by Lynn Viehl
Slowly Docket turned over, groaning a little as one eyelid lifted. “My dear gel,” he said, his voice a thready whisper. “Have you come alone?”
“Yes, as soon I heard.” I moved quickly to the bed and took hold of his head. “I’m so sorry, mate. I never should have brought that wretched animech down to you.”
He tried to look round me. “Did you close the door?” When I nodded, both of his eyes opened and he sat straight up. “Good on you. Bloody nurses have eyes like hawks.”
I let go of his hand. “You’re not dying.”
“Course I’m not.” He wriggled, reaching back to adjust his pillows before he reclined again, tucking his hands behind his head. “Felt good as new, soon as I woke up. Haven’t slept so comfortable in years. Pity that mech stunk so bad, or I’d jar it and sell it as a slumber potion.”
I peered down at him. “If you’re not dying, why are you here?”
“Can’t go back, building’s been shut up.” He regarded me. “I don’t have a nice house like you, Kit. I live in the Dungeon.”
Now I understood. “You’re faking it so you can sleep here.”
He beamed. “Not just sleep, my gel. They feed me three meals a day, change me sheets every morning—do you know, they even bathe me, with sponges. Right here in the bed, like an infant.” He sighed with contentment. “If this is what heaven is like, I’ll have to leave off sinning.”
I sank down on the chair beside the bed. “I flew across town because I thought you were done for, Doc.” I glared at him. “Or should I be calling you Sir Reginald?”
“Them bloody do-gooders.” He tried to look indignant. “Pulled me papers out of me wallet. I told them it don’t mean nothing here.”
“It means you’re either gentry or knighted,” I countered. “So which is it?”
“Knighted,” he mumbled. “Fat lot of good it’s done me. Herself taps me shoulder with a sword one minute, and the next I’m tossed on a boat to Toriana.”
“You were knighted and deported on the same day.” Some of my temper eased. “Only you, Doc.”
“Explosion only wrecked a little bit of Buckingham, and I did save Herself, didn’t I?” He waved a hand. “Sod them all, ungrateful bastards. Now what about you? Did you find out who sent the rat?”
“Not yet. While the building was shut up someone nicked everything we had, even the smell.” I related what had occurred when I’d visited the Dungeon with Doyle. “The only thing left was a stain on the floorboards where the tea spilled, and they tried to cover that up with a concealment spell.”
“The stench came from that bit of flesh inside the rat. Stag. I’m sure of it.” His expression darkened. “After you left that day I checked a few of me books. Can’t be certain, but I think it was native magic.”
Doc’s suggestion set every wheel in my head to spin with a fury. I should have guessed a tribal mage was involved; the smelly gland from the stag or whatever animal they’d killed was an unmistakable giveaway. Natives used blood ritual and animal sacrifice to work their magic, which I found disgusting. For that and other reasons I’d always steered clear of the local shamans, and now I felt perplexed. “Why would a native want me dead?”
“Probably don’t. Could have been part of the ploy,” Docket suggested. “Everyone knows Torian mages won’t dirty their hands with animal magic. So you use a native spell to work your mischief, and afterward everyone blames them.”
“No one knows native magic but the shamans,” I pointed out, “and they guard their spells and rituals like the Crown jewels.”
He nodded. “Could be why they came back to clean up. They got that stag gland, but they didn’t nick the mech. Just before I blacked out I put the rat in my pocket.” He nodded toward the trunk sitting at the foot of the bed. “Should still be in me coat.”
I went to the trunk to search his coat, and removed a small cloth sack containing the mech. “You’re brilliant, mate.”
“Ah, go on with you.” He looked pleased. “You should take it. That speller might come here looking for it.”
I nodded. “What about you?”
“Since the Dungeon’s been tidied up I expect I’ll be taking a startling turn for the better.” He winked at me. “Right after me evening bathe.”
• • •
I left Docket to enjoy his last night with the sisters and took the market square tram instead of returning to the office. Until I ferreted out who was responsible for the mech rat, the safest place for it was in my wall cache at home.
