Rise of the Darklings

by Paul Crilley

  Someone shouted in the distance, the sound muffled by the fog. The sharp clip-clop of a horse’s hooves echoed around her, accompanied by the creaking trundle of wooden wheels. The sounds grew louder, then faded away again as the horse and cart passed invisibly in front of her.

  Emily wasn’t sure where they should go. If she was to find the key, she had to figure out what the riddle meant. And she needed to be somewhere safe to do that. The offices of the Order might have been ideal, if it weren’t for the fact that Ravenhill would be there. She’d never be able to concentrate with him close by.

  Where would she be safe? She couldn’t go home. Mrs. Hobbs would have cleaned up the room by now, which meant it would be filled with people snoring and making noises.

  She gazed around, at a loss. The fog before her swirled oddly, forming spirals and tendrils that turned in upon themselves, almost as though a gust of wind had cut through the thick vapor. But she hadn’t felt any wind.

  That was when she realized she was no longer holding on to Jack’s sleeve. She must have let go while she was thinking about what to do.

  “Jack?” she whispered. No answer.

  And then she smelled it. The murky, brackish smell of stagnant water.

  “Well, well,” said an invisible voice. “Look who we have ‘ere, Jenny Greenteeth. I do believe it’s our troublesome friend, Miss Snow. Out on her lonesome.”

  “Not a clever move, Black Annis,” said another voice.

  “No, Jenny. Not a clever move at all. In fact, I’d say it was a very silly move.”

  The ghastly face of the old, wrinkled woman lunged at Emily out of the fog. Black water dribbled from her mouth. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Snow?”

  Emily screamed, then turned and ran. She heard the loud cackle of the one called Black Annis behind her.

  “Ooh, she’s runnin’ away, Jenny. I do like it when they run. Gives the old bones a bit of exercise.”

  “Jack!” she screamed. “Jack, where are you?”

  Black Annis suddenly appeared right in front of Emily. “Boo,” she said.

  Emily veered to the side and ran again. She couldn’t see where she was going, but she kept moving anyway. Where was Jack? Did they already have him? She needed to get back across the square to Somerset House. If she could just get inside, she would be safe.

  Something clammy touched Emily’s arm. She looked down and saw a strand of seaweed hanging over her wrist. Laughter echoed from close by.

  They’re toying with me, she realized. There was no way she would make it to safety. They would have her before she could even get close to Somerset House.

  Emily stopped and tried to get her bearings. She was somewhere in the large square outside the building, but the swirling fog cut off all sense of direction. She took a deep breath, then shouted at the top of her voice.

  “Jack!” She let out a frightened yelp when a voice seemed to answer, right by her ear.

  “We’ve got your little Jack, poppet. There’s no one to help you now.” Emily whirled around, searching frantically through the fog. The voice hissed in her other ear. “Jenny Greenteeth’s going to eat your face.”

  Emily darted around. Again, she saw nothing. She sobbed with frustration, then turned and ran blindly from the voices.

  By sheer luck she ran in the right direction. The steps leading up to the door of Somerset House materialized out of the fog, and she ran straight toward them.

  Black Annis and Jenny Greenteeth slid into view at the bottom of the stairs. Emily skidded to a stop. Jenny held Jack by the back of the neck. He struggled in her grasp, but Jenny only tightened her fingers, her dirty claws digging into his skin. He stopped moving.

  “Well, this has been a lark, and no mistake. Ain’t that right, Jenny?”

  Jenny just stared at Emily, hunger plain in her dark eyes.

  Emily reached into her pocket and took out the letter opener she had picked up from Sebastian’s desk. She held it out before her, hoping her hand wouldn’t tremble.

  “Oh, will you look at that, Jenny. She has a knife.” Black Annis moved forward. Emily backed up a step, then braced herself. “And what are you going to do with that, little girl? Weren’t you ever told that knives are dangerous?”

