“Mister Mayferry,” he heard himself say, “where are Mister Levy and Mister Tumbanker?”
“We’re under here,” came a voice from beneath the carriage. “I think Tumbanker’s hurt.”
“Ah, good, good,” Skarbunket said. He felt like he was looking at himself from a long way away. Things were happening around him, remote and unreal.
There was a low, guttural noise from overhead, and the flapping of great bat wings. Something heavy struck the top of the carriage and shattered. The driver’s chair burst into flame.
“Thank you,” Skarbunket said. “That was most handy.” He held the rag on one of the bottles up to the flame, admiring the way the fire leaped and danced along the scrap of cloth. Then he threw.
A host of things from the darkest nightmares turned their faces, or in some cases what they had that passed for faces, toward him. There was a blinding flash of light. The crude bomb exploded.
It was far more effective than he had expected it to be.
Creatures screamed as they were torn to pieces. Thick blue glop splattered the side of the burning carriage.
“Nice throw, sir,” Mayferry said. He hurled a makeshift bomb of his own.
The creatures screeched and fled, running away from the carriage toward the stable. Enormous gouts of flame jumped out to welcome them. The ones that hesitated took the full force of the blast, jagged bits of glass tearing withered flesh from anatomically improbable bone. The ones that didn’t, burned.
Skarbunket threw another bomb, and, just for good measure, another after that. Creatures burned, exploded, and died, if “died” was the right term to apply to something that perhaps wasn’t quite alive in the first place, technically speaking.
The great scaly bat-winged thing overhead circled and swooped. Fire bloomed on what little was left of the roof of the stable. One of the small cluster of people raised a gun and fired. The force of the recoil knocked him off his feet.
A hole opened up in the flying thing’s side. It flapped, trying to gain altitude, but Skarbunket could see it was in trouble. The wing on that side had stopped working properly. Unable to steer, unable to remain airborne, it twisted in the air and fell, crashing into the roof where it had dropped its firebomb. There was a crackling sound and a dull whoosh as it was consumed by flames.
The roof of the stable groaned and collapsed. The group of people huddled beneath it ran out into the courtyard. Skarbunket recognized Claire and Donnie Bodger immediately. Claire and a man Skarbunket didn’t recognize were dragging the inert form of a man, wounded or dead, behind them. Skarbunket needed no introduction to know the type: a ruffian, a common criminal who preyed largely on fellow commoners in a rude, mean mimicry of the acquisitional urge of the aristocracy.
“Good evenin’, officer,” Donnie said. “Nice to ’ave you ’ere.”
“Glad to be here,” Skarbunket said. He gestured to the limp form. “If it isn’t Thaddeus Mudstone Ahmed Alexander Pinkerton. Can’t say I’m surprised. Is he alive?”
“Only just,” Claire said. “I think he’s been poisoned. We have to try to draw the poison out.”
Levy crawled out from beneath the wreckage of the carriage. “I think we better move, sir,” he said. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the explosives and all. I hate to sound urgent, but—”
“Right,” Skarbunket said. “Grab Mister Tumbanker’s other hand, if you please. The rest of you, I have many questions for you, but this carriage is about to make a disturbing noise and I think it best we get to some remove.”
They scrambled away from the stricken carriage as fast as they were able. They had just reached the fountain in the courtyard when the explosives went.
It was everything any of them could have hoped for, only louder.
Shrapnel and debris pattered against the fountain, sending a nubile and entirely unclothed stone nymphet crashing into the suspiciously jocular fish that had been spitting water at her. Behind them, the windows in the manor house shattered.
“Well,” Skarbunket said after his hearing returned. “Mister Bristol, remind me to put you in for a formal reprimand for stacking explosives in a publicly owned carriage. I am certain there will be paperwork. How is Mister Tumbanker?”
“I’ll be okay, sir,” Tumbanker said. “That thing clawed me up pretty good, though.”
