London Darkness- Infernal Inventions

by Christopher Stocking

  Milton hunched over as the air was knocked from his lungs.

  Ryker swung his pistol up, catching Milton under the chin, and knocking him onto his back. Blood and a tooth shot from Milton’s mouth as he collided with the ground.

  “Let’s go,” Ryker said. They climbed into the flying machine and within moments, they were in the air flying back toward Ryker’s lab.

  Chapter 9

  The flying machine landed roughly behind Ryker’s lab. Ryker climbed out and assisted Celia out of her seat.

  “That was pretty close,” Celia said.

  “Agreed,” Ryker answered. “I’m glad no one saw us.” They walked in the back door of the lab. “We’ll probably have to maintain a low profile for a while, now that they know there was an intruder.”

  Celia nodded. They walked up the stairs and Celia sat in the chair behind Ryker’s desk. She looked around. The cane lay in the middle of the floor next to a small circular device. There was a small hole, about the size of the tip of the cane in the center of it. It radiated a soft golden light. “Where’s Wendell?” she asked.

  Ryker looked around. He picked up the cane and the device and studied them closely. He set them on his desk. “What’s this?” He asked. He picked up a piece of paper folded in half. He unfolded it and read it aloud, despite the writing being nearly illegible. “The Bobbies have come for me.” Celia sat upright in the chair, eyes wide. “They’ve accused me of murdering the two inventors. I don’t have much time now. They’re trying to break through the door. I’ve no choice but to surrender myself. They shouted something about having me hanged in the gallows at the center of the city.”

  “What are we going to do?” Celia asked. Worried tones flooded her voice.

  “I have to rescue him,” Ryker answered. He let the paper float onto his desk.

  “We have to rescue him, Ryker.”

  “No,” Ryker replied sternly. “You’re too recognizable. Hangings are public events.”

  “You’re going to wait until the actual hanging? How do you plan on getting to him? There will be guards everywhere. They’ll probably have some of those Spear things, too.”

  “From the looks of the lab, they still appear to be in the finalization phase. Plus, we’ve never seen any of them around the city yet.”

  “Well what exactly is your plan?” Celia stood and moved close to him.

  “I’ll figure something out,” he said grimly. He walked away from her toward his room.

  She watched him. Tears began to well up. “You can’t go in there blind,” she shouted. “You’ll be killed.”

  Ryker stopped. “I’m not going in blind,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Hangings are on Sundays at noon.” He glanced at his palm-watch. “That gives me a few hours, and I’m going to need sleep. You should go home and get some rest, too.”

  Celia watched as Ryker entered his chambers and closed the door. Her jaw and hands were clenched angrily. What is the matter with him? She thought. She sighed and walked over to the window. Celia glanced down at the street below. A prostitute, one she didn’t recognize, stood waiting for her next client. He does have a point, she confessed. Being a lady of the night made her a recognizable person. Especially one with looks as dazzling as hers.

  She walked toward the stairs, but stopped in front of the door to Ryker’s chambers. She placed a hand on it for a moment, and then left.

  Ryker tossed and turned for the remainder of the night. He spent most of it trying to come up with a plan to save Wendell. A plan that wouldn’t make him a target for all police forces in London.

  A new thought popped into his head and his eyes shot open. What if Wendell really did murder them? He sat up and set his feet on the floor. He rested his face in his hands for a moment, and then rubbed the fatigue from his eyes. So much had happened in the past two days, and it was beginning to wear on him.

  He lit the gas lantern next to his bed and looked at his palm-watch. 6:42 a.m. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep.

  He climbed out of bed and put on a pair of black trousers and a black button-up shirt. He then strapped on his belt and left his room. He sat in the chair behind his desk. The thoughts of a murderous Wendell reentered Ryker’s head. Ryker noted that he was never around Wendell when the murders occurred. He was always sleeping far enough away from Wendell for him to sneak out. Don’t be ridiculous, he thought. He shook his head to relieve the grogginess and then pulled his shining revolver from the holster. He ran his thumb over the engraved name along the barrel, and then slid out the cylinder. It was empty.

