London Darkness- Infernal Inventions

by Christopher Stocking

  “You skipped over the part where you wiped out an entire town and blamed it on the pirates,” Celia said. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Shamus’s expression dropped again. “Right. So, like I said, we were out of money, and we had to test them in a real-life environment. So…”

  “So you picked Terial?” Ryker asked. “Terial was a defenseless town anyway.”

  “Terial was full of mongrel vagrants that didn’t deserve the air they breathed. We’re better off without them.”

  “You murdered children, Shamus,” Ryker said firmly. He planted his knuckles on the desk. “You’re no better than whoever is killing your inventors. Actually, you’re probably worse.”

  “You watch how you speak to my husband,” Livvy snapped. “He’s done wonders for this city. You should be grateful.” She grabbed Ryker’s arm and pulled his sleeve up, revealing the cog tattoo. “You’re an inventor. You have a lab, right?”

  Ryker stared at her. “Correct.”

  “Before Shamus, there were no public labs. If you wanted to invent, you’d have to either join the League, or illegally build a lab and risk life in prison. Now, you’d better show some respect.”

  “Respect?” Celia questioned. “Did these mindless machines show any respect as they gunned down a defenseless town?”

  “Enough,” Shamus shouted. Everyone stared at him. “Look. I’m sure we’ve all done some things we aren’t proud of. But the past is done. We have to look out for whatever, and whoever is left. The manner in which Project Spear was executed may not have been elegant, but it worked. Now, we’ve got five Spear machines out of the testing phase. Every Head Inventor will be assigned a machine, and will be required to be near it at all times. We’ll have to make arrangements for the Head Inventors to stay here for at least a week. Hopefully, we’ll find whoever is doing this long before then.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Ryker asked.

  Shamus stood straight up and inhaled deeply. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a thick cigar. He struck a match and lit it, taking a long drag from it. “Not really,” he said. Smoke flew from his mouth with each word he spoke. “But we’re not going anywhere until we come up with one.”

  Celia and Ryker glanced at each other, and then leaned against the counter. After a long silence, Livvy spoke. “Well, what do we know about the killer?”

  “Not much,” Ryker answered. “They use some kind of firearm, and always use two shots.”

  “Sounds like a hired gun,” Celia commented.

  “Or pirates,” Ryker added.

  “What business would pirates have with us?” Livvy asked.

  “Maybe they read the paper,” Ryker said sarcastically.

  Shamus glared at Ryker through a thick fog of cigar smoke. “What else do pirates want?” he asked rhetorically. “Money.”

  “It didn’t look like they were robbed when I found the bodies. They still had their communicators on them.”

  Shamus rubbed his forehead. “This is quite frustrating. Did you find anything else on the bodies?”

  “I didn’t really look that hard,” Ryker confessed.

  “We need to get to one of the bodies then,” Shamus said.

  “The last body is probably still out there,” Ryker answered.

  “You didn’t call anyone to remove the body?” Livvy asked. She crossed her arms. “How disrespectful.”

  “Everyone seems to be lacking respect these days,” Ryker said. “Let’s go.”

  “Shamus, I don’t know if this is such a—”

  “I’ll be fine, Livvy,” Shamus assured her. He kissed her on the cheek and opened a desk drawer. He took out what appeared to be a golden modified revolver. The handle was removed and a small golden tube connected from the trigger to the threaded back end. Shamus unscrewed his mechanical hand and screwed on the revolver. He looked at it closely and made sure it was held securely in place. “Let’s go,” he said sternly.

  Chapter 12

  “I can’t believe they had the nerve to kill someone right behind the Magistrate’s office,” Shamus said. He knelt in front of the body and closed her eyes. He shot a quick derisive look at Ryker and then searched the corpse. “She wasn’t robbed, so it looks like we can count out pirates.”

  “Is there anything on the body that might tell us who did it?” Celia asked.

  “How about a bullet to the head?” a deep voice asked from the darkness of the alley.

