London Darkness- Infernal Inventions

by Christopher Stocking

  “I’ve had plenty of experience with them,” Ryker replied casually. He glanced around the shop, observing the large amount of weaponry mounted on the walls. “You have quite a selection of guns here.”

  “See anything you like?” the shopkeeper asked.

  Ryker shrugged. “I may be back. Do you have any ammo for that?” he asked, motioning his head toward his pistol.

  “Let me see what I ’ave in the back.” The shopkeeper walked into a back room. The sound of shuffling boxes and ammunition rolling across the floor rang out through the shop. The shopkeeper returned a few moments later and set a small white box on the counter. He opened it to reveal twenty revolver rounds. “Will this do?” he asked.

  Ryker opened the box and loaded his revolver with six bullets. He spun the cylinder and flipped it back into its locked position. “This’ll do just fine,” he answered.

  “That’ll be five coins.”

  Ryker looked at the shopkeeper a moment, surprised. He pulled five coins from his pocket and set them on the counter. “Pretty cheap, eh? You’re not selling me bad ammo, are you?”

  “No sir,” the shopkeeper answered with a smile. “You look like a man who knows his guns and uses his ammo. I expect I’ll be seeing you soon.”

  Ryker smiled and nodded. He grabbed the box of revolver rounds and left the shop.

  It took him close to two hours to reach the northern side of the city. This particular part had a reputation for housing less-than-reputable folk. The kind of people who might stab a newcomer for looking at them the wrong way.

  Ryker found the dead-end street and cautiously walked down it. There were no gas lamps on this street, and even though it was just before midday, this street seemed to be significantly darker than the rest of the city. He passed several alleyways where ominous sounds erupted. They were the sounds of fist fights, and the occasional gunshot.

  The last house on the right was surprisingly well maintained for the area it was located. However, it was certainly no elegant manor. Some of the bricks were chipped and broken. A shadowy figure walked from window to window, and would stop and glare out at Ryker.

  Ryker swung open the wooden gate and walked along the weed-infested walkway. He looked at the rusting steel door knocker in the shape of a gargoyle and slowly grabbed it. Rusty flakes fell off the knocker as it pounded against the wooden door.

  A moment later, the door opened a crack and a golden-colored eye peeked out. “You’ve got a darkness following you,” a raspy woman’s voice spoke.

  Ryker looked back, but saw nothing. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  A bony but strong hand grabbed Ryker’s shirt and pulled him inside. The door slammed behind him and he was shoved against it. The golden eyes were close to his face, staring intensely. “Who are you?” the woman asked.

  The house was dark, so it was hard for Ryker to make out any of the woman’s details. He could only tell from her voice that she sounded to be nearly eighty years old, and might possibly be suffering a pretty nasty throat infection.

  “My name is Ryker,” he answered quietly. He squinted to try and get a better view of the woman, but all he could see was her burning golden eyes.

  “Who sent you?” she snapped.

  “A friend of mine, Celia,” he answered.

  The woman released Ryker’s shirt and took a step back. Then, in what seemed like an impossibly short amount of time, the woman struck a match and lit a candle mounted on the wall.

  The candle illuminated the room, and the woman’s face. Ryker’s eyes widened when he gazed upon the woman. Her face was young. No more than eighteen years old.

  “Why has she sent you to me?” she asked in her misleading voice.

  “To be honest, I’m not really sure,” Ryker answered.

  The woman looked at him for a moment, and then walked into the next room where she lit several other wall-mounted candles. She sat on a large red pillow at the back of the room and looked at Ryker. “What are you waiting for?” she asked impatiently. “Come in here and sit.”

  Ryker walked forward, half-expecting there to be a trap or a creature ready to lunge out at him. The woman motioned for him to sit on a black pillow across from her. Ryker sat and waited.

  The woman grabbed a small wooden stool next to her and set it between them. She then set a black candle in the center of the stool, and laid out three cards. The card on her left had a picture of a woman lying in a casket. The card in the middle had a baby wrapped in blue blankets, and the card on her right had a skull and crossbones. She lit the candle and held her hands out, palms down, over the cards. She then began to hum quietly in her raspy voice.

