The Claws of Evil - By Andrew Beasley Page 0,28

that she spoke to him, he realized he was enjoying her company too.

“I’m Benjamin,” he said with a grin. “Ben Kingdom.”

“I know,” the girl replied and, taking off her glove, she held out her hand. “Allow me to introduce myself,” she said with a flourish. “I am Ruby Johnson.”

He had no idea how she knew his name but he didn’t think twice about taking her hand again. Her skin was warm and her grip was as firm as a man’s. “Pleased to meet you, Ruby Johnson,” he said.

“Likewise, Benjamin Kingdom,” she replied.

It was Ruby who let go first. Ben took another sip of his tea. “So who were those roof-runners? Are you going to tell me now?”

“They were Watchers,” said Ruby, no humour in her voice, her green eyes narrowing. She didn’t elaborate further.

“And you’re not a Watcher?”

“Definitely not,” said Ruby. “I am...something else entirely.”

Well, thank you, Miss Johnson, Ben thought sarcastically. You are really making everything so much clearer.

“So,” she said abruptly. “Down to business.”

“What?” said Ben.

“Business,” said Ruby. “I find so much of life comes down to business, don’t you? All you and I need do is settle on the amount for my reward and then let me bid you ‘goodnight’.”

“Your reward?”

“Of course,” said Ruby. “You don’t imagine that I go around rescuing people for free, do you?”

Ben hadn’t been thinking along those lines at all. Suddenly it was not peaceful at all to be locked underground in a Chinese laundry with a girl that he didn’t know and didn’t understand, watched over by a mysterious man who gave every impression that his cleaver was not for show.

“What sort of reward did you have in mind?”

“Oh, nothing much,” she said, almost casually. “A small silver coin should do it.” She examined his face, looking for a reaction. “A Roman coin,” she continued. “You do have one of those, don’t you, Benjamin Kingdom?”

“And you believe that Benjamin Kingdom is the one our prophets foresaw?” The old woman’s voice cracked like lightning striking home. When she spoke, both angels and demons sat up and listened.

To her followers, she was Mother Shepherd. Her enemies called her by other, less flattering names: the Hag, the Witch Queen of Spies.

Jago Moon straightened his back and stood to attention as best as arthritis and the weight of years would allow. “I think that he might be,” he said. “He definitely has the Touch, Great Mother. I’ve never felt it so strong before.”

“Mmm,” was all Mother Shepherd gave as a reply.

It was the tradition of the Watchers to meet in the high places of the city. That night they had been summoned to the bell tower of St Peter’s, Dock Lane, an isolated and unloved church situated on the notorious Ratcliff Highway, breeding ground for the lawless and the lost. The wind whipped around the tower, making the candles gutter furiously in their sconce.

“And what about you, Lucy Lambert? What do you make of the boy?”

Lucy trembled slightly beneath the intensity of Mother Shepherd’s gaze; her eyes, though old, were as clear and sharp as diamonds.

“Well, he seems...” Nice, she nearly said, and then brought herself up quick. Benjamin Kingdom isn’t “nice”, she thought angrily, he’s a liability. Lucy composed herself. “He seems reckless,” she continued, “unreliable. A bit of an idiot.”

“Mmm,” said Mother Shepherd, then turned to the fourth member of their party; a man dressed all in black. “What are your thoughts, Brother?”

“His destiny is in his own hands,” said the Weeping Man, his deep voice filling the belfry.

“But that’s not good enough!” Lucy burst out, unable to hold the words back. “How can we trust him with the fate of the Watchers? With the fate of London?”

“It’s the greatest mystery in the universe, isn’t it?” said Mother Shepherd. “I have never understood why our God would do something so foolish as to grant mere mortals free will; every single one of us containing the seeds of both our success and failure, each of us capable of great mercy or unspeakable evil.” She allowed the full weight of her words to sink in. “Think of it...we face a thousand choices every day. A thousand opportunities to change the world for good or ill.”

“But how can Ben be the one?” Lucy demanded. “The prophecy is so...”

“Vague?” Mother Shepherd suggested with surprising softness, and then she began to recite:

“One will come to lead the fight,

to defeat the darkness,

bring the triumph of the light.

One will come with fire as his crown,

to bring the Legion tumbling down.

One