𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞┃ Anthony Lockwood┃2┃

Chapter Fifty Five - Hand Over Hand

In those first few seconds, the figure could barely be seen. Pale fire ran across it, leaping from its smooth sides, darting and cracking above it like a living crown. Ice encrusted its surface, thick and veined with blue. To Nola's horror, it seemed to have no face, just two thin slanted eyes. It was huge; a head taller than the Rotwell attendants who stepped near, spraying it with their salt guns, dousing it with jets of liquid that enveloped it in clouds of roaring steam. Joints screamed and ground together as, hand over hand, the figure moved slowly along the iron chain. Ice broke off it and shattered on the ground. Flames died back, went out. Nola saw that the limbs beneath the ice were made of sheets of iron, hinged and riveted. The feet, the monstrous fingers – all were iron-clad. Concentric bands of iron encircled the lower torso, while vast oval plates sat atop the breast, with chain-mail links showing between the cracks. The head was encased in a thick, ungainly helmet. Bolts attached this to the neck. Aside from narrow eye-slits, it had no decoration. Like the rest of the armour, it was ugly, heavy, brutally functional.

The burning figure came to a stop, not far from the metal post. It stood there, swaying. A metal trolley was wheeled close and scientists in protective garb rushed forward. Hands in thick gloves snapped locks, twisted levers. A visor at the front of the helmet sprang up – and a face, deathly pale, could be seen within.

Until that moment, Nola had not been sure. Then, there could be no doubt. This was the Creeping Shadow, the thing of flame and smoke glimpsed at the churchyard. And it was not a spirit, but a man. An ordinary living human inside an iron suit.

A man at the end of his strength, who staggered and seemed about to fall. Attendants thronged around him like ants beside an ailing queen. His giant metal arms were held, his sides supported. In painful-looking stages, he sank back onto the trolley. Electric motors whirred. The trolley was driven off down the nearby passageway, with the Rotwell team hurrying behind.

Steve Rotwell had been standing a few feet away, impassively observing the whole procedure. He put the cap back on his flask, rubbed his nose and strode after them.

The door clanged. The hall was empty.

All that time, Nola had been motionless. She felt that she had almost forgotten how to speak. "Lockwood..." She croaked. "That man in armour... You really think—?"

He shook his head. "Not now. Got your spirit-cape?"

"Yes."

"Put it on."

Nola opened her bag, doing as she was told. Lockwood was doing the same with his cape, unfurling the iridescent feathers. "I'm not going near the circle without protection." He said. "This is our only chance to examine their set-up. We have to take a closer look."

They came out from their place of safety, and headed into the centre of the room. Behind the chains, the grey shapes flowed back and forth in the column of milky air. The psychic noise beat against Nola's head. It was very cold. They put on their gloves.

Even close up, it was impossible to see the other end of the hanging chain. It was as if a fog hung over the circle. The chain went into it and disappeared from view.

"A man steps into the circle." Lockwood murmured. "He puts on protective armour and he goes inside this massive Source. Once there, what does he do? What does he find?"

"You remember George's horrifying trousers analogy?" Nola said. "How Sources are places where the fabric of the world has worn thin? Put enough Sources together, he said, and the hole becomes a window to the Other Side. If that's right, this window must be huge. They're trying to see through to—" The concept was so incomprehensible, and so dangerous, that Nola couldn't bring herself to finish.