“Glad to hear it, Mister Tumbanker. I’m told women fancy a man with scars. Mister Bodger, if you would be so kind as to tell me what the hell’s going on, I would be most appreciative.”
“Dunno,” Donnie said. “’E does.” He pointed to the tower, where Victor had ducked back inside from the balcony.
“Right. Well, let’s go have a word with him, then. Mister Levy, you stay here with Mister Tumbanker and tend to his wounds. Mister Mayferry, Mister Bristol, with me, please.”
“I’m goin’ too,” Donnie said.
“What? No! This is a police matter.”
“We ain’t done what we came t’ do,” Donnie said. “Besides, you ain’t equipped fer this. If you run into any more o’ them things in there, yer gonna need somethin’ more’n clubs, an’ I think yer outta bombs. Interestin’ t’ see how well they worked, though. Might need t’ put some more thought t’ that. Claire, you comin’ with me?”
Claire looked up from where she was tearing Thaddeus’s shirt off. She produced a small knife from her overalls and made a cut over each of the two wounds in his side. “Muddy’s in a bad way,” she said.
Donnie nodded. “Right. You stay ’ere, then. Number two, the rest o’ you, let’s go finish this.”
28
At the sound of the horns, a set of doors opened in a row of black carriages parked along Derby Lane, two blocks away from the Palace.
Lord Rathman stepped out of the lead carriage, dressed in his finery, an expensive top-hat atop his head. Behind him, Lord Clifford, the Duke of Barnstaple, exited his carriage, carrying a cane with a silver knob on the end. Behind him, more lords emerged onto the street from their carriages: Lord Hamilton of Clovenshire, Lord Clay of Borneham, Lord Brandstetter of Cherring, Lord Marron of Lowcastle, Lord Wittonbury of Thrush-in-Pine, Lord Urston of Franningham, Lord Fiske of Kent—members of the Council of Lords, every one.
They walked in a row down Derby Lane and turned toward the Palace. Major Archibald met them at the gate. “My lord,” he said, “the Palace is yours.”
“Thank you, Major,” Rathman said. He gave the man a curious look. “Are you okay? You’re walking strangely.”
“Battle injury, my lord. Nothing serious.”
“Your men have cleared the courtyard of bodies?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Casualties?”
“Thirty men killed or not accounted for, my lord.”
“Good, good.” Rathman nodded curtly. “Have half a shilling sent to each of their families.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, savoring the moment. So many plans, so many machinations, so many contingencies thought of and accounted for, all had led to this one, perfect instant in time. The rain had stopped, and a glow was gathering on the eastern horizon. Even the weather seemed to conspire to make the moment perfect.
The Palace was his.
He opened his eyes again. In a moment, he would step through those gates as the new ruler of the Land. But first, he would inform the commoners.
✦
Victor was waiting for them at the arched stone entryway leading into the tower. “Oh, bravo! Bravo!” he said. “Splendid! The brave police swooped in at the last moment to rescue the trapped heroes! How wonderful! The information you have given me has been invaluable. We had been planning to do some field testing, of course, but you brought the opportunity straight to us. Magnificent!”
“As a Commander of the London Metropolitan Police, I am placing you under arrest on suspicion of conspiracy, assault, and mu
rder,” Skarbunket said. “Any and all animates on the premises will be seized and taken as state’s evidence.”
“You? Arresting me?” Victor said. “Oh, my. My, my, my. Commander Skarbunket, words cannot express how mistaken you are.”
Skarbunket pressed his hand to his head. “Normally, I would ask you why you think so,” he said, “and then you would tell me you have powerful connections and you are above the reach of the law, at which point I would retort that nobody is above the reach of the law and maybe offer a witty quip, but frankly, it’s late, I’m tired, and I have had a very, very long day. Let’s go.” He took Victor by the arm.
A gunshot rang out from the manor house. The police officers flattened themselves to the ground. A hole appeared in the sleeve of Donnie’s shirt. Donnie looked down at it, then shook his head. “Always ’as to be somethin’ else,” he sighed.
