by James Somers
The dream shifted, as dreams often do.
I walked down the cobbled streets of London now. Dark figures loomed all about me—unmoving—like statues. Thousands of ravens, like the one that had spoken to Tom, flew overhead. Many more were perched upon nearly every surface—the buildings, rails, lampposts, everywhere. And they were watching me with an intensity that made me very afraid. They looked hungry. Their raucous chorus filled my ears until I thought my skull would split open from it.
One by one, the birds began to shake themselves. Their feathers molted away as their bodies took new forms. The ravens burst suddenly—the feathers, beaks and claws swirling like living tar that became men.
The one nearest me became Mr. Sinister himself. He had the same predatory smile on his face, the same hunger in his eyes. He wanted to kill me. Whether he said it or not, I knew it was true.
The other ravens transformed into men like Sinister. They began to walk toward me, but I could not see anything about their faces. Only their white teeth and devilish eyes were visible in contrast to the darkness they had coalesced from.
I started to run, but quickly collided with one of the statuesque people standing in the street. I backed away, pleading for help. A doll’s burlap face and button eyes stared back at me. I screamed as it reached out to grab me. The burlap mouth opened, revealing a cord-like tongue that lashed out, ensnaring me. I was pulled inside like a fly into the mouth of a toad.
I screamed myself awake…only I wasn’t inside the tenement with the other boys. I was mired in a pit full of grayish mud. It stank like sewage and barely allowed me to move. Thankfully the pit was not deep. I struggled to my hands and knees against a sensation that the mud was sapping the very life out of me.
A giant’s hand wrapped itself around me, plucking me from the pool of muck like a ripe berry. He laughed as he brought me up to his huge head to inspect his handiwork. His ears were the size of an elephant’s and his bulbous nose was like a huge tortoise upon his face. He also had two prominent bottom teeth that jutted out from under his bottom lip like tusks. “Another little mud man to make sport for us,” he bellowed.
He turned and strode through a waste courtyard full of dead brush and rocks, carrying me like a figurine. I saw a wall of rough stone blocks one hundred feet high surrounding us on every side.
The giant set me down among a flock of more mud people—all of them chained to great spiked balls of iron. One of the iron balls threw a chain at me like an octopus’s tentacle, clasping my ankle with a manacle that snapped shut with a sound like a gunshot. The giant ordered me to work with a thunderous roar. I found a dull pick-axe lying on the ground nearby.
The crack of the giant’s whip across my mud-covered flesh told me the tool was meant for my hands. I arched my back in pain, crying out as blood poured from the wound. My hands scrabbled across the dusty ground, retrieving the implement before another blow could be thrown. I fell into pace with the other hopeless mud people around me, hammering uselessly away at huge chunks of rock. I could see no purpose in our drudgery except to break our spirits.
Above the courtyard, a huge gothic edifice watched over us all like an owl peering hungrily through the night at its prey. There was no sun, no moon—only the bleary gray of dusk with no end in sight.
The morning light roused us from our bunks in the tenement. Dozens of boys clamored for their meager belongings. Mr. Sinister was nowhere to be seen, but still the boys moved with purpose, seeming to know the consequences for misbehavior.
Tom found me and showed me a place where they kept a bucket of water to wash up in. A used rag, which may have been white at one time but was now dingy brown, lay wet over the lip of the bucket. I removed my shirt then soaked the rag with water and rung it out several times.
Using the rag, I washed my face, arms and chest then rung out the rag and replaced it on the bucket for the next boy. I didn’t care to think that I was probably the last in line already.
The Lazy Lad
By the time we found our way out onto the streets again, early morning commuters were already bustling along the endless river of human traffic. Mr. Sinister had suggested that I go along with Tom and two other boys in order to learn their trade and earn my keep. I took the man’s suggestion as the order it was meant to be and kept pace with Tom and the other two boys: Bill and Peter.