  He stared at the empty cylinder. I never leave my gun empty, he said. Anger began to consume him. He opened up his bottom desk drawer and picked up the box of revolver ammunition. It too was empty. Ryker dropped the empty box and slammed the desk drawer shut. Celia he thought. He slammed his fists on his desk and stood up, tipping his chair over backward. He stormed out of his lab and ran down the street.

  When he reached Celia’s home, he pounded on the steel door as hard as he could, and then looked at his palm. 10:49. Time was running out. He pounded again and the door swung open.

  Celia stood in the doorway, wearing a red bath robe, tied in the font with white cloth. “Ryker? What are you—”

  “Where is it?” Ryker demanded angrily.

  “Where is what?” Celia answered, alarmed.

  Ryker shoved passed her and began searching through a large wooden armoire in her common room. “Ryker, what the bloody-hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I know you stole my revolver rounds. You knew I wouldn’t go charging in there if I didn’t have any ammo. Now where is it?”

  Celia stepped back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered calmly.

  Ryker grunted. “I don’t have time for this.” He returned to the armoire and rifled through the shelves and drawers. “It’s not here!” he shouted.

  “It’s not anywhere here!” Celia yelled at him. “I didn’t take it!”

  “Then where could it be?” Ryker asked. He breathed heavily and his fists were clenched at his sides.

  “Maybe the Bobbies searched your lab when they took Wendell? Did you ever think of that?”

  Ryker’s breathing slowed. He hadn’t thought of that. “You’re right,” he confessed. “I’m sorry.” He rubbed his forehead. “Do you have any weapons?”

  Celia closed her door and walked to the armoire. She pressed in the top right corner, and a panel along the back spanning the width of the armoire popped out. Celia pulled out the panel, revealing a bolt-action rifle and a box of ammunition. She grabbed them and handed them to Ryker.

  Ryker looked at the rifle for a moment. He looked up at Celia, and then back at the rifle. “What exactly do you need a bolt-action rifle for?” he asked.

  “Do you want it or not?” she replied.

  Ryker grabbed the weapon and ammunition. He loaded the rifle, put a few extra rounds in his pocket, and handed the box of ammunition back to Celia.

  Celia returned the ammo to its hiding place and closed the armoire. She put a hand on Ryker’s shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” she asked.

  Ryker raised the rifle and let the barrel rest on his shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” he said confidently. “I’ll be back with Wendell, and then I’m going to find out what happened to all my ammunition.”

  She looked into his eyes for a moment, and then kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck.”

  Ryker nodded and looked at his palm-watch. 11:15. “Time to go,” he said. He grabbed the cloth that tied her robe and pulled on it. It untied and slid out from the loops around her waist.

  “What are you doing?” she cried as she pulled her robe close to her body, preventing her naked flesh from being exposed. He smiled and exited her house, making his way to the center of the city.

  As he neared, the cheers and shouts of London’s citizens grew louder. He could see a large mass of nearly three hundred peopl
e standing in front of the large wooden gallows in the city square. They all stood with their hands held high as they cheered.

  As Ryker drew nearer, he could see guards, all armed with repeater rifles, surrounding the gallows, and four guards standing on the gallows deck. A short man sat in a chair next to the noose destined for his neck. His head was covered with a thick, brown, burlap sack.

  Ryker hung the rifle over his shoulder with the worn leather strap and walked down the street. He checked his palm-watch again. 11:55. It would be starting any second. Ryker pulled the cloth tie he took from Celia and wrapped it around the lower half of his face. He tucked the ends into the top of his shirt. The white tie concealed his face nicely. No one would be able to recognize him.

  He stood at the back of the crowd. Many of the people cast strange and suspicious looks at him, but they were all more interested in the hanging. Ryker slowly made his way through the crowd. When he was in the center, he stopped and waited.

