The Shadow Revolution

by Clay Griffith

  Nick held the reins tight on his snorting mount. “Take it easy, Simon. We’re not at our best.”

  “You’ll need to be when we reach Bedlam.”

  “But I don’t see why we couldn’t have taken my spinebreaker,” groused Penny, stretching her aching back. “This horse is intolerable.”

  Malcolm was quick to answer. “Too noticeable. Besides, I’ve been a passenger in that infernal machine. Now it’s your turn.”

  “We’re running out of time.” Simon gave his mount his head again. Nick’s colorful curse filled the space he had just left, but they all whipped their mounts into a gallop after him.

  The pace he set was so furious, it took them less than three hours to reach the city. It was just past one o’clock in the morning when the spires of London loomed in the starlight ahead. A curse fell from Simon’s lips as he maneuvered around a broken-down flower cart. The owner raised a fist and shouted something after his horse bumped into the cart in its excitement, displacing more of his wares.

  “Steady.” Nick kept his voice even to keep from fueling his friend’s fire. “Gretta took Kate for a reason. She won’t harm her till she gets what she wants. We’ll be in time.”

  Simon and Nick rode side by side, fighting the flow around them. Nick turned in the saddle to ensure Malcolm and Hogarth were still in sight. Simon’s impatient actions agitated his horse, which continued to prance and toss his head at being kept in check. The grand majesty of Lambeth Palace appeared before them. They turned right onto Church Street and slowly fought through the thinning masses, the very people they were trying to protect but who now stood in the way. As they continued up the widening thoroughfare, Malcolm and Hogarth broke free from their entanglements and trotted up behind. Finally the road opened up and Simon reined his horse to a stop across the street from Bedlam sprawling behind its wall.

  Simon stared through the forbidding wrought-iron gates at the grey structure. His face contorted with fury. He spurred his horse forward toward the gates. Nick raced after and grabbed the mount’s bridle.

  “Simon!”

  The horse pulled up sharply, its ears flat against its head. Nick was in danger of being bitten by the horse or receiving a right cross from the rider.

  “Let go! Don’t try to stop me, Nick!”

  “Think, Simon!”

  “I am thinking! Of what they must be doing to …” Simon couldn’t finish his sentence. His hand went to his chest, touching the bandolier beneath his coat.

  Nick pulled the horse’s head back to him. “We’re going in, just not through the front door. Come with me.” He wheeled his own horse roughly in the opposite direction.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Kate’s body felt not her own. She slumped forward in the wheelchair; the only thing holding her upright was the band across her chest. Her hands and legs were numb after being immobile for so long. Her spine should be aching, but she felt nothing. She forced herself to straighten. A flash of white immediately started her chest pounding. She instinctively tried to pull against her restraints, to try to get away, but the white shape didn’t move. It coalesced into the homunculus hunched placidly in a corner. Its mechanical eyes rotated, staring at her. It shuffled toward her and she whimpered against her will. The creature reached out a hand to touch her leg and she jerked reflexively.

  “Leave me alone, you sodding piece of filth!” Kate raged at it, calling it a stream of unflattering things. Her anger was all that she had left now and she wielded it like any other weapon. “Come near me again and I swear I will bite off your bloody hand!”

  It recoiled, then studied her. Her harsh breath was visible in the air of the chilled room.

  “Now, now. Miss Anstruther.” Dr. White reentered the room. “Such language.”

  Kate swiveled her head to face him, her fear boiling in her gut.

  “And in front of your very impressionable sister.” He tsked at her.

  Kate tried to hold on to her fury, but in her weakened state it fled all too quickly, leaving her spent and ragged in her bonds. She shouldn’t have wasted her energy on the creature. The doctor had something new up his sleeve by the sick way he smiled at her. She would need all her strength to endure it.

  Imogen still stood in the corner of the room watching impassively. Kate couldn’t fathom how anyone could look on such horrors and not be moved to some sort of action. They were family. Kate still believed there was some part of Imogen that recognized her and felt the slightest remorse.