  Black Annis reached out. Emily watched, mesmerized, as the clawlike hand unfurled toward her. The hand drew closer, closer …

  … then stopped. The fingers curled in upon themselves. Emily blinked and looked up. Black Annis was staring at the blade. She let out a hiss of frustration.

  “Why don’t you just put down the knife, poppet? We don’t want to hurt you. Our King just wants a quiet word, that’s all. He’s nice, the Dagda. Very fair. He told us to bring you to him.”

  During this speech, Black Annis didn’t once take her eyes from the blade. Then Emily realized why. The blade was made of iron.

  Barely allowing the thought to register in her head, she darted forward and sliced the blade along Black Annis’s hand. There was a hiss, like water on a hot stone. Black Annis jerked back with a strangled, mewling cry that was more animal than human. Greasy smoke drifted up from her arm as thick black blood oozed from the cut.

  “Aah, see what she’s done, Jenny? Undone! Undone by a child.”

  Jenny Greenteeth stepped toward Emily, her hand still gripping Jack’s neck, and this time Emily did stumble backward. “I’m going to eat her, Black Annis. Nobody cuts you and gets away with it. Nobody.”

  But before anyone could make another move, there was a shout from above and an indistinct shape dropped from somewhere and landed between Emily and Jenny Greenteeth.

  It was Corrigan.

  And he was brandishing a tiny bronze sword about the length of Emily’s finger.

  There was a frozen moment of silence. Corrigan brandished his sword in a flamboyant circle.

  “Hah!” he said.

  Then Jenny started to laugh. Even Black Annis, clutching her hand in pain, let out a snicker. Corrigan pulled himself to his full height, indignant.

  Emily knew this was about to end badly. She locked eyes with Jack, raising her eyebrows. He nodded almost imperceptibly, then, while Jenny was distracted by Corrigan, drove his elbow hard into her ribs. Jenny’s grip loosened, and Jack jerked forward. Emily bent over and snatched Corrigan into her arms, then turned and ran. She had briefly contemplated trying to get past Black Annis and Jenny Greenteeth to regain the safety of Somerset House, but that meant she would be trapped in there when Ravenhill arrived, and she didn’t want that.

  She heard Jack’s footsteps behind her. Emily kept running as fast as she could, fearing that if she slowed, she would feel Jenny’s claws on her neck.

  “Right! Turn right!” shouted Corrigan.

  “Why?”

  “Because if you don’t, you’re going to run straight into a wall.”

  Emily veered to the right, half-glimpsing the walls of Somerset House. “Can you see?” she shouted, her breath coming in ragged bursts.

  “Of course I can see!”

  “I mean through the fog. Can you see through the fog?”

  “Oh. Yes.”

  “Guide me, then. Get us as far away from here as possible.”

  Silence greeted her words.

  “Corrigan?”

  “Say ‘please.’ ”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  In which Corrigan comes up with a plan that involves a visit to the Landed Gentry.

  NINE O’CLOCK IN THE EVENING

  ON THE SECOND DAY OF EMILY’S ADVENTURES.

  The fog remained thick as Emily and Jack ran from Black Annis and Jenny Greenteeth. At one point, they even jumped onto the back of a carriage and let it carry them through the streets until the driver sensed the extra weight and slowed down to see what the problem was.

  “Did you two have any kind of a plan, or were you just planning on swanning around the city all night?” asked Corrigan.

  “I do have a plan, actually,” snapped Emily. “I just need a place to hole up for a
while, so I can figure out that stupid riddle. Somewhere I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder every few seconds.”

  Corrigan lapsed into a thoughtful silence. “A safe place, you say?”

  “Yes. Somewhere I won’t be bothered.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What? Do you know somewhere?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Why ‘unfortunately’?”

  “You’ll see,” said Corrigan grimly. “Here. Take this road on the right.”

  Emily and Jack turned onto the road. They walked on in silence for a while. Then Corrigan cleared his throat.

  “Don’t you two have anything to say?”

  “Not really,” said Emily. “Why?”

  “Not even a ‘thank you’? I saved your lives back there. Who knows what would have happened if I hadn’t stepped in.”