  A chubby man in black trousers and a silk shirt moved to the front of the stage—the head of the City Watch, and the same man who operated the patrol zeppelin every night. The midday sun reflected off his balding head, and his chubby cheeks jiggled as he spoke. “Fair citizens of London,” he shouted above the noise. He raised a hand in the air to silence the energetic crowd. “Today… is a glorious day for justice in our city. You see, some people think they can get away with whatever they want in this city.” He stepped in front of the bound gnome, grabbed him by the shirt, and pulled him to his feet. “Some people… are arrogant enough to think they can get away with murdering London’s top inventors.”

  The gnome struggled and writhed, trying to protest. His words were muffled and unclear. He was gagged underneath the sack. “Well, I will not stand for such a thing. Here in London, we give our criminals exactly what they deserve!”

  The crowd erupted in deafening roars and cheers. Some people got so riled up they began shoving each other and shouting, almost escalating the scene to a full riot.

  Two guards on the gallows set the gnome on a large crate under the noose.

  “The little bastard is so short they don’t even have to collapse the floor beneath him! Just shove him off a box!” one of the spectators laughed.

  The massive hands on the clock tower struck twelve, and a chime rang out through the city. The crowd silenced. The clock tower rang again. The two guards placed a hand on the back of the crate, ready to shove it out of the way at the third chime, and send the gnome to his death.

  The tower chimed a third time, and the guards shoved the box out of the way. The gnome fell and dangled. He swung and kicked his legs wildly.

  “Ha!” the chubby man laughed. “His neck didn’t break! Now we get to watch him suffer!”

  The crowd came to life again, cheering and heckling the suffocating gnome. Some people began throwing rocks at the hanging victim.

  Now, Ryker thought. He swung the rifle off his shoulder and brought it up to aim. Someone suddenly bumped into him, causing him to drop his rifle. He looked up, the gnome was struggling less as his life slipped away.

  Ryker pushed two fighting men out of the way and picked up his rifle. He aimed it and fired. The gunshot was barely audible through the noise of the crowd. The only evidence that a shot was fired was the cloud of white smoke that erupted from Ryker’s rifle. The rope the gnome hung from snapped and he fell to the platform.

  Ryker dashed through the crowd, trying to become invisible.

  “Seize him!” the chubby man shouted. The guards shoved through the fighting crowd.

  Ryker made his way out the side of the crowd and to the back of the gallows. He grabbed the gnome’s ankles and pulled, but something resisted.

  “What do you think you’re doing!” the chubby man shouted. He was holding onto the end of the rope still tied around the gnome’s neck. The harder each of them pulled, the more the gnome choked.

  Ryker heaved on the gnome’s leg, and the fat man stumbled forward and fell off the gallows. Ryker held his rifle in his right hand and pulled the gnome onto his left shoulder. Just as he was about to run away, he kicked the fat man in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious.

  Ryker sprinted into a dark alley, took a series of sharp turns, and stopped when he felt he had lost anyone who might have been chasing him. He then untied the gnome’s hands and feet, pulled the rope from around his neck, and slid off the burlap sack. He stared in awe and what lay before him.

  “Who are you?” he asked, dumbfounded.

  The gnome panted heavily and rubbed his neck. A red mark had formed from rope burns. “Who are you?” he snapped. “And what just happened?”

  “What just happened is I just rescued you from being hanged. But you’re not who you’re supposed to be!”

  “What are you talking about?” the gnome shouted. “I was tending to my garden and the next thing I know someone shoved an oily cloth in my mouth and put this sack over my head. Then I was dragged somewhere. Before I knew it, I hear someone tell the Bobbies I murdered two inventors! And that I should be hanged!”

  “And then here you are,” Ryker finished for him.

  “Yes!” the gnome answered. “I just want to go home to my wife! I haven’t done anything wrong!”

  “You didn’t get a look at whoever captured you, right?”

  “Yeah! I know it was a gnome though. I know a gnome’s voice when I hear it!”

