The Shadow Revolution: Crown & Key

by Clay Griffith

  Even though the hour was very late, there were patients milling about outside. To Kate’s surprise, there were even children, at least five young boys playing with a ball and a cherublike young girl with blond hair playing idly with a doll. All of them were dressed in ragged and worn clothes.

  Kate’s expression changed to one of curiosity. “Why are they outside?”

  “They’re werewolves,” Malcolm said calmly.

  “What?” Kate remained focused on the children, trying to ignore the agonies behind her. “All of them?”

  Simon crowded the small window. “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen that girl before. And there’s that.” Malcolm nodded to the far left, where at least ten hulking werewolves stalked the shadows under the wall. One beast strode right between the children, who hardly blinked, although the girl regarded it a bit cautiously, turning away abruptly to stare at the door. Kate swore they locked eyes before Malcolm shoved her out of the way.

  “Blast it!” He pulled his pistols. “Get ready.”

  No werewolves burst through the door. They breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn’t been seen.

  Malcolm jammed the pistols in the holsters. “Let’s get this bloody thing done before we’re rooted out.”

  Simon went back to the processing cell. He waved them inside before closing the door and turning up the gas fixture on the wall. Malcolm stuffed the space under the door with straw to prevent light spilling out.

  “Hurry, Kate,” Simon urged.

  Kate reached into her satchel and pulled out the vials of botanical poison. Her hand hesitated. She said quietly, “I didn’t expect there to be children.”

  “They’re not children,” was Malcolm’s sharp retort. “They’re beasts.”

  Kate turned to the Scotsman. “She was playing with a doll like any other child, like Imogen.”

  “That child is a werewolf, and she will tear out your heart and eat it given half a chance.” Malcolm turned angrily to Simon. “Tell her!”

  Simon’s hand touched Kate’s shoulder. “There’s no time for anything else. We have only a small window of opportunity here. We dare not walk away with so much at stake. Your sister’s safety, not to mention all of London’s.”

  Kate drew in a deep breath and handed Simon the vials. “I know.” Her tone was laced with bitterness.

  Simon had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t understood then. She had only believed that all werewolves were adults with nothing but murder on their minds. None of what she had seen here changed her focus, only her heart. It broke for what she was about to do. Gripping one of the last vials in her satchel so tight her knuckles turned white, she poisoned the supply of wulfsyl, and may God have mercy on all of their souls.

  “It’s done,” Simon announced. “Let’s go.” He moved to the door. With quick strokes of ink he used the transparency spell to make sure the way was clear, which it was as far as they could see in the limited lighting out in the hall. Scrubbing out the scribed spell, Simon opened the door and went outside. He nodded, then stopped as his foot hit something. It was a doll. His head jerked up, and Kate’s eyes widened.

  “Run,” he told her.

  They heard the airing-grounds door opening. Malcolm pulled his pistols. The sound of people filling the hallway behind them made the center of Kate’s shoulders twitch. A howl broke the chilled air, loud and reverberating in the tight confines. Kate thought she caught a glimmer of trepidation in Simon, but she also sensed his determination as he pressed her forward. The iron door was just ahead.

  The baying followed them, growing in concert as more voices were lent to the chase. Kate lengthened her stride to keep up with Simon and Malcolm. She slammed against the unyielding iron.

  “Hurry,” she cried, fighting the panic of being trapped with a pack of werewolves ready to tear them apart. Simon was saying something, but not to her. He was calling the strength to his limbs.

  Malcolm stood, feet apart and facing back, his pistols aimed. When the pack rounded the corner, a mass of fur and rage, Malcolm opened fire with a barrage that ripped through the front ranks.

  Simon put his strength to the bars and they separated with a groan. Kate went through first, then Simon. “Malcolm! It’s done. Come on!”

  Pistols spent, Malcolm spun and ran, diving headfirst through the widened bars. Simon quickly grabbed the bars to bend them back into place. The snarling mob rushed him, and Kate knew he wouldn’t get the bars closed in time. Her hand came up with a vial that she threw in front of the charging werewolves. It smashed into a thousand glass shards on the floor, throwing up a low mist that quickly settled to the ground. The floor turned to black treacle and the beasts got stuck in the tarry mess, feet holding so firm that several toppled shoulder and chest to the blackened ground. Simon was wrenching the bars together when a second rank of berserk werewolves leapt over their trapped comrades and flung themselves against the iron.

