Rise of the Darklings

by Paul Crilley

  She and Jack exchanged a look, then both stepped forward.

  The shadows closed quickly around them, cutting off the light as if a bank of clouds had covered the moon. Emily and Jack hurried forward, following the alley as it turned to the left. Another ten steps and the path veered back to the right. They stayed on the path as it ran deeper and deeper into what Emily assumed were the mews and courts that ran behind the main roads of Seven Dials.

  It was only when she stepped out of a final stretch of cobbled alleyway that she realized how wrong she was.

  The street that opened up beyond the twisting alley was filled with fey. They darted in and out of shops, still open despite the late hour. They sat on the windowsills of wooden houses two, three, sometimes four stories high, talking to friends on the street below or to faeries hovering in the air. A large, shambling creature stalked across the street, pausing to stare at Emily and Jack before heaving a large, heartfelt sigh and moving on again. The sounds of street life were familiar to her—angry shouting, raucous laughter, the calling out of names, the wooden trundling of carts being pushed across the uneven cobbles, the clink of bottles from a hidden taproom. If Emily closed her eyes, she could think it just another night on Oxford Street.

  Jack stood with his mouth hanging open, staring at everything with wide eyes.

  “Close your mouth,” said Emily. “You’ll let the flies in.” She remembered her da had said that to her once, after he’d read her a story about a witch trying to eat two children. He’d loved stories, did her da.

  Corrigan had said to find a pub called the Unicorn’s Head. Emily looked up and down the street but couldn’t see any such sign. She walked up the street, Jack following closely behind her. Nobody paid them much attention. That suited Emily fine. The sooner she could find Corrigan, the sooner they could track down her brother.

  But Emily couldn’t find the tavern anywhere. The street curved gently to the right, then ended abruptly at a brick wall. She checked all the signs again. The pub had to be here somewhere.

  “You will all die horrible deaths!” shouted a voice.

  Emily and Jack both jumped. They turned in a circle, looking for the source of the voice. Crowds milled along the street, seemingly unconcerned with the threat. In fact, not one creature seemed to think anything was amiss.

  “Ungrateful wretches! I was your King! You owe me respect. I have powerful friends, you know.”

  Emily looked in the direction of the voice and saw an enormously fat fey. He was the height of an adult man, but so large he couldn’t even stand. He sat in a wooden wagon, his huge stomach hanging over the front and almost trailing against the ground.

  “Will you look at the size of him,” said Jack in awe.

  The crowd closed in around the fey again, but Emily and Jack pushed through to get a closer look. He pointed at a faerie that flew slowly past. “You! Sianna. I know you. I saved you from that wretch, Shakespeare. You owe me your loyalty.”

  The faerie known as Sianna stuck her tongue out at him and flew away. The creature sputtered his rage.

  “H-How dare you! I am Oberon! I was your King! You cannot treat me like this!”

  But he was speaking to thin air, as everyone else had moved away from him. He tried to turn around, but his girth prevented him from moving anything more than his head. He clicked his fingers impatiently. “Come on! Come on!”

  A moment later the wagon he sat in began to trundle around until it faced directly into the street. Emily hadn’t noticed before, but there were about ten wooden handles sticking out from the base of the wagon, and small children with the heads of ravens were pushing on these handles.

  “Hurry up!” roared Oberon. “I haven’t got all day.”

  “A sad sight,” said a polite voice at her side.

  Emily looked down and saw the top of a black bowler hat somewhere around her waist. “Excuse me?”

  The bowler tilted back, revealing a chubby face the color of oak wood. It was a gnome, like Mr. and Mrs. Stintle, only younger. Emily blinked in bemusement. It appeared he had a false mustache glued to his upper lip.

  “Oh, no, madam. And sir,” he said, nodding respectfully at Jack. “Please, excuse me.” With these words the small creature stepped back, whipped off his hat, and executed a graceful bow. He was dressed as a gentleman, with a finely stitched waistcoat beneath his brown tweed jacket, a crisp white shirt, and a gold chain that disappeared into his breast pocket. His shoes were so clean, Emily reckoned she would be able to see her reflection if she bent over.