  Dr. White said, “I’m certainly glad you’ve recovered your stamina. For a time there I thought we might have lost you.”

  “I don’t fade that easily.”

  “Yes. I see that. I gave you an enormous amount of serum; too much I feared. But I’m willing to stop these harsh actions if only you would tell me how the key works. It’s such a simple thing.”

  “Even if I did, you would still kill us.”

  “I would never do something so wasteful! You totally misunderstand me, Miss Anstruther. To me, all life is precious. I would no more kill you than I would harm a hair on this creature’s head.” White stroked the rubbery skin of the homunculus.

  “You said you killed them first.”

  “No. I transformed them. No one mourns the caterpillar after a beautiful butterfly emerges.”

  “You perhaps need your spectacles repaired. That is not a butterfly.”

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I find human life remarkable. Such vitality. So capable of adapting once the brain is altered to accept the coming change. You’ll see.”

  “What?” A cold knot gripped Kate’s stomach.

  “Well, if you aren’t going to be cooperative, perhaps you will be more disposed to talk to me as a homunculus.”

  “I’ll never tell you anything!”

  “We can’t know that until we try.” Dr. White strode behind the wheelchair in which Kate was imprisoned. At the same time, two more homunculi entered the room. One had draping tentacles and the other walked hunched and had long, spindly fingers tipped with needles. They gathered near the operating table as Dr. White wheeled Kate toward it.

  “You will make a fine addition to the family.”

  “No!” Kate shouted.

  “Yes!” Dr. White jerked the chair to a halt and spun her to face him. “Or tell me what I want to know!”

  “I can’t!”

  “You won’t! You believe you will be rescued. It’s foolish fancy. I’ve made adjustments after your earlier visit to ensure no one can enter Bedlam. My homunculi are patrolling above, and the werewolves hunt below. No one will find you down here. No one is ever found down here.”

  Kate’s rage blossomed again at the thought that Simon and the others might be walking to their deaths for her. “Even if I knew how to operate the key, I would take it to my grave!”

  “A pleasant thought, but unlikely.” He snapped his fingers and the three homunculi swarmed her chair. The restraints were loosened, and tentacles and claws quickly grabbed Kate’s limbs. She screamed and thrashed, but her body was stiff. She was manhandled onto the table. Her wrists and ankles were positioned, and Dr. White took his time securing her with the straps. He added a band of thick leather across her hips and one over her forehead.

  Imogen just stood in the corner.

  “Help me!” Kate shouted. “Imogen. Help me, please!”

  One homunculus retreated from the room and returned, pushing a large container of disgusting red slurry. White helped position it close to the table.

  He leaned over so Kate could see his face. “Dear girl. Please tell me and I won’t continue.”

  Kate struggled to remain calm. She couldn’t shake her head so she ground out, “I don’t know!”

  “My, you are a stubborn one.”

  A hairy, hulking shape appeared in the corner of her eye. Gretta Aldfather, with great axe in hand, straightened to near the full height of the room, her eyes burning coals. “Has she told you how to open the portal?”
>
  “Not yet.” White was annoyed at the intrusion. He turned away and one of his homunculi helped him into a stained surgical gown.

  Gretta stalked to Kate. The werewolf did not need to bend over the bed for Kate to see her ferocious form and sharp canines. “You. You ruined my wulfsyl. I can smell it on you. You killed some of my best fighters. It took years to gather those beasts together. And you slaughtered them with poison like the coward you are.” The creature snorted. “Perhaps if I chopped off your limbs one by one, you’d be more willing to talk.”

  Kate stifled a gasp and clamped her teeth down hard. She would not be weak. Fear was a thing born of uncertainty, but she was strong in her conviction. “I only wish I’d killed all of you monsters. Do what you want. It won’t change anything!”

  Dr. White cocked his head and stared at his reflection in a broad scalpel. “You’re absolutely right, of course.”

  Gretta snarled at the physician. “What are you blathering about? Make her confess!”

