The Shadow Revolution

by Clay Griffith

  The wagon shifted as the driver fought his powerful draft horses. The tower of barrels creaked toward Malcolm, threatening to smash Penny and him under a deadly landslide. But when the werewolf tensed to pounce, it kicked the top barrel out behind it. The creature lost its footing and fell flat. Barrels began to roll away.

  The werewolf struggled frantically to regain its feet. It clawed at each of the massive hogsheads as they toppled one after another over the railing in a roaring crash. A heavy, iron-shod barrel struck the werewolf on the head, knocking it to the side. Another battered its shoulder. The werewolf screeched and disappeared under the avalanche of wood and iron. A clawed hand reached helplessly and then the werewolf was borne to the dark Thames far below, buried under countless heavy thuds of barrels smashing into the water.

  Penny finally dragged the unwieldy vehicle back a few inches by pushing with her feet. She revved the motor and turned the front wheel over hard. Malcolm grabbed hold as the steamcycle bucked away from the catastrophe around the wagon. Ignoring the furious shouts and angry fists, they drove on. They broke out of the bridge congestion and roared south through Lambeth.

  Penny watched behind in a mirrored glass set on one of the handles. “Is that all of them finally?”

  The Scotsman appraised her. “You don’t seem overly shocked by all this.”

  She smirked. “You’re not the first hunter to waltz in my door. Some talk a lot more than you, so I have an idea what you do. You order silver ordnance. I’m not feebleminded. I can make connections as well as contraptions.”

  “So I see.”

  Penny glanced over at him briefly before returning her attention to driving. They shuddered over the rough but wide roads. Malcolm noticed the edifice of Bedlam in the distance. It appeared as normal as usual. He stared at it in disgust, fearful that more werewolves might come boiling out of the madhouse. Finally the wretched place was lost from sight and they rolled noisily into the Surrey countryside.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The four-horse chaise clattered to a stop at the front portico of Hartley Hall. Simon leapt to the ground and handed Kate down.

  “Do not unhitch,” she said to the coachman. “Go to the stables and prepare everything that will roll. Every carriage and wagon.”

  “Yes, miss.” The coachman looked quite disturbed, but he shook the reins and rumbled off toward the stables behind the vast house.

  Simon raced with Kate to the front door, nearly slamming into Hogarth, who was heading out to meet them. Despite the clear distress on Kate’s face, the servant remained calm.

  “What do you need from me, Miss Kate?”

  “Hogarth, good. We must empty Hartley Hall immediately.”

  “Empty it?”

  “The servants. All of them must go now. And particularly Imogen. The staff will return as soon as it’s safe. Go and tell them. No time to pack. I will foot the bill for whatever they need, but impress on them that it is very dangerous for them to remain.”

  “Where shall they go, miss?”

  Kate raised her voice in frustration. “It doesn’t matter where they go. Family. Friends. If necessary, I’ll pay for any hotels. They just have to go. Now.” She squeezed his arm. “Hogarth, please. Believe me as you would my father.”

  The servant nodded and turned on his heel. He took Barnaby, the butler, who stood nearby looking confused, by his arm and led the older man down the main hall in close consultation.

  Kate was already taking the grand staircase two steps at a time. Simon caught up and they saw Imogen crouching on the top stair glaring at Kate. The young woman scrambled to her feet and raced away down the hallway.

  “Imogen!” Kate followed until the girl ran into her room and slammed the door. Kate gripped the knob, but the door didn’t budge. “Imogen. Unlock this door, please.”

  “No,” came the voice from inside.

  “Imogen,” Kate demanded more forcefully. “Open this door.”

  “I can’t.”

  “She seems agitated,” Simon said.

  Kate put a hand to her forehead. “This is no time for a tantrum.”

  He indicated the door. “Shall I?”

  “Please.”

  Simon whispered a word and placed his hand against the white-paneled door. It was thick oak, but with a few seconds of pressure, the wood began to crack. He tensed his arm, straining his back, and the door tore away from the jamb, leaving a chunk of wood, complete with knob, suspended in the lock. The door swung open easily to reveal Imogen huddled in the center of her huge bed. Her eyes grew wide with surprise.

