"He wouldn't back then, certainly, but I'm not a policeman, am I? I'm an academic, like him."

"And what more tenacious freemasonry do there be, eh?" Baron nodded. "Alright. For God's sake, though, keep me apprised. We'll see what we can do about tracking down young Miss Cole. Now look, this is not unimbloodyportant. Shut up and pay attention to what your colleagues are doing. Like this colleague here, right now." Baron pointed through the window.

THERE IS NOWHERE THE SEWERS DON'T GO. FAT FILAMENTS TRACKING humans under everything, unceasingly sluicing shitty rubbishy rain. The gentle downslope links all those pipes to the sea, and it was back along those pipes, defying gravity and the effluvial flow that the sea had sent its own filaments, its own sensory channels of saltwater, tickling below the city, listening, licking the brickwork. For a day and a half there was a secret sea under London, fractal in all the tunnels. humans under everything, unceasingly sluicing shitty rubbishy rain. The gentle downslope links all those pipes to the sea, and it was back along those pipes, defying gravity and the effluvial flow that the sea had sent its own filaments, its own sensory channels of saltwater, tickling below the city, listening, licking the brickwork. For a day and a half there was a secret sea under London, fractal in all the tunnels.

Pipes filled with brine that spied on the inhabitants of buildings, watching, listening, hunting. You might obscure the attention of the Londonmancers, with the complicity of a treacherous borough, with strikebreaking hexes strong enough: but nothing could stay hidden from an inquisitive sea.

Billy waited, alone but for the repeated anxious occurrences of Wati, who came, went, into the doll and out again, to the frontlines of the strikes.

"Done what the sea asked me," said Sellar at some low dark point of the night, and went, with a quick backward wave, returning to his dreams of drenched apocalypse. It's fire, not water It's fire, not water, Billy thought. I don't think you're going to like it I don't think you're going to like it.

His phone went, and he connected immediately. He said nothing, only listened. There was a brief silence before a voice said, "Billy?" He could tell it was not Jason. He broke the connection and swore. They had the proletarian chameleon. It had gone wrong.

He stood in the front garden of the sea's embassy-it was dark, his clothes were dark, no light glinted on his glasses, and he knew he could do this unseen-and threw the phone as hard as he could, which was hard, now, into the darkness over the roofs. He did not hear it land. At last, as he sat by the step of the house, he heard a swill of water in the pipes below his feet. Another bottle was pushed from the letter box.

The sea told him where the Chaos Nazis were. It said that was where its help would end. That it would not be intervening, could not take any sides. It was closing in on time for daylight. Billy leaned forward on his knees and rested his forehead on the door.

"Now listen," he said. "Listen a minute. You can't get in there, can you, Wati?" Billy said.

"No figures in that house."

"Listen, sea," Billy said. "See here, sea." He smiled tiredly. "That's the sort of thing's helped get us where we are now, people wanting to stay neutral." He felt some recognition. He felt as if he remembered this. As if he'd been in the sea only days before, or nights before, in fact, at night, in the night, as he dreamed those ink dreams. He put his hand on the door. He knew this place.

"What is it you want to stay neutral about? You want to stay out of a war. This wouldn't be London London versus you-that's not what we're up against. So what is it? Chaos Nazis? I don't believe it. The Tattoo? Does a gang boss really frighten versus you-that's not what we're up against. So what is it? Chaos Nazis? I don't believe it. The Tattoo? Does a gang boss really frighten you?" you?"

Oh, snap! Did that kind of petty psychology work on the fucking ocean? Did that kind of petty psychology work on the fucking ocean? Nothing ventured Nothing ventured, Billy thought, nothing ventured nothing ventured. What else did he have? Two weapons he did not understand and a polybodied trade unionist. There was nothing but silence from inside the embassy.

"So what is it? Protocol? Niceties? I'm going to say this. I'm going to beg." Billy was already on his knees. "Please. So you mess up some balance of power? So what? So what? You know what's coming. The fire and end of it all. I bet this fire burns seawater too. Dane's going to fix it, though, you know. So if you don't want everything to burn, if you don't want London to burn, if you don't want the sea to burn ... help me." You know what's coming. The fire and end of it all. I bet this fire burns seawater too. Dane's going to fix it, though, you know. So if you don't want everything to burn, if you don't want London to burn, if you don't want the sea to burn ... help me."

