Smythe actually enjoyed the journey back to Exeter as it was thankfully short and far less hazardous than the journey out. He had a quick chat with the Captain of the airship and, using the Sanction’s powers, secured the help of the Royal Airship Service and they had travelled in comfort if not style, arriving at Exeter Landing Port in a couple of hours.
“We’ll have to wait for an internal flight to arrive. Once it does we’ll saunter over and mingle with the civilians. There should be a horseless that we can catch.” Smythe was looking forward to getting back into Exeter. With two railway lines and an atmospheric, it was clearly a city that was on the up-and-up and – most importantly – it didn’t have a sprawl.
I can’t wait to sample more of the Clarence’s fine food, have a nice long bath, and a bloody good drink. He rubbed his hands in anticipation, smacking his lips at the thought.
*
Prior to arriving, it had been agreed it would be best for them to split into two teams. Lady Ashdown was to take Gubbins as her right-hand man and Von Adin and Smythe would pose as businessmen looking to purchase premises in the city.
Gubbins was still trying to get over the sudden promotion and change in life. He was part of the largest and poorest family on Dartmoor. They had been living on Dartmoor for at least two centuries, robbing, stealing and rustling from anyone they could. Such was their reputation that during the English Civil War no soldiers had been quartered with them for “fear that they would be quartered.”
The whole reason that he had joined the British Army was to escape the poverty. Now he had a fine suit, a five-pound note in his pocket and the finest brace of pistols he had ever seen from Harvey’s gunsmiths.
Currently he was sitting in a barber’s chair having the first barber shave in his life. Lady Ashdown - he could never imagine himself calling her Clara - sat watching, directing the barber to make sure that he gave Gubbins the latest hairstyle and a beard that was designed to be classy but which also gave him a hard look.
“What’s your first name Mr Gubbins? I like to know the names of my right-hand men. Especially those my husband has newly promoted.” he paused before answering. Another first being called mister, and another first being what Smythe had referred to as being undercover.
“Denbigh, my Lady.”
“Well Denbigh, I need you to take me to the finest jewellers in the city. My husband has assured me that cost is no object.” She laughed and fluttered her fan playing the spoilt wife perfectly.
When the barber was finished, they stepped out onto the High Street and slowly walked along, looking at the various shops. Come to a silversmith’s they stopped and paused to look into the window. The sign said Packard & Sons, not C. T. A Combs as they were looking for, but they went in anyway.
*
The bell was still tinkling as they started to browse through the goods on display. Taking her time, Lady Ashdown picked up various pieces of all sorts. With a slight Pull, she tried to see if there was any spoor associated with it.
The shopkeeper hovered in the background, darting forward with an ingratiating smile on his face when she turned to him.
“My husband has seen a torque made from pure silver. He said that it was modelled on the necklaces worn by the barbarians of old. He also mentioned that is was made by a renowned silversmith. Supposedly a Mr Combs. Do you have any pieces by him?”
“I regret that I’ve never heard of him madam. Perhaps you could try Mr Dobles” establishment. He runs one of the premiere shops in the city.” His voice was laden with disappointment and it was clear that a customer of her standing was rare.
She smiled and turned back to the display case behind her, “No matter. My man takes snuff, so I’ll take those three adorable boxes you have. A man can never have too much snuff.”
She waved off his thanks and once Gubbins had placed them into his pockets allowed him to lead her to Dobles” shop. Once again, they were unable to find anyone who knew of a silversmith called Combs. Nonetheless, Lady Ashdown purchased a silver skeleton pocket watch and chain, handing it over to Gubbins there and then.
“My Lady is being far too generous with all of these gifts.” Said Gubbins as they strolled along the street.
“Nonsense Denbigh, if we can’t find our silversmith in the shops, we can find hopefully find him by spreading as much cash around as possible. If he’s greedy enough to steal from the Crown, then I’m sure he’ll be greedy enough to want some of the money I’m spending. God knows how we’ll find him otherwise.”
Two fruitless hours later, they returned to their hotel, the White Hart, and ordered some light refreshment within the bar. Despite having bought a number of pieces for Gubbins which would serve to enhance his role as a successful right-hand man. They were no closer to finding their quarry and it frustrated Lady Ashdown to no end.
*
“Dammit, how hard can it be to find this blasted man.” Said Smythe through gritted teeth. He and Von Adin were having just as much bad luck as Lady Ashdown, having received a short whisper from her. Whilst they had managed to secure premises in the form of linked cellars on the quay, Perfect for being used as a base of operations, they too had been unable to find anything out about Combs.