“Second window on the left, sir, by the door,” Bristol said.
“Mayferry, Bristol, with me.” Skarbunket started a low run toward the house, hugging the wall.
“Number two,” Donnie said, “watch Victor. If ’e moves, shoot ’im. If ’e looks at you funny, shoot ’im. You others, follow me.” He set off on a loping run toward the manor house.
“Well, this is exciting, isn’t it?” Victor said. “Such bravery! They’re so dashing! Do you have a cigarette?”
“Shut up,” Elias said.
Skarbunket reached the door first. He charged through the foyer and into the sitting room beyond. The intricate teak floor was littered with broken glass that caught and reflected the bright glare from outside in a thousand points of light. The fine velvet curtains were already darkening with rain.
A man in a butler’s uniform leaned against the window. He was busy with an antique flintlock pistol, carefully pouring powder from a small silver container into the flashpan.
Skarbunket tackled him without slowing down. He went down quickly with an oof! Mayferry and Bristol ran in just behind him.
“Are you okay, sir?” Bristol said.
“I’m fine, Mister Bristol. Just contemplating a change of career, and not for the first time this evening.” He lifted the man to his feet, holding on to his arm tightly.
Donnie charged into the room, shattered glass crunching beneath his massive feet. “Where is it?” Donnie said. His face was dark.
“Where is what?” the butler said.
“The creature that killed Chiyo Kanda. The animate.”
“We destroyed all the animates in the courtyard,” Skarbunket said.
Donnie shook his head. “No. It wasn’t there.” He leaned close to the butler. “Where is it?”
“The tower!” the man said, his eyes wide as saucepans. “In the tower!”
Skarbunket and Donnie looked at each other.
✦
The dawn gathered itself just below the horizon, working up the energy to spring forth. London was already awake. Of course, London was always awake, or at least bits of it were; the great engines of civilization turn night and day. But by this time of the morning, London was properly awake, her citizens flowing through the streets and alleys as befitted their station doing…whatever it was that citizens of a great city did. Rathman didn’t particularly care. He merely cared that they were present.
“Citizens of the Realm, friends, hear me,” Rathman said. He spread his arms wide. “On this night, a great wrong has been righted. Through your work and sacrifice, you have prevented disaster. A calamity that loomed before us, threatening to destroy our way of life, has been averted.”
He was standing in the middle of Tenpenny Square, the spacious public square in front of the Palace. When King John had had the Palace constructed, he had felt that a good palace needs a proper public square in front of it, filled with statues and a big arch. Tenpenny Square had been a small and, in his opinion, sad little space before the Reconstruction, all meandering pathways and babbling brooks and not even a single statue, but he had sorted that out. He’d also renamed it King’s Square, but the original name had stuck.
Rathman’s back was toward the Palace. In front of him, the surviving soldiers from his levy stood at attention in neat ranks. The other lords were arranged in a semicircle behind him. They had each brought five members of their own personal guard, who were arrayed to the sides, in case the peasantry decided they wanted to get too close. There were many unpleasant things about the peasantry, like the fact that they were always so grubby, and they got you grubby when they touched you. Behind them, the mounted units still stood at the gate, situated there to create all the more grand an impression when he took possession of his prize.
A curious crowd of onlookers formed rapidly. The Queen’s arrest had been the appetizer, whetting the city’s desire for drama, and now, at last, the main course had arrived.
“As you know, these are dark and troubled times,” Rathman said. “We are beset by enemies on all sides. The pretender in Rome, driven by his rage against the True and Holy Church, makes unending war upon us. He sends spies and assassins against us. He drives his unwanted, criminals, cutpurses, and murderers, to our shores. We have tried, my friends, to welcome those fleeing his tyranny, to offer them refuge in our lands. But what has it brought us? Only our own misery! He hides his spies in these people. They live among us, but who here can say we trust them? They do not adapt to our ways. They seek only our downfall.”