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NOW?" COLLINGSWOOD SAID. JASON Smyle wheezed. A few cosmetic knacks, a little unnatural dermatological intervention, and his skin looked quite untouched, all his bruises glamoured away. Smyle wheezed. A few cosmetic knacks, a little unnatural dermatological intervention, and his skin looked quite untouched, all his bruises glamoured away.

"What happens now is this," she said. "You've broken various laws, but as well you bloody know they're oddball laws. They're like the constitution, they ain't written. What that means is you go into the other other court system. Which means whatever I want it to mean." She was less than half Jason's age. She leaned back and put her feet on the table. "So your cooperation will be greatly appreciated. So." She twanged briefly into ridiculous American. "One court system. Which means whatever I want it to mean." She was less than half Jason's age. She leaned back and put her feet on the table. "So your cooperation will be greatly appreciated. So." She twanged briefly into ridiculous American. "One mo' 'gain mo' 'gain. What was you after, coming here? Where's Billy? And where's the squid?" But they had been over this many times, and no amount of cajoling or threatening elicited any more.

"I swear, I swear, I swear," Jason kept saying, and she believed him. He did not know. All he knew was the number Billy had given him, that he had surrendered immediately. That was it. Collingswood glanced through the mirror and shook her head. She left the room and joined her colleagues.

"So what have we got?" Baron said. "It's all a bit of a turn-up for the books, isn't it?"

"And you believe him," Vardy said.

"Yeah," said Collingswood. "Yeah. So ..."

"So," said Baron. "So our man Billy is not not an abductee at all. Is in fact collaborating with a known member, now exile, of the Church of God Kraken. It turns out our ingenue isn't so ingenuous after all." an abductee at all. Is in fact collaborating with a known member, now exile, of the Church of God Kraken. It turns out our ingenue isn't so ingenuous after all."

"What is it with this fucking Stockholm Syndrome?" Collingswood said. "Is Billy, what's her name, fucking Patty Hearst?" She looked at Vardy.

"Possible," he said. "This whole thing stinks of belief to me. I take it we got nothing from the number he gave us?"

"Nah. Belief in what?"

"In something."

"Alright children, alright," Baron said. "So, we thought we were looking for a captive, but it turns out we're looking for a fugitive. Vardy, you better fill Collingswood in on Cole."

"Who's that?" she said. "What did he do? Or she. Was it she? Can I play?"

"A pyromancer," Baron said. "Ex-associate of Griz."

"Pyro?" Collingswood narrowed her eyes. "Isn't it fire that people keep seeing? Vardy?"

"... Yes, it is. Sorry, I just ... I'm ..." He chewed his knuckle. Baron and Collingswood blinked at this unusual hesitation. "A pyromancer, a squid from the museum, an end of all things, it's ... there's something close. I just have to parse the faith of it."

SO WHAT WAS UP WITH M MARGE? HER BEST LEAD HAD GONE TO nothing. nothing.

She had new priorities. She believed all these strangers who kept telling her she was in danger, that she was drawing dangerous attention to herself, that she needed protection.

Don't you know what a trap street is? the cult collector had said, and no she had not, but a moment online sorted that. Invented streets inserted into maps to right copyright wrongs, to prove one representation was ripped off from another. It was hard to find any definitive lists of these spurious enmapped locations, but there were suggestions. One of which, of course, was the street on which the Old Queen was. the cult collector had said, and no she had not, but a moment online sorted that. Invented streets inserted into maps to right copyright wrongs, to prove one representation was ripped off from another. It was hard to find any definitive lists of these spurious enmapped locations, but there were suggestions. One of which, of course, was the street on which the Old Queen was.

So. Was it that these particular occult streets had been made, then hidden? Their names leaked as traps in an elaborate double-bluff, so that no one could go except those who knew that such traps were actually destinations? Or were there really no streets there when the traps were set? Perhaps these cul-de-sacs were residues, yawned into illicit existence when the atlases were drawn up by liars.

