The Conquering Dark: Crown

by Clay Griffith Susan Griffith

  Malcolm studied the grey city outside. He took a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably. “She’s a God-fearing woman. Believes her elementalism is a curse. I should’ve protected her, even from herself. She needed help with her magic. I should’ve brought her to Hartley Hall. That would’ve solved everything. Now she’s with Gaios and Lord knows what he’s done to her.” He had said more than he wished, exactly as he’d feared.

  Penny leaned on her arm, watching him through the flicking bands of light from passing gas lamps. “So why didn’t you?”

  “She asked me to keep her secret. And I said I would.”

  The engineer shrugged with acceptance. “Oh. There you are then.”

  Malcolm shook his head, tamping down the anger at himself. “It’s not so simple. It should be, but it isn’t. I knew she needed a great deal of help even after she saved my life.”

  “Wait, she saved your life? I thought you said—”

  “It was a bit of both.”

  Penny laughed. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  Malcolm realized Penny harbored no blame for his actions with Jane. He valued her straightforward support. For Penny, everything was about solving the problem as it existed, not worrying about how it might have been a different problem. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I spoke with her the night before the row at St. Mary Woolnoth. A few weeks after that, I went by the soup kitchen and her home, but she wasn’t there.” Malcolm pulled a grey wool scarf from his coat pocket and gave a slight smile. “She made this and gave it to me the first time she saw me at her soup kitchen. Thought I was a bedraggled thing needing care.”

  Penny raised an eyebrow, allowing herself a winsome huff of laughter.

  Malcolm folded the scarf and slipped it back in his pocket. “Her housekeeper said she had taken her sick father to a spa for treatment and wouldn’t likely be back for a year or more. I checked on the soup kitchen a few times after. Never thought much of it because the kitchen kept running. If something had happened to Jane, I assumed it would close up.”

  “Do you think the housekeeper was lying?”

  Malcolm looked grim. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

  The carriage pulled up in a neighborhood that was in a state of decay that would be long and agonizing. Malcolm led the way to a door of a row house and knocked loudly on the brass plate. After several attempts, no one answered the summons. Malcolm’s brow furrowed deeper. He stepped back and studied the house. It seemed normal enough. The windows were unbroken. Glancing down the quiet street, Malcolm pulled out a small set of slim tools and bent at the lock.

  “What are you doing?” Charlotte leaned over him.

  “We’re housebreaking,” Penny informed her.

  “Oh!” The girl bounced excitedly on her toes. Imogen, with her veil now in place, turned to keep a lookout in case someone came strolling by.

  It took less than a minute and they were inside. The interior was dark. Not a single room was lit. The floor was littered with refuse. Papers. Leaves. Dirt. It was as if the house had not been cleaned for months. There were also empty liquor bottles and open pails that had carried beer.

  Charlotte sniffed the air and peered into the empty sitting room off the foyer. “Everything smells rotten.”

  Malcolm drew a line with his finger in the thick layer of dust on one of the tables. He turned toward the kitchen in the back of the home. The others trailed after him.

  The kitchen was dead. No fire warmed the hearth, not even yesterday’s banked coals. Cooking pots lay about with dried remnants of food. Insects crawled over the counters.

  Penny picked up a spoon from the table. “It appears Miss Somerset isn’t here, nor anyone else now.”

  “Someone’s been living here.” Malcolm sniffed a pot of moldy food. Some dishes appeared to have been used in the last few days.

  “No sign of a fight.” Imogen’s deep voice observed from the other side of the room.

  “Look around,” Malcolm said. “We need to see if we can determine where she’s been taken.”

  The girls complied and began rooting through the rooms for clues. Malcolm moved toward a pantry. It was unlocked and when he opened it, he gasped in surprise. The housekeeper sat there, her head bowed.

  “Mrs. Cummings,” Malcolm said quietly. Perhaps she had taken refuge inside the closet when she had heard intruders enter the house. Or maybe she was injured or worse.

  The old woman lifted her head toward the voice and her eyes opened. She rose abruptly to her feet. She wore her service clothes and apron, but they were caked with dirt and old food as if the woman hadn’t bathed or laundered for weeks.

