by K Childs
He adjusted his cravat. “Rose, I am more than capable of dealing with a few ruffians and slum riff-raff.”
Time for a change in tact. “I doubt your mother would approve.”
It had the opposite effect. His eyes narrowed. It was a low blow, but I didn’t retract the statement. He raised a hand and gestured to the entrance to the basement. “Perhaps you can tell me about this Lideric on the way.”
Much like his mother, foul beasties that drank blood. “They are devils like the succubus. You know of the demons that seduce men in their beds?”
He began walking. “Intimately.”
I made an unladylike noise. “I am sure. The Lideric are short creatures—in their human skin they will still have feathers and squawk. They hatch from eggs laid by black hens. They attach to a mortal and drain their energy… what Animancers call the Anima. This one must be overfeeding for some reason. The Lideric come from Hungary. In exchange for the Anima they eat, they attract good fortune, according to the folktale. We will find one in the Hungarian houses.”
We made it upstairs where a few Tenebrologists had finally collected the pixies and thrown a blanketing charm over them. The creatures wailed away in perfect, blessed silence. The clerks in the main office looked jubilant.
I checked passenger manifests from the docks and ships that might have been on the routes to pick up something from Hungary. There were two, and about four houses, not too far from each other, as expected, all in East London’s favourite locale.
We took some time to consult a map of the city before leaving. Darrien hailed a cab; this one puttered over with a pop and a bang, noxious fumes billowing from a funnel at the back. The cabbie had blackened fingertips and a smile of chipped, blackened teeth.
“Potter’s Lane,” I said, sliding him the fare.
He spat tobacco on the ground. “You’se going to the wrong side o’ the city. Wonna take a toff like him there.”
“Trust me, I tried to dissuade him already,” I agreed, sliding into seats that I suspected might be layered in soot or oil.
The driver shook his head and took off by placing his foot down on the pump, hard.
The cab lurched forward so fast I had to place a hand on my cloche and Darrien ended up on the back bench with a bellow.
The cabbie didn’t stop or slow.
I thought finding myself a Hungarian dream-walking monster would be hard. I’d spent two months scrummaging around in the slums for a few Gakki last time I’d been tracking down immigrating creatures. The monsters hid in small communities of immigrants; communication, as well as prejudices against the police, made it hard to find the bastards. Potter’s Lane was unwelcoming to the uniform, and it was just as unwelcoming to the gold signet rings glittering on the Duke’s fingers. I didn’t blame the folk here. Some fled oppression in their homelands, racial profiling of entire communities drew them together against the face of law enforcement, more often than not.
Potter’s Lane was where people worked from sun-up to sunset until their fingers were naught but bones and their eyes had an abandoned, hollow look. They ate gruel. Women sold themselves for the price of a meat pie and men would debase themselves for a pint of swill. Workmen for the tinkerers and gas men laboured in Potter’s Lane with a distant grimy dream of rest.
It wasn’t a place for the well-to-do. I read in a book once that God had abandoned the people in darkest East London.
I pulled a pair of goggles from my bag and aligned the enchantment, pulling them over my forehead. The Ether swirled here, and I stumbled as we alighted from the cab, fighting the natural draw to fall into the Dreamscape.
The Duke caught me, wincing. “My God, I hate the new gas cabs. I hope we stick with the clankers. Steady there,
Rosie.”
I righted myself, tugging my coat into place and nodded. “Apologies. There is a lot of activity in the Dreamscape here.”
I spent most of my time in East London Dreamscape, but I was always shocked by the reality. The place was a nightmare in two different worlds. One was filled with shadowy monsters and dead ends shrouded in smog and alight with switchblades and fangs. The other was the swirling Dreamscape.
“How do we find this Lideric fellow?”
“I suspect he’s at the centre of the conflux.” I pointed, then realized that Darrien couldn’t see what I could and shook my head. “Just stay close, Darrien.”
I was getting used to calling him that.
