Death and the Arrow (7 page)

DEMON

The word demon was left hanging in the air. Tom gasped and turned to look at Dr. Harker, but it was Ocean who spoke first.

“A demon, you say?”

“Aye,” said the sergeant.

“You can’t really believe that, surely?” said Dr. Harker.

The sergeant turned on him angrily. “Look, you know something of those people, those Indians. You know they have their magic men, the shamans—”

“Yes, yes... but surely—”

“They say they have the power to call upon demons to do their bidding. Well, I killed such a shaman in that raid. I run him through with my own sword. I think his demon comes now to avenge him.”

“But what makes you think you are being chased by a
demon
?” said Dr. Harker.

“Because I seen him, that’s why.” The three listeners leaned forward eagerly. “I felt him watching me many times,” the sergeant explained. “But I only seen him the once. I was walking along the Tyburn Road when I felt his eyes on me. I spun round and for some reason I looked up, just in time to see him duck down behind a chimney.” Tom gasped. The three friends all looked at each other. “He was big, but fast with it. I don’t think it was any
man
up there.” The sergeant shuddered at the recollection. “Now I’ll thank you to leave me in peace.”

“But—” began Tom.

“Leave me alone, damn you!” shouted the sergeant, banging his pistol down on the table.

“Come, Tom,” said Ocean. “Let’s get out of this crypt.”

They left the sergeant to his vigil and climbed the steps leading up to street level. A balladeer was singing a song about a highwayman and his sweetheart, and they could hear cheers from the bear-baiting pit nearby.

“Come on, gents,” said Ocean. “Let’s cross back to the north shore. I never feel right south of the river.”

“I know what you mean,” said Dr. Harker. “Back to the City it is.”

“But what do you make of it all, sir?” asked Tom.

“Well, I do not believe that a demon stalks the streets of London, if that’s what you mean. There is logic in all this somewhere. Some sort of
human
logic. We just need to discover it.”

“But the sergeant
saw
the attack. He saw his men killed,” said Tom.

“He saw them
fall,
” said the doctor, turning away and walking briskly on ahead. “I do not believe that any of those missing men were actually killed, whatever the sergeant says. Do you remember what the man who attacked us called his cohort? Trooper! He called him trooper. And I do not believe that Bill Leech’s mother inherited any money. I think those men stole that silver. And if I’m any judge, it is the one called Shepton who is at the bottom of it all.”

“But this Shepton, Doctor...,” called Ocean. “The sergeant saw him shot.”

The doctor suddenly stopped in his tracks, groaned, and staggered backward, holding his chest.

“Dr. Harker?” said Tom.

Ocean grabbed hold of Dr. Harker as he fell back and, as he did so, they saw an arrow sticking out from between his fingers. The two friends looked wildly about them, trying to guess from which direction the arrow might have come. When they looked back, they found the doctor smiling.

“He saw what he was meant to see,” said the doctor, showing them the broken arrow and feathered flight the sergeant had thrown on the table. “Seeing should not always be the same as believing, gentlemen.”

With that, he set off toward London Bridge with a jaunty air, chuckling to himself, leaving Tom and Ocean staring openmouthed.

Tom was in the printing house cleaning the blocks when Ocean burst in that same evening.

“Master Tom,” he said, “we must get Dr. Harker and go back to the Ten-Killed Cat. I tipped the landlord some silver to tell me if anything happened to the sergeant and he’s sent word. Something’s happened, Tom. He says he’ll leave things be until we get there, so long as we’re quick. Will you come?”

“Of course,” said Tom. “I must just tell my father, and then I’ll be with you directly.”

But when he heard where his son was intending to go, Mr. Marlowe looked worried. “Tom,” he said, “I know you feel a need to find the men who murdered young Will, but . . .” He looked down at the floor, then cursed under his breath. “You’re all I have, Tom!”

“I have to do this, Father,” said Tom.

His father sighed. “I know it, Tom. I admire you for it. But take care.”

“I will, Father, I will.”

Tom’s father patted him on the shoulder and Tom left the print room.

Ocean was about to follow him out when Mr. Marlowe grabbed him by the coat. “You take care of that boy, do you hear me?” he said.

“No harm will come to Tom if I have any say in it,” said Ocean.

“I’ll hold you to that,” said Mr. Marlowe.

“I’d expect you to,” said Ocean.

Dr. Harker was as keen as Tom to discover what had happened in Southwark, but none of them were keen to reacquaint themselves with either the sergeant or the gin cellar he was holed up in. Ocean whistled to a hansom cab, and it pulled up in front of them.

“The Ten-Killed Cat in Southwark,” said Ocean. “And straight there, mind. We ain’t Italians.”

“I don’t go south of the river,” protested the driver. “Not at this hour. . . .”

“Get in,” said Ocean to Tom and Dr. Harker.

“Hey!” shouted the driver.

“Drive on, you rogue, or my friend here, who is a member of Parliament, will see to it that you lose your license—if you have one, that is!”

After a few seconds’ thought, the driver moved off, muttering to himself about the unfairness of life and the troubles that cursed him, as cab drivers often do. Tom and Dr. Harker smiled in admiration at Ocean’s quick wit, and he smiled back, enjoying the praise.