  He also had a small walking stick, which he held hooked over his forearm.

  “I see you are admiring my attire,” said the creature.

  “Uh, yes. Very nice. Very … very gentlemanly.”

  The gnome’s face broke into a huge smile. “Oh, do you really think so? Truly?”

  Emily found herself rather taken aback by his enthusiasm. “Um. Yes?”

  “Oh, thank you so much. You don’t know how much that means to me. My name is Mr. Pemberton, by the way.”

  “Pemberton?”

  “Yes. Such a regal-sounding name, don’t you think?” The gnome took out a pocket watch from the breast pocket of his jacket. He flicked open the cover and Emily saw that there were no hands on the clock face. “My, my, doesn’t time fly.” He snapped the lid shut and put the watch away again. Then he looked suspiciously at Emily. “You are a True Seer, aren’t you?”

  “A …?”

  “A True Seer. I mean, you can really see me. You’re not mad and just think you’re talking to someone?”

  “No, I can see you very well.”

  “Excellent. Good show.” He looked at Jack. “And you?”

  Jack hesitated, looking at Emily for help.

  “He was given the sight,” said Emily. “By a piskie.”

  “Ah, I see. You are very lucky,” he said to Jack.

  “Am I?”

  “Oh, indeed. It is very rare that one of your lot is given the gift. You must be very special.”

  Jack proudly drew himself up. “As a matter of fact—”

  “You don’t happen to know where the Unicorn’s Head is, do you?” Emily asked, interrupting Jack before he could get started.

  Mr. Pemberton flashed her a smile. “My dear! But, of course. Happy to be of service. It’s right there.” He lifted his walking stick and pointed past her leg.

  Emily turned around and found herself facing a building that looked much the same as any other on the street. There was nothing to indicate it was a public house at all.

  “Are you sure? Only—”

  She was cut off when the door burst open and Corrigan came sprinting out. A tankard flew through the air behind him. He ducked, narrowly avoiding the metal cup.

  “Hah! As usual, Millicent, your aim is as good as your food. Which is to say not good at all!”

  He turned and saw Emily. He stumbled to a stop, casting a venomous look at Mr. Pemberton, then hurried over. “Did you get it?” he asked excitedly.

  “I did,” said Emily.

  Corrigan broke into a huge smile. He stepped away and danced a little jig. “I knew you’d come through, Emily Snow. I always knew it.” He stopped and glared at Mr. Pemberton. “What are you staring at? Get lost.”

  Pemberton blew out his cheeks in outrage. “You, sir, are a buffoon.” He bowed to Emily and Jack, once again taking off his bowler hat. “Madam. Sir. It was a pleasure.”

  “Nice to meet you, too. Uh …” Emily hesitated.

  “Is anything the matter?” Mr. Pemberton asked.

  “Well, it’s just that … your mustache …”

  “A magnificent specimen, I think you’ll agree. What of it?”

  “It’s hanging off your lip. I think the glue must have gotten old.”

  Pemberton turned red and clapped a hand over his mouth. He backed away, bowing as he did so. “Fank-u,” he said, his voice muffled behind his fingers. “’m frever in ur debt.”

  Then he turned aro
und and hurried off as fast as his legs would take him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  In which Emily gives the stone to the Faerie Queen and asks for her help in searching for William.

  THREE THIRTY IN THE MORNING

  ON THE SECOND DAY OF EMILY’S ADVENTURES.

  So how did you get it?” asked Corrigan eagerly as they hurried through the late-night streets. “Did you have to kill anyone?”

  Emily glared at Corrigan. “Don’t be stupid. Why would we kill anyone?”

  Corrigan shrugged. “You never know. You humans are a bloodthirsty lot. I see you’ve still got your little pet following you around.”

  “My what?” She followed his gaze. He was looking at Jack. “Oh.”

