Rise of the Darklings

by Paul Crilley

  Emily pushed open the door to the bookshop. Nothing had changed since she had been there earlier. Piles of books still looked as if they were about to fall over with the slightest touch. Dust still filled the air.

  “Hello?” she called.

  No answer. Emily walked forward and picked up the bell from the counter. It rang once, a pure, sweet call. She nervously replaced it and waited.

  A second later the curtain whipped aside and Merrian stood there, his huge shoulders pushing up against the doorframe.

  “What are you doing here? How did you find the shop?”

  Emily was taken aback. “Um … Corrigan told me the way this morning.”

  “Yes, but you’re not supposed to remember that,” said Corrigan, climbing up onto the counter. Emily noticed that he was barely limping anymore. He had a fresh bandage wrapped around his leg, but the wound didn’t seem to be bothering him at all. Perhaps the fey healed faster than humans? “In fact, you shouldn’t be able to see us, either.”

  Corrigan and Merrian shared a brief look. Emily knew that kind of look. It was what adults did when they were discussing grown-up subjects and thought the children wouldn’t notice.

  “Why are you looking at each other like that?” she demanded.

  “What do you want?” asked Merrian, avoiding the question. “I thought I told you to forget about us. You should do as you’re told.”

  Emily started to feel angry. Here she was, trying to help them, and all they did was scold her.

  “Does that mean you don’t want to know that Ravenhill found out where I live? That he took a small satchel that someone”—she glared at Corrigan—“left in my pocket?”

  Corrigan sat bolt upright. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your satchel. You left it in my pocket.”

  “And Ravenhill got it?” demanded Merrian.

  Emily nodded. Merrian stepped around the counter and knelt in front of Emily. His head still towered far above hers. “Girl, this is very important. Does Ravenhill still have the satchel?”

  “What’s so important about it?”

  “None of your business,” snapped Corrigan.

  “Oh, really?” Emily shot back. “Well, if it’s none of my business, maybe I should just be going.”

  “Wait,” said Merrian. “What’s in the satchel is important, Emily. It’s why the Black Sidhe were chasing Corrigan.”

  “Why I’m the only one left alive while all my friends are dead,” Corrigan added.

  “Does Ravenhill still have it?” repeated Merrian.

  Emily sighed. “No. I grabbed it back from him.”

  She fished out the satchel and handed it over to Merrian. He held it up and breathed a sigh of relief. “You have no idea,” he said softly, “how much trouble we would all be in if the Order got hold of this.”

  “Why?” asked Emily. “What does it do?”

  “That, I cannot tell you.”

  Emily hated people keeping secrets from her. She tried to hide her disappointment as Merrian handed the satchel across to Corrigan.

  “Tell me, lass,” he said, turning his attention back to Emily, “did you notice anything strange when you traveled here?”

  “Strange? Like what?”

  Merrian gently pushed her to the door. “What do you see?”

  Emily looked outside. “People. Gray clouds. Wet streets. Horses. Carriages.”

  “You’re not looking, Emily. How did you find this shop? Because you shouldn’t have been able to. It has a glamour cast over it. When you came here, you were walking through the streets, the way you normally do. But when you got close, what happened?”

  Emily shrugged. “I imagined the shop in my head. I knew I was on the right street, so I just tried to remember where it was.” Emily was unsure what Merrian wanted her to say. “I knew it had to be here, and it was.”

  “Try and get back into that frame of mind,” said Merrian. “Then look outside again. Carefully, this time.”

  Emily tried to think about how she found the shop. She had felt distracted, because most of her thoughts were on Ravenhill, but in the back of her mind, she had still been thinking about the shop. She tried to repeat the feeling now, letting her mind drift, but still focusing on Merrian’s words. Then she looked at the people walking along the street, their heads down to the ground as they hurried about their business. She saw nothing unusual.

