by P M Cole
“I will use the tunnels. I know them well by now. I will not be seen…”
Lucas looked at me ruefully. “I will ask Colin to find someone to escort you. Do you at least agree to that?”
I nodded.
“OK. Let’s see what else you can turn that piece of metal into…”
*****
Colin stood opposite me in the Ratters’ village main square. A few urchins sat at the edge, looking on. I was in my suit of armour, but that hadn’t stopped the first blow from the iron pipe in his hand smarting when it struck my rear.
He frowned. “You need to cover the… back of you, in case you are fighting more than one night creature.”
I rubbed my posterior briefly, then turned. The blades from my arms were extended, but I had dulled their edges to be no more than clubs while I was training.
I took up the stance again, which he had already shown me. This time I was ready for his attack. He lunged forward and swiped through the air, which I parried, then pivoted, and struck him across the rear. I laughed, but he didn’t. From the time in the kitchen in the manor house, his demeanour towards me had changed.
“Yeah, you got me. Well done. I think we’ll call it a day.”
He started to walk back to his canvas-covered home.
“What is wrong with you?” I shouted.
He kept on walking. “Nothing is wrong. You fought well.”
I ran after him, walking in front of him. “Ever since the manor house, you have been different towards me. Have I done something wrong?”
He stopped momentarily, not wanting to meet my gaze. “Why not just give Finlay what he wants?”
“Because he wants me! Should I become a slave to his plans?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. But we don’t know what these plans are. Maybe he just wants you to build something, and then you can be free of him, and we…” He shook his head and continued walking. I caught up with him again.
“We what?”
“What is the point. And now even though all of London is looking for you, you’re going to see Ashmore anyway.”
“Mr Ashmore is just…”
“Hey, it’s fine. I understand. He’s a young sir, working in a bank. Fine clothes. You go have your fun.”
Anger grew within me. “It’s not like that!”
The blanket which covered Colin’s home fell back down as he disappeared inside. The truth was I wasn’t sure why I was meeting Mr Ashmore. Part of me felt it was madness. If I were seen by the wrong eyes… But another part of me, a part which I did not want to consider for too long, felt strangely compelled to see him again. Every time I saw Mr Ashmore’s face in my mind something stirred deep within me, and I needed to know why that was.
A young boy walked across the area, carrying a big bucket of water, most of which had already splashed free of the wooden container. I went to help him when an image jumped in front of my eyes. Pipes and pumps, partly run by a steam engine appeared before me, covering the tall walls surrounding the underground village. Iron and copper tubes ran across the bricks and columns and down to a water pump, where everyone could collect their daily requirement.
The vision faded from my mind, and I noticed the boy had moved into another of the huts. I made a mental note to talk to Olivia of my project but realised that if I was to be at Mr Ashmore’s residence by six, I needed to leave soon.
I ran to a small hut which had been given to me and quickly replaced my suit of armour with a dress. Checking my appearance I made sure my small crossbow was secured inside my coat, which I put on and made my way outside. As I walked to the exit, I noticed Colin’s entrance covering flapped a few times.
Soon I was back in the sewers trying to avoid the rats and muck, using the compass on my pocket watch and navigating the tunnels as if I had always travelled them. When I arrived at a part of the sewer where the overflow was moving faster I knew I was close to the river, so ascended the first ladder. I emerged into the night, and a thick blanket of fog, which I was pleased for. I climbed out of the sewer entrance, placing the cover back and moved across the road to the pavement and quickly scoured the three- and four-storey buildings for a street name. One came quickly and from the old street map that Lucas provided me, I made my way along the winding alleys, my face covered in a scarf. Voices disconnected from their origins passed me by in the fog and I was pleased to arrive at the building that housed Mr Ashmore’s home. A plaque was attached to the wall near the entrance.
‘The Awakening Society Accommodation.’
Along with a strange symbol of a person with open arms.
I moved inside, past two men talking in the lobby and made my way upstairs. A child ran past me, while a mother chased after him. I kept on climbing until, eventually, I found myself facing number twenty-nine.
As I raised my hand to the door knocker a stream of doubt as to why I had come all this way fluttered across my mind, but I quickly pushed it aside.
The door opened, with my hand hovering above it. Mr Ashmore stood smiling.
“You came,” he said.
His white shirt was pulled up to the elbows, revealing muscular forearms.
“I… er… yes. I wanted to thank you for your note.”
He backed away. “Please come in.”
His home was one of the newer built in the capital. I had read how Lord Cannington was constructing these buildings across London to serve as low-price housing for the working classes but had never seen the inside of one before. The interior was quite impressive with its own room to be used as a toilet, and heating provided by circulating hot water heated by a boiler. The main room still though had a hearth and fire burning with it.
Again, the notion of being in this flat struck me as odd. “I… cannot stay. I should be getting back.”
“Oh… before you leave. I have something for you…” He turned and I saw a prominent mark just below his elbow. For a moment my heart leapt to my throat, with the blemish not being clear but then realised it was just a V-shaped birthmark.
