Authors: Sharon Joss
General
Somerset, a cavalry lieutenant and three soldiers he’d commandeered accompanied
him. As they followed the corpses, the General’s discomfort seemed to grow with
every step. “Why did they take off their clothes?”
“They are not men anymore. They are Draugs; creatures
of an ancient earth magick. The longer they are animated by magick, the larger
and more powerful they become. Human clothing can no longer contain them. Cold
and heat and stony trails do not bother them. They do not tire and they cannot
be stopped. They are perfect soldiers now.”
Only a thin sliver of moon and the dim gleam of stars
shown down on the naked shoulders marching ahead of them. Like ghosts, the
Draugs made no sound, save in their near-silent tread. They did not speak, nor
glance to the right or left; only toward their target on top of the hill
overlooking the valley.
They were still a quarter mile away when the first
draugs reached the causeway, and Sir Magnus heard the first shouts of alarm.
With the first gunshots, the rest of the draugs began to run. Outpaced by the eight-foot
tall draugs, he and General Somerset and their escort were soon left behind. By
the time they reached the Russian camp, most of the screaming had stopped, and the
carnage was far worse than even Sir Magnus could have imagined.
General Somerset gasped at the sight.
There were no Russians left alive. The encampment
appeared deserted—tents had been smashed to the ground, and in a few
cases fallen into the campfires. But there, at the furthest edges of the eerie
firelight, crouched the hulking Draugs feasting on the flesh and bones of dead
Russian soldiers with ghastly enthusiasm. Sir Magnus saw no evidence of
Koschkei, although there was no way to identify any of the dead at this point.
General Somerset grabbed his shoulder. “Good God, man,
you’ve got to stop this!”
Even as the scene repulsed Sir Magnus, he reveled in
the flow of the Draug’s power as it pulsed back and forth between him and his
Draugs. As if they were all one being, his mouth tasted the blood that filled
theirs. They were new beings—they
needed
fresh meat. His hands shared the draug’s experience of tearing tender flesh
with his fingers. Oh yes, it was very good indeed.
This was power. Real power.
The General shook him roughly, snapping him from his
reverie. “What’s wrong with you? I said stop them!” He took a sudden step back,
putting his hand to his mouth. “Your face--.” He cleared his throat. “This is
unholy sacrilege, Vetch.”
Sir Magnus stared into the horrified, desperate face
of the of the man who would presume to give him orders. Only one of their
escort remained standing—the cavalry lieutenant. Two of the others had
fainted, and a third had fled. The ancient magick surged through him, and he saw
that the Draugs had stopped eating. They were staring at him, awaiting
his
orders. He alone was the master
here, not Somerset. The man seemed terrified; almost as if he knew what the
royal wizard was thinking.
With one
thought I could crush you…
General Somerset drew his revolver. “Stop what you’re
doing this instant or I shall shoot you where you stand. Leave our dead to lie
in peace.”
A stab of fear quelled the heat coursing his body. If
he died, so too would his creations. It was almost enough to know that he could
call them again, when the time was right; when he could use them to his
advantage. With effort, Sir Magnus pushed the power down, down, back into the
earth from whence it came.
The effort seemed to go on forever. Sir Magnus dropped
to his knees, feeling sweaty and sick by the time the Draugs finally began to
shrink and whither. One by one, they eventually fell to the earth beside the
remains of their victims, lifeless corpses once again.
When at last it was over, General Somerset roused the
soldiers and ordered the men to load the corpses into the abandoned Russian
wagons and burn them. When it was done, Magnus did as he was ordered and
mesmerized the men so that they would not remember the incident.
Isle of Dogs
May, 1871
Sir Magnus Vetch stood in the cargo hold of the moored
Slough Maid
, holding the lamp, while
Raikes knelt in the slosh and clamped the last set of manacles around the
ankles of each of the eleven draugs. Except for the shakedown cruises and their
daily ration of blood and gibbets, the creatures spent most of their time in a
dormant state, which greatly reduced the drain on his magick. The chains should
not have been necessary, but after tonight’s incident with Hamm Foine, Sir
Magnus was taking no chances.