  “You can’t come in!” she shouted. “You don’t have permission.”

  Kate slipped around Simon and approached the bed. “We are leaving the house now to go on a trip. Come with me.”

  Imogen dropped onto the floor and quickly crawled under the bed.

  “My God!” Kate shouted. She went to her knees and shoved up the lace ruffle, peering into the darkness. “Imogen, stop this. Come out now. Now!”

  “I’m not supposed to,” Imogen moaned. “You can’t take me away.”

  “Just come out, please. If you don’t come out, Mr. Archer will just lift the bed off you and we will carry you out.”

  “No he won’t.”

  Kate leapt to her feet, her distress growing. She pushed past Simon into the corridor. “Stay here and watch her. I’m going for something in my laboratory.”

  “All right,” he said as her footsteps were lost in the growing noise of servants hustling around the house. Simon leaned against the open door. He felt a presence beside him and saw Nick yawning.

  “When did you get back?” Nick asked.

  “Just now. Where have you been?”

  “I was asleep. It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Actually, it’s well on toward noon.”

  “Oh.” Nick shrugged, then saw the broken lock. He also attended the frantic voices coming from around the house with a look of confusion. “What’s all the tumult?”

  “Long story, but the short version is we’re trying to get everyone out of the house before the werewolves appear on our doorstep.”

  Nick rubbed his unshaven face, seemingly unperturbed. “So your attempt at stealth was a failure?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Why is the young Miss Anstruther under her bed?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Simon knelt so he could see the shadowy outline of Imogen’s face close to the floor. “Miss Anstruther, you’re causing your sister a great deal of trouble.”

  Silence.

  “She wants to take you on a trip now that you’re feeling better.”

  Silence.

  “It would be generous of you if you cooperated with her.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not allowed to leave, not until …”

  “Not until what?”

  Imogen closed her eyes tightly and shook her head.

  “Simon!” Kate’s voice came from downstairs. It was a cry of alarm.

  He leapt up and ran with Nick just behind him. As he spun around the bottom of the stair railing into the main foyer, he caught sight of Kate in the main hall, waving for him to follow. She was already running for the rear of the house. Soon they caught up and the trio pushed into the servants’ dining room, where a group of morose and terrified men and women stood around a table. As Kate approached, they all stepped back to reveal a bloody form on the table. It was a young boy.

  The coachman, his face bloody and his clothes ripped, stood over the lad with tears flowing down his cheeks. “They came at us, miss. Two of them. I don’t know what they were. Some kind of beasts. They killed Thomas here as he was leading a team. They killed four of the horses, and the others bolted. They wrecked the coach. I couldn’t stop them. I’m sorry, miss.”

  Simon took Kate by the shoulders and turned her away from the dead boy. “There’s no escape now, Kate, for any of us. You must get all
the women and children into the safest place in the house. Imogen too, but keep her isolated from the rest.”

  “Do we have time?” Kate asked.

  “If they were ready to attack, they would be inside now. They’re waiting for something. Let’s take advantage.”

  Nick started for a rear door. “You tend to things here, old boy. I’ll have a stroll around.”

  “Right,” Simon replied. “Be careful.”

  Several of the young maids began to cry and ask frantic questions. Mrs. Tolbert snapped her fingers once and gave a stern look, along with a comforting hand on one panicked girl’s arm. The crying quieted to sniffling.

  Kate’s voice was firm but calm, “Mrs. Tolbert, take all the women and lock yourselves in the scullery until someone comes for you.”

  Simon pulled a folded linen tablecloth from a shelf. He shook it out and draped it over the dead boy. Blood immediately began to seep through the cloth. “Now, load every weapon in the house. Every musket. Every pistol. Dole them out to any man capable of carrying. Swords as well, if you have them.”

  Kate shook her head. “My people are no match for these creatures.”

  “Likely none of us are. So we need every one of them, Kate. We need all the power we can muster. These things can die if we hit them hard enough.”