He returned to the front door, a small carriage clock in one hand. “This belonged to my father. It’s stopped working and I have no idea why, not being good with mechanical things. I wondered if you could take a look at it?”
I smiled. “Of course.”
He placed the clock in a small fabric bag and handed it to me.
I went to leave.
“And something else. I’m having a birthday ball in a few weeks’ time. I wondered if you would like to go with me?”
The prospect made my skin clammy. Even without being hunted by Finlay, the idea of that kind of social event I would usually have avoided at all costs. But instead, I nodded in agreement, instantly regretting it.
“Good! Umm… where can I get in contact with you again? Are you staying at the shop still?”
“Err… yes, or if I’m not there, just leave a note on the counter as before and I will get it.”
“OK. Nice to see you again. I’ll let you know the details of the ball in a weeks’ time.”
I smiled then turned and left.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Stepping back out into the night, an excitement I had hardly felt before set upon me. Although I was confused as to why being with Mr Ashmore would have such an effect on my person, it was as if rather having just met someone who was a stranger, he was, in fact, a lifelong acquaintance. I had read of tales in the old magazines of men and women falling in love upon first sight, and always thought the stories fanciful, but even though I wasn’t about to call the feelings that were moving through me ‘love’, it was certainly hard for me to push his face from my mind.
But go to a ball? Why did I agree to an appointment I could never keep?
I walked forward into the thick white mist, stopping under a street lamp to look at my map. Once I got my bearings I quickly moved along the street, being sure to stay at least a few feet away from the darker recesses. After a few minutes, I was close to the street with the und
erground entrance and quickened my pace.
Coming around the corner, I recognised the buildings and felt a relief knowing I would soon be able to slip back beneath the ground. Back into anonymity. The manhole cover was not too far if I had remembered correctly.
I stepped off the pavement when a gust of wind almost knocked me backwards. After gathering my balance, I looked up instinctively into a uniform dark grey, but there was nothing to be seen. Figuring a storm must be upon the city, I ran forward, then I heard the unmistakable sound of flapping wings, which slowed my progress. I stood in the centre of the cobbled road, white all around blocking any view of what lay beyond. I went to take a step forward, in the direction I was sure I needed to head in when I heard footsteps.
“You know you really shouldn’t have hurt my sister as you did…”
I whirled around, trying to ascertain from where the female voice was coming from.
“She’s soft. Always has been. But me… I take that kind of thing personally.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” I removed my crossbow from my coat and held it up, moving it from one direction to another.
“Over here, girl.”
I turned again. Out of the mist came a woman. Her attire was closer to illustrations from tales of pirates on the high seas than a modern woman. Black, leather trousers, fed into long boots, and a long black coat covered her top half. Her face, no doubt pretty to most men, had rich dark red curls falling across it. I had come across many a ruffian on the streets of London, but none so oddly dressed as this.
I pointed the crossbow towards her. “Be on your way, miss, I do not want any trouble.”
She pouted. “Oh, I’m afraid there is going to be trouble. For you that is. Because you need to pay for what you did to my little sis…”
The hideous creature from the night at the manor jumped into my mind. But sister? It was no monster standing in front of me.
“Now, you can either take things quietly… or you can put up a fight. Honestly, I prefer the latter. I hope you understand. Family honour and all that.” As she spoke I started to step back, for her face started to contort, taking on a demonic form, wings spread from her back and her nails grew to become talons.
I fired off four bolts. Each one sailed true, but she patted them away as if they were mere flies.
“Not this time, Cog.”
She knew my name?
She sprinted towards me, her wings flapping.
Turning, I sprinted forward, desperate to find any safe haven, but as I neared the entrance to a house, searing pain pulsed through my shoulders, causing me to drop my weapon, and the pavement moved away from me.
The creature taking me aloft cackled. “Struggle, child, and you will fall to your death!”
Struggling against her grip, we sailed higher into the mist. My mind fought against the temptation for it to fade into unconsciousness.
She’s taking you to him…
I forced my eyes to focus, and I saw my opportunity. As we rose above the topmost floor of the nearby four-storey house, the spindly shape of a steeple came towards me out of the fog. Closer and closer it came when she started to take us higher again.
No!
I threw my hand down, ignoring the pain flowing across my arm, and just managed to brush against the cold iron.
In an instant, the metal flowed upwards over my hand and broke free of its mooring. The creature above me, feeling the extra weight, looked down, but it was too late for it to stop me plunging the iron lance into its torso, causing it to release its grip. We both fell, the rooftop rising up towards me. Instinctively, the lance coiled around forming a large spring, which I fell awkwardly onto, then after it had compacted sent me careering across the roof, through a row of hanging clothes and into a wall.
After a few moments the ringing in my ears passed, and I checked to make sure I was still alive. A dog barked somewhere in the streets below, and I tried to stand, my head feeling wet, and most of the rest of me being too sore to move. But I knew I had to.