“There was fireworks goin’ off over the airfield. We’d just made a
pass on the Greenwich side, and was coming about for one last run. We was
comin’ up on the ferry dock, and he just walked out of the wheelhouse and
jumped overboard. Didn’t say nowt, ‘e just jumped. ”
Chagrined, Magnus said nothing. There were limits to his magick,
apparently. He’d raised more than eighty such corpses in Crimea, and never had
this problem; although admittedly, he had not needed them for more than a few
hours. He’d already trimmed the crew as much as he dared. In a couple more
days, three at the most, they would be expendable, and he could withdraw his
magick, but until the Queen was in hand and in his thrall again, he would have
to find a way to contain them.
Once animated by his earth magick, they required a continuous link
with him. If he withdrew his power, their corpses decayed at an accelerated
rate and could not be reanimated a second time. He would either have to find a
new crew or continue feeding them on magick and blood. He needed very one of
them to overcome the crew of the
Alberta
,
but without the ferryman, the plan fell apart.
“Maybe ‘e was upset by
the fireworks. Or maybe ‘e was listenin’ to ‘is own counsel. You said ‘e’d do
as ‘e was told, but he was paying nowt mind to me.”
Raikes appeared visibly upset, a reaction that unnerved Sir Magnus
almost as much as the dead ferryman’s inexplicable behavior. Draugs retained
most of the skills they’d known in life, and even possessed a rudimentary
magick of their own; it wasn’t possible that a draug would ignore a directive
from its maker. He’d ordered each and every one of them to obey Raikes. “What
did you say to him? Tell me your exact words.”
“It ‘appened so fast, I didn’t get a chance to say nowt. I’m no
ferry pilot. By the time I circled the boat back ‘round, ‘e was grappling wi’
‘is wife and that police inspector fella. Greenslade.” Raikes explained how
he’d managed to bring the
Slough Maid
upriver on his own as far as the warehouse dock, but was not skilled enough to
bring it in for mooring, so he simply ordered the draugs to drag it up the
channel. “The rest of ‘em hopped right to it. No problem.”
Sir Magnus stretched out with his mind and summoned the former
ferry master. There was no response. Not even a glimmer. What to do?
More than anything, he wanted to go see if he could find the
missing draug himself. Perhaps he’d misjudged the Islander. According to the
Swedish earth mage whose magick he’d taken, as long as they remained within a
few kilometers of the place they died, they could be completely controlled. And
certainly, the crew of the
Valkyrie
had proved thoroughly reliable. And after a few regrettable accidents, even the
dogs Raikes was so fond of had become as trustworthy as lapdogs. Yet he’d
instructed the draugs to layer in several inches of island dirt into the hold,
just to be sure.
Perhaps the ferryman retained a bit of residual memory which had
been triggered as
The
Slough Maid
passed the familiar ferry
dock. That might explain the draug’s behavior, but that kind of slip up could
ruin everything he’d worked so hard for. Raikes had always struck him as been
smarter than his station, but if the knacker couldn’t control the draugs, he
would have to be much more involved in the actual snatching; something he
hadn’t anticipated.
That meant being aboard the
Slough
Maid
during the snatch, for one thing. Probably above decks, too, which
would put him at risk for a stray bullet, as the Queen’s guard would certainly
be armed and put up a fight to keep her from being taken. No magick on earth
could turn a bullet.
Of course, once he had her, the guards wouldn’t dare shoot.
“Manacles won’t hold these beasties for long,” Raikes muttered.
“They don’t need to,” Sir Magnus answered. “It’s just a precaution
to keep them in contact with the earth.” He double-checked the locks and
followed Raikes up the companionway and two flights to the main deck. “I want
you to go back out there. Find him. Bring him back.”
Raikes rubbed the back of his neck. “No point in searchin’ for
‘im, I say. He’ll be back. Fellow knows this is where to find ‘is meat and
blood.”
Sir Magnus shook his head, his mouth in a grim line. “You’ve a
mess to clean up, John. I can’t have him wandering around the marsh all night.
I want him back before morning.”
Raikes’s attitude of late had become more than a little troubling.
Not for the first time, he wondered whether the knacker might serve him better
as a draug. But he needed him for a while longer.
He straightened his coat. Getting the ferryman back wasn’t going
to be enough. There was too much at stake to trust to John Raikes alone. He had
to make sure of his support. That had been the mistake of it in
Crimea—depending too much on one person for his success. And putting all
his trust in one person—even the Queen—had proved his undoing. He
checked his pocketwatch. Late, but not too late—everyone would be at
home.