  Jack’s face twisted with outrage. He aimed a kick at Corrigan, but the piskie danced out of the way. “This way,” he said, turning a corner.

  “I thought we were going to see Queen Kelindria,” said Emily. “That’s not the way we went before.”

  “We’re not going to Underlondon,” called Corrigan, scampering ahead.

  Emily hurried after the piskie. “What do you mean? Where are we going?”

  “The Queen said that if you got the stone, I was to take you to the house she uses when she’s up here. Quicker that way.”

  They walked on through quiet streets lined by darkened houses. Emily fretted all the way. She had the means to find William in her pocket, and it seemed to her that Corrigan was taking too long to take them to their destination.

  Finally, after about half an hour, Corrigan stopped before a high wall.

  “We’re here.”

  Emily looked up. The wall towered above her, and tree branches hung over the top as if reaching for the ground. The gates were made from polished wood, coaxed and shaped to look like twining branches, so it was as if the trees themselves were barring entrance into the grounds.

  Emily peered through the gates. Everything was overgrown, a tangle of grass and flowers gone wild. A stone path, with thick grass between the gaps, twined around the shrubs and trees and led to a large house that was just visible through the vegetation.

  Corrigan pushed open the gates. Jack made as if to step through, but Corrigan held up a hand to stop him.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “With you,” said Jack, puzzled.

  “Not a chance. If the Queen found out I gave you the sight, she’ll have my hide. You’ll have to stay out here.”

  Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Emily laid a hand on his arm. “It’ll be all right. We shouldn’t be long. Isn’t that right?” she asked Corrigan.

  “Eh, no. Not too long.”

  “You see? We’ll meet you back out here.”

  “I’m not happy with this, Snow.” Jack lowered his voice. “I don’t trust him.”

  Emily shrugged. “I don’t have a choice. Not if I want to get William back. Please, Jack. For me?”

  Jack hesitated, then finally nodded. “Fine. I’ll see you back here.” He glared a warning at Corrigan, but the piskie ignored him and stepped through the gate.

  Emily followed him through, but they had gone only a few steps into the heavy undergrowth when Corrigan took her hand and pulled her to a stop.

  “Wait,” he said.

  Emily stood still, wondering what it was they were waiting for.

  A second later she saw it: a patch of darkness, moving slowly through the air. It drew closer to them and Emily saw that it was actually a thick, oily cloud that coiled and writhed like an angry snake. She stiffened in fear.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “The Sluagh. Dead souls. They keep the unwanted out.”

  The cloud stopped moving. Corrigan reached out and put his arm into the heaving mass. A second later it moved off again, disappearing into the trees.

  Corrigan shivered. “I hate doing that. Right. Come on.”

  As they drew closer to the house, Emily saw that its top story was covered in clinging ivy. Even the windows were partially hidden.

  Corrigan stepped up to the wooden door and knocked. A second later, it swung silently open to reveal a hallway littered with brown leaves and twigs. Emily couldn’t even see the floor. Corrigan glanced over his shoulder.

  “You ready?”

  Emily gripped the stone through her coat and nodded at Corrigan. “Ready.”

  Corrigan stepped inside and Emily followed, the dry leaves crunching underfoot. The door closed behind her with a quiet click. She turned to look, but there was no one there.

  She wondered why she was feeling so uneasy. There was something about the house: it felt … haunted. Which was silly, as she had no idea what a haunted house really felt like. But the air held a feeling of sadness. As if whoever lived here before had a terribly unhappy life.

  A flickering light came from a room at the far end of the corridor. Corrigan was heading toward it, his form outlined in the faint golden glow. He disappeared through the doorway and Emily hurried to catch up, not wanting to be left alone.

  Emily stepped into the room. A fire was roaring in the grate. Three armchairs covered with dusty sheets were pushed up against the wall. Emily saw Corrigan’s footprints on the floor, clearly defined in the dust. No one had been in this room for a long time.

  “I thought you said the Queen uses this house.”

  “She does. Part of it, at least.”

