“What are we doing?” Willow panted to Boy, struggling to keep up.
“It’s always like this,” Boy said. “I never know anything. You’d better get used to it.”
But it wasn’t always like this, Boy realized as soon as he said it. He was too out of breath to explain, but Valerian was different. Worse.
Boy was used to his moods, used to getting beaten, used to being ignored-but Valerian had definitely changed. Over the last few months he had become distracted. And now Boy knew why.
Four days to live.
Could that be true?
Why?
Boy wondered if Valerian was deluding himself. How could he know he had only four days to live? Maybe Valerian had gone a little crazy and was convinced by some make-believe of his own invention.
But no. That would not be like Valerian.
Four days… That would take him to New Year’s Eve, Boy realized. What could happen that Valerian could be so possessed by?
And what, then, would happen to Boy?
It was still the first hour of December 28. Valerian turned to wait. “Childermass,” he said quietly, when they reached him.
“Sorry?” Boy said.
Valerian glowered at them both.
“Childermass.” Valerian began to walk. He called over his shoulder without looking back, “Today is Childermass. The unluckiest day of the year.”
Boy looked at Willow, who opened her mouth to speak but said nothing.
They trotted after Valerian, who was twenty long paces away already.
“Where do you think we’re going?” Willow asked. Boy began to scratch his nose.
“Valerian!” she called.
Boy looked at her in alarm, for she still did not understand how to wait until Valerian spoke to you.
“Where are we going?”
He did not turn round.
“Valerian!” she called, louder. “Where are-”
And now Valerian loomed over them in the deserted street. His eyes burnt through the darkness at Willow, and she began to shake. It was as if she was standing naked in a snowstorm-she felt cold and small and fragile. Valerian held her gaze until she finally pulled her eyes away and stared at the ground.
“Be quiet, Girl,” he snarled, “or I’ll leave you to rot here.”
He turned and strode off again.
“I told you,” said Boy. “I told you. Don’t upset him.”
He looked at Willow, then saw Valerian about to disappear down yet another shabby alleyway. He looked back at Willow. Her face was drawn and pale.
Boy put his hand on her shoulder.
“Come on.”
“How does he do that?” she asked.
Valerian had vanished around the corner.
Boy tugged at her arm. “We’re better off with him.”
Willow still didn’t move.
“I know,” he said. “I know what it’s like. But really, it’s best if we keep going. Stay with him.”
Willow nodded slowly.
“Where’s he gone now?” he moaned. “Come on, Willow. Please?”
At last she began to walk. Boy pulled her sleeve to hurry her, but he knew that Valerian would be getting further ahead with every stride.
Valerian had gone down a small alley on the left, but now they were closer, Boy could see there were three of them leading off into even deeper darknesses, and he had no idea which one his master had taken. He scratched his nose.
The thought of being alone in the City at night worried him. It brought back memories of things he had half forgotten, of all the years he had lived alone on the streets.
Boy hesitated, and the longer he hesitated, the further away Valerian would be getting.
Grabbing Willow by the hand, he ran down the nearest alleyway, his boots plucking at the mud and filth underfoot.
“Valerian,” he called, but quietly. “Valerian?”
It was so dark in the passage that he could barely see.
“Where is he?” Willow asked, still sounding shaken.
Boy kept running.
Suddenly they came out into a torchlit square. It was vast and empty. Beautiful old buildings leant inward on all four sides, as if trying to get closer to each other across the cobbles that lay between them. Boy took in the square. Compared to the darkness of the alley, the light from the torches was amazingly bright.
There!
There was Valerian, unmistakeable, about to disappear down a street that led off the far corner of the square.
Boy and Willow raced across the open space, feeling vulnerable and watched as they went. The City was quiet, and there still seemed to be no one else around. The sound of their boots on the cobbles of the square rang out like pistol shots.
They made it across and turned into the street. Boy noticed its name: the Deadway. Another bad omen.
Valerian was waiting.
“You two make more noise than I care to hear,” he said as they arrived, panting heavily, but he waited for them to get their breath back.
“Right,” he said. “Nearly there. Then our work begins.”
The look on his face was deadly serious. There was no anger or intimidation this time, none of his tricks of scaring the hearts out of them.
Just …, thought Boy, just… fear?
Could Valerian be scared? It seemed unlikely.
Valerian set off.
Boy looked at Willow.
“Are you all right now?” he asked as they followed.
She nodded, forcing a smile.
“I know,” Boy whispered. “He’s… difficult. But better the devil you know.”
Though Boy said this quietly, Valerian had heard.
“What did you say, Boy?” he asked, though not angrily. “A fair quote from you for once. But do not mention his name here.”
They had come to the end of the Deadway, and stopped.
Before them stood a huge pair of ornate bronze gates set into a long, high stone wall. The gates were covered in iron pictures of confusing and frightening design. Human figures, mostly naked, writhed and hung in peculiar postures and agonizing angles from the bars of the gates. Here and there Boy and Willow could see less-than-human figures, but they were not in pain. They grinned demonically and held long sticks or spears, with which they were pricking and piercing the bodies.
“What is this place?” Willow whispered, but Boy had understood.
“Look,” he said.
His voice was deathly. He pointed through the bars of the gates to where, beyond the walls, stretched row after row of cold, gray gravestones.
Above the gates was an arch, upon which were carved some strange words.
“What does that say?” Boy asked Valerian quietly.
“Is your reading still so bad?” Valerian sniped, but merely from habit. There was no life in his voice.
“But it’s strange,” Boy protested.
“It’s Latin,” Valerian said, “and it’s high time you learnt some. Mille habet mors portas quibus exeat vita. Unam inveniam. It means, more or less, ‘Death has a thousand doors to let out life. I shall find one.’ ”
3
It was bitterly cold. Boy and Willow were shivering, but not just from the temperature. Row after row of lifeless stones faded away around them into the darkness of the cemetery. They had crept inside through the massive iron gates, which were not locked. They could just make shapes out from the moonlight that slanted low over the wall of the cemetery. The land sloped slightly from where they stood, so that even in the darkness they could see the stones rising away from them. There were thousands, some small and plain, some big, some carved with complex designs. Some were not mere markers at all but impressive tombs made of huge blocks of stone, surrounded by spiked railings. The railings were designed to keep people out, though Boy thought how strange they looked, like cages, as if they were actually meant to keep people in.