has it got to you too?’ […] ‘What do you mean? Has what got to me?’
‘The game.’ It felt so good to finally be able to tell someone about it. ‘Erebos is back.’ […] A deep furrow had formed on Victor’s brow. ‘Why you and not me? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t envy you – but I’d like to know what criteria Erebos is basing its selections on this time.’ ‘Usefulness, probably.’ Nick shrugged. ‘Although if that’s the case, it’s made a bit of a mistake selecting me.’ ‘Don’t underestimate yourself. The game knows you, and unless it’s changed a hell of a lot, it knows exactly what it’s doing.’ […] It was as if a huge weight had been lifted from him – it had done him good to confide in someone. Especially since that someone was Victor. […] ‘Right. Good luck today. Don’t forget: backup. And if you have to play, then do. Pay attention to the details, okay? They were the key to it all last time.’ ‘I will.’ Nick raised his hand in goodbye and was already halfway to the stairs when he heard Victor’s voice behind him again. ‘Has it crossed your mind that the game might be targeting the people that caused it to fail last time? That it’s out for revenge?’
Chapter 10 The phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. […] The vibration alarm was different. More insistent. Find somewhere you can be alone, said the red text on the screen. Now? He wouldn’t have much time. He had to get to his next lesson in a minute, but… […] Derek gripped his phone with clammy fingers. ‘I’m alone,’ he murmured. New letters formed on the screen. Look closely. He brought the phone closer to his face. The writing disappeared, to be replaced by moving images. A pixelated, rather blurry video showing a road and the people moving along it. Cars, pedestrians, a double decker bus. After twenty seconds the recording came to an end. Dark screen, red text. You’re welcome. What was he supposed to do with this? The game was acting as if it had done him a favour, but why? […] When he got home from school he transferred the video straight onto his computer and watched it again. On the big screen you could see the details much more clearly. It was Riley and Morton who’d robbed the woman, no doubt about it, and it was definitely her purse Morton had pocketed. It wasn’t hard to work out where the video had come from. London was riddled with surveillance cameras – there must be half a million of them scattered across the city. How the video had found its way onto his phone, on the other hand, was a mystery. […]
Chapter 11 […] It was dark by the time he got to the front door of his building; the streetlamps had come on a few minutes earlier. […] He stepped back into the pool of light, and at that moment he sensed a movement somewhere to his left. He saw a figure turn away, slip something hastily into its trouser pocket and run off.
Nick had a bad feeling about this. He remembered only too well how he himself had lain in wait for somebody, and why he’d done it. There were his keys. At last. He climbed the stairs and unlocked the door of his flat. Only now did he realise he was making an effort to be quiet. As if there was someone waiting inside the flat, someone Nick didn’t want to realise he’d been gone. The smartphone was still buried under the pile of laundry. A missed call from Finn, a WhatsApp message from Jamie. Did the data recovery work? He replied that it had all gone well and then tapped the Contacts icon for his brother to call him back. But instead of connecting him, the phone turned itself off. Nick cursed inwardly, and then out loud. But perhaps it didn’t mean anything – perhaps the battery was just dead. He put the phone on charge, waited a few seconds and then tried turning it on again. To his relief the screen lit up, but it didn’t show his usual background: instead, he saw a photo of himself. Standing under the streetlamp outside the door to his building, rummaging for his keys. Where were you? was written underneath in red letters. Nick looked at the picture, stunned. It was obvious who’d taken it – he’d seen the culprit running away. But for the game to react so fast, to draw the right conclusions so quickly… ‘I just went out for a bit,’ he muttered. The writing changed. You’re lying. You’re deceiving us. You should know better. Was this possible? It wasn’t possible, was it? […] Time is short, said the message on the screen. If you resist, there will be consequences. Nick could hardly think straight. He buried his face in his hands. He’d switched the computer off. He was certain of it. From now on he’d unplug it too, and if it turned itself on again overnight then Nick really would have to start believing in witchcraft. ‘What do you want?’ he whispered. Then he heard music playing – alluring and eerie at the same time, because all the volume controls were on mute. ‘We want you to fight,’ came the messenger’s hoarse voice. […] The writing on the screen vanished, apart from the first sentence. Time is short. Then a stopwatch appeared, counting down the hours, minutes and seconds. 06:00:00 05:59:59 05:59:58… […] She looked at him without smiling. ‘Hi.’ ‘Hi. Can we go outside for a bit?’ ‘I don’t know.’ Her gaze swept the room. ‘I’m pretty busy right now.’ ‘Please. Just for five minutes.’ She shrugged and followed Nick out. When they got outside she stood there with her back to the wall and her arms folded. ‘I don’t understand what happened,’ Nick began, ‘but it wasn’t me who left you that voicemail. Please believe me.’ She just looked at him, without saying a word. ‘If it had been me, if I really had said such awful things to you, why would I be standing here right now? If I had said those things I wouldn’t care what you thought, would I? That makes sense, doesn’t it?’ Still without saying a word, Claire pulled out her phone and unlocked it. A moment later, Nick heard his own voice. ‘Hi, Claire. We haven’t been in touch for a few days and to be
honest, I feel like it’s for the best. What I mean is: I don’t miss you. I’ve been thinking, and I just feel like I’d rather be with someone more intelligent. That’s more important to me than a pretty face. And yours isn’t even all that pretty. Sorry. So let’s just leave it, okay? Take care.’ Nick felt dizzy – he had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself. The voice saying all those things had been his, no doubt about it. And the number on Claire’s screen was his number. No wonder she thought the voicemail message was from him – except that it wasn’t, unless he was going mad and phoning people without realising it. […] For a moment he was tempted to tell her about Erebos: what had happened when he was at school, and what was clearly happening again now, only this time against his will. That would mean breaking the rules, though. And it was becoming pretty clear that the game would have no qualms about ruining his life if he tried to defy its orders. […]
Chapter 12 ‘I want you,’ says the messenger, ‘to go to Whitehall Gardens. Tomorrow, as soon as it opens. There you will find three bronze men, and at the feet of the middle one there will be a document with instructions you must follow.’ The messenger’s yellow eyes suddenly take on a reddish gleam. ‘Do not try to deceive me. I will know whether you have carried out my orders or not.’ Torqan takes a moment to process what the messenger has just said. ‘Whitehall Gardens? I thought I was supposed to go to Theia.’ The messenger turns his head to one side as if he’s running out of patience, and Torqan suddenly realises that this mission is going to be quite different from the one he’d envisaged. ‘Whitehall Gardens?’ he repeats. ‘The real Whitehall Gardens? By the River Thames?’ ‘Yes,’ replies the messenger. ‘As I just told you.’ Torqan gives him an incredulous look. […] Only now, sandwiched between all the very real people on their way to school or work, did he realise what he was actually doing. He was following the instructions of a computer programme. He was behaving not like a player, but like a character controlled by a player. The messenger had sent him to Whitehall Gardens, and Derek was obeying him. He was risking getting himself into trouble when he didn’t even have the faintest clue what this was all about. […] The emblems on either side of the pedestal were adorned with laurel wreaths. One of them said India, the other Africa – and it was here that Derek eventually spotted something. Where the emblem and the wreath joined, there was a small black object that looked like a little tube. It was stuck so tightly to the laurel wreath that you couldn’t see it until you were right on top of it… ‘Hey! What are you doing?’ Derek spun round. A man in blue overalls was coming along the path towards him, a takeaway coffee cup in his hand. A gardener, by the looks of it. ‘I lost something here yesterday,’ Derek called, tugging at the little plastic tube. It was stuck to the metal as if with superglue. ‘Here? You’re not even supposed to be in this part of the gardens!’ the man snapped.
‘Sorry! Really sorry!’ called Derek, and at that moment the tube came away from the Africa emblem. He hid it in his fist and ran across the grass back to the path. […] On the Tube, he inspected his find for the first time. It was a length cut from a black plastic drinking straw, and inside it was a rolled-up slip of paper. It was pretty nifty – no-one would ever have found this by accident. His fingers were itching to extract the slip of paper there and then, but he didn’t want an audience. A document with instructions he must follow, the messenger had said.
Chapter 13 Sarius trudges angrily across a landscape that looks as though all its colours have got mixed up. The path he’s walking on is made of red bricks, and the fields on either side of it are blue. He doesn’t want to be here, but if they’re going to bring him here by force then he’ll just have to see to it that this world spits him out again of his own accord. […] His belt is almost completely grey and the noise in his ears is starting to give him a headache, but he’s alive. It would have been too good to be true otherwise. He looks around at the others – yes, he’s the most seriously injured out of all of them, which means he’ll be the one the messenger comes for. The messenger is already coming into view, a shadow galloping towards them along the blood-red road, seeming to radiate darkness. […] ‘Sarius.’ He hadn’t expected the messenger to take him so soon. He steps forward. ‘You fought with great courage,’ says the messenger, ‘and it is to your credit. Despite being so badly injured, you did not retreat; you did not abandon the others.’ Because I just wanted it to be over and done with, thinks Sarius, but says nothing. ‘I am glad you have overcome your reservations. As a token of my appreciation you will receive the healing potion you so desperately need.’ Much to Sarius’s astonishment, the messenger hands him a little bottle filled with sunny yellow liquid – just like that, without asking for anything in return. At the first sip, the injury tone subsides. ‘And that is not all. You will receive your true reward tomorrow, but I am sure you can manage to be patient until then. Now go. Gather your strength – you will need it.’ […] But it was no good – he had to check his emails. There was loads of spam, as always, but there were also two commissions, both of which had arrived in the past hour. And while Nick was reading, another one popped up. They were from schools. And all of them were offering Nick work. […] He read through each of the emails again and bit his lip. This was clearly no coincidence. The messenger had promised him his true reward the next day, and this must be it. […]
Chapter 14 The paper was thin, and a sharp gust of wind almost tore it from Derek’s fingers. The text was handwritten in round, even letters. Greetings! You have done as you were instructed, but that was only the beginning. What comes next is a great deal more important. 1. Take one of your jumpers, wrap it in an opaque material and tonight, during the 7:30 screening at the Vue Cinema in Shepherd’s Bush, leave it under Seat E26 in Screen 9. 2. You will find a memory stick there. Open the photo stored on this memory stick, and create an Instagram account under the name lostprinceofdoom. Upload the photo to this account. Afterwards, we will be waiting for you. Incredulously, Derek read through the text a second time. […] It wasn’t the game; it was his mum calling. ‘That’s no problem about tonight,” she said. ‘We’ll just eat a bit later. I’ve told Dad, and he’s got to stay late at work anyway so it works out perfectly.’ ‘Er –’ said Derek. ‘What?’ ‘Your meeting after school, remember? You left me a voicemail just now saying you wouldn’t be home till after half seven? It’s fine by me – I think it’s great you’re getting into chess.’ ‘I… left you a voicemail?’ Mum said nothing for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said, sounding confused. ‘About an hour ago. Surely you can’t have forgotten.’ ‘Oh right. Yeah,’ stuttered Derek at last, just for something to say. ‘Yeah, of course. See you later then.’ His fingers felt numb as he shoved the phone back in his pocket. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Had someone called Mum and pretended to be him? But his mum would have been able to tell the difference, surely? It was impossible. […] Derek, so angry that he felt quite light-headed, spat in his face. ‘And I’ve got a question for you: how would you like to watch a little video? Featuring yourself in the leading role?’ Morton gripped Derek’s T-shirt with his left hand, and with his right he wiped the spit off his face. ‘He just sp–’ ‘Riley plays the female lead,’ Derek interrupted him with a grin. He almost wished the arsehole would hit him. ‘And there are two supporting actors. An old woman and a little fluffy dog.’ Morton loosened his grip on Derek’s T-shirt. ‘I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,’ Morton retorted, but a look of uncertainty had come over him. ‘Why don’t you go and bullshit somebody else?’ Mr Troy had almost drawn level with them by this time. ‘If you two are fighting, there’ll be trouble,’ Troy barked, beads of sweat standing out on his red forehead.
