The Dark Matters Quartet

by Claire Robyns

  “Look at that.” Greyston whistled in admiration for the slender steel barrel that stood a couple of feet above the ground on solid wooden wheels, about twenty feet in length and with a two-seater padded bench cut squarely into the middle.

  To the front of the bench, the upper half of the barrel was propped open on a lever. Closer inspection revealed the power source for the Autodrone.

  “Celludrone life cells?” Lily wrinkled her nose. At least fifty of them, in four rows and fitted side by side in supporting brackets. Which explained why the driving vehicle was so impractically long.

  “Probably modified,” Greyston said. “I wonder what speed it makes?”

  “Coming through,” boomed a voice from the depths of the crowd behind them. “Stand back, please, ladies and gentleman. Coming through.”

  A path cleared to allow the man to reach the vehicle. He wore some sort of all-in-one garment and a leather cap flattened over his head to flap around his ears. A pair of brass goggles perched on his forehead.

  He turned to address the crowd. “I need you to all stand back, if you please. Make some room here, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “New inventions are more likely to explode than not,” Greyston said, dragging her with him into the retreating swarm of bodies and then to the side, a little farther up the road from the main attraction. “He’ll have to drive up this way and pass right by us.”

  “Well,” she remarked, “let’s hope that contraption doesn’t decide to wait a bit and then explode.”

  He raised a brow at her. “Would you prefer to view this adventure from the tea tent?”

  “A man attempting to steer a barrel down Cromwell Road isn’t an—” Her gaze landed on the tall man, ginger sideburns spearing down from a black bowler hat, and she completely forgot what they were talking about.

  “If you had your way,” Greyston said with a snort, “we’d be stuck with horse-driven carriages into the next century.”

  She positioned herself slightly in front of him so she could keep an eye on the ginger-haired man while appearing to look at Greyston.

  “Lily?”

  “Hmm?” Blast the shadows dappling the figure, she couldn’t know for sure until he stepped out from beneath that tree.

  “If you moved a couple of inches to the left, I might actually see the Autodrone ignite. He’s cranking something under the back hood right now.”

  “Stuff the Autodrone,” she snapped. “That is— There’s—” She grabbed Greyston by the arm and held tightly. “Whatever you do, don’t turn around.”

  Understanding sharpened his gaze. “What is it? What is there?”

  “Timothkin, I think.” Her gaze flew over his shoulder again.

  Her heart hiccupped and she knew she was dithering. She knew that posture, that long, thin length leaning almost backward with the chest sticking out. The bowler hat that never sat quite properly on top of those springy ginger curls.

  “No,” she said. “I’m fairly sure. What is it doing here?”

  “Take a deep breath.” He took both her hands in his. “There’s nothing to be frightened of.”

  “I’m not frightened!”

  “Your fingers are trembling.”

  “From rage.” And perhaps a little fright.

  “Lily, look at me.”

  She slid her gaze from the shadows to him.

  “Excellent,” Greyston said in a calm, soothing voice. “Now keep looking at me.”

  “I’ll miss Timothkin when it steps out of the shadows. I need to see its face.”

  “You can’t see— God dammit, Lily. If you can’t see its face, you don’t know if it’s been watching you stare at it.”

  Lily winced at her stupidity. “Do you think it knows who we are?”

  “It won’t be difficult to discover you’re Lady Perth if it starts asking questions,” Greyston said. “And I would imagine every demon is familiar with the McAllister name.”

  She took that deep breath now. “So much for the protection of my marriage.”

  “The McAllister name is protection,” he insisted. “I do agree with Kelan in so far that this demon doesn’t want to be exposed. It won’t do anything to attract a McAllister’s wrath or attention, not when they’re the only ones who can identify it as a demon.”

  “And if it senses I’ve noticed anything odd about it? Any suspicions I might carry to my husband?”

  She didn’t need to hear his answer.

  “Demons are unpredictable and dangerous,” she hissed. “Why am I the only one who’s worried about them walking amongst us, amongst our friends and families?”

