Page 24 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

T he siren started just after nine that evening, low and mournful, then rose into that now-familiar wail that made Ellie freeze mid-sentence, teacup poised halfway to her mouth. ‘Bloody hell,’ she muttered, already reaching for her coat.

Catherine didn’t say a word. She was on her feet in a flash, grabbing the torch and her gas-mask case from behind the door, Lizzie grabbed the pre-prepared Thermos which sat next to the Butler sink, and the last of the digestives.

Ellie’s heart thudded. The girls had done this before, too many times now to count, but it never felt routine. Not really. On her way out of the flat, she grabbed the spare woollen blanket from the arm of the sofa.

Catherine had already unbolted the rear door, the one that led straight to their own basement staircase.

It opened onto a narrow, brick-walled stairwell, damp and echoing.

The three of them filed down in near silence, shoes thudding against the concrete steps, their shadows looming and flickering in the torchlight.

The cellar was kitted out with sandbags and old chairs, and though it was dry right now, it did get a little wet during heavy downpours and retained a musty odour.

Lizzie set the Thermos of tea on a crate, then lit a small candle set in a brass holder, which they kept in the cellar for air raids.

Just as they settled into place, the lights flickered once then went out altogether.

‘Great,’ Lizzie said. ‘Just for once I’d like to do this with the lights on.’

‘You and the rest of London,’ Catherine said quietly, wrapping her coat tighter. ‘You tempted fate by lighting that bally candle.’

‘Shush.’ Ellie glanced at them both, then tilted her head as the deep groan of engines filtered in, closing fast. Then … a distant crump, swiftly followed by another and another. A volley of bombs falling somewhere over the city.

‘They’ve hit the docks, probably,’ Catherine said, eyes closed.

‘You always say that,’ Lizzie whispered.

‘I’m usually right.’

For a few minutes they sat in silence, listening to the rhythmic crump of explosions, Ellie silently praying that they wouldn’t land here. Then Catherine spoke, her voice casual yet probing.

‘I expect Jack Stratton’s been keeping you busy?’

Lizzie chuckled while she opened the Thermos and Ellie’s face warmed.

‘I’m busy, yes, but that’s nothing to do with him.’ She took the cup of tea, wrapping her hands around it for warmth as an icy chill nipped at her neck and spine.

‘Come off it,’ Lizzie teased. You’ve known him a while now. Haven’t you noticed those lovely eyes of his?’

‘Lizzie!’ Ellie protested, but she was smiling all the same.

Catherine chuckled. ‘Must be fascinating, all that intelligence passing through your hands.’

Ellie offered a tight smile. ‘I’m only there to assist, you know.

I’m not an agent like Jack. And I’ve been warned to stay in my place, otherwise I’ll be out on my ear.

’ She sipped her tea, which was weak but at least it was warm.

‘Besides, mostly it’s as dull as ditchwater.

I prefer being outdoors to being stuck in that stuffy office. ’

Catherine chuckled. ‘Still, you must hear some rather interesting things.’

Lizzie exhaled in a theatrical groan. ‘Oh please, not more war gossip. Can we talk about something cheerier? Like finding a dishy chap to go out with. Edie at work reckons that the Americans will be joining us soon, and if they do, we might find ourselves inundated with Yanks. Can you imagine? Ooh, I read they’re not rationed. ’

Lizzie constantly thought about food and probably dreamt about it too. Ellie shook her head and laughed but caught Catherine’s expression flickered, unreadable.

Another boom sounded, closer this time. Dust sifted from the ceiling above and all three women tensed.

‘What if this is it?’ Lizzie said in a whisper, her eyes wide.

‘Then I’m bloody annoyed I let the butcher give me liver again this week,’ Ellie muttered, forcing a smile. That barely broke the tension, but it was enough.

‘Remind me to write that on your headstone,’ Lizzie said. ‘ Here lies Ellie Harcourt: loved justice, hated offal .’

The next silence was easier.

‘If we get out of this,’ Lizzie said finally, ‘we’re opening that last tin of peaches.’

‘Even if it’s for breakfast,’ Ellie added.

Lizzie nodded, her gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight. ‘Especially if it is.’

Ellie wondered how long they would have to stay there.

Would the bombers come in one wave or two?

Often it was two. Incendiaries first to light the fires, then the next wave brought the big bombs.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too much longer.

She always tried to think about things logically, no matter how chilling.