‘No. It’s fine,’ Morton muttered. ‘We just walked into each other.’ […] He pretended he’d dropped something, knelt down in front of the seat – with difficulty, it was a tight squeeze – and pulled the jumper in its plastic packaging out of his bag. He set it down on the lightly sloping floor, far enough back that it wouldn’t slip and couldn’t be seen. Then he started looking for the memory stick. It wasn’t on the floor, nor stuck to the underside of the seat. But where the seat met the armrest, Derek’s fingers encountered a long thin object. He took hold of it and pulled. […] The room was gradually starting to fill up, but the seats around E26 were all still empty. Derek touched the object in his jacket pocket – it was packed in something soft, so he couldn’t tell exactly what shape it was. […] He pulled his find out of his pocket and examined it more closely. It was wrapped in several layers of kitchen roll secured with green adhesive tape. It took him a while to get the packaging off but at last, as he’d hoped, a silvery grey memory stick emerged. […] He hesitated. There could be all sorts of viruses on the memory stick – but even as he thought this, he realised how ridiculous he was being. He already had a programme on his computer that could switch it on and off at will. His phone called people of its own accord, and mimicked Derek’s own voice… it couldn’t exactly get much worse. He inserted the stick into the port and a single file popped up. 053428.jpg. His heart was pounding as he opened the photo. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected, but it was definitely something more spectacular than this. The picture showed a brass plate attached to dark wood, with the name Marlowe engraved on it. […] Simultaneously disappointed and relieved, he opened Instagram on his phone and set up a new account. lostprinceofdoom – sure enough, the username was still available. He uploaded the photo and thought about adding a few hashtags like #randombullshit or #whoismarlowe, but he sensed the messenger would not appreciate his sense of humour. He looked pensively at the newly created account. 0 Followers, 0 Following. Derek would probably be the only one who ever saw the picture. Less than a minute later his laptop screen turned red, then darkened to black. Derek put on his headphones. It was time to collect his reward.
Chapter 15 […] At ten to seven he entered the Lowlander and, to his surprise, found an empty table. As he switched his phone to flight mode and bundled it up in a pair of ski socks he’d brought with him especially for the purpose, he wondered whether he might not be walking into a trap. […] But a few minutes later Victor’s familiar face appeared in the doorway. Despite the springlike temperatures, he was wearing a woolly hat. He waved to Nick with one hand while holding a finger to his lips with the other, then produced two little pieces of green plasticine from his jacket pocket. Camera, he mouthed. Microphone. Nick understood – he pulled the
socks off his phone and stuck one of the pieces of plasticine over the microphone and one over the camera lens. […] The two friends exchanged a glance. ‘If Erebos isn’t following the same patterns as last time, you’ll have to look for new ones,’ Victor suggested. ‘I’m sure there’s a master plan. You just have to decipher it – you did it once before.’ True. Only that time Nick hadn’t had to do it all by himself. ‘Keep your eyes peeled,’ Speedy added. ‘We’ll help you wherever we can, but you mustn’t leave any traces that might lead back to us. After the way things have gone today I’m sure Erebos won’t suspect anything.’ Postcards, then. Nick couldn’t help but laugh. […] He entered his flat, which was bathed in a reddish light. The computer screen was switched on and showed a fluid sequence of faces – vampires, lizard people, dwarves – in which each face morphed into the next and then melted away again. As if they were made of wax. There were human faces in the sequence too, many of them children, but their features kept changing and none of them stayed on the screen for more than a moment. It was all far too quick for Nick to be able to identify anyone. He didn’t turn the light on but walked towards the computer through the eerily flickering red glow. Look for clues, be vigilant, Victor and Speedy had advised him. So he concentrated on the kaleidoscope of eyes, noses and mouths in front of him. Within minutes he felt dizzy and turned away. He took his phone off flight mode and the moment he had signal again, it started vibrating. You’re shutting us out. What are you hiding? Just as he’d feared. Nick shrugged his shoulders with studied nonchalance; he presumed the webcam on the computer was watching him. And the camera on his phone too. ‘Nothing. I just went out. I had stuff on my mind. Went for a drink with friends, that’s all.’ You’re lying to us. Neither the webcam nor the phone camera could see how dry his mouth was. ‘I was out and I didn’t want to take any calls, that’s all,’ he said boldly. ‘Sometimes I don’t want to be disturbed. We never agreed that I had to be available twenty-four hours a day.’ The writing on the phone screen pulsated. Not yet. […] A blow with his sword, and a second rib is broken. Now the barbarian suddenly comes to life, as if he’s only just realised his opponent is not invincible. With his enormous broadsword he manages to hack off one of the skeleton’s legs, and from that moment on the outcome of the battle is decided. Sarius moves aside and watches for a few moments as the barbarian tries to crack the skeleton’s skull. With a swift movement he checks the identity of the giant warrior, and what he more than suspected is confirmed. BloodWork. Sarius knows exactly who he’s dealing with here, and he’s fairly sure the knowledge is mutual. Part of him inwardly rejoices – at last, a real-live person he can go looking for – and
part of him wishes it was someone he liked. A blow from behind almost floors him, but he catches himself at the last moment and spins around. One of the skeleton warriors has stumbled into him in the heat of the battle, but it’s not interested in Sarius: it’s swinging its jagged-edged scythe at a vampire named Torqan. […] BloodWork stands there hanging his head. ‘I was hoping I wouldn’t meet any of you.’ ‘Well, I could have done without meeting you either!’ Sarius is still angry. Some people never change, no matter how much time passes. ‘I could have done without any of this,’ the barbarian goes on slowly. ‘Are you here by choice?’ The question took him by surprise. ‘No. I wouldn’t say that.’ ‘Exactly,’ countered BloodWork. ‘Believe me, there’s a lot more at stake for me than there is for you.’ Up to this point Torqan and Mandrik have been listening to them in silence, but now the vampire joins in the conversation. ‘You mean you two know each other? But we’re not allowed to tell anyone who we really are!’ A rumble of thunder in the distance. A warning, thinks Sarius. The moment either of them says the wrong thing, he’s prepared to bet the lightning will strike again – and not in the tower this time. ‘We met before,’ he says cautiously. ‘The first time.’ ‘The first time? What first time?’ Thunder again, closer now. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ says Sarius, mentally classifying Torqan as one of the new members. The ones who definitely weren’t involved in the hunt for Ortolan. He wonders how to make it clear to BloodWork that they need to talk. Outside of Erebos. But before he can think of how best to word it, the barbarian points his sword at him. ‘Forget that you know me, Sarius. Don’t make the mistake of trying to ally yourself with me. I’m going to do my best here, I’m not going to break the rules, not at any price. Leave me alone, here and in the outside world, or you’ll find yourself a head shorter.’ […]
Chapter 16 […] His companion closes his eyes as if to look inside himself. ‘Very soon,’ he says, ‘someone who is a complete stranger to you will ask you about your family. Tell him nothing. Do not trust him.’ He opens his eyes again. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’ ‘Thanks… thank you,’ Torqan replies, perplexed. ‘I’ll remember that.’ Idmon’s gaze is full of warmth. ‘And I will help you on your way, as far as I can. But now I’m afraid I must go. I have business to attend to in Rhea early tomorrow morning.’ ‘Oh.’ Torqan feels slightly disappointed that the conversation is already over, but tries not to show it. ‘I guess I’ll head off too, then.’ ‘You should stay here.’ Idmon lays a hand on his shoulder. ‘Apate has sleeping quarters, up in the attic. It is a turbulent night tonight; strange creatures are abroad. Here you will be safe.’
[…] They arrived at school to find one of the three stairwells locked from the inside. A tall, rangy young man with shoulder-length hair was in there, setting up his tripod. ‘Shit. This is all I need,’ Derek muttered. […] ‘Okay, next. Derek Car–’ He stopped short. Looked around. ‘Derek Carver?’ ‘Here.’ Derek went over to him. ‘I’d rather stand in front of the pillar, if that’s okay.’ ‘Of course.’ The photographer was gazing at him intently, searchingly. Derek rubbed a hand across his mouth uncertainly – did he have something on his face? ‘Um – cool,’ said the photographer. ‘Maybe just lean on it slightly. Put your shoulder against it. That’s it, perfect.’ He took several shots, then lowered the camera. ‘Excuse me for asking, but do you have a sister?’ Derek blinked in disbelief. It was uncanny how quickly Idmon’s predictions came true. Someone who was a complete stranger to him was asking him about his family. Tell him nothing. Do not trust him. He automatically folded his arms across his chest. ‘Why do you want to know?’ ‘Only because I once knew somebody… Emily. Emily Carver. Are you related?’ Oh no – he knew Emily. And he had that wistful tone in his voice. Derek shrugged. ‘There’s more than one Carver family in London.’ The photographer blinked, probably taken aback not to get a simple yes or no answer. ‘Yes, true,’ he said, and lifted the camera to his face again. He came a couple of steps closer and took several more photos. ‘But when you look closely, your eyes are similar to hers… and you’ve both got the same chin.’ Derek suppressed the urge to cover the tell-tale chin with his hand. ‘Are we done?’ he asked. The photographer looked slightly awkward. ‘Yes, we’re done. Would you like to see the photos?’ […] The English classroom was empty, and Derek collapsed into a chair. That photographer guy must have thought he was completely nuts. Normally he would have just answered the question. A sister? Yes, I’ve got two actually. Oh, do you know Emily? I haven’t seen her for way too long but yes, she’s my sister. Half-sister. […] It seemed the game had simply given him a new mission; it had linked itself with Google Maps and pinpointed a location in Wandsworth. Underneath, Derek found three notes: Tate Inc. 18:30 7699823 He gave a sigh of relief. Wandsworth was relatively easy to get to – he’d make it there by half past six. And he’d even be home in time for tea, if he completed the mission reasonably quickly. Except that he didn’t know what he actually had to do yet. An industrial estate, lorries driving in and out, lots of noise. Derek stood, smartphone in hand, in front of one of the metal gates. 250 metres to his destination, according to the navigation app. It wasn’t half past six yet: he was a quarter of an hour early. So far no-one had asked him what he was doing here, but they would soon, if they saw him loitering about
like this. He glanced at the app once more just to make sure, and then off he went. He walked quickly; any hesitation would only look suspicious. After dodging around a forklift truck, he headed straight for his goal – a large factory building with office premises attached to it. […] He made his way hesitantly along one wall, looking for a clue, for anything he could use. But all he found was a door where the factory floor adjoined the office building. Derek tried it, but of course it was locked. Only on closer inspection did he discover the keypad. A lock with a code. He could guess what he was supposed to do next, but he didn’t feel entirely comfortable with it. Was this breaking and entering? Was he breaking the law? He half hoped his prediction would prove false and the number combination from the app would turn out to have nothing to do with the lock. 7699823. No sooner had he keyed in the final number than the door opened with a loud click and a humming sound. Derek went in. […] Even if the code had been right, Derek wasn’t supposed to be here. He was certain of it. He cast a quick glance at his phone again to check the app, then turned back to the door. It was locked. He rattled at the doorknob, pushed at the door as hard as he could, but to no avail. And there was no keypad here for him to enter the code into. He was seized with panic. Should he call for help? Should he… Then, with an almighty din, the machines came to life. The conveyor belts slid into motion; the robot arms set to work processing metal components. Derek flinched so violently that his phone slipped out of his hand. He picked it up and saw, to his relief, that Erebos had sent him a new message. Look for a blue A4 document folder with a wide spine labelled Deliveries 3283-3577. Take it with you. Stealing a folder full of paperwork didn’t sound too bad – he was sure he’d be able to manage that. […] ‘I can’t do it,’ he yelled into the microphone, trying to drown out the noise of the machines. ‘Let me out of here.’ No reaction. And the next time he tried the door, it was still locked. Derek started hammering on it – perhaps someone outside would be able to hear him. After five minutes he gave up. He leant back against the wall, slid to the floor and buried his head in his hands. He’d have to call someone, but who? Syed? No, what could Syed do? It had to be an adult, ideally someone with a car, ideally… Dad. Dad, who would then have incontrovertible proof of the fact that his living son was a waste of space. Derek sighed. Needs must. He dialled Dad’s number and pressed the phone as close to his ear as he could. He’d have to shout to make himself heard above this racket. Dial tone. Dial tone. Then someone picked up the phone. ‘Hello, Derek.’ That wasn’t his dad’s voice. ‘What you are doing is not very clever.’ It was the messenger’s voice. How could that be, how –? ‘You have a mission to carry out.’ ‘But I can’t do it!’ cried Derek frantically. ‘I’m in the factory, there’s no documents here and no door into the other building either!’ ‘You haven’t looked hard enough.’ A quiet click, and the call was ended. Derek pressed his knuckles against his eyes and tried to keep his panic under control.