“A member of Parliament, eh?” said Dr. Harker.

“And a fine one you’d make, I’m sure,” said Ocean with a grin. Tom laughed.

“A little less from you, lad,” said the doctor. “I had half a thought to go into politics when I was younger.”

“Well, we’re all thankful you had a change of heart, Doctor, for a greater set of rogues and thieves you couldn’t find outside of Newgate.” Dr. Harker smiled. “It’s no life for an honest man like yourself.”

The cab pulled up outside the Ten-Killed Cat, the driver still muttering to himself. Tom, Ocean, and Dr. Harker got out and stood on the pavement underneath the creaking sign.

“Wait here till we return,” said Ocean to the cab driver.

“Ten minutes and no more,” he replied.

They walked down the steps as before. The sergeant was just where they had left him. His eyes were still fixed on the door, his hand holding his pistol, the torn pieces of card lying next to it.

But on his coat was another Death and the Arrow card, pinned there by the arrow that jutted from his chest.

ECLIPSE

It was only a day after the trip to Southwark and the discovery of the sergeant’s body when Ocean brought news of another victim. Dr. Harker went to view the body at Dr. Cornelius’s invitation. It turned out to be the man who had attacked them after their visit to the Arrow coffee house. If Dr. Harker was right in his calculations, then that meant there were only two of the men left.

April 22 was the day of the eclipse and Tom set out along Fleet Street with a parcel of pamphlets to deliver on his way to Dr. Harker’s house. He and Ocean had been invited to view the spectacle from the doctor’s roof. A strange evening twilight was spreading over the city, even though it was eight o’clock in the morning, and birds, in their confusion, were heading home to roost.

Tom walked briskly, eager not to miss anything and glad to have something to think about other than the grim business of the past few days. Without warning, a man stepped out in front of him and blocked his way. “What’s the hurry, lad?” he asked. Then Tom recognized him—the man with the cudgel who had attacked them in the alley when they emerged from the Arrow coffee house. A second man stepped out of the shadows. He had a long white scar running down the length of his face—a face every bit as evil as the sergeant said it was.

“Shepton!” said Tom, instantly regretting that he had let the name escape.

“Hark, Fisher!” said Shepton with a grin. “He knows my name.”

“And now he knows mine, thanks to you.”

“No matter,” said Shepton. “He shan’t tell, shall you, lad?”

Tom threw the parcel in Fisher’s face and ran down the street, with the two men in loud pursuit.

“Stop, thief!” cried Shepton. “He has my watch!”

A passerby made a lunge for Tom, but Tom swerved round him and ducked down an alleyway, only to find a dead end. Shepton and Fisher appeared at the entrance, silhouetted against a pale gray sky.

“Well now, this is a much better place for a quiet chat,” said Shepton. “Look at him, Fisher. We’ve gone and frightened the poor mite. Calm yourself, lad. We just want to talk, that’s all. I promise you I’ll not hurt you. We just want to know what that crazy soldier told you before he was so
brutally
dispatched.”

“He said he thought he was being followed by a demon,” said Tom.

Shepton laughed loudly. “Do you hear that, Fisher? A demon! He was a bigger fool than we took him for.”

“The boy knows nothing. Let’s just kill him and be done,” said Fisher. “All this talk makes me ache.”

“Fisher!” shouted Shepton, and pushed him out of the way. “Take no heed, son. You’ll come to no harm from me, I swear it. Now, what else did our brave sergeant tell you?”

“He thought that you were dead. That you had saved his life,” said Tom. Shepton laughed again. “But Dr. Harker knew it was a trick!” said Tom. “He knows you stole the silver.”

Shepton grabbed Tom by the collar and pulled him close. “Oh, dear me,” he said. “Here I am, talking all friendly like, and there you are talking me to the gallows. But I promised you I’d not hurt you, and I’m a man of my word.” He smiled once more, and then his face became blank. “Kill him, Fisher.”

At that moment, a maid opened a door into the alley and Tom bundled past her and into the house. The maid screamed, but Tom ran through the hall and out the front door, onto the street. He could hear Fisher close behind, and he ran without giving thought to the direction.

“Stop, thief!” called Fisher, using the same trick as Shepton. Tom ducked down an alleyway to avoid a butcher’s boy who tried to block his path with a cart. Fisher was only fifty yards behind him as he tumbled out in front of St. Paul’s Cathedral.

As Fisher started to catch up with him, Tom ran hell-for-leather up the cathedral steps. Fisher lunged for him but missed and fell, cursing his prey and rubbing his bruised knee. Tom ducked between the massive stone columns of the west front and in through the open door.

He felt more exposed than ever in the vastness of the cathedral: the scale of the building only served to make him feel more vulnerable. It seemed to take an age to reach the cover of a stone pillar; he ducked behind, hoping Fisher had not seen him.

Fisher entered the cathedral like a thunderclap; his boot heels clattered on the stone floor, echoing round the cavernous nave, then squeaked to a halt. Tom dropped silently to