  A single gunshot echoed and the alley came alive with the flashes, smoke, and bangs of gunfire. Ryker cried out as a bullet pierced his right arm, and then another sank into his stomach.

  “Ryker!” Celia screamed. She wrapped an arm around him and grabbed his revolver. She aimed it down the alley and squeezed the trigger as quickly as she could. Two rounds sounded followed by a series of hollow clicks. “We have to get out of here,” she cried.

  “Look out!” Shamus shouted. He pointed as a large black ball flew through the air. He grabbed Celia and dragged her back. The ball hit the ground and shattered, creating a blinding flash of light.

  Celia rubbed her eyes. Everything was blurry and her eyes stung and watered. She stumbled backward and then to the side, colliding with the wall. Shamus’s voice echoed in her head. We have to go, let’s go, we need to keep moving.

  A strong hand grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away. Her vision was still blurred, but she could make out a figure lying on the ground in front of her. “Ryker?” she cried. “Ryker!”

  “We’ll get him, Celia, but we have to go now!”

  Tears streamed down her face as she was dragged away. “Ryker!” she screamed again. She coughed and choked as Shamus dragged her away.

  Ryker lay on the cold ground. He held his stomach with his uninjured arm and looked down at his blood-soaked sleeve. He tried to sit up, but grunted and fell back.

  A tall, shadowy figure stood over him. His eyes and nose were concealed by a black renaissance-style mask. The figure held up a massive revolver, swung out the cylinder, and swung it back in. “This bullet has your name on it,” the figure said calmly. He had a deep, powerful voice. “I like to make my bullets beg for their victims, though.” He slid his revolver into a black holster and grabbed Ryker with two powerful hands. He then slung Ryker over his shoulder and walked deeper into the alley.

  Ryker’s arms and legs hung limply as blood dripped from his fingertips. His vision blurred and a faint ring occupied his ears. They passed between a streak of light from the street and Ryker notice a coiled snake tattoo on the man’s wrist. “Who… are you?” he struggled to ask.

  “I am someone,” he answered. “I am no one. I am everyone, but I cease to exist.”

  Chapter 13

  Shamus wiped his nose and looked at the blood on his hand. “What is the matter with you?” he shouted. “I’m growing tired of you punching me!”

  Celia hurled another powerful fist at Shamus’s face and caught him in the jaw. He stumbled backward and leaned on the front of a closed shop. “We didn’t have to leave him there!” She screamed. Tears still ran down her red cheeks and fire burned in her eyes. “We could have saved him!” She swung at him again, but Shamus dodged the advance.

  “Look, he’s not out to kill you guys! I guarantee you he recognized me, and he’s going to use Ryker as bait. All we have to do is rescue him.”

  “We don’t even know where he took him,” Celia argued angrily. Her knuckles were white as she readied herself to throw another punch.

  “We’ll find him, Celia. I promise.”

  Celia glared at him. She breathed heavily through clenched teeth and her entire body was tense. “And what if we don’t find him? What if he’s dead?”

  “He’s not going to die,” Shamus answered confidently. “Follow me.” He began walking in the direction of the alley where they were attacked.

  “Where are we going?” Celia asked as she followed him. She stilled burned with rage and found it difficult to hold back from tackling
Shamus.

  “We have to get back to where we were attacked. I’m sure there will be a trail of Ryker’s blood.”

  Celia stopped. Shamus turned around and looked at her, a look of urgency on his face. “What are you doing?” he snapped. “We have to get there before someone else does. Before some random person shows up.”

  “Did you leave Ryker there on purpose? Just so we could follow his blood trail?”

  Shamus sighed. “Celia,” he paused. “Sometimes, sacrifices—”

  “Sacrifices? It may be easy for you to use us as your little pawns. I mean, bloody-hell, you don’t even know us! But, so help me, if Ryker is dead, I’m going to kill you.”