  Malcolm grabbed Simon’s collar and yanked him out of harm’s way as long, hairy arms and savage jaws tore at the spot he had just occupied.

  “Thanks, old boy,” Simon panted.

  Malcolm grunted.

  The trio retreated quickly, leaving the snarling beasts raging at the door. As they ran, the hard stone floor became carpeted, and the hall sprouted tables and plants and portraits of squires with prize horses. Once again, they no longer seemed to be in a house of horror. But as they turned the corner for the front entranceway, they spotted figures coming toward them.

  Dr. White walked ahead of a bare-breasted female patient. One of the horrid white homunculi held the feeble, drooling woman upright. A step behind the doctor was a gigantic blond woman dressed incredibly in a leather cuirass. Her eyes narrowed, and she pushed past Dr. White. She smiled, and hissed, “MacFarlane.”

  The doctor’s gaze locked on Kate in astonishment. He barked a command to the creature, and the homunculus dropped the woman, who crumpled to the floor. The thing loped forward, jumping onto the wall and propelling itself past Gretta ever faster to its quarry.

  Simon grabbed Kate’s hand and they fled in the other direction. Kate didn’t know where the exit was, but she could only pray Simon did. She stumbled on the carpeted corridor, and Simon pulled her up. Then Malcolm also tripped and nearly went down. The sound of grating metal filled the air. The worn runner sagged in many spots, then it began to rise and tremble with life. White arms appeared from under the edges of the long rug, and shapes that weren’t true arms but closer to tendrils or claws emerged. Moaning and wet, sloughing sounds accompanied twisted shoulders and heads pushing their way into the dim lamplight. Mouths gnashed at Kate and she tore her ankle free of grasping fingers.

  “He’s set them all free.” Simon stepped on the back of one figure as Malcolm vaulted a homunculus reaching out for him.

  Mutilated bodies rose slowly, fighting to stay aloft on numb and misshapen limbs. Kate drew her short sword and slashed out, tearing through soft flesh and chalky bones. Simon elbowed a horrid thing into the wall. Malcolm slammed the butt of his pistol into a head, dropping a homunculus to the floor. Ever more arms reached out for them. The hallway seemed to be constricting in a crowd of shambling white things. Only the creatures’ confused state saved the three as they continued to shove and batter their way through.

  In the distance, a monstrous howl pounded through the asylum. Gretta, calling her pack.

  “Stay close!” Malcolm shouted as he ducked under a set of long claws. “Don’t get separated.”

  Kate plunged her blade into a dripping figure that reached for Simon. She kicked the thing aside, nearly stumbled, but kept staggering forward. Simon grabbed her and pulled her onward, swiping back with his own sword, drawing a warm spatter of ooze from a white man-thing. Something exploded near her head, and Malcolm appeared, shoving her and Simon past him. The Scotsman fired again to cover as Simon pulled her to the left.

  It was a dead end.

  She spun around, ready to face the horrors that were
coming for them. Malcolm virtually fell around the corner, hitting the wall. He was covered in dribbling whitish excretion. He reloaded and snapped the breeches of his pistols shut. He jumped back out into the junction and opened fire, peppering the corridor with shot. He pulled back around the corner.

  “I hate to tell you but there are dozens of the things.” He quickly counted the remaining cartridges in his coat pockets. “And more beasties on the way.”

  Simon hefted a long table in his arms. “I’ll try to batter our way back to the main corridor. And we’ll fight our way out from there.”

  Kate didn’t bother to think how impossible that was since she could hear the damp shuffling sounds of the homunculi horde approaching. She inspected the vials that she had left—a paltry arsenal to fight an army.

  The cell door next to them suddenly opened. Malcolm’s pistols jerked up and trained on the dark entrance. It was the girl who had been playing with the doll. She wore no expression of surprise. It was as if she had meant to be there. She gestured for them to follow her inside the empty cell.

