The Conquering Dark

by Clay Griffith

  “What are you doing?” Charlotte leaned over him.

  “We’re housebreaking,” Penny informed her.

  “Oh!” The girl bounced excitedly on her toes. Imogen, with her veil now in place, turned to keep a lookout in case someone came strolling by.

  It took less than a minute and they were inside. The interior was dark. Not a single room was lit. The floor was littered with refuse. Papers. Leaves. Dirt. It was as if the house had not been cleaned for months. There were also empty liquor bottles and open pails that had carried beer.

  Charlotte sniffed the air and peered into the empty sitting room off the foyer. “Everything smells rotten.”

  Malcolm drew a line with his finger in the thick layer of dust on one of the tables. He turned toward the kitchen in the back of the home. The others trailed after him.

  The kitchen was dead. No fire warmed the hearth, not even yesterday’s banked coals. Cooking pots lay about with dried remnants of food. Insects crawled over the counters.

  Penny picked up a spoon from the table. “It appears Miss Somerset isn’t here, nor anyone else now.”

  “Someone’s been living here.” Malcolm sniffed a pot of moldy food. Some dishes appeared to have been used in the last few days.

  “No sign of a fight.” Imogen’s deep voice observed from the other side of the room.

  “Look around,” Malcolm said. “We need to see if we can determine where she’s been taken.”

  The girls complied and began rooting through the rooms for clues. Malcolm moved toward a pantry. It was unlocked and when he opened it, he gasped in surprise. The housekeeper sat there, her head bowed.

  “Mrs. Cummings,” Malcolm said quietly. Perhaps she had taken refuge inside the closet when she had heard intruders enter the house. Or maybe she was injured or worse.

  The old woman lifted her head toward the voice and her eyes opened. She rose abruptly to her feet. She wore her service clothes and apron, but they were caked with dirt and old food as if the woman hadn’t bathed or laundered for weeks.

  “Do you remember me, Mrs. Cummings? I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m a friend of Miss Somerset’s.”

  “She’s not here!”

  “I can see that, missus. Might you know where she’s gone?”

  The girls heard the commotion and came back into the kitchen. Imogen carried a tattered sheet of paper in her more human hand. A growl started low in Charlotte’s chest.

  Malcolm cast her a quick glance. “Charlotte, stop. The woman’s frightened enough.”

  “Maybe she’s not.” Charlotte’s voice was a low whisper. “She smells of oil and smoke.”

  It took a second before Malcolm understood what the girl meant, which was time enough for Mrs. Cummings to grab him up with her meaty fist. His feet came off the floor. He clutched at the hand around his throat while he pulled a pistol. Mrs. Cummings slapped the gun away with a powerful blow.

  Charlotte was in midtransformation when Mrs. Cummings threw Malcolm at her. The two collided and careened over the kitchen table in a tumble of arms and legs.

  Imogen yanked up her sleeve. She flexed her forearm and quills flew at the housekeeper. Each one struck the woman’s chest with a faint pinging sound.

  “She’s half-machine!” Penny shouted.

  “Dismantle her!” Malcolm clambered to his feet over the hairy limbs of Charlotte just as Penny fired a sonic blast from her pistol. The whine blossomed in his ears as everything around them started to shake. Dishes and bric-a-brac fell to the floor and shattered.

  Smoke leaked from under Mrs. Cummings’s dress and apron. Every movement of her limbs sounded like breaking twigs as she came out into the center of the kitchen floor. The housekeeper seized a table in desperation and tossed it like a bag of laundry at Penny. The nimble engineer ducked out into the hall just under the shattering oaken table, but the attack stopped the pulsations.

  Imogen thrust another volley of quills. Mrs. Cummings held her right arm up to cover her face. One quill stuck in the housekeeper’s bare hand.

  Charlotte leapt over Malcolm onto Mrs. Cummings’s plump figure. Instead of being crushed to the floor, the housekeeper stood rooted in place. Charlotte’s claws tore into the woman. The rips in the thick cloth of her tunic revealed shiny metal underneath. Mrs. Cummings scruffed Charlotte and dragged her off, shoving her to the ground. She lifted a foot to slam down on the wiggling werewolf, but a barrage from Malcolm’s pistol pushed her backward.

