Fallen (8 page)

He turned and strode through a waste
courtyard full of dead brush and rocks, carrying me like a
figurine. I saw a wall of rough stone blocks one hundred feet high
surrounding us on every side.

The giant set me down among a flock of more
mud people—all of them chained to great spiked balls of iron. One
of the iron balls threw a chain at me like an octopus’s tentacle,
clasping my ankle with a manacle that snapped shut with a sound
like a gunshot. The giant ordered me to work with a thunderous
roar. I found a dull pick-axe lying on the ground nearby.

The crack of the giant’s whip across my
mud-covered flesh told me the tool was meant for my hands. I arched
my back in pain, crying out as blood poured from the wound. My
hands scrabbled across the dusty ground, retrieving the implement
before another blow could be thrown. I fell into pace with the
other hopeless mud people around me, hammering uselessly away at
huge chunks of rock. I could see no purpose in our drudgery except
to break our spirits.

Above the courtyard, a huge gothic edifice
watched over us all like an owl peering hungrily through the night
at its prey. There was no sun, no moon—only the bleary gray of dusk
with no end in sight.

The morning light roused us from our bunks
in the tenement. Dozens of boys clamored for their meager
belongings. Mr. Sinister was nowhere to be seen, but still the boys
moved with purpose, seeming to know the consequences for
misbehavior.

Tom found me and showed me a place where
they kept a bucket of water to wash up in. A used rag, which may
have been white at one time but was now dingy brown, lay wet over
the lip of the bucket. I removed my shirt then soaked the rag with
water and rung it out several times.

Using the rag, I washed my face, arms and
chest then rung out the rag and replaced it on the bucket for the
next boy. I didn’t care to think that I was probably the last in
line already.

By the time we found our way out onto the
streets again, early morning commuters were already bustling along
the endless river of human traffic. Mr. Sinister had suggested that
I go along with Tom and two other boys in order to learn their
trade and earn my keep. I took the man’s suggestion as the order it
was meant to be and kept pace with Tom and the other two boys: Bill
and Peter.

Tom and the other boys meandered along
through the London streets, seeming to know their way expertly
while I tried to keep up, fearing I would surely get left behind if
I lost sight of them. But I noticed that Tom never let me wander
too far from them.

Several times I noticed him pause among the
thronging passersby to be sure that I was still there. I got the
feeling that either he was genuinely concerned for my well-being,
or he knew the punishment he might receive for losing me. Either
way, I was grateful for his attentiveness.

We made several stops that morning; not at
all the business I might have suspected Mr. Sinister and his boys
to be involved in. I had thought, possibly, that they were mere
pick-pockets largely due to the incident that had landed them and
me in prison. However, this appeared not to be the case at all.

We entered a local pub bearing the moniker
The Lazy Lad
where Tom immediately sauntered up to the bar.
A rather large man wiped a puddle of beer from the dark mahogany
bar top. When he spotted Tom, his demeanor changed, going from
contentment to anger and then to fear in the blink of an eye. I
might have expected anger since boys our age had no business in a
pub. Already the place was half full of patrons starting their day
in a way that suggested they would end it in the same way, sitting
upon the same stools, walking the muddled line between
consciousness and unconsciousness.

However, the unsaid exchange taking place
between Tom and the barkeep was truly perplexing. My new friend, if
indeed he could be called such, acted as though he owned the place.
The barkeep drew four drafts, one for each of us, and placed them
quickly upon the bar. Tom, Peter and Bill sidled up to their drinks
and began to imbibe. I left mine sitting, its foam cascading down
the side of the tankard.

“Looks like business is going well, John”
Tom remarked.

The barkeep acknowledged the comment
somewhat grudgingly. “You’ve just caught me on a good day,” he
said. “Hardly a soul has been in here all week before today.”

Tom laughed before taking a deep drink of
beer. “John, John,” he said, chastising the man. “Don’t play me for
the fool. We do have eyes in every place, you see? We know what you
can do and not do for us in exchange for our services.”