  “Do you remember me, Mrs. Cummings? I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m a friend of Miss Somerset’s.”

  “She’s not here!”

  “I can see that, missus. Might you know where she’s gone?”

  The girls heard the commotion and came back into the kitchen. Imogen carried a tattered sheet of paper in her more human hand. A growl started low in Charlotte’s chest.

  Malcolm cast her a quick glance. “Charlotte, stop. The woman’s frightened enough.”

  “Maybe she’s not.” Charlotte’s voice was a low whisper. “She smells of oil and smoke.”

  It took a second before Malcolm understood what the girl meant, which was time enough for Mrs. Cummings to grab him up with her meaty fist. His feet came off the floor. He clutched at the hand around his throat while he pulled a pistol. Mrs. Cummings slapped the gun away with a powerful blow.

  Charlotte was in midtransformation when Mrs. Cummings threw Malcolm at her. The two collided and careened over the kitchen table in a tumble of arms and legs.

  Imogen yanked up her sleeve. She flexed her forearm and quills flew at the housekeeper. Each one struck the woman’s chest with a faint pinging sound.

  “She’s half-machine!” Penny shouted.

  “Dismantle her!” Malcolm clambered to his feet over the hairy limbs of Charlotte just as Penny fired a sonic blast from her pistol. The whine blossomed in his ears as everything around them started to shake. Dishes and bric-a-brac fell to the floor and shattered.

  Smoke leaked from under Mrs. Cummings’s dress and apron, her metal joints feeling the pressure. Every movement of her limbs sounded like breaking twigs as she came out into the center of the kitchen floor. The housekeeper seized a table in desperation and tossed it like a bag of laundry at Penny. The nimble engineer ducked out into the hall just under the shattering oaken table, but the attack stopped the pulsations.

  Imogen thrust another volley of quills. Mrs. Cummings held her right arm up to cover her face. One quill stuck in the housekeeper’s bare hand.

  Charlotte leapt over Malcolm onto Mrs. Cummings’s plump figure. Instead of being crushed to the floor, the housekeeper stood rooted in place. Charlotte’s claws tore into the woman. The rips in the thick cloth of her tunic revealed shiny metal underneath. Mrs. Cummings scruffed Charlotte and dragged her off, shoving her to the ground. She lifted a foot to slam down on the wiggling werewolf, but a barrage from Malcolm’s pistol pushed her backward.

  Mrs. Cummings reached for the iron stove, but her fingers suddenly unclenched and her right hand hung from her wrist like it had been broken. Imogen’s toxin was finally working. For a heavyset woman, Mrs. Cummings was spry. She leapt behind the stove and shoved it one-handed at Malcolm. It tore from the walls with a geyser of black coal dust and rushed toward him like a rampaging wagon. He backed away, but Charlotte streaked across the kitchen and carried him through the door into the hall. The iron stove smashed, wedged into the doorway behind them.

  Penny took advantage of the distraction and powered up her wee pistol once more. Mrs. Cummings turned, glaring at the engineer. Penny aimed as best she could as the pistol moved with a mind of its own. The discharge swept through the room and shoved Penny back five feet, tumbling her on top of Imogen. Black smoke poured from the housekeeper’s chest. Her movements were chaotic and jerky.


  “Get down! She’s going to blow apart!” Penny tried to herd Imogen over the upturned stove and out the door.

  Caught up in the fever of battle, Imogen shook her off and turned to snap off more quills. One struck the woman’s cheek, sticking to her skin like a stray whisker. The girl grinned in triumph. Malcolm leapt back into the kitchen, tackling Imogen to the floor just as Mrs. Cummings exploded. Metal and flesh hit everywhere, coating the town house with black oil and bloody smears.

  “Losh!” Charlotte exclaimed from the hall in a near-perfect imitation of Malcolm.

  Penny popped up. She looked for the Scotsman and a flash of relief washed over her when she saw he and Imogen were all right. Then a crooked grimace took its place. “Your friend won’t like how we redecorated.”

