The Claws of Evil

by Andrew Beasley

  The last Coin was the key. Each of the thirty held some power, but the thirtieth was the most potent, the most corrupting. Twenty-nine coins had not been enough to turn Judas from good to evil. But thirty...that was enough to unleash Hell.

  And that was precisely what Carter intended to do.

  But the Coin had eluded him. So far.

  The Feathered Men would aid him, he knew, just as they had done in the past. The Council of Seven had decreed that the Feathered Men were only to be released from the holding pens with their express permission, but Claw Carter wasn’t really in the business of seeking approval from anyone. No one understood the Feathered Men like he did; no one else fully appreciated their needs. Many was the time that he had let them fly free on an errand for him. All they needed was the right motivation.

  As if on cue, there was a tentative knock on the doors and two trembling youths appeared, leading a cow. The cow was blindfolded, out of necessity. It would panic if it saw the Feathered Men. Just as the two boys were doing now.

  They left gratefully, only too happy to close the door behind them and run. They did not see Carter guide the poor animal into the middle of the nesting chamber. They didn’t see the expression on his face as he ran his claw along the cow’s belly and then, in one swift slash, ripped her open from gullet to groin, spilling her steaming entrails onto the floor. But they could hear the terrible ecstasy of the Feathered Men as they feasted.

  “Breakfast!” Carter declared. “Come and get it!”

  Ben looked into his bowl. Porridge; at least that’s how Mrs. McLennon described it. It was actually a sticky, grey sludge with more than a hint of sawdust. Although that didn’t stop all of her tenants from gobbling it up, the adults around the kitchen table, the children and infants scattered across the floor. Except for the slurping, it was a moment of happy silence. Even the Vineys didn’t row over breakfast.

  Ben looked at his father across the table, hoping for some sign that he had been forgiven for the disturbance the night before. Jonas Kingdom gave him a quick smile, and Ben knew that their relationship, such as it was, had been restored.

  Ben lifted his bowl to his mouth and licked it clean with his tongue. Satisfied that he hadn’t missed a solitary scrap, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and then flashed his most dazzling smile at the O’Rourke girls.

  They did not respond.

  Mrs. McLennon started to gather up the empty bowls and they all understood that it was time for them to leave. There were never any seconds, so no one asked.

  When she took his bowl, Mr. Wachowski belched appreciatively and scratched at a morsel that was nesting in his beard. “Kind lady,” he said.

  “Och, no,” Mrs. McLennon demurred. “Nothing but my Christian duty.”

  They all paid extra in their rent for the “Christian duty”, but again no one said a word.

  “That was splendid, Mrs. McLennon,” said Jonas, rising from the table. “Come on then, son, we don’t want to be getting under Mrs. Mac’s feet.”

  Nathaniel Kingdom rose swiftly. “Yes, Pa,” he said, ready for a day working at his father’s side.

  Benjamin Kingdom stood more slowly and didn’t say a word.

  Stiff and cold, Ruby Johnson awoke to find herself on the cellar floor in the Punch and Judy. Rolling the numbness from her shoulders, she scanned the ground until she found the coin that had thrown Professor Carter into such a rage the night before. She picked it up, balanced it on her thumb and flicked it into the air, catching it neatly and then tucking it in her pocket. If Carter didn’t want it then she was sure that someone else would pay her handsomely; failing that she could spend it herself. She placed it between her teeth and bit. Real silver too. She didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Boys could be so silly sometimes.

  Ruby left the Punch and Judy as quietly as she had arrived and set off in search of some breakfast. Eggs would be nice today, she thought, or a bit of bacon. Where can I acquire them? she wondered.

  Although she would never confess it, Ruby was still irked that she had shown herself up. She had dragged Carter out on a wild goose chase. She had, in short, failed him, and that wasn’t her style at all. The mysterious Coin was clearly far more important to Carter than she had realized and if anyone was going to find it, she was determined that it would be her. Her talents deserved recognition.

