Under Cover of Darkness

by Julie E. Czerneda

  She couldn’t feel it.

  She turned her pocket inside out, but the money was gone. She must have dropped it in the alley when she escaped from Mr. Creely.

  “I have to go,” she said urgently. If she didn’t get that penny back her family wouldn’t eat tonight. She took one last look before she opened the door, trying to freeze in her mind the image of a giant God bending over a trembling piskie, then she hurried out into the watery gray dawn of a winter’s morning.

  The alley looked deserted. Emily hugged the wall and watched for what seemed like an hour, but there was no movement. But then, why would there be? The piskies were all gone, what need for Mr. Creely and his men to linger?

  When she was satisfied she was alone, she moved to the spot where she had found Corrigan. The sky had lightened enough for her to see and she scanned the wet cobbles for her money.

  “Looking for something, Miss Doyle?”

  Emily felt as if her heart simply stopped in her chest. She turned quickly and saw the skeletal figure of Mr. Creely blocking the alley mouth. Her heart made up for lost time and thudded painfully in her chest. She turned, intending to run to the other end of the passage again, but a hand grabbed her painfully about the arm and a sack smelling strongly of onions was thrown over her head.

  Emily felt suffocated by the darkness. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but she still had the sack over her head and her eyes were streaming because of the stench of onions. She was angry—not because she was crying, she wasn’t—but because Creely would think she was crying.

  She tried to move, but her hands were tied behind her back. She shifted, and something sharp dug into her spine. She realized she had been propped up against some crates. She fell forward onto her knees, then stood up, feeling with her hands until she touched the sharp corner at the top of the crate. Then she tried to wedge it into the knot, pushing down with her wrists to get it as deep as possible into the loop and then pulling forward, slowly loosening the binding.

  It took over ten minutes, and each second she expected Mr. Creely to walk through the door and discover her attempt to escape. She dropped the rope to the floor and yanked the sack from her head. Light exploded across her vision. She squinted to block out the brightness and looked around. She was in some kind of storeroom. Crates were piled against three of the walls and a single window let in the rich light of afternoon. She must have fainted in the hansom cab Mr. Creely bundled her into.

  She hurried over to the door and pressed her ear against the rough wood. She could hear voices on the other side. Mr. Creely talking to someone.

  “I ain’t gonna to do it. I’ll go to hell for that, Mr. Creely.

  “My dear man, the last thing someone such as yourself should be worried about is going to hell.”

  “Oh. Thank you very much, Mr. Creely.”

  “You misunderstand, Mr. Vance. I think it inevitable you will end up in hell. But at least the monetary recompense will allow you to damn your soul with some style.”

  “But—”

  “Mr. Vance! Please! If we are to play our part in the Dagda’s betrayal, we must be at the Serpentine Bridge before midnight. And you still have to pick up the weapons. Just go in there and find out where she took the piskie. Use whatever means necessary.”

  Emily stepped away from the door. The Dagda’s betrayal? Wasn’t the Dagda the person meeting with the Faerie Queen tonight? To discuss a truce? Were the Seelie headed into a trap? She turned and studied the window. She had to warn Corrigan.

  She climbed onto the crates and pushed open the window, pausing only to stuff some potatoes and oranges into her shawl for her family’s supper. Then she clambered out into a yard piled high with mounds of moldy sacking and disappeared through the open gate.

  Two hours before midnight, Emily slipped through the massive arches at Hyde Park Corner and hid at the bottom of a huge statue of a naked man. She waited for a few minutes to make sure there were no police around, then she jogged across the grass, following the road that ran along the Serpentine River.

  The full moon hung crisp and bright, and finally revealed the stone parapets of the bridge arching across the river. She climbed up into a tree that gave her a good vantage point of the surrounding area. It was bare of leaves, but the thick branches twisted so much that they hid her from view.

  The run had warmed Emily somewhat, but now the chill set in. Her old dress and threadbare shawl did nothing to keep out the cold. Her teeth started chattering. They sounded so loud that Emily thought anyone passing below would be able to hear her.

  She finally decided to distract herself by eating the orange she had kept aside when a voice spoke to her.

  “Would you like a drink?” it said.

  Emily almost fell from the tree. She craned her neck up and around and saw Corrigan sitting astride a tree branch, his feet dangling over the side while he drank from a tiny horn.

  “What are you doing here?” she gasped.

  “Actually, I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I came to warn you! The meeting is a trap. The Unseelie are in league with Mr. Creely.”

  Corrigan swung his legs and took another sip of his drink.

  “Didn’t you hear me? I came all this way to warn you.”

  “I heard you.”

  “But if they kill the Queen, who will stop them taking over London?”

  “That’s not a problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Corrigan sighed. “We know it’s a trap. The Dagda told us.”

  Emily shook her head. “What?”

  “The truce is real. Tonight we wipe out the Invisible Order and then the Queen and the Dagda will divide up London between them.”

  “They can’t do that!” said Emily, horrified.

  “Yes, they can. The weapons the Invisible Order were given are fake. Not iron like they thought. Now hush. The meeting is about to start.”

  “But . . . but what will happen to us?”