Well, either way. Those were obviously the streets to investigate. Marge looked for more names.

Chapter Fifty-Four

THE C CHAOS N NAZIS HID NOWHERE IN PARTICULAR. JUST AN EMPTY building. There was no metaphoric logic to its whereabouts, no cosmic pun: it was just isolated enough and empty enough and easy enough to break into and recustomise from the inside-soundproofing and such-and then to protect that it had been chosen. It was in the far east of London, in a zone depressed enough that not many people took a lot of notice of stuff. It had a deep basement where Dane was being tortured and where Chaos swastikas were cranked and turned. It was near a garage. building. There was no metaphoric logic to its whereabouts, no cosmic pun: it was just isolated enough and empty enough and easy enough to break into and recustomise from the inside-soundproofing and such-and then to protect that it had been chosen. It was in the far east of London, in a zone depressed enough that not many people took a lot of notice of stuff. It had a deep basement where Dane was being tortured and where Chaos swastikas were cranked and turned. It was near a garage.

The Nazis were alone and unsupervised. An outsourced resource, subcontracting being as fashionable in gangland as in the rubble of Fordism. The Tattoo had told them, vaguely, to continue what they were doing, and to try to extract something, some hint, from Dane, as to where Billy and the kraken were.

Inside, it was decked in memorabilia from the Reich, guaranteed-spattered with genuine spatters, blood, brains, gauleiter cum. Candles in niches beside icons of various deviltry, smoke-damaged posters of Nazi bands and pictures from the camps. Exactly what you would expect.

The Chaos Nazis stood, patchwork fascist fops, all glitz, spandex, leather and eagles. They eyed Dane. He was tied behind a rack of crusted tools. His rack had turned to put a bit more tumourous life in him, so he had eyes and teeth, though not all his teeth, and he could breathe through his nose though it was broken. They had only brought him back a couple of hours ago, had not really got started again yet. He stared at them, alternately spat and raged, and slumped and tried to go into himself.

"Look," said one. "His lips are moving. He's praying to his snail again."

"Stupid Jewish snail scum," said another.

"Woof," the dogman Nazi said. the dogman Nazi said.

"Where's Billy, you scum?"

"Where's the squid?"

"Your dead squid won't save you."

They all laughed. They stood in the windowless room. They hesitated. "Stupid Jew," said one. They laughed again.

There are only so many ways to experience pain. There are an almost limitless number of ways to inflict it, but the pain itself, initially vividly distinct in all its specificities, becomes, inevitably, just pain. Not that Dane was indifferent to the idea of more of it: he shivered as the men mocked him. But he had been surprised that they had taken him twice to the point of death through their bladey interventions and he had still not told them that he knew where the kraken was, nor who had it, nor where Billy might be. That last he did not know himself, but he could certainly have given them leads, and he had not, and they were at a loss.

Still he kept nearly weeping. Dane kept praying.

"You can stop your whining," one of the Nazis said. "You're alone. No one knows where you are. Nothing can help. Nothing's coming to save you."

HAD THE SEA WAITED JUST FOR THAT MOMENT? DID IT COME WITH a sense of theatre, pausing in the pipework that infested the house as pipes infest all houses, listening for just such an announcement to refute? Whatever: the stars aligned, everything came together for that perfect beat, and just but exactly as if in answer, brine burst every piece of plumbing in the house, and the building began to bleed sea. a sense of theatre, pausing in the pipework that infested the house as pipes infest all houses, listening for just such an announcement to refute? Whatever: the stars aligned, everything came together for that perfect beat, and just but exactly as if in answer, brine burst every piece of plumbing in the house, and the building began to bleed sea.

Saltwater ripped through the walls. It buckled the floor. Lovingly gilted World War Two knickknacks spilled into new holes.

The Nazis scattered, ran, did not know where to run. Dane shouted without words. Rage, elation, hope and violence. Water gulped at the Nazis; seawater freezing and London muddy sucked and pulled them down with eddies and undertows it imported from its wide ocean self. Some reached the stairs, but more than one was felled by misplaced waves and brutally kept under, and, bewilderingly, in inches in the city, began to drown.