  Besides, not all of the others in the organization to which she belonged possessed her social graces. Rewards and honour would be wasted on them, in her opinion. Some members of the Legion, she had to admit, were not pleasant people at all.

  And if the thugs and bully boys didn’t get their grubby fingers on the Coin, then the Feathered Men surely would. She shuddered at the thought. She wouldn’t want to receive a visit from the Feathered Men for all the money in the world.

  Back in their room, the three Kingdom men got ready for their day; two as dockers, one as an apprentice cooper and sometime mudlark. Ben didn’t mind learning the trade of barrel-making. He didn’t really mind mudlarking either, searching for things he might sell that had fallen into the filthy banks of the Thames. Although he was less than happy that the very best pickings were always to be found in the deep mud around the gratings, where the sewers flowed into the river. But what made him unhappy was that his father never asked him to work in the docks at his side.

  Jonas Kingdom was a good man, everyone said so. The salt of the earth. Ben could easily see why his mother had fallen in love with him; in spite of everything that was harsh about their lives there was always a sparkle in his eyes.

  Today his father’s eyes were positively ablaze.

  “Can you show Ben, Pa?” Nathaniel spoke and Ben snapped out of his daze.

  Jonas threw a silent glance in Ben’s direction and then, with no further hesitation, drew something from inside his jacket.

  “Just quick,” said Jonas. “Then we need to get this little beauty tucked away somewhere safe.”

  Both boys drew close and watched as their father unfolded a square of dark cloth, like a magician performing a trick. Nestled in the velvet was a single silver coin. It was small and old, and not very much to look at, and yet as Ben gazed upon it, he was filled with a yearning that he had never known before. He reached out to touch it, but his father snatched it away. “It’s not for touching,” he said, “it’s for buying us a better life.”

  “How did you get it?” asked Ben.

  Again, Nathaniel and Jonas shared a glance.

  “It was the strangest thing,” said Nathaniel. “Can I tell him, Pa?” Jonas nodded. “There was this ’Jyptian fellow,” Nathaniel began, “dressed in these long robes and a turban. We get all sorts down at the docks, don’t we, Pa?” Another nod. “Anyway, he was acting all peculiar, walking back and forth and waving his arms like he was arguing with someone, ’cept he was the only one there. He looked old, as if his face had been all dried up by the sun, and there was something else about him too, wasn’t there, Pa?”

  “The man was scared,” said Jonas, taking over the tale. “I went over to him and introduced myself, to see if he was in trouble, anything I could do, and he gave me this look – it sent a shiver right through me. It was as if he was in prison and I was the first light he had seen in years.”

  Jonas’s expression became distant, as if he was remembering something he would rather forget. Then he continued. “He grabbed my wrist. His hands were as bony as claws, although I don’t think I could have broken his hold if I’d wanted to.” He shook his head slightly, as if trying to shake off the memory of that skeletal grip. “Then he forced the coin into my palm. ‘Take it,’ he said. ‘Take it and destroy it.’ And then he ran away.”

  “Ran like the bobbies were after him,” laughed Nathaniel.

  “Why would he want you to destroy it?” asked Ben, incredulous.

  “Perhaps
he wasn’t right in the head,” Jonas suggested, forcing a laugh as if to chase his own doubts away. “Don’t suppose we’ll ever know his half of it. And truth be told, it doesn’t matter, because for once a bit of luck has landed in our laps.”

  All three of them gazed at the small circle of silver; the miracle in their midst. “I could take it if you like,” suggested Ben eagerly, breaking the silence. “I’m sure Professor Carter would be able to tell me all about it. He could even give us an idea of how much it might be worth—”

  “Right before he took it away and put it in a case in that blasted museum.” Jonas shook his head in disbelief. “I just don’t get you sometimes,” he told Ben. “You act like you’re so full of learning, yet you don’t do much thinking.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Do you think anyone else is going to believe for one minute that some Egyptian geezer just gave us this coin? Don’t you think that Carter will start asking questions that we don’t have the answers to?” He closed his fist around the coin to display his resolve. “No, Ben, my mind’s made up. Your precious professor is just the same as the rest of them. He’d take this coin off us and keep it for himself.”

