Wolves and Daggers_A Steampunk Fairy Tale

by Melanie Karsak

  “Pull your gun, and get out that big-ass knife you always carry.”

  Grinning, I latched my cape at the neck then pulled out my silver blade, a gift from my grand-mère.

  Quinn and I headed back inside. Moving quickly, we worked through the space which was unnervingly quiet. Our weapons drawn, we made our way down the steps back into the room. No one was around. Water gushed from the pipe. The floor was soaked, and the pit was full of water. As I suspected, the bear was still inside. He was treading water but was already at the end of his chain. He roared for help then whimpered.

  “Goddamned wolves,” I said then went to the side of the pit. Lying on my stomach, I reached for the chain holding the bear. The animal, sensing I was not there to get into a fisticuffs with him, watched me carefully. Grabbing the chain, I gave it a gentle tug, pulling the bear toward me. Running on survival instinct, the bear drifted toward me.

  “That’s it,” I whispered. “Come on, Loki. No tricks today. Just let me unhook that pin,” I said, reaching for the bear’s collar.

  A moment later, however, I heard voices coming from the back.

  “I don’t care if you can’t swim, get the bloody till or I’ll rip your throat out,” someone roared angrily.

  “Clem, that’s Cyril. We need to go,” Quinn said.

  “Almost got him,” I whispered, reaching out with the tips of my fingers for the bear’s collar.

  “Clem.”

  The bear let out a soft whine.

  “Come on, Loki. It’s now or never,” I told the animal, looking into his brown eyes.

  The bear swam closer to me. I grabbed the collar and pulled the pin. The binding let loose, and the collar and chain drifted underwater.

  “What a fucking mess. We’re going to have to move the venue,” someone said.

  “Stop talking and get the till.”

  I scrambled up quickly and headed toward the door where I met Quinn who was already on the first step.

  “What the… Jesus, will you look at that? Red Capes,” someone said.

  I looked over my shoulder to see Fenton and Cyril standing there, both of them glaring in our direction.

  “Explains our plumbing problems,” Cyril said with a sneer. There was a slight lilt in his voice, a hint of what might have once been an Irish accent worn thin over time. While he was still in human form, his eyes were glowing a menacing red. “Who’s the girl?”

  Fenton laughed. “They gave Quinn a schoolgirl for a new partner. Shame about Morrison. I almost liked that Red Cape. Now look what Quinn has, a wee Little Red for a partner. Where did they find you, Little Red, boarding school?”

  Both werewolves chuckled.

  I glared at them.

  Quinn aimed his pistols on the men. “Go,” he whispered to me.

  “Not on your life,” I replied, aiming my weapon at Cyril.

  “Gentlemen, it’s been an illuminating evening. Little Red and I will be leaving now,” Quinn told the werewolves.

  “Hey,” I protested.

  “After the mess you’ve made? Sorry, Quinn. Not this time. Pity about the girl though. She’s not hard to look at. Maybe we should turn her,” Cyril said then nodded to Fenton who began to quickly shift form.

  “Clemeny, run,” Quinn said.

  A moment later, Fenton—fully shifted into werewolf form—jumped toward us. I was shocked to see he could span the entire room in one leap. I turned my gun toward him and was about to fire when I heard a roar. Loki burst from the water and knocked Fenton into the wall. The werewolf hit his head hard. Shaking his head, he seemed dazed.

  “You idiot! Get up. Go after them,” Cyril yelled.

  Taking our chance, Quinn and I turned and raced toward the exit. Fighting London’s alpha and a beta in the open was one thing, but tangling with the two in a mostly-submerged underground fighting pit was something quite different. Rushing back outside, we raced down the alley. I heard a grunt and looked behind me to see the bear—but not a werewolf—hot on our heels.

  “Loki, come on,” I called to the bear then we turned and headed back into the busy London streets.

  “I swear to god, Clemeny, if I get killed because you wanted to save a bear, I’ll have you demoted to clerical.”

  “If you get killed you won’t be doing much of anything. And my bear just saved your life.”

