by Peter Oxley
There was nothing but the crackle of the torches, and that silence was worse than if I’d heard screaming or pleading; at least those sounds would have kept me company of sorts.
I hummed a few tunes, desperate to fill that silence with something, anything. I put a hand on one of the walls, peering at the words and symbols scratched there. How many others had paced around that cell before me, I wondered? How many people had been tortured and killed inside these walls over the centuries, or just left to rot and die? Was I going to be abandoned there too, slowly turning into a gibbering wreck while my friends were slaughtered and the whole world turned to ashes?
My toes curled at how helpless I felt and I suddenly realised how cold I was. Goosebumps broke out on my arms and I paced harder, stamping my feet and swinging my hands as I went. My mind kept going back to all the stories I’d heard of the people who’d been held in the Tower over the years.
A hunched shadow in the corner of the room could almost have been the headless body of Anne Boleyn, still raging at how she’d been cast aside by fat King Henry. I fancied I could see her reaching out to me, begging me to join her in Purgatory.
I remembered the story Pa used to scare my brothers, of the two princes that had been entombed in the Tower by the hunchback King Richard so he could take their throne. Two scared little boys, not even given the chance to grow into young men, locked away forever. Maybe they’d been trapped in this room as well? Was that shadow…?
I felt so helpless and alone, so very aware that I had only the clothes I was wearing and the small knife at my waist between me and whatever terrors Morley had planned.
I jumped as a key clanked in the lock and the door creaked open. I reached down and felt the weight of the knife. Wait until the right moment, I told myself. Let him get close enough.
I glared at Morley as he entered the room, noting that the door wasn’t locked behind him. The guards were probably still outside, but I’d deal with them in good time.
“I am sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.
“No you’re not,” I snapped back. “Look, what’s this all about? You trying to scare me by putting me in here or what?”
He shook his head and walked over to the covered table. I held my breath and tried to look as casually innocent as I could while he glanced beneath the cloth. I let out a relieved shudder when he looked back up without showing any sign of suspicion. “Not at all. We have only been given a few rooms in this building and I am afraid they all lack home comforts. But they serve a purpose. As I said, I just need you to answer a few questions and then we can move on.”
“To what?”
“Well, to whatever it is that we need to do to ensure that we defeat the demon threat.”
I walked casually round towards him, trying to keep the side where I’d hidden the knife away from him. “So you’ll let me go?”
“All in good time. But first, tell me when you first encountered Andras. After the initial confrontation in Greenwich, that is.”
I folded my arms. “Aren’t you going to offer me a seat? Not very gentlemanly of you, is it?”
“Really, Miss Thatcher, you are the one who keeps saying how urgent everything is. Would it not be in both our interests if you just told me all that you know without engaging in silly pantomimes? But if you want to sit…” He gestured to the table with the straps on it.
“No, thanks,” I said, trying hard not to look at it. “They’re using you, you know: the demons. You think you’re fighting them but everything you’ve been doing has just been playing straight into their hands.”
“In what way?”
“Stopping us, holding us back, getting in our way.” I gestured with my free hand. “Locking us up here. If there’s a demon attack on its way, how does it help our cause if I’m stuck here?”
He laughed. “I think that you overestimate your capabilities, Miss Thatcher. N’yotsu and Augustus were formidable fighters. Maxwell is a genius. But what did you do, exactly?” He was now close enough that I could make out the stains on his teeth in the flickering light and smell his foul breath.
“Thing is,” I said, “People have always underestimated me. Usually it’s the last thing they do.” Just as I’d practised, I whipped the knife out and brought it round to slash up at his face and neck.
He batted my fist aside and the knife flew out of my hand, clanging against the far wall. My right hand was numb with the force of the blow so I launched at him with my left, snarling as I threw my head at him as well.
He picked me up and slammed me down on the bench. I struggled against him as I fought desperately to get a limb free. Then there were others in the room, pinning my ankles and wrists, strapping me down. After a few minutes I was stuck fast to the solid wood.
Breathing hard, Morley stepped back. He waved away the others who’d come into the room and then glared down at me. “I had hoped that we could do this the civilised way, but if not…” He pulled the cloth from the other table. “I have much quicker and more effective ways of getting what I want.”
Part Three – Augustus
Chapter 22
The world became a swirl of wind and green and dark as I ran into the twilight away from Nonsuch, desperate to escape but knowing that I could never flee from the one thing that terrified me the most: myself. The memory of their faces was still raw in my mind: N’yotsu trying to coax me back to my senses, Captain Pearce ordering his men to hold fire, the look of disgust from Kate…
Night had fallen by the time I staggered to a halt, collapsing into a hedge and welcoming the darkness that came from being enveloped in its spiky embrace.
I awoke when the moon was high in the sky, its huge full face casting judgement down on me. “I am not one of them,” I said through gritted teeth. “I am not!”