  Malcolm straightened his arm toward the new arrival, his finger about to squeeze the trigger. Kate placed herself between the hunter and the girl.

  “Given our choices,” she told Malcolm, “I’d rather go with her. There’s nowhere else to go in any case.”

  Malcolm held his fire with a suspicious grimace. The girl took Kate’s hand and tugged her inside the room. Simon followed the two into the cell. Malcolm was fast on his heels. The faintest of light came from a grate in the floor. The young girl smiled at Kate, then shoved Malcolm aside so she could reach the door. She manipulated the lock on the outside and slammed the door shut.

  “It’s locked now,” she said. “It will take them a few minutes to get in.”

  She fell to her hands and knees and grasped the iron grate. Simon helped her lift it. Beneath was a tunnel of dirt and stone.

  The girl said, “Come with me.”

  Malcolm exclaimed to his colleagues, “She gave us away before.”

  The girl looked angry. “I did not!” Then she crawled in and disappeared. Kate made to follow her when Malcolm roughly pulled her back.

  “Are you mad? She could be leading us straight to slaughter!”

  “Do you have another plan?” Kate retorted, her hands on her hips, her cheeks flushing.

  Simon knelt next to the hole. “I’ll go first.”

  “You’re agreeing to this?” Malcolm stammered with barely restrained fury.

  “Yes,” was his simple reply. And then he was gone.

  Kate pleaded with the hunter. “If I’m wrong, you can boast to me later.”

  “That victory will do me no good from the grave.” He lowered Kate into the dark hole and followed after her.

  Kate was on her hands and knees in a tunnel that was only about three feet high. She couldn’t make out much in the darkness, barely even Simon’s form, but she could hear the sound of shuffling just ahead. She hurried to catch up, afraid to lose them in case the tunnel system was vast. The floor was rough under her hands with sharp stones and debris digging into the soft skin of her palms. Her hair brushed the roof, bringing dirt down around her.

  Suddenly she bumped into Simon’s feet and let out a soft exclamation.

  “Is Malcolm with you?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  “I’m here,” the Scotsman growled.

  “We’re turning left,” Simon whispered. “Stay close.”

  A few minutes later, she could no longer be sure of their direction as they had veered sharply a few times. Gradually her vision lightened and the walls around her came into view. She wished they hadn’t. There were tiny animal bones everywhere. Had the child been eating them or had they just perished in this horrible tunnel? Spiders and beetles crawled over her hands. She tried not to think about them on her clothes and in her hair. She shuddered but kept going, following Simon.

  Suddenly he stopped and his frame went upright. His legs disappeared. She hurried forward in case he needed help. When her head popped out into the air, she was surrounded by a grass lawn. Simon reached down and helped her out. Malcolm came up soon after.

  Kate saw the towering structure of Bedlam close behind her. They were in one of the other airing grounds. However, it was empty and quiet.

  “Child, why would you want to help us?” Simon asked the girl.

  She shrugged, almost coyly, but then brightened. “You seem nice. Nicer than everyone in there. They’re mean and horrible. And it’s getting worse. Gretta has brought in all the little packs from around London and shoved us all in here so she can keep an eye on them.”

  “Why don’t you leave them?”

  “I can’t. They’ll know.”

  “They’ll know you helped us.”

  She smiled. “No they won’t. My scent is all over this place. I come here all the time to be alone.”

  “What’s your name?” Simon asked.

  “Charlotte.” She pointed at the high wall. “Can you get over that?”

  He nodded. “Yes, we can. Thank you for your help, Charlotte.”

  The girl blushed under Simon’s sweet, handsome gaze and she rocked back and forth as if she were at a party. She turned to peer at Kate and seemed distraught. “Your beautiful dress is a mess.”

  Kate laughed. “Luckily I have others.”

  “I did too once.” Excitement sparked in the girl’s eyes and she sighed wistfully.

  Malcolm strode between them, heading for the wall. “Stop jabbering and come on.”

  The child stuck out her tongue at the brusque hunter. “You’re welcome.”