  Mrs. Cummings reached for the iron stove, but her fingers suddenly unclenched and her right hand hung from her wrist like it had been broken. Imogen’s toxin was finally working. For a heavyset woman, Mrs. Cummings was spry. She leapt behind the stove and shoved it one-handed at Malcolm. It tore from the walls with a geyser of black coal dust and rushed toward him like a rampaging wagon. He backed away, but Charlotte streaked across the kitchen and carried him through the door into the hall. The iron stove smashed into the doorway behind them.

  Penny took advantage of the distraction and powered up her wee pistol once more. Mrs. Cummings turned, glaring at the engineer. Penny aimed as best she could as the pistol moved with a mind of its own. The discharge swept through the room and shoved Penny back five feet, tumbling her on top of Imogen. Black smoke poured from the housekeeper’s chest. Her movements were chaotic and jerky.

  “Get down! She’s going to blow apart!” Penny tried to herd Imogen over the upturned stove and out the door.

  Caught up in the fever of battle, Imogen shook her off and turned to snap off more quills. One struck the woman’s cheek, sticking to her skin like a stray whisker. The girl grinned in triumph. Malcolm leapt back into the kitchen, tackling Imogen to the floor just as Mrs. Cummings exploded. Metal and flesh hit everywhere, coating the town house with black oil and bloody smears.

  “Losh!” Charlotte exclaimed from the hall in a near-perfect imitation of Malcolm.

  Penny popped up. She looked for the Scotsman and a flash of relief washed over her when she saw he and Imogen were all right. Then a crooked grimace took its place. “Your friend won’t like how we redecorated.”

  Malcolm assisted Imogen to her feet. The girl hung her head apologetically at him. At least she knew she had done something foolish.

  Penny plucked a piece of Mrs. Cummings from the floor. To Malcolm’s relief, it was metallic. The piece twisted and turned in her hands as she examined every wire and nook and gear. “This is the Baroness’s work. Same as we came across with Dr. White.” She tossed it to the side. “She’s really starting to annoy me.”

  “She won’t much longer.”

  Penny toed another metal chunk of housekeeper. “She’s actually quite brilliant.”

  “So are you.”

  “I know, but…”

  “You’re much younger, and you’re already a genius.”

  “Genius?” Penny puffed with pride, but the brief interlude didn’t last as she remembered their purpose and the implication of the debris on the floor. “I guess this proves your friend is with Gaios.”

  Malcolm gritted his teeth. Gaios had already had the infernal housekeeper in place, watching Jane last year, and Malcolm had realized nothing. A steady ache of shame built in his chest; he feared that he had unwittingly left Jane to be swept up by evil.

  “I found this before. I saw several of them.” Imogen held up the ragged sheet of paper she had been holding. Malcolm took it from her.

  Charlotte’s snout towered over him. “That’s not something a lady has in the house. Even I know that.”

  She was right. It was a broadsheet for a bawdy tavern at the waterfront called the Hanged Mermaid. A bare-breasted mermaid was posing, offering sailors more than just a free drink.

  Charlotte reverted to her human shape. Penny didn’t think twice but reached into her rucksack and pulled out a cloak for the nearly naked girl. They had several changes of clothes for her in the carriage; it was a necessity with the young werewolf.

  “We’re heading for the wate
rfront.” Malcolm shoved the paper into his pocket.

  Charlotte started bouncing up and down. “Are we going to find some pirates now?”

  “Pirates?” Malcolm sucked in a calming breath. “You two will stay in the coach.”

  Immediately Charlotte’s smile faded. Her arms crossed dejectedly.

  Imogen leaned over. “At least we’re going with them.”

  Charlotte brightened and leapt into the carriage. “Aye, matey!”

  The coach driver leaned over with the practiced calm of a long-standing Anstruther retainer. “I heard noises inside, sir. Is all well?”

  “Quarrel with the help. Take us to Limehouse.”

