by Dave Butler
The crone fixed her yellow eyes on Gnat, and suddenly she spoke in English. “Baroness de Minimis,” she croaked, in a voice that sounded clogged with mud and twigs. “My young men will give you safe passage this one time. You should not expect that this means peace between our peoples.”
Gnat showed no reaction to this sudden speech, though Sal took two steps back in surprise.
“Your folk are relentless and hungry,” Gnat said.
“And your folk are delicious.” The old ghoul laughed suddenly, showing yellowed and broken teeth, but still enough sharp points to tear flesh when she needed to.
Charlie followed the three young ghouls, and his friends followed him.
His feelings were confused and turbulent. The ghouls ate folk—ate other folk, since it was clear now the ghouls were themselves thinking people, though perhaps not very nice.
Now these people who ate other folk had given Charlie a name. Had they adopted him as one of their own? It didn’t seem so. It seemed more that they recognized him as a strange figure, worth fearing. He had become a sort of bogeyman to the ghouls, and then the bogeyman had showed up to help them win a fight, so they were willing to take him to the Place of Guarded Meat, wherever that was.
A butcher’s shop?
Charlie shuddered.
The young ghouls led them through the sewers.
“Charlie,” Thomas said in English, “are they leading us in a circle?”
It was true: their path curved through the tunnels.
“Why are we not traveling in a straight line?” Charlie demanded of the ghouls.
The three ghouls looked at each other and hooted nervously. “Boy Who Cannot Be Eaten,” one said, bowing low to scrape his face on the slimy brick, “it is the pixie. We cannot take you in a straight line, because it would allow her to see our warren. Then she and her fairy warriors would kill our nestlings and drive us away with fire.”
Charlie thought he might not be sad to see the ghoul warren emptied out by spear and fire, but he bobbed his shoulders like a ghoul in agreement. “I understand.”
A few junctions farther on, Charlie saw a bluish light glimmering at the end of a long passage. He had taken a single step toward it when one of the ghouls grabbed his forearm to hold him.
“Don’t do that!” the ghoul hooted. “Corpse candle!”
After a few more minutes’ walk, the ghouls stopped. Their natural energy became a kind of restless fidget, the three of them hopping back and forth and whimpering.
“We are here,” one of the ghouls hooted, then pointed at rusting rungs set into the wall.
“Can we trust them, do you think?” Gnat whispered.
Charlie nodded. “Please go first,” he asked the ghouls. “I’ll follow.”
The ghouls’ hopping and hooting intensified, but they climbed the ladder. Charlie followed, and his friends after him.
The ghouls pushed aside a metal disk at the top of the ladder and then climbed out into darkness. Charlie followed, and the cool air of the London night on his skin was a welcome relief. He stood in a narrow alley between two tall brick walls. Steam-carriages passed back and forth past the mouth of the lane.
Where was he?
Jan Wijmoor, last of the group, was still climbing out of the hole when Charlie heard men shouting.
“Ghouls! Ghouls!” A shrill whistle blew. “Wardens!”
Five men charged into the alley. They were dressed in long white coats, bulky because they wore them over heavy leather jackets. On their chests and shoulders was a black-and-white patch bearing a shield split into six sections and the words ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S HOSPITAL. Over their heads and in front of them hung lanterns. The lanterns were suspended from poles anchored to packs strapped between the men’s shoulders, and bobbed as they ran.
The men held long poles with a squashed iron circle at the end.
Ghoul wardens! St. Bartholomew’s Hospital!
The ghouls called the hospital the Place of Guarded Meat. They must have thought the hospital would be safe for Charlie’s kind because the ghoul wardens there protected the hospital’s patients from the ghouls themselves.
Charlie felt ill.
“Stop right there!” a warden shouted.
Two wardens each nabbed a ghoul immediately. The third ghoul scampered into a narrow alley and disappeared.
A warden rushed at Charlie with the iron circle at the end of his pole held forward. The squashed-flat side of the iron was a one-way gate, and the moment Charlie saw it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid it.