  But then she realized this wasn’t true. As she watched, it was as though people, previously hidden to her, somehow faded into view. Only, that wasn’t right. They had always been there, she just hadn’t been able to see them. Her eyes simply … skipped over them.

  They were the fey, walking along the street as if they didn’t have a care in the world. And the normal, ordinary Londoners couldn’t see them. They walked right past them without giving them so much as a second look.

  A man walked past with a bag of coal over his shoulder. The bag bulged and moved, as if a cat or some other animal were inside. But then a small head poked up out of the bag, and another, and another: three small olive-skinned creatures were stealing a ride. A woman approached Emily, her skin white as freshly poured milk. As she passed by, Emily saw that the back of her body was entirely hollow, like a scooped-out doll.

  Emily turned to watch her go, amazed.

  “I was right,” said Merrian, satisfaction heavy in his voice. “You’re a True Seer.”

  She glanced at Merrian. “A what?”

  “A True Seer. Some of your people have the ability to see through our glamour, to see us when we’d rather stay hidden. When you saw the fight this morning—when the piskies’ glamour was weakened—it must have woken your talent. It’s happened before, many times. No doubt it will happen again.”

  “What happens to these Seers?”

  “Sometimes the Invisible Order finds out and recruits them. Sometimes they go mad. Sometimes they write books, paint paintings.” Merrian shrugged. “Sometimes, they just carry on with their lives.”

  “Has it always been like this?” Emily gestured outside. “I mean, have you always been here?”

  Merrian nodded. “For as long as London has existed. And long before that.”

  Emily turned her attention back to the street. Two tall, elegantly dressed women walked past, but it was clear to Emily they weren’t human. Their limbs were too thin, too stretched. Their eyes were beautiful and golden, yet at the same time cold and cruel, as if they had never given or received any kindness, and worse still, didn’t care. A small trunk floated along the ground behind them. As Emily watched, they plucked a dirty bonnet from the head of a young woman and dropped it into the trunk. The woman didn’t notice a thing.

  “What are they doing?”

  “Shopping. Well, taking. They’re hoarders. They take everything and anything, as long as it’s made by a human.”

  “Why?”

  “No idea. Never bothered to ask them.”

  Emily was about to ask how many of these “True Seers” there were, but at that moment Ravenhill suddenly stepped into view, framed in the open doorway.

  “Hello, Miss Snow. May I join the party?”

  Merrian cursed and yanked Emily out of the way, pushing the door shut. But not before Ravenhill threw something through the narrow gap. Emily felt a wet splash across her face, and Merrian growled in pain. He turned a key in the lock and staggered back, holding his arm out before him. Emily saw that the skin on his forearm was smoking, and an ugly wound was opening up before her eyes. He staggered to the counter and grabbed some of the leftover paste from that morning, slapping it over his arm.

  “What was that?” asked Emily, frightened.

  “Holy water,” said Corrigan. “Don’t worry, it won’t affect you. Merrian, what do we do?”

  There was a hammering on the door behind them.

  “You need to complete your mission and get the parchment to the Queen. If the Order gets it, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Corrigan grabbed the satche
l and strapped it to his back.

  “Take the girl with you. She knows too much to let the Order get her.”

  Corrigan hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  “Aye, I’m sure. Hurry up. Go out the back way.”

  “What about you?” asked Emily.

  Merrian smiled coldly, and Emily almost felt sorry for Ravenhill. Almost.

  “I’ll delay them,” he said. “I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve. Don’t worry about me.”

  There was another bang on the door. This time it rattled on its hinges.

  “Go, Corrigan. I’ll see you later.”

  Corrigan hesitated. A pane of glass shattered behind them as a stone flew through the window, hitting one of the book towers. The falling books hit another pile, and this one fell against a cabinet, smashing the glass and sending bottles and jars crashing to the floor.

  Corrigan jumped from the counter onto Emily’s shoulder. “Come on,” he shouted. “Through the curtain.”