[…] Perhaps he’d be able to get through to Dad now? No dial tone. Instead, a weird beeping noise. ‘The number you have dialled has not been recognised,’ explained a friendly female voice on the line. He hung up resignedly, and at that moment the yellow eye appeared on the screen. Then it vanished again, leaving behind the pulsating black background. Now the familiar red letters now started to form. -
The third rule: The content of the game is a secret. Do not talk to anybody about it. Especially not unregistered people. You can communicate with other players at the fires while you are playing the game. Do not share any information with your friends or family. Do not share any information on the Internet.
He hesitated. At first he didn’t understand, but then he realised what this was all about. His conversation with Syed. He hadn’t been careful enough – Erebos must have overheard it. Or Syed had given him away. No. No, impossible. He’d had no idea what Derek was talking about. Surely not. On the other hand – the glowing red screen… Derek shook his head. No. It was his own stupidity that had landed him here. Erebos had threatened him with unpleasant consequences if he broke the rules. But he hadn’t expected those consequences to be so drastic. ‘I get the message,’ he yelled at his phone. ‘Please let me out now!’ Was the game even capable of doing that? The screen flickered. A new message. Learn your lesson. […] Again Derek threw himself against the door in desperation, kicked it, tried everything he could think of. In vain. Another phone call, this time to his mum, got the same response as before. ‘The number you have dialled has not been recognised.’ Were his family hearing the same message when they tried to call him? ‘I have to get out of here!’ he screamed into the phone. Again, red writing appeared. Patience. Around two o’ clock in the morning, Derek’s despair reached its peak. He’d been trying to use his phone as sparingly as possible so the battery would last longer, but now he gave in and opened the app. ‘I’m done,’ he yelled into the microphone. ‘I’m quitting, I don’t want to play anymore.’ […] Instead, he heard a voice that made his whole body stiffen. ‘In case you’re still looking for your cat, Miss Everly – I sent it for a swim. In the Thames.’ Raucous laughter. ‘I reckon you can take the posters down from the trees now.’ That was him talking. Derek himself. It was his voice. Even though he’d never said anything of the sort. He didn’t even know Miss Everly owned a cat. Derek felt his stomach turn over and took a deep breath to keep his nausea at bay. No wonder Mum had thought it was him who’d left her that voicemail. Now his teacher was going to think he’d drowned her cat. Derek gave up. He lay on the floor and closed his eyes and ears to the light and the noise, as best he could. Eventually someone would find him and then something would happen to him. He didn’t care what. Despite the adverse conditions he must have fallen asleep somehow, because the vibrating of the phone in his hand woke him from a confused nightmare. It took him a moment to work out where he was, because it was dark and quiet in the factory now. Almost silent, apart
from a soft humming noise. Derek got to his feet and grabbed his things. The humming was coming from the door opener. He tried the doorknob, and it turned. A second later, Derek was standing outside in the cool air of a London morning.
Chapter 17 […] But the vibration came again. Impatient, insistent. Reluctantly he pulled out his phone. Hurry up. That wasn’t a very precise instruction. Surely the game must understand that he couldn’t make the Tube go any faster. He was about to press the button to turn the screen off when the writing changed again. Time is short. ‘Yeah, yeah, life and death,’ he muttered weakly. He hadn’t thought the microphone on his phone was sensitive enough to pick up this remark, but the response from the game suggested otherwise. Exactly. Show us the pictures. This request came as a surprise to him. Erebos wanted to see the school photos he’d just taken? What for? So it could make him fight to win them back, every single one? ‘Shit,’ he whispered. Hurry up. […] The thought of Victor gave him another idea. At the kiosk in the station he bought some postcards. He selected one (the London Eye by night), pondered for a moment, and then wrote: Is Derek Carver Emily’s brother? If so: I met him today and he’s behaving pretty weirdly. Could be for any number of reasons, but it could be for THAT reason. You might want to let Emily know. […] He wanted to make sure the photos were secure before he switched on the computer, but while the water in the kettle was still boiling he saw the screen light up out of the corner of his eye. Red. Black. What are you waiting for? ‘I’m making myself a cup of tea, okay?’ he called, irritated. ‘Two minutes, then I’ll…’ The wailing sound set in immediately. Like a few nights ago, only louder. Nick rushed over and tried to turn off the speakers, but the computer didn’t respond. He cursed. Was the data transfer complete? Someone from next door was knocking on the wall; the wailing got louder and louder, like a fire alarm, and the neighbour’s knocking turned into hammering. Eventually, in sheer desperation, Nick simply unplugged the computer. The screen went black. He could hear the water bubbling in the kettle. ‘Sorry,’ he called, hoping his neighbours would be able to hear that too.
He poured himself a cup of tea, fully aware that Erebos was not going to let his disobedience go unpunished. But soon the game would get what it was after, even if Nick had no idea what it wanted with the school photos. […] It took a few seconds for the screen to come on. Nick had expected an outraged message: you’ll pay for that, or something along those lines. Instead, all he saw was the giant yellow eye. It looked right, then left, and finally straight at Nick. ‘I want you to know what can happen if you resist,’ he heard the messenger say. A short pause, a hissing noise, then a voice. ‘The explosive device is hidden somewhere nobody would ever suspect,’ it said. Nick felt all the strength drain from his body. That was him speaking. His own voice. ‘If you do not meet my demands, it will be detonated and the explosion will claim more lives than you can possibly imagine, even in your worst nightmares!’ Click. End of message. […] At 4 a.m., when he was almost falling off his chair with tiredness, he closed the image editing software and clicked on the Erebos icon. He wasn’t taken straight to the game; instead, the yellow eye appeared. ‘Listen,’ said Nick, ‘I can’t do this anymore. I need to sleep now. I’ll carry on tomorrow.’ For a few moments there was silence. When the reply came it was not in the messenger’s voice but that of a woman. The tone of her voice felt vaguely familiar to Nick. ‘That will do for today. We’ve got what we wanted.’ ‘And you’re not going to set the sirens off again?’ ‘No.’ ‘No phone calls with my voice?’ ‘No.’ […] But all that was forgotten when he opened the door and saw who was standing there. A woman of about his own age whom he immediately recognised, although he wasn’t sure where from. She looked at him wide-eyed, and mouthed a single word: Phone. He shook his head, puzzled – his phone was next to his computer… and at that moment the penny dropped. ‘Helen!’ he exclaimed. She immediately held a finger up to her lips, took his arm and led him down the stairs to the floor below. […] ‘Where did you…?’ he began, but she interrupted him at once with an impatient shake of her head. ‘You’re Sarius again, aren’t you?’ ‘Yes. And you’re BloodWork?’ ‘Obviously.’ She glanced back up the stairs as if to check they were far enough away from any technology that might be listening in. ‘I never wanted to set eyes on that bloody game again,’ she murmured. ‘Are you playing out of choice?’
‘No.’ Even though Nick knew he didn’t have his phone with him, he couldn’t help patting all his pockets just to make sure. ‘Erebos came up as an app on my phone first of all, then on my computer. I’ve tried to ignore it, but… it won’t let me.’ […] ‘And what about you?’ He looked at her inquiringly. ‘What has it… taken from you?’ Her eyes glittered with tears. ‘My daughter,’ she whispered. […] Helen burst out crying. Nick didn’t know what else to do, so he put his arms around her rather awkwardly and patted her on the back. He could guess what had happened without her having to explain. All it would have taken was one of those fake phone calls. Someone accusing Helen of neglecting her child. Something like that. ‘It’s all going to be okay,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll help you. Is Nancy with a foster family?’ Helen nodded. ‘They say she’s doing really well,’ she sobbed. ‘But I miss her so much!’ […] ‘You have to be extra careful with all your devices,’ she added. ‘Even when they’re turned off. At first I thought I wasn’t being watched while they were off, but I was wrong.’ ‘I’ll be careful.’ He held the door open for her. ‘Oh. And do you want to know what the messenger told me after they took Nancy away?’ She didn’t look at him, but her voice faltered dangerously. ‘Yes, what did he say?’ ‘I yelled at him, and he said: At least you know your child is alive. And you almost know where she is.’