Tom and the other boys meandered along through the London streets, seeming to know their way expertly while I tried to keep up, fearing I would surely get left behind if I lost sight of them. But I noticed that Tom never let me wander too far from them.
Several times I noticed him pause among the thronging passersby to be sure that I was still there. I got the feeling that either he was genuinely concerned for my well-being, or he knew the punishment he might receive for losing me. Either way, I was grateful for his attentiveness.
We made several stops that morning; not at all the business I might have suspected Mr. Sinister and his boys to be involved in. I had thought, possibly, that they were mere pick-pockets largely due to the incident that had landed them and me in prison. However, this appeared not to be the case at all.
We entered a local pub bearing the moniker The Lazy Lad where Tom immediately sauntered up to the bar. A rather large man wiped a puddle of beer from the dark mahogany bar top. When he spotted Tom, his demeanor changed, going from contentment to anger and then to fear in the blink of an eye. I might have expected anger since boys our age had no business in a pub. Already the place was half full of patrons starting their day in a way that suggested they would end it in the same way, sitting upon the same stools, walking the muddled line between consciousness and unconsciousness.
However, the unsaid exchange taking place between Tom and the barkeep was truly perplexing. My new friend, if indeed he could be called such, acted as though he owned the place. The barkeep drew four drafts, one for each of us, and placed them quickly upon the bar. Tom, Peter and Bill sidled up to their drinks and began to imbibe. I left mine sitting, its foam cascading down the side of the tankard.
“Looks like business is going well, John” Tom remarked.
The barkeep acknowledged the comment somewhat grudgingly. “You’ve just caught me on a good day,” he said. “Hardly a soul has been in here all week before today.”
Tom laughed before taking a deep drink of beer. “John, John,” he said, chastising the man. “Don’t play me for the fool. We do have eyes in every place, you see? We know what you can do and not do for us in exchange for our services.”
“I’m barely feeding my family as it is,” John complained in hushed tones, hoping that his customers wouldn’t hear.
“Of course, if you feel you don’t need our services anymore, that’s all fine and dandy,” Tom said. “But accidents can happen when you least expect, taking a terrible toll.”
At that moment, a bottle of liquor fell from the shelf behind John. When it smashed to pieces upon the ground at his feet, it burst into flames, even catching John’s pant leg on fire. The barkeep practically leaped out of his skin, beating the flames with his damp rag. I grabbed my tankard from the bar and heaved the beer onto the flames, snuffing them out instantly.
Tom was already half way to the door with Peter and Bill trailing lazily behind him. I had been transfixed by the fire, not realizing they had gotten up.
“It’s a cruel world to be taking chances with your valuables,” Tom called back.
John also hadn’t realized Tom was leaving. “Wait!” he called.
As Tom turned, John went through his till, fishing out a wad of money which he offered to Bill. The boy took the money, winking at the barkeep with a smile. “Nice doing business with you, sir,” he offered condescendingly.
“Come along, Brody,” Tom said as he turned back to the door, heading out.
I looked one last time at John the barkeep as I turned from the bar. His eyes were shooting daggers into me. I could only offer him an apologetic glance to atone for my associated
guilt.
When I hit the streets with Tom and the other boys again, I immediately confronted them.
“You’re blackmailing these people!” I shouted.
Tom’s wan smile faded abruptly. “We do as we’re told, which is something you had better learn quickly,” he said. “Life is a hard road, Brody. I would think the last few days might have taught you that already.”
“Hard road?” I snapped. “You seemed to enjoy yourself well enough, strutting around like a peacock. You were happy to take the bread from that man’s table.”
“If it puts bread on my own, sure,” he said. “But what you don’t realize are the dangers lurking in this city that his money will keep away. Sinister offers them protection.”
“Protection from what?” I protested.
Tom drew very near to me then. His emerald blue eyes flashed with anger. “Things you’ve yet to notice. Just because your father died and you’ve been pinched and spent a night in prison and dangled briefly from the rope don’t make you knowledgeable about the real world.”