  Kate touched Charlotte on the shoulder, then hugged her. “Thank you. Please be careful.” And then Kate stared up at Simon, remembering what they had done to the wulfsyl. Her heart sank. She shook her head at Simon, whose lips were in a grim line. She looked back at the girl. “Don’t take the wulfsyl.”

  The girl looked surprised. “Why?”

  “Just don’t. It’s our secret, all right?”

  “Bloody hell!” cursed Malcolm, separating the two of them. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Saving her life.” Kate was steadfast.

  Malcolm snarled at her, then regarded the child, whose large brown eyes lifted to him. “The wulfsyl is fine, lass. It’s delicious. Have as much as you want.”

  The girl stared hard at him for a moment, then looked at Kate. “I think I’ll not.”

  Simon was already atop the wall and had bent the spikes on the cheval de frise back. He reached a hand down to Kate, who shook her head, afraid of what Malcolm might do. She waited until Malcolm spun on his heel and clambered up the wall with Simon’s help. Then the two men reached down for Kate. She rose beside them.

  She turned to wave farewell, but the girl was already gone. Kate’s stomach knotted at what she had done. The thought of murdering the child who had so innocently helped them, no matter what the girl truly was, seemed too cruel. She couldn’t face the judgment for such an act.

  They dropped to the ground on George’s Street.

  “What’s done is done, Kate,” Simon told her as they ran toward the next street over. “We need to get back to Hartley Hall. Dr. White saw us. I suspect your home is about to have visitors.”

  Malcolm veered away. Simon stopped and stared after him.

  “You’re not abandoning us, are you?” Kate asked.

  “I bloody well should after that fiasco,” Malcolm spat, but he shook his head, making his queue dance in the moonlight. “I’m going to fetch more ordnance. I’ve had Penny Carter working up some special devices. We’re going to need all of it before this is over.”

  “You’ll meet us at Hartley Hall then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t be late,” Simon instructed.

  “Don’t be dead.”

  Simon grinned. Then he grabbed Kate’s hand and ran toward the Anstruther coach, which they had left a few blocks away.

 
; “I’m sorry,” she told him as she fell into the seat and the carriage kicked into high speed.

  “No, you’re not.” Before she could reply, he waved her off. “I understand why you did it, Kate. As I said, there’s no one to judge us except ourselves.”

  Kate leaned forward and buried her head in her hands. Simon placed a firm hand on her shoulder and left it there to comfort her. She swallowed her dismay, clinging tightly to Simon’s resolve.

  Despite the wee morning hour, heavy freight wagons creaked along and merchants pushed carts rattling with pots and cutlery. Malcolm reached the river, shoving through gangs of wanderers. The northern side of the river was a bit less busy and some streets were actually deserted, a rare thing in crowded London.

  The Scotsman felt as if chilled fingernails were scraping along the back of his neck. He turned to the bustling bridge. His trained tracker’s eye saw several men who slipped in and out of sight, moving through the crowd with more purpose than most of the early-hour street folk. They could have been laborers on the way to work; they could have been thieves seeking unwary victims. All the same, Malcolm walked faster.

  He made for the decrepit Devil’s Acre, hoping to lose any pursuit in that warren of ratholes. For several blocks, he walked at a normal clip to prevent any shadowers from increasing their own pace. Suddenly he spun and bolted into an alley. He dodged piles of refuse and leapt over a wall, where he paused to get his bearings. A tremendous chorus of howls rose, singing his death. Sweat broke out on his brow and he started to run again. A scrabble of claws sounded behind him and his legs pumped all the harder. His arms reached around his chest and pulled his pistols.

  A shape loomed on his right and he fired. In the flash of the pistol, Malcolm saw the horrific visage of a werewolf. The ball struck the creature in the face, shoving it back into the wall. Malcolm continued to run. Another werewolf leapt past its dead comrade and gave chase. It virtually climbed the walls, bounding from side to side and exploding forward, landing just beside Malcolm on a pile of crates. Its cruel jaws shut on the sleeve of the Scotsman’s greatcoat, ripping it. Malcolm didn’t stumble but aimed and shot it in the chest.