‘I know that you used demon trap tech to engineer a sort of dog battery for storing magic. And I know you’ve got them connected to the plastic core that runs down the centre of the tower,’ I said. ‘What I don’t know is why. Since you’re obviously plugged in, why haven’t you siphoned off the power already?’
‘Dog batteries,’ said the Faceless Man. ‘Good one. Although they act much more like capacitors than batteries.’
‘Canine capacitors, then?’
‘Oh very sharp, yes, canine capacitors,’ he said. ‘Magic is not like electricity, it’s slippery stuff and much harder to manipulate. This tower is much like a cafetiere, one of those coffee plunger things, the coffee grounds are held in suspension within the hot water and, in order to concentrate them, one must use the plunger.’
‘Have you actually ever made coffee using a cafetiere?’ I asked.
‘I admit that I should have spent a bit more time on that simile, but you get the basic idea,’ he said.
‘You’re going to collapse the building, and that should drive the magic into the dog batteries,’ I said. ‘Then I presume you have a company that specialises in clearing demolition sites all set up and waiting to swoop in with a low bid — then they just load up the dog batteries and off you go.’
He has no idea about the Stadtkrone, I suddenly realised, that’s why he had to blow up the building. But how can he not know?
‘What do you want all that magic for?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I have done some extraordinary things with just the power of my body,’ he said. ‘Imagine what I might do with the forty years’ accumulated potential here.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I think they’ve had enough time to evacuate, don’t you?’
‘What about me?’ I asked.
‘I’m afraid you’ve got to stay here,’ he said. ‘I may wish to avoid mass murder, but let’s be honest. . I’d be extremely stupid to let you live.’
‘Why not just kill me now?’
Well done, Peter, I thought, let’s put that idea into his head.
‘Why should I?’ he asked. ‘Besides-’
I caught him mid-sentence. It was a beauty, impello with no modification, just the biggest impact I knew how to do focused down to a single point. He still managed to a get a shield up before I could strike. There was a crack like concrete breaking and he flinched — which made me feel better.
He straightened and made a show of dusting himself down.
‘Really, Peter,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d progressed a bit further than that.’
I let him think that I’d missed but before I could say something witty in reply, he drew out a wireless detonator and blew up the building.
I heard the charges go off below me, weirdly distant like something in a nightmare. I felt them as a thudding sensation through the soles of my shoes. I staggered towards the Faceless Man, expecting any moment for the roof to literally drop out from beneath my feet.
I felt it then, a great solidity, like the wave of power I’d felt come off the Thames at the Spring Court. Or the air that had so nearly floated me aloft when I was dancing with Sky. The building was holding itself up, trying to retain its shape.
I took the opportunity to close the range to the Faceless Man, until I’d got within three metres of him. But he didn’t seem afraid.
‘I wouldn’t get your hopes up,’ he shouted. ‘It’s not going to stay standing long.’
I heard people screaming far away and hoped that it was startled onlookers on the ground.
The trembling had become shaking — the wavelength of the oscillations lengthening. Once they reached a certain length, the tower would pull itself apart.
Come on Erik, I thought, if you’d wanted it to be a piston, why would you have put the bloody glass pimple at the top?
Then I heard a crack from behind me as, finally, the Statdkrone exerted enough pressure to open the fissure I’d smashed in the top of the cylinder.
‘Surprise,’ I shouted, and the blast knocked me to my feet.
And the Stadtkrone fell open in segments exactly like a practitioner opening his hand. Or more like a chocolate orange because, like every chocolate orange I’d ever opened, some of the bits stuck together.
I don’t know what Stromberg had been expecting to see from his roof garden in Highgate. Something Lord of the Rings, I expect — streamers of light pouring upwards into a rapidly opening circle of clouds. Instead it was a barely visible shimmer, like a column of heat haze. But I felt it. A wave of cooking smells and tastes, grease and peppers, green curry and macaroni cheese, spirit gum, the feel of wet papier-mache and children crying. People ironing, shaving, singing, dancing, grunting and fucking.
‘Here’s Bruno!’ I shouted. But the Faceless Man wasn’t listening to me. He was staring at the Statdkrone and, even with his mask on, surprise and anger were written along the length of his body. The roof lurched underfoot, dropped a centimetre, stopped, dropped again — Skygarden was not about to defy gravity for much longer.
The Faceless Man turned, took three steps and threw himself over the railing.
I ran after him and followed him over.
What else could I do — it’s not like I could stay on the roof, was it?
Besides, the Faceless Man didn’t strike me as the suicidal type. And if he had some plan to survive the fall, then I didn’t think he should be allowed to keep it to himself.
Otherwise, I was going to have to think of something on the way down.
I didn’t fall far before landing on his back. Then I threw my arms around his neck and hung on. He was definitely doing some sort of magic, a spell involving aer I thought, that caught hold of the air like a parachute. Or more like a para-wing, because we were gliding rather than falling.
‘You just keeping going, my son,’ I whispered in his ear. ‘Because I’ve got nothing to lose.’
He must have carefully calculated it against his own weight, but with mine added he fell dangerously fast. I made sure that I was the one riding him down — thinking heavy thoughts. We must have been falling at the same speed as the tower, because I could hear rending and crashing of concrete behind us and see billowing, dense grey and brown clouds reaching out around us.
We were roughly heading for the gap in the blocks where Heygate Street met Rodney Place. There, I presumed, he’d have a getaway vehicle standing by. But he wasn’t going to make it with yours truly on his back. And he couldn’t even squirm without breaking his concentration.
Serves you right for being an arrogant dickhead — if it had been me, I’d have tripped the explosive from the viewing gallery in the Shard.
I looked down and saw the big wide world rushing up to meet me fast. I really hoped it was going to be friendly.
We came down in the garden just short of the far edge. He hit first and tried to roll, but I made a point of breaking his centre of gravity so that he went down hard. Unfortunately, so did I. Then the dust cloud rolled over us and we were fighting blind, only he was in a suit and I was wearing Doctor Martens. Before he could get up I got one good kick to his head, and down he went. I put him face down, and got hands behind his back in the approved fashion and cuffed him.
‘You’re nicked, you bastard,’ I said.
I heard Lesley calling my name.
‘I’m over here,’ I shouted, but you couldn’t see more than half a metre because of the thick, rolling clouds of dust.
I choked on it, so did he. I hauled him up until he was sitting upright. I didn’t want to risk positional asphyxiation.
Lesley called again and I shouted back — the dust seemed to be settling.
‘I am genuinely impressed,’ he said.
‘I’m so pleased,’ I said.
‘I believe this is the moment of decision,’ said the Faceless Man.
‘I already made up my mind,’ I said and reached for his mask.