  “Let’s ascertain if it saw you looking before we panic,” Greyston drawled. He slipped her arm in his and drew her closer to the edge of the road. “Try to appear casual, and for God’s sake, don’t look back until we can do so with the appearance of being at leisure.”

  “Lily, there you are.”

  Lily glanced back at the sound of her friend’s call. She couldn’t help the smallest detour by way of that tree as she did so. Timothkin was no longer there. Her eyes darted in every direction until she spotted the demon crossing the lawn, its gaze on the commotion by the Autodrone.

  “What are you doing all the way out here when all the action’s there?” Evelyn asked as she reached them, pointing the tip of her parasol at where the driver was climbing up to seat himself on the bench. “This is so thrilling and just imagine, one day we might all be driving around in machines. Forty miles an hour, apparently. Forty miles! Oh, look. Look! It’s moving.”

  Lily couldn’t conjure a smile for Evelyn’s enthusiasm. She barely registered the Autodrone shooting past them with a strained, humming sound. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t stand here and pretend everything was normal when inside she churned with apprehension.

  Her gaze slid to Evelyn’s stomach, still flat and yet nurturing a precious babe.

  How was she supposed to leave Evelyn to enjoy her afternoon when she might end up mingling with a demon? She might brush against Timothkin while taking tea in one of the refreshment tents, greet the demon whilst strolling through the gardens, and not have any idea of the mortal danger she and her unborn child were in. And if not this afternoon, what of tomorrow? And the day after that?

  Lily fisted her hands at her side. She couldn’t do that to Evelyn. And she couldn’t tell her either. Look at the blunder she’d almost made, and she at least had a fighting chance if she found herself in a demon’s sights.

  Her fists uncurled and the tension in her stomach unwound. She breathed in deeply and then slowly out. In that moment, she knew this was what she’d intended all along. She hadn’t married Kelan so she could return to London to stand by uselessly while danger stalked her dearest.

  She’d married Kelan, would have married anyone, so she could banish every last demon that dared to appear on this side of the tear and she’d needed to return to London so she could start with Timothkin.

  SIXTEEN

  Evening was upon them by the time Kelan arrived in Clitheroe. The train had taken him as far as Blackburn, from where he’d caught the mail coach and damn if that short leg of his journey hadn’t taken four hours longer than the train ride. Which meant the day was gone once he’d checked into a moderate inn on the edge of town, posing as a man of business seeking to contract a new glassworks order for his construction company in Manchester.

  There was nothing left to do but put the night to good use. He tossed his carpetbag on the bed and made his way straight down again. The amber glow of gas lighting lit the busy streets and shone like beacons from the taverns, eating places, dancing halls and gambling parlours that packed the centre of the town. Clitheroe was by no means a large city, but it was the only entertainment around for miles, drawing people into its bosom for both work and pleasure.

  After taking in a simple meal at a pub, he ploughed his way through the taverns that were more likely to attract local folk. He wasn’t surprised by what he learnt, but he was never
theless disturbed to find he’d been right, even if that meant Lily and the whole of London were indeed not in any immediate danger. Since the Great Fire, as folks hereabouts called the glassworks factory disaster, there’d been no other tragedies. No explained or unexplained horrors. Not even a mild bout of cholera.

  Timothkin had made a remarkable effort to restrain its demonic tendencies. To what purpose? What the hell was it up to? Was it working alone? Had it been summoned, like Saloese? And if so, by whom? Agares? Another King of Hell?

  It wasn’t the questions, however, that disturbed Kelan’s sleep that night. He shouldn’t have left Lily alone. There was no rational foundation to the unease in his gut. He’d already confirmed his own conviction that Timothkin posed no immediate threat. And she wasn’t alone. She had Greyston, Neco and Ana.

  He may be the best person to protect Lily, but he wasn’t the only one who could do so reliably. Especially as she was in no danger. But the strain of doubting his decision strummed the edges of his mind throughout the night and when he roused himself from a brief slumber, he resolved to finish his business here by tomorrow at the very latest and return to London.