  —

  Malcolm and Penny exited the carriage onto a fog-bound Limehouse street across from the Hanged Mermaid. The waterfront smelled of haddock and brine. He signaled the two girls to wait. Imogen nodded, leaning back in the seat while Charlotte peeked through the window shade at the press of strange people shuffling past.

  Penny glanced behind them at the coach. “She’s not going to stay there. You know that.”

  “She will if she knows what’s best.”

  Penny patted his arm. “You just keep thinking that.”

  Malcolm marched into the tavern, already focused on things besides the minding of children. Penny came in behind him but sidled off to the side to watch his flank. She really was quite good at gauging a situation to her best advantage. He never felt ill at ease with her at his back.

  Unwashed faces turned toward him suspiciously, their porters and meals forgotten for a moment. Most went back to their lives, but a few continued to stare at Malcolm’s dark form. They marked him as a stranger.

  He ordered a pint and leaned against the bar, filling a narrow space between cramped shoulders. He debated how to broach the subject of a missing woman and a maniacal demigod, but decided just to listen. Conversations picked up again, creating a low buzz. He sipped his warm beer and tried to listen in on various dialogues. Unfortunately, the whispers were too soft or the discussion too benign.

  Malcolm glanced behind him to check on Penny. To his surprise, she sat at a table with a bunch of fellows, grinning broadly. They leaned close, eager to listen to her. They all burst out into laughter. Malcolm scowled. It shouldn’t bother him, but it did. She was in her element. Despite her brilliance, she was one of the working class and they recognized their kin. He took his pint and headed over to her. The men around her quieted at his approach.

  “Nothing here for you, mate,” snarled one of them who looked older than his father.

  “There you’d be wrong,” was Malcolm’s dark reply, his eyes darting toward Penny.

  Her head tilted with exasperation and her mouth quirked. “Stand easy, lads. He’s with me.”

  Disappointment swept through the small contingent and they all sat back. She waved a jaunty farewell and slipped her arm through Malcolm’s, leading him back toward the bar.

  He asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been here before?”

  “Because I haven’t.”

  “They seemed awful friendly toward you,” he muttered.

  “It’s because I don’t glower.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “That you glower.” Penny laughed.

  He changed his expression even though he knew it was too late. “It’s gotten me what I needed before.”

  “Maybe, but there’s no need of it here. Those blokes are happy enough to talk. Besides that, I’m a woman, not some dark Scottish ghost off the moors. Far less threatening.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “There’s a new island.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A new island. It just appeared a few months ago. Off the coast of Allhallows. None of the sailors or rivermen remember it being there before.”

  “Bloody hell. Only one person I know can make an island.” Malcolm spotted a man with a dark tattoo on his neck seated near the front of the bar. A frown emerged when he thought another eager bloke was eyeing Penny. Then he realized the man was watching him. When the man noticed Malcolm’s attention, he turned back to his drink.

  Penny swigged down the last of her beer. “What do we do now?”

  “We go check it out.”

  “Without the others?”

  “They’re in India. No idea when they’ll be back.”

  “Just us two against Gaios? Four, if you count the girls. I’m not sure I like those odds.”

  “I don’t plan to fight Gaios. Just find Jane and get her away.”

  “That’s a poor bet.”

  “If we don’t find her, we head back and wait for Simon.”

  “Sure this isn’t your guilt talking?”

  “We’re running out of time.” That was all he said. There was no point in explaining or discussing. They had one choice.

  The tattooed man rose and slipped out the front. Malcolm stood and pulled Penny with him.

  “Where we going?” she asked.

  “That man was a bit too interested.”

  “What man?”

  “He’s already out the door. Tall man with a tattoo on his neck.” They stepped out to the fog-shrouded street. People bustled eerily around them.

  “I don’t see him.”

  “There.” Malcolm pointed out the fellow shoving into the crowd.

  Across the street, Charlotte leaned halfway out of the coach window and waved. Malcolm glared at her, indicating that she should stay out of sight. She made a face and retreated inside, almost.