  Corrigan frowned down at her. “Is that important?”

  “It is to us!”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that London stands on a piece of land sacred to the fey. We will burn the city down. Properly, this time.”

  “But, my family—”

  “Hush. The Queen comes.”

  Emily turned. A small hill lay in the center of a sward of grass. As she watched, a white light blossomed at the base of the hill and slowly grew until it was the size of a door.

  Then a tall silhouette appeared and moved forward. Emily was vaguely aware of dancing and capering shapes spilling out around the tall figure, but her attention was riveted on the face of the Faerie Queen as she stepped from the hill and surveyed the landscape around her. Her features were perfect, a cold white face framed by copper hair that fell in loose waves past her slender shoulders. She had lips so red they could have recently tasted blood. A long, wispy cloak, looking like it was made of spider-webs, floated behind her as she walked. Its edges were held above the grass by a troop of dirty and unkempt children. Their clothes were torn and muddied, their eyes vacant of expression. Beside the Queen walked a black-cloaked man with a hood pulled over this face.

  “That’s the Dark Man,” whispered Corrigan. “If he comes for you, there is no escape. He’ll follow you into the Depths and more if the Queen wishes it.”

  He stood up on his branch. “I have to go. The river will soon run red with the blood of the Invisible Order.” He hopped down and joined the rapidly growing group emerging from the hill. There were so many different kinds now. Hairy gnomes with spears. Goblins with sickly yellow skin. Taller creatures, more elegant, and closer in size to the Queen. Emily wasn’t sure who they were. All she knew was that right now she was the only one who knew the fey meant to betray Mr. Creely and his men. She might loathe the man, but it looked as if the Invisible Order was the only thing standing in the way of London being burned to the ground.

  She clambered from the tree and retraced her steps
until she was out of sight of the faeries. Then she headed down to the river and hurried along the bank until she saw the bridge. She could hear the fey off to her left, giggling and squealing like demented children. Then there was a commanding voice, high and perfect like a clear note of music, but with undercurrents of ice and danger. The creatures fell silent.

  Emily scrambled up the bank and slipped onto the bridge. She bent low and ran across. She could see the trees on the other side, and if Corrigan was right, Mr. Creely and his men should be hiding somewhere nearby.

  She ran into the trees. She couldn’t see anyone. “Hello?” she called softly. “Mr. Creely?”

  Movement to her right. She turned and saw the tall man emerge from the shadows. His face was drawn and pale, filled with tension. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”

  “Saving your life,” said Emily. “If you cross that bridge, you will die. The fey have double-crossed you. They’ve called a truce so they can get rid of your order. Then they plan to burn London to the ground and divide up the land.”

  “Nonsense. How could you possibly know this?”

  “The faerie I carried this morning. I saved his life and he told me.” She gestured at a rude looking spear he carried. “And that’s not iron. You were told it would be fatal to them. It won’t be.”

  Mr. Creely cursed under his breath. He turned. “Mr. Vance,” he hissed. “Get over here!”

  The fat man who threw the bag over her head shuffled forward. By this time, others were emerging from their hiding places. Emily looked around at the wall of faces, all armed with the useless spears.

  “Mr. Vance, you picked up the weapons today, did you not?”

  “Yes, sur. Just like you tol’ me to. One of those ugly gnome things helped me load them into the cart seein’ as I was runnin’ late.”

  Silence greeted this. Mr. Creely turned fully around to tower over the cringing man. “The gnome helped you load these?”

  “Yessir.”

  “He touched them?”

  The man nodded mutely.

  “These are supposed to be iron, you buffoon. Iron is fatal to the fey.”

  “Ah.”

  Mr. Creely turned to the others. “Spread the word. This night’s work will have to be completed some other time. Go now.”

  The cloaked figures ran into the forest. Mr. Creely turned back to Emily and stared at her. “I think you can see for yourself that the fey are not about light and dancing. They are cruel, sadistic hunters who think humans should be their playthings. They are closer in nature to cats than they are to us.”

  Emily heard a loud crashing behind her. Voices raised in shouts. Creely looked up.

  “That was to be the signal for us to join in the attack against the Seelie.” He sighed. “And so the battle continues.” He bowed low in front of Emily. “Good night to you, Miss Doyle.”

  Before Emily could utter another word, he turned and walked quickly into the darkness. She should leave as well. Before the faeries came to find out what happened to their plan. She set out into the trees, intending to leave by one of the other gates.

  She was close to the edge of the woods when she heard the giggling. She stopped. The sound seemed to come from up ahead so she turned to the right.

  Corrigan dropped from the tree and leveled a bow at her. “Stupid, stupid,” he said.

  “Corrigan.” She looked around frantically, searching for a way out. “Won’t you let me go? I . . . I saved your life, after all.”

  “And that is why we will spare yours. Deed for a deed. Life for a life.”

  Emily turned. The Faerie Queen stood before her, tall and terrible. The giggling sound she had heard came from the children holding her cloak. They stared at Emily with hungry eyes.

  “You . . . you won’t kill me?”

  “No.”

  “Then I can go?”

  “I did not say that.”

  Emily felt anger rise up despite her fear. “Then what?”