Unlike the city trolleys, the tram was packed with females; mostly wives or daughters of merchants and workmen returning from an afternoon at market. Handbaskets filled with vegetables and fruits occupied every lap that didn’t hold a baby too young to be left at home. I found a space between an old lady snapping the ends off a pile of pole beans and a tired-looking young mother trying to rock an equally exhausted toddler to sleep.
“Got kin at hospital, then?” the older lady asked me. When I nodded she gave me a pained smile. “That’s too bad. No worries, love. Sisters looked after me Rob in his last months, God rest. They’re good and gentle souls.”
“Says you,” the young mother put in. “I had little Charlie here at Berties, and ghastly it was, them hushing me and saying it were natural. Natural, to feel like you’re being split in half. And what came out after!”
I cringed a little and glanced outside. A well-known duchess was walking out of a hat shop with two of her maids carrying stacks of boxes. Her Grace held a diamond-studded leash attached to a long, large feline animech made of gold. When it lifted its head I saw the eyes, fashioned from enormous orange topazes, blink.
A hoot from the old lady drew my attention back to my tram companions.
“At least you had nurses to look after you. I birthed all six of mine at home, with no one but me husband to help.” The old lady gave me a jaded look. “I loved him, dearly I did, but Rob were like all men in a pinch. Useless.”
As I nodded, I silently renewed my lifelong vow never to procreate if I could help it.
“Here.” The old lady wound up the simple tin animech butterfly pendant hanging from a chain round her neck and let the boy hold it and watch the blunted wings flutter. As the child’s eyes drooped closed the young mother whispered her thanks.
The sky gradually darkened as the tram crossed the city into the poorer sections, and then came to a sudden, violent stop. Pole beans rained over my skirts, and as I reached to right the old lady’s basket I saw the driver stand up and reach for the trunch club hanging beside the door pull.
“What is it?” Plastering her now-screaming little Charlie to her breast, the young mother tried to peer round the other passengers who were scrambling to pick up what they’d spilled. “Another carri crash?”
A terrible howl ripped through the air, silencing everyone for three seconds. As several women erupted into shrieks, I got up and pushed my way down the aisle to the door.
“Are you daft, gel?” The driver caught my arm and tried to shove me back. “There’s a mob out there—”
I caught a glimpse of people running or cowering away as others were tossed into the air like rag dolls. Before I could make out what was tossing them the driver and I were both thrown against his perch as something slammed into the side of the tram.
Someone screamed, “It’s the Wolfman” as glass shattered and chaos ensued.
I pushed myself up and saw the driver had been knocked unconscious. I turned to the passengers. “Stay in your seats and keep your heads down.” I had to shout to be heard above the din they were making. “Put the children between you. Do not try to get off the tram.” I grabbed the driver’s trunch and peered through the door panel.
A massive fist covered in dark brown hair punched through the panel, pelting me with shattered glass. I dodged the groping hand and brought down the trunch on the wrist as hard as I could. Bone cracked, flesh split, and sparks flew up in my face. At the same time a horrible screech sounded, but
the monstrous hand kept snatching at me.
I darted back out of reach and clutched whatever I could, bracing myself as the entire front of the tram began to shake. The hairy brown hand pulled back, grasping the edge of the door panel. Despite the sharp glass cutting into its flesh it jerked wildly at the frame, flinging gouts of blood as it tried to yank the panel from its frame.
If this thing could do that to a door, I couldn’t allow it to board a tram filled with women and children.
I turned my head toward the passengers and raised my voice again, this time to be heard over the snarling outside.
“Pass all your baggage and belongings to the front,” I told them. “When I go out, stack them up on the stair and block the door with them.” As the terrified women stared at me, I added, “Come on, he’s nearly got in now. We can’t let him at the kids, can we?”
Half the women immediately surged out of their seats to stand in the aisle, and quickly formed a brigade to pass their parcels to the front. Somehow the old lady with the beans had worked her way up to me, and gripped my shoulder hard.