  “What?” said Emily and Jack simultaneously.

  “You just jumped in and … and waved that stupid sword about,” said Emily.

  “That creature was about to step on you,” said Jack.

  “Rubbish,” scoffed Corrigan. “She was terrified. I could see it in her eyes.”

  “You’re mad,” said Emily, softening her voice. “But you could have been killed.”

  “Yes, well …,” said Corrigan awkwardly. “Just returning the favor, wasn’t I? And that means we’re even now. You saved me, I saved you. I don’t owe you anymore. Agreed?”

  “You think that’s all it takes to get us to trust you?” said Jack hotly.

  “Boy, I couldn’t give a Sluagh’s rotten carcass whether you trusted me or not,” said Corrigan. “You could drop dead right now and I wouldn’t even notice.”

  “That’s enough,” snapped Emily.

  Jack and Corrigan lapsed into a sullen silence, and they walked on. The darkness and fog had transformed the city into a ghost town. It was as if she, Jack, and Corrigan were the only living souls walking the streets. And when they did encounter any people, they loomed out of the fog as indistinct shadows, spirits drifting through the night, making no sound at all.

  “Where are we?” asked Emily nervously.

  “We’re close. That’s St. James’s Theatre up ahead.”

  Emily wondered how he could tell. The hazy building he indicated looked just like every other structure they had walked past, giving indistinct impressions of bricks and windows.

  “Turn left here,” said Corrigan.

  Emily stopped before the mouth of a narrow alley. She peered nervously into the darkness.

  “Hurry up. We’re nearly there.”

  Emily steeled herself, then plunged into the narrow passage, Jack following close behind. She could feel the damp walls on either side, brushing up close against her arms. Corrigan guided them across a road and down another alley that led into a small, hidden court. Someone had drawn chalk hopscotch squares on the uneven flagstones.

  “You have to jump the sequence,” said Corrigan.

  “Excuse me?”

  Corrigan gestured at the hopscotch drawing. “You have to do it. To open the door.”

  Emily looked at the chalk drawings. Compared to everything else that had happened to her, playing hopscotch in the middle of the night was mild by comparison.

  Emily found a stone and tossed it onto the drawing. Then she hopped through the sequence, jumping over the square the stone had landed on. She got to the other side, then turned and hopped back, grabbing the stone as she passed.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Now we go down.”

  Emily turned around to find that the square where the stone had fallen had vanished, and in its place was a dark hole in the ground. She leaned over the hole and found a narrow flight of stairs leading down into the gloom.

  Jack joined her. “Where does it go?” he asked.

  “Down.”

  “Very funny.”

  “It goes somewhere I don’t want to go, but at the moment we don’t really have much choice. We have Black Annis and Jenny Greenteeth chasing us on one side, the Dark Man on the other, and the Invisible Order probably searching for us, as well. I think I’d rather take my chances down there.”

  Corrigan hopped off Emily’s shoulder and disappeared down the stairs, followed by Jack. Emily ducked her head to avoid the edge of the flagstone and started her descent. There was a rough wall to her right, but nothing to her left. She got the impression of a vast, empty space, with nothing stopping her from plummeting to her death should she put a foot wrong. She kept her hand against the wall, just to be safe.

  “How come nobody ever finds these places?” she called out. She could just see Corrigan up ahead, a vague shadow hopping down the shallow steps with Jack following carefully in his wake. “Surely someone knocking down a wall in their cellar could fall into one of these hidey-holes?”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” said Corrigan, glancing over his shoulder. “Which isn’t to say that some of your kind don’t fall through. They do.” Corrigan hopped down a few more stairs. “But these hidey-holes aren’t exactly under London. Well, they are, but they’re touched by the magic of Faerie, so to speak. Little puddles that got caught here when the door closed. There are fewer now. One day soon, the last one will probably wither up and vanish. But we use them while they last.”

  The stairs ended at the entrance to a high tunnel. Emily stared up at the ornate arches that supported the distant roof. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, forming a small stream that ran beneath her feet.

