'Sometimes the spiders rush away from me like them do another's bidding. The Badman back in town, fe true, and him want the rattymon bad this time.'

'None's ever escaped, you see, sonny, except me,' said King Rat. 'He let Loplop and Anansi go, after shaming them, letting them clock who's the bossman, he reckons. But me, he wanted my hide. I'm the one that got away. And for seven hundred years he's been trying to make good his mistake. And when he found I had a nephew, he came looking for you. He's on the skedge for you now. Anything to square accounts.'

Anansi and Loplop looked at each other, looked down at Saul. 'What is he?' breathed Saul.

'Him greed,' said Anansi.

'Covetousness,' said Loplop.

'He exists to own,' said King Rat. 'He has to suck things in to him, always, which is why he's so narked at me for having pulled a disappearing trick. He's the spirit of narcissism. He's to prove his worth by guzzling all and sundry in.'

'Him can charm anything,' said Anansi.

167.

'He's congealed hunger,' said Loplop. 'He's insatiable.'

'He can choose, see?' said King Rat. 'Will I call the rats? The birds? The spiders? Dogs? Cats? Fish? Reynards? Minks? Kinder? He can ring anyone's bell, charm anything he fancies. Just choose and he plays the right tune. Owt he chooses, Saul, except nor one thing.

'He can't charm you, Saul.

'You're rat and human, more and less than each. Call the rats and the person in you is deaf to it. Call to the man and the rat'll twitch its tail and run. He can't charm you, Saul. You're double trouble. You're my deuce, Saul, my trump card. An ace in the hole. You're his worst nightmare. He can't play two tunes at once, Saul. He can't charm you.

'No, you he just wants to kill.'

No one spoke. Three pairs of unclear eyes transfixed Saul.

'But no need to panic, sonny. Things are going to change around here,' King Rat suddenly spat. 'See, my mates and me are p.i.s.sed off. We've had enough. Loplop owes the Piper for his brain-box that was Tea Leafed off him. Anansi here got tortured, still feels it sore in all his pegs -- and in front of his own people. And me ... I owe the f.u.c.ker because he stole my nation and I want it back.'

168.

'Revenge,' said Loplop.

'Revenge,' said Anansi.

'Revenge is right,' said King Rat. 'Piper-man f.u.c.ker better steel himself for some animal magic.'

'The three of you ...' said Saul. 'Is that how many there are? To take him.'

'There are others,' said Loplop, 'but not here, not to do the job. Tibault, King of the Cats, he's trapped in a nightmare, a story told by a man called Yoll. Kataris, Queen b.i.t.c.h, who runs with the dogs, she's disappeared, no one knows where.'

'Mr Bub, Lord of the Flies, him a shifty murderer and me can't work with him,' said Anansi.

'There are others but we're the ones, the hard core, the sufferers, who've scores to settle,' said King Rat. 'We're bringing the war back to him. And you can help us, sonny.'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

What woke Kay was the drumbeat of blood in his head. Each stroke that landed on the back of his skull sent vibrations of pain through the bone.

His eyes cracked a seal of rheum. He opened them and saw nothing but black. He blinked, tried to focus on the vague geometry he could glimpse in the shadows. He felt that something stretched away in front of him.

Kay was freezing. He groaned and raised his head, a motion accompanied by a crescendo of aches, rolled his neck and tried to move. His arms hurt and he realized they were stretched out above him, held fast, and stripped of clothing. He opened his eyes more and saw coils of thick dirty rope around his wrists, disappearing into the gloom above him. He was suspended, his weight dragging him hard, pulling the skin of his armpits taut.

He tried to twist his body, to investigate his position, but he was suddenly constrained, his feet refusing to obey. He shook his groggy head and 170.

looked down. He saw that he was naked, his c.o.c.k shrivelled and tiny in the cold. He saw the same rope around his ankles, spreading his legs. He was caught tight in a petrified star-jump, he was an X hovering in the dark, the pain in his wrists and ankles and arms beginning to register. Gusts of wind pulled at him, raised gooseb.u.mps.

Kay winced, blinked hard, tried to work out where he was, lowered his eyes again to his feet. As the cold air began to cut through the muck of pain in his head he became aware of the dim diffuse light around him. Shapes clarified in the shadow below his dangling toes: sharp lines, concrete, bolts, wood. Railway tracks.

Kay's head wobbled up. He tried to throw it behind him, to see over his shoulder.

He gave a yell of shock which bounced back and forward in its enclosed environs.