  The first order of the day was a visit to the factory. Once he was seen into the offices, a man of respectable years and attire—a sober coloured three-piece suit—offered him tea and gushed apologies at the delay. The manager, a Mr. Kerryworth, wouldn’t be in for at least another twenty minutes.

  “No need to apologise,” Kelan reassured him. “I should have made an appointment, so the fault is entirely mine. A terrible tragedy, the old factory, wasn’t it?” he added as the man set a tray of tea before him.

  “Terrible indeed, Sir.” He wrung his hands. “Mr. Clathornes was a decent man, that he was. And Mrs. Clathornes, now there was a lady. Every month she arranged a tea for us workers, that she did. Bring the whole family, she’d tell us. Sometimes it would be a picnic down by the river. Tents and silverware and treating us like royalty, that she did.” He shook his head and sighed. “A terrible, terrible thing to happen, that it was.”

  Kelan leaned forward, stirring a cube of sugar into the tea he had no intention of drinking. The fire had occurred on a Sunday and the entire Clathornes family had been killed in it, including their three children. His men had picked up some speculation during their investigation that perhaps one of the children had been allowed to run wild, pulled a lever here or tipped a bucket there, starting the blaze.

  “Was Mr. Clathornes in the habit of bringing his family to work with him?” Kelan asked.

  “Oh, no, Sir, no. The family always attended the teas and picnics once a month, but Mr. Clathornes never brought them here to the factory. Not until that day. A sad coincidence, that it was.”

  “Sad,” agreed Kelan. “I knew Mr. Clathornes, you understand. Did you lose anyone in that fire? Someone close to you?”

  “The foreman, Braden Delaney.” The man settled himself behind his desk and folded his arms on the top. “My brother, that he was. But it could have been worse, that it could.”

  Kelan left his cup untouched and leaned back in his chair. “How’s that?”

  “The factory was shut down, Sir. For one Sunday afternoon, every three months, we shut down completely for maintenance. Only Braden and his team of six men were here that day.”

  “And the Clathornes,” murmured Kelan.

  “That they were,” the man finished on his behalf.

  “Do you know why they’d have been here?”

  “Can’t say, Sir. Have you spoken to the housekeeper, Mrs. Pinneton?”

  Kelan stood, approaching the desk. “The Clathornes house is closed up. Has Mrs. Pinneton taken another position in town?”

  The man shook his head. “Couldn’t bear to think of working for another family, no doubt. Besides, she was going on for retirement years, that she was. Poor dear. But here…” He pulled a sheath of paper closer and reached for a nib pen. “She doesn’t live far from here.”

  Armed with Mrs. Pinneton’s address and a set of directions, Kelan bid the startled man a hasty goodbye and took his leave.

  He’d known the factory fire had occurred on a Sunday, but he hadn’t known about the complete shutdown. His men had also missed another piece of vital information. The day of the fire coincided with the first time Clathornes had ever brought his family to his place of work. Assuming the coincidence was too striking to ignore, which he did, Timothkin had arranged for the family to be there, and few others, just before it burnt the factory to the ground.

  A demon was more likely to take out as many humans as possible in one blow rather than strive for the opposite. Which meant…

  Kelan’s brisk walk had brought him to the small white-washed cottage at the end of Widows Lane. He rapped loudly on the door, his thoughts still preoccupied with Timothkin. Which meant…the demon hadn’t wanted to destroy Clitheroe, neither physically nor in spirit. It needed a healthy town, with plenty of citizens of long-standing merit, to vote it into parliament.

  There was no more room for doubt. Timothkin had engineered this opportunity with careful planning, all aimed at that seat in parliament. But was Timothkin acting alone? Before Agares and Saloese, the question would never have arisen. Kelan would have banished Timothkin without hesitation and to hell with whatever ghoulish plans it had failed to execute. But now, the risk of leaving a demon loose on London was miniscule compared to the risk of whatever an association of the bastards could be getting up to.