  They followed the tunnel for what seemed like an hour. A change in the light up ahead told Emily that they were finally reaching the end. And they were—a rather abrupt end.

  The tunnel opened up into a chamber that was so vast, Emily couldn’t see the other side. And for some reason, the tunnel ended high up on the wall of the chamber so that there was a drop of about a hundred feet below them. Huge pillars supported the distant roof, fading into the distance. A ramp attached directly to the wall descended to the ground.

  As they stepped onto the ramp, Emily carefully leaned over the edge to see what was below them.

  What she saw took her breath away.

  It was a village, but a village unlike any she had ever seen. Houses had been built into every available space—up against the pillars, up against the walls, sometimes on the roofs of other houses. And where space had run out, the builders had simply moved upward. Structures clung precariously to the walls, held up by stilts and pillars. Flickering lamps lit streets that wound through and around the houses like pieces of tangled string.

  As they drew closer to the ground, Emily saw something else that filled her with wonder. The houses and streets weren’t made from the traditional bricks and mortar. They were made from junk. Anything that could be taken from the streets above had been brought here to build the dwellings. She saw one small house built entirely of broken glass. Every time the faerie inside it moved, flashes of broken color sparked through the air. Another house was made completely of metal street signs. A crude tenement building had been built by piling twenty or so hansom cabs one atop the other.

  “What is this place?” whispered Emily.

  “You’ll see,” said Corrigan.

  At the bottom of the ramp was a small booth, and inside the booth was one of the chestnut-colored gnomes. The creature stared at them for a full five seconds before seeming to realize they were there. Then he jumped, banging his head on the roof.

  “I say,” he said indignantly. “I say, what are you doing, creeping up on someone like that, what what what?”

  “Uh …” Emily stared uncertainly at the creature. He was dressed in a similar fashion to the gnome with the fake mustache—Mr. Pemberton. He wore a thick jacket, a silk cravat, and an immaculate hat. He even had a pipe hanging from his mouth. She looked to Corrigan for help, but the piskie was staring at the creature with a look of disgust.

  “Just let us in, will you?” snapped Corrigan. “We’ve got important business.”


  The gnome fished around in his waistcoat for a second, then pulled out a gold watch and opened the lid.

  “Apologies, good sir. But you call at a most ungodly hour. I’m afraid everyone is now abed.”

  Corrigan jumped up to the lip of the booth’s window and grabbed hold of the gnome’s cravat.

  “Fetch me Pemberton right now. Otherwise I’ll pull those clothes off and throw them in the mud. Then I’ll take that watch and break it into pieces with that ridiculous pipe.”

  The gnome swallowed fearfully. “One moment, if you please,” he said.

  Corrigan released him. “Good man. You’re a real gentleman, you are.”

  “You think so? Why, thank you, kind sir. I do try. I—”

  “Don’t push your luck.”

  “Of course.”

  The gnome bowed nervously and backed out of his booth. Then he turned and ran as fast as his short legs could carry him, zigzagging back and forth across the street. Corrigan sighed and shook his head.

  “What was all that about?” asked Emily.

  “I warned you, didn’t I? They call themselves the Landed Gentry. They live down here and try to copy you lot. And when I say copy, I mean copy everything. The way you dress, the way you speak, your society. They even have a Queen who calls herself Victoria. They want to be like you; they want to be you.”

  “Can we trust them?” Emily asked dubiously.

  “Oh, yes. That’s about the only thing I can say for them. They love it here. They have about as much reason as you do to keep London as it is. They’ve already said they’ll have nothing to do with the Queen or the Dagda. They’re neutral, like Merrian. That’s why they live down here. Trying to form their own little society.”

  “Is that the same Pemberton—?”

  “Aye, the same one. Seeing him earlier is what gave me the idea. Can’t stand the irritating creature, but beggars can’t be choosers, eh?”

  “Wait, did you just say Merrian was neutral?” asked Emily. “I thought he worked for the Queen.”