Rise of the Darklings (9 page)

Emily grimaced and took the warm sludge. She pasted it over her wound.

“What were you doing in the alley, anyway?” asked Corrigan.

“Looking for my penny. I dropped it when Ravenhill grabbed me. I meant to use it to buy watercress.” She sighed. What was she going to do now? Maybe William would get a ha’penny from Mrs. Derry if he did a good job.

“Here,” said Merrian gruffly.

Emily looked up. Nestled inside Merrian’s huge palm was a shiny shilling. “A reward. For saving Corrigan here.”

Emily stared at the money. With that she would be able to buy proper food, and even have some left over for boiled plum puddings.
And
baked ‘taters. Her mouth watered at the thought. She looked into Merrian’s eyes, unsure.

“I can see ye’re a proud girl. And there’s nothin’ wrong with that. But this isn’t charity, right? It’s reward for a job well done. You saved the life of Corrigan here. This is payment.”

Emily reached out and took the coin. “Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t mention it. Now, I think ye should go. Get back to your little world and forget everything that happened today.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Emily asked in surprise.

Merrian shrugged. “I thought that was something you humans were good at.” He bent down and gently prodded
Corrigan. The piskie had fallen asleep. Or passed out. Merrian grunted with satisfaction and put a small amount of the poultice on his leg.

“Will he be all right?”

Merrian glanced up, his huge brows drawn together. “Should be. I think you got him here in time.”

Emily nodded. She lingered, unwilling to let the events of the morning slip away so readily. She took one last look before she left the shop, trying to freeze in her mind the image of a half-giant bending over a sleeping piskie, then stepped out into the watery gray morning.

Emily bought two baked ‘taters and held them beneath her jacket so she could feel their warmth against her stomach. She usually spent most of the day walking the streets, trying to sell the watercress, but today she was free. For the first time in a very long time, she could simply relax, maybe even nap. The mere thought of this sent a shiver of anticipation through her. That’s what she would do. She would eat her potato, then climb under the blankets and sleep away the morning. Later she could go out to find some supper.

She looked up at the gray sky as she turned the corner into Blackfriars Street. The clouds were low and heavy, looking fit to burst.

Emily entered her room and put the two potatoes on the chest of drawers in the corner. She was just about to unwrap hers when she heard a noise behind her. She turned quickly, but saw it was only William, still asleep in bed.

It took a moment for this to sink in, then she hurried over to the bed, suddenly fearful for her brother. He’d only just got over the flu, and she’d heard it could sometimes come back worse than before.

Emily carefully laid her hand against William’s forehead. It was cool to the touch. No fever.

William stirred. His eyes fluttered open and he stared sleepily at Emily.

“Em?” He yawned and sat up.

“What are you doing?” Emily asked. “You’re supposed to be at Mrs. Derry’s shop.”

William glanced at the small slice of gray sky visible through the net curtain. “Too cold,” he mumbled.

“Too cold?” Emily couldn’t believe her ears. Here she was, up every day before it was even light, and he was complaining about it being too cold?

She opened her mouth to shout at him, but then stopped herself. She and William had been arguing more and more often lately, ever since he’d turned nine and started spending all his time with the other boys from the street. She still saw him as her little brother, in need of her protection, and
sometimes he was. But more often than not he was trying to find his own place in the world, and Emily was terrified there would come a time when he wouldn’t need her anymore. She’d thought about asking Jack to have a word with him but had eventually decided against it. Jack wasn’t exactly the kind of person Emily wanted giving advice to William.

“You know we need the money, William. I can’t
do
this …” Emily trailed off, the words dying on her tongue. What was the point? She’d said it all before. She turned away from William and picked up his potato, dropping it onto the bed.

Emily sank into the old rocking chair, her back to her brother. She knew it wasn’t fair. He was only nine years old. He shouldn’t have to worry about money, about working. But it wasn’t fair to her, either.

She could hear him moving around behind her, pulling on his clothes, by the sound of it. Then she felt a cold draft as he pulled the door open.

“It wasn’t like this when Ma was around,” he said.

Emily turned around. William was standing at the open door. “Where are you going?” she asked wearily.

“Exactly where you told me to go. To see Mrs. Derry.” William stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Emily alone with her thoughts.

He was right, of course. It
hadn’t
been like this when Ma was around. That day she didn’t come home was the day Emily had become an adult, whether she liked it or not. That was the day she had to take responsibility for herself and William, who was only seven at the time.

It hadn’t always been that way. They had been well off once. Her da ran a mill outside London. Emily had gone to school, had been quite an intelligent girl, according to her teachers. She had a gift for solving puzzles, they said.

But then came the day her da went away on business and didn’t come back. Ma had to sell the house, and they’d moved to Cheapside to try and make a new life for themselves. Her schooling had been one of the first things to go.

Emily didn’t like thinking about it. She had to accept the fact that her parents were gone and somehow carry on.

Her thoughts turned to the events of that morning, to faeries and piskies, hidden wars and half-giants. It was all so … 
impossible
. And she’d been told to just forget about it. How on earth was she supposed to do that? Never again would she be able to simply walk down the street and think that everything was normal. She’d always be looking out for the signs. Every movement glimpsed from the corner of her eye would hold the possibility of a hidden world, separated from hers by a couple of streets and a hint of magic. Every strange noise that woke her in the middle of the night would
make her think of secret battles fought along the rooftops of London.

How could she possibly forget all that?

Emily shifted slightly. As she did so, she felt something press against her side. She reached into her coat and pulled out the small satchel that Corrigan had been carrying. She had forgotten to give it back to him.