  Hogarth said, “They’ll serve, miss. The older ones particularly have had some experience under your father. They’ll bolster the younger ones.”

  Kate took a shuddering breath but nodded agreement.

  Simon continued, “Lock every door and window. If there are shutters, seal them shut. If not, nail lumber over the windows. Main floor first, then upstairs.”

  Kate turned to Hogarth. “Fetch Imogen out from under her bed and lock her in the wine cellar. And you stay with her.”

  “Very good, miss.” The manservant pulled the coachman away from the bloody boy on the table and the two men departed quickly.

  Simon led Kate from the room. “What do you have in your laboratory that might serve?”

  “A few things, perhaps. I certainly haven’t spent much time designing weapons.”

  “Put together what you can. I’ll be in the library shoring up our defenses.” Before she stepped away, he took her hand and looked into her eyes. “Kate, we can survive this. Our resources are extraordinary.”

  She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I intend to make these things regret they ever laid eyes on my home.”

  Simon laughed and sent her on her way, watching her figure move down the hall, first at a quick walk, then breaking into a run. He turned, stepping around a valet carrying a double armload of muskets followed by a young lad with powder horns and shot bags draped off his shoulders. A footman was standing on a chair, wrenching swords off ancestral displays.

  As he neared the library, a strange sound made itself known. He stopped to listen, the crease in his brow deepening. There was so much activity in the house he wondered what it could be. It reverberated the dust motes floating in the sunlight that filtered through the windows. Several servants also stopped work in confusion. They watched Simon pass toward the front door, and he gave them a confident smile that he didn’t quite feel.

  He threw back the front door and stepped out onto the portico. The rumbling grew louder and Simon felt the vibrations in his chest. From the distant forest, birds rose in alarm into the morning sky.

  A dust cloud appeared on the yew-lined drive that ran straight from the house. Then a roaring shape rose into view. It didn’t seem to be a living creature. It was squat, much smaller than a carriage, and lower to the ground than a horse. Sunlight glinted off metal. Simon blocked the glare with his hand in an attempt to discern if it was friend or foe.

  Then he saw Malcolm. The Scotsman’s face bobbed to the side of the main bulk of the thing. Clearly, it was a vehicle of some sort, but nothing Simon had ever seen or heard before. He now thought he recognized Penny Carter hunched low in the center.

  Strange, flailing shapes broke through the smoke behind the vehicle. Greyish brown figures rocked forward, then back. Long arms. Fierce snouts.

  Werewolves. At least three of them loping in close pursuit and gaining fast.

  Simon leapt from the portico and started up the gravel path toward the oncoming chaos. A bright flash of light came from his left and a streak of fire shot toward the rumbling mechanical thing. A blossom of flame hit one of the werewolves, sending it cartwheeling into the distance.

  Nick appeared at a run, angling in on Simon and raising a smoking hand. He stopped and wound up his arm like a cricket bowler. He pitched another fireball toward the roaring vehicle. It flared across the lawn and crashed into a second werewolf.

  Simon ran harder at the approaching machine. Penny waved him aside, shouting unheard. Malcolm was trying to twist in the small side buggy with a pistol in his fist. Simon caught the Scotsman’s eye and prayed the man’s wary look showed that he grasped what Simon was intending.

  Simon took several more long-legged strides and just as the vehicle reached him, he leapt into the air. Malcolm fell flat against the sloping metal sidecarriage. Simon drew up his legs and sailed over the Scotsman’s head, shouting an ancient word and feeling the runic tattoo spark on his chest.

  A werewolf was just ready to strike the bike but looked up in surprise as a figure hurtled at it. Simon caught the creature with an outstretched arm against its throat. It was driven off its feet as if it had collided with a sturdy tree limb. The werewolf toppled back into the gravel, rolling over and over. Simon landed hard and fell into a crouch, sliding onto his knees. He leapt up and brought a fist against the werewolf’s head like a blacksmith’s hammer. Simon pounced on its back and started smashing the thing’s head. When it snapped at him, he seized it by the snout and gave a terrible wrench. He heard the satisfying sound of its jaw cracking.

