Blood Heat (Jim Mortimore) by Blood Heat (Jim Mortimore) (v1.0)

Author:Blood Heat (Jim Mortimore) (v1.0)
Language: eng
Format: epub

PART FOUR

ISOMORPHIC

Unaware of the fighting which had taken place in Cheddar, Ace and Alan had walked for several hours before bedding down for the night in the remains of the sailing ship Cutty Sark, still in its dry dock in Greenwich. It was miles out of their way, but was apparently the only place at which they stood even a vague chance of crossing the river.

Alan had spent an uneasy couple of hours trying to sleep, but found himself worrying about Julia. This together with the noises which drifted through the night kept him awake. Ace had had no trouble falling into a light but immediate sleep, apparently unaffected by the strangeness of her surroundings.

Dawn came in a welter of animal noises and a harsh downpouring of rain. The rain slammed into the upper parts of the ship, percolating through the shattered deck‐plates and streaming into the separate cabins in which they had spent the night.

Ace woke when Alan’s voice echoed out of the depths of the ship. ‘A well placed property with a glorious river view and all mod cons.’

‘If by that you mean a shower in every room, I’d have to agree.’ Ace rubbed sleep from her eyes and climbed to her feet, stretching before fully remembering the stitches in her back. She grimaced with pain. Sloshing through a fast growing pool of water she left her cabin and found Alan cooking breakfast over a small fire he had kindled in a trough of bricks in what had once been the wardroom.

When the rain stopped they emerged from the ship into a damp, pungent world and examined their surroundings.

Looking back at the ship, Ace could see a mass of vines hanging from the sagging masts like bizarre organic rigging. The bulk of the ship was obscured by greenery, with only the very tip of the figurehead emerging to point somewhat sombrely towards the grey torrent of the river, and the domed entrance to the pedestrian subway which crossed beneath it. Behind the ship, on the side facing away from the river, the baroque complexes of the old naval headquarters and the National Maritime Museum were overrun with greenery which blended into the expanse of Greenwich Park, rising steeply up the hill towards Blackheath. Looming silently from the early mist clothing the jungle at the very top of the hill a pale oval stood out against the sky. The Greenwich Observatory.

‘Well,’ Ace said, refocusing her attention on their immediate surroundings. ‘What do you reckon?’

Wringing moisture from his jacket, Alan laughed. ‘I reckon it’s a rum do when the ships are wetter on the inside than the out.’

Ace frowned. ‘I meant about the tunnel. Do you think we’ll be able to use it to cross beneath the river?’

Alan shrugged. ‘Only one way to find out.’

Nodding thoughtfully, Ace walked towards the tunnel entrance. Alan spread his jacket on a nearby wall to dry in the sun, then ran to join her. Together, they circled the low building, which was cylindrical, brick‐walled and topped by a cracked glass dome.

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