The Shadow Revolution

by Clay Griffith

  Both men stood over her, staring in alarm. Simon was without his coat, which she now held in her hands.

  “I’m fine,” she said a bit less frantically. “Where’s the homunculus?”

  Simon stood and looked around. The creature was nowhere to be seen.

  “There.” Malcolm pointed into the air.

  Over the steeple-dotted skyline of London, a white shape with large wings labored through the moonlit air. It was a poor flier, but was already closing in on the Thames River.

  Kate scrambled to her feet, trying to ignore the cold ooze that dribbled down her back. “We’ve lost it! All that effort, and we’ve lost it.”

  Simon laughed as he continued to stare at the flying thing. “Not at all. We’ll find it soon enough.”

  “How?” she asked. “It’s almost out of sight now. Why is this funny to you?”

  Simon took his damp coat from her hand. He reached inside and withdrew a tube of paper. He unrolled it to reveal a three-foot sheet of vellum inscribed with a map of London and a weird variety of runic symbols around the border. He held up his left hand. “I transferred a rune to the homunculus. And I can now track that rune using this map. Here, Kate, you’ve got a little something just there.” He reached over and used his index finger to scrape a dollop of ooze from her cheek. He flicked it onto the ground. “There. That’s better.”

  “How could this be hilarious to you?” Kate couldn’t understand the boyish glee that Simon had on his face. Was he truly that ignorant? Then she realized this must be the aether drunkenness that Simon talked about. It was peculiar and disturbing. She looked at Malcolm, and the dour Scotsman was staring at Simon with confusion as well.

  “No,” Simon replied lightly, but ran a rubbery hand over his face in an effort to wrest back control over his wits. He tossed his jacket aside. “Well, that’s the end of that coat.”

  “I hope the next one regurgitates on you so I can have a bit of a laugh.” Kate jutted her chin at the map. “Well, start tracking.”

  Simon chuckled to himself and spread the map out on the top of a tomb. He pressed his hands against the vellum and began to chant quietly. The lines of the map glowed a faint green, shifting around the streets of London as if it were a living thing. Then there was a green blip just over the river due south of their location at St. Andrews Holborn. Simon took a deep breath and lowered his head.

  When he looked up at his companions, there was an emerald fire sparking in his eyes. He laughed again, but it was no longer giddy. It was a dark, brutal laugh.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bedlam sat like a squat toad in the midst of its walled grounds on Lambeth Road. The expansive brick building consisted of a central block with a front entrance boasting six Doric columns supporting a central pediment. Wings extended out either side to create a massive structure almost six hundred feet in length.

  “Bloody hell,” muttered Malcolm.

  “You have no idea.” Simon rolled his map, which had led them here, and stuck it in his waistcoat.

  Kate’s stomach plummeted at the sight of the hospital from which she had extracted her sister only a few days before. The ramifications stared her suddenly in the face. Why had Imogen really been brought here days ago? Was Dr. White involved, or was he ignorant of what was happening in his hospital? Her jaw tightened in unbridled anger. What she had seen as a helping hand was now suddenly a vicious lie.

  Her eyes snapped to Simon, who was quietly regarding her. “How do we get inside?”

  “A window would be the best,” he said. “Preferably an office.”

  “The windows are barred with iron,” Malcolm pointed out with a scowl, peering through the gates with their brash rosette circles.

  “A minor inconvenience.”

  Simon decided to enter through Dr. White’s office, which was at the front and to the right of the outermost column. The doctor was most likely in his residence at this hour, which was at the back of the hospital. There shouldn’t be many guards, or keepers as they were called, since most patients were locked in at night. That would give them a better opportunity to explore and find out where the mushrooms were being stored, or if the wulsyl itself was here.

  Street traffic was minimal, but they went down quieter Kennington Road before stealing over the thick wall. As they slipped across the deserted grounds, the dark windows showed little movement inside. The windows were set high so the patients could see nothing but the sky above.

  “I hope you brought explosives or acid.” Malcolm tested the thick iron bars covering the window. They were set firm in the casement without even chips of concrete to show weakness.