  Emily darted behind the counter. She took one last look over her shoulder and saw Merrian arm himself with a club and turn to face the front of the shop.

  Emily ran through a kitchen and yanked open the back door. It led to an overgrown garden, choked thick with grass and nettles and a tall thorn tree. A gate led into a litter-strewn alley.

  Emily stepped through the gate. As soon as she set foot in the alley, there was a shout off to her right, and she turned to see Blackmore running toward her. Emily turned and ran in the opposite direction. The exit to the alley was about fifty paces ahead, a bright gap between the walls, a promise of escape and safety. But as she drew closer, the light was blocked out by the silhouette of a man.

  “Don’t let her through!” shouted Blackmore from behind her.

  The man spread his arms and legs wide, trying to block off as much of the alley as he could. Emily couldn’t stop. There was no other way out.

  Instead, she picked up speed.

  “What are you doing?” shouted Corrigan. “Are you blind as well as stupid?”

  Emily ignored the piskie. As she drew closer, she could make out the face of the man ahead of her. He was grinning, confident he would stop her.

  Emily glanced over her shoulder to see Blackmore lagging behind, huffing and puffing.

  She was no more than ten paces away from the end of the alley.

  Five paces.

  Four.

  And then Emily reached up and grabbed hold of Corrigan. He cried out in surprise, but that was nothing compared to the shout he gave when Emily bent back her arm and threw him high into the air over the man’s head.

  The man straightened up in shock, his head tilting back as Corrigan sailed above him. Emily dropped to the mud, skidded between his legs, and pushed herself up again, still on the move. Corrigan was now falling from the sky, tumbling end over end. Emily put on an extra burst of speed, just managing to catch the piskie before he crashed into the ground.

  She gripped him to her chest, put her head down, and ran as though her life depended on it.

  Which it probably did.

  CHAPTER SIX

  In which Emily walks among the fey and discovers a hidden world.

  ELEVEN THIRTY IN THE MORNING

  ON THE FIRST DAY OF EMILY’S ADVENTURES.

  Emily felt rather strange hurrying through the streets of London with a piskie perched on her shoulder—a piskie no one but she could see or hear.

  Although, at the moment, she found herself wishing she couldn’t hear him.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” said Corrigan. “What if you hadn’t caught me?”

  “But I did.”

  “But what if you hadn’t?”

  “Then you would have a few scratches, wouldn’t you?”

  Corrigan didn’t say anything. Emily glanced at her shoulder and saw that he was sitting with his arms folded. Sulking.

  Let him, thought Emily. At least she’d get some peace and quiet.

  Now that Merrian had shown her the fey, she found that with a little concentration, she could see them everywhere. Here was a small, dirty dwarf with an unhappy-looking flying sprite tied to a piece of string so it couldn’t get away. There was a bald woman wearing a cloak totally covered in thick, hairy spiders the size of Emily’s hand, spiders that turned their glinting eyes in her direction as she walked by. And most astounding of all, she saw a trio of what appeared to be children, but all with fox heads. They walked along the street, their tongues lolling out of grinning mouths that showed sharp, dangerous teeth. Emily paused to watch them pass. How on earth had she missed all of this before?

  They walked on for about another twenty minutes, then Corrigan stiffened and straightened up on her shoulder. “Stop,” he ordered. “Don’t go any farther.”

  “Why?”

  Corrigan looked around. Emily did the same. They were alone on the road. “Go back and take the first right. Hurry up.”

  “Why? What’s down this road?”

  “Take a look for yourself,” said Corrigan.

  Emily looked. At first she couldn’t see anything, but then she noticed the glint of eyes behind a hedge. A moment later, a group of piskies leapt over a wall and stood on the pavement some twenty paces ahead of them. They looked like the piskies Corrigan had been fighting that morning, except the black tattoos on their skin were different.

  “Is that the Black Sidhe?” she asked fearfully.

  “No. That’s a different tribe. They are Unseelie, though. Another two steps and you would have taken us into the Dagda’s territory. We’d already be dead.”