And really, he didn’t need to speak to
all
the council members. Sam Trickett and Dean Claridge, certainly.
Wickes, of course. And the Mayor, Palmer Nash. He slipped the watch back into
his vest pocket.
If he dispensed with the social niceties, he could make his rounds
in an hour or less.
Simon pounded the waterlogged Inspector on the back as he coughed
up a seemingly inexhaustible amount of water on the floor of Welsie’s cramped
kitchen. She hovered nearby, twisting a wadded-up towel, her red-rimmed eyes
big as saucers.
The inspector struggled to his knees and waved him off.
“He’ll be all right,” Simon told her.
“What did you do? He was dead. ” She knelt beside the officer and
wiped his face with the towel. “Did you use your magick?”
“No I--.” He shook his head. “He wasn’t dead, love. I cleared some
of the water from his lungs to get his breathing started again, that’s all. He’s
doing the rest on his own.” Against his own dislike for Greenslade, he knew the
wretched feeling of what it was like to drown. More than once he’d made a
mistake in his high dive act with Arvel, and nearly drowned in a five foot deep
water tank.
Greenslade’s gagging finally subsided, and he gazed up at them,
bleary-eyed. As soon as he recognized Simon, he scrambled to his feet and took
an unsteady swing at him. “Bastard! You tried to kill me!”
Simon dodged the blow. Welsie grabbed Greenslade by one arm, and
together they shoved him up against the heavy kitchen work table.
“No, Roman, he just saved your life! Listen to me, it was Hamm!” She
told Greenslade how Hamm had come to the back door soaking wet, and tried to
drag her out into the river with him. “When you tried to stop him, he tried to
drown you in the shallows. I thought you were already dead.” Her voice broke.
She was crying now. “If Simon hadn’t come along when he did—he saved your
life.”
Clarity finally dawned in the Inspector’s eyes and he looked a bit
taken aback. Simon released his grip, and the inspector sagged against the
table for support.
In spite of his dislike for the man, Simon couldn’t help but feel
a little sorry for him. He looked terrified.
Haunted
.
Greenslade put his hand to his mouth as a series of shudder
wracked his body. “Oh god.” His legs buckled and he sank to the floor. He
closed his eyes.
The dog jumped into his lap, wiggling and squirming his way closer
to lick at his jaw. Instinctively, the Inspector’s hands caressed the pup, and
his expression softened and his trembling eased. He gave Simon a small nod.
It wasn’t an apology, but Simon understood what it had cost the
man to acknowledge him. As close as he and Arvel were, there was something more
than friendship that connected Simon with this policeman now. He and Arvel
shared it, after the Paretti clan had taken him in as boys. A shared traumatic
experience bound them together forever. Sir Hillary called it life magick. A
debt so great, only the death of both would end their obligation to each other.
He watched Vectis—
no
Henry
, fawn over Greenslade.
He’s
trying to make him feel better.
The dog had never been that way with him;
not even after three months together.
Greenslade coughed. “Listen. That wasn’t Hamm. I’ve seen it
before. It was in the war--.” His eyes widened as he noticed Welsie had slipped
her arm around Simon’s waist.
Pale as he was from his near-drowning experience, an expression of
bleak hopelessness appeared on Greenslade’s face.
He’s lost her
,
and he knows
it.
And as petty as it was, Simon could not help but enjoy the small,
unbidden thrill of victory surge through him. He put his arm around her
shoulder.
That’s right. She made her
choice. I’m the one she wants.
Greenslade coughed and his expression grew stony again. He drew
himself up, cradling the dog in his arms. “Ah. Hmm. All right then. Never mind.”
He shouldered his way past them.
A sudden chill lifted the hairs on Simon’s neck. Greenslade knew
something. “Wait.”
“Please, Roman!” Welsie stopped him at the front door. “What about
Hamm?”
“We both know that wasn’t Hamm. Get out of my way, girl.” He shoved
past her and was gone.
Simon moved to follow him, but Welsie grabbed him back. “No. Let
him go. I’m scared, Simon.” Her eyes were wide with fright. “What if he comes
back?”