  As she did this, Ryker looked at her. Her jet-black hair hung down over her shoulders. She wore a loose-fitting, ordinary black dress, and a necklace decorated with rubies and onyx stones. She raised her hands into the air with her palms facing toward Ryker. Each palm had a tattoo on it—half of a coiled snake. She put the sides of her hands together, making the coiled snake whole.

  “I sense a dark future for you,” she finally said as she lowered her hands to her lap.

  Ryker looked at the cards, confused. “What do you see?” he asked curiously.

  She held a hand over the card on her left. “The death card. Someone very close to you has, or will die soon.” She picked up the card and held the corner over the candle. The card burst into flames and then disappeared in a flash. She held her hand over the center card. “The new life card. New life will grace you.” She held the card over the candle, and it burst into flames and disappeared. She held her hand over the final card. “The card of expiring. You will have a hand in someone’s death.” She held the card over the fire, and, just like the first two, it burst into flames and disappeared in a flash.

  “Can you tell me anything else?” Ryker asked.

  The woman eyed him carefully. “Everything is not always as it seems.” She blew on the candle, dousing the flame. “Two death cards are a bad omen. Your life is going to become very difficult.

  My life already is difficult, he thought. “Who are you?”

  The woman hesitated. “Someone,” she answered. “No one. I am everyone, but I cease to exist.”

  Ryker watched her. She was strange. Very strange. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your—”

  “One doesn’t receive my gifts for free,” she interrupted.

  “What does that mean?” Ryker asked. He was growing frustrated. “Do you have a name?”

  “I have many names, although I doubt you’ve heard any of them. But, you may call me Ishbelza. Ishbelza Raven.”

  Ryker flashed back to the man with the flintlock pistol. The murderer. Raven? He thought. Surely it was just a coincidence.

  “Ishbelza?” Ryker questioned. “Where are you from?”

  “Such things are none of your concern,” she answered plainly. Her eyes began to roll into the back of her head.

  “Are you alright?” Ryker asked, alarmed.

  “Perfectly fine. But I cannot say the same for Lucinda Gregor.”

  “Who is that? What is the matter with her?”

  “I believe murder is the culprit.”

  Ryker slowly stood. “How do you know that?”

  “One doesn’t receive my gifts for free. The title Creator Gregor should hold some meaning to you.”

  “Another inventor is dead? How can you possibly know that?”

  “One doesn’t receive my—”

  “Shut up! Where is the body?” Ryker was yelling now.

  Ishbelza’s eyes returned to normal and she cocked her head to the side. Her golden eyes faded to black. “Check behind the Magistrate’s office. You won’t need the map, however. The odor will lead you. Go now. Go. Time is wasting.” She leaned closer to Ryker. Her black eyes turned fire-red. “Go!” she screamed. Her voice echoed in Ryker’s head.

  Ryker jumped back and Ishbelza began to laugh. Her head rolled back and she lay against her pillow. Ryker ran from the
house and slammed the door behind him. He jumped over the wooden gate and sprinted down the street. His head was spinning with confusion and fear. He had no idea exactly what kind of person Ishbelza was. Was she even human? He’d never seen anyone act in the manner she had. Although he hated to admit it, hated to concede to fear, she scared him.

  The Magistrate’s wasn’t far from where he was. No more than five miles. Ryker sniffed the air as he ran. The stench of death lingered in his nostrils. His skin crawled and formed goose bumps.

  As he neared the office, he was forced to cover his nose with his arm to keep from vomiting. He drew his revolver and walked behind the Magistrate’s office.

  The body sat propped against the side of the brick building. A pool of blood surrounded it and formed a small stream that neared the street. She hadn’t been dead for long.

  Ryker knelt in front of her. She had a gunshot wound in her throat, and another in her forehead. Blood still poured from both wounds. “Who is doing this?” Ryker whispered.

  He searched her body and found another League communicator. He flipped open the panel, but there was no history of incoming or outgoing calls. He dropped the communicator, and then something caught his eye. There were seven marks written in blood in the wall behind her shoulder. Three of the marks had a slash mark through them.