Curiosity overcame her and she opened it up. Inside was a piece of parchment, folded over and over to fit inside the small space. Unfolded, it was about the size of her hand and felt smooth, thick, more like fabric than paper.

But it was blank. Emily stared at the paper in disappointment. She turned it over, held it up to the light, even tilted it at an angle to see if the writing had perhaps faded, but in the end she had to admit that there was nothing there.

Why would Corrigan be carrying such a thing?

The room suddenly dimmed, as if a large cloud had passed across the sun. Except there was no sun today. Heavy gray clouds hung threateningly over the city. Emily looked out the window and almost cried out in shock.

The shape of a man was silhouetted against the light. The shape was tall and thin, and as she watched, it bent slowly forward until Emily could see the outline of a top hat.

Ravenhill.

How had he found her?

Then she remembered. She had told him what street she lived on. How could she have been so stupid?

He cupped his hands against the glass and tried to peer through the window, but the net curtain blocked his view. Emily looked around, wondering what to do. What did he want? She hadn’t seen him since this morning in the alley. There was nothing to connect her to the fey, no reason he should think she was involved. He had said so himself.

Whatever his reasons, Emily realized she had to get away. She didn’t want him in her home, didn’t want him seeing her here. It would be too much of a trespass.

Emily quickly returned the satchel and paper to her pocket. Keeping her eyes on the shadow at the window, she stepped to the door and pulled it open.

Mr. Blackmore, Ravenhill’s fat friend, stumbled into the room. He looked as if he had been eavesdropping at the door. Emily tried to dart past him, but he caught hold of her arm and pulled the door closed, so they were both standing in the hall outside.

“Not so fast, miss, beggin’ yer pardon.” He raised his voice. “Mr. R. In here.”

Emily struggled to break free, but Blackmore had a very strong grip for someone who looked so soft and round. “Let me go,” she snapped. “You’ve no right.”

“Sorry, miss. Just doin’ as I’m told.”

The front door to the tenement opened and Mr. Ravenhill ducked into the corridor. He took off his hat and looked around with an air of distaste.

“Filthy place,” he muttered. Then he turned to Emily. “Miss Snow.
So
good to see you again. Are you well?”

Emily craned her neck to see outside, making sure there was no sign of Will. He was long gone. That was something at least.

“Now,” said Ravenhill. “After we … 
bumped
into each other this morning, I did some thinking, didn’t I, Mr. Blackmore?”

“You did, Mr. R. You said to me, ‘Mr. Blackmore, I’ve been thinking about that little girl.’ ”

“Quite. And do you know what I was thinking?” he asked, staring directly into Emily’s eyes.

Emily shook her head.

“I was thinking”—his hand shot out suddenly and gripped hold of Emily’s chin, squeezing it painfully between his long fingers—“that Emily Snow is nothing but a filthy little liar.”

Emily tried to pull her head away, but Ravenhill kept a tight grip on her chin.

“Do not fight, Miss Snow. It only angers me. Now. Let us start again, shall we? What were you doing in that alley? What did you see?”

He relaxed his grip on her chin so she could speak.

“I told you the truth. I was going to the market.”

“Ye-es,”
said Ravenhill, stretching out the word. “And that was the truth. Insofar as the truth to the question I asked. You are very intelligent for one so young. I underestimated you. So I ask again. What did you see in that alley?”

“Nothing.”

Ravenhill took a deep breath. “Smell that, Mr. Blackmore? It is the stench of untruth.” He turned his attention back to Emily. “You saw them, didn’t you?”

“Who?” Emily was getting more and more scared. Ravenhill knew that she knew. She had to get away.

“Do you want me to name them?” asked Ravenhill softly. “I’m disappointed in you, Miss Snow. You saw … 
them
. The Little People. The Good Neighbors, the Lordly Ones, the Darkling Fey—whatever you want to call them. You saw them, didn’t you?”

He leaned forward until his large nose was almost touching hers. “I can smell them on you,” he whispered.

Emily struggled again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but you do, Miss Snow. Have they tricked you? Or are you involved of your own free will? Do you think them
delightful
? Like the stories in the books? Because they’re not, Miss Snow. They are dangerous, evil creatures who would like
nothing better than to destroy humankind. That is why we exist, you see. To make sure they do not succeed in their plans.”

Ravenhill let go of her chin and stood up. “Now. I think you should come with us to somewhere a bit more … 
pleasing
to the eye.”

He reached out for Emily, and for a brief moment she thought he was reaching for the satchel. Before she could stop herself, her hand clamped over the pocket where she’d hidden it. Ravenhill smiled, and it was one of the scariest smiles Emily had ever seen. It split his face open like a wound.

“Miss Snow,” he said, and Emily could hear the tremor in his voice, the barely suppressed excitement. “Are you … 
concealing
something from us?”

“No.”

“You are!” He clapped his hands together like an excited child. “Is it … Is it something
they
gave to you?”

Emily shook her head.

“Mr. Blackmore, today is a most glorious day. Hold her.”

Before Emily could do anything, Blackmore grabbed hold of Emily’s arms. Ravenhill leaned forward and reached into her coat. He withdrew the satchel, opened it, and pulled out the thick parchment.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s nothing. Just some paper. I’m going to write a letter, that’s all. Give it back.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Miss Snow.”

“Hoy,” said a voice. “What are you doing? Let her go.”

Emily almost fainted with relief. Jack stood in the doorway to the tenement, glaring at Blackmore. So fierce was his stare that the fat man actually released her arms and took a guilty step back.

Ravenhill, however, was not the least bit intimidated. He flicked a bored gaze over Jack, taking in his tattered wool coat and his dirty hat.