  Shamus stared at her. Her eyes burned with fiery intensity that stared directly into his soul. “I don’t think you understand,” he said, trying to keep calm. “Someone is trying to kill me. Someone is trying to undo everything that I helped to make so great. I may have to use some drastic measures to prevent that.”

  Celia narrowed her eyes. “Ryker had better make it out alive.”

  “He’ll be fine, but only if we get going now.”

  Celia followed Shamus down the street and back to the dark alley. Shamus knelt down by a puddle of blood. He then looked ahead at the trail of blood drips. They followed the trail down the alley, across the street, and into an adjacent alley. “The blood trail stops at this sewer grate,” Shamus said.

  “Of course,” Celia said. “The sewers. They can access any part of the city faster than anyone on the street. But, there’s a padlock.”

  Shamus swore. “I should have brought my hand with me. I’ll bet I could just rip this grate open.”

  Celia took out her lock picking kit. She inserted the metal pieces into the lock and wriggled them until the lock clicked open.

  Shamus shook his head and pulled up on the grate. The rusted hinges squeaked loudly and they peered into the dark sewer.

  They climbed down the steel ladder that descended into the sewer. The rungs were cold and covered in a thin layer of slime. Shamus jumped down from the ladder and landed on a two-foot ledge by the wall.

  Celia pushed off from the ladder and landed behind Shamus. She covered her face with her arm. The sewer produced a vile odor that burned her eyes and throat. “How can they possibly live down here?” she asked, her voice muffled by her sleeve.

  “I don’t know,” Shamus answered. “Let’s get moving though, the blood trail is going this way.”

  ***

  Ryker slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurred. He tried to shield his eyes but his hands were bound to the arms of the chair. He could hear whispers behind him.

  “Are you sure he’s going to make it?” a hushed woman’s voice asked. “He lost a lot of blood.”

  “So what if he doesn’t make it?” a familiar, deep voice answered. “We don’t need him for anything.”

  “Except to lead his little friends here. They’re the ones jamming a rod in our gears.”

  “They haven’t done much to thwart our efforts, but I feel they’re getting closer. They get nosier with each dead body.”

  “Hey, look, he’s moving,” the female voice said, louder this time.

  Ryker’s vision finally cleared and he looked around. He was sitting in a wooden chair. A thick rope was tied around his body, and around a wooden support beam behind him. His ankles were also tied to the chair legs. He looked down at his wounded arm. Bloody bandages were wrapped around it, and the same around his stomach. “Where am I?” he asked groggily.

  A large man stepped in front of him—the man from the alley. He still wore the black mask and was dressed in ragged, dirty clothes. “You needn’t worry about where you are. You won’t be living long enough to see the streets anyway.”

  “What do you mean see the streets?” Ryker asked. He wiggled in the chair to test for any weakness in the ropes. There were none.

  “Just be quiet,” the man said. “Your services won’t be needed for much longer.”

  “What services?” Ryker asked. He eyed the man carefully, taking note of the massive revolver at his hip.

  “Maybe you should just tell him,” the female voice said. “The poor lad deserves to know what’s coming. It’s not like he’ll be able to tell anyone.”

  The large man smiled. “I suppose you’re right, dear. Your friends will be coming to rescue you soon. And as soon as they do, none of you will be able to interfere with the rest of the murders. You were even stupid enough to bring Shamus Lochlain with you. Not your best move.”

  “What makes you think they’ll come for me?” Ryker questioned.

  The woman stepped in front of Ryker. Her dark-blue dress swung around her, and she toyed with the white lace trim that once was probably well secured to the dress, and very elegant looking. She adjusted her mask; the same mask the man wore, and flashed a devilish smile. “We’ve been watching you, boy.” She got very close to Ryker’s face. “And you never even saw us. You never knew we were around.”

  “I can’t imagine some of the things you’ve seen,” Ryker answered snidely. “Surely some of them got you in a bit of a tizzy. I fancy the ladies of the night, myself.”