Then suddenly Ingrid was there, knocking Charlie aside. The gate struck her waist—
It gave way, pulling her into the iron ring.
Then the warden yanked at a wire that ran along the pole, and a metal cord inside the iron circle closed tight around Ingrid. He threw the pole to the ground, and it dragged her down.
“Run, Charlie!” she cried.
The warden who had captured Ingrid raised a stubby scattergun hanging from his belt.
“Hey now!” Sal roared. “You leave her alone!” The dairy owner punched one of the wardens in the nose, and two other wardens jumped on him.
“All of you, hold still!” the wardens barked.
Charlie, Gnat, Thomas, and Jan Wijmoor ran after the fleeing ghoul.
Jan Wijmoor had short legs, and might slow them down. Charlie scooped the kobold into his arms and saw Thomas grab Gnat at the same time.
“Stop!” a warden behind them shouted.
The ghoul ahead of them shrieked and dived to the right, into a storm drain with missing iron bars.
“Not that way!” Charlie yelled to Thomas, and turned left.
Boom! The scattergun fired and missed.
This alley was even narrower than the first, but it got them out of sight of the wardens. Charlie looked up, trying to find a fast way to the rooftops.
“Charlie, watch out!” Thomas yelled.
Charlie looked down just in time to avoid running into the brick wall at the end of the alley. He turned right, down the only available route—and saw another brick wall blocking his way, and a dead end.
But the walls were lower.
“Jump!” he yelled, and leaped for all he was worth.
Jan Wijmoor screamed, but Natalie roared: “De Minimis and Underthames!”
The four of them tumbled into a heap on the flat rooftop. Gnat sprang immediately to her feet.
“Lie flat!” she whispered. Then she crept to the edge of the rooftop.
“Are the wardens there?” Charlie asked.
“Aye.” She laughed, softly. “But they didn’t see you lads jump. And they look really, really confused.” She came back, staying low to the rooftop. “Shall we go to Charlie’s shop, then?”
“I don’t know the way,” Charlie said. “I’ve been all over the world, in all kinds of odd vehicles and on the backs of strange creatures. Now that I’m in my own city, I have no idea how to find my house.”
“That’s the dome of St. Paul’s, over there, so Whitechapel is that way.” Gnat pointed at the church and then eastward.
Whitechapel was where Charlie had lived with his father. He had last seen it from the air in Bob’s flyer, taking off to go west to try to save his father’s friend, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, from the Iron Cog. He’d failed: Brunel had died.
Gnat must have guessed from Charlie’s face what he was thinking. “Let’s go see your home, lad.”
With Charlie’s and Thomas’s ability to jump long distances, they traveled by rooftop. This was a perspective Gnat knew well, since she was ordinarily a flyer herself, so she guided them eastward. They hid underneath the tracks of the Sky Trestle—Brunel’s great train system, which snaked over London’s rooftops—to avoid being seen by passengers when they rolled by.
T
he sun rose as they traveled, shining a light on London that quickly went from angry red to dull gray.
“Who are those?” Thomas asked, pointing down into a street below.
“Fire bobbies.” Charlie knew them because he’d seen them in action, when he had barely escaped from a burning hat manufacturer. “That carriage there is steam-powered, and it’s a movable water pump. They spray the water on burning buildings.”
“Do they pull water from the Thames?” Thomas asked.
“They used to,” Wijmoor said. “That was what your troll friend was talking about. A pumping station at Hampstead Heath, north of the city. That’s where the water will come from now.”
“What are those long masks?” Thomas asked. “They look like anteaters.”
“They look like plague masks,” Jan Wijmoor said. “In the Middle Ages, doctors visiting plague patients wore those, and they put sweet flowers in the nose cone of the mask. It was believed to keep the doctor from catching the plague.”
Charlie had no idea what the masks were for. “Maybe it will stop the fire bobbies from breathing in smoke?” And then he remembered why the fire bobbies’ masks looked familiar. He’d seen very similar masks on the dwarfs who’d dug the spirit stone out of the floor of the Marburg library.
And again, he’d seen similar masks in his dreams, more than once, dreams in which a city burned.