The water reached Dane's chin. He wondered if it would kill him too. He'd mind, he realised, he would, he would. Kraken let me breathe Kraken let me breathe.

The Nazis ascending the stairs were met. Billy's phaser cut them down. No stunning now. He descended, shooting as he came. He sent a poker-hot ray scorching through the fur on the Hitler-worshipping dogman. Turning into the torture room Billy growled like a goddamn animal and shot many times while the sea roared and smashed the Nazi bric-a-brac from wall to wall and sunk it as if at the bottom of the world.

"Dane," he said. "Dane, Dane, Dane." He knelt in the swells. Dane wheezed and smiled. Billy took a hacksaw to his bonds. "You're alright," Billy said. "You're okay okay. We got here in time time. Before they did did anything." anything."

And Dane even actually laughed at that, as he flopped free from his crooked starburst constraint.

"No, mate," he whispered. "You're too late. Twice. Never mind though, eh?" He laughed again and it was bad. "Never mind though. It's good to see you, man." He leaned on Billy like someone much more wounded than he looked, and Billy was confused.

"They're blocking the way out," Billy said. Nazis from other rooms were massed at the top of the stairs and firing down with Third Reich weaponry. "Here," said Billy, and gave Dane his gun. Dane stood a little straighter. "Are you with me, Dane?" Billy said. Dane did something, aimed and fired up the stairs. There were a lot of them up there.

"I'm with you," he said. He looked at the weapon. His voice croaked back to something like normal. "Works okay."

"We can't get out that way," Billy said.

As if in answer, certainly in answer, the sea gave a rocking swell and receded very fast, fast enough to take a great chunk of flooring with it. It left a hole in the centre of the room, a smeary slipping hollow the size of another room, broken by the stubs of pipes and the ruins of masonry. The sea poured violently back out and tore a gap as it went, sluicing from the pit to some half-used end of sewer or old river-run, opening into the labyrinth.

"Can you?" Billy said, and braced him. Dane nodded. They braced and careened in a cold, dangerous slide into the mud and receding seawater, and into the cavern.

They stared up through the fingering pipes and the slurry of brickwork, the dirty cascade, into the dinge of the room. Faces peered over the lip. Billy and Dane fired volleys, hallooing, smacking twisted features from sight. In the second of silence that followed they ran into the slime under everything, and from there, dripping like fresh clay golems, into the dark tunnels of London.

PART FIVE

RISE TOWARD DESCENT

Chapter Fifty-Five

IT WAS VERY LATE. IT HAD BEEN A WHILE SINCE ANYONE HAD actually questioned Jason, let alone smacked him around. Collingswood had come into his cell from time to time, with a bad-dream loop of questions, but he had not seen her for hours. actually questioned Jason, let alone smacked him around. Collingswood had come into his cell from time to time, with a bad-dream loop of questions, but he had not seen her for hours.

Food and drink was pushed through the slot. His shouted requests for a phone, for attention, for bacon sandwiches were never answered. There was a chemical toilet in the corner of his cell that he had long since given up threatening to tell Amnesty International about. Without Collingswood or another realitysmith around to dampen his knack, his jailers all half-recognised him, knew they knew him, and given that he was not-could not be, look, he was in a cell-a colleague, reasoned that he had to be a career villain, and their behaviour to him had worsened.

When Jason heard footsteps, a whisper echoing in the hall, he did not expect whoever it was to slow or stop. But they did, right outside his cell, and unlocked his door.

An officer opened it. A man, framed in the doorway, staring in weird stillness. He looked grey and very sick. Someone was behind him. The officer was not looking at Jason. He stared at the wall above Jason's head, swallowing, swallowing. There was someone behind him webbed with shadows shed by fluorescent lights. Whispering.

"Is it ...?" Jason began, and ran out of what to say.

A child peered around the doorframe. A man behind him whispered into the policeman's ear, leaning like a windblown tree into sight on one side of his escort, then swaying to the other, playful tick-tock, winking with his left then his right eye at Jason from behind the officer's back.