“I’m barely feeding my family as it is,”
John complained in hushed tones, hoping that his customers wouldn’t
hear.

“Of course, if you feel you don’t need our
services anymore, that’s all fine and dandy,” Tom said. “But
accidents can happen when you least expect, taking a terrible
toll.”

At that moment, a bottle of liquor fell from
the shelf behind John. When it smashed to pieces upon the ground at
his feet, it burst into flames, even catching John’s pant leg on
fire. The barkeep practically leaped out of his skin, beating the
flames with his damp rag. I grabbed my tankard from the bar and
heaved the beer onto the flames, snuffing them out instantly.

Tom was already half way to the door with
Peter and Bill trailing lazily behind him. I had been transfixed by
the fire, not realizing they had gotten up.

“It’s a cruel world to be taking chances
with your valuables,” Tom called back.

John also hadn’t realized Tom was leaving.
“Wait!” he called.

As Tom turned, John went through his till,
fishing out a wad of money which he offered to Bill. The boy took
the money, winking at the barkeep with a smile. “Nice doing
business with you, sir,” he offered condescendingly.

“Come along, Brody,” Tom said as he turned
back to the door, heading out.

I looked one last time at John the barkeep
as I turned from the bar. His eyes were shooting daggers into me. I
could only offer him an apologetic glance to atone for my
associated guilt.

When I hit the streets with Tom and the
other boys again, I immediately confronted them.

“You’re blackmailing these people!” I
shouted.

Tom’s wan smile faded abruptly. “We do as
we’re told, which is something you had better learn quickly,” he
said. “Life is a hard road, Brody. I would think the last few days
might have taught you that already.”

“Hard road?” I snapped. “You seemed to enjoy
yourself well enough, strutting around like a peacock. You were
happy to take the bread from that man’s table.”

“If it puts bread on my own, sure,” he said.
“But what you don’t realize are the dangers lurking in this city
that his money will keep away. Sinister offers them
protection.”

“Protection from what?” I protested.

Tom drew very near to me then. His emerald
blue eyes flashed with anger. “Things you’ve yet to notice. Just
because your father died and you’ve been pinched and spent a night
in prison and dangled briefly from the rope don’t make you
knowledgeable about the
real
world.”

I noticed that Peter and Bill were standing
behind Tom in a daze. Their eyes were glassy, their attention a
million miles away. I swallowed the lump in my throat and deferred
to them, hoping to change the subject.

“What did you do to them?” I asked.

“Who? Bill and Peter?” he asked, smiling.
“Just a bit of stupid to keep them occupied.”

“They don’t know about the
real
world?” I quipped.

“Are you joking?” he asked, incredulous.
“None of Sinister’s boys know anything about anything. They serve a
purpose for a while until they get pinched, or misbehave.”

I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know the
answer, but I asked the question anyway. “What happens when they
misbehave.”

Tom’s smile vanished. “Brody, you see things
others don’t for a reason. Somehow you’re one of us, a descendant
of the Fallen, and I can appreciate your curiosity. After all, you
clearly weren’t brought up with any knowing, but you ask too many
questions…dangerous questions. I’ve told you once, don’t cross
Sinister. For now, that’s all you need to know to survive.”

I was just about to ask Tom what he meant by
the Fallen, when a horrible sight entered my peripheral vision. I
looked past Tom to the person crossing the street behind him,
walking toward
The Lazy Lad
.

What had only a moment ago appeared to be an
average man, bearing two-day-old stubble and the thinning hair of a
man past his prime, had transformed into a terrifying sack doll
exactly like those made within the sweat shop at Sinister’s
tenement. The sack man turned toward me, hissing and wailing like a
banshee.

At once, I felt as though my soul was being
sucked from my body, dragged toward a horrible darkness that
refused to let me go. I screamed, trying to turn and run for my
life. Tom had just noticed what I saw. I heard the sound of glass
shattering as windows in the buildings around us burst. A flame,
coming from nowhere, erupted toward the sack man, consuming the
creature as I turned to lay my eyes on my escape. My legs turned to
jelly, and my head swam. The street spun in my vision. Then
blackness overtook me.