“Will your weapon be much use on a demon such as this?”
“I don’t know. There is still time for you to go home. I’d rather not have a civilian involved.”
“I’m actually enjoying this—action, investigation. And you’ll not shake me that easily. David was one of my dearest friends. I would like to see this beast dead. Should we get some extra manpower then?”
I hadn’t even thought about it. I was used to Ben and his gaggle of constables. Ben did most of the legwork during the day. It was one of the perks of being an Inspector; I stayed in the Dreamscape, waking up primarily to send him to fetch crooks. If I found the beast responsible for Charlotte’s death, I didn’t want Ben around to stop me from exacting my revenge.
A light drizzle fell and the stench of filth from the street intensified. I turned my collar up and lowered my nose. It did not help. Taking off the goggles for a moment, I got my bearings back.
“There’s a local box that way.” I pointed down to a side street I knew from the last time we’d pulled the locals on a hunt.
We pushed through the crowds and the collection of beggars who descended upon us. I kept my wallet under my breast pocket in my coat. I took an elbow and glare for anyone who got too close and pulled the Duke through the crowd with much shouting and waving of my shock-stick.
By the time we reached the locals, they were wading in to extract the fine gentleman and myself from the chaos.
I lost my cloche in the confusion and two of the constables took up residence on either side as the local sergeant came out of his hollow. Bairnsworth was a strange man with fading grey hair and a jowl that wobbled when he spoke. “Pleasure to see you again, Detective Inspector. Looking for more of them squinty-eyed gribblies? Who’s your toff?”
Darrien gave Bairnsworth a winning smile. The Sergeant smiled back, a little embarrassed by his rudeness. I’d let his commanding officer know he lacked polite conversation for the immigrants under his care. Indelicate dolts like him were the reason we had trouble with the Gakki the first time.
“Sergeant Bairnsworth, this is Darrien Montagu, Duke of Cardigan. No Gakkis this time—I need to get into the house of an individual, probably Hungarian. I can show you to the house I’m after, but I don’t have particulars.”
“What are we looking for this time for the AOC? French unicorns?” He chuckled but there was real concern in his eyes. He’d lost a man’s foot to the Gakki investigation. We’d never recovered it.
“A murderer, plain and simple.”
“Well that is my kind of assistance. Boys, time to earn the bob.”
I sat down beside the desk Sergeant while the locals rallied.
“I do have them, you know,” Darrien murmured.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Good ideas. You looked as if you wondered if it were possible—and it is. I am not just a pretty face.”
My mouth formed a small smile against my will.
“My God, she smiles!” he teased.
I sobered, sour. “I do not.”
Darrien chuckled. “You can’t hide it forever, Rose. I’ll crack that exterior sooner or later.”
“I am afraid it is exterior all the way down, Your Grace.”
He was getting there. The familiar address, the sharp intelligence under all the flirting. I felt like I’d known him forever. He made it easy to like him.
We moved out once the constables were armed and the sergeant had finished his cup of tea.
Three constabl
es joined us, and Sergeant Bairnsworth brought a pistol that did not look like the six-shooters I’d practiced with in the armoury.
The crowd cleared before the posse of police and the Duke; in Potter’s Lane, such gangs rarely boded well for the locals.
I led the charge, following the swirling vortex of Ether.
With the goggles on, I had a clear view of the Dreamscape at the cost of the real world. While the Dreamscape mirrored the real, places moved and shifted in the demi monde. Buildings never quite aligned.
Striding down a long lane, wet clothing slapped my cheeks, a small wooden bucket slapped my shins, and someone guided me away from braining myself on one wall. A man coughed when I tried to walk up a step that wasn’t there. Navigating with a blind-woman leading you surely looked curious to the average observer.
I stopped; we emerged from a narrow alley, and before me a huge, ornate mansion stood amid the squats. A palace of old brass domes and yellow brick walls. The siren song of birds chittered in golden sunlight. Ether flowed thick and heavy. The veil between the demi monde and the real world felt about as thin as paper. I took off the goggles.