Behind him, illuminated by half-hearted little bulbs dribbling beige light, stretched an underground platform covered in dust and small pieces of rubbish. The darkness before him stopped sharp above Kay's head, where the bricks of the tunnel began. Those bricks arced down on both sides of him. To his right was a wall, to his left the platform edge. The ropes which bound him stretched out to that arch, wound around huge nails driven roughly into the old brickwork.

He hung cruciform at the entrance to the tunnel, from where the trains emerged.

171.

Kay's scream echoed around and around him.

He shook ineffectually, tried to wriggle from his bonds. His fear was complete. He was utterly vulnerable, suspended nude in the path of the locomotives.

He screamed and screamed, but no one came.

He twisted his head around as far as he could. Kay's eyes frantically skipped from surface to surface, searching for some clue to tell him where he was. The tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs of the station were black; the line above the poster s.p.a.ces - all empty - was black. This was the Northern Line. At the edge of his limited field of vision he saw the curved edge of an underground sign, the tell-tale red circle bisected by a blue line containing the name of the station. He pulled his head over, ignoring the pain in his neck and skull, trying to push his shoulder out of the way with his chin, desperate to see where he was. As he vibrated to and fro the sign moved in and out of his view. He caught glimpses of the two words it contained, one above the other.

gton ent... ington scent. .. rnington rescent. ..

Mornington Crescent. The ghost station, the strange zone between Euston and Camden Town on the decrepit Northern Line: the odd, poky little tube stop which had been closed for repairs sometime in the late Eighties and had never opened again. Trains would slow down as they pa.s.sed through, so as not to create a vacuum in the empty s.p.a.ce, and pa.s.sengers would glimpse the platform. Sometimes posters 172.

1.would apologize and promise a swift resumption of service, and sometimes obscure pieces of equipment to cure ailing underground stations lay scattered on the abandoned concrete. Often there was nothing, just the signs proclaiming the name of the station in the faint light. It lived a half-life, never being finally laid to rest, haunted by the unlikely promise that it would one day open for business again.

Behind him Kay heard footsteps.

'Who's there?' he yelled. 'Who's that? Help me!'

Whoever it was had been standing on the platform, out of his sight when he had tried to turn round. Kay's head was twisted as violently over his left shoulder as he could manage. The steps approached him. A tall figure strolled into view, reading something.

'Alright, Kay?' said Pete without looking up. He chuckled as he read. 'My G.o.d, they're not averse to a bit of pretension, this bunch, are they?' He held up what he was reading and Kay saw it was Drum 'n' Ba.s.s Ma.s.sive 3!, a CD Kay had just bought. Kay fought to speak but his mouth was suddenly dry in terror. ' "Rudeness ME sends shouts to: the Rough an' Ready Posse, Shy FX," blah blah blah, "an' Boys from da North, da South, da East, da West, remember ... It's a London Someting! Urban-style ghetto ba.s.s!" ' Pete looked up, grinning. 'This is drivel, Kay.'

'Pete ...' Kay finally croaked. 'What's going on? Get me down, man! How did I get here?'

173.

'Well, I needed to ask you some questions about something. I'm concerned about something.' Pete moved off, still reading. In his other hand he held Kay's bag. He replaced the CD and brought out another.' "Jungle versus the Hardsteppers." Cor! I've got a lot of lingo to learn if I'm going to get in with Natasha, haven't I?'

Kay licked his lips. He was sweating even as he shivered. His skin felt slick with terror.

'How did you get me here, man?' he moaned. 'What do you want?'

Pete turned to him, replaced the CD, squatted down on the platform to his left. His flute, Kay saw, was thrust through his belt like a sabre.

'It's early yet, Kay, probably not yet five o'clock. The Northern Line doesn't start for a while. Just thought I'd let you know. And, yes, what I wanted ... well. When I came out of the pub I headed for Natasha's flat as well, a little after you, wanted to have a word or something. See what you got up to. I've been very interested in all these stories I keep hearing about your mate who's in trouble, and I wanted to maybe get you on your own - see what you could tell me about him.

'Then, as I come towards you, downwind, I smell a very particular scent, one that someone wore once who I'm trying to track down. And it occurs to me that maybe your mate knows the bloke I'm after!' He smiled reasonably and put his head on one side.

174.

1.'So. You did b.u.mp into your mate last night, didn't you?'

Kay swallowed. 'Yeah. .. but Pete ... let me down... please. I'll tell you all about it if you'll just... please, man ... this is really freaking me out.'

Kay's mind was racing. He could not think for the pain in his head. Pete was mad. He swallowed again. He had to make him take him down, he had to do it now. Kay could not formulate his thoughts clearly, so overwhelming was the adrenaline rush brought on by fear. He was trembling violently.

Pete nodded. 'I'm not surprised it's freaking you out, Kay. Where's your mate?'