  A figure appeared in front of Simon. He reared up, ready to strike, but saw it was Nick. The older magician’s hands were both aflame and he stood facing away, as if challenging someone in the distance. Simon saw the other two werewolves crouching some fifty yards away in the grass, glaring at them. He took a position next to Nick. He felt blood dripping down his face and was grateful it wasn’t his. A rustling sound to his other side heralded the arrival of Malcolm with both massive Lancasters ready.

  Nick started toward the creatures. “Let’s get them.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Malcolm said. “They’re scouts. Mere fodder. And they’re luring us.”

  “There are only two,” Nick snarled. “Scared?”

  The Scotsman’s face was ice. “There are more than two, and bigger ones. You just won’t see them until it’s too late.”

  “He’s right, Nick.” Simon scanned the area to ensure they weren’t being flanked. He noticed Penny twenty-five yards behind them, about halfway to the house, with some outrageous brass blunderbuss on her shoulder.

  The three men stood, waiting for the werewolves to make their decision. The creatures bobbed with uncertainty, snarling and waving their clawed hands. Then they turned and raced away into the forest.

  Malcolm glanced at the dead werewolf on the gravel and up at the bloody Simon. “You needn’t have risked yourself.”

  Simon shook his head in annoyed bemusement and put a hand on Nick’s shoulder for support. “But I like Penny.”

  “Well then, come on,” Malcolm said, peering all around for safety. “She brought a few things that might be helpful.”

  “Good. I hoped she needed that steam horse for more than just to ferry you out here.” Simon and Nick hurried back to the house, leaving the Scotsman to follow slowly.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “She’s coming,” Simon said.

  “She’s already here.” Malcolm stood to his left, staring through the glass into the wild woods beyond the well-tended garden. “I can see them moving. They’ll attack soon.”

  Dusk had fallen, but outside the windows of Hartley Hall it appeared as bright as a milky day t
hanks to the moon rising in the east. Its radiance illuminated the lines in Simon’s face as he looked out the French windows in the Blue Room. The scattered clouds glowed with the eerie light, while the high, manicured hedges stretching off to the dark forest looked almost otherworldly in the moonshine.

  Simon placed a hand on the wall and closed his eyes, seeking out the power of the runes he had scripted throughout the house and across the grounds. To his relief, they were all as he had placed them, waiting. So he reached out, touching them all, and took control of their power. He could feel the connections through the aether as if he now had a series of outposts along a frontier, but in the face of the threat lurking in the forest, his magic seemed distant and weak. Simon’s jaw tightened as Kate entered the parlor in close conversation with Penny. Nick was on their heels.

  Kate wore her bandolier of vials, carried a sword in her hand, and sported a pistol in her belt. Simon studied the martial figure with appreciation. Her face showed no fear, only the resolve to protect those in the house. She took a position at his shoulder, peering through the glass. He took strength from her tenacity.

  “There’s not much time, I assume?” she asked.

  “No. They’re scurrying around. Is everything prepared?”

  “As best we could.” She smiled back at Penny. “Miss Carter is a wonder. She prepared a number of swords with silver nitrate and managed to provide some of the men with silver loads for their firearms.”

  Penny hefted her thunderous stovepipe weapon. “Have you seen the workshop her father has here? If I had a few days, we could hold off an army.”

  “No doubt,” replied Simon. “I wish we had those days, but I’m sure you’ve worked miracles in the time you had. And I’ll remind you, Miss Carter, that this isn’t your fight. I would rather you place yourself out of harm’s way.”

  Penny regarded him with a hand on her cocked hip. “Just give us a rousing St. Crispin’s Day speech, will you?”

  Simon nodded to her and looked around the room from under a downturned brow. His face remained a mask of effort as he gripped the doorframe. His air of authority was all the more powerful as the tattoos on his bare forearms shone with eldritch energy. His voice deepened. “The way to win this battle is to stand together. They will concentrate their attack on the house, most likely at this place because the hedges provide good cover nearly to the door. So Malcolm and I will hold the line here in the Blue Room. Kate, you and Penny take the library in the east wing to cover the entrance to the wine cellar.”