The Shadow Revolution: Crown & Key

by Clay Griffith

  “Oi, that’s disgusting!” exclaimed Penny. “But bloody effective!”

  Simon got his feet on dry ground and pulled Malcolm up beside him. He held his injured arm with a grimace.

  “If I get cholera from being down here, I’ll be blaming you.” Malcolm’s thick finger stabbed Simon in the chest.

  “Let’s not argue in front of the children, dear.” Simon pulled out a vial of Kate’s rejuvenating elixir and took a swallow. He waved the others across.

  Malcolm kept a close eye on the water’s surface, while Simon assisted everyone up onto the landing. Luckily there was nothing more hiding in the pool.

  Nick warned, “Drink that elixir sparingly.”

  “Of course,” was Simon’s quick reply. He couldn’t tell his friend just how miserable he felt. Every single one of them was in the same state.

  Nick’s breath was an exasperated huff as he followed after Simon. They moved quickly, aiming east for a quarter of a mile. The catacomb grew wider and the walls still glistened wetly, but the standing water existed only in small pools in the corners. They reached another arched junction where two more tunnels branched away. There was one just to their left, and another across the intersection some twenty yards away. As they came out into the vaulted chamber, everything grew deathly silent save for their own footsteps.

  Low growls brought everyone to a halt. Something shifted in the dark straight ahead in the mouth of the passageway, hiding in the shadows, with breathing loud and throaty. It wasn’t trying to be stealthy. It wanted its prey to know it was there, stalking, hunting.

  Malcolm raised his weapons at the archway straight ahead but resisted the urge to fire blindly into the darkness. Then the sound of breathing could be heard from the closer tunnel to the left as well. Simon turned in that direction.

  Malcolm growled, “Show yourselves, you miserable monsters!”

  “Don’t encourage them,” Simon pointed out, but it was too late.

  Something came rushing from the facing tunnel, colossal and covered in rust-mottled fur, with huge claws and teeth. Malcolm fired as the speeding thing filled his vision. The gunfire was an explosion echoing around them. The beast stumbled to the side, losing its momentum. A second creature leapt, landing with a rumbling thud, its long arms coming forward. The werewolf swatted at Malcolm like he was an annoying pest. The Scotsman dodged under the blow just as Simon slapped his hands together in front of him with a deafening clap of thunder. A force wave punched the werewolves back into their brethren crouched in the dim confines of the tunnel. The other creatures shoved their injured comrades aside and rushed out at the intruders.

  More creatures also poured from the closer tunnel to the left. Simon and his group spread out and took up positions in an attempt to cover one another’s backs as the melee began. Hogarth swung a bone-crushing mace, its pointed tips coated with silver. Each rhythmic swipe connected and drove beasts writhing to the ground.

  Malcolm twisted aside and fired the Lancaster at the base of a werewolf’s skull as it rushed him. The beast flopped to the ground. Penny was at Malcolm’s back and she fired her pistol into the black obsidian orbs that glared up at her, eyes so large that she saw her own diminutive reflection in them.

  Nick’s hands were in constant motion and a combination of flame and frost flew from them. Fur caught fire and the slimy pools turned to slippery ice beneath clawed feet.

  Simon’s sword was out and dancing in the flashes of bright light from Nick’s frenzied spells. The steel struck out at targets like the flicking tongue of a snake. Its blue runic glow burned hot, drawing howls of pain from each beast it touched.

  Then Simon was amazed to catch sight of a familiar face behind the mass of werewolves. It was the girl who had helped them escape Bedlam. Charlotte. She stood inside the tunnel, in human form, her face a conflicted mask. Her large eyes met Simon’s and she reacted in shock, and perhaps shame. She was trembling, but then her features hardened with decision and she transformed. It was an agonizing process, the small form growing larger and darker, her flowery print dress shredding. Her flailing limbs grew longer and her face shifted horribly, reshaping its charming pugnacious appearance into the fearsome countenance of a monster.

  The beast that had been Charlotte answered the howls reverberating in the chamber, but instead of joining her brethren, she collided against them with her claws and teeth. She took advantage of their surprise, jumping from one target to another, tearing and ripping.