A visit to the Customs House had secured them a trading pass and a discreet chat with the commanding officer of the customs had allowed them to peruse all of the shipping manifests. No ships had ever unladed silver at the docks and the man had never heard of a Mr Combs either.
“What do you say we call it a day, Karl?” Von Adin gave a curt nod, clearly just as frustrated as Smythe. Tired, hungry and thirsty, they decide to retire to the Masonic Lodge in Gandy Street for a meal before they went to their hotel, the Royal Clarence.
The Masons had always been viewed with a certain suspicion due to their secretive and semi-mystical nature. Since the aether gates had opened and earth-born humanity had either discovered or rediscovered their ability to use aether the Masons had seen a huge resurgence and had embraced all that aether had to offer.
In England alone the Order of Master Woolleners had opened three Academies of Aether, the finest schools for producing aethermancers. Lady Ashdown had been to the Aether Academy in Cambridge, graduating with a Queen’s Merit, the highest you could achieve.
Tucking into a fine meal of West country Lamb, roasted potatoes and green beans, accompanied by the finest Hoo Down Farm Cyder - highly recommended by the waiter and justly so - they discussed the next an of action.
Smythe took a sip of the cyder before leaning forward, “It’s simple when you really think about it old boy. The blighters just are not bringing it in through the river. How they’re getting it past the Waystations I don’t know. Not unless the boats are able to stop prior to entering the city.” Smythe stabbed a succulent piece of medium rare lamb. Closing his eyes, he sighed with both pleasure and frustration.
“Forgive me old boy. Tell me to bugger off if I’m intruding but ....” Smythe looked across to see a man in his mid-sixties sat on the next table.
“Please, go ahead. My friend and I are in Exeter for business and we believe that the shipmaster we chartered to deliver our cargo has,” he paused for thought, “circumvented the customs and somehow managed to mislay a couple of barrels of whisky.”
“Ah yes, most vexing indeed! I can see how that might get one’s choler up. Well there are two places that they might be doing this.
The first is a delightful public house called the Turf Locks, right at the mouth of the estuary. Although I can’t see the Lockmaster - Bill Yeoford - being involved in anything like that! One of ours don’t you know.” He tapped his left breast with his two fingers, the rest curled into a fist.
“Now the other place that they might do it is at the Double Locks. It’s a mile or so from the quay and, as the name suggests is a double lock where they have to raise the ships up. Delightful little hotel but the owner, well let’s just say that he wouldn’t get an invite to the Lodge if our lives depended on it! Terrible chap with a terrible temper. Killed a man in a fight once. Got off with self-defence as the witnesses were supposedly too scared to give testimony.”
“By God, I think you’ve hit it on the head!” Thank God for the Masons! Smythe thanked the man by way of a bottle of port and a glass of fine brandy to finish his meal with. Brimming with excitement, and eager to get back to the hotel to plan, he wolfed his food down, gesturing to Von Adin to do the same.
*
The next morning Smythe and Von Adin met Lady Ashdown and Gubbins at the famous Moll’s Coffee House, which had been serving coffee since 1596. They stared at the amazing cathedral in front of them, looking over the rebuilt precinct walls.
“Why would your priests make the cathedral look like a fortress?” Von Adin asked the waiter.
“Well sir, after the murder of a Priest in the Middle Ages, the church built a twelve-foot high wall with seven towers around the cathedral and other church lands. In more peaceful times, those walls were been torn down and used for various building projects. I believe that the Clarence is one such building.” He frowned as Smythe leaned forward, obviously put out that his story was going to be interrupted.
“However, with the arrival aether-born into the world, the Church of England has rightly become increasingly militant. Indeed religion had seen resurgence as a whole in England. As is the way with religion, they don’t all see eye-to-eye, act like a bunch of bloody children if you ask me. The Pagan or Occult religions have also seen a particular rise in popularity due to their already mystical nature, and the close ties that they had with the natural world. I believe that they view as a power that is neither good nor evil, but just another element, the Fifth Element.”
I’m pleased to say however, that both Christians and Muslims are surprisingly united when it comes to their views on aether-born. Sorry if I’m teaching a granny to suck eggs, but they believe that the aether-born were apparently Fallen Angels out of both the bible and Quran and that aether was a vestige of the power that they had once wielded in God’s name.”