Chapter 18 […] ‘You have to get out of here!’ ‘What? But…’ ‘Quickly. I have seen what is about to happen. You must go. If anyone asks you about us, deny everything. You were never here.’ He looks anxiously into Torqan’s face. ‘Never. Do you understand?’ ‘Why? But I…’ ‘You must go. You will understand soon enough.’ Torqan takes a hesitant step towards the exit. ‘But I want to come back.’ The fact that Idmon wants to get rid of him feels unduly painful. ‘I completed my mission. I did everything right – I thought that…’ ‘Carry on doing everything right. If you do as I’ve told you, we will see each other again very soon.’ He takes his arm and leads him to the doorway. ‘Farewell, my friend.’ Then he pushes Torqan gently out of the open door. […]
It’s not night outside, just nothingness. Complete blackness, as if the world of Erebos had never existed. Derek stared at the dark screen incredulously. […] He took his headphones off. It wasn’t fair – Idmon should at least have explained why… From outside his room he heard the doorbell ring. A glance at the clock: it was nearly nine. Who would be coming round at this hour? […] The conversation outside grew louder, and now Derek looked up. So they did have a visitor – he hadn’t heard her voice in ages, and normally he would have been very pleased to see her, but… ‘I just want to talk to him quickly.’ There was a knock on his door. ‘I think he might be able to help me with something. Thanks, Jane.’ Derek hadn’t made a peep, hadn’t invited her to come in, but she opened the door anyway and poked her head into the room. […] ‘Hey, little bro. Thought you would have finished work for the day.’ […] Emily glanced at his computer. ‘There’s something I wanted to ask you about. I don’t think I ever told you, but when I was about your age there was this computer game, and at one point nearly the whole school was playing it. And not just our school, either. It was called Erebos.’ Derek stiffened inwardly. He hadn’t been expecting a surprise attack from this quarter. Emily? She’d played Erebos? ‘Oh,’ he said, hoping he was coming across as reasonably composed. His sister didn’t take her eyes off him. ‘In the end it turned out that Erebos was much more than just a game. Several people almost died, and a girl from my class ended up on a psychiatric ward. Others got sent to prison for nearly killing someone.’ […] ‘Almost died…’: the phrase echoed in Derek’s head, but the messenger’s voice kept coming back to him too. Has anybody tried to kill you? Has anybody harmed you? ‘Really?’ Derek did his best to appear shocked and appalled. ‘But why?’ ‘Because the game told them to.’ She sighed. ‘It’s too long and complicated to explain. I was just wondering if you’d heard anything about Erebos. Apparently it’s doing the rounds again.’ ‘No.’ Had he fired off his answer too quickly? If anyone asks you about us, deny everything. He pretended to think about it for a moment and then shook his head. You were never here. ‘No. We play Dead by Daylight, Apex Legends and Monster Hunter World. That keeps us pretty busy.’ Emily smiled. ‘I can imagine.’ She looked at his laptop again, for a few seconds longer this time, and Derek was suddenly afraid it would turn itself on and the red writing would appear. Enter. This is Erebos. ‘Be careful, okay?’ […] The moment she left the room he unlocked his phone and opened the app. There was once a king, who had a son. The writing stayed there for a few seconds and then shifted, warped and transformed itself into a new message. You fought well. We are waiting for you – […] But what she’d said about Erebos was ridiculous. Killing someone just because the game told you to – nobody would ever do that. Not even the fake phone call about the drowned cat would be enough to make someone do that. Because being suspected of killing a cat was
nothing in comparison to actually killing a human being. All Derek himself had done so far was dig out one of his old jumpers and leave it in a cinema. And posted a photo on Instagram that he’d found on a memory stick. And… yes, okay, he’d stolen a folder and hidden it in a kids’ playground. It wasn’t completely innocent, but it wasn’t exactly criminal. He laughed softly. No, he had nothing to feel guilty about. The game Emily had talked about might have been called Erebos too: but the one Derek was playing was quite different. It was adventurous, but not dangerous. If he’d admitted to playing it she’d only have got worried. And there was no need – in retrospect, even the night in the factory could be seen as an adventure. It had all turned out fine in the end. […]
Chapter 19 […] With a queasy feeling in his stomach, Nick unlocked his phone. The Erebos app showed a new notification. Reluctantly, but with the sense that resistance was futile, Nick tapped on the icon. We called you, but you did not listen. The words glowed red. The young woman sitting next to him glanced at his phone, and quick as a flash Nick tipped it sideways so she couldn’t see the screen. She laughed, and rightly so – he must have looked ridiculous. The writing dissolved, to be replaced by a video. Nick heard himself groan. The video was four minutes long and showed two young men sitting at a table in a poorly lit pub. One of them, the one with shoulder-length dark hair, kept leaning across the table, clearly trying to tell his companion something. The other man just sat there with his hands cupped around his glass, shaking his head every few seconds. Nick and Jamie. In The Dublin Castle. The video had been filmed within the last two hours. It was playing with the sound on mute, and Nick didn’t dare turn it up. Not for fear of the dreadful singing in the background, but because he was afraid that what he was yelling to Jamie across the table might also be audible. […] The longer the video went on, the more Nick’s throat constricted. Who had Erebos sent to the pub to watch him? Was there still someone on his tail? Were they sitting in the same carriage as him right now? Perhaps it was the inquisitive woman in the seat next to him…? The video vanished. You need to get off the train. […] ‘I call the fighters into the Arena!’ cries a voice that sounds unpleasantly familiar. The crowd roars, and the assembled dark elves surge towards the exit. His people is the first to be driven into the middle of the stadium by two burly figures with bulging eyes and leopard skins hanging from their shoulders. ‘The dark elves,’ screeches the audience. Sarius enters the Arena, and all the memories come flooding back. He remembers how weird and gross he used to find the spectators – no change there, then. Three octopus-like creatures are sitting in the front row, stretching out their tentacles towards the fighters, making a sound halfway between a chirp and a wheeze. A few tiers above them sits a group of spider-headed men, all feasting on one huge iridescent beetle. Bird-like but featherless creatures with three horns sprouting from their foreheads. Humanoid creatures with the mouths of fish. A strange slimy thing with strings of
goo stretched between its arms. Sarius looks away. To the delight of the hooting spectators, the dwarves have entered the Arena, and now the barbarians are coming in. Among them are Mandrik… and BloodWork. […] ‘You are fighting for your reputations,’ declares Goggle-Eyes. ‘You have both committed acts by which you have brought shame upon yourselves. We shall draw a veil over those of the victor. Those of the loser, however, shall be made public – one way or another.’ Sarius instinctively backs away, until the guard gives him a shove in the back. Has he understood right? Whoever loses will be publicly humiliated? The two chosen fighters don’t seem to find this very funny either. ‘I’d rather fight for something else,’ says Jandor. ‘Ten gold coins and a bottle of healing potion?’ The master of ceremonies makes a noise like the roar of an attacking beast of prey. ‘The stakes have already been decided! Fight!’ […] ‘I call Sarius and BloodWork into the middle.’ Sarius had a feeling he was going to be called up eventually, but his first reaction is still panic – until his brain engages and he realises that actually, things couldn’t have turned out more perfectly. The stronger the opponent they put him up against, the better. BloodWork is going to beat him to a pulp and that’ll be it – he’ll be free of Erebos for good. […] ‘You are fighting for your freedom,’ explains the master of ceremonies. ‘The victor will get back everything he has lost and will no longer be required to serve us. The loser will serve us until the end, cost him what it may.’ Sarius gasps. He wasn’t expecting this: it’s a prize he’s only too eager to win. The end of the surveillance, the night-time alarms, the blackmail. As long as Erebos keeps its word: but he doesn’t really doubt that it would. Now he wishes he did stand a chance against BloodWork. But what a perfidious idea, to put him and BloodWork of all people up against each other. There’s no way it’s a coincidence. He takes a deep breath and gets himself into position. Goggle-Eyes raises his hand. ‘Fight!’ […] Each of the barbarian’s thrusts is wilder, angrier but also clumsier than the last. What’s wrong with him? Sarius dances around him; none of his blows has seriously wounded BloodWork, but little by little the barbarian is weakening. He strikes out frantically, aimlessly, like a berserker. It’s almost disturbing. No, Sarius realises: it’s heart-breaking. Because what’s causing his opponent to fight so badly is not anger, but desperation. The victor will get back everything he has lost. It would be such a relief to leave this world and all its madness behind him. Sarius dodges a blow that would almost certainly have taken his head off. But dying is no longer an option, the master of ceremonies made that clear. The loser must serve Erebos until the end. Either Sarius wins this fight, or he has to carry on doing Erebos’s bidding for as long as the game sees fit. And he doesn’t do it, it’ll be someone who can barely cope with life as it is – even without this burden. Sarius is now battling more with himself than with BloodWork. He knows what’s at stake. For everyone involved. He also knows he’s good at finding ways out. That he’s got friends on his side. He already senses he’s going to regret it, but he makes a decision. […] His belt is almost completely grey – one more hit and it’ll be over, then Goggle-Eyes will be proved wrong and Sarius will be dead. You only have one chance…
And BloodWork does strike again. Perhaps he’s just trying to live up to his name and do his bloody work properly, or perhaps he’s trying to strike a merciful death blow – Sarius can’t tell. But the blow catches him on the head, the Arena blurs before his eyes, and the injury tone almost makes him feel sick. He’s still alive, though. As if through a veil of mist, Sarius sees the master of ceremonies raising BloodWork’s arm into the air and declaring him the winner. Sarius lies in his own blood, unable to move. Unable to speak. But he’s alive, damn it. He’s definitely alive. […] ‘I know what happens next,’ he says despondently. He’s already cursing himself for his selflessness. ‘I have to carry on doing what I’m told. Until the end.’ He reaches for his sword which is lying next to him on the table, still smeared with BloodWork’s blood. ‘And when will that be, incidentally?’ ‘You will find out soon enough.’ The messenger turns his yellow eyes on Sarius, watching him slide the sword into the scabbard at his belt. ‘But I am afraid you have not fully understood the consequences of your defeat.’ He locks his bony fingers together with his characteristic gesture. ‘Let me explain. Perhaps you think nobody has noticed that you have been repeatedly… trying to avoid us, let’s say. That you have complied with our requests reluctantly, and belatedly. That you are trying to outwit us.’ The messenger leans over him; Sarius has never been so close to the skull-like head before. ‘From now on, I will no longer tolerate this behaviour. Too much is at stake. And…’ Sarius guesses what’s coming next, and he’s right. ‘… time is short.’ […]
Chapter 20 […] He’s about to go outside again when something shiny catches his eye. A silver casket sitting on a stone ledge that juts out of the wall. It looks like it’s the only object here to have been left untouched by the fire. Torqan picks it up and opens it. Inside he finds a folded piece of parchment. He unfolds it and reads: To the friend who finds this! By the time the intuition came and I had a vision of Rhea in flames, it was too late to get a message to you. I only had time to warn the people, gather up my most precious possessions and flee. Many things that were dear to my heart are now reduced to ash and smoke, but we did not lose any of our people. Whether we can continue to keep them safe depends partly on you, my friend. I would carry out this mission myself but I am unable to, so I hope that you are willing. There are banners hidden in a secret location. Find them, and put them up where they belong. You will be informed of the place in due course. For all our sakes, hurry. And wear a garment that hides your face – the enemy has eyes everywhere. I thank the Gods for your friendship! Idmon. Torqan reads the letter twice through and then puts it away. It doesn’t take him long to make his decision: of course he will do his friend this favour. And help another friend while he’s at it.
[…] He pulled a hoodie out of the wardrobe, then sat down with his notebook at the kitchen table. Ten minutes later he ripped off the top few sheets, which were now filled with writing, folded them and slid them into an envelope. Then he headed outside. By the time he got to the bottom of the stairs, the app had already sent him a message. A picture of a grey rucksack with a wolf’s head on it. The text read: Bin liner. Yellow. Corner of Bingfield Street/Pembroke Avenue. He sighed. It would take him almost half an hour to get there, and he needed to make a little detour on the way. He’d better hurry. […] It wasn’t even half-full – it felt very light, and there was only one object in it: a lumpy thing that might well be a rucksack. The passers-by either shot Derek quick, embarrassed glances or ignored him completely. It wasn’t uncommon to see people going through the bins in London. Derek carefully loosened the cord the bag was tied with, and saw grey polyester fabric inside. Bingo. So what now? He retreated with his discovery to a side street, found a little wall and sat down. A quick check of his phone, but Erebos hadn’t sent him any more messages. So Derek pulled the rucksack out of the bin liner and opened it. Banners, Idmon had said in his letter. He must have been talking about these four rolled-up pieces of plastic film in the main compartment of the rucksack. On top of them, Derek found a slip of paper with words on it – not handwritten, but typed and printed out. An address on Copenhagen Street, along with the note Rear courtyard. Gate is open. The big glass window is our–’ […] It couldn’t take long to put up four stickers. In five minutes he’d be on his way. Each of the banners was secured with an elastic band. Derek took the first one out and unrolled it. Peeling the edge of the plastic film off the backing paper wasn’t easy. After a hurried look around, Derek crept up to the window and pressed the beginning of the sticker onto the glass. It was about twenty centimetres high and very long. Derek unrolled and pressed down simultaneously, smoothing the film onto the glass until the whole thing was stuck down. It was a bit wonky, but that wasn’t what made him pause in dismay as he stood there looking at it. It was what the words on the banner said. The dead are gathering, and they want answers. […] Alarmed, he drew the next roll out of the rucksack. It was thinner than the last one. This time he read what was on the banner before he stuck it down. It was a number. An amount of money. £54,800 This was even more baffling. As he stood there looking hesitantly at the sticker, his phone rang once more. Mum again. He hurriedly swiped this call away too – why hadn’t he thought to put his phone on silent? He did it now, holding his breath to listen for a window opening somewhere – or worse, a door. But all was quiet. It was no good, he told himself as his heartbeat returned to normal. He could either see this through or give up. But now that he’d started… The sticker with the number on was much smaller, and quicker to stick down. Derek unrolled the next one. They do not want to see him again.