I noticed that Peter and Bill were standing behind Tom in a daze. Their eyes were glassy, their attention a million miles away. I swallowed the lump in my throat and deferred to them, hoping to change the subject.
“What did you do to them?” I asked.
“Who? Bill and Peter?” he asked, smiling. “Just a bit of stupid to keep them occupied.”
“They don’t know about the real world?” I quipped.
“Are you joking?” he asked, incredulous. “None of Sinister’s boys know anything about anything. They serve a purpose for a while until they get pinched, or misbehave.”
I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know the answer, but I asked the question anyway. “What happens when they misbehave.”
Tom’s smile vanished. “Brody, you see things others don’t for a reason. Somehow you’re one of us, a descendant of the Fallen, and I can appreciate your curiosity. After all, you clearly weren’t brought up with any knowing, but you ask too many questions…dangerous questions. I’ve told you once, don’t cross Sinister. For now, that’s all you need to know to survive.”
I was just about to ask Tom what he meant by the Fallen, when a horrible sight entered my peripheral vision. I looked past Tom to the person crossing the street behind him, walking toward The Lazy Lad.
What had only a moment ago appeared to be an average man, bearing two-day-old stubble and the thinning hair of a man past his prime, had transformed into a terrifying sack doll exactly like those made within the sweat shop at Sinister’s tenement. The sack man turned toward me, hissing and wailing like a banshee.
At once, I felt as though my soul was being sucked from my body, dragged toward a horrible darkness that refused to let me go. I screamed, trying to turn and run for my life. Tom had just noticed what I saw. I heard the sound of glass shattering as windows in the buildings around us burst. A flame, coming from nowhere, erupted toward the sack man, consuming the creature as I turned to lay my eyes on my escape. My legs turned to jelly, and my head swam. The street spun in my vision. Then blackness overtook me.
Unforeseen
Tom turned as Brody’s eyes grew wide, terror written all over him. Behind him, one of Sinister’s dolls took notice of Brody, hissing and rising up defensively like a cobra. The boy screamed, causing the windows in nearby buildings to explode. His power, more considerable than Tom might have suspected, had been loosed uncontrolled through the boy’s reaction to seeing the doll.
Tom turned back to stop Brody’s sudden flight, finding a blossom of flame mushrooming toward him. He threw himself out of the way just in time, unfortunately forgetting about Peter and Bill who remained dumb behind him. The flame flew between them, singeing eyebrows and bangs, before engulfing the doll. The creature screamed madly for only a moment before the inferno incinerated its burlap skin and sawdust innards, leaving nothing but ash upon the cool breeze.
The enchantment upon Peter and Bill fell away as the boys reacted to the sudden heat that had left them both smoldering. They leaped about, slapping themselves wildly, swearing until every tiny ember was extinguished. They stood gulping at the air with soot-stained expressions of bewilderment, looking to Tom for some explanation. He gave them none, instead examining the damage Brody had caused.
He grinned as his eyes fell upon the unconscious boy. “Took a bit out of you, but not bad old boy, not bad.”
Tom gazed upward as a familiar shadow swept over him, crossing the street. His grin fell away immediately when he spotted Mr. Sinister standing atop of The Lazy Lad.
The stern glare Sinister shared with Tom told him that his master had seen what had happened between Brody and the doll. He was not pleased. Tom held his gaze a moment longer until he felt Sinister release him. He turned back to Brody lying facedown upon the street.
No one had reacted to the commotion the boy had caused, not even when the doll burst into flames and disintegrated. Tom had weaved a glamour about them in order to hide the matter from mortal eyes. Pedestrians continued past, seeing only what they supposed they should see, giving Tom and Brody a wide birth even without realizing they were doing so.
Hours later, upon one of the high parapets of an unfinished Tower Bridge, a cloaked figure stood overlooking the Thames coursing beneath. The bridge had been under construction for nearly two years now with most of the work still unfinished. Though it carried no traffic yet, the location still made for a most appropriate meeting place when matters of the darkest nature needed discussing away from prying eyes and ears.