  Emily took a nervous step backward.

  “Keep going,” said Corrigan. “They can’t have heard about the parchment; otherwise they’d have attacked us by now.”

  Emily turned and hurried back the way she’d come. She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. The piskies were gone.

  “Is the whole of London separated into territories, then?”

  “Not all. Some of the city is neutral, but most of it’s fair game. We fight, we win, we take their territory. We fight, they win, they take ours. Turn left here,” he said, pointing down a side road.

  Emily turned into King Street, where she’d been many times before. She walked on for another few minutes before Corrigan directed her into a mews that led between two tall buildings and fed them out onto a quiet road.

  “Stop here,” said Corrigan.

  Emily stopped. She looked around but could see nothing of interest, just the street stretching away to either side and a row of tenements in front.

  An old, one-eyed man pushed a rickety junk cart toward them. There were three small creatures in the cart, about half the size of Corrigan, sorting through the rubbish and placing it in neat piles. The man glanced at them as he passed, giving Emily a sly wink and tipping his hat to Corrigan.

  “Brownies,” said Corrigan distastefully. “Scavengers.” They watched the man push his cart around the corner. “One thing you should know about our Queen,” Corrigan said. “She doesn’t take betrayal lightly.”

  “What do you mean? What kind of betrayal?”

  “Any kind. That man with the rubbish cart? He was a guest of the Queen. He left, but he talked about what he saw.” Corrigan shook his head. “Very silly.”

  “What happened?”

  “The Queen sent her huntsman after him. The Dark Man, they call him.”

  “And?”

  “And the Dark Man took his eye. Plucked it right from the socket. When the Dark Man has your scent, there’s no hope for you. He’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if the Queen commands it.”

  Emily shuddered. This Dark Man sounded like a monster. She hoped she’d never have occasion to lay eyes on him.

  “Come on, let’s go,” said Corrigan. “No point in delaying this any longer.”

  Emily looked around. “Go where?”

  Corrigan pointed to a three-story tenement across the road. “There.”

  Emily frowned. “Doesn’t look ver
y magical to me.”

  “Is that right? Well, allow me to apologize on behalf of all of my people for not living up to your expectations. We make do with what we can. Now just go and knock, will you?”

  Emily crossed the road and approached the door. It was an entirely unremarkable example of its kind, not at all the kind of thing you would associate with faeries. The wood was painted gray, but the old paint had peeled away and now littered the dirty doorstep. The only thing of interest was a small circle of thorns that had been nailed to the wood. A seed from a fruit Emily couldn’t identify had been tied into the center of the circle with twine.

  “What are you waiting for? Knock.”

  Emily hesitantly knocked on the door. There was a moment of silence, then a loud clumping sound. She could hear the grating noise of locks being pulled back, then the door swung open to reveal a creature only slightly shorter than Emily. His skin was the color of chestnuts. He had a small nose that constantly twitched and suspicious black eyes. He squinted up at Emily.

  “Let us in, Alfrig,” said Corrigan.

  The creature’s eyes widened in surprise. “Corrigan? That you?”

  “Who do you think? You going to let us in or what?”

  Alfrig squinted at Emily. “This one’s a human.”

  “See, that’s why you’re the gnome in charge of the door, Alfrig. Observant, that’s what you are. Of course she’s a human. I’m taking her to see the Queen. Now, you goin’ to stand here yackin’ all day or what?”

  Alfrig thought for a moment, then stepped aside. “You keep an eye on her, then, Corrigan. I’ll not be held responsible.”

  “Yes, yes, fine. Onward, Miss Snow.”

  “I’m not a horse, you know.”

  “More’s the pity. A horse doesn’t answer back.”

  Emily clicked her tongue in irritation and stepped into the tenement.

  “Straight ahead. Out into the gardens.”

  Emily walked along the short passage and undid the latch on the back door, letting it swing slowly open on creaking hinges …