  Simon lost sight of her in the chaos, barely dodging a sweep of claws. With a single hand, he grabbed the short, stiff bristles of a nearby werewolf and heaved the creature into the mouth of a tunnel. Then he caught sight of another long snout, filled with row upon row of sharp savage teeth, snapping inches from his head. Charlotte appeared at his side and fell on the werewolf with a tremendous ferocity beyond her smaller stature. She tore at its legs, hamstringing her opponent. Malcolm spun and stabbed the lame werewolf low in the back, twisting his knife. The wounded creature arched with a tremendous howl that made eardrums ache in the narrow confines.

  The Lancaster in his other hand leveled at Charlotte, but Simon seized the barrel and shoved it aside. “No! It’s Charlotte!”

  Another werewolf bowled into the hunter, and he fell prone to the ground. The beast towered over him, a vision of teeth and savagery. Simon slammed his stonelike fist into the side of its head. Blood spurted from its eye and it screamed an unholy sound before backhanding him. The blow hit Simon’s chest and sent him flying against a wall. The beast hurtled toward him, claws extended, vicious mouth agape. It crashed against the magician, but Simon spoke a word and brought both fists down atop the werewolf’s back and, with a sickening snap, crushed its spine.

  Gaining his feet, Malcolm widened his stance and kept fighting, his pistol firing, steam pouring from the barrel. Werewolves fell. He backed up until he was near Penny. She pulled a grenade and pressed the button. Then she sailed it over shaggy heads. The bomb whined shrilly and exploded. Hundreds of argent slivers hissed through the air, tearing into them from behind. Inhuman screams and chaos abounded.

  Simon’s hand reached for Kate’s bandolier across his chest and pulled a canister that Penny had brought from her shop. He checked to ensure Charlotte was clear of his target area, then he threw it with deadly accuracy at the left tunnel. It released a cloud of sparkling dust that rose in the air and coated the walls and everything inside the tunnel with a fine powder of special silver nitrate.

  The werewolves that touched it roared in agony, falling to the ground writhing or running blindly, desperate to get away from the silver flakes that seemed to burrow under their skin. The mad creatures stumbled into Malcolm’s path and the hunter was quick to deliver their ends.

  Penny stood with him, having quickly reloaded her pistol. She fired into one werewolf that slipped past Malcolm. It was blind in one eye, and she efficiently ruined the other. With a scream of agony, one clawed hand struck her hard on the shoulder, near her neck. Her weapon suddenly dangled from nerveless fingers as she went down to her knees.

  Malcolm was there, standing over her with both his pistols, firing multiple times until the beast dropped dead. Penny offered up a brave, wry grin at her savior.

  “Damn foolish, girl,” he scolded her.

  Her expression fell. “How do you think I feel? Taken out by a blind werewolf.”

  “Can you stand?” He offered her his forearm, still holding on to his pistol.

  “Of course.” Penny struggled to her feet, her face contorted in pain. She cradled her injured limb.

  “Is it broken?”

  “Afraid so. I’m disarmed.”

  Malcolm’s wild laugh echoed in the chaotic tunnels.

  A bolt of heat made them duck their heads as Nick let loose a blast of fire into the tunnel behind them. The tunnel lit up with an orange glow and warmed considerably. A smoke cloud of burning fur and flesh billowed at the ceiling.

  “Reinforcements!” he shouted, h
is hands aflame.

  “Coat it!” Simon tossed him a canister. “Charlotte! To me!”

  Nick snatched the cylinder out of the air and in one fluid motion flung it into the tunnel as the small grey werewolf darted past him to Simon’s side. The canister spewed a thick cloud and gave that tunnel a silvery sheen in the flickering light. Two panicked werewolves fled the contaminated tunnel straight into Hogarth’s cruel mace, which slammed into the skull of one, sending it careening into the other. They went down in a tangle of limbs.

  The uninjured one, nearly the size of Gretta herself, bellowed its rage. Hogarth was drawing back for another blow, but the huge thing grabbed the manservant in its cruel claws, digging deep into his flesh.