  “You have a choice. You will live—if you accompany us to Faerie.”

  “For how long?”

  “Why, forever. You will never see your home again.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then I’m afraid you will have to be punished.”

  Emily looked around. More of the fey had gathered, forming a tight circle around them. There was nowhere to run. She looked back at the Queen. “It might be better to be dead than a prisoner for the rest of my life.”

  The Queen raised an eyebrow. “Do you think so? Then let me add a bit of incentive.” She raised her hand in the air. The fey behind her silently moved aside, clearing a pathway into the trees. A dark shadow detached itself from the darkness and glided forward until it stood by the Queen. Emily swallowed nervously. It was the Dark Man. The Queen leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear. He turned to Emily and stepped toward her. She tried to move, but someone grabbed her from behind and held her in place.

  The Dark Man lowered his head to her hair. He made a noise like the snuffling of a horse as he moved his head over her clothes and skin. Emily realized he was smelling her.

  When he was satisfied, he stepped back to the Queen’s side.

  “Now,” she said. “The Dark Man has your scent. If you do not accompany me, I will send him to hunt down your family. Their deaths will not be quick.”

  Emily looked despairingly for Corrigan, but there was no sign of the piskie. There was nothing she could do. She felt tears well up in her eyes. She could not condemn her family to death simply to save her own life. She had to go.

  She hastily wiped the tears away. She would not let them see her cry. And besides, she told herself. At least if she were alive, there was always a chance of escape. She looked up at the Queen.

  “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

  “There is always a choice. Just not always good ones. What is your decision?”

  “I’ll come.”

  The fey erupted into excited chattering. The children behind the Queen grinned feral grins. She pointed at them. “But I won’t do that.”

  “Oh, my dear, you’re much too intelligent for that. No, you will be a storyteller. You will regale our feasts with tales of heroism and danger.” She leaned forward. “But be warned. If you ever run out of stories, I’ll cut out your tongue and make you eat it. Now come.”

  Emily hesitated, then stepped forward. The Queen put her arm around her shoulders and guided her across the grass. They took three steps and left the trees behind. The small hill stood before them. The doorway was still open, the fey disappearing back through in carousing groups.

  Emily let the Queen guide her. Just before they stepped inside, she took one last look over her shoulder.

  Snow was starting to fall. It drifted like silent feathers through the winter air.

  “It’s snowing,” she said, and smiled.

  Then the light enveloped her and she stepped into the lands of summer.

  Paul Crilley is a Scot currently living in South Africa with his partner, his daughter, seven cats, and two dogs. He recently turned thirty, and much to his surprise the world did not, in fact, come to an end.

  He is a writer on a prime time sitcom due for broadcast on South African television early next year, and is hoping to finish the first novel in his fantasy series, “The Sundered Land Cycle” in the next few months. He is also working on numerous screenplays, some of which may actually have a chance of getting made.

  BORROWED TIME

  Stephen Kotowych

  THE LOOK ON Vincent’s face confirmed for Kayla that she was the last person he expected to see when he answered the door. She pushed past him into the apartment.

  “Hey!” Vincent said sharply.

  The apartment was much the way she remembered it: looking (and smelling) of bachelor. In the half-light through the closed drapes—the ones she had made him the year before—she saw magazines and newspapers scattered on the couch, a pizza box under the coffee table, and dir
ty plates full of desiccated pizza crusts and worse sitting on top. She was sure the kitchen sink would be full of unwashed dishes.

  “Still don’t clean?” she said, stepping over a fallen T-shirt. Reaching into her shoulder bag, Kayla pulled out a gold pocket watch, and popped open the cover. She studied the four small dials of its chronograph face by the dim light. Each of the tiny hands turned at a different speed, some forward and some back.

  Vincent gave a frustrated sigh. “I haven’t spent a lot of time here lately.”

  “So I hear.”

  He straightened. “What does that mean?”

  Kayla’s brow furrowed. The readings from the chronograph dials synced with the time reading from the large hands. She held the watch out for Vincent to see. “There’s no variation from baseline here.”

  “Why would there be? I’m hardly having a good time.” Almost at once Vincent’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, that’s what this is about. You’re checking up on me. You just can’t get over—”

  “What the hell is the matter with you?” she interrupted. “I thought you were going to stop stealing time.”

  “You wanted me to stop. There’s a difference.”

  “Because I knew you’d get caught!”

  “No, Kay, you were worried you’d get caught. That’s different, too.”

  “So who is she?” Kayla demanded, crossing her arms. “Another new recruit?”

  “I’m through dating younger women,” Vincent said, wandering into the kitchen.

  Kayla’s eyes narrowed. Though he’d meant to hurt her, she was angry with herself for taking the bait. The Chronographer’s Guild had recruited her right after grad school and assigned Vincent—only four years older—to train her. He’d hardly robbed the cradle. Besides, she’d been just as interested in him and had sent all the right signals. She’d been surprised it took him so long to clue in.

  Light spilled into the dim apartment from the refrigerator. Pop-snap. Vincent stood in the open door of the fridge, bathed in light, drinking a soda. His wasting energy still bothered her.