What had Grim asked? Whether the powdered spirit stone could be dissolved in water and then sprayed on fire?
And something about a brand-new pump? Which was what Jan Wijmoor had just been talking about.
“Speaking of smoke.” Jan Wijmoor pointed at a dark smudge on the air behind them, somewhere in the vicinity of the hospital. Then another, beyond St. Paul’s.
“Aye, and over there.” Gnat pointed at a third.
“Maybe that’s smoke from chimneys,” Charlie said. “I wish Bob and Ollie were here. They know a lot about chimneys, and they could tell us.”
“I doubt it’s chimney smoke, Charlie,” Gnat said. “I’ve seen my share of chimney smoke too.”
“Well, if it’s fires, then it’s a good thing you have your fire bobbies,” Jan Wijmoor said.
They looked at each other uneasily, and slowly nodded.
“Your alley is just at the end of this block, Charlie,” Gnat said. “What did you call it? The Throat?”
“The Gullet,” Charlie said.
Charlie recognized the rooftop of Pondicherry’s Clockwork Invention & Repair because it still had a hole in its ceiling. This was the opening that Grim and Ingrid had smashed into the roof to allow Charlie and the sweeps to climb out and take off in Bob’s flyer. A tarpaulin was nailed across the hole now, but it was a simple matter to pull up two nails and make enough slack for the four of them to slide in.
They came into Charlie’s attic. The bare walls of the room hit Charlie like a punch to the stomach—where had the books gone?
Instead, the room was full of tall wooden racks of drying clothing.
He heard shouting from downstairs. “Is someone up there? I warn you, I have a weapon!”
Charlie knew the voice. It belonged to his bap’s neighbor, Lucky Wu.
“Mr. Wu?” he called respectfully. “Mr. Wu, it’s Charlie Pondicherry. I’m coming down slowly.”
Charlie walked down the stairs with his hands up and visible. Lucky Wu stepped into view at the bottom, holding a metal tube with a pump at the base, such as you might use to spray poison to kill insects. It didn’t look like a weapon.
“Charlie? You told me I could have the shop.” Wu looked suspicious. “Are you here to take it back?”
Rajesh Pondicherry’s reception room looked much as it always had, with its table, chairs, and portrait of Queen Victoria.
“You can have it, Mr. Wu.” Charlie shrugged. “I’m sorry I surprised you. I didn’t expect you’d really take the house. I thought it would be empty.”
“I…have something for you.” Wu reached inside his waistcoat and produced an envelope. “I wrote my note the day you left. I’ve kept it with me, hoping I would see you again.”
Charlie’s friends came down the stairs behind him.
Charlie wasn’t used to speaking with Lucky Wu like this. And why would Wu have written him a note? “Thank you.” He tucked the envelope inside his coat pocket and found the broken halves of Bap’s pipe. “What kind of weapon is that?”
Wu laughed and shook the metal tube. “It’s not a weapon. I lied. The fire bobbies passed these out to business owners last week. It’s for spraying on flames; it’s supposed to douse them. Just in time, since I understand there are several fires in the city today.”
At that moment the door was kicked open, and Egil One-Arm crashed into the shop. He held a scattergun in his flesh fingers, and he raised his mechanical hand in a menacing, steam-jetting, three-clawed fist.
After him came burly men and trolls with clubs and guns. Their scarred faces were dirty, and they all wore long brown coats, almost like a uniform, covering their otherwise mismatched clothes.
“Charlie Pondicherry!” Egil bellowed. “You’re under arrest!”
Behind Egil and his men came Grim Grumblesson, roaring in protest. “This is outrageous, Egil! I’ll have you hauled before the committee, before Parliament, before the Queen’s Bench! I’ll have you at the Thing by noon, and in prison by sundown! I’ll have you tried by pixies, if I have to!”
Grim’s hands were locked in manacles before him, and he was pushed by two trolls in brown coats.
Behind Grim came smoke, billowing into the shop.
“Fire,” Wu said. “Is my shop on fire?”