Whatever it meant, it was soon stuck to the glass. Then came the fourth and final banner. He read the text and shuddered inwardly. This one didn’t sound quite so harmless. Derek wondered what people would think tomorrow when they came into the office. When he’d finished he took a quick photo, looked and listened in all directions to check there really was no-one around, and hurried out of the courtyard. […] He thought again about Emily and her warnings. But especially about the text on the last banner. Life for life. Death for death.
Chapter 21 […] After two hours he stopped for a break. Someone brought him a coffee. Nick went through all the shots he’d taken so far, and just as he was saving them onto the hard drive he’d brought with him, he suddenly got the feeling he was being watched. He looked up. A young man, no more than two or three years older than him, was standing on the bank of the lake staring at him. When Nick smiled at him in greeting, the man put his hands in his pockets and came marching over to him. Nick put the camera down and extended his hand, but the man made no move to shake it. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘Er – Nick Dunmore. I’m here to do the school photos…’ ‘Yes, I know.’ His brows knitted together. ‘I recommended you.’ Oh. This was a surprise. ‘Then surely you know –’ ‘I know that I did what I had to do,’ said the man quietly. ‘And that you’re benefiting from it. Now, I’d be very interested to know who it was that pressurised me like that. Was it you? Or someone acting on your behalf?’ Nick opened his mouth and then closed it again. He could guess what had happened but he couldn’t say so, because Erebos was bound to be listening. This man must have got sucked into the game too. He would have liked to put a hand on his shoulder and let him know they were both victims of the game’s machinations. But he knew Erebos wouldn’t stand for that. ‘I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘Your school wrote to me – I was actually quite surprised by it myself.’ The man eyed him mistrustfully. ‘I find that hard to believe.’ ‘I’m very sorry, but it’s true.’ […] His phone buzzed in his pocket. A new message on the app: Get away from him. Nick put the phone away and reached for the camera. Losing the right to make his own decisions was a horrible feeling. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I have to sort the photos out. I think we’ll be starting again in a minute.’ […] He slowed down. Checked the satnav. ‘Stay on road. In two hundred metres, turn left.’ Nick accidentally swerved the car in his shock. That wasn’t the friendly female voice he was used to. It was the messenger’s voice. ‘What the hell –’ he exclaimed, and now laughter erupted
from the speakers. The satnav screen no longer showed his projected route but a yellow eye, staring fixedly at Nick. ‘In fifty metres, turn left.’ Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. There was no road on the left, only an unsurfaced track. He slowed to walking speed and turned off carefully. ‘In 150 metres, you will have reached your destination,’ the messenger announced. ‘It is straight ahead of you.’ Nick let the car roll forwards. The ground became muddy and smooth; in the glare of the headlights a rusty metal gate came into view, head-high. ‘What am I doing here? What is this?’ ‘It is the truth at the end of all things,’ the messenger’s voice resounded through the car. ‘You took photos today which were not meant for Arringhouse. You took them for yourself, isn’t that right?’ Nick didn’t see how the messenger could know that. ‘I took photos of the students. The building. The lake.’ The voice grew deeper. More ominous. ‘You know what I am talking about.’ Of course he did, and now he was more convinced than ever that the tin box contained a dark secret. ‘Who were you going to show the photos to?’ […] An old cemetery. Dilapidated gravestones, lopsided crosses overgrown with moss. Praying angels in long robes, creepers twining around them. The truth at the end of all things, thought Nick with a shudder. ‘What should I do now?’ ‘Look for the grave of Lawrence Morely.’ The voice was coming out of his phone now. ‘You will know it by the weeping angel sitting on the edge.’ No sooner had Nick taken out his phone than the inbuilt torch switched itself on. The beam of light threw darting shadows on the path and the gravestones. A small animal scurried through the rustling bushes, no doubt startled by this unexpected disturbance. The idea that someone or something other than Nick could be here, lurking in the darkness waiting to reach out and grab him, was completely ridiculous. But he still couldn’t shake the thought of it. This cemetery was clearly abandoned – nobody was maintaining the graves anymore. And Nick hadn’t heard another car anywhere in the vicinity. Who else would visit such a creepy spot at this hour? It was the perfect place to avoid prying eyes. While he did… whatever it was Erebos wanted him to do. There! There, on one of the paths branching off from the main walkway, the light from his torch fell upon an angel with long wings. It sat bent over the head of a grave with its hands covering its face. The gravestone was cracked, but the inscription was still legible. Lawrence Morely *15.05.1875+ If he was interpreting the star and the cross correctly, this was the grave of a baby boy who’d died the day he was born. Even though it was nearly 150 years ago, Nick was overcome by a wave of sadness. But that wasn’t the reason the messenger had directed him here. Nick lifted the camera to eye-level and tried, despite the poor light, to take a photo without flash by illuminating the grave with his phone. He checked the result in viewing mode and thought it looked very atmospheric, but nobody would be able to read the
inscription. So he took a few more photos with the flash on. ‘That should do. Can I go back now?’ ‘First you must dig.’ The messenger couldn’t be serious. What was he supposed to dig for – the long-buried bones of a tiny baby? ‘But the grave is covered with a stone slab, not earth.’ ‘Find some earth. Fill the candle holders with it.’ […] Speedy raised his eyebrows. ‘In what way?’ ‘No idea. Just a feeling. It’s true I took a photo of Derek – I spoke to him, too, and he reacted pretty weirdly. He was almost hostile. It wouldn’t surprise me if Emily was right and he’s playing Erebos.’ ‘That’s what Rosie thinks, anyway,’ said Emily. ‘My little sister. She says she managed to get a look at Derek’s phone while he was in the shower and she saw the red E. She tried to go into the app but it wouldn’t open.’ Emily sighed. ‘Rosie says he’s doing weird things, too. Going out at odd times. Locking his bedroom door. Yelling at her.’ Weird things. Nick remembers Derek’s strange hand gesture after the last photo. Had he been trying to send Nick a signal? ‘The game knows he’s got an inquisitive sister now, anyhow,’ he mused. ‘Not good.’ […]
Chapter 22 […] Owen ran a hand through his fair hair. ‘It’s about Maia. Her parents are with Lewis now. It looks like she’s gone missing. And she left a letter saying goodbye.’ This news hit Derek like a sledgehammer. ‘What?’ […] Derek nodded coolly. ‘Exactly. So let’s get to the point. You recently broke into my locker and stole my physics presentation.’ It wasn’t a question, and Morton didn’t reply. He just shrugged. ‘Now I want you to do the same to this locker.’ He led Morton five doors along, to where Maia’s locker was, and took two lengths of wire and a GameShop loyalty card out of his bag. ‘Here. Some tools for you. Now be quick.’ […] While Derek looked around, checking the coast was definitely clear, Morton slid the wire into the lock. Ten seconds later the locker door was open, and he threw the wire and the card at Derek’s feet. ‘There. Now don’t ever talk to me again, okay?’ The contemptuous gesture didn’t bother Derek. He picked the things up off the floor and tucked them into his trouser pocket. […] Maia kept her worksheets in a thick yellow folder – and here Derek made an unexpected discovery. An exercise book slid out from between the sheets of paper. It didn’t look like a schoolbook, though. There was no name on it; the cover was light blue, with a five-pointed white star in the middle. He opened it. Drawings, little notes, more drawings. Yes, this must
be Maia’s private notebook. Derek hastily stuffed the book into his bag and tried his best to put the other things back the way he’d found them. […] ‘It’s good to see you, my friend.’ ‘Yes, I’m glad to see you too.’ He sits down beside him. ‘I need your help, Idmon. Your special gift.’ His companion lowers the piece of wood he is whittling. ‘But I just made a prediction for you, did I not? Was it wrong?’ ‘No,’ Torqan replies quickly. ‘It was perfect, but I need another one. Urgently. It’s an emergency.’ Idmon’s face darkens. ‘You are too bold, my friend.’ ‘It’s not for me,’ Torqan adds hastily. ‘I’m asking for a friend who’s gone missing. I need to know she’s okay.’ Idmon turns his whittling knife so that the sunlight flashes off the metal. ‘A good friend?’ That’s not an easy question to answer. No – not if you measure it by the amount of time they spend together. A thousand times yes, if you measure it by the strength of his feelings for her. ‘An important friend,’ he says. ‘She means a lot to you.’ ‘Yes. She means so much to me. I’m desperately worried about her.’ Idmon pares a long wood shaving off his root. ‘I think I know who you mean.’ He closes his eyes. ‘She is in a dark place, but she has chosen it herself. Nobody has harmed her.’ A dark place – that’s far from reassuring. Is Idmon saying she’s chosen death for herself? Torqan almost wishes he could give the seer a good shaking. ‘Is she alive?’ For an agonisingly long time, Idmon does not reply. Then: ‘Yes,’ he says at last, ‘she is alive.’ ‘Where? Where is she?’ Unmoved, Idmon carries on whittling without saying a word. Only after what feels like an eternity does he lift his head and look at Torqan. ‘You will find out in good time. You will be the first to know.’ He stands up, lays his piece of wood on the stone bench and walks off towards his ruined dwelling. Torqan stands there, bewildered. He’s none the wiser. No, that’s not true: he knows Maia is alive. As long as Idmon is telling the truth and hasn’t made a mistake – but he never has before. Lost in thought, Torqan reaches for the root Idmon has been whittling. Death’s heads, one beside the other, with smooth round skulls. The eye sockets gape, and some of the mouths are opened wide as if in a scream. With a queasy feeling in his stomach, Torqan puts the root down again. He hopes Idmon’s artwork is not also part of his answer.