  Penny had eyes on their quarry and Malcolm raced to catch up to her as she weaved quickly through the throngs of people. The tattooed man led them toward the docks where two other men joined him. They spoke with brief agitation before continuing on.

  “You know,” Penny pointed out, “he could have just disliked your choice of beer. People are peculiar in this part of London.”

  Malcolm grunted. “He didn’t look at us until we started talking about this island of yours. That’s enough for me.”

  Penny shrugged. “Any lead is a good lead.”

  Malcolm pulled her behind some crates at the wharf as the trio of men paused in front of a ramp. A sixty-foot steam launch was moored below them. On either side were affixed massive paddle wheels. Malcolm brought his spyglass up. He spotted about fifteen men on board. Crates were being loaded in the hold. “That’s the same boat I saw at Westminster that spirited the Baroness and Ferghus away.”

  Penny took the glass and stiffened in concentration. “I bet she does ten knots on the Thames. Woe to anyone she passes. They’re about to cast off.”

  “Blast it all.” Malcolm got ready to move.

  “What about the girls?”

  “They’re safer where they are. The driver will take them home in the carriage.”

  Penny glanced over her shoulder and grinned broadly. “Then again maybe not. They’re right behind you.”

  Malcolm spun about and, sure enough, Imogen and Charlotte were slinking toward them in their affluent attire, causing one or two rivermen to regard them curiously. He stalked back and pulled them down to the crates. “I told you to stay in the coach.”

  “That was hours ago,” Charlotte pointed out. “Are those pirates? They look like pirates.”

  Penny shoved Charlotte’s head down below the line of crates. “Yes. We’re going to board that vessel.”

  Charlotte’s voice rose an octave. “We’re going to plunder her!”

  Malcolm rolled his eyes. “What books have you been reading?”

  “They’re pulling up the gangplank.” Penny whisked the bone-and-steel fan into her hand. Charlotte cooed over how lovely it was.

  Green smoke billowed from a singular stovepipe. Two crewmen were using long gaffs to push off. Malcolm raced down the jetty and leapt across the widening gap, legs tight together and lifted to clear the rail of the boat. His black coat flew out behind him. He landed between the crewmen, crashing a fist into the face of one and sla
mming the butt of his Lancaster into the other. They both went down. Malcolm grabbed one of the poles and hooked the wharf as Charlotte vaulted aboard. A group of sailors paused in surprise when they saw a girl coming at them. They grinned with mad assured glee, until she began to change in front of them under the awning of the wheelhouse. They drew back in horror at the bone-cracking transformation.

  Penny helped the awkward Imogen cross the gap, then she turned into the melee, whipping up her fan in almost coy defense. The first man to reach for her received an electric shock with a single tap. He dropped in a wild flail. Penny spun to the next man, striking a glancing blow across his back with the bladed fins of the dainty fan. He dropped as well. When the next sailor came at her with a short axe raised, she bent under the blow like an exotic dancer and thrust out her arm. The fan collapsed with the momentum and its end tapped against the man’s chest with a crack of voltage. He stiffened and flew backward. A crewman thrust at her with a long knife; she straightened, snapping open the fan again, holding it in front of her. The fan caught the blade and closed around it. With a twist of her wrist she sent another electrical charge out along the steel fins to course down the blade and envelop the sailor.

  Imogen pulled up her sleeve and the filaments on her arm quivered. With a single flex of a muscle, three needles flew in a wide arc toward three men rushing at Malcolm. Each quill found a mark. The men bore Malcolm to the deck with weapons flashing, but suddenly their raised arms shook. Their eyes held terror as palsied muscles betrayed them. Malcolm slammed his fists into their unprotected chins and laid out all three men on the deck.

  Charlotte was in full form now and towered over four cowering men. Her deafening roar sent them scattering. She grabbed one pirate and hurled the screaming man at the backs of those fleeing, bowling them over the rail and into the water. Malcolm swore he heard her laugh.

  He launched himself up a ladder to the wheelhouse. No doubt the girls could handle a few remaining roughnecks. He heard more bodies make a splash over the side as proof. Warily, he lifted his head over the last step and the whine of a pistol ball careened near his ear.