The ether warped the sky and funnelled down into a rundown house with a haggard arguing couple standing over a stove with something that smelled like cooking leather. The wife saw us through the open shutters and put the ladle down. She shouted something and her husband came barrelling out the front of his house with the sort of rancorous look that said he meant business.
I stepped forward, holding up a hand to placate him.
He snarled something in Hungarian and I shook my head, pointing up to the small stair that lead to the second floor of his abode. “Not you, your neighbour.”
He followed the direction I was indicating and glanced back to me sharply, shaking his head, thick accent rolling out, “No, no, is bad.”
I patted his shoulder in what I hoped was a comforting manner and strode forward. “We’re going upstairs. Mind your footing.”
The man let me pass, eyes showing too much white like a startled horse.
“Wouldn’t it be prudent for myself or one of the fellows to go first, Inspector?” Darrien caught my wrist before I could advance. It was the first time he’d called me Inspector; a shrewd reminder that I was in charge, but he was concerned.
“Prudent maybe, what is going to happen, no. Please let me take the lead.” I pulled my shock-stick out and slid the charge vial into position with a click. The rod tip sprung open and whirled into a ready state. The pole in my hand began to hum.
We went in, the shock-stick thrumming against my skin and my teeth on edge.
The house smelled of old socks and wet wool. Two children watched us as we ascended the stairs with vacant, empty eyes. Paint peeled from rotting planks of wood. The ceiling sagged with questionable stains. An old floral wallpaper curled off one wall, the glue all dried up.
A torn rag of an old blanket over the door served as a semblance to privacy for the top room and I wrenched it free of the nail that held it up.
An old man was sitting in this room, holding a deck of cards on his bed. He looked up with shock, dropping his cards. Fresh off the boats, this whole family.
The constabulary spilled into the room, fanning out around me, and Sergeant Bairnsworth levelled his gun. “Is this the man you wanted?”
I frowned. The Ether was swimming in this room; my skin prickled with the lick of magic. It surged and pulsed; objects glistened with Dreamscape fabric and I swayed with the effort to keep my eyes open.
“…Inspector?” Someone was speaking, but it sounded very far away.
The Ether was too heavy to smooth away.
I stepped into it. My eyes closed, my body fell to the floor. Narcoleptic effects often happened when Ether became too suffocating. I could have resisted, but I needed to see and move in the Dreamscape.
I found myself in a room made for kings.
The floors were clean white stone. A beautiful woman reclined on a chaise longue in nothing but a smile. Long amber hair fell over her shoulders and she laughed, beckoning the old man to resume the game of cards. A bowl of Mediterranean fruits at his elbow. Birds in the landscape outside sang a sweet tune. The beautiful woman doted upon the man. A crown of feathers caressed her temple. Her focus was so intent, I doubted she even saw me standing in the Dreamscape.
She didn’t look like what I had imagined, but then, the crude illustration had been of a male Lideric.
I pulled a sword from the sheath at my waist—I always had a sword in the Dreamscape, conjured out of pure Ether—and levelled it at her. “Release him, demon.”
She glanced at me and a frown fell over her face. Her beauty changed into something twisted and hideous for a split second. She kept the man in a half-asleep state, his mind trapped in the demi monde while his body wasted slowly in the real. Her voice left much to be desired as a creature of seduction—a squawking, high pitched sound. “It has been a long journey. I hunger.”
“Did you not get your fill last night?” I strode forward, wanting an answer.
“I have not eaten in days. He is mine, get your own.” Her English was good. She must have picked it up on the trip over. With this much power on display, the Eye would have caught her last night.
Crossing the distance between us, I struck. I drove my sword into her breast and broke her anchor in the Ether.
We came out of the Dreamscape at the same time.
Darrien was holding me. He’d caught me before my sleeping body hit the ground.