“Don’t think it’s yours,” Grim rumbled, but the laundry owner rushed out the door without stopping to listen. The door swung shut behind him.
“You’re all under arrest,” Egil said to Charlie again. “Conspiracy. Evading officers of the law. Failure to license a dragon. Come along nice and easy, and I’ll hurt you less.”
“No one’s under arrest,” Grim growled. “I’m in charge here.”
Egil and his men chuckled. “Yeah, you look like a real authority, Grumblesson.”
“I’m your superior,” Grim said. “Duly appointed by Parliament. Unlock me.”
“Except you’re cheating Parliament,” Egil said slowly. “Parliament created the committee to deal with threats like this mechanical boy, and I don’t think you’re going to do anything about him. He got away from you once already, Grumblesson. Makes a fellow suspicious.”
“We can take him in peaceably,” Grim said. “And ask Parliament what they want.”
Egil laughed. “Pin him.”
Four trolls grabbed Grim, two to each arm, and threw him against the wall. Grim bellowed and pushed, but they held him still. Egil approached Grim, opening and closing his mechanical claw and holding it at the level of Grim’s eyes. “And if you went missing during an investigation,” One-Arm asked, “who would Parliament choose next?”
Knock-knock.
This rapping at the door was polite, but it caused everyone in the room to freeze. Egil looked about the chamber uncertainly, and then he stepped away from Grim and opened the door.
Ollie stood in the alley outside. His face looked tired, but he wore his bowler hat at a jaunty angle. The hat was still thoroughly battered, but Ollie had brushed off all the dust so that it almost looked neat. He stepped in and shut the door behind him.
“Ollie!” Charlie cried. “You’re alive!”
“I’m better than alive, mate. I’m here to rescue you.”
Charlie thought a look of understanding passed between Ollie and Grim.
“Out of my way!” Egil bellowed, and he seized Ollie.
BAMF! A cloud of yellow gas reeking of rotten eggs filled the room. Men choked, gagged, and coughed, and what Egil grabbed hold of
wasn’t a red-haired chimney sweep any longer, but a dragon the size of two London buses. Ollie’s hindquarters smashed the outer wall of the room, and Pondicherry’s Clockwork Invention & Repair groaned and sagged to one side.
Egil’s men and trolls scattered. Egil himself tried to hide in the corner of the room.
“I’ll be taking my friends now.” Ollie the dragon nonchalantly extended a single claw, the size of a scimitar, and snapped Grim’s manacles as if he were cutting a chain of paper. “Climb on, my lovelies.”
Charlie rushed forward and gave Ollie a hug around his vast draconic neck before climbing onto his friend. Gnat, Jan Wijmoor, and Thomas sprang onto Ollie’s shoulders.
With only a moment’s hesitation, Grim followed.
“Oops,” Ollie said to Egil. “Now you.”
Egil One-Arm had tried to sneak past Ollie, but Ollie had noticed. With one claw, he grabbed the troll by the thigh and held him upside down, dangling above the floor.
Egil responded by roaring and thumping the dragon’s paw with his mechanical arm.
“Hey,” Ollie the dragon said. “That’s annoying.” With his other claw he gripped the troll’s mechanical arm and plucked it neatly from his body. “There. Now we’ll get along much better.”
“We’re not done here,” Egil snarled.
“Yes, we are,” Grim shot back. “I’ll be making my report to Parliament before the day’s up. The committee was always a farce, and now it’s over.”
Ollie tossed Egil through the room’s back door, into the rubble that remained of the rear of the shop. Then he shifted his bulky body, shattering the table and chairs. He pushed his snout out into the Gullet and then snaked his head and neck along after it.
With a grunt, he forced his way through the last of the wall and stood on his hind legs in the alley. Charlie and his friends shrieked and clung to Ollie’s long shoulder fur to avoid falling.
“I’m not looking!” Grim shouted.
Ollie hopped, and his hop took him to the rooftop above the Gullet. It sagged under his weight but didn’t collapse. Then, with a final leap, Ollie the dragon sprang into the air, flapped his wings once, and rose into the sky.