Chapter 23 […] It hadn’t been Wiley who’d called him, but Victor. Twice. That was unusual – after all, they’d had an agreement. Not sure what to do next, Nick left the school building. But once he got outside, he stopped dead. Could the phone call be a trap? Not one set by Victor, of course, but by Erebos? Knowing he might be making a big mistake, Nick called Victor back. The dial tone sounded, three times, four times. Then someone picked up. ‘Nick?’ Victor’s voice, hoarse and harried. ‘Yes! What’s up?’ He heard noises in the background on the other end of the line – footsteps, a distant bell. ‘We made a mistake, Nick.’ He sounded close to tears. ‘Speedy got beaten up last night, pretty badly. His neighbours just found him this morning, in the hallway. He’s been in surgery for the past two hours.’ ‘What?’ Nick felt his knees go weak. Suddenly the memories of Jamie’s accident came flooding back: how could something like this happen again? How could they have allowed it to happen again? Beaten up. ‘How is he? How bad is it?’ ‘It’s too early to say.’ ‘Are you at the hospital? Are you with him?’ ‘Yes, I want to wait till…’ ‘I’m coming in.’ […] Nick had his phone in his trouser pocket again now, and it vibrated the moment he set foot on the platform at Belsize Park. Without slowing his pace, he glanced at the screen. Go back. ‘No way,’ he hissed through clenched teeth. He felt like chucking his phone on the tracks, but that wouldn’t help matters. He put it back in his pocket, where it buzzed away almost incessantly. Brilliant. The battery wasn’t going to last five minutes at this rate. […] He remembered the messenger’s warning, of course, and he knew that the consequences were going to be dire, but right now he didn’t care. Flight mode. He unlocked the phone, and the yellow eye stared back at him. He couldn’t close it or swipe it away. When it finally faded, it was replaced by the dreaded red lettering. Go home. We are waiting for you. He couldn’t get rid of the writing either. Erebos had paralysed his phone – it wasn’t letting him use any of the other functions. Victor had leaned forward a little to get a look at the screen. He was welcome to it – but first Nick covered the camera lenses on both the front and the back of the phone and turned it so that Victor could see the text. Then he switched it off. […]
Chapter 24 […] He sat on the bed with her notebook and leafed through it again from the beginning. The same things came up again and again: gravestones, raindrops, tears. And song lyrics. Just
running scared, afraid to lose, if he came back, which one would you choose? […] He leafed forwards, backwards, forwards again. Stopped at the drawing of Maia’s face crying over the gravestones. The teardrops looked very uniform; they were all slightly tilted to the right. Derek turned to the next page. The raindrops were the same. Just like… He squinted at the page. And all of a sudden he remembered where he’d seen that particular droplet shape before. On the cars of the emergency installation service in the courtyard where he’d stuck the banners up. The logo was identical to Maia’s teardrops: it even had shading on the same side. Or was he mistaken? He’d only glanced at it, and had paid no attention to it after that. He took his phone from the bedside table and opened the photo folder. He’d taken pictures in the courtyard: perhaps he might have captured the logo in one of them. […] As soon as he was out of sight of the school he sped up. Ignored the buzzing of his phone. He was going to clear this up once and for all. The closer he got to Copenhagen Street, the more insistently he could feel his phone vibrating. Just before he reached the address, he took it out. The app was already open. Go ahead, do it, it said. Then we’ll do it too. Before Derek could work out whether this was supposed to be a threat, the world of Erebos opened for the first time on his phone. A cave came into view. In it, someone was chained to the wall by iron rings. His hand clenched around his phone. Soryana, with a wound on her arm, her belt almost colourless. Above her hung an iron ball with long, sharp spikes sticking out of it. Every time Derek took a step, it sank a little lower. Soryana’s head hung limply on her shoulder. But now she looked up. ‘Run away. Please. If they find you here with me…’ Derek leaned on the wall of the building as the screen slowly darkened and the app closed. Of course this was no coincidence. Soryana was imprisoned and wounded, Maia had disappeared. And now Erebos was showing him the place where she was being held – disguised, of course, but still. How did this all fit together? […] He doubled back, trying to open the app again to see whether the spiked ball ascended again when he did what Erebos wanted. But it wouldn’t open. Derek sped up – hopefully that way the game would realise it had won. The next moment, a delivery van drove around the corner. Resc/You said the lettering on the sides of the van, and beside the lettering was the bright blue logo. Derek had been right: the droplet was the same as the one in Maia’s notebook, right down to the smallest detail. […] Even when he was finally home and sitting at his computer, Erebos wouldn’t open. Derek curled up into a ball on his bed. If anything happened to Maia because of him, he’d never forgive himself. […]
‘Is Soryana here?’ The messenger’s smile is frightening. ‘Here? No. She is not here.’ ‘Will I be able to find her?’ He is hoping for a Yes so much it almost hurts. ‘You are afraid for her, isn’t that so?’ There’s no point lying. ‘Yes.’
The messenger stands, draws himself up to his full height. ‘Be sure to remember this feeling.’ He beckons Torqan closer. One of the stone figures in the alcoves seems to move, and a moment later the next one follows suit. A knight raises his sword with a grating, grinding sound. A shadow, like that of a giant bird, flits across the hall ceiling. ‘Life for life,’ whispers the messenger. ‘You want to find Soryana?’ ‘Yes. How’s she doing? Is she okay?’ The messenger’s silence makes all the other noises seem far too loud. The occasional patter of little animal feet. The sound of the water dripping from the ceiling. ‘We will find that out together,’ says the messenger at last. ‘Once you have carried out the mission I am about to give you.’ ‘Of course.’ Torqan agrees without a second thought. ‘What do I have to do?’ ‘You will welcome the prince. You will know him at once when you see him, and from then on you will stay by his side. Be his companion.’ Lostprinceofdoom, Torqan recalls. ‘No problem,’ he says. ‘What exactly do I need to do?’ The messenger explains it to him.
Chapter 25 […] The red path cuts diagonally through it, dead straight and bordered with gold. And now Sarius sees a golden star rising to the left of the path. The sight of it jogs his memory, but he can’t quite think what it reminds him of. It’s as if there’s a word on the tip of his tongue that his brain doesn’t want to reveal, however hard he concentrates. Meanwhile, the landscape beneath him is changing. Coloured fields again, shimmering yellow and green and blazing red. But his eye is drawn to a lake that lies right in the middle, where someone has constructed a landing stage in the shape of a star. He can hear the lapping of the water from all the way up here. […] Stars, always stars. Sarius tries to distract himself – he knows he won’t be able to force his brain to tell him where he recognises these patterns from. […] ‘I know you don’t understand what you’re seeing,’ Aiello continues. ‘You’ve been out of school too long, eh? Or perhaps you didn’t pay enough attention when you were there.’ Sarius is about to come back with something equally cutting, when he realises Aiello has just given something away. Out of school. ‘You know a lot more about me than I do about you, don’t you? You know I’m not at school anymore. You probably even know my name.’ […] And he’d Google something, too, and see if the game tried to stop him. ‘Harpies’, he typed in. He managed to open the Wikipedia link without any objection from Erebos. […] One of them was called Aello. Nick leant back. This was no coincidence: the friendly creature that had got him stuck in the mud just now had had practically the same name, with one extra letter added in. Probably to stop it coming up on internet search engines. Aello, explained Wikipedia, was one of the Harpies sent by the gods to bring about peace – using violence if necessary. And to punish wrongdoing.
Nick closed the page and the browser. He was convinced he’d just stumbled across something that brought him one step closer to a solution. […] Nick picked up the phone on the bedside table, and all at once he was wide awake. Emily. She hadn’t called him in years, and now here she was ringing him before seven o’ clock in the morning? He cleared his throat, not wanting to sound like he’d just woken up. ‘Hello?’ ‘Nick!’ That one word was enough to make him realise something must have happened. ‘Derek’s gone. He must have slipped out of the house last night, Jane just rang me, they don’t know what to do. He left his phone behind. And a message.’ Nick had already swung his legs out of bed and grabbed his jeans off the sofa. ‘What was the message?’ ‘Just this one sentence: Don’t look for me.’ She sobbed. […] It was the calm before the storm, and he was getting more and more afraid of the havoc this storm was going to wreak when it came. The end was nigh, the gnome had told him only yesterday. Your role is clear, and you will play your part. Nick pulled out his phone. At the moment his role was presumably to provide the game with a means of eavesdropping on other people’s conversations. He stood up, went out without a word and put his phone in the kitchen. ‘Erebos announced the finale yesterday,’ he reported when he came back in. ‘Apparently everything’s ready now. I have no idea what that means, but Erebos has gone strangely quiet. It didn’t even try to stop me coming here or remind me of the rules. It’s like it’s happy just to have me out of the way for the moment.’ […] ‘Whatever it is,’ he hissed, ‘I’ll do it instead of Derek. I’m the better choice, I’m an adult.’ The screen glowed red like a sunset; then it darkened, and letters appeared. A single word. Exactly. Ah, so that was it. The game was hoping a sixteen-year-old would be easier to fool than him. But how very noble of you to offer to sacrifice yourself. It seems to have become second nature to you. He caught the allusion to Helen, but he wasn’t going to get into that right now. ‘I’m going to find Derek. And I’ll move heaven and earth to do it. I may well get in your way.’ The writing changed. Silence is golden, talking is death, The truth is a sharp sword, too long left unsaid. And the one whom it threatens is well protected And knows just how to escape undetected. For a fairy, an army will be mobilised, And the dead shall have certainty by and by, He who risks much and never loses, May do exactly as he chooses. Do not breathe and do not cry, Not a sound, then you are mine.
[…] At Erebos’s request he’d taken photos of a particular gravestone, the gravestone of a baby who’d died the day he was born… The last two lines of the poem ran through his head. Do not breathe and do not cry / Not a sound, then you are mine. The gravestone and the poem seemed to… fit together, somehow. A child who had neither breathed nor cried, because he’d died at birth. Although that was well over a hundred years ago now, so it couldn’t matter much to anyone who was alive today. But there was the grave. There was the line in the poem. And at the moment that was all he had to go on. […] With Victor everything was always easier, somehow. Nick smiled. ‘I spy with my little eye, a man carrying a big rock.’ ‘Carrying or rolling? Up a mountain?’ ‘Carrying. On his shoulders.’ ‘Ah.’ Victor’s head appeared between the backrests of the front seats. ‘Like Atlas?’ Atlas. Oh yes, that Titan in Greek mythology who’d carried the Earth around on his shoulders. Nick had seen pictures of statues of Atlas… Atlas. The realisation came so suddenly that he accidentally jolted the steering wheel and nearly swerved into the oncoming traffic. Emily let out a stifled cry, but Nick already had the car back under control. He slowed down and drove into the carpark of a DIY store. […] Nick shook his head at his own stupidity. How could he have been so blind? He didn’t want to use his own phone, so he turned to Victor. ‘Did you have an atlas at school?’ He was met with an indignant look. ‘Of course. Probably the same one as you.’ ‘Do you remember what was on the first couple of pages?’ ‘Erm… not really, to be honest. But I’d guess it was the key first of all, and then a load of maps.’ ‘That’s right,’ said Nick. ‘But before that there were…’ ‘Flags!’ Emily broke in. ‘A double-page spread with all the national flags.’ ‘Exactly.’ Nick smiled at her. ‘Victor, can you Google it?’ ‘Already have.’ Victor thrust his phone under Nick’s nose. In a matter of seconds they found what they were looking for. A red path, outlined in yellow, running diagonally through a blue field, with a yellow star in the top left-hand corner: Democratic Republic of the Congo. Green, yellow and red stripes, and a blue disc in the middle with a pentagram on it: Ethiopia. A light blue background with a single white star in the centre: Somalia. ‘Looks like this time everyone in Erebos is walking around on African flags,’ he murmured. […] They were on the right track. The next chance he got, he turned the car around and let Emily direct him. The phone in the door compartment was buzzing like mad – another good sign. Nick grinned inwardly, gloatingly. […] Until a police car appeared behind them, and
waved Nick over to the side of the road as it overtook them. […] As they drove behind the police car, the route map on Nick’s satnav started to change. The roads twisted, stretched and warped. They turned yellow and black, and formed the shape of an eye. […] Following Emily’s directions, they reached the cemetery in less than an hour. Nick turned carefully onto the track, which didn’t seem as muddy today as it had last time. ‘What did you have to do here again?’ asked Victor, peering through the wrought-iron railings. Somewhere to the left of them there was a rustling sound from the trees, as if they’d startled an animal. ‘I took photos of a grave. A child’s grave.’ […] Nick looked for the weeping angel. There it was, leaning over the gravestone, both hands covering its face. Lawrence Morely. *15.05.1875.+ […] ‘Something in the game refers to children like Lawrence Morely,’ he murmured to Victor. ‘It’s a line in a kind of poem. Do not breathe and do not cry, not a sound, then you are mine, something like that. […] ‘And Erebos didn’t just want the photos. It wanted me to fill the candle holders with earth.’ ‘These candle holders?’ Victor poked at one of them with his finger. ‘There’s still earth in them.’ He bent over them; hesitated. Then he reached inside and pulled something out. ‘Oh shit,’ he whispered. […] Victor looked awkward and, too late, tried to hide what he’d found from Emily. But she’d already seen it. […] ‘That’s… oh God, those are Derek’s keys! I sent him that keyring from New York.’ […] Wordlessly, Victor pointed to the candle holder. Emily picked it up and turned it upside down. A large quantity of soil fell out of it, along with something else. A slip of paper. The three of them leaned over it. This far and no further. Otherwise there will be consequences.
