Rooftops

by Philip Burn

This piece was inspired by a scene from Conspiracy of Fire:

McBride, Carter and Davies got out of the car and made their way to the club’s entrance, oozing confidence.

‘Sirs, we’ll need to search you for weapons.’ The two security guards on the door, large men with shaved heads and black glasses, looked down at the three apprentices.

‘Actually, no.’ McBride produced his wallet and flicked it open, showing the card identifying him as a member of the WTDD and licensed to carry weapons regardless of other legislative stipulations.

‘I’m sorry sir; go right in.’

‘Thank you.’ The three apprentices exchanged grins as they stepped into the club.

Strobe lights and lasers darted around the club, disrupting the darkness only slightly as Carter and McBride peered around the room. The club was crowded, as always, and the three of them made their way to the bar through the throng of bodies.

McBride ordered drinks and leaned against the side, surprised to find himself looking straight at Liam Cabot.

‘Cabot’s here...’

Cabot saw a familiar figure in the crowd and walked towards it, stopping behind his quarry and tapping her on the shoulder.

‘Sergeant Mendelson.’

The girl turned and froze, mid snarl.

‘Liam!’ She smiled. ‘Long time no see!’

‘Is that a fact?’ He tilted his head slightly. ‘It wasn’t you here earlier?’

‘Well, okay, it was; I was just checking out the murder scene. I’d been here the previous night and I wasn’t sure if… I thought there might be something I could do.’

‘Was there?’

‘Not really; whoever did this was a pro.’ Rose Mendelson was silent for a second, thinking to herself. ‘Chiswick’s been doing a lot of things lately I disapprove of; I thought he might have had a hand in this.’

‘Are you convinced otherwise?’

‘Not entirely; not after Winter was visited by two SS agents last night.’

‘SS agents?’

‘Evans and Jameson; they were sent to see Winter after he was attacked.’

‘Oh, thank you for telling me?’

There was shriek of horror from a few meters away and Cabot turned to see the crowd parting. A figure in black robes was making for the door, barging through those spectators who had not moved.

‘Shit.’ Cabot pushed aside the man in front of him, forcing his way forward. A girl was lying in a pool of blood, a black knife sticking from her chest. ‘Stop that man!’ Cabot cried, making to pursue, barging through partiers. He looked behind him and saw Mendelson following him.

‘Someone’s been killed,’ McBride told Carter. ‘Let’s go.’

‘It’s too crowded; we’ll never catch them.’ Carter looked across the room full of panicking clubbers, all too stunned to get out of the way quickly.

‘That’s not the right kinda attitude, Dan.’ McBride reached inside his trench-coat and drew two pistols, pointing them at the nearest people to him.

‘WTDD! Let me through!’ he bellowed and people sprang apart to get out of his way. The two apprentices, Carter’s guns now drawn too, ran through the gap in the crowd, following Cabot.

Cabot leapt onto a bin and from there onto the roof, his own pistol in his right hand. His quarry was twenty meters ahead of him, wearing black on a dark night, and Cabot didn’t want to risk shooting and missing. The man leapt from one roof to another and Cabot followed, feeling that he was catching up.

Carter and McBride sprinted through the streets below, looking up at the rooftop chase as it unfolded, planning their strike.

‘He’s cutting left,’ McBride announced and made for a fire escape, landing atop the first horizontal railing and carrying on up the ladder. Carter followed him up, snatching the railing and swinging himself over in a single move.

Cabot was behind the two apprentices now, looking on as they both fired their pistols at the running figure in front of them. He sighed. Apprentices were so headstrong; had he ever been like that? Yes, he remembered, and he still was. He leapt the next roof and a second cloaked figure came at him from the dark.

He used his pistol, swung across the body, to deflect the knife veering toward his abdomen, and fired two shots towards his assailant, who contorted, somehow avoiding both staples, and palmed Cabot in the chest, hurling him across the gap between two buildings.

McBride looked back at Cabot’s yell and turned, firing both pistols at his cloaked assailant as he dashed towards it, emptying both clips in the second before he got there. Another figure, an unhooded girl in a white robe, appeared in front of him—presumably having leapt up from the alley below—and struck out at him.

He caught the fist in his palm but fell to the floor, his hand burning as if on fire. The girl seemed illuminated, despite the dark, as she looked down at him.

Carter caught his quarry, leaping between buildings at the same time as the target and landing, reaching out one hand and placing it on the shoulder of the robed figure.

‘That’s quite enough of that.’

The shape within the robe changed, shrinking into a more feminine form, and it turned, hood flying back to reveal the face of a woman of nineteen, black hair flowing down into the rest of the robe and a pale, melancholy face. The eyes flashed, though illuminated by no external source, and she seized Dan by the arms, throwing him backwards, into the alleyway below.

The girl reached down, her palm hovering a few inches from McBride’s forehead and his fear of her now gone. If she had wanted to kill him he would be dead already, he knew.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, and extended her index finger to meet his forehead. ‘This gift was not meant for you...’

She stepped back suddenly, an arrow having pierced her arm. She looked over at the black-cloaked figure, then stepped back off of the building, into the alleyway.

Rooftops

by Philip Burn

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