  “Your bear?”

  “Yes, my bear,” I said then looked back at Loki who was trailing quickly behind Quinn and me. I grinned and motioned for him to follow us. Running fast, we turned a corner and burst out into a main thoroughfare.

  “Black Circle Station. We’ll send the Bow Street Boys to mop up the mess,” Quinn said.

  A woman screamed when she spotted the bear following us.

  I whistled to him. “Loki, come here.” Holding out my hand, I waited for the bear. The creature caught up with us then rubbed his head against my hand. “There you go. Good bear. You’re all right now. Come on, let’s go,” I said then turned back to Quinn.

  Grinning, Quinn shook his head. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

  “Me or the wolves?”

  “I was talking to the bear.”

  At that, I laughed. “And here they told me you were the most fierce werewolf hunter in the realm.”

  Quinn smirked, but there was a flash of pride behind his eyes. “I am. Fighting bears is something altogether different. All right, partner—and bear. Come on.”

  When we finally reached headquarters, we led Professor Jamison inside then sent a junior agent to fetch Agent Greystock, our superior. Quinn sighed heavily then flopped into a high-back leather chair, setting his pistols on the nearby table. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. He yawned tiredly. It was going to be a very, very long night.

  “You need something to help you unwind. Why don’t you and Jessica come out with me this weekend, get a little recreation?”

  “Come out with you where?”

  “The Hippodrome.”

  Quinn laughed. “Miss your bear?”

  “Yes. I’m still mad that Agent Greystock wouldn’t let me keep him.”

  “And just what were you going to do with a bear, anyway? It’s not like you have space at Miss Colridge’s.”

  “No, but maybe he could have stayed at headquarters. He could have been our mascot.”

  Quinn shook his head. “What did you ever do with those fight winnings?”

  “Tracked down Tom the Blade at the hospital, and paid for him to get a glass eye.”

  Quinn shook his head. “Only you, Clemeny. I think Jess and I will pass, but thanks.”

  “Well, I’ll be sure to tell Loki you send your greetings.”

  Quinn chuckled. “You do that, partner. You do that.”

  Chapter 3: Curiouser and Curiouser

  Agent Greystock paced the meeting room. She tapped her fingers together as she walked, her lips pulled into two tight lines, her silver hair combed back into a tight bun. She wore a suit that was the same scarlet color as our capes. I eyed her hair, wondering if her tightly coiffed locks made her head ache.

  Quinn and I waited patiently as Agent Greystock considered.

  She turned back to the board at the front of the meeting room. On it were photographs or sketches of the guild members who had gone missing thus far. Initially, the abductions had gone unnoticed by the Society. It was only at the last kidnapping that one of the wolves had been spotted by the Bow Street boys. When the London authorities noticed the preternatural, we were called in. As usual, Quinn and I had been landed with a problem. We already knew the wolves were up to something. They’d been raiding and robbing for weeks. But we’d thought they’d been prepping for a big heist or preparing to run guns. After the raid on Guildhall, now we weren’t so sure. We’d been at it all night into morning trying to come up with a plausible theory. Nothing seemed right.

  “Casualties from the incident at Guildhall?” Agent Greystock asked, turning to junior Agent Harper, who’d been part of the clean
-up crew.

  “Two,” Agent Harper said. “A driver killed in the explosion of a coal-powered auto and a valet who took a head injury.”

  “Anyone reported missing?”

  “No, ma’am, but Guildhall’s Secretary of Records reported that his office had been looted. A number of new patent requests, some schematics, and the registry of Guildhall members are among the documents missing,” Agent Harper said.

  Agent Greystock stared at the faces on the board.

  “Oliver Dart, tinker,” she said, tapping the photo. “Mavis Porter, naturalist. Toby Winston, alchemist. Neville McKee, alchemist. Byrony Paxton, professor from King’s College.”

  Agent Greystock turned to us. “Theories?”

  Quinn shook his head. “This isn’t the packs’ usual modus operandi. Brawling? Whoring? Sure. But not this.”

