London Darkness- Infernal Inventions

by Christopher Stocking

  “Project Spear?”

  The man’s eyes returned to his device. “Never mind that,” he snapped. “Where did you find his device? His body?”

  “The corner of Fleet Street,” Ryker answered.

  “Thank you,” the old man said quickly; a tremble of sadness in his voice.

  Ryker’s screen flashed once and went black. Project Spear? He thought. He put the communicator next to the top hat and exited his lab. He returned to Fleet Street, hoping to inspect the body more, but it was gone. All that remained was a pool of blood.

  A whooshing sound came from above, followed by a flash of light into the street. Ryker looked up and saw the zeppelin slowly floating overhead. He swore and fled the scene, knowing he’d rather not get blamed for this crime.

  Ryker returned to his lab and opened his wall safe. He grabbed his special glasses and ran back out into the night. He returned to the alley where he saw his attacker flee and put on his glasses. “You can’t get away from me that easily,” he said quietly. He pressed the button on the side, activating the thermal vision.

  Mostly everything was a dim green color, except for the drips of blood and the footprints from the murderer which glowed red. Gotcha, he thought. Ryker readied his revolver and followed the spots of blood through the pitch-black alley. The thermal vision allowed Ryker slightly better vision, but it was still quite difficult to see.

  He stepped slowly and carefully, his revolver out in front of him, ready to fire. Two large, black rats with glowing red eyes squeaked and frantically scurried out from behind a pile of garbage. The hot red masses startled Ryker so much he nearly fired off a round at them, but he took a deep breath and pressed on.

  He finally reached the end of the alley, which led to a large iron door. Ryker lifted his glasses and grabbed the door handle. He opened it, anxious as to what he might find. After all, this could be the last door he ever opened. It quietly squeaked as it swung open. Ryker shielded his eyes as a rush of bright light erupted from the room.

  The sounds of chatter and laughter filled Ryker’s ears as his eyes adjusted to the light. He stared at the plethora of people sitting in the brightly-lit bar. He slid his gun into his holster and entered.

  The pub was brightly illuminated with large lights that hung from the ceiling. The lights would occasionally short and bolts of electricity would jump between them. Several people stared up at the light show as they sipped their drinks.

  There were several tables scattered around the room, all but one filled.

  Ryker cautiously weaved his way through the pub. He kept his hand ready to draw his pistol. Many of the patrons watch him uneasily.

  The only available table was in the center of the room. Ryker sat and scanned the crowd with his eyes. Almost all of the people were elegantly dressed in dark clothing. Ryker overheard some of the people discussing “products,” “inventory,” and a few older men mentioned “livestock.”

  “She’s pulled in so many clients,” one man said as he polished his monocle.

  “That’s great,” another man answered. “Have you had any disciplinary problems with her?” he asked.

  “Absolutely not. She was a great sale.”

  “You’re welcome.” Both of the men chuckled and sipped at their drinks.

  A woman’s laughter pierced the rest of the loud voices in the pub. Ryker looked at her as several men surrounded a small stage in the corner. Moments later they began shouting and calling out amounts of money.

  Ryker stood up and walked to the back of the crowd. He peered over the tops of the surrounding people, trying to get a better glimpse of what they were trying to buy.

  Two women stood in front of the crowd. Ryker gently pushed his way through the people to get a better look. As he neared, he could make out the two women. Celia? He thought.

  She was on her knees, bound with iron restrains. “Four hundred, four hundred fifty!” the woman next to Celia shouted enthusiastically.

  “One thousand!” a man in the crowd shouted.

  “Sold!” the woman answered excitedly. She grabbed Celia by her hair and yanked her to her feet. Celia cried out, but was forced to obey. The woman pushed her forward, and the man grabbed her by her restraints and dragged her to a table where he forced her to sit.

  Ryker gritted his teeth and made his way through the dissipating crowd toward Celia.