  Ben wanted to protest. Professor Carter was not like that. He’s a good man, Ben thought, like you.

  Instead, he held his tongue.

  “This coin isn’t going anywhere, you understand?” said Jonas. “Not until I’ve had proper time to think on how best we can use it.” Nathaniel showed his agreement by nodding hard. “In the meantime, we’ve got to keep it out of the way of prying eyes and sticky fingers.”

  Jonas turned to Ben. “Make yourself useful, lad, and go and keep watch on the stairs. Sing out if you see anyone. I need to get this treasure buried.”

  The man was not from Egypt as Jonas Kingdom had assumed. His name was Nazir el Hussain and before he became a murderer he was once a prince of Persia.

  None of his subjects would recognize him if they saw him now. His robes had lost their lustre, and his face, which some had called the most handsome in all of Arabia, was haunted and gaunt. He was old before his time.

  Nazir looked at his hands and wondered when they had wasted away to skin and bone. They were trembling and he understood why. He was shaking with need. Since he had given the Coin away it was as if he was burning up from the inside.

  He wanted it back so terribly.

  A year ago, when he first saw the Coin, it had belonged to another man who was as consumed by its power and beauty as he had become. He would never forget the surprise on the old man’s face when he had pushed the dagger into his chest, or the sound of the aged fingers snapping as he broke their dying grip.

  “The Coin is mine; you shall not have it,” his father had said with his final breath.

  It was poison to the soul, Nazir understood that now. That was why he had to put as much distance between himself and the Coin as possible, if he was to have a chance to be free. Since he had given the Coin to that poor fool at the docks, Nazir had not stopped running. Or looking over his shoulder.

  That same day he took passage on the first ship that would carry him, not caring which shore it was headed for. He paid the captain too much and, as soon as the deal was struck, he wasted no time in getting below decks. His only plan was to stay hidden in his cabin with the door locked until an ocean separated him from that merciless piece of silver.

  Nazir turned the key in the lock and then sank to the floor, with his back against the door. It was cool and dark in his cramped cabin and a wooden shutter across the single porthole easily held back the feeble daylight. Perhaps if he could survive the voyage, endure the ceaseless pull of the Coin until he was totally beyond its reach, then he might have a chance to live again. Not that he deserved it, his conscience told him.

  It was only then that he realized he was not alone. There were other shapes in the darkness.

  His eyes strained against the dim light until they rested on a huddle of lean bodies in the far corner. Hashshashin, he thought; assassins come too late to steal the Coin. But the more he looked, the more he knew these were not mere men sent to kill him. Their limbs were disturbingly disproportionate; slightly too narrow, slightly too long. Fingers with nails as sharp and hard as bone. He could see their strong, wiry frames and naked skin which looked as if it had been stretched too tight over elongated muscles.

  Things with the forms of men but with the heads and wings of eagles.

  His religion taught him that demons were real. And Nazir el Hussain understood instantly why these ones had come for him.

  “The Coin,” one of them hissed at him, its voice an ugly croak. “Where is the Coin?”

  Nazir spread his arms and showed them his empty palms.

  Another of the creatures opened its beak and issued a harsh shriek. They observed Nazir for one more second and then fell on him as one; a sudden rush of talons and feathers as black as the night.

  “The Coin!” they screamed. “Where is the Coin?”

  Nazir el Hussain did not resist the embrace of the Feathered Men, not even as they ripped his flesh and began to feast on his body. For a minute he lay twitching on the floor as his soft innards gave way to the rampage of their beaks.

  “Kingdom,” he said at last. Then he twitched no more.