“When you get out, dearie, you run for your life,” she told me, and pressed her paring knife into my hand. “But if he catches you, you give him a good jab with this. Side of the neck or into the eye will do the job.”
I nodded, tucking the blade into my sleeve before I gripped the roof pole to my right and the glasshield divider to my left. Using them to support my weight, I brought up both legs, kicking out the door panel and onto the thing tearing at it, knocking it back.
I landed just to the right of it as I jumped out of the tram, and in the few heartbeats it took me to gather up my skirts it threw off the broken panel and got up on all fours.
I backed away, glancing at the tram to see the women stacking and cramming their baskets and parcels to block the broken door before I regarded the thing on the ground.
It looked something like a man, and the shredded, bloodstained clothes he wore had once been very fine. Long, shaggy brown hair covered every inch of its face, neck, and hands, and more sprouted through the rents in his sleeves and trousers. White eyes with tiny black pupils stared back at me, and his flattened, blackened nose hitched as froth-white lips peeled back from jagged teeth.
It snarled again as it took a step toward me, lowering its head and using its human hands like paws. I heard a grinding noise as one of its shoulders dropped and it partly collapsed again, until it thrust itself up on its legs and swayed, dripping blood from its torn hands onto the pavement.
“Easy now,” I murmured and inched backward, wondering if I’d live long enough to tell Lady Bestly that her husband had not, in fact, been the Wolfman. “You’re hurt. I can get help for you.” As I said that, I slipped the knife from my sleeve into my hand.
The Wolfman staggered forward, stepping out of the shadows and into a shaft of moonlight, where it went still. A horrible crackling sound grated against my ears as its nose began to thrust forward, growing out of its face and reshaping itself into a snout. At the same time the tips of the creature’s brown ears shot up in two points, and its pelt of brown hair grew heavier and thicker.
The silence round me told me everyone had fled the street, which made the crackling and crunching noises coming from the Wolfman seem even louder. The cause seemed to be its limbs, which were twitching as muscles bulged out, splitting the few intact seams of its jacket and causing it to fall away from its expanding torso in shreds.
Whatever was causing the transformation held the beast mesmerized, and from the way it stared up at the sky it had to be the moon. I backed away unnoticed, reaching the end of the block before the Wolfman dropped its head and fixed its mad gaze on me.
Slowly its jaw lowered, and what began as a low snarl grew into an unearthly roar.
I hitched up my skirts, whirling and running as fast as I could into the alley, looking frantically for some open door or high perch I could climb. Howling echoed off the brick walls, and heavy running steps scraped against the cobblestones. I felt the bellow of hot breath against my shoulders just before I was snatched off my feet and thrown into a pile of crates.
The impact knocked the knife from my hand and the breath from my lungs. Pain shot through me as I tried to push myself upright, but the rough hairy hands were already latching onto my bodice.
The Wolfman seized me by the throat and then went still, the hair covering its face receding into his flesh, along with extruding snout and sharp claws. Now a man again, he looked down at me and then bared his teeth like an animal. I felt him dragging up my skirts, and screamed as his head came down to sink his blunt teeth into my shoulder.
Before he bit me something hit him and threw him off me, coming at him a second time and tumbling over and over with him down the alley.
I pushed myself out of the pile of broken crates to see a second Wolfman attacking the one who had been changed back into a man. Rigid with terror, I crawled upward, pressing myself against the wall. The one who had attacked me transformed again into a beast and fought wildly. As they savaged each other, their jaws ripping and claws rending, sparks flew from between them and bounced off the bricks and stones, impossibly bright.
The second Wolfman uttered a gurgling shriek as the first latched onto its throat with inhuman fangs and crunched down. I turned my head away as a wide swath of blood sprayed from the wound, and saw the knife I’d dropped. I dragged myself over to it, reaching down to swipe it up and cradle it against my breast as I stood.