'You mean Saul? I don't know, man, I don't know. Please ...'

'Where's Saul?'

'Just get me f.u.c.king down!'

Kay's control broke and he began to cry.

Pete shook his head thoughtfully.

'No. You see, you haven't told me where Saul is yet.'

'I don't know, I swear I don't know! He, he, he said he was ...' Kay thought desperately for something to tell Pete, something that might save him. 'Please let me go!'

'Where's Saul?'

'The sewers! He said something... he stank. I asked where'd he been, and he was on about the 175.

I.

sewers ...' Kay's waist twisted, legs yanking violently at the strong cord.

'Now that's interesting,' said Pete, leaning forward. 'Did he say anything about where in the sewers? Because I've often suspected that... this guy I'm after uses them.5 Kay was sobbing.

'Nah, man, he didn't say nothing else . .. please . . . please ... he was weird, his voice was weird, he stank... he wouldn't tell me anything.. . Please let me down'

'No, Kay, I won't let you down,' Pete's voice was suddenly shockingly vicious. He rose and stalked towards him. 'Not yet. You see, I want to know everything you know about your friend Saul, because

5 it's important to me. I want to know everything, Kay, capeesh?'

Kay gabbled, tried to think of what he knew. He screamed about sewers, repeated that Saul had stunk, that he was hiding in the sewers. He ran out of anything to say. He whimpered and twisted where he hung.

Pete had been taking notes, nodding with interest now and then, writing carefully in a little notebook.

'Tell me about Saul's life,' he said without looking up.

Kay talked about Saul's father, the fat socialist they had all laughed at; about Saul's brief, disastrous attempt to move in with a girlfriend; his return home, 176.

temporary he said, always temporary for the next two years. Kay kept talking, about Saul's friends, about his social life, Jungle, the clubs, and as Kay spoke tears rolled down his cheeks. He was pathetically eager to please. He whimpered with each breath. He had no more to say and he was afraid, because Pete seemed pleased with him when he told him about Saul, and all Kay could think of was that he must keep Pete happy. But he truly had no more to say.

Pete sighed and put the pad in his pocket. He glanced at his watch.

'Thanks, Kay,' he said. 'I guess you're wondering what this all means, what I'm up to. I'm afraid I won't tell you that. But you've helped me a lot. The sewers, huh? I thought as much, but you don't really want to go wading around in s.h.i.t unless you're quite sure you have to, do you? It's not really my turf, know what I mean? I'll have to get him out.' He grimaced lightheartedly. 'Maybe ... maybe ... you ... can ... let... me ... go ...' Kay forced the words out past chattering teeth. His body was shaking with little sobs, and every word of Pete's chilled him.

Pete looked at him and smiled.

'No,' he said after a moment's hesitation. 'I don't think so.'

Kay's screams began again, went shooting off down the tunnel he faced, bounced around him. He 177.

threatened, cajoled, pleaded, and Pete ignored him, and continued speaking in his conversational tone.

'You don't know me, Kay. I can do a trick.' He pulled the flute from his belt. 'See this?' Kay continued begging. 'I can play this, make anything I want come to me. Play the right notes and I can get you the c.o.c.kroaches around us, the mice, anything close enough to hear. And it feels so good to make them come to me.' He crooned the last sentence, and at the sound of that cloying wetness, that f.u.c.ked-up sugary tone, Kay retched.

'And I was looking at these tunnels and thinking how much they looked like wormholes,' Pete continued. 'If I played this, what do you think I might call?'

Pete put the flute to his lips and began to play, a strange, droning tune, a hypnotic dirge that wailed flatly over Kay's garbled exhortations.

Kay gazed into the mouth of the tunnel.

Behind him the melody continued, and Kay could hear the slap of feet as Pete danced to his own tune.

The wind jerked around Kay, pushed into his face from somewhere far off.

Deep in the darkness before him something growled.

Kay hung like an obscene toy, nude and chubby in the yawning darkness of the underground.

The wind pushed on with more resolve, and the growl sounded again. Kay shrieked in despair, felt 178.

himself relax in terror, sag in his bonds, felt p.i.s.s run down his legs. The tune continued.

There was a sound like steel whiplashing as the tracks buckled and moved under the oncoming weight. The wind began to hit Kay now, began to push his hair out of his face. Sc.r.a.ps of paper and dirt came whirling out of the blackness, surrounding him, sticking to him; grit filled his eyes and mouth and he fought and spat to clear himself of debris, consumed by a ghastly desperation to see.

The growling ebbed and flowed, became a clattering, began to drown out the disinterested flute. A great presence rushed towards him.