  An hour later, Kelan was back in his room at the inn with one more answer weighing on his mind. He stared at the photograph Mrs. Pinneton had allowed him to keep. Taken two years ago, the image showed the Clathornes children perched on a sofa and their newly appointed governess, none other than Eliza Winterberry, standing behind them.

  Mrs. Pinneton had also let slip it was the governess who’d suggested the children might benefit from a trip to their father’s workplace, and the Sunday when the factory shut down would surely be the safest day for that visit.

  Kelan scrubbed his jaw, his gaze narrowed on the image of Agares in the form of the Winterberry demon, taking a long, dull moment for the full implication to sink in.

  Agares had led the Clathornes into that factory, set it ablaze and then moved on to target Winterberry and his Steam Works company. Agares had summoned Timothkin in Clitheroe to take up a position in parliament and had summoned Saloese in Glasgow to do what?

  He didn’t know. With each answer came a hundred more questions.

  This he did know… Agares was the head of a giant parasite, summoning lesser demons through the tear, followers to be its tentacles, leeching onto anyone or anything that might help it reach its goal. Whatever that goal was, whatever Agares hoped to achieve, could not be done without help.

  Help from men like Winterberry, from parliament, from the queen.

  Kelan slid from the bed and gathered his few items into his carpetbag. There was nothing more to be done here. The answers lay in London and with Timothkin. That demon may be just one tentacle, but it didn’t know Kelan was onto it. Lily hadn’t seen any other demons, but then she hadn’t seen Agares in its new human form either, and it was certainly out there somewhere.

  Since Agares was missing and he didn’t even know how many tentacles this damn parasite had, Timothkin was their only source of information. While Lily searched for Agares and any more followers, here was one thing he could do—unravel their plans faster than Agares could make new ones. Keep time from running out because he had this feeling, had had it for a while, that the end was approaching faster than the world could run.

  SEVENTEEN

  Ana wasn’t truly capable of comprehending fear, but she knew about percentages and the predictability of outcomes and she’d been programmed, first and foremost, as Lily’s guardian. “Our chances of success would be greatly improved with Grey and Neco’s assistance.”

  “Greyston has sided with Lord Perth in this matter.” Lily’s grip tightened on the jewelled dagger claspe
d out of sight within the folds of her cloak. “We’re on our own and we will succeed.”

  She stepped off the paved walkway and onto the packed dirt verge before stopping, even though this stretch along the Thames was deserted as far as her eye could see. Which wasn’t very far. The moon was full and the sky cloudless, but even at this time of night, the black smoke chugged out by the factories during the day lingered, drifting in a smoggy layer that seemed to stretch for miles. The poor visibility was a Godsend.

  “You should still have told him,” Ana said.

  “I tried.”

  “You tried to tell him you were hunting demons tonight and he didn’t let you finish?” There was no scepticism in her monotonic voice, but Ana had enough memories to extrapolate from and she’d chosen those words to achieve exactly that.

  Lily sent her a glare. “I tried to discuss my concerns with him and he wouldn’t listen. Now, hush, I need to take another look.”

  She closed her eyes and stilled her thoughts, searching with her mind for the call of distress deep inside, reaching into the dark abyss…

  There was Timothkin, ambling along the riverbank as she’d seen the demon do most nights. Not too near to the water, it tended to keep well off the paved path. This far up the river, though, close to the mouth, the salt content had to be lethal. She wondered if that was some kind of irresistible lure to the demon. An obsession. Its gaze seldom strayed from the dark body of water, sometimes pulling it closer and closer until it jerked back, as if awoken from a trance. Some men were like that, fascinated with dodging danger. Some women, too, she conceded, thinking of Evelyn’s devotion to risqué sports at the beginning of the summer. Did demons even think like men, possess that morbid desire to prove themselves invincible every so often? Did they have fears to overcome?

  Timothkin was passing the warehouse now, the one with copper engravings on the door. Almost here…