I ran my tongue around my mouth and noted that all seemed back to normal. I looked down at my hands and then touched my face: I was human once again. I crawled out of the hedge and collapsed to the ground, sobbing, the memory of my friends’ faces still fresh in my mind.
It was late afternoon the next day by the time that I reached the Thames and staggered over Fulham Bridge with the rest of the traffic, looking and smelling for all the world like just another vagabond come to try my luck in the big city. I rummaged in my jacket for my purse, feeling the weight of the coins there as I eyed the hansom cabs running by. In spite of all the time I had spent travelling alone, I still had no plan of action. I needed inspiration and so headed for the nearest tavern.
Firmly ensconced in a darkened corner, I considered my options. My friends and the army would clearly be looking for me, the latter most likely intending to capture me. I imagined N’yotsu’s protestations of my innocence being overridden by Kate and Pearce arguing that I was now just another mindless, homicidal demon. In a way they had a point: I had nearly attacked N’yotsu and in the heat of that bloodlust I would have probably tried to kill him.
Regardless of my friends’ reactions, it seemed that I was approaching the stage that I had been dreading for some time—I was becoming a danger to all of those around me. That was a risk I was not willing to take; while the sword’s powers had at first been a boon, now they were a hindrance. Not for the first time I considered getting rid of it, removing the source of all those terrible changes. However, the sword’s pull on me was too great: even the thought of being without it made me shiver in panic. I would need help to undertake such a painful divorce.
I thought back to what my friends would do when they saw me next. Would they be supportive or would they try to imprison or kill me? Time and again my mind’s eye flashed back to Nonsuch and the looks on the faces of Kate, Joshua, Lexie, Pearce and the soldiers. I had been out of control; it was a wonder that I had not been gunned down where I stood.
Nor could I just roam free, for if I was a risk to my friends then I was also a risk to the general public. I was caught in a dilemma—a fugitive who did not wish to be imprisoned but who also knew that imprisonme
nt was probably the best thing for me and everyone else.
Two ales later, I made my decision. I would go back to my friends and surrender myself in the hope that they would welcome me and help to find a cure for my condition, whether that was by removing the sword from me or even something more invasive. Neither thought appealed to me but I had brought this upon myself by ignoring what had been happening for far too long. I needed to do something before it was too late, before I turned permanently and irreversibly into a demon.
Thus resigned to my fate I had another drink to seal in my courage, then another to work up the courage to leave the pub, and then…
The girl who sat at my table was clearly a whore but by that point I no longer cared; if this was to be my last night of freedom then I was determined to enjoy it. To my addled senses her grimy face and gap-toothed grin were a vision of loveliness, and in any case I was too soiled and travel-stained to complain about another’s personal hygiene.
More drinks were followed by a drunken stagger to a nearby establishment where I parted with yet more coins in return for a room key. I threw open the door to the bedroom and allowed her to push me onto the bed, clothes ripping away in urgency before…
I awoke to the sound of screaming. Groaning, I grabbed a pillow and held it over my ears. The screaming did not stop and I opened one eye, realising that the sound came from nearby. I rolled over to see the girl having backed away into the corner of the room, a sheet pulled around her as she stared at me with wide, terrified eyes and continued to scream.
I held out my hands to placate her and then stopped, staring down in cold shock. Those were not my arms, they could not be my arms. These were red and veined and angular and covered in runic characters that flexed and coiled under my skin.
I darted over to the mirror. “No,” I said. Then louder: “No-no-no-no-no!”
A demon shouted back at me, mimicking my words, a demon that seemed to have borrowed some approximate outline of my form, but a demon nonetheless. Three horns sprouted from atop an angular head that was patterned around and around with the swirling runic symbols, sickeningly dancing before me. My eyes in turn were large, triangular and bright red, while sharp teeth protruded from an over-wide mouth. The runic symbols continued down my body and…
“What’s going on in there?” shouted a man’s voice from outside, followed by hammering on the door.
“It’s a, it’s a—” stammered the girl, before screaming again.
“Please,” I said, lisping through the unfamiliar teeth. “Please, calm down. It’s all right, I won’t hurt—.”
She continued to scream as whoever was outside the room started kicking at the door. I looked around; I did not have much time and if I was caught in this state I would surely be lynched. I grabbed the sword and my clothes and threw myself out of the window.
I hit the ground hard, but an impact that would have wounded or killed a human barely made me pause. People scattered around me, screaming, and I heard a shout from the right. Turning, I saw two policemen running towards me, truncheons raised. I snarled; I could easily take them on.
“No.” The word from my lips shocked sense back to me in spite of my rising panic and I turned and ran.
I lay on my back in a derelict building, sucking in sobbed breaths as my ears strained to pick out any sounds from my pursuers. All seemed clear and so I returned my focus to my body, willing it to change back. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, on slowing my heartbeat and calming my mind.