  ***

  Ryker pounded on Celia’s door. “Celia!” he shouted. The door swung open and Celia stood in her “work” clothes. “What is it, Ryker? I’m about to go to work.”

  Ryker rushed passed her and closed the door. “Another inventor was murdered.”

  “What?” Celia questioned. She pulled Ryker over to a chair and sat across from it. “What happened?”

  “I went to see your friend, Ishbelza. By the way, she’s a bloody lunatic. She gave me some kind of reading, and then told me that another inventor was dead. So I found her—the dead inventor—and there were seven marks on the wall, written in blood, and three of them were crossed off. I’ve heard stories and gossip about there being seven Head Inventors who oversee everything at the League. Who work on projects that have certain moral issues. It’s beginning to look like it’s true.”

  Celia looked worried. “What’s going to happen if all the inventors are dead?”

  “There’s a pretty good chance we’ll fall into another dark age. These are some of the best inventing minds in the world. Or so I’ve heard, anyway.”

  “But you always talked about how you’re a better inventor than all of them.”

  “There’s no time for that, Celia. Innocent people are being murdered.”

  “Are they really so innocent?” Celia asked. “I mean, after what we found? What they did to those people? Those were innocent people, Ryker.”

  “Look, we’ll figure out just who is the bigger bad guy later. We need to figure out who is behind these murders. We have no clues so far, and the killer could be out there right now, plotting their next victim.”

  “Maybe we should pay another visit to the League Headquarters,” Celia suggested. “Maybe they’ve figured something out.”

  Ryker hesitated. “Celia, how exactly do you know Ishbelza?”

  Celia sighed. “Her real name is Victoria. And she’s my sister.”

  Chapter 11

  Ryker and Celia walked into the main lobby of the League Headquarters, and the receptionist immediately tensed.

  Ryker cast a dark glance at her as they approached the desk. “Look,” Ryker said. “I’m not here to hurt you, or to cause any more trouble. There are bigger issues at hand.”

  The receptionist glared at him. “What is your business here then?” she snapped.

  “Has Creator Gregor reported in yet today?”

  The receptionist looked through some papers on her desk. “No, she hasn’t. But she usually doesn’t get here for another hour, why?”

  “She’s dead,” Celia stated.

  The receptionist narrowed her eyes at Celia and Ryker. “You’re lying,” she said accusingly.

  “Hardly,” Ryker stated firmly.

  The receptionist leaned forward and her face was consumed by sadness. “How can this be? Why is this happening? Why is everyone being killed?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Ryker answered. “Is Shamus here?”

  “He doesn’t see to visitors.”

  “He’d better see to us. His life could be in danger.”

  The receptionist looked at them for a moment. Tears lingered in her eyes. She took out a communicator and made a call.

  “What is it Livvy, I’m very busy,” an Irish accented voice said angrily.

  “There are two people here to see you. It’s very important.”

  “Look, Livvy, I don’t have time for this.”

  “Shamus, for once just listen to your wife,” Livvy shouted.

  Shamus sighed and his face disappeared from the communicator.

  A few moments later, a trap door next to the front door of the building opened, and Shamus climbed out. He approached Ryker and Celia and observed them. “Well, what is it?” he said angrily. Steam shot out from the small pipe on his mechanical arm as he lowered it.

  “Shamus,” Ryker began.

  “What?” Shamus snapped. “Come on, out with it!”

  “Lucinda Gregor is dead,” Ryker said quickly.

  Shamus’s expression softened, and he took a small step back. “Another one of my inventors is dead? How?”

  “Same as the others,” Ryker answered. “I found the first two bodies as well.”

  “You?” Shamus asked. He clenched his teeth and grabbed Ryker by the neck with his mechanical arm. The powerful fingers choked him.

  “Let go of him!” Celia shouted.

  “How do I know you didn’t kill them?” Shamus screamed. He slammed Ryker against a wall.