“Ja, I’ve heard of that. I’m Lutheran, but a slipped one to be honest. But the wall, what is it for?”
“I’m coming to that old chap. The Church believes that the aether that the earth-born are now able to wield is a boon from God in order for them to fight the evil that was coming through the gates. During the battle of London, churches turned out to be bastions of safety. The blessing of the church and the consecration of the land had meant that it was much harder for aether-born to enter. They were aether-shields in everything but name. Saved a lot of lives don’t you know.”
As a result the Church of England is rebuilding and re-consecrating their churches - and where possible fortifying them. And that’s why there’s a bloody great wall surrounding that lovely Cathedral. And why that bloody thing is hovering about it like a fly over a particularly succulent piece of shit.”
The fly he was referring to was a Church Airship tethered to one of the spires. Smythe squinted and made out the name of the ship, Banish Temptation.
He sighed. He had rather liked going to Sunday Service during his time in the Army and liked the archetypal bumbling Vicar the made up most of the Church’s clergy.
Now however the bumbling had gone to be replaced with fire and brimstone, hard face men shouting from the pulpit about the evils of the aether-born and how it was every Christian’s duty to send as many of them as possible back to where they came from.
A number of dedicated Christians stood manning the gates. It was a little known fact that the church owned huge swathes of land and that upon those lands it was Church Law and not the Law of the land that held sway.
Thus it was that the church had been able to raise its own militia and arm it. So long as they stayed on church property they broke no laws, must to the consternation of the government.
Doesn’t help that you can pretty much walk the length of the land without stepping off Church land if you have a good map. Can’t say I’m happy to have a private army spread across the whole country either if I’m honest.
The militia were dressed all in black with long leather coats that reached down to their heels. When done up they closely resembled the cassocks worn by clergy. At their collars, they had a white strip of leather, a stock, which not only enhanced their appearance as men of the church but also protected their throats from being slit. Or bitten. Or ripped out. Their armour was more than strange looking. On their arms, they had plate armour from their shoulder all the way to their hands. The shoulder armour was embossed with the letters INRI and a depiction of Christ on the cross.
Attached to their forearm was a shield, little bigger than a buckler. The top had a small crescent shape cut from the top of it. On the face of the buckler was the same decoration as on their shoulders.
Their right arm had the armour but lacked the buckler. The reason for the crescent shape on the buckler became apparent when one looked at the long barrelled pistols they all held in their right hands. Their weight meant that they would need the support if both hands to fire accurately and so they were rested on the top of the shield.
I’d have thought they’d have put their trust in Christ, but they all have the look of experienced men.
For close quarters, they preferred the sword and mace, each having both hanging at their waists. As with everything about the world now, it was a mix of past and present. Once again Smythe found himself pining for the times of pre-aether. These times had made him the man he was but he often wondered about the man he might have been. He mentally shook himself and turned his attention back to the conversation.
“I do believe that it is possible to take a pleasure cruise down the river to the estuary. Perhaps milady and her faithful servant would be able to do this and sample the fine cuisine reputedly offered at the Turf Locks.
My business partner and I will disembark at the Double Locks. It would be good if we could secure some land there for further storage.” Von Adin looked around at the others for their agreement.
They had made a show of meeting each other for the first time and had agreed to share a table due to the popularity of Moll’s and the especially fine coffee they served.
Plans agreed, they paid their bill and left the coffee house. Turning left, they strolled up Martins Lane past a pub that was reputed to have been Sir Francis Drake’s favourite in the city. A short stroll and they were on the High Street where they hailed two Hansom cabs and headed down to the quay to catch the boat.
*
Their first port of call was the Double Locks and Von Adin and Smythe stepped off at the top of the lock, leaving Gubbins and Lady Ashdown aboard to carry on to the Turf Locks. The building itself looked reputable, had a board advertising a fine selection of ales, and locally produced food.
Inside it looked just as fine. Just as Von Adin was going to suggest they hitch a ride back on a passing canal barge, there was an awful crash of china and silverware.
“You stupid shitting little fuck wit! How many fucking times do I have to tell you to be careful!” Every swearword was punctuated with the sound of a powerful slap and the cry of a young child.
Von Adin strode towards the commotion as the sound of a foot kicking someone came to them from out of the kitchens. Barging through the swing doors to he saw a reasonably well dressed but florid looking chef viciously kick a young lad of no more than eight in the stomach. The poor lad made a “woof” as the air was driven from his lungs.