I stood on my own, clutching his arm to steady myself.
The Ether tore and the Lideric materialised on the bed next to the old man. Her hair was ragged and matted grey, not much darker than her skin. Black feathers shook from her. The luscious beauty was gone. Three large talons on each hand and the feet of a chicken. She let out an indignant squawk.
Sergeant Bairnsworth swore and his gun went off. A sensible reaction to a monster appearing from nowhere in any room, but damned incompetent.
The old man collapsed, Bairnsworth’s bullet in his gut, the Lideric hissed and leaped for the window.
“Don’t let it go!” I snarled.
I disentangled the Duke’s helping hands and raced after the feathered beast.
She dropped from the window and hit the ground running on all fours.
One of the constables fired at her, winging a leg and slowing the beast down.
I alighted out the window, catching myself on the lip and swinging down, hitting the ground hard but springing up and chasing after her. This is why I wore pants. A perk of being an Inspector meant I was not required to wear the pencil skirts that the female constables sported.
Behind me the team swore and cursed; ahead of me the Lideric started gathering Ether—I caught it, smoothing the Ether back into place, preventing her from re-entering the Dreamscape. Shaping the Ether was too exhausting to do indefinitely, but I doubted she knew this.
She howled something and hit the cart of a man selling fried potatoes. The contents went everywhere, hot oil scalding the Lideric’s body as well as the unfortunate vendor.
I dodged a man who stepped between us, his arm outstretched to catch me.
Pain laced from my chest to my arms as I wheezed in a breath. I was in no condition to chase monsters through Potter’s Lane.
I launched at her as she whirled away from the burning oil, screeching.
We went down in a tumble of mud, rags, and burning potatoes.
Claws raked at my coat, slicing into the wool and bursting the top buttons open. I smashed a fist into her face. Bones cracked and blood blossomed to the surface of her skin. Pain radiated down my arm.
Hot oil dripped from her to my exposed arms, but I didn’t have time to deal with it. She rolled on top of me, crushing my fist into the pavement and grime above my head. My knuckles impacted with cobblestones and one popped.
I brought the shock-stick up and jammed it into he
r throat.
She flew off me with a crack of thunder, hitting the upturned vendor’s cart. Her face contorted into a snarl; her hair puffed into feathers and she squawked at me. I rolled to my feet, gasping for air.
She was battered and bruised; getting back up, her leg faltered. Blood was flowing from the wound freely now.
“You killed two people last night,” I hissed; there was a great deal more I wanted to say, but speaking took too much effort at present.
“I’ve killed no-one, bitch.” She spat the last and the affront on her face made me believe her.
I lurched forward. She lumbered out of the way and hobbled off of the cart.
Another crack broke the peace as one of the constables took another shot down the lane.
Chaos broke out, people began to scream and panic. The lane was a flurry of activity and a man in a labourer’s uniform elbowed past me. His shove sent me spinning back into the mud, dropping the shock-stick.
I pulled my arm in before I was trampled, gasping for air as stars played on my vision.
The crowd surged like a living thing; for all the shouting and grabbing and pulling, the Lideric vanished with the squeal of people fleeing gunshots.
The Duke of Cardigan reached me first, pulling me to my feet with a puff of effort.
I didn’t resist; my chest was constricting against more than the physical exertion and I was too grimy to find a hold in oil and mud.
“My God, are you hurt, Rose?”
“Quite fine,” I growled. I had lost a button from my jacket and my hair pins had fallen somewhere in the foul-smelling muck. My pale hair was an unpleasant shade of brown. I was not sure about the smell. I extracted myself from the Duke’s concern and tried to brush my coat. I was a damn mess.
“Damn it, Percy, the Inspector had the beast cornered, give me that pistol!” Bairnsworth hissed. He used the blunt of the pistol to smack his constable upside the head, angrily. “Bloody fool!”
I didn’t comment. Bairnsworth was doing an adequate berating for the both of us.