  Nick shouted and ran toward Hogarth. He struck twice with hands aflame, once across the arm that held the manservant and another across the beast’s throat. It seared the exposed flesh, but the massive werewolf would not loosen its hold. Nick pulled back, aiming for its cold heart, but the werewolf raised its other arm, claws extended.

  Simon appeared, blocking the blow aimed for Nick. He drove his sword deep into the creature’s stomach. It roared in agony but continued to crush Hogarth’s middle. Runic light flared around Simon as he used his free hand to wrench claws from the manservant. He pulled the fingers back with an audible crack.

  Growling furiously, the werewolf raised an arm to deal with Simon, but Nick seized it. The monster’s broad head swiveled toward him. It would only take a single snap from that mouth to take Nick’s head. Simon released the claw to grab the beast’s snout. The werewolf shook itself violently, but Simon would not relent. He took hold of the jaws and started hissing an old spell between his lips. A flash of light shone out from under his torn collar, illuminating them all. Simon was slowly wrenching the beast’s head away from Nick. The creature growled and released Hogarth, still trying to shake off Simon’s death grip. Hogarth slid to the ground, holding his ribs.

  The werewolf slashed at Simon, but he ignored it, putting all his concentration into his effort. His own howl echoed the werewolf’s. With a final mighty heave, the beast’s neck snapped with a sickening crunch. The gigantic werewolf seized in a spasm and fell limp next to Hogarth. The flames on Nick’s hands flickered out.

  Simon stood panting, the rush of the aether saturating him. A frantic Nick grabbed him, yanking open his tattered coat to check the blood flow from his wounds.

  “Just scratches,” Simon said.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Simon shrugged off his ministrations and turned toward Hogarth. “Are you okay?”

  Hogarth nodded, but his arms were wrapped tight about his bleeding chest.

  Malcolm emerged from one of the silver-treated tunnels and stood bloody, with steaming guns in hand. Penny leaned unsteadily against the archway and Charlotte crouched across the chamber. Monstrous bodies lay in piles around them. Some of the first killed were already transforming to humans, either naked or covered in rags. Limbs flickered in death throes. Malcolm set about dispatching a few twitching creatures with shots to their hairy heads.

  Penny groaned and looked away. Charlotte slipped behind a column and let her beastly form fade. She clutched at the rags that barely covered her sad, naked form.

  Malcolm gave a grim nod as he reloaded. “The way looks open now.”

  Simon breathed heavily with a hand braced against the wall and said to Malcolm with a fevered grin, “That fight was glorious!”

  Malcolm grunted. “You have that mad air about you.”

  “Nonsense!” Simon waved an arm whose sleeve was shredded like lace. “That went much better than the last time, don’t you agree?”

  The Scotsman rolled his eyes. “Bloody fantastic.”

  Simon laughed, the echo of which made it sound louder and more manic than it was. He took another swig of the rejuvenation potion. “A bit of Kate’s elixir vitae and we’re right as rain.”

  Nick grabbed Simon’s arm, and said, “You’re getting aether drunk. We can’t have it.”

  Simon sobered a bit at his friend’s warning and patted Nick’s chest in understanding.

  “We’re down two already,” Malcolm noted. “And we haven’t even met up with Gretta yet.”

  Simon whispered to him to keep the others from hearing, “Our core is still intact. We have our most powerful.”

  Malcolm plucked at Simon’s torn coat spattered red. “Do we?”

  “Near enough. I won’t feel this till tomorrow. And we’ve winnowed Gretta’s forces considerably.”

  Malcolm turned his suspicious attention to Charlotte. “Still one left.”

  The girl pressed her back against the putrid wall. Her fear was palpable, but she stood her ground, obviously something more important than her safety was keeping her here. She glanced at Malcolm, then back to Simon, who stepped toward her. When he saw her state of dress, he diverted his eyes and removed his torn coat, handing it to the girl.

  “Here, put this on. It’s better than what’s left of your dress.” And once she had, he said, “It seems we must thank you again, Charlotte.”

  “What do you want here?” Malcolm thundered at her.

  Charlotte stood defiantly away from the wall. “They have her. The lady who was nice to me. They’re doing terrible things to her. You have to help her!”