  Corrigan approached a door to the left of the fireplace, pausing briefly to pick up an unlit torch from beside the hearth and hold it in the flames. Emily joined him, and the door swung open as they approached. She peered through and saw a very long, very dark corridor, too long to be contained inside the house. More magic.

  “Where does it go?”

  “To the Queen’s court,” said Corrigan. “Well … to one of them, anyway.”

  He stepped through the doorway. Emily bit her lip, then quickly followed. The walls of the passage were made from smooth wood, polished to a high sheen that reflected the light of Corrigan’s torch and surrounded them in a rich, golden-red glow.

  A door appeared up ahead out of the shadows. As they drew closer, Emily saw that it was charred and blackened by what must have been a fierce fire.

  Corrigan stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

  Emily tore her gaze away from the door. “Why do you keep asking me that? Why wouldn’t I be ready? Let’s just hurry up so I can find William. The less time he is in the hands of the Unseelie the better.”

  Corrigan cleared his throat. “Of course.” He hesitated. “Emily …,” he said, but then he trailed off into silence.

  Emily got the impression he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he turned back and laid his hand against the door.

  As soon as his skin made contact, the door shuddered. Dust fell around them, flakes of charred wood dropping at their feet.

  Then the door slowly opened, a line of bright light bursting through, shining directly into Emily’s face. She winced and looked away, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, the door stood wide open. Emily found herself looking into a room similar to the one where she had first met the Queen. But this room was smaller, more intimate. To her relief, she saw that it was empty of the courtiers that had made Emily feel so self-conscious.

  There was a raised dais at the opposite end of the room. On it was a throne identical to the one Emily had seen in the huge tree in Underlondon, and on this throne sat the Faerie Queen. When she saw Emily, her eyes widened and she looked quickly at Corrigan, her pale, beautiful face radiating hope.

  “Did you get it? Did you get the stone?”

  Emily hesitated, glancing uncertainly at the piskie. How did the Queen know Emily had gone after the stone? After all, she had only decided to try and get it after she had left the Queen and found out William was missing. Had Corrigan somehow managed to get word to her?

  Corrigan wouldn’t look at Emily. Instead, he turned all his attention to the Queen.
“She retrieved it,” he said softly.

  The Queen broke into a huge smile and held out both her arms, almost as if she was going to run forward and hug Emily. But she didn’t. She waited for a split second, then gestured impatiently from her throne, her golden eyes shining with excitement. “Come, child! Show it to me.”

  Corrigan prodded her in the leg. Emily walked slowly forward and stopped just below the dais. Then she reached inside her coat pocket and pulled out the stone.

  The Queen drew in a sharp breath and reached down with trembling fingers. Then she took the stone in her hands, her expression rapt.

  “Finally,” she whispered.

  Emily cleared her throat. She had fulfilled her part of the bargain. Now it was the Queen’s turn. “Excuse me,” she said.

  The Queen, still staring at the stone, did not even look up.

  “Excuse me,” Emily said again, in a louder voice.

  This time the Queen did look up, an irritated frown marring her perfect features. It took her a moment to focus on Emily, and even then it was as if she didn’t recognize her.

  Emily took a deep breath. “My brother … that is, William. He was taken by the Unseelie. I need to get him back. Corrigan said you would be able to find him with the stone, in return for me getting it back for you.”

  The Queen smiled again, but this time there was no joy in it. It was a cold smile and sent shivers down Emily’s spine.

  “Is that what Corrigan said, was it?” The Queen glanced at Corrigan, who was standing next to Emily. “Well then, who am I to break his word? Let us see what can be done.”

  She raised a hand in the air. There was a movement behind the throne, and a figure detached itself from the shadows.

  It was the Dark Man, the Queen’s huntsman, the stealer of eyes.

  Emily swallowed nervously. She hadn’t even noticed him there. He moved slowly forward, shrouded in his heavy black cloak and hood. She remembered the first time she had seen the Dark Man, when he had brought the elf before the Queen, the fear on the creature’s face. What was he doing here?