  Simon’s lips curved into an exasperating and knowing smile as he laid his hands on two bars. He whispered something that Kate vaguely recognized as ancient druidic.

  “If you think praying will help, by all means,” growled Malcolm, his annoyance sparking dangerously.

  The muscles in Simon’s shoulders bunched and his arms tightened. Kate noticed his chest bulging beneath his shirt. Suddenly the metal bars parted with a screech of bending iron, leaving a void large enough for a man to slip through. There was no way a slender man such as Simon Archer should have been able to do such a thing. He paused, listening for any reaction to the squeal of the bars. When he heard nothing, he breathed out heavily and regarded Malcolm.

  “Then again maybe it will help,” the Scotsman remarked with surprise. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, sorcerer.”

  Simon reached in and wedged his fingers under the window. With a quick push, the sash went up. He climbed up between the space in the bars.

  Malcolm regarded him strangely as he helped Kate inside. The office was illuminated only by the moonlight outside, but it was enough to show that the room was empty. Simon was already at the door, listening with an ear to the wood. Then he grabbed a bottle of India ink from a bookcase. Dipping a finger in the neck of the bottle, he began to draw a series of symbols on the door. Part of the wood went transparent to show a clear hallway outside.

  Malcolm’s eyes widened in amazement. “You’re a scribe.”

  “Obviously.” Simon shot back a grin before his mouth twisted with distaste. “A sorcerer. How provincial.”

  “I thought all your kind was dead.”

  “You would be wrong again.” Simon smiled infuriatingly at the hunter.

  “Gentlemen, let’s concentrate on finding the ghostbloom.” Kate lit a single candle and began to rifle through the papers on Dr. White’s desk.

  Simon came to her side and picked up a journal. He flipped pages, scanning the notes. Malcolm continued to observe the hallway. No keepers passed, and were hopefully ensconced in their rooms, cozy by a fire.

  “Here.” Kate brought a document closer to the candlelight. “There are rooms earmarked for special projects, and they’re under White’s lock and key.”

  Simon’s expression was grim. “That’s the women’s criminal ward.”

  “That doesn’t sound suspicious at all,” Malcolm muttered.

  “Worth a look.” Simon set the open journal on the table and tapped it with his finger. “There are also notes here about patients receiving unique treatments in the basement level.”

  “What sort of treatments?” Kate asked. Her stomach was a hard knot.

  “Doesn’t say. The criminal wards are closer. We’ll look there first. If necessary, we’ll venture below and see what the good doctor has been up to.”

  “Are we sure he’s involved?” Malcolm glanced over.

  “No, we’re not sure, but the coincidences reek.”

  “He’d better pray he isn’t involved.” Kate’s tone was ice-cold. It wasn’t an empty threat and both men knew it.

  “Someone’s coming,” Malcolm hissed.

  Simon doused the candle with his hand and they fell silent. Through the shimmering portal in the door, they saw a distant figure carrying a dim lantern. The gaslight in the hall was set low so the lantern came toward them like a wavering spe
cter.

  “Can he see us through the door?” Kate whispered.

  “No,” Simon answered.

  Malcolm shot them a cross look and put a finger to his lips.

  Kate’s muscles tensed for action as the watchman stopped in front of the office door. He came so close she could make out small details like a half-healed welt on his face, perhaps due to a wild blow from a crazed inmate or a drunken brawl after hours in a pub. His bored gaze swept over the door and stopped right at her, as if he could see her, but he didn’t react. It was uncanny how Simon’s transparency spell worked. However, it was also unnerving how exposed she felt. Even her breathing stilled as the keeper stared oddly at the door, his face twisting in a grimace. Then, gripping his lantern tighter, he walked toward the men’s wing. His echoing footsteps faded, and for a moment, Kate imagined what it felt like to be an inmate here, fearful at such a sound.

  Minutes passed before Simon moved to open the door to peer out. The hallway was empty. He rubbed out the script, smearing the ink before they headed left for the female wards. The front hall was carpeted with a threadbare rug up to a point. The closer they got to the east wing, simple amenities like side tables and plants vanished. Every several feet they passed under gas fixtures set high in the arched ceiling to prevent the inmates from tampering with them, and to keep the miniscule light focused above and not below.