"Christine!" the drab-coated man said to Jason. "Is it you?"

Jason knew who the man and the boy were then, and he flattened himself against the wall and began to scream.

"I KNOW!" SAID KNOW!" SAID G GOSS, STEPPING INTO THE ROOM, ESCORTING THE officer. Subby pushed the door closed behind them with the careful preciseness of a young child. Jason screamed and crawled backward on his bed. officer. Subby pushed the door closed behind them with the careful preciseness of a young child. Jason screamed and crawled backward on his bed.

The policeman was closing his eyes and weeping and whispering, "I'm sorry shhh I didn't stop now I didn't mean to please don't please."

"I know!" said Goss again.

"Stop it!" Goss giggled. "It's a secret, you'll ruin it, stop it!" He breathed out smoke.

He pushed the officer at Jason with a whispered word, and the man not even opening his eyes felt for Jason's screaming mouth and blocked it with his hand and whispered, "Shhhh shhhh stop stop you have to you have to." "Shhhh shhhh stop stop you have to you have to." Jason ran out of breath to make sound behind the palm. The policeman and prisoner held onto each other. Jason ran out of breath to make sound behind the palm. The policeman and prisoner held onto each other.

Someone's going to come, Jason thought, there are cameras, someone's going to there are cameras, someone's going to, but would Goss be here without crossing those ts? Dotting those i is? He tried to scream again.

"You two are terrible," said Goss. "You said we was meeting at the bus station, and then Mike came and I didn't know where to look!" He sat on the bench and sidled up to Jason. "Hey," he whispered shyly. He tapped the cop on the shoulder. The man whimpered. "Subby wants to show you something. He found a beetle. Go on and take a look, there's a love."

"Shhh, shhh," the man kept saying, weeping from under closed lids. He took his hand from Jason's mouth and Jason could not make a noise. Subby took the officer's hand. The man shuffled at the child's pace to the corner of the room and stood facing away from Goss and Jason, facing the cement angle. the man kept saying, weeping from under closed lids. He took his hand from Jason's mouth and Jason could not make a noise. Subby took the officer's hand. The man shuffled at the child's pace to the corner of the room and stood facing away from Goss and Jason, facing the cement angle.

"I was all over the place," Goss said. "I was out on holiday. Got a nice tan. Was looking for stuff. Not seen the waiter? The waiting boy in the dollhouse? I had a present for him." Goss put a finger to Jason's lips.

"So," he said. "Clarabelle said she fancies you." He pushed his finger harder onto Jason's face. Pushed him to the wall. "I said to her what? And she goes 'Yeah, can you believe it?'" Pushed the lip into Jason's teeth. Subby swung the policeman's hand like they were going for a walk. "She's going to be at the park tonight. Are you coming down later?" Goss split the skin so blood welled into Jason's mouth. "Where's Billy? Where's Dane?"

"Oh God oh God I don't know I swear Jesus ..." Jason said. Goss did not move his finger, so Jason sputtered past it, sputtering his blood and spit onto Goss, who did not wipe himself. Goss pushed and pushed and Jason whined as his lip was ground against his top teeth. The policeman stood where Subby held his hand obediently facing away, whimpered and seemed to clutch the boy's hand harder as if for comfort.

"Do you remember when she was in Geography with us and he kept nicking all the pens for the overhead projector?" Goss said. "I knew you liked her then. I know you did stuff for Dane, that's why you're here, where is he?" Pushed and Jason whined and then shrieked as with the crunching snap of a ruined pencil Goss pushed an incisor out of its socket so it dangled into his mouth.

"I don't know know I don't know," Jason said, "Billy called me, Jesus, please I don't know ..." I don't know," Jason said, "Billy called me, Jesus, please I don't know ..."

"I didn't even know she was still in our year. Look at me. Look at me. You alright, Subbster? Are you looking after my little brother okay, mister?" Goss smiled and met Jason's eyes. Kept his finger all blood-wet on Jason's lips. "Clarabelle said she might bring Petra so we could all four of us go into town. Your friend took something I want back. Where is he? Otherwise I'm going to have to call off tonight."