Chapter 26 […] But things were about to get more difficult. Up to this point he’d had specific instructions; he’d known what he would find and where he would find it. But he felt completely in the dark about the next step. Go into the village, to where swans have two necks, the messenger had said. Wait there for the prince. You will know him when you see him. […] The town hall, a bakery, a little supermarket – and a pub called ‘The Swan with Two Necks’. […] Derek saw him and almost forgot to chew his food. You will know him, the messenger had said – and he’d been right, even though Derek had never seen the boy before in his life. He looked to be a year or two younger than Derek, though they were about the same height. And he was wearing the green jumper with the faded basketball on it. Derek had stood up almost without realising it. He gulped down his last mouthful and wiped his hands on his jeans. The boy had seen him too, and was walking slowly towards him. He spread his right hand flat on his chest, clenched it into a fist, opened it, closed it again. Derek nodded, then made the sign in his turn. Now the boy came quickly towards him. ‘Hey! That
was easy, I found you straight away. Cool.’ He looked curiously at Derek. ‘What’s your name? Er… your real name, I mean. Here.’ ‘Derek.’ […] ‘And yours?’ ‘Cedric.’ […] ‘Right.’ Cedric took his rucksack off his back. ‘I’ve got something for you,’ and he pulled out a blue and white school jumper. ‘And this.’ The jumper was followed by a charity collection box. Derek took them, rather puzzled; and a moment later he exclaimed in surprise. There was a blue droplet printed on the yellow box. Maia’s droplet. Underneath it, in blue letters, was the name Resc/You. […] He’d left so quickly that Derek hadn’t managed to ask the rest of his questions. Marlowe. Lostprinceofdoom. And Resc/You, whose office window he’d plastered with giant stickers. All of them led back to Cedric – but how? […] With a humming noise the door opened and Derek slipped inside the house. He looked around frantically – where was the list? Ah, there it was, hanging on the wall, with a pen on a string next to it. 14:58, he wrote in the first column; Cedric in the second… […] As Derek added Cedric’s name to the list, he suddenly remembered where he’d last come across it. The memory was like a blow to the chest, and he flinched. How had he not realised before? Tate Inc. The factory where he’d been locked in all night. Where he’d stolen a folder full of paperwork. All of this really did seem to revolve around Cedric. The question was, why? He was just a nice, normal fourteen-year-old boy. Why was he so important to Erebos? […] But he didn’t come. An hour went by, and then another. Little by little, Derek’s nervousness turned to a sense of foreboding. He paced up and down the room and kept looking outside, hoping to see the boy in the green basketball jumper coming up the path at last. As it started to get dark, he decided to ignore the agreement. […] Without stopping to think, Derek unlocked the door, leaving the key in the lock on the inside. The corridor outside the rooms was empty, and he hurried outside. He didn’t know whether to go right or left. […] He kept an eye out for the brick building that had appeared in the last photo on the lostprinceofdoom account. He couldn’t see it anywhere: but he did spot something else. […] As Derek approached, a shadow emerged from the semi-darkness of the garden and came towards him. Derek stopped in his tracks. He looked at the second girl, who was not made of stone but very much alive. The dim light of the streetlamp was reflected in Maia’s eyes. ‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ she said.
Chapter 27 […] ‘I’m Derek’s sister. Emily Carver. I’ve been looking for him since this morning, and if you know where he is you need to tell me right now!’ All Emily’s psychological principles had
gone out of the window. She glared at the girl. Grabbed her by the arm and shook her. ‘Come on! What’s your name?’ ‘Riley.’ The girl spoke so quietly that Nick could hardly hear her reply. ‘Now please let go of me. Derek is on his way home. You should go too.’ […] ‘Well, we found out something interesting there, didn’t we?’ Nick supposed he must look just as stunned as Emily did. ‘And what’s that?’ ‘Derek definitely didn’t run away because he wanted to kill himself. Which was your biggest fear, Emily. So at least we don’t need to worry about that anymore. He’s not on a one-way trip: he’s doing something for Erebos. That’s why the game sent that girl Riley, to put us off the scent. So Derek can carry out his mission undisturbed.’ ‘Makes sense,’ Nick murmured. Victor grinned. ‘We’re still going to find him, though.’ […] There was a clack-clacking sound from the lobby – the sound of running footsteps – and a moment later Mrs Lissman appeared at the door, looking flushed. ‘Mr Wiley? I… please come right away. I don’t understand it, but –’ ‘What’s happened?’ ‘I’ve looked everywhere, but I can’t find Cedric Tate.’ When Henry Tate arrived an hour later, the whole building was in uproar. […] ‘Are we really the only ones to see a connection here?’ Victor muttered. ‘We’re looking for a boy who’s gone missing and lo and behold, another one disappears. In the same place.’ Emily is hugging her arms to her chest. Exactly like she used to before. ‘You think the two of them are together?’ ‘Well, not necessarily. But I think they’re on the same mission.’ […]
Chapter 28 […] Four pizzas. So there must be at least two other people in the house. He watched Maia take a bottle of water out of the fridge, fill two glasses and bring them to the table. It was no good – he was going to have to broach the subject sooner or later. ‘Your parents are really worried about you.’ She turned her dark eyes on him earnestly. ‘Which ones?’ At first he thought he’d misheard. Had Maia just asked him which parents? After a moment she smiled. ‘I know they must be worried, and I’m sorry, but if everything goes according to plan they’ll have me back tomorrow, safe and sound. Or the day after tomorrow.’ ‘Don’t you at least want to call them?’ […] ‘No.’ Maia shook her head resolutely. ‘Not until…’
[…] This gathering was getting weirder and weirder. And however much he wanted to spend time with Maia, he didn’t want to do it under these circumstances. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I think I’m going to head home. You guys share my pizza. Hopefully I can still get a train back to London.’ He stood up, and Cameron did the same. Cora positioned herself in the kitchen doorway. ‘Sorry, Derek, but you can’t do that,’ Maia explained. ‘You have to stay here for a while.’ ‘What?’ He watched in disbelief as Cora drew a long knife from the block on the sideboard. ‘You can’t be serious.’ ‘We’re not going to hurt you.’ Maia made a placatory gesture in Cora’s direction. ‘But look – when you get home they’re going to bombard you with questions. And be honest: you’d tell my parents where I am, wouldn’t you? To stop them worrying?’ […] ‘If you go home now, they’ll ask you questions you can’t answer. And there’ll be some questions you can answer – and if you tell them what you know, you’ll ruin everything for us.’ […] ‘So you’re saying if I try and get out of here she’s going to stick a knife in me? Are you insane?’ ‘We wouldn’t do that,’ said Cameron, chewing on his pizza. ‘But we’d stop you from leaving one way or another. And if you did manage to get out, you’d find yourself in trouble anyway. None of us are really here, you see.’ ‘Exactly.’ Cora piped up for the first time, in a surprisingly deep voice. ‘There’s only one person here. And he’s here by choice.’ Derek wolfed down two slices of pizza without even tasting them. He still didn’t understand what Maia and her friends were doing here, what they were waiting for, but he’d realised there must be a fifth person in the house. By choice, as Cora had said. And Derek had an idea who it might be. […] There was another room, brightly lit. Two of the walls were covered with shelves full of tinned foods, bottles of water and cartons of juice. There was a kitchenette and a fridge, but the room was dominated by a flat screen that took up almost an entire wall. On this screen was a barbarian – one who looked familiar to Derek. The barbarian was engaged in a fierce battle with a green worm-like creature. In front of the screen sat Cedric, game controller in hand. ‘He came here to play?’ Derek was bewildered. ‘Not really. He was sent down here to fetch something.’ […] Derek didn’t take his eyes off the younger boy. Cedric, who seemed to be at the centre of all this somehow. He saw him laugh triumphantly when he finally killed the worm. No, he didn’t look frightened. ‘Why does Erebos call him a prince?’ Maia’s eyes shone in the meagre light that reached them from downstairs. ‘Well. What do you think makes someone a prince?’
There was once a king, who had a son. ‘Who his parents are.’ She smiled. ‘Exactly. That’s the key.’ […] ‘We should go back to the others.’ ‘Not till you’ve explained what’s going on here.’ He heard her sigh. ‘No, I’m not Soryana. But none of that really matters, in the end.’ Derek disagreed: after all, Soryana had been the bait with which the game had lured him here. And it was entirely possible that Maia knew about it. She must have realised how much he liked her. He took a step away from her. ‘Was it you who introduced everyone to Erebos? Did you start this whole thing? The three of you?’ Maia laughed. ‘I wish. I’d love to be capable of something like this. But I’m not.’ She grew serious again. ‘I can’t tell you any more, only that we didn’t start this. It was somebody else.’ […] And all of a sudden he realised. Derek stopped right in the middle of the stairs. He couldn’t believe he’d only just figured it out – he put it down to exhaustion. There was one people in Erebos that was superior to all the others and didn’t accept just anyone into its ranks. Maia, Cameron and Cora were part of the group, which Derek would have liked to join too, only Erebos had rejected him. Because you don’t belong with them, the gnome had said. He’d bet his life he was right. They weren’t normal players. They were the Harpies. […] ‘Sorry to bother you. But what you said before… that I should remember what I stuck on the window at Resc/You – I think I’ve figured out what it means.’ He didn’t look at her, but joined her in gazing out into the darkness where the branches of the trees were swaying in the wind. ‘Really?’ She let out a short laugh. ‘Good, that’s what he was hoping. That people would understand it without an explanation.’ Now she did look at him. ‘Although I did give you a pretty big hint.’ ‘I don’t even know if I’m right.’ Derek paused. ‘Who is he?’ ‘Not important. Well?’ He didn’t know how to word it. It was definitely going to sound strange. ‘Are you…’ – he cleared his throat – ‘are you the dead? All that stuff about the dead gathering and wanting answers. And certainty for the dead. Is that you?’ […] ‘What makes you think that?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Because… you’re all adopted. Resc/You is a charitable organisation that’s active in the Third World; perhaps it also arranges adoptions.’ ‘Which wouldn’t be such a bad thing,’ said Maia with a wry smile.
‘No.’ Derek looked back over his shoulder to check that Cora was gone. ‘Not if the parents voluntarily put their children up for adoption. Or if the parents were dead. But I don’t think that’s what happened with you.’ […] He hesitated, then went on. ‘I think it was like this: in the hospitals belonging to Resc/You, lots of babies were born. Most of them just went home with their parents, but the ones who didn’t cry when they were born… they were declared stillborn. Taken away. Some of them were absolutely fine once they’d been given a good rub with a towel, but they were never given back to their parents. Instead, the relevant papers were drawn up and they were sent to couples who wanted to adopt.’ He hesitated again. ‘In exchange for the sum of £54,800.’ […] ‘Yes, I do understand. So is that why you’ve been doing all this with Erebos? To gather information? And you’ve engineered it so you can keep Cedric locked up till his dad admits the truth?’ Maia was silent for a few seconds. ‘Partly,’ she said at last. ‘And also because the bard is right. Everything must be done in secret. To talk would mean death.’ Derek found this a touch over-dramatic. ‘Seriously? You think someone would kill you if you made it public? I can’t believe that.’ Maia’s eyes were filled with sadness and anger in equal measure. ‘Neither can I. But I never said it would be me who died.’ […] Derek pressed both hands to his temples. All this talk of death: the fourth sticker had mentioned it too. He waited for Maia to look at him. ‘Life for life, death for death. I’m guessing you know what that means?’ ‘Yes.’