  Malcolm assisted Imogen to her feet. The girl hung her head apologetically at him. At least she knew she had done something foolish.

  Penny plucked a piece of Mrs. Cummings from the floor. To Malcolm’s relief, it was metallic. The piece twisted and turned in her hands as she examined every wire and nook and gear. “This is the Baroness’s work. Same as we came across with Dr. White.” She tossed it to the side. “She’s really starting to annoy me.”

  “She won’t much longer.”

  Penny toed another metal chunk of housekeeper. “She’s actually quite brilliant.”

  “So are you.”

  “I know, but …”

  “You’re much younger, and you’re already a genius.”

  “Genius?” Penny puffed with pride, but the brief interlude didn’t last as she remembered their purpose and the implication of the debris on the floor. “I guess this proves your friend is with Gaios.”

  Malcolm gritted his teeth. Gaios had already had the infernal housekeeper in place, watching Jane last year, and Malcolm had realized nothing. A steady ache of shame built in his chest, fearing he had unwittingly left Jane to be swept up by evil.

  “I found this before. I saw several of them.” Imogen held up the ragged sheet of paper she had been holding. Malcolm took it from her.

  Charlotte’s snout towered over him. “That’s not something a lady has in the house. Even I know that.”

  She was right. It was a broadsheet for a bawdy tavern at the waterfront called the Hanged Mermaid. A bare-breasted mermaid was posing, offering sailors more than just a free drink.

  Charlotte reverted to her human shape. Penny didn’t think twice but reached into her rucksack and pulled out a cloak for the nearly naked girl. They had several changes of clothes for her in the carriage; it was a necessity with the young werewolf.

  “We’re heading for the waterfront.” Malcolm shoved the paper into his pocket.

  Charlotte started bouncing up and down. “Are we going to find some pirates now?”

  “Pirates?” Malcolm sucked in a calming breath. “You two will stay in the coach.”

  Immediately Charlotte’s smile faded. Her arms crossed dejectedly.

  Imogen leaned over. “At least we’re going with them.”

  Charlotte brightened and leapt into the carriage. “Aye, matey!”

  The coach driver leaned over with the practiced calm of a long-standing Anstruther retainer. “I heard noises inside, sir. Is all well?”

  “Quarrel with the help. Take us to Limehouse.”

  Malcolm and Penny exited the carriage onto a fog-bound Limehouse street across from the Hanged Mermaid. The waterfront smelled of haddock and brine. He signaled the two girls to wait. Imogen nodded, leaning back in the seat while Charlotte peeked through the window shade at the press of strange people shuffling past.

  Penny glanced behind them at the coach. “She’s not going to stay there. You know that.”

  “She will if she knows what’s best.”

  Penny patted his arm. “You just keep thinking that.”

  Malcolm marched into the tavern, already focused on things besides the minding of children. Penny came in behind him but sidled off to the side to watch his flank. She really was quite good at gauging a situation to her best advantage. He never felt ill at ease with her at his back.

  Unwashed faces turned toward him suspiciously, their porters and meals forgotten for a moment. Most went back to their lives, but a few continued to stare at Malcolm’s dark form. They marked him as a stranger.

  He ordered a pint and leaned against the bar, filling a narrow space between cramped shoulders. He debated how to broach the subject of a missing woman and a maniacal demigod. He decided just to listen. Conversations picked up again, creating a low buzz. He sipped his warm beer and tried to listen in on various dialogues. Unfortunately, the whispers were too soft or the discussion too benign.

  Malcolm glanced behind him to check on Penny. To his surprise, she sat at a table with a bunch of fellows, grinning broadly. They leaned close, eager to listen to her. They all burst out into laughter. Malcolm scowled. It shouldn’t bother him, but it did. She was in her element. Despite her brilliance, she was one of the working class and they recognized their kin. He took his pint and headed over to her. The men around her quieted at his approach.

  “Nothing here for you, mate,” snarled one of them who looked older than his father.

  “There you’d be wrong,” was Malcolm’s dark reply, his eyes darting toward Penny.