  “Well, we know you fancy one in particular. Celia, correct?” She scoffed. “Unfortunately we weren’t able to sell her quickly enough. Of course you had to come to her rescue. She must mean something to you.”

  “That’s how we know she’ll be coming for you,” the man added. “And a stupid whore like that will certainly bring Shamus along with her.”

  Ryker gritted his teeth and his body tensed beneath the tight ropes.

  “I think you’ve made him mad,” the woman giggled.

  “Can I at least know the names of my killers?” Ryker asked.

  “We’re not stupid,” the man said. He paced in front of Ryker, keeping his hand on the handle of his revolver. “Of course we anticipate that you may escape. There’s always the chance that we mess up. No one is perfect. And, if such an impossible thing were to happen—you escaping, of course—we don’t need you gallivanting about the city spreading our names about. We like attention, but not that kind of attention.” They both smiled.

  “How clever,” Ryker said sarcastically.

  “We certainly thought so,” the woman said with a smile.

  “Not even your first names? What can that hurt?”

  The man and woman looked at each other, and he sighed. “Fine. Nosey little runt, aren’t you. I’m Clive.” He placed a hand on his chest. “And this is Caroline.”

  “Now, just what do we do while we wait?” Caroline asked. “I would hate for boredom to be the last feeling our guest has.”

  “A valid point, my love,” Clive answered. “You know, I fancy myself a bit of history.” He knelt in front of Ryker.

  “Oh, you do?” Caroline replied cheerfully. She stood behind Clive and placed her hands on his shoulders.

  “Tell me, Ryker, what do you know about Antonio Mayson?”

  Ryker glared at him. “You know nothing about my father.”

  Clive chuckled. “I know more than you think. Actually, if I do recall, I know more than you.”

  “My father died before I was born,” Ryker answered angrily. He clenched his fists tightly.

  “Well, allow me to fill you in.”

  “I love this story,” Caroline chimed in excitedly.

  Clive cleared his throat. “You see, your father was one of the most, what’s the word, notorious, villains in the American west.”

  “I’m really surprised you don’t know this,” Caroline added.

  “Let me finish the story, dear. Your father certainly wasn’t one to shy away from a fight. Murder, robbery, torture, whatever suited his fancy. Well, eventually the law caught up with him, you see; and he didn’t much care for that. So, he fled to London where he met your mother. I do believe she was quite the inventor. Too bad she couldn’t invent a way to save your father, though.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “The American law, well they
hired a couple of pirates to come over here and do some dirty work. Antonio almost escaped, too. But, he was a chivalrous bastard in his final moments, and sent your mother riding off on a horse while he held off the pirates. I believe the reports said he was shot and stabbed in areas that were the least lethal, so he would suffer for as long as possible, thanks to a special request by the sheriff.”

  “You shut the hell up!” Ryker shouted. He breathed heavily and pushed his arms out as hard as he could.

  His captors chuckled. “Don’t get too worked up, you don’t want to aggravate those wounds, do you?”

  Ryker watched as his bandages became more saturated with blood, and he began to grow faint. He turned his hand palm up and looked at the clock. 10:37 p.m.

  “What is this?” Clive asked, intrigued. He grabbed Ryker’s wrist and looked at the clock. “Very interesting,” he said. “I’ll bet this has come in handy on several occasions.” He roared with laughter while Ryker merely glared at him and flipped his hand over.

  “How much longer until his little friends get here?” Caroline asked anxiously. “I’m ready to kill them now!”

  “Patience, love,” Clive answered. He kissed her and walked over to a steel desk on the left side of the room. “I think I know how we can get them here faster.”

  Caroline got very close to Ryker. “I’ll bet this is going to be fun,” she giggled.

  Clive slid open a squeaky drawer and took out a pair of scissors. Each blade curved in a wide arc, and the tips came to sharp points. He held up the scissors and observed them with an evil smile. They somehow glinted in the dim light of the room. “Will you hold him, dear?” he asked pleasantly.