The man had barely turned to see who the intruder was before he found Von Adin’s gloved hand squeezing hard on his throat.
“If there is something that I cannot abide it is the trash behaviour of a man in a position of power abusing that power. Especially when the person being abused is so much younger and smaller. So how about I pay for the damaged crockery or we can settle the matter outside.” He continued to squeeze, his eyebrows raised.
“Naah,” gasped the man. Von Adin relaxed the pressure. “No need for that sir, no need for us to go outside I mean.”
Von Adin pulled out a pound note and gave it to the man. “I know that this more than covers the cost of the breakage. The rest is the cost of the boy. I can see he’s poorhouse. I want his bond in my hand within the hour.” He made a shooing gesture to the man and bent to help the lad up.
“Come with men young man, you’ll find you enjoy working for my company.” He led the lad outside, well away from the hotel, holding him up as he continued to struggle for air.
“Now you’re in my employ I need to know what sort of man you are. Are you hard working? Honest? True to those that treat you well?”
With a wince, the boy puffed his bruised chest out, “Yes sir, to all of them. I ain’t never stolen nothing unless I was hungry, they was rich enough to afford it or rogues themselves.” He met Von Adin’s amused stare with a cheeky grin and a tug of his forelock.
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“What can you tell me about boats that pass through this lock?” Von Adin liked this boy and his rough and ready approach to life and honesty.
“That there are lots? What do you mean sir?” His face was scrunched up as he asked the question.
“What I mean is, do any of the ships and barges have cause to offload any of their cargoes before they reach the quay ,and especially the Customs House?”
“They do indeed sir. The scalley kicking me is in on it along with the boss. Cutthroat bastards they are too. They trade in everything from alcohol and baccy up to guns.”
“Did a clever boy such as you ever manage to hear them mention a Mr C T A Combs?” Von Adin leaned forward praying that the lad would be able to tell him.
“No Mr Combs I’m afraid sir, but I have heard mention of the Catacombs!” Von Adin’s heart had sunk into his boots at the start of the sentence but now he leaned forward excitedly.
“Well done lad!” He beckoned to Smythe, who was talking to the owner of the hotel.
“How can I help dear boy? I’m afraid that I’m not much used to children.” Smythe gave a stiff nod to the lad, and ruffled his hair the same way someone who was uncomfortable with animals would stroke them.
Von Adin explained what the lad, “Zacheuess, me mam called me Zack, sir” had told him. When the boy said that he could lead them to the catacombs they sent him into the kitchen to make a meal for them all - Von Adin not trusting the chef to leave their food unspoiled - and settled down to wait for Lady Ashdown and Gubbins to return.
*
An hour later and they were ensconced in a private room they had hired. Zack was practically gleaming after Lady Ashdown had taken him under her wing and scrubbed away the layers of dirt and had him deloused. She was particularly pleased with how the boy had polished up, especially after she had applied her makeup skills and hidden all the bruises and scraped that told the story of the rough life he had led in the few short years he had been alive.
Now he sat wearing clothes suitable to the role of errand boy, digging his fingers into the starched collar whilst he looked the brand new shoes she’d bought him. Being dressed in this way would enable him to get into buildings he would never normally gain entrance to, and to blend into the background wherever he went bar the roughest areas.
Gently she grilled him about the catacombs, their location, what he knew about the layout and for what they were used. In between bites of jam and bread and gulps of tea, he explained that they had been built during the Cholera epidemic of the 1830”s but were too expensive and unpopular with the rich for whom they had been built. Falling into disuse, they had since been closed to the public. Despite this, gaining access was quite simple however as a number of homeless people had managed to break in during the last year’s harsh winter, avoiding the clutches of the poor house.
After she had packed him off on an errand, they settled down to serious planning. An hour passed in the blink of an eye as all of the options were discussed, and when she realised that they were going over the same points she called an end to the meeting.
“Just to recap, we use Zack to show Gubbins the best points as which to gain entry to the catacombs, sweep through them, see if we can either find the latest shipment of silver or at least find someone who can point us to the ringleader organising it all. Contact is to be kept to a minimum, if I can use aether rather than have you boys resort to brute force, we should hopefully be able to minimise casualties.”
Leaving Smythe and Von Adin to prepare the weapons they would be using, Lady Ashdown went to change into the trousers she had borrowed from the Waystation.