Tom turned as Brody’s eyes grew wide, terror
written all over him. Behind him, one of Sinister’s dolls took
notice of Brody, hissing and rising up defensively like a cobra.
The boy screamed, causing the windows in nearby buildings to
explode. His power, more considerable than Tom might have
suspected, had been loosed uncontrolled through the boy’s reaction
to seeing the doll.

Tom turned back to stop Brody’s sudden
flight, finding a blossom of flame mushrooming toward him. He threw
himself out of the way just in time, unfortunately forgetting about
Peter and Bill who remained dumb behind him. The flame flew between
them, singeing eyebrows and bangs, before engulfing the doll. The
creature screamed madly for only a moment before the inferno
incinerated its burlap skin and sawdust innards, leaving nothing
but ash upon the cool breeze.

The enchantment upon Peter and Bill fell
away as the boys reacted to the sudden heat that had left them both
smoldering. They leaped about, slapping themselves wildly, swearing
until every tiny ember was extinguished. They stood gulping at the
air with soot-stained expressions of bewilderment, looking to Tom
for some explanation. He gave them none, instead examining the
damage Brody had caused.

He grinned as his eyes fell upon the
unconscious boy. “Took a bit out of you, but not bad old boy, not
bad.”

Tom gazed upward as a familiar shadow swept
over him, crossing the street. His grin fell away immediately when
he spotted Mr. Sinister standing atop of
The Lazy Lad
.

The stern glare Sinister shared with Tom
told him that his master had seen what had happened between Brody
and the doll. He was not pleased. Tom held his gaze a moment longer
until he felt Sinister release him. He turned back to Brody lying
facedown upon the street.

No one had reacted to the commotion the boy
had caused, not even when the doll burst into flames and
disintegrated. Tom had weaved a glamour about them in order to hide
the matter from mortal eyes. Pedestrians continued past, seeing
only what they supposed they should see, giving Tom and Brody a
wide birth even without realizing they were doing so.

Hours later, upon one of the high parapets
of an unfinished Tower Bridge, a cloaked figure stood overlooking
the Thames coursing beneath. The bridge had been under construction
for nearly two years now with most of the work still unfinished.
Though it carried no traffic yet, the location still made for a
most appropriate meeting place when matters of the darkest nature
needed discussing away from prying eyes and ears.

A raven, silhouetted against the bright full
moon, sailed on toward the castle-like structures rising from the
waters, knowing exactly where he should find his master waiting.
The cloaked figure, finely dressed as he was wont to be, did not
regard the large bird until the
fowl
creature descended, its
plumage expanding to form a dark tattered cape, its small legs
stretching until they became quite human.

“You are twenty seconds late,” the cloaked
man said, holding a brilliantly crafted gold pocket watch. He
snapped it shut, punctuating his irritation with the raven.

The dark beak had peeled back to reveal the
head of a man wearing a bowler hat like a black knob upon his head.
“My apologies, my lord Black,” Mr. Sinister said, bowing at the
waist.

Mr. Black stiffened knowingly. “What has
happened?”

“One of the dolls was spotted today and
nearly destroyed,” Sinister said reluctantly. He did not wish to
report bad news to his master. Mr. Black’s temper was a beast not
to be trifled with, as many unfortunates had come to
understand.

“Spotted by whom? One of Oliver’s lackeys?”
Mr. Black replied.

“By a young boy who has become entangled
with one of my own,” Sinister reported. “I’ve been told that he has
the Sight.”

“What’s the problem then? Kill the boy,” Mr.
Black ordered. “The doll should have regenerated already. It seems
a simple matter.”

Mr. Sinister did not reply. Mr. Black waited
for a moment, considering again the report his servant had brought.
“You said the boy nearly destroyed the doll?”

Sinister had been hoping he wouldn’t have to
point out the obvious problem. “Yes, my lord.”

“Are you certain the boy is not a plant sent
by Oliver? He’s an old fool, but a crafty one.”