Chapter 29 ‘Well. I’m trapped, in a way, and I have to solve this puzzle if I want to free myself.’ Free himself. This sounds extremely interesting. He looks at Mandrik, trying to pin him down. I’m trapped. If Sarius is drawing the right conclusions, a solution is also very much in his own interests. […] Fairies fly high, fly far and wide, Quicker than lies. A mile behind Lawrence Please breathe […] Mandrik has already set off; Sarius follows him at a slower pace. He tries to memorise the four phrases, convinced he is going to need them. […] ‘It is time,’ says the man.
‘What do you mean? Who are you?’ The man returns his gaze. ‘My name is Idmon. We have never met, but Mandrik knows me.’ ‘That’s easy to say. Mandrik’s asleep.’ Idmon smiles. ‘Good. Let him sleep. Most of the others are asleep too. What lies ahead is your task and yours alone.’ He beckons Sarius down to him. Fine. Sarius climbs down from the plateau, inwardly steeling himself for a trap to snap shut around him. ‘Everything is in your hands now,’ says Idmon. ‘As soon as you send us the message we are waiting for, Mandrik can go. And not only him.’ Sarius doesn’t understand. ‘What message?’ ‘You will know, when the time comes.’ […] Then he reaches the mouth of the cave and emerges into the open beneath a starry night sky. The music stops abruptly and Sarius starts backwards when he realises he’s not alone. Ahead of him stands the messenger, taller and more menacing than ever, his yellow eyes gleaming palely beneath the hood of his cloak. ‘Silence is golden,’ he says, raising his hand, and the stars go out. […] He’d just drive around and keep a lookout, see what he could see nearby. He drove straight on for a while, and then he spotted a side road branching off to the right, leading to… Nick stepped on the brake so hard that the car jerked to a stop. There was a sign by the roadside that he hadn’t noticed last time. It wasn’t a new sign – it was slightly bent and faded, but the lettering was perfectly legible: Camberbush Airport, 0.8 miles. […] No Entry. Danger of death, said a red sign. Next to it was a board with the opening times and the advert for flying lessons. […] But perhaps there was something hidden somewhere, or a message with further instructions. There was no point just waiting around here. […] The moment Nick touched the handle of the café door he heard a rumbling sound, quiet at first, then louder and louder. He turned around. Flashing lights in the sky, coming closer. The roaring sound was coming closer too. It was a plane preparing to land, even though the runway was unlit and there was no-one in the control tower. Was this an emergency landing? Did anyone know about it apart from him? Nick looked around frantically and then ducked behind a concrete pillar. The plane touched down, braked and came to a standstill. […] A ramp slid out and two men in grey overalls came into view. Very carefully, they manoeuvred something long and thin out of the plane, down the ramp and onto the runway. Nick couldn’t see exactly what it was, only that it was attached to some sort of frame on wheels, which the men were now pushing away from the plane. Towards him. He ducked down lower, but the men parked their cargo a good fifty metres away from him, directly beneath the lights at the entrance to the flying school. Then they ran back to their plane, climbed in and drew up the ramp. Barely ten minutes after it had landed, the plane taxied out of sight towards one of the parking positions furthest from the runway. Nick watched it disappear into the darkness as he slowly straightened up. The object parked under the lights looked like a stretcher on wheels. And there was clearly someone lying on
it. […] It was a woman, and she was covered with a thin white sheet pulled right up to her chin. Hardly any of her face was visible: there was a respiratory mask over her mouth and nose, and her forehead was beaded with sweat. Nick spotted an oxygen cylinder strapped to the side of the stretcher. He heard her breath rattle with every laboured rise and fall of her chest. Please breathe. Nick touched her cheek, and immediately recoiled. The woman was burning up, she was like a furnace – whoever she was, she needed medical help, she… He instinctively took a step backwards as she turned her head suddenly to one side and let out a grunt of pain. And now, in profile – he recognised those arched eyebrows. The high cheekbones. It was so long since he’d last seen her – her hair had been jet black back then and shaved on one side, and she’d had little rhinestones on her eyeteeth… ‘Kate?’ he whispered. […] The door opened easily and there, on the wall at the back of the room, Nick spotted a telephone. Thank God. He wheeled Kate over the threshold, secured the wheels of the stretcher and grabbed the handset. ‘I’ve already called them.’ A weary voice from the darkest corner of the room. Nick spun around and saw Speedy, hauling himself out of his chair with great difficulty and reaching for a pair of crutches. ‘They’ll be here soon, an ambulance and an emergency doctor – I tried to give them an idea of Kate’s condition, but I didn’t really know myself for sure…’ […] Nick looked at Speedy in silence. Since recognising Kate, he’d had a vague idea that Victor’s old friend might have had something to do with Erebos’s resurrection. Now his suspicions had been confirmed, much sooner than he’d expected. […] Nick fell into a chair beside one of the tables. The good fairy who needed medical help. For her, Speedy had mobilised a whole army, had forced people to make all kinds of sacrifices – why? […] Now Nick did look him in the eye. ‘You don’t know? But it was you who reactivated Erebos, wasn’t it? To get Kate back?’ ‘Yes, it was me,’ Speedy replied. ‘But I couldn’t control what happened. I couldn’t make any of the decisions, couldn’t stop the game doing whatever it wanted to do… I’m so sorry, for all of it. But once you’ve specified what the game’s goal is, the artificial intelligence does the rest all by itself. It finds the right players and gets them to work together like cogs in a machine.’ [….] ‘What did Kate find out? Why didn’t Tate send her home?’ […] ‘She was a doctor for Resc/You in Ethiopia. Tate is on the board of the company and from the outside he seems very committed to the cause. One day Kate saw another doctor perform a caesarean on a patient and immediately take the baby away. The mother was then told the baby had been born dead… but Kate saw it and recognised it the next day, by a birthmark on its arm. They had an orphanage there, you see.’ Speedy ran a hand through his hair. ‘And then she started investigating. She suspected Tate was putting some of the children up for adoption, that he was managing to fool the national authorities. She found documents and sent me photos of them – they clearly showed that this had been going on for decades, and some of the staff were making a lot of money out of it. She told me she was
going to keep looking into it, and also that she didn’t feel well. Three days later she’d disappeared. Someone must have grassed her up.’ […] So when his phone rang, he pulled over straightaway and switched on his hazard lights. It was Emily. He smiled. Derek had probably just turned up, and she was calling to let Nick know. He closed his eyes and held the phone to his ear. ‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Nick? Oh God, Nick, you’re there, thank goodness!’ His weariness drained away in an instant. Emily sounded panicked, and her voice almost cracked as she went on: ‘You have to come, right away!’
Chapter 30 […] After Emily’s call Nick had kept his foot on the accelerator all the way to Arringhouse. He’d done the drive in record time. ‘I’m locked in a shed, they said they’re going to set fire to it if I don’t tell them what they want to know,’ she’d told him in a choked voice. Then, just as she was explaining to him exactly where she was being held, she’d suddenly cried out and the call had been cut off. He’d found the bloody shed straight away: it wasn’t on fire, but it was surrounded by armed men. They looked like a special ops commando unit. ‘Where’s Emily?’ Only now did he catch sight of Derek. ‘Shit, where were you? Everyone was going out of their minds looking for you!’ […] He knew enough to work out most of what was going on. All these people must be players of Erebos. Apart from the men in black, presumably, whom at first glance he’d taken for police officers. On closer inspection, though, he noticed the baseball bats, and Speedy’s words came back to him. The men with clubs said next time they’d show me how hot it can get in a real firewall. […] He marched straight up to Derek and grabbed him by the upper arm. Nick reacted instinctively – he stepped between them, and a moment later he felt a blow to his side that knocked all the wind out of him. He sank to the ground, and the next blow caught him on the shoulder. […] ‘I hope no-one else is going to try anything that stupid,’ said the man. ‘And now I want you to tell me anything you know about a blue folder. The label says Deliveries 3283-3577.’ […] The blow to his stomach seemed to rob him of his last ounce of strength. But as he fell to the floor he saw Derek and the girl fling open the door and run outside – then someone kicked him in the left thigh and he cried out. Stupidest heroic deed of all time, he thought, before someone hit him over the head and everything went black. […] Tate’s voice was icy. ‘Go and pack your things, Cedric. You’ll be spending next week at home; after that we’ll see.’ Visibly dejected, Cedric slunk out of the room. Nick watched him
go, and felt sorry for him. Not so much because of the trouble he was undoubtedly going to be in, but because he was about to find out some very unpleasant truths about his father. ‘Will you be flying your son home in the Falcon 2000 that’s parked at Camberbush Airport?’ he asked casually. For a fraction of a second Tate stiffened, but he soon regained his composure. ‘I beg your pardon?’ ‘I mean the plane that landed here this morning,’ said Nick. ‘I wonder how much of a fine you’ll have to pay for the unauthorised landing.’ […] ‘I’d love to know which of your pretty status symbols you bought with the money you got for me.’ It was the complete lack of surprise on Tate’s face that told Nick Maia was right. ‘For you?’ he asked. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’ ‘54,800 pounds,’ she said bitingly. ‘For a girl from Somalia. Quick adoption, fewer bureaucratic hurdles than usual. But a lot more money.’ […] ‘How much did you all know?’ asked Derek quietly. ‘About how the game works? About who’s who in real life?’ Maia blinked. ‘We knew someone was going to die, someone who’d been trying to find out about our backgrounds. That we had to follow the game’s instructions in order to save that person. And the information. That Erebos’s artificial intelligence would find the right ways of recruiting the right people. And… influencing them.’ […] While they waited for their food, Jamie bombarded them with questions. Mostly about Tate. ‘He’s a powerful man – if you go after him you’ll probably piss off a few other people too.’ ‘Good,’ Victor declared. ‘But as far as I know, Resc/You is a perfectly reputable charitable organisation, if you take Tate and his accomplices out of the picture. And that’s exactly what we intend to do – for the sake of the rest of the charity’s staff, who genuinely want to help people and aren’t just out to get rich.’ […] Helen stood in the doorway, her shoulders sagging. Holding her hand was a little girl who (unlike Helen) was beaming and looking curiously around the café. […] ‘Come on, come and join us.’ Jamie beckoned the three of them over. Helen sat down next to him, visibly nervous – when they were at school together, Jamie must have been one of the people whose teasing had hurt the most. And he seemed to realise that. He smiled at the little girl sitting on Helen’s lap. ‘I like your plaits,’ he said. […] ‘This is Nancy,’ Helen mumbled, stroking her head. ‘Thanks again, Nick. I know what you did for me.’ […] They spent hours over breakfast, feeling more and more relaxed in each other’s company as time went on. Nick couldn’t remember ever having seen Helen smile; but she was smiling now, and she looked like a different person. […]
They met outside the auditorium at the dance school. Emily was wearing a smart red dress, and Derek even had a suit on. He’d brought Maia, who immediately started telling them about her plans for the future. She said her parents had already sent money over to Somalia – to her other parents. ‘My mum’s still alive, and I have three siblings – two brothers and a sister,’ she cried. ‘Isn’t that crazy? Can you even believe it?’ […] It wasn’t until the next number started (Rosie wasn’t in this one) that he realised his phone was vibrating in his jacket pocket. But he thought it would be rude to get the phone out now – the screen would be too bright, it would be distracting for the people around him. The vibrating stopped, then started again two numbers later. During a long burst of clapping and cheering, Nick pretended to have dropped something on the floor, leant forward and unlocked his phone. A starry sky, deep blue, with a silver full moon. In front of it, winged creatures flew through the night; dragons, maybe. Or Harpies. The writing was a dark, velvety red that reminded him of rose petals, not blood. Farewell, Nick Dunmore. The stars twinkled, the writing faded. The screen went black.