Every time I put these on, I feel liberated. She did a couple of bends and stretches, enjoying the way the trousers fit her form perfectly without inhibiting her. The range of movement they gave her was far superior to the dresses and skirts that women were expected to wear. She ran through a set of stretches that would normally be nigh on impossible to perform outside a Ballet Salon and ballet dancers clothing.
There was a knock at the door. “Come in.” she smiled as Gubbins and Zack entered the room, the lad still tugging at the starched collar chafing his neck.
“Excuse me my lady, me and the bay are off to see the lay of the land before it gets too dimpsy. Is there anything else you need us to do?” Asked Gubbins.
“No thank you Gubbins, just make sure you look after the boy, and make sure that he doesn’t get dirty!” Leaving with a bow, Gubbins ushered Zack out of the room, leaving her to resume her stretching.
*
Lady Ashdown cursed under her breath as a persistent knocking at the door finally reached through into her dreams. She never was a good “morning” person, and at two in the morning, she felt as though she needed a crowbar to pry her eyes open.
Gathering outside of their hotel, the cell members greeted each other in the hushed tones that everyone used at that time of night. She felt it was strange that people automatically lowered their voices after a certain hour, almost as if they were meeting in a church.
Probably to make sure that the beasts inhabiting the shadows didn’t eat our ancestors.
“I’ve made sure that the Porter won’t remember us going or coming tonight, and he certainly won’t be telling anyone else if he does remember given how much I’ve paid to buy his silence. Hope you don’t mind my Lady.”
Lady Ashdown smiled as Gubbins shifted on her feet, obviously uncomfortable at taking the initiative without being given orders. We might have the most disciplined army in the world, but the lower ranks have no idea how to make mission critical decisions on their own.
“Excellent work Gubbins, I’m sure you’ve paid him more than enough.”
Moving on foot, they followed Gubbins through the dimly lit and deserted streets of Exeter, down to the shrouded cemetery. Seeing the gate was locked, Lady Ashdown gestured Gubbins. Stepping forward he knelt down. Reaching into an inside jacket pocket he brought out a bulky leather wallet. Placing it on the ground he rolled it open, selected a tool and proceeded to pick the lock with ease.
“Wait just a minute please,” he whispered as he reached into another pocket and withdrew a rag and a tub. Opening the tub he dipped the rag into it and then proceeded to carefully rub the now greasy rag over the hinges and latch of the gate, ensuring that every part was liberally coated. With a gentle push the gate swung smoothly, and quietly open.
Lady Ashdown Pulled gently, almost as if she was sucking it through a straw. The slower she Pulled, the more difficult it made for other aethermancers to detect her. In a place such as the cemetery, such a small draw would blend into the background noise caused by so many spirits being buried there. She paused as they reach their destination. The front of the catacombs was truly imposing. Designed as if they were part of an ancient Egyptian empire, the stonework and carvings had a very exotic and threatening look as shadows made the statues appear as if they were lurking, watching them.
Don’t be so silly Clara! She gave herself a mental shake and turned to face the others.
“Oh the irony, this looks just like the place someone obsessed with controlling the aether-born would use as a headquarters. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.” Lady Ashdown smiled as she Pulled a small amount of aether, adding to what she had already stored.
“Now let’s see what kind of spoor we can....” she gasped her hand rising to her mouth, “oh my! We have a lot of spoor indeed. Powerful spoor. God! Someone just Pulled and Pushed a phenomenal amount of aether!”
Without another word she sprinted into the catacombs proper; following a trail only she could see. The faint grate of stone on stone was the only warning she had. Stopping so suddenly that her colleagues nearly barged her from her feet, she whipped her hand forward. There was a dull thud and a wet choking sound. Rushing forward she drew another knife just as quickly, kneeling down she lifted her knife and plunged it once, twice, three times before she pushing herself up and away from her victim. She wiped her mouth with a shaky hand and gave the all-clear signal.
The others ran forward, Gubbins stopping to hand her a handkerchief so that she could wipe the worst of the blood from her face and hands. She waited until they were clustered around her before she Pushed a small globe of light, barely enough to light the body of the man who lay at their feet.
“He’s wearing what passes for the de facto robes of an aethermancer, but he doesn’t seem to have had any real ability.” She grimaced as she pulled her first knife from where it was sticking out of his throat, and hastily swallowed as she looked at the wounds showing where she had stabbed him through the forehead.