  A door in the back of the room swung open and a brown-haired man walked out, his arm wrapped with a bloody bandage, and he carried his black jacket over his other arm.

  Ryker flicked his eyes between Celia and the man. He stepped toward the man, but stopped abruptly and looked back at Celia. The man who bought her sat closely. He watched her intently, observing her figure. He ran a finger down her face and neck, and then down the center of her corset where her soft skin was revealed.

  Ryker glanced back at the man. He leaned over the bar and waited for his drink. A flintlock pistol stuck out from the back of his trousers. Ryker sighed and stood next to him. He leaned casually and watched as the bartender served the customers.

  “Busy tonight, eh?” Ryker said to the man next to him.

  The man chuckled. “Sure is. A lot of good sales tonight, though. That one over there is a real gem.” He motioned his head toward Celia.

  Ryker looked at her again. Her buyer had a firm hold on her face, forcing her to look at him. Ryker looked down at the bar and clenched his fists as hard as he could. He stood straight up and looked around at the other people. He reached back and stretched, and swiftly brought his right hand down, clutching the handle of the flintlock pistol, and pressed the barrel against the man’s lower back. He then stepped directly behind the man, blocking the pistol from view.

  “Outside, now,” he whispered.

  The man was very tense. He glared back at Ryker. “Who are you?” he asked angrily.

  Ryker pressed the gun barrel harder against the man’s back. “Outside,” he repeated. He led the man out the door, into the dark alley, and slammed him against the wall. “Who are you?” Ryker demanded. He held the gun against the back of the man’s head. “Why did you kill him?”

  The man snickered. “I don’t believe that concerns you.”

  Ryker turned the man around and jammed the barrel of the pistol into the man’s gunshot wound. The bandages ripped and blood poured down the man’s arm.

  The killer grunted, and then laughed again. “You really don’t want to get in the middle of this.”

  Ryker jammed the barrel harder. “Get in the middle of what?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  The man smiled. “Raven,” he whispered and then grabbed Ryker’s hand. He shoved the barrel of the gun into his mouth and forced Ryker to pull the trigger. The gun fired. Blood, brain, and skull fragments sprayed onto the wall and onto Ryker’s face. The man went limp and fell to the ground with a thud.

  Ryker stared wide-eyed at the bloody mess on the ground. He slowly stepped back and dropped the pistol. He didn’t know what to do. He looked at the door to the pub, and then back at the bloody mess that lay before him.

  He opened the door to the pub. The patrons continued business as usual; the noise from their chatter overpowered the gunshot.

  Celia looked back at Ryker and screamed. The rest of the pub glanced and stared at him. It was an uncommon sight to have a blood-soaked man walk into such a classy institution.

  Ryker drew his pistol and charged into the pub. He grabbed Celia and held the pistol out over her shoulder. Her buyer charged at them, but Ryker fired his revolver.

  The buyer cried out as the bullet pierced his shoulder. He stumbled backward and fell onto a table.

  “Everyone, just get back,” Ryker commanded.

  The entire pub stared at him as he and Celia backed out. Ryker slammed the door and Celia gasped as she looked at the dead body. She covered her face with her hand. “What happened?” she asked, her voice muffled.

  “I really don’t know,” Ryker answered. He pulled his goggles do
wn, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her through the alley, using the thermal vision to help him see in the darkness.

  “Where are we going?” Celia asked. Her voice was shaky with fear.

  “Back to my lab. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t think it’s good.”

  They exited the alley and ran into Ryker’s lab. Ryker slammed the door and locked it. “Do you think anyone from there will be able to recognize me?” he asked as he took off his specs and wiped the blood from his face with a rag.

  “I’m not sure,” Celia answered. “People like that generally don’t go out much. I don’t think you have too much to worry about.”

  “How did you get in there?” Ryker asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she answered. She looked down at her restraints.

