The beast was almost upon them.

Think.

He took a step backwards. Behind him the furthest track began to whine.

And with the whine came the answer. It was the Stafford train, via Runcorn. Its rhythm rose through his feet as it thundered to its destination.

Twelve forty-six from Stafford,' he said, and stepped onto the humming line.

'What are you doing!' Nimrod demanded.

'Twelve forty-six,' he murmured; it was a prayer by numbers.

The slaughterer was crossing the first of the Northbound lines. It had nothing but death to give. No curse, no sentence; only death.

'Come and get us,' Cal yelled at it.

'Are you insane?' Nimrod said.

By way of reply Cal lifted the bait a little higher. Nimrod bawled. The pursuer's head grew vast with hunger.

'Come on!'

It had crossed both the Northbound lines; now it stepped onto the first of those headed South.

Cal took another stumbling step backwards, his heel hitting the furthest rail, the voice of the beast and the roar in the ground shaking the fillings loose in his teeth.

The last thing he heard as the creature came to fetch him was Nimrod running through a celestial checklist in search of a Redeemer.

And suddenly, as if in answer to his call, the veil of dirty air divided, and the train was upon them. Cal felt his foot catch on the rail, and raised it an inch higher to step back, then fell away from the track.

What followed was over in seconds. One moment the creature was on the line, its maw vast, its appetite for death vaster still. The next, the train hit it.

There was no cry. No moment of triumph, seeing the monster undone. Just a foul stench, as if every dead man in the vicinity had sat up and expelled a breath, then the train was rushing by, smeared faces peering from the windows.

And just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was away through the curtain on its way South. The whine in the rails receded to a sibilant whisper. Then even that was gone.

Cal shook Nimrod from his roll-call of deities.

'It's over...' he said.

It took Nimrod a little while to accept the fact. He peered through the smoke, expecting the Rake to come at them again.

'It's gone.' said Cal. 'I killed it.'

The train killed it,' said Nimrod. 'Put me down.'

Cal did so, and without looking right or left Nimrod started back across the tracks towards the garden where his sister had perished. Cal followed.

The wind that had come with the boneless creature, or borne it, had dropped completely. As there was not even a light breeze to keep the dirt it had swept up aloft, a deluge now descended. Small stones, fragments of garden furniture and fencing, even the remains of several household pets who'd been snatched away. A rain of blood and earth the like of which the good people of Chariot Street had not expected to see this side of Judgment Day.

VII.

THE AFTERMATH.

1.

When the dust had begun to settle, it was possible to assess the extent of the devastation. The garden had been turned upside down, of course, as had all the other gardens along the row; there were dozens of slates missing from the roof, and the chimney stack looked less than secure. The wind had been equally lethal at the front of the house. All along the street havoc had been wreaked: lamps toppled, walls demolished, car windows smashed by flying trash. Mercifully there seemed to be no serious casualties; just cuts, bruises and shock. Lilia - of whom no sign remained -was the only fatality.

'That was Immacolata's creature.' Nimrod said. Til kill her for that. I swear I will.'

The threat sounded doubly hollow coming from his diminutive body.

'What's the use?' said Cal despondently. He was watching through the front window as the occupants of Chariot Street wandered around in a daze, some staring at the wreckage, others squinting up at the sky as if expecting some explanation to be written there.

'We won a substantial victory this afternoon, Mr Mooney -' said Frederick. 'Don't you understand that? And it was your doing.'

'Some victory.' said Cal, bitterly. 'My Dad sitting next door not saying a word; Lilia dead, half the street torn apart -'

'We'll fight again,' said Freddy, 'until the Fugue's safe.'

'Fight, will we?' said Nimrod. 'And where were you when the shit was flying?'

Cammell was about to protest, then thought better of it, letting silence confess his cowardice.

Two ambulances and several police cars had arrived at the far end of Chariot Street. Hearing the sirens, Nimrod joined Cal at the window.

'Uniforms,' he muttered. 'They always mean trouble.'

As he spoke the door of the lead police car swung open, and a sober-suited man stepped out, smoothing his thinning hair back with the palm of his hand. Cal knew the fellow's face - his eyes so ringed with shadow he seemed not to have slept in years - but, as ever, he could put no name to it.

'We should get gone,' said Nimrod. 'They'll want to talk with us-'

Already a dozen uniformed police were fanning out amongst the houses to begin their enquiries. What would his fellow Charioteers have to report, Cal wondered. Had they glimpsed anything of the creature that had killed Lilia, and if so, would they admit to it?

'I can't go,' said Cal. 'I can't leave Dad.'

'You think they won't sniff a rat if they speak to you?' said Nimrod. 'Don't be an imbecile. Let your father tell them all he has to tell. They won't believe it.'

Cal saw the sense in this, but he was still reluctant to leave Brendan alone.

'What happened to Suzanna and the others?' asked Cammell, as Cal turned the problem over.

They went back to the warehouse to see if they could trace Shadwell from there,' said Freddy.

'Isn't likely, is it?' said Cal.