Aether is so much cleaner. Fastidious, she truly hated getting her hands dirty, both on a physical and metaphysical level. She realised that the others were staring at the horrific wounds on the man’s head, and that an explanation would be a good idea.
“I had to go for his chakra; he was attempting a Pull even with a knife in his throat. Couldn’t have him invite anyone else to the party!” she gave a shaky laugh. Even though she had killed many times before, she had used her aether to do so. There was a very big difference in killing someone with aether - no matter how close - and plunging a dagger into someone’s vital organs. She shuddered as she relived feeling victim’s warm blood on her hands and face, feeling the life slip from his body. Realising that it was due to her physical actions was an amazingly intense and emotional experience. She felt as if she wanted to life, cry and vomit at the same time and settled for a shaky sod. How some people actually enjoy taking life in this way I don’t know. All part of the day job I suppose.
Once she had composed herself she moved on, careful to continue checking the shadows ahead for any surprises. The spoor would give away most watchers, especially those who were not schooled in the combat uses of aether, but there was still the chance that someone or some thing could be lurking in the shadows.
God knows what sort of creatures might be here, feeding on the dead. During her studies of aether, her instructors had taught her how every being had some level of aether within them, whether they were able to use it or not. The more religiously inclined sometimes referred to this as part of a person’s soul whilst others – such as Vampyres – viewed it as a source of food. Whatever the viewpoint, all agreed that when a person died, their aether remained with them, which was why cemeteries were so often believed to be haunted prior to the arrival of the aether-born, and why they truly were haunted by such creatures as Ghouls and truly desperate Vampyres now.
She paused before a mass of ivy that lay across the passage like a living curtain. Reaching out she tentatively pushed her hand through the vegetation, trying to make as little noise was possible whilst praying that there was nothing nasty on the other side. When nothing untoward happened she pushed fully through the ivy and found herself in a sprite light-lit corridor.
*
Gubbins watched helplessly as the woman he was supposed to be guarding disappeared from view through the curtain of ivy.
Bloody woman, fine thing it would be if she was killed dead whilst I stood around like the village idiot with me thumb in my mouth and shit in me breeks. Buggered if I’m going to let this carry on!
Without waiting for the all clear he pushed through the cast and brushed past her, giving her a reproachful look.
“Excuse me miss, I believe that I’ll take the lead now. Wait here until I say it’s clear if you would.” Gun in hand he moved on down to the next corner.
Slowly, letting his eye adjust to the bright light, he slipped around the corner, walking with his pistol held high to avoid it catching on the tunnel sides. Who knows what gases are lying in these tunnels. One spark could see us blown to Heaven-on-high. God knows what’s going to happen if I have to actually open fire.
A shadow appeared just in front of him, stepping out of a side-corridor. He stamped forward with a quick thrust of the blade attached to his pistol. The guard moaned as he was low down in the stomach. Gubbins followed the thrust with a sharp rear-leg shin kick, forcing the man’s leg back and straight, stepping through into the gap that presented itself he used his rear leg to follow through with a stamp to the guard’s knee. There was a wet snap and the man fell back with a gargling sound as Gubbins whipped an elbow into his throat. No sooner had he hit the floor, than Gubbins was stood above him driving his hobnailed boots repeatedly onto his face and throat. The man’s heels finally stopped drumming on the floor as his face gave in under the pressure and caved in, cracking like an eggshell.
Panting, he took a moment to compose himself. Bastard took a while to die. Must have loved living. Once he had regained his breath, Gubbins grabbed hold of the ankles and dragged the body back along the corridor.
When he reached them he dropped the ankles and stood up, knuckling his back as he felt a slight twang.
“Looks like We’re on the right track milady. I’m reckoning that two guards wouldn’t be found in a place like this if there wasn’t owt to guard. They’re proper shite fighters though.”
He paused as he saw the looks on the faces of the others.
“What on earth did you do to him?” Asked Smythe, gesturing at the body.
“I was Okehampton shin kicking champion three years running. Hardest fighting system there is. If you’ll follow me, I’ll stay on the lead.”
He moved on around the corner before any of them could answer leading them deeper into the catacombs, moving as slowly as he could so that there were no surprises. From up ahead the sound of chanting could be heard, drifting down the corridor, susurrating off the walls. Their breaths misted in the air as the temperature suddenly plummeted.
