𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞┃ Anthony Lockwood┃2┃

Chapter Eighteen - Carnival!

A week passed. George worked, Holly organised, the skull made regular rude comments. Nola and Lockwood continued to share longing glances when they though the other wasn't looking.

Large posters were beginning to appear near every tube station advertising the coming carnival: elegant Fittes ones, with silver hue and sober font, inviting agents to 'Reclaim the Night'; garishly bright ones for the Rotwell Agency, complete with a grinning cartoon lion trampling a ghost and holding an oversized hotdog in its paw. Meanwhile, each day saw further demonstrations in the streets around Chelsea, clashes between protestors and police, people injured. The night of the grand festivity approached in a tense and nervous atmosphere.

Lockwood had originally been reluctant to attend the carnival as he was annoyed that his company hadn't been asked to contribute to the agency procession. To the their surprise, however, they received a special invitation. Miss Wintergarden, who was luxuriating in the freedom of her ghost-free town house, was one of the VIPs accompanying the procession. She invited Lockwood & Co to join her as her guests.

The prospect of such a central position was one Lockwood could not resist. On the afternoon of the great day, the four of them made their way across London to the Fittes mausoleum, which was where the carnival would begin.

The mausoleum stood at the eastern end of the Strand, at the point where it became Fleet Street. It occupied an island in the centre of the road. A church had stood there once, but it had been bombed in the war, and the stark grey building that housed Marissa Fittes' remains was its replacement. It was oval-shaped, with a concrete dome. On the western side, two majestic pillars framed the entrance, which faced back in the direction of Fittes House. A triangular pediment atop the pillars was carved with the Fittes emblem, a noble unicorn. Monumental bronze doors led onto the interior, which on special days was open so that the public could see the pioneer's simple granite tomb.

Darkness was falling, but the carnival was a display of organised defiance and there were many reassurances on show. Ghost lamps hung suspended on cables above the roads. Lavender fires burned on corners. Lamplit smoke swirled above the crowds that washed around the mausoleum like a restless tide.

Higher still, a giant inflatable rapier, silver, shiny and the length of a London bus, bobbed and buffeted against the soft black night. The entrances to Waterloo Bridge and the Aldwych were choked with booths and sideshows. Shoot-the-Ghost stalls rubbed up against Poltergeist Rides, in which vast mechanized arms whirled shrieking men and women into the air. Merry-go-rounds featured cartoon phantoms, stalls sold cobweb candyfloss; sweets in the form of skulls, bones and ectoplasm were everywhere on display. As with the midsummer fairs that normally featured such entertainments, it was the adults who were the most eager customers. That night, they were protected. The central streets were lined with lavender and salt, turning that artery of London into a fairyland of colour that could be exploited safely. They hurried past the agents, men and women, old and younger, faces flushed with excitement at the transgression and the danger of it. An air of forced hilarity hung over them. Nola could feel their desperate need to turn their night fears into something childlike and unthreatening.

Lockwood & Co stood silently at a corner, hands on their sword-hilts, watching the world skip by.

"The grown-ups seem happy." Lockwood said. "Don't you feel old sometimes?"

"Unbelievably so." Nola said. "All the same..."

Lockwood nodded. "Yes, I could do with an ice cream too."

"I'll get them." Nola said. There was a stall opposite. "Holly? Do you want one?"

Her hair was pulled back beneath a fur-lined hat, showing her face to good advantage. She had on that coat that was too lined with fur, and wore a rapier at her hip. "A ninety-nine flake, thank you, James."