  “Wolves have no reason to lift these people,” Agent Harper said. “And documents? I mean, I didn’t know the wolves could read.”

  I grinned at Agent Harper. “Templar pack can read, but they’re the only ones,” I said then turned back to the board. “Whitehall pack and Lupercal pack can’t stand each other. If they're working together, they’re about to pull off something big.”

  Agent Greystock nodded then looked back at the board. “Why these guild members—and Professor Jamison—in particular? Why them and the patents?”

  We all stared at the board.

  “Ransom?” Agent Harper offered. “Or to sell the schematics on the black market.”

  Neither idea seemed bad enough.

  “Weapons,” Quinn suggested. “Maybe…maybe they’re pulling minds together to build weapons.”

  “A good a theory as any, for the moment,” Agent Greystock said with a nod. “Quinn, I want you to go back to your contact with the Lolitas. Backtrack and see what you can find out.”

  Quinn nodded, but I could see he wasn’t pleased to be assigned the task. No doubt Jessica didn’t care much for her husband hanging around with a bunch of tarty bitches at a brothel. But many years ago, before I’d joined the Society, something had happened to Alodie, the beta bitch of the Lolitas, and Quinn had been the one to get her out of trouble. Ever since, she was partial to him.

  “Agent Harper, I want you to go interview Professor Jamison. We had her moved to the safehouse on the Isle of Dogs. See what she knows about the missing guild members, and find out what she’s been working on.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Very good. Off with you both. Agent Louvel, please come with me.”

  I nodded then turned to Quinn. “Ales and Ass, three o’clock,” I said, referring to our favorite pub.

  He inclined his head to me then headed out.

  “Come along,” Agent Greystock said, motioning for me to follow her from the meeting room. The halls of the Red Cape Society headquarters were busy. Other agents wearing the distinctive red cloak and silver badge passed me by, giving me a congenial nod as they went on their way. Unbeknownst to most of those living in the city of London, there were many things in our realm that did more than go bump in the night. It was the duty of the Red Cape Society, part of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service, to deal with the preternatural.

  Agent Greystock led me to the lift. Motioning for me to follow her inside, she pulled a lever, and we descended below the city.

  “You are right that Whitechapel and Lupercal are not inclined to get along. If someone is uniting the packs for a singular purpose, then we must learn what it is,” Agent Greystock said.

  “You think Quinn is right? That they’re building arms?”

  Agent Greystock tapped her fingers together. “The guild members they are gathering are great minds, but they are not the best weapons designers in the realm. Thus far, I see no connection between them.”

  “Alchemists. Tinkers. Naturalists. At best, they are constructing a heinous alternative to opium. At worst, alchemical concoctions can be weaponized,” I suggested.

  “Do you really think the wolves capable of such ingenuity?”

  I shook my head. She was right. The packs were strong, but with the exception of the Templars, not that bright. This was well beyond their capacity for creativity. The only thing they were ever good at was brute mayhem.

  “Cyril is not the most peaceful alpha this realm has ever known, but he’s no worse than the human gangs. This…smacks of something else. We need to find out what,” Agent Greystock said.

  “Cyril is old. Do you suppose nature has begun her call for a rival? If the balance of power is tipping, we have a very big problem on our hands. If the packs are about to compete for alpha, gaming and petty theft would become the least of our problems.”

  Agent Greystock sighed heavily. “For all their machismo, the wolves are secretive, particularly in these matters. We need someone to talk, and not just Lolitas. They only talk to Quinn because of Alodie, and the she-wolves never have a say in pack matters. You need to talk to Lionheart.”

  I groaned.

  Agent Greystock laughed. “Yes, I know, but Sir Richard Spencer—Lionheart—and the Templars will be the pack least interested in dealing with a new alpha or getting involved in any trouble that disturbs Her Majesty. They are royalist to a fault, and they are content with things the way they are. And, I think, that werewolf likes you.”

  “You say that like it’s a compliment.”