He raised his hands high, warming to the speech. “And as if that is not enough, we have enemies from within, too! The Queen herself, Protector of the Realm, arrested for treason! For collaboration with the enemy! Mad for power, she cooperates with our enemies! We already suffer from the depredations of the foreigners who fill our cities, and she would invite more! Because of her, these foreigners have become so brazen, they openly kidnap and murder even the highest among us! Who is safe? I ask you, my friends, do you feel safe among them?”
Murmurs spread through the crowd. People pressed forward as those behind them tried to move closer to hear.
Rathman smiled. So much work, so much planning, and in the end it had been so easy.
“I bring news!” he said. “Grave news! The Queen, in her shamelessness and deviance, sought to marry one of these foreigners, a foreign prince of the Caliphate! She said it to me herself! And as her bride-price, she means to allow these outsiders, these foreigners, to dock their warships in our ports!”
The murmurs became gasps.
“I have tried, my friends, to persuade her away from this path. I tried so very hard. But she would not listen. She is blind, my friends, blind to the suffering of her people, blind to our needs. She would place foreigners over us, over those of us who have been her loyal subjects all these years. And so, on this night, my heart heavy with sorrow, I came here to urge her to step down, to yield the Throne to her brother, who understands the needs of the people better than she. But she would not hear it! She set her Guard upon us. When it was clear that she could not defeat us, she murdered the Duke! Her own flesh and blood! She ordered her Guard to kill him, so that she would not lose the Throne! So corrupt were they, they obeyed this evil order. And, I regret to say, Queen Margaret herself is dead, perished in the struggle to save the lad.”
He looked out at the widening crowd and permitted himself a smile. Make the lies audacious, that was the key. A small lie might be doubted, but a great lie…a great lie was a mighty thing.
“And so her actions have left the Realm without a leader in the moment of our greatest need. I have conferred with my colleagues here. You will recognize them from the Council of Lords. As you know, King John the Proud, who loved this nation of ours from the deepest part of his soul, was my brother. I myself have never wanted the Throne, but the lords have come to me, beseeching me, and none of us may escape the call of duty. It is with great reluctance, but also with hope for our nation, that I have accepted their call. As God is my witness, I
will bring Britain back to greatness!”
✦
Meow.
The sound came from down below Elias. He looked down. A large tabby cat with bright green eyes sat looking up at him expectantly.
Meow, it said again, and rubbed against his legs.
Only…
Only the cat was wrong. It had too many legs. Two too many, to be precise. There was a second set of legs just behind the first, and its back was shaped…oddly. Elias stepped backward, recoiling in horror.
“Prometheus, kommst hier! Ich brauche dich,” Victor said.
“What?”
The animate came fast, cloaked in a robe, face hooded. It moved soundlessly down the stairs and was on Elias before he could blink. The knife flashed. Elias stumbled, clutching his throat, the gun falling from his grasp.
“Thank you, you’re too kind. I think I will take that,” Victor said. He picked up the gun and turned to the hooded figure. “Let’s go before our heroes return,” he said. He looked down, where blood spurted in a fine mist from Elias’s throat. His nose wrinkled.
“Yes, master,” the thing said. Its voice crawled and slithered.
“You know,” Victor said, “it’s a shame they burned down the stable. I would quite prefer to ride than walk. Ah, well, at least the rain has stopped. Let’s go out through the back of the power generator, shall we? Stay behind me, and if anyone tries to follow us, please tear his throat out.”
“Yes, master,” it said.
Victor took a look around. “I do hope they don’t do too much damage to my lab before they leave. I am so looking forward to an end to this strange reluctance to appreciate the magnitude of my work. Still, eggs and omelettes and all that.” He unlocked a heavy steel door in the base of the tower and, followed by his creation, he left.
✦
“I’m sorry,” Alÿs said. She was gasping for breath. “We need to keep going. It’s a long way to Bodger & Bodger. If we can get across the bridge without being seen, I think we’ll be okay. We—what are you doing?”
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