  Ryker opened a large, gray toolbox and removed a large pair of bolt cutters. He cut the chain, allowing her to separate her arms. “I left here, and the next thing I knew I was cuffed in the back of that pub.” She paused. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but what were you doing there?” She slid up the bottom of her skirt and removed a small piece of leather with a black band around it from a strap around her upper thigh. She slid out two thin pieces of metal—about three inches long—from under the band. Within seconds, she picked the cuffs and they clanged loudly as she dropped them on the floor.

  “Something strange is going on,” Ryker answered. “That bloody mess in the alley back there killed some guy. Creator Desmond, I believe was his name. I tracked the killer to that pub, and also happened to find you.”

  “I guess I’ll consider myself lucky,” She answered.

  “That’s not everything, though,” Ryker said. “Before the killer killed himself—”

  “You mean you didn’t do that?” she interrupted.

  “No,” Ryker answered shortly. “Before he killed himself, he said ‘Raven,’ but I have no idea what it means.”

  “You don’t think he was just talking about a bird, do you?”

  “Unlikely. Come with me, I have more to show you.” Ryker led her up the stairs and over to his desk. “I found this communicator on the inventor’s body. It’s from the League of Inventors. I’ve heard of a lot of people in the League of Inventors, but I’ve never heard of this Creator Desmond. Another inventor called on it, too, and I had no idea who he was, either.”

  “That is strange.”

  Ryker’s face was stern. “He mentioned something called Project Spear.”

  “Spear?” she questioned.

  Ryker looked at her. “Have you heard of it?” He stepped closer.

  “It sounds familiar. I had a client a few weeks ago. He got a call and I think I overheard him mention it.”

  “What is his name?”

  “I have no idea. We have a no-name policy.”

  Ryker sighed. “You sure are professional for a prostitute.” He leaned against his desk.

  Celia smiled. “Where did that top hat come from?” she asked. She picked it up and skillfully flipped it between her hands.

  “I got it from the dead inventor. I didn’t even realize I was still carrying it when I came back here.”

  She set the hat down and grabbed the communicator from Ryker’s desk. She slid a hand over the League of Inventors L on the front of it. “Do you recognize it?” Ryker asked. He watched her as she looked at the communicator.

  She flipped it open, slid out the side panel, and then closed it. “Nope,” she said, and handed it back to him.

  “I’d better talk to Wendell about it,” Ryker said.

  “Are you sure he would know anything about it? He’s not really well connected.”

  Ryker looked at her for a moment. “He’s a gnome, and gnomes know all about the inventing world.”

  Celia shrugged. “I wish you the best of luck,” she said. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. She turned around and walked toward the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” Ryker asked curiously.

  She stopped and turned her head; her long, black hair flipped over her right shoulder. “I have some people to talk to.”

  “Another client? Wouldn’t you rather stay here? At least if you’re here I can protect you from being sold again.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Celia assured him. She smiled, walked down the stairs and left the lab.

  Ryker took out his communicator, slid open the side panel and selected Wendell’s serial number. He pressed a button and his screen flickered as it attempted to reach Wendell’s communicator.

  A few moments later, Wendell’s face appeared on the screen. He looked half-asleep. “What are you doing calling me at this hour?” he snapped angrily. He rubbed his eyes and groaned.

  “You have to come over. We have a lot to discuss.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Wendell whined.

  “People are dead, and someone sold Celia. But I got her back. You need to get over here as soon as possible.”

  Wendell stared at Ryker for a moment, sighed, and the screen flickered and went black.

  Ryker closed his communicator and set it down. He stared at the glowing generator on the left side of the room. It was about four feet in diameter, and had steel metal bars around it attached to the ceiling and the floor to protect it from foreign objects. In a way, the dark green glow it generated calmed him. He took a deep breath as he tried to sort out all the confusion of what had just happened in the past few hours.

  Something was going on, and he had the feeling he wouldn’t be getting a lot of sleep until he figured it out. He looked at the clock in his left palm. 4:46, he thought. Dawn was approaching, and it was almost time for his lab’s daily maintenance. He hoped he would still be able to complete the maintenance without the interference of whatever madness was taking root in London.