  “Clemeny, I have advised dozens of agents on your beat over the years. Sir Richard has never talked to anyone but you.”

  Lionheart, as they commonly called Sir Richard Spencer, the beta of the Templar pack, was a scholarly and reclusive werewolf, as was his pack. Their origins in the realm were ancient, but they had never made a grab for power. The Templars kept to themselves and their own business, which made them both easy to ignore and entirely dangerous. Secrets and werewolves never blended well. But there was good cause to go see him.

  “Byrony Paxton was a professor from King’s College,” I said, referring to one of the names on the board. The Templar pack had made the halls of the ivory tower of King’s College their home. I often wondered how the students might feel if they learned half a dozen of their professors were werewolves.

  “Perhaps that will be enough of an opening to get Lionheart to talk.”

  The lift came to a stop. Agent Greystock slid open the metal gate and led me down the narrow, cavernous hallway, pushing open the door to the armory. Inside, a team of smiths was working busily on new devices and tech intended for the defense of Her Majesty’s realm.

  “Why abduct tinkers? If the wolves are looking for brilliant minds to make monstrous devices, all they really need to do is to raid us,” I said.

  “Let’s not pose the idea to them, shall we?” Agent Greystock said with a smirk then led me to the back of a large workshop where a little man wearing goggles that seemed to magnify his eyes times ten was working hard on a clockwork device.

  I chuckled. “What big eyes you have, sir.”

  The old man paused his work and looked up at me. He blinked twice then grinned. “All the better to see you with, my dear.”

  “Speaking of. Master Hart, do you have the device I commissioned for Agent Louvel?”

  “Indeed I do,” the tinker said, pulling off his goggles. He rose and went to a line of shelves at the side of the room. He pulled out a wooden box and handed it to me. “Here you are. Try this.”

  I opened the lid to find an eyepatch inside. The eyepatch, quite like what an unfortunate airship pirate might wear, was rigged with a number of clockwork devices and an unusual optic piece.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Come this way,” the tinker, Master Hart, said then led Agent Greystock and me to an adjoining room.

  Once we were inside, the man closed the door.

  “Slip it on, Agent. Over the left eye.”

  I slid on the device, surprised when I could see through the optic. “Everything is shaded green,” I said.

  “Right,” Master Hart said then
went to the wall and turned off the gaslamp. “Agent Louvel, there is a lever located right around your temple. Please switch it on.”

  I felt along the edge of the eyepatch until I felt a small metal lever, which I shifted in place. I heard a click as something in the eyepatch activated, and a moment later, a strange hue lit up the optic. Suddenly, even though the room was entirely dark, I could clearly make out Agent Greystock’s and Master Hart’s silhouettes.

  “Hell’s bells,” I said, astonished.

  Agent Greystock chuckled.

  “I call it a night array optic. There is a small aether core with a crystal device used to amplify vision on multiple waves, including enhancing night vision. Based some of the tech off the Hawking Optic. All in all, it works well in perfect darkness. Still a few ghosts in the machine. Just ignore any stray undefinables you might see. It will enhance your vision in the dark. As you requested, Agent Greystock.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “How is it, Clemeny?”

  “Perfect. At least now, I’ll see them coming. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Very good. Lights, Master Hart.”

  I turned off then removed the device just as Master Hart sparked the lamp back to life. I set the optic back into the box and put it in my bag.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said to the tinker.

  “Agent,” he said with a nod, looking pleased with himself.

  Agent Greystock inclined her head to the man then waved for me to follow her. We headed down the hall away from the armory and workshop to the underground rail.

  “How is your grandmother, Clemeny?” Agent Greystock asked.

  “Very well, madame. Thank you for asking. She inquires after you every time I see her.”

  “Dear Felice. Please send her my greetings.”

  “I will. You should come by and see her.”

  Agent Greystock smiled. “Are you sure about that? Every time I drop in, she insists I find you a husband. She has set out a rather specific list of requirements. She’s quite convinced that if I just hire the right person into the agency, all her problems—or are they yours?—will be solved.”