  “No. You see, Kate here is the strong one. I don’t think she will break despite my best efforts. There is little we can do to her physically that will change that. And I don’t want to kill her by accident. Then we’ll never know.”

  “You said threatening her with the transformation would make her talk.”

  “So I did. I see now the slight miscalculation I made. But I believe I know where the chink in her armor is.” Dr. White walked to the corner and pulled Imogen by the arm to the examination table. “I’m threatening the wrong person, aren’t I, my dear?”

  “My God! You filthy animal!” Kate hissed.

  “Poor Imogen will be my next homunculus.”

  “No!”

  “Remove Miss Anstruther and strap this Miss Anstruther to the table,” White commanded the giant werewolf.

  Gretta grinned, exhaling loudly with delicious glee. When the homunculi unstrapped Kate, Gretta shoved aside the pasty things and transferred the woman roughly to the hated wheelchair. Kate struggled, flailing, kicking, biting, but she was no match for the werewolf’s strength. Within moments, her fears were realized and she was helplessly tied down once again, watching Imogen lie compliantly on the table. The doctor restrained the girl’s arms and legs without any struggle.

  Kate sobbed. “Please don’t hurt her. I don’t know anything about that key.”

  “I’m not hurting her.” White turned to Kate. “You are. All you need do is tell me what I need to know. Then I will put you and your sister together in a cell and leave you in peace. I will depart, never to be seen again. And eventually your friends will find you and arrange for your release. You will both be back at home in Hartley Hall, a family again, brought closer by adversity.”

  “I can’t tell you.” Kate felt paper-thin on the verge of a breakdown.

  Gretta’s lips curled back in a snarl. “Just do it.”

  “Your petty honor versus the suffering of your sister. How selfish are you?” Dr. White waited a beat, then sighed and began inserting thick needles into Imogen’s chest. Imogen screamed for the first time and thrashed wildly.

  “Stop it!” Kate screamed. “All right! I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you how to use the key. Please don’t hurt her!” It was a lie, but she had nothing else left. She had to buy time, if only another minute.

  “Excellent. You won’t be sorry. Everything will be fine.” White stepped closer to Kate with a smile.

  Kate’s throat convulsed, as if words had to be forced out through her lips. Her head bowed low to her chest. “You have to—”

  “Don’t …”

  Kate’s head snapped up at the sound of her sister’s weak voice. “Imogen!”

  “Don’t … tell … him,” she rasped.

  “Shut up, whelp.” Gretta shook the table hard.

  Perhaps the pain had shocked Imogen out of her stupor, but somehow she was lucid for the first time in days. “He’ll kill us both … even so.”

  Dr. White grabbed Kate’s chin. “She’s delirious, the shock of the drugs wearing off. I swear to you, I’ll not harm either of you if you give me the information.”

  “Lies,” Imogen continued. “Promise me, Kate. Never … give them … what they want.”

  The girl cried out as Gretta’s massive hand gripped her throat. Then the sounds were cut off abruptly as Gretta squeezed.

  White snarled, “Tell me, Kate. And all this will stop.”

  Kate drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

  “Tell me or Gretta will tear out her throat!”

  Gretta salivated over the helpless girl and brushed a long claw over Imogen’s placid face. Imogen’s head jerked toward Kate. Her eyes locked with her sister from across the room. Imogen wasn’t frightened. She looked calm even while she gasped.

  “No,” Kate whispered.

  “No, what?” Dr. White asked in a flat tone.

  “No. I won’t tell you.” Kate’s gaze never left her sister’s. Did Imogen really believe Kate knew how to operate the key and was refusing to save her life by not confessing? Kate’s heart was in shreds at the thought.

  “Bah!” shouted Dr. White. “Gretta, stand back.”

  Gretta snarled, “You said—”

  “I lied! Now, release her. I have more interesting plans for our little Imogen. I’m sure Kate will find my procedure quite fascinating to watch, won’t you?”

  Kate remained stock-still in her chair as Gretta raged, smashing a metal cabinet with a single blow. Her growl was a monstrous echo.

  “Enough, Gretta,” White rebuked. “You will have ample throats to rip soon enough.”