  Simon was in the lead while Malcolm took up the rear. As they made a turn to the right and started down another long corridor, the atmosphere changed. Beneath the hissing of the gaslights and the clanking of metal upon metal, there were incessant moans and grunts and pitiful wails. The sounds echoed around the stone walls, rising and falling, until Kate was tempted to cover her ears with her hands to silence it.

  Simon paused to slide back the narrow viewing slot in one of the doors. The piteous face that showed in the dim glow reared back in abject fear, crying out and scrambling as far as her chained foot would allow. Taken aback, Simon closed the slot and regarded his companions.

  “I might’ve been the devil himself the way she reacted.”

  “The devil does walk these halls.” Kate resettled her bandolier for reassurance.

  “The keeper may swing back this way soon enough,” Malcolm added.

  The carpeting muffled Kate’s footfalls but every few feet the sound changed oddly, as if she passed over something hollow then solid again. She pointed it out to Malcolm beside her. “What do you think it means?”

  “Beams in the floor most likely,” Malcolm stated, eager to be on their way, his eyes flashing from one dark corner to the next. He hurried her along after Simon.

  An eerie sound that hadn’t been there before penetrated the air. A faint scratching. Muffled and distant. It seemed to be following them, first loud then faint, then loud again.

  “What is that noise?” Kate asked, her eyes tight with trepidation.

  “Perhaps rats?” Simon offered, his mouth twisting with disgust.

  Then something caught Kate’s ankle and she was flung forward against Malcolm. She had the forethought to keep her cry of alarm in her throat. Only when she saw milky white fingers protruding from under the edge of the carpet did she gasp.

  Simon quickly turned back, staring at the frantic hand slapping the floor. He seized the edge of the stained wool runner that covered the hall.

  Malcolm placed a hand on his arm. “Are you daft?”

  “Can’t hurt to check under the rug.” Simon waited until Malcolm moved his feet, which the hunter did grudgingly. “At worst we may find just how bad they clean.”

  “You’re too glib by half, Archer.”

  Simon smirked, but it didn’t linger. “I’m not leaving something behind that could attack our rear or call out an alarm.”

  Neither Kate nor Malcolm could argue that point.

  “Stand ready,” Simon told them.

  Kate put her back to the wall and raised a vial in her hand while Malcolm aimed his pistol.

  Simon flung up the rug with a great rolling wave that cleared ten yards down the center of the corridor. Down the length of the passage, a series of rectangular hatches were set in the floor. The hatch at their feet had a hole gouged out of it. The pale hand extended from the jagged gap, touching the floor around it, as if seeking the iron bar that locked the door into place.

  Simon knelt and the ghostly hand slid back into the blackness. He peered into the hole with the candle, then reached for the bolt. Kate and Malcolm came even more alert. Simon pulled back the bar and lifted the hatch. Nothing leapt out at them save a horrid stench.

  Kate leaned over to look. “Oh my God.”

  Under the hatch was a rusted grate of iron. Beneath that was a homunculus huddled inside a cramped space that was no more than four feet square and perhaps four feet deep. Its white head awkwardly tilted up. Inhuman black eyes were dull with pain.

  “What in the name of hell?” Simon whispered. He looked along the row of hatches. “They keep them under the floors.”

  Kate covered her face. “We’ve been walking on them. How many are locked in like this?”

  “For the love of God, close it.” Malcolm slid the toe of his boot under the hatch and kicked it over shut. A faint mewling started from underneath. Malcolm thrust the bolt home with his foot and turned away, grim and pale. “There’s nothing we can do for it. Let’s move on.”

  Simon pulled the carpet back into place with a sad grunt of resignation. He put a hand on Kate’s back and they started after the Scotsman. “I’ve never seen anything like this. I never wanted to.”

  Kate took a shuddering breath. “What horrors did Imogen experience in here?”

