Twilight deepened into full night as Virtue guided the carriage through the shifting streets of the alternate London. Overhead, a crescent moon hung low in the sky, its cold light casting elongated shadows across the cobblestones. An autumnal chill settled into the air, and Virtue pulled her jacket tighter around herself. She glanced at the figures on the street—humans, elves, and dwarves—each of them hurrying with purpose, their faces set in grim determination as they made their way home before the true creatures of the night gained ascendance.

Saveloy trotted steadily on, his breath misting in the cool air. The clip-clop of his hooves echoed through the narrow streets, blending with the murmurs and hurried footsteps of those desperate to disappear before nightfall became fully entrenched.

As they approached Blackfriars, Virtue’s eyes widened at the sight of the massive monastery. It loomed over the area, its ancient stone walls darkened and worn, adorned with creeping ivy that seemed to pulsate faintly, as if it had a heartbeat. The building itself appeared to be alive, exuding a strange, ominous energy that made Virtue shiver. A haze of spiritual energy hovered over the monastery like a shimmering mirage, casting a faint glow.

In front of the monastery, weird monks stood gathered, their forms cloaked in heavy, dark robes. As Virtue drew closer, she realized they weren’t like any monks she had ever seen before. Their skin was a sickly shade of grey, and their lips had been stitched shut, the coarse black thread pulling their mouths into unnatural lines. They watched her approach, their eyes hollow.

Virtue was surprised when they raised their hands in greeting, but no words left their mouths. Virtue nodded back, unease prickling along her spine. Eerie organ music drifted from the monastery, carried by the wind—melancholic, unsettling, the notes echoing through the night.

Saveloy snorted loudly, his voice breaking the heavy silence. “Weirdos,” he muttered. “Who stitches their own lips shut? And what's with the whole haunted organ bit?”

Virtue gave a small, nervous laugh, shaking her head. “Let’s just keep moving, Saveloy.”

They continued over Blackfriars Bridge, the stone structure creaking beneath them. As they reached the center, the thick mist that had been following them began to part, revealing the Thames below. For the first time, Virtue saw the water—black, almost like oil, swirling and undulating as if something massive moved beneath the surface.

Strange creatures glided through the darkness below. Nymphs and mermaids surfaced briefly, their eyes glowing faintly, their forms graceful but menacing. Further out, large krakens coiled and uncoiled their tentacles, barely visible beneath the surface. A massive nautilus drifted by, its spiral shell gleaming dully in the moonlight. Small boats plied the inky waters, each one carrying a lone ferryman cloaked in dark robes. One ferry was weighed down with gold coins, piled high in the vessel, a sight that reminded Virtue of the legendary ferryman who plied his trade over the River Styx.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the macabre beauty of it all, her heart pounding as they crossed the bridge. Saveloy seemed unfazed, his gaze fixed ahead. “Just don’t look too long, Virtue,” he said. “The Thames is full of things that would love to make you a part of its collection.”

Virtue swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away and refocusing on the path ahead. The glow of her map overlay showed that they were nearing Bermondsey, and her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Almost there,” she murmured, more to herself than to Saveloy.

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The quiet didn’t last. Without warning, something crashed onto the roof of the carriage—a dark figure, bouncing across it with unnatural agility. Virtue gasped, pulling back on the reins, the carriage jerking to a sudden stop.

“Spring-Heeled Jack!” Saveloy called out, twisting his head to try and catch sight of their attacker. “Nasty little bugger!”

The figure—tall, spindly, with glowing red eyes—grinned down at Virtue, its teeth sharp and yellowed. It wore tattered victorian-style clothes, its feet encased in strange mechanical boots that allowed it to leap high into the air. With a cackle, it bounded off the roof and then back again, the entire carriage shaking with the impact.

Saveloy let out a frustrated snort and, without warning, kicked out with one of his powerful hind legs. He managed to connect with the repellent creature, sending it flying down the street, tumbling across the cobblestones with a thud. Virtue caught her breath, her heart racing, but the reprieve was short-lived. The figure leaped back to its feet, its grin even wider.

“Persistent, aren’t you?” Virtue muttered, reaching for the blunderbuss Null had given her. She leveled it at the creature, her hands trembling slightly. She squeezed the trigger, the gun roaring as it fired. A brilliant bleu bolt of energy shot out of the muzzle. The recoil nearly knocked her back, but the shot hit its mark—striking Spring-Heeled Jack square in the chest.

The creature let out an ear-piercing screech, its form flickering like a faulty hologram before it bounded away, disappearing into the mist. Virtue let out a shaky breath, lowering the blunderbuss. “Didn’t kill it, but at least it’s gone.”

Saveloy snorted again, his ears flicking back. “More incoming,” he warned, nodding towards the shadows that moved in the mist—more figures, each with those same glowing eyes.

Virtue’s eyes widened, and she flicked the reins hard. “Let’s go!”

Saveloy needed no further urging, and the carriage shot forward, the wheels rattling over the cobblestones. The dark figures gave chase, their cackling laughter echoing through the narrow streets of Bermondsey. Virtue’s heart pounded, her eyes fixed on the glowing map in her vision, the marker for the Cockatrice and Bullock inching closer and closer.

They rounded a corner, the carriage skidding slightly on the uneven stones, and Virtue caught sight of the inn up ahead—a large, weathered building, its sign swinging gently in the night breeze. The Cockatrice and Bullock. She urged Saveloy on, the dark figures still close behind, their laughter grating on her ears.

With a final burst of speed, Saveloy pulled the carriage into the yard of the inn, the creatures stopping short at the edge of the property, their eyes glowing angrily from the shadows. Virtue felt an odd sense of protection settle over them, as if an invisible barrier kept the nasty creatures at bay.

The inn seemed to be under some sort of enchantment, a protective charm that prevented anything sinister from crossing onto the grounds.

A jovial innkeeper stepped out of the inn's door, his round face illuminated by the warm light spilling out behind him. He wore a wide smile between his mutton chops, and waved enthusiastically as he approached. “Welcome, welcome! You’ve had quite the night, I see,” he called out. “Name’s Mr. Higgins, and you must be our newest guests.”

Virtue jumped down, her legs shaky as she patted Saveloy’s neck. “We made it,” she whispered, relief flooding through her.

“Barely,” Saveloy replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “I hope they’ve got a decent stable. I need a rest.”

Mr. Higgins chuckled, nodding. “We’ll take good care of you, no worries there. Ned!” he called, turning towards the stable.

A young stable boy came running out, his face bright with curiosity. “Yes, Mr. Higgins?”

“Take this fine steed to the stable, give him some warm hay and a good carrot or two. He’s earned it,” Mr. Higgins instructed.

Ned nodded eagerly, stepping up to Saveloy. “Right this way, sir,” he said to the horse, with a respectful bow. Saveloy let out a tired but amused snort.

“Sir, is it? I could get used to this,” Saveloy muttered as Ned led him away.

Virtue waved farewell to Saveloy, looking towards the inn’s door, where a warm light spilled out onto the cobblestones.