“Bloody hell! That’s a serious Pull!” said Lady Ashdown rubbed her arms briskly and even Von Adin looked discomfited for a fleeting second. Gubbins swallowed hard, coming from Dartmoor as he did he believed very firmly in the spirit world and could not get used to be around an aethermancer such as Lady Ashdown. Even though the Gubbins had their own aethermancers, those that Lady Ashdown referred to as the ferals, they tended to keep to themselves, living in one of the oldest woods in the United Kingdom, Wistman’s. A place that everyone who knew Dartmoor believed held more power that it should.
“Time we moved quicker,” said Smythe, his breath billowing out in from of him as the temperature continued to drop, “Gubbins, lead on faster please. If you encounter any trouble we’ll leave it to you to do deal with and continue moving forward. The same stands for everyone bar Lady Ashdown, I have a feeling that we’ll be needing her skillset very shortly indeed.”
Gubbins nodded, his pulse quickening at the thought of the combat to come. Not a chance that this damned warlocks are going to come quiet, I reckon they’re going to make us kill them. Moving as quickly as he could, and fighting the tightness caused in his legs by the ever increasing cold he led them through the snow that started to appear, slipping and sliding on the ice that started to cover the walls and floor.
Finally, they came to an entrance that opened onto a chamber to the right. The chanting was much louder, and he could hear words that made his stomach churn and head spin. Holding his hand up and gesturing for them to stop, Gubbins lowered himself to the floor and slid forward on his stomach.
Me da taught me poaching well. Doubt any of the townies in the room think to watch out for someone spying on them from the floor.
Ever so slowly he popped his head through the entrance and peered into the chamber. What he saw shocked him to the very core of his being. In the middle of a circle of chanting men lay a dead baby, guts ripped out, its arms and legs pinned to the floor knives. Above the baby stood a ghoul with a torque around its neck. As the men chanted, the torque glowed brighter and brighter. Such was the power being generated in the room that even someone such as he could see the aether from the circle flowing into it, along with the spirit of the innocent sacrifice below it.
The ghoul threw itself towards the circle and bounced back with a shower of sparks. With a howl of rage and pain, it tried to pull the torque from its neck. More sparks leapt from its neck and he could see the bones in its hands as the torque glowed brightly. It screamed again and let go of the torque, its hands smoking.
One man seemed to be guiding the others and acting as a conduit for the aether. A medallion in the shape of a cog, with a sword tip upwards in the middle and two bolts of lightning crossing behind hung around his neck. Gubbins felt the anger welling up in him as his gaze fell upon the baby once again.
Slowly he pushed himself back and turned to face them.
“There are at least twenty of them. They’re formed in a circle around a set of symbols. They’ve killed a little babby and have a ghoul chained above it with a torque around its neck. I can’t see much else.” Gubbins moved to the side as Lady Ashdown also lay on the floor and slid forward, taking a quick look herself.
She slid back and faced the others. “I think we’ve found our man. The bastards are binding a ghoul using the spirit of a baby. I’ll let him survive but if any of those cunts” spittle flew from her mouth with the last word, “survive I will unleash Hell!”
She stood, the blood draining from her face and her lips becoming red slashes. Gubbins watches as her hands seemed to turn into claws and her eyes appeared to turn completely black.
Jesus Christ our Lord, protect us! His heart pounding he fought to contain control over his bladder and stepped back, hands up.
“Steady my Lady. We’ll go on your signal.” Smythe and Von Adin grunted their assent. Looking at the fear on their faces, he realised that they were just as frightened of her as he was.
At her nod they flowed around the corner, guns raised. Von Adin moved to the right, Smythe the centre and Gubbins led Lady Ashdown down the right. As soon as he had a clear target, he opened up.
The chanting of his first targets turned into screams of pain and fear. Anger threatened to overwhelm him as he saw the little body in the centre of the circle. Pouring shot after shot at the coven members he barely took time to check his aim. Two shots, another target, two shots and so on. As soon as the hammer on this pistol clacked onto an empty chamber he drew his second pistol and started firing again. By the time he reached a pillar and took cover to reload he was able to count over ten bodies on the floor.
I hope you burn in fucking hell you bastards! His hands shook as he ejected the chamber and flicked the empty shell cases to the floor. As quickly as he could he pushed new rounds into both of his pistols, snapped them closed , took a deep breath and stepped back around the pillar.
The first thing he saw was the ghoul throwing itself against the circle once again. This time the sparks bowed outward as if they formed a soap bubble. With a pop, the circle collapsed and the torque fell from its neck. Howling, the ghoul lunged forward, slashing with its claws and tearing the head from the nearest aethermancer, leaning forward to catch the blood as it spurted into the air.