  That’s all Simon needed to hear. “Do you know where she is?”

  “Yes! She’s in the lower rooms.” Charlotte started running up one of the tunnels.

  Simon went to follow her when Malcolm grabbed him and spun him about. “It could be leading us into a trap!”

  “We’ve played this scene before. I’ll do anything to find Kate.” The timbre of Simon’s voice deepened unnaturally as he felt the aether rising unbidden in him. The stone of the tunnels seemed to take on a greenish hue.

  Malcolm muttered something to himself and backed away from Simon. He turned to Hogarth, who was leaning on Nick. “How bad?”

  “It won’t stop me from finding Miss Kate or Miss Imogen,” the powerful man wheezed through gritted teeth.

  Nick shook his head.

  Malcolm helped Penny rise. “And you?”

  “Never better,” Penny piped up, but her face was pinched in pain. Malcolm took hold of her good arm and helped her balance.

  Simon hurried forward until he reached Charlotte, who was waiting impatiently at the next juncture. She led them all through the twisting labyrinth for several more minutes. Whatever confidence Simon had had about finding their way without Charlotte’s help faded. They would have been lost if not for her. The tunnel went on for hundreds of yards before finally stopping at a heavy iron gate locked with thick chains.

  “Bedlam,” Charlotte announced.

  Simon cracked his knuckles.

  Kate was witnessing the unthinkable. Dr. White was performing a grotesque surgery on her sister. The smell of the blood and the sound of flesh being mangled would never be wiped from her memory. The doctor had narrated certain portions of the procedure, crowing about how his mastery of alchemy allowed him to achieve techniques that no other surgeon could. The pain of even a simple operation made it unendurable for most patients for more than a few minutes. However, Dr. White had potions that deadened pain so successfully that he could perform extraordinarily lengthy and complex surgeries; he would change the future of medicine. Kate took small comfort that perhaps Imogen felt no pain.

  The surgeon labored under flickering gas lamps with the homunculi assisting him, handing him his glittering instruments or reaching into Imogen to hold something aside so he could work better. When he claimed he was preparing to remove her arm so he could replace it with automata, Kate lost consciousness.

  When she came to, she saw Dr. White still standing alongside the operating table in a pool of thin yellow light. The homunculi were no longer present. A large glass canister of pale red liquid hung from a rack over the table with a tube ending in a sharp, beveled piece of metal that was inserted in the abdomen of the bleac
hed figure stretched out under the doctor’s hand.

  Kate moaned.

  White glanced at her over his shoulder and smiled. His face was bloodstained. His eyes were wide and frenzied.

  “Imogen will be a fine addition to the family,” he said in a voice thick with excitement. White held up a tube of filamentous quills. “Since you took my favorite, I will recreate your sister in his likeness. She will be magnificent.”

  Kate said nothing. Even if she had wanted to, she couldn’t. She had a gag over her mouth, which White had placed to stop her cursing and threatening during the surgery. Throughout the operation, she had been steadily flexing her limbs, restoring circulation to them. They burned with fiery needles, but one image kept her focused: White dead at her hands. There was nothing that would stop her, nowhere he could run.

  “Nearly done now.” White straightened the tube dangling from the canister and studied the filthy trocar that dripped pinkish liquid. He took a large syringe of green substance from a side table and set it on the operating table. “I tried to tell you what would happen. Did you think I was lying? You cannot play games with me, Miss Anstruther.”

  Kate kept her eyes on him, afraid to catch a fuller glimpse of Imogen.

  He walked toward her, wiping red hands on his gown. “I haven’t decided what to do with you. The key will take care of itself; it’s really none of my concern ultimately. But I asked you quite nicely to tell me about it. And you refused. Now I will make you pay for your arrogance.”

  The door exploded open and slammed against the wall. Simon stormed into sight, one fist clenched, lines of power sparking over his arms and torso. His sword glowed like lightning in his hand.

  The doctor recovered surprisingly fast from the shock. He grabbed the wheelchair and spun Kate around to face the door. She felt a sharp prick of a needle on her neck as White shouted, “Stop or she’ll die!”