I staggered to my feet. Vision from my left eye was blurred. I rubbed my hand over it, removing the blood and looked around trying to be ready for another attack, but there was only the dog barking and the distant voices of people shouting that something landed on the roof.
I grabbed a sheet from the line and wrapped it around the wound on my head, then, realising the exit was close by, walked painfully forwards, opened it, and disappeared into the gloom of the stairwell.
*****
I fell against Mr Ashmore’s door, the impact acting as announcement I was just outside. He opened it, a look of horror forming over his face, then blackness fell across my vision.
Faces and voices somewhere out there in the darkness were just audible to my senses. At one point I opened my eyes and saw an older man, one that I did not recognise looking down at me concerned. A stethoscope was attached to his ears with the other end on my chest. He mentioned something to Byron and they both nodded. Sometime later, on opening my eyes from a deep sleep, two policemen looked at me with concern across their faces. Fear rippled through me before it was overcome by the constant pain, causing me to fall into the void once more.
“Cog? Can you hear me. You need to eat,” said Byron.
I opened my eyes, instantly raising my hand to my face and felt a bandage covering one side of it.
“What… where… how long have I been here?” I croaked.
“It’s been two days—”
“Two days?!”
I tried to sit up then gave up when the pain across my body argued I should remain still.
“No, you cannot move. You have deep lacerations in your shoulders and in your scalp. Here, you must drink.”
He tilted a cup towards my lips, which I gratefully drank from. My mind pictured Colin, Bernard, and Lucas frantically looking for me. “I cannot stay here. I have to leave.”
“The doctor made it quite clear, you are to stay in bed for at least a week.”
A wave of fatigue passed through me again. “No… I cannot…”
“If you are worried about your friends? A young man named Mr Murphy visited you yesterday. At first, he thought that perhaps I had done this to you, but I persuaded him nothing could be further from the truth. He said he would return tomorrow.”
I relaxed back into the soft bed. I had no doubt that at least one Ratter was stationed outside in the street.
“OK…”
“Do you feel up to eating something?”
“Yes…”
As I sipped on some soup, images of the woman leapt into my mind, and then her more monstrous form, and the pains across my forehead increased in protest. Were these beasts that were plaguing me, the Gorgons Bernard talked about? I tried to remember if this new vision of hate had snakes for hair, but I could not remember any. Something different I concluded.
I noticed Byron was pacing back and forth. “Is there anything wrong?”
He turned to me. “I cannot wait any longer to ask. What happened to you? Were you attacked? The police asked me many questions, but I was not able to tell them much…” he sat on the edge of the bed. “I felt as if I had failed you…”
I raised my hand and placed it on his, then instantly grew perplexed as to why I did so. But something about it just felt right.
“What happened?” he continued.
“You are correct. I was set upon shortly after leaving here. There were two men… large men. I tried to fight, but—”
His face grew in disgust.
“No, no… they did not take advantage of me in that way. They left me in the street, and I crawled back here. Thank you for looking after me.”
After making use of the bedpan, I fell back into another sleep until waking some hours later. I looked at the window. The street lamp outside glowed against the night. Ahead of me were dying embers of a fire and to my right, a sleeping Byron, sat in a high-backed chair, a blanket across his lap and a book across that. I felt somewhat bett
er, so I attempted to move. The pain was less, but I felt like an automaton, so stiff were my limbs. With some effort, I swung my legs from the sheets and placed my feet onto the floor.
Reaching to the bedside table I poured a small amount of water from the jug into my cup and looked about the room as I drank. The room was sparse except for a small bookcase and a chest of drawers.
Most of the volumes, neatly lined up, were stories. A series of books from Dickens sat alongside tales from authors I did not recognise. But one thick bound book did stand out to me, due to the logo on its side. It was the same as on the outside of the building. I stood, wavered a little on my feet, then crept forward trying to keep to the edge of the boards to avoid creaks, and pulled the book from the case. Upon doing so I immediately realised it was no work of fiction but instead an album of photographs.
I sat on the small stool in the corner, pulled the brass latch undone and turned the cover. An impressive front plate announced that these were photographs of those that had resided at the Grayton Orphanage, north London, run by the Awakening Society.
Turning another page revealed a man that, for some reason, made me shudder. I sat puzzled at my reaction, for he was not a repulsive man, being handsome enough for his age. He stood proud, his gaze not quite at the viewer and, for some reason, I was thankful for that. I looked at the small print beneath the image.
‘Lord H. Cannington.’
I shivered and quickly turned the page. A series of photos of young men and women were displayed, two to a page. They were all well-presented, and as I looked upon their faces I felt a sense of calm come upon me. Finally, at the end of the book, I found an image of Byron. Of all the young faces, his was the one that looked the most out of place, for his smile and—
A hand snapped the album close. I looked up at Byron.
“I see you found my old photo album.”
I wondered how he managed to get so close to me without me being aware. The pain was probably still masking my senses.
He placed the album back on the shelf.