  Chapter 4

  “So, why are we getting involved with this?” Wendell snapped. He had arrived just before six o’clock, hung over and exhausted.

  “You’re telling me you’re not intrigued by what this Project Spear could be? Come on, Wendell. We’re some of the top inventors in London!”

  “Yeah, too bad no one knows about us,” he grumbled. “I wanted to join the League of Inventors,” Wendell said shortly. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on his shoulder against the wall.

  “Please don’t bring that up again, Wendell. You know it wouldn’t work out with us there.”

  “And just why not?” Wendell snapped.

  Ryker sighed and rubbed his forehead. “We don’t belong in a place like that. They’re so wrapped up in the politics of inventing that they forget about the mechanics behind it. Do you have any idea how many failed ideas and near-meltdowns they’ve had? They’re so worried about who is in charge, next of kin, and who the best inventor is, that their work is suffering. Who knows how soon until they blow up the city.”

  Wendell flung his hands into the air, “So why don’t we go in and fix it?”

  “We’re not having this discussion now,” Ryker answered matter-of-factly. “There are too many questions that are still unanswered.”

  “Don’t you remember what happened last time you meddled in someone else's affairs?" Wendell faced Ryker and stepped closer. “You nearly got yourself killed over some girl.”

  “She’s not just some girl!” Ryker exclaimed. “Celia is very important to me.”

  “She’s a whore!” Wendell shouted.

  Ryker grabbed Wendell by the shirt, picked him up and slammed him against the wall. A framed blueprint of Ryker’s generator fell from the wall and cracked as it struck the floor. Ryker glared at Wendell, fire burning in his eyes. He breathed heavily through clenched teeth.

  “Put me down,” Wendell demanded. His stubby legs kicked in the air.

  Ryker glared at him for a moment longer, and then released the gnome.

  Wendell grunted as he crashed onto the floor. He watched a moment as Ryker walked over to his desk and planted his hands firmly on it, his head hung low. “I’m sorry, Ryke
r,” Wendell said quietly. He walked over to the desk and climbed up onto it, dangling his feet over the edge. “Let me see the communicator.”

  Ryker slid it across the desk into Wendell’s hand.

  Wendell looked at it closely. He flipped it open, slid out the panel and looked through all the past serial numbers. “I don’t recognize any of these,” he said. “Did Celia say anything about it?”

  “She only said a previous client of hers had one like it, and mentioned Project Spear. But she doesn’t know the guy’s name.”

  “Well, I guess there’s only one thing left to do,” Wendell said. He pushed a black button, initiating a call with the last caller.

  “What are you doing?” Ryker asked.

  An old man’s face appeared on the screen. “Who are you?” the man asked. He held his communicator close, making his face very large in Wendell’s screen.

  “My name is Wendell, and I’m an inventor, like you.”

  The old man chuckled. “You certainly are no inventor like me.”

  “Oh?” Wendell questioned. “How so?”

  “You have no idea the magnitude of the inventions that I have assisted in creating. You’d better stick to creating mechanical canaries.”

  Wendell smiled. “Perhaps you’d like to show me sometime?” he asked. His screen flickered once and went black.

  “Good idea,” Ryker joked.

  Wendell closed the communicator. “Well, seeing as know I know what he looks like, we can just pay a visit to their headquarters, and if I see him, I can call him out.”

  “What makes you think they’re going to let us in?” Ryker asked.

  “It’s like you said, they’re concerned about politics. If we, a pair of wealthy investors, show up looking to possibly invest our millions in their work, they’ll beg us to take a look around their labs.”

  “We don’t have millions, and they know what you look like, too,” Ryker said.

  “It’s like you said, they’re wrapped up in their politics. Even the mention of millions should get them drooling. You also forget that most gnomes look quite similar. How do you know I’m actually me?” he joked.