A raven, silhouetted against the bright full moon, sailed on toward the castle-like structures rising from the waters, knowing exactly where he should find his master waiting. The cloaked figure, finely dressed as he was wont to be, did not regard the large bird until the fowl creature descended, its plumage expanding to form a dark tattered cape, its small legs stretching until they became quite human.
“You are twenty seconds late,” the cloaked man said, holding a brilliantly crafted gold pocket watch. He snapped it shut, punctuating his irritation with the raven.
The dark beak had peeled back to reveal the head of a man wearing a bowler hat like a black knob upon his head. “My apologies, my lord Black,” Mr. Sinister said, bowing at the waist.
Mr. Black stiffened knowingly. “What has happened?”
“One of the dolls was spotted today and nearly destroyed,” Sinister said reluctantly. He did not wish to report bad news to his master. Mr. Black’s temper was a beast not to be trifled with, as many unfortunates had come to understand.
“Spotted by whom? One of Oliver’s lackeys?” Mr. Black replied.
“By a young boy who has become entangled with one of my own,” Sinister reported. “I’ve been told that he has the Sight.”
“What’s the problem then? Kill the boy,” Mr. Black ordered. “The doll should have regenerated already. It seems a simple matter.”
Mr. Sinister did not reply. Mr. Black waited for a moment, considering again the report his servant had brought. “You said the boy nearly destroyed the doll?”
Sinister had been hoping he wouldn’t have to point out the obvious problem. “Yes, my lord.”
“Are you certain the boy is not a plant sent by Oliver? He’s an old fool, but a crafty one.”
“I cannot be sure. However, the boy appears to have no knowledge. His efforts against the doll were reactionary. He fainted straightaway.”
Mr. Black grinned slightly beneath the brim of his top hat. “Still, he must possess some measure of power to attack the doll to such a degree. How was it done?”
“As I mentioned, my lord, the boy was frightened and reacted instinctively. He shattered the nearby windows on the street and incinerated the doll when it reacted to his discovery.”
Mr. Black turned. “Incinerated? No average gift.”
“I thought you would find it intriguing, my lord,” Sinister said.
“Bring him to my estate tomorrow evening
,” Mr. Black said. “I’ll send a carriage.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And do bring Tom as well, Sinister,” Mr. Black said. “I’m sure he must be the boy who became entangled with this one. I’m certain if you left him behind he would only wander onto my estate snooping anyway. I would hate to be forced to destroy him before his usefulness has been expired.”
Mr. Sinister cringed slightly. “Yes, my lord.”
He stepped away from his master and off of the parapet, plummeting toward the chilly waters of the Thames below. His cape billowed in the wind, becoming a broad pair of wings as the rest of Sinister’s human form was again absorbed by that of a raven in flight. Mr. Black remained upon the unfinished parapet as rigid as a gargoyle, looking out over the city he had claimed long ago for his own.
I woke to cool water splashing my face. I reacted as most would by shooting out of unconsciousness as fast as possible, spluttering and spitting. Tom stood before me holding the wash pale, now empty, with a wicked grin upon his face.
“Have a nice nap?” he asked innocently.
My last memory of the evil man-sized doll, came to me, forcing me to scramble from the table top where I had been lying.
“Where is it?” I asked, spitting the last remnants of that morning’s used wash water in the process.
Tom lowered the bucket, placing his other hand on his hip. “Where’s what?”
“That thing…the bag of stuffing that tried to kill me on the street today!” I said, managing to stir myself nearly back into the state of panic I had been in when I passed out on the street.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tom said.
I looked at him incredulously. “Don’t lie about it,” I demanded. “I know what I saw. It was the same as the ones those women downstairs are sewing together…only alive!”
“Like I said, greenie, you have this annoying habit of asking too many questions,” he warned. “You’ve already gotten us into enough trouble as it is. There are things happening that you just wouldn’t understand.”