  “I… didn’t... kill… them,” Ryker struggled to say.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  Ryker choked and his eyes began to roll back. He grabbed the mechanical arm and tried to pull the metal fingers from his throat.

  Celia flung her fist into Shamus’s side.

  Shamus grunted and released Ryker, who fell onto the floor gasping for breath.

  “He didn’t kill them” Celia said firmly.

  Ryker returned to his feet, clutching and rubbing his neck. He walked over to Shamus and helped him up. “I didn’t kill them,” he said, panting.

  “Fine, you didn’t kill them,” Shamus said. He held his side. “Then who did?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Celia said. She looked up at the wall behind Livvy’s desk. Seven pictures hung in a row. The first two pictures had a red ribbon attached to the bottom of the frame. “Are those all of the Head Inventors here?” she asked, pointing at the pictures.

  “Yes,” Shamus answered. “Looks like we’ll have to put up a bow for Lucinda now, too.”

  Ryker looked at the pictures. “Are they in any particular order?” He asked.

  “They’re in order of experience,” Shamus answered. An aghast expression took over his face. “The bastard is taking out my inventors from the bottom up.”

  “That doesn’t entirely make sense,” Celia said.

  Shamus glanced at her. “I agree,” he said sharply. “They shouldn’t be dead at all.”

  “No, I mean, if it were me, I would kill them from the top down.”

  “Clearly you don’t know much about us,” Shamus said. “The more experienced you are, the better you’re guarded. I’ve got guards around me just about all the time.”

  “Well, we need to figure out how to keep the rest of you safe.”

  “No safer place than here,” Shamus said proudly. “This place is practically impenetrable.” Celia flashed a smile but quickly dismissed it. “They’re all here now. We’ll just have to keep them here.” He turned to Livvy. “Livvy, mass call a code black.”

  Livvy picked up her communicator, pressed a series of buttons, and a click echoed
throughout the headquarters. “Attention inventors. Code black is now in effect. Code black is now in effect.” She turned off her communicator and another click sounded.

  “Everyone come with me,” Shamus said. “You too, Livvy.” They followed Shamus as he locked the main door, and walked down the steps from the trap door. They entered a lounge where two mechanical felines stood guard. They followed Ryker and Celia through the lounge and into a small laboratory. Shamus snapped his fingers twice and the felines exited the lab and returned to the lounge. “This is my personal lab,” Shamus said. “Please, make yourselves comfortable, but don’t, touch, anything.”

  Ryker and Celia sat in two wooden chairs, and Livvy leaned against a counter. “So, do you know of anyone who might have wanted to do the inventors harm?” Ryker asked.

  Shamus laughed. “Who doesn’t want to hurt us? Just about every life-changing invention in the past two hundred years has come from this lab. Jealousy is to be expected.”

  Ryker and Celia glanced at each other, and Livvy sighed. “Alright,” Ryker began. “What can you tell us about Project Spear?”

  Shamus shot a cross look at Ryker. “Who told you about that?” he said angrily. He clenched his mechanical hand and slammed it on the steel table in front of him, creating a large dent.”

  “This place isn’t so impenetrable,” Celia said slyly.

  Shamus stepped forward but Livvy stepped in front of him. “Shamus, relax. Remember, they’re here to help.” She glanced at Ryker and placed her hands on Shamus’s shoulders.

  Shamus sighed and rested his hands on the table. “Originally, the plan was to build a test site. There would be no casualties, no spilled blood.” He paused.

  “But…” Ryker said.

  Shamus stared coldly at his desk. “But, money was tight. We used up a lot of our funding to build the underground lab and to buy the parts for the Spear machines.”

  “I find it hard to believe that the League of Investors had a tough time getting funding for anything,” Ryker said.

  “It’s bloody hard when it’s a secret project that, if failed, would cause the investors to lose millions. Rich investors don’t like losing money. They probably hate it more than we do. We had to dig deep into our own pockets to make this work.” He looked at a framed blueprint of a Spear Bot on his wall. “But, now that it is a success, we’ll make more money than ever. Once we introduce this to the Bobbies and the military, investors will be climbing over each other to throw their money at us.”