  Ryker raised an eyebrow. “Did he ever say his name?”

  The gnome thought for a moment. “Not that I can remember. But everything happened so fast.”

  “Does the name Wendell mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  Ryker sighed. “Alright, go.”

  The gnome scrambled to his feet and ran off.

  Ryker sat and leaned against the side of a building. He rested the butt of the rifle on the ground between his legs and let his head fall back to rest on the building.

  The shouts of guards and citizens neared, and Ryker slowly got to his feet. He ran to the end of the alley and peered out to the street. The gnome was fading into the distance, and a small group of guards was just coming into view.

  Ryker turned around and saw an iron ladder that ran to the top of the building across from him. He scaled the ladder and watched from the rooftop as the guards ran by. He aimed his rifle at the head of each passing guard, almost wishing that they were all copies of Wendell.

  As the last guard passed, Ryker climbed down the ladder and stealthily made his way back to Celia’s. To avoid detection, he had to take several roundabout streets and alleys, and by the time he got there, dusk was fast approaching.

  He unwrapped the cloth from his face as he approached her door. He knocked on it twice and waited. A few moments later, the door swung open, and Celia stood. Ryker expected to see her in her skirt and corset, but instead she wore a simple black dress.

  “Ryker!” she cried. She threw her arms around him and squeezed tightly. “I thought something had happened to you.” She looked around. “Where’s Wendell?” she asked curiously. Ryker’s face was grim, and filled with pain. “No,” she said lowly. “No, he can’t be dead.”

  Ryker raised a hand. “I don’t think he’s dead,” he answered quietly.

  “Well, where is he then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Celia looked at him for a moment. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  Celia stepped aside and Ryker entered her home. They each sat on leather chairs in her common room. “So, what happened?” Celia asked.

  “I went to the hanging, I shot the rope and then freed him. When I got away and pulled off the bag over his face, it wasn’t Wendell.”

  “Who was it?” Celia asked. She leaned forward and tried to get a better look at Ryker’s face to see his expression.

  “Some gnome that was captured and put in place of Wendell. He said he didn’t see his captor, but he recognized a gnome
voice.”

  Celia’s expression sank. She sat back in her chair and stared at Ryker. “This isn’t good,” she said quietly.

  Ryker shook his head. “How could he do this?”

  Celia leaned forward and put a hand on Ryker’s thigh. “I don’t know, Ryker. But, I’m sorry.”

  “He’s been my friend for almost my whole life. How could he betray me like this?”

  “You don’t know he actually betrayed you,” Celia answered.

  Ryker looked at her. “Why else would he lie to us about being taken by the Bobbies? He’s probably the one who stole my ammunition, too. Bastard.” he said.

  “We’ll figure this out. Maybe somebody framed him.”

  Ryker sighed. “I suppose,” he said quietly. “I just don’t know what to do now.”

  “You look exhausted. Go get some rest. You can take my bed.”

  They stood and Ryker gave a half smile. Celia kissed him on the cheek and led him to her room.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning, Ryker walked down the side of the street. He had slept a little better than the previous night, but the sting of betrayal still lingered within him. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he walked. Occasionally his hand would drift to the handle of his revolver and grip it tightly, wishing it were loaded.

  “Here’s some money,” Celia had told him. “Stop by the gunsmith and get some more ammunition. After that, go to the north of the city where you’ll find a dead-end street. Go to the last house on the right. There’s a woman there who can help you.”

  Ryker turned right onto the next street and looked up at a sign hanging over a wooden door. An image of a revolver in front of a cog was engraved into the sign. Ryker swung the door open and entered the shop.

  “Can I ’elp you?” the shopkeeper asked. His accent was especially thick.

  “Um, yes,” Ryker answered hesitantly. “I need some ammo for this.” He skillfully pulled his revolver from its holster, twirled it around his finger once, and set it on the counter.

  “A fine weapon you ’ave there,” the shopkeeper said. He picked up the weapon and examined it closely. “Looks like you know how to take care of a gun.”