The remaining circle members scattered, not even attempting to fight back. He watched as Lady Ashdown, a woman possessed, strode into the midst of the coven, lashing out with aether so that it gutted them, steaming piles of entrails falling to the floor. He hardly believed it possible, but the temperature in the air fell even further. The wounded aethermancers fell to the floor screaming, trying to force their guts back into their bodies, the temperature continuing to fall as they tried to heal their wounds.
A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see an arm the size of a small tree trunk racing towards his face. Pain exploded in his head and everything went dark.
*
Smythe cursed as he saw Gubbins crash to the ground as the ghoul’s arm connected. He started to cross the chamber, raising his pistol to blast away at the ghoul before it could harm Gubbins even further. A shrill voice like the noise of sharp nails scraping down a blackboard stopped him in his tracks.
“Willoughby! He’s running! Don’t let him escape! I’ll deal with the ghoul!” Smythe realised that tonight Lady Ashdown would brook no failure. Looking to where she was pointed he saw the cover leader dashing out of the chamber and into a corridor he had not previously realised was there.
I honestly don’t know who I’m more afraid of tonight, Clara or that bloody ghoul.
He took off after the coven leader, bounding over one of Lady Ashdown’s writhing victims. Behind him, he heard screams coming from the ghoul as she tore into it.
The coven leader had gathered his robes so that he could run faster. He ducked to the left and another coven guard stepped in front of Smythe. With little or no time to stop, and no space to avoid the knife that was thrusting towards him, Smythe snapped off a shot into the guard’s torso and frantically turned ninety degrees so that his back was as flat against the wall as it could be. Unable to stop himself he slammed into the wall, driving what breath he had out.
The knife scored its way across his stomach as the already dead guard collapsed face down onto the floor. Clutching the cut and trying not to cry out with the pain, Smythe continued after the coven leader.
Where the hell has he gone? He cut through a number of tunnels, praying that he was still on the right track, “Oh thank God!” With a surge of relief, he saw the man’s heel disappearing around another corner.
Digging deep and ignoring the intense burning coming from his stomach, he put on another burst of speed. Turning the corner just in time to see the cover leader slow down for another corner.
“Stop you stupid bastard!” He snapped off a couple of low shots, cutting the legs out from under his target. The man howled in pain, slammed into the floor and then tried to claw his way down the corridor, his nails breaking as the hard ground ripped them from his fingers.
Smythe walked slowly down the corridor, breathing hard and clutching the slash. Funny how you never get used to pain. Blood wish you could.
“Not so fast you baby murdering bastard!” Smythe stamped down onto the man’s shattered leg causing him to let out a high-pitched scream, “I hope you fucking burn for what you did.”
Turning as he heard feet running towards him, Smythe was surprised as Lady Ashdown shot past him and dealt a wicked upwards kick. Her foot connected with the man’s face, sending blood and teeth in all directions. She pounced on top of him and proceeded to pound him her fists, scratching and biting him, even resorting to head butting him.
Smythe could not believe his eyes, he had always known that there was a dark side to Lady Ashdown, but tonight served to more than confirm that she was truly what the common man would refer to as damaged goods. God help me, I can’t help how I feel for her though, even now, he thought with a wry smile as he marvelled at the energy she was pouring into pounding the man beyond senselessness.
“Clara! Stop we need this durchfall alive! Stop! Please” Von Adin had wrapped his arms around her and was obviously having to use all of his strength to stop her from hurting the coven leader any further. With a great wrench he pulled her off the man, hooked his legs over hers and held her in a bear hug from behind. Gubbins appeared behind them and added his strength to the uneven struggled, whispering into Lady Ashdown’s ear whilst holding her hands in his. No matter how hard he tried Smythe could not her what was said but it did the trick. Slowly, she stopped struggling, the tension going form her body before she started to cry, great sobs wracking her body. Slowly, fighting his own pain, Smythe joined the others pulling them all into a hug.
When she had finally calmed down, he had her perform rough field first aid on him, Gubbins and the prisoner and then dragged him out of the catacombs. During that time he also had Lady Ashdown send a whisper to the local cavalry barracks and so they bundled him into the carriage awaiting them. A beaming Zack poked his head through the door before Lady Ashdown pushed it back. A quick carriage ride later they were back at the Landing Port. Ten minutes after that, they were in the air on their way back to Manchester.