  Simon didn’t respond except to tighten a comforting hand on her arm.

  They approached an iron gate that separated the galleries, the curables from the criminals. Kate saw his lips move silently and he laid his hands on the bars. With another muscular pull, the bars creaked apart. This time Malcolm didn’t bat an eye but walked through quickly with his long blade out. Kate followed and Simon stepped through before bending the bars back into place.

  A change in temperature made Kate shiver. The stark stone floor and ceiling of plate iron could account for it. There were no fireplaces or vents, and the cold seeped up from the floor. Her feet were like ice blocks in minutes.

  The lighting became nonexistent. Simon’s candle was a poor replacement for gas lamps, but Kate was grateful for anything to hold the shadows at bay. She kept a hand in her pocket, holding a vial. It gave her fortitude.

  A moan abruptly intensified into a scream, then subsided into sobs. Shadows shifted against the walls as they went down the corridor past doors, some of which were open. Her eyes darted left and right, trying to focus on the movement. But the darkness beyond the candle’s glow was too deep. Dust and debris she’d rather not name littered the corners. A stench that threatened to make her gag was building in her nose. Human waste and, God help her, the smell of rotting meat.

  Her foot slipped on something and she looked down. She stared at the slick spot on the floor. Kneeling, she ran a finger over the substance. The hair on Kate’s arms rose. “Simon,” she hissed.

  “What?”

  Malcolm turned with him. They were already nine yards farther down the corridor than Kate. An expression of shock crossed his features as he looked up at the ceiling. His knife rose in a swift jerk.

  Before she could utter another word, something heavy dropped on her. Cold, slime-covered appendages wrapped around her shoulders, pinning her arms and knocking her off balance. With amazing speed, she was dragged toward an open cell and pulled inside as if she were an escaped inmate.

  Even though her upper arms were trapped, Kate had enough freedom to draw a small dagger from her belt. With a Herculean effort, she dug it deep into the chest of the homunculus. It reacted violently, rearing back and flailing uncontrollably. The homunculus released Kate but its eyestalks shifted left and right as Simon and Malcolm darted into the cell.


  It ran at the men. The creature screamed as Malcolm’s blade flashed and cut off an eyestalk. Its long arms struck at Malcolm, slamming him to the side as it vaulted up to the ceiling. Simon grabbed its leg and yanked it back down hard, smashing it onto the floor.

  Kate scrambled out of the way, but then hands tangled in her hair and yanked her backward. The grating of rusting chains filled her ears as something dragged her off her feet. Simon took a step toward her, but the homunculus rolled to its feet and jumped on his back. He was borne to the ground roughly as the creature pounded his head and shoulders.

  Malcolm ran past Simon and swung his long-bladed knife above Kate’s head. There was a strangled shriek and the grip on her body eased. Malcolm lifted her by the arm, pulling her back toward the door in the same motion. A chain snapped taut behind her and snarling followed.

  Simon ripped the homunculus from his back with a steely grip and held it at arm’s length. His other arm pulled back and he slammed a rock-hard fist into the creature’s face. Bones crushed beneath the blow. Kate grabbed her short sword and stabbed the blade in deep at the lower back of the homunculus. It screamed and arched.

  Simon picked the horrible body up and heaved it over Kate’s head, where it crashed into the chained creature in the corner. The second thing had one eye bulging out farther than the other and its naked torso was covered with surgical cuts stitched together. Internal organs were visible, pulsating and contracting under near-translucent skin. The skull was still covered with the tattered remains of long, flaxen hair. It had once been a woman. She fell upon her weakened brother with incredible savagery. The two creatures screamed at one another, each one clawing at the other. Finally, the terrible woman tore the head off the homunculus with a victorious shriek and threw it across the room to tumble at Malcolm’s feet. There was a sizzle as the homunculus melted into a puddle of desiccated ooze. A tangle of mechanical gears and metal rose out of the goo, but the woman fell upon that as well, scattering it like an angry child slapping at toys.

  The three humans backed out of the cell. As Malcolm shut the bolt, they heard a high-pitched wail from inside.