Her mind drifted to the case, to Jack, and she found herself circling the same question again. Why had he pushed for her to be assigned? In hindsight, he hadn’t needed her at all. Yes, she’d cracked parts of the code, but Jack had access to plenty of analysts who could do the same. Why her?

And then there was her father. The whole business needled at her more than ever. As a physicist he was involved with top secret work, that much was clear. But it was more than that. This felt orchestrated. Templeton and Lambert shoved out of the way. But by whom?

Someone who knew about her, that much was also certain. The cryptic phone call, the reference to her parents. Is Pa in danger?

A sudden boom made her jump. The blast was closer this time, close enough to rattle the tea tin, and dust fell in lazy spirals, speckling her tea like ash.

And then, at last, the drone of engines began to fade. A long silence followed before the soft, blessed wail of Moaning Minnie sounding the all clear. One by one, they climbed the stairs back to the flat, the torch casting long shadows along the hallway walls.

The power was still out, as expected. Catherine struck a match and lit a stubby candle on the kitchen counter, wax pooling around its base.

‘Blooming heck,’ Lizzie muttered, cupboard doors banging as she rummaged through shelves. Glass clinked against glass until she dragged out a half-empty bottle of gin and tonic water, both clutched to her chest like treasure.

‘Strictly medicinal,’ she said, splashing generous measures into chipped teacups, the gin glugging in the silence.

Catherine collapsed into the armchair with a sigh, springs creaking under her weight. The floorboards upstairs groaned as Mrs Archer moved about, and somewhere in the walls, pipes gurgled and settled.

Ellie took her cup and sank onto the settee, inhaling notes of juniper.

London lay muffled beneath its blanket of smoke and ash.

No wireless crackled from the corner, just the gentle sputter of candle flame and their quiet breathing.

The gin burned her throat, but the warmth spread through her chest. She glanced around.

Four walls, a roof overhead and friends breathing beside her. For tonight, it was enough.

***

The flame of the last candle had guttered at some time after three.

They’d dozed where they sat, wrapped in blankets and silence, the occasional thud of distant artillery pulling them from restless sleep.

Now, morning light filtered weakly through the soot-smeared curtains, grey and reluctant.

The air in the sitting room was still cool, and the house creaked like an old ship under strain.

Lizzie stood at the window, mug in hand, her eyes on the smoke still coiling above the skyline. ‘They hit Shoreditch again,’ she said quietly.

‘Any word on casualties?’ Ellie asked, her voice low.

‘Not yet. But it was bad. Flames halfway up the block. Buses melted in places.’

Lizzie sat curled on an armchair, arms around her knees. ‘It gets closer every time. I passed a crater on Torrington Place yesterday, big enough to lose three double-deckers.’

‘I can’t sleep through the sirens anymore,’ Catherine said. ‘Even when they stop, I lie there waiting for the thud. Silly, isn’t it?’

‘It’s not silly,’ Ellie murmured, her voice catching slightly.

Catherine stared at her. ‘You’re pale as a ghost. Are you all right?’

The concern in her friend’s voice nearly undid her. Ellie opened her mouth, then closed it. She wanted to talk. God, she wanted to let it all spill out: the codes, the fear, the sense that everything was spiralling faster than she could keep up with. But she couldn’t. ‘I’m just tired,’ she said.

Lizzie stretched out with a groan, rubbing a hand over her eyes. ‘Let’s all run off to the countryside and raise goats. Or ducks. I’d be good with ducks. We’ll have fresh eggs and fresh milk every day.’

Catherine arched a brow. ‘You can’t milk ducks.’

‘Doesn’t matter. They don’t drop bombs either.’

Ellie smiled faintly, the corners of her mouth twitching despite herself.

‘Don’t ruin the fantasy,’ Lizzie muttered, settling deeper into the armchair. ‘Some mornings, it’s all that keeps me sane.’

Silence fell again as London seemed to hold its breath.

‘D’you ever think,’ Lizzie said suddenly, ‘that when this is all over, we won’t know how to be normal again?’

‘We’ll learn,’ Ellie said.

Lizzie rose and crossed to the wireless, fiddling with the dial until a string quartet swelled faintly through the static. ‘All right. No more gloom. Time to rise and shine, girls,’ she said in a sing-song voice. ‘Paint on a smile, as my mum likes to say.’

Ellie got to her feet, her body heavy as lead. ‘I can barely rise, never mind shine.’ Stifling a yawn, she headed to her room, the blanket trailing behind her. Outside, the city stirred and she had the strangest sense that somewhere a clock was counting down, and something dark was coming her way.