Minutes or maybe hours passed and I felt myself drifting into a serenity that should surely have been impossible given the day I had just had. Since fleeing from the brothel, I had found myself pursued at every turn, with no shortage of witnesses to point out my whereabouts to the police and the army that was in pursuit. I had a sudden affinity with the fox chased by horse and hounds, knowing that there was nowhere I could hide that would not eventually be sniffed out.
The main problem was that I was in London, or at least its outskirts, which was far too densely populated to allow me to sneak away without being noticed. That left me with a limited number of options. I could seek out my friends and fall on their mercy; however, Whitehall was by that point many miles away and my route was blocked by my pursuers. Alternatively, I could head for one of the areas of the city that were still under demon control; the police and soldiers would definitely not follow me there. However, there were drawbacks to this option as well. Even if I managed to get there without being killed or captured, there was every chance that I would not be welcomed as I had killed enough demons in my time to make me a very well-known enemy to them. Worse still, going there would simply reinforce any views my erstwhile friends and colleagues may have had that I was now just another evil demon that needed to be put to the sword, or worse.
That only left one option: to flee London and take refuge somewhere secluded, reassess my options and then decide what to do next. This I did, and my enhanced demonic speed enabled me to quickly outrun my pursuers once I was away from the streets and out into the open fields of Surrey.
I had stopped once to try to find some food, to eat something while I rested my tired limbs. The smell of fresh bread wafted out of the window of a nearby cottage and I sneaked up, taking care to keep low and in the shadow of the trees and bushes. There was no one around and I chanced a sprint towards the house, reaching into the window to grab the loaf cooling on the side. I spun round at a gasp from behind me to see a little girl standing on the path, a ragged doll hanging limply at her side as she stared open-mouthed at me.
I held out a hand, wordlessly begging her to stay calm and be quiet.
Her face had twisted into one of pure terror and revulsion and in that moment I had a flash of empathy with Mary Shelley’s monster, misunderstood and despised by everyone just because of the way I looked. I had run, the girl’s screams ringing in my ears, not stopping until I ended up in an abandoned barn.
I sat up and opened my eyes, looking hopefully at my hands but then letting out a stream of curses when I saw them still unchanged. I slammed down a fist, breaking through the rough floorboards and wedging my hand into the ground beneath. With a roar, I pulled it loose and looked around for something else to vent my frustration on.
“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be in hiding you’re not doing a very good job of keeping quiet.”
I whirled round to see a figure leaning against the wall, shrouded in shadow.
“Who are you?” I asked.
The figure stepped forwards and revealed himself to be a short, squat man with dark hair and a round face covered in a vast beard. He removed his hat and I was shocked to see a pair of furry pointed ears sat atop his head. “The name’s Byron,” he said, “and I am a demon, like you.”
“I’m not…”
“I know, I know,” he said, holding up a hand to ward off my offence. “I’m a Pooka, not exactly like you. But we’re still kind of kin, distant brethren. I saw you being chased around and thought I’d see if I could lend a hand.”
“Lend a hand?” I asked. “When exactly? I don’t remember any help being offered when I was being chased through London by a blood-thirsty mob.”
“Well, no. But I’m here now, aren’t I?” He glared at me. “What do you expect? I’m a Pooka: we know better than to throw our weight around in public. Not like you lot.”
“Us lot?”
“You warrior demons; although I have to confess I don’t recognise your race. You’re not Almadite, are you?”
“No,” I said. “I’m human.”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “And I’m really Lord Byron, back from the dead—I just had a few too many drinks!” His laughter tailed off as I glared back at him. “You weren’t joking, were you?”
I clenched my fists. “Thank you for your offer, but I need no assistance. Especially not from the likes of you. Good day, sir.”
Byron looked at me and then folded his arms. “Now, I may be many things, just ask my
Ma, but I’ve never turned my back on a soul in need. And you, my friend, are very much in need if you ask me.”
“I am not your friend,” I said through gritted teeth. “And I need no help.”
“Really? Let us appraise the situation.” He paced the room, ignoring the fact that I had drawn my sword and was pointing it at him. “You have spent the day with most of London chasing you. There’s a question of why you found yourself in the middle of the human area of London with no back-up: even the most dull-witted of warriors know better than to do that. Even worse, no demons came to your aid in spite of the rumpus you created, meaning none were inclined to help you. And you say you think you’re human.” He perched himself on an old cart. “I would say you really do need help and, given all I’ve said, I don’t think you’re in a position to turn down any help that is offered to you.”
I glared back at him, but I could not help but acknowledge the sense in what he said. “And why should I trust you?” I asked.
“There’s a human saying I quite like: beggars can’t be choosers. Quite apt, no?”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He sighed. “I’m beginning to think you really are human; no demon would ever be this pig-headed and suspicious. Look, if what you say is true and you are a human stuck in a demonic body, then you’re in real trouble—the humans will kill you and the Almadites will do far worse.”
“And you?”
“Like I said, I’m a Pooka, which is great news for you.”
“And why is that?” I asked.