  Her head tilted with exasperation and her mouth quirked. “Stand easy, lads. He’s with me.”

  Disappointment swept through the small contingent and they all sat back. She waved a jaunty farewell and slipped her arm through Malcolm’s, leading him back toward the bar.

  He asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been here before?”

  “Because I haven’t.”

  “They seemed awful friendly toward you,” he muttered.

  “It’s because I don’t glower.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “That you glower.” Penny laughed.

  He changed his expression even though he knew it was too late. “It’s gotten me what I needed before.”

  “Maybe, but there’s no need of it here. Those blokes are happy enough to talk. Besides that, I’m a woman, not some dark Scottish ghost off the moors. Far less threatening.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “There’s a new island.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A new island. It just appeared a few months ago. Off the coast of Allhallows. None of the sailors or rivermen remember it being there before.”

  “Bloody hell. Only one person I know can make an island.” Malcolm spotted a man with a dark tattoo on his neck seated near the front of the bar. A frown emerged when he thought another eager bloke was eyeing Penny. Then he realized the man was watching him. When the man noticed Malcolm’s attention, he turned back to his drink.

  Penny swigged down the last of Malcolm’s beer. “What do we do now?”

  “We go check it out.”

  “Without the others?”

  “They’re in India. No idea when they’ll be back.”

  “Just us two against Gaios? Four, if you count the girls. I’m not sure I like those odds.”

  “I don’t plan to fight Gaios. Just find Jane and get her away.”

  “That’s a poor bet.”

  “If we don’t find her, we head back and wait for Simon.”

  “Sure this isn’t your guilt talking?”

  “We’re running out of time.” That was all he said. There was no point in explaining or discussing. They had one choice.

  The tattooed man rose and slipped out the front. Malcolm stood and pulled Penny with him.

  “Where we going?” she asked.

  “That man was a bit too interested.”

  “What man?”

  “He’s already out the door. Tall man with a tattoo on his neck.” They stepped outside in the fog-shrouded daylight. People bustled eerily around them.

  “I don’t see him.”

  “There.” Malcolm pointed out the fellow shoving into the crowd.

&nb
sp; Across the street, Charlotte leaned halfway out of the coach window and waved. Malcolm glared at her, indicating that she should stay out of sight. She made a face and retreated inside, almost.

  Penny had eyes on their quarry and Malcolm raced to catch up to her as she weaved quickly through the throngs of people. The tattooed man led them toward the docks where two other men joined him. They spoke with brief agitation before continuing on.

  “You know,” Penny pointed out, “he could have just disliked your choice of beer. People are peculiar in this part of London.”

  Malcolm grunted. “He didn’t look at us until we started talking about this island of yours. That’s enough for me.”

  Penny shrugged. “Any lead is a good lead.”

  Malcolm pulled her behind some crates at the wharf as the trio of men paused in front of a ramp. A sixty-foot steam launch was moored below them. On either side were affixed massive paddle wheels. Malcolm brought his spyglass up. He spotted about fifteen men on board. Crates were being loaded in the hold. “That’s the same boat I saw at Westminster that spirited the Baroness and Ferghus away.”

  Penny took the glass and stiffened in concentration. “I bet she does ten knots on the Thames. Woe to anyone she passes. They’re about to cast off.”

  “Blast it all.” Malcolm got ready to move.

  “What about the girls?”

  “They’re safer where they are. The driver will take them home in the carriage.”

  Penny glanced over her shoulder and grinned broadly. “Then again maybe not. They’re right behind you.”

  Malcolm spun about and, sure enough, Imogen and Charlotte were slinking toward them in their affluent attire, causing one or two rivermen to regard them curiously. He stalked back and pulled them down to the crates. “I told you to stay in the coach.”

  “That was hours ago,” Charlotte pointed out. “Are those pirates? They look like pirates.”

  Penny shoved Charlotte’s head down below the line of crates. “Yes. We’re going to board that vessel.”

  Charlotte’s eyes grew wide with anticipation and her voice rose an octave. “We’re going to plunder her!”