  The werewolf gripped her axe, and for a moment it looked like she would behead the doctor. Instead, she stalked out like a gigantic, petulant child.

  “Forgive me, Imogen,” Kate gasped out. “I don’t have what they want. Please forgive me.”

  “I do,” was her sister’s soft reply. “As you have always forgiven me.”

  And Kate wept.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Simon and his companions found an entrance to the underground at Kennington. It was a black maw that reeked of the waste and the garbage that had fed into it over the many years. The subterranean world bade them enter, eager for more souls to get lost within its chambers and tunnels. Simon knew they had no choice but to obey. A gentle flow of stinking water lapped at their boots. It was what was left of the River Effra. They followed its path into the dark hole, sloping downward into the infernal bowels of the city. Rats and insects scurried aside at their intrusion. A filthy cat arched its back and hissed before darting farther into the tunnel.

  The moonlight behind them fled and the darkness ahead was a stygian blackness. The noise of the city faded. What remained were sounds like no other that echoed about the stone walls; from the steady dripping of moisture all around them, to the insistent scratching of rats in the shadows, to the mournful bellow of wind.

  Simon lit a lantern, illuminating grime-covered stone glistening in the new light. They followed the tunnel north several hundred yards and soon reached a junction that opened wide with brick columns and a multitude of arches leading to new tunnels running off in different directions. They continued north. The surroundings were shapeless and monochrome in the murky gloom. Diminutive, beady eyes reflected in the lanternlight for brief instances, then turned away to flee to safer, less-traveled areas.

  “How are we going to find our way down here?” Malcolm asked. “Do you know it runs under Bedlam?”

  “I think so,” Nick replied. “Some years back, the Bedlam cellars flooded from beneath.”

  “It’s utterly foul,” gasped Penny, holding a sleeve over her face.

  Simon’s footing slipped and he put out a hand against the wall but instantly regretted it. A slick residue coated the bricks, discoloring them from a onetime red to an ocher yellow. Raw sewage most likely. The walls sweated moisture as if in a fever, and the floor reflected back their lights, blinding them if they didn’t keep their eyes ahead. Their splashing
was a loud and raucous thing, but it couldn’t be helped. A slick of scummy water coated the ground. The water had rotted through anything that was not stone or iron. Flotsam practically disintegrated when they stepped through it.

  Nick tapped Simon’s shoulder and gestured toward a new archway veering east. Simon nodded and turned into the suggested tunnel, keeping a keen ear cocked for anything out of the ordinary. He wasn’t worried about the odd criminal or swarm of rats; far more dangerous things might await them in the dark. If they encountered resistance, not a single enemy could escape to raise the alarm. All of them knew the stakes and were prepared to do what they must.

  Suddenly there came the faintest of sounds, an insistent scratching as if a bored child dragged a stick along the stones. The noise echoed in the passageway ahead of them. Malcolm crept forward, Simon on his heels. Penny came after with Nick and Hogarth now bringing up the rear. The scratching ceased abruptly as they reached another crossroads.

  Simon scanned with a light. Four black-browed arches provided choices of direction, but the tunnel straight across led northeastward. Water seeped from the vaulted walls in a trickle in some places, in others as a torrent. It flowed into a wide dark pool in the center of the arches. He tested the depth with his cane, measuring it about three feet deep. He shrugged. They had little choice but to cross the thirty or so yards of water.

  Malcolm signaled for Simon to wait with the lantern. He stepped cautiously into the subterranean lake, his Lancasters firmly in hand. He sank in and the frigid, stagnant water lapped at his thighs. Malcolm waded into the black. Simon waited a moment before he drew the sword from his walking stick and slipped the empty wood into his belt. He eased down into the water. He waved for Nick and the others to hold, and followed in the Scotsman’s wake. The hard bottom was slick.

  They were halfway across when the water rippled between the two men. Simon caught a glimpse of white flash under the murky surface that veered toward Malcolm. Simon thrust his sword deep as if he were using a spear to fish. He struck true.