Something heavy fell, and when I looked I saw both Wolfmen had fallen to the ground, still locked together. Their bodies writhed, then twitched, and then went motionless. Blood misted the air and seeped out round them in a dark, gleaming pool.
I didn’t move. I didn’t think I could move again. I gulped the air and watched them, my knuckles white as I gripped the knife. I didn’t understand why my eyes felt so hot and dry until I realized I’d stopped blinking, and closed them.
I slid down the wall, landing on my bruised bottom in a billow of torn skirts. When more footsteps came into the alley, I looked over at the two beaters who had come.
“Have a care.” I had to swallow twice before I could get the rest of the words out. “I’m not sure they’re dead.”
“Hang back a bit, Donny.” The one who said that came to me, his callused hands gentle as he helped me up. “Give us the blade, love. That’s it.” He carefully pried it from my fist and handed it to his partner. “I saw how you lured him away from the tram. Wee gel like you, taking on that monster. You’re an angel.”
The alley darkened as the clouds obscured the moon, and I heard wet, sucking sounds coming from the bodies of the Wolfmen. As the beater turned I moved past him, lurching over to the pair, whose faces and bodies now appeared completely human. The first slid away from the second, revealing a familiar face above a throat that had been torn away—and what lay inside.
I recognized it, and heard the sound it made, and still I didn’t believe it.
As the beaters flanked me I shook my head. “Do you see it?” I tried to stand again, but my legs had gone to jelly, and the beaters had to grab me as I fell. “Do you hear it?”
The wretched sound kept time with the pounding in my head, growing softer and more distant as the night closed in. From a distance I felt myself lifted off my feet, and then I fell into the shadows and knew no more.
CHAPTER SIX
“She should be dead,” a stern voice said somewhere close to me. It sounded very much like Chief Inspector Doyle. “She took on two of the bastards alone, with nothing more than her wits and a peeler.”
“With that she could conquer a small nation,” a second, dry voice observed, and that I knew at once to belong to Lucien Dredmore. “Has she been examined by the physick?”
“Aye. She’s all over bruises and scratches, but nothing worse. He won’t give her anything for pain until she wakes and he can assess her sense.” He made a rude sound. “Not that she has any.”
I didn
’t feel any pain, but then I wasn’t precisely awake. I felt like the old lady’s animech butterfly, floating somewhere between Doyle’s and Dredmore’s voices, away from my body, or perhaps above it. I was reasonably sure I wasn’t dead, but making certain seemed too much trouble. By comparison being a butterfly, even a tin one, was much more pleasant.
“I should like to have a moment alone with her, Inspector,” Dredmore said.
“Leave her alone and unconscious with a deathmage who appears out of nowhere but half an hour after she’s attacked and near torn to pieces by two monsters?” Doyle’s tone went frosty. “I’m thinking never, milord.”
“Charmian is under my protection.” Now Dredmore sounded ready to exercise his official powers. “The shock of the attack has bruised more than her body. Her spirit is untethered and trapped between here and the Netherside. I can bring her back, but I must be alone with her.”
No magic worked on me, so that had to be a lie. But why would Dredmore want to be alone with me?
“You’re an assassin, not a healer,” Doyle said, but he sounded less certain now.
“The longer her spirit drifts, the more difficult it will be to wake her.” Something thumped. “Damn it, man. If I don’t bring her back soon she may never wake again. Is that what you want?”
Doyle’s voice became a disgruntled murmur, and whatever Dredmore replied dwindled to a hum. I lost interest in them and glided through the dark toward a cool, blue light. It looked like a veil made of the thinnest silk, each strand illuminated from within, and as I grew closer it stretched out, impossibly long and heavenly wide, and when I reached for it I could feel the brilliance of what lay beyond it tugging at me with a million little silvery hooks.
A shadow welled up round me, blocking the light and enveloping me. It was as thrilling as the veil, but warmer and closer, and definitely darker.
Charmian, you must return. It is not your time to cross over. Your body is still alive.
The words hurt my heart, and I tried to shrug away the shadow. I don’t want to. Those things. They were horrid.