  Perhaps death would bring him the peace that he longed for.

  “Anyone about?” asked Jonas Kingdom.

  “Not that I can see, Pa,” Ben replied from his lookout post in their bedroom doorway. He was watching the landing to make sure that Mrs. Mac or any of the other residents didn’t come upstairs to pay them an unexpected call.

  Satisfied that they were alone, Jonas rolled back his mattress and set about gently loosening a short piece of floorboard, rocking it back and forth until it quietly came free in his hand. This was where the Kingdoms hid their wealth, such as it was, amid the dust and the mouse droppings. At the last count, their combined savings amounted to two shillings and eleven pence: the price of a new pair of boots, although none of them imagined that the money would be squandered on such a luxury.

  This Coin would turn their fortunes around, his father was right about that.

  Although he was meant to be watching the stairs, Ben’s eyes never left the Coin. Not for a second. He had never seen anything so fascinating before.

  And it was then that he decided he would take it to Professor Carter anyway.

  Where was the harm in that?

  The Feathered Men were always at their most passive when they had finished gorging. Now Carter spoke with them, if not as their friend, then at least not as their prey.

  Carter had accumulated a great many languages in his travels; he was fluent in Mongolian, Russian, Swahili, Mandarin, Gujarati and many obscure tribal dialects, as well as the French, Spanish, German and Portuguese of the less adventurous traveller. Often he found that his claw could speak louder than words, but sometimes a more subtle message needed to be conveyed.

  The language of the Feathered Men was ugly on the tongue, all clicks and soft palette noises, interspersed with shrill shrieks. It was not a rich idiom, it lacked beauty and rhythm; although it did contain forty-five different words for killing, Carter noted. Most importantly, by learning it, Carter had made himself the only one who could communicate with these fallen Seraphim in their own language. A vital persuasive skill if you wanted to employ them as your own private army.

  A large Feathered Man, whose battered wings had grown steel-grey with age, barged his way to the front of the flock, asserting his status as leader. Carter ignored the blood that dripped from Grey Wing’s battle-scarred beak and the two conversed, while all around them the chamber echoed with the noise of bones being gnawed.

  “The missing Coin,” said Carter.

  Grey Wing observed him coldly, his eagle head tilted to one side. “The search continues,” the Feathered Man
replied.

  “And?” said Carter, with some frustration.

  “And?” Grey Wing mimicked.

  It was often this way; Grey Wing was the most capricious of a spiteful breed.

  For a fleeting second, Carter appeared downcast. Grey Wing squatted on his haunches and regarded him mockingly. Then, in a single fluid movement, Carter stepped in tight, grabbing the feathers on the back of Grey Wing’s skull and yanking his head backwards until the soft tissue of his neck was exposed to the tip of Carter’s claw.

  Overhead, the other Feathered Men screamed; some in anger, others in cruel delight.

  “You need me more than I need you,” Carter hissed. “Don’t you ever forget it!” He allowed his claw to draw blood and saw alarm in those huge yellow eyes. “Mr. Sweet and the Council of Seven will keep you locked down here for ever. Is that what you want? To rot? But help me find the Coin, and I will usher in a new day for the Legion. No more interminable plans that come to nothing, no more skulking around in the shadows, but open war on the streets of London. And you, my fine feathered friend, will rule the skies, and dine on anyone you choose!”

  Gradually, Carter relinquished his grip as he felt Grey Wing’s acquiescence. When he was released, the Feathered Man staggered back, making a gagging noise. Grey Wing brought his hand to his throat and it came away bloody. He considered that for a moment and then resumed his squatting position, unfurling his great dark wings and wrapping them around himself like a cloak.

  “There was a man, yesterday, at the docks,” Grey Wing began.

  “Go on.”

  “He was a Coin carrier.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Grey Wing nodded. “There is no mistaking the scent of a man entirely given over to evil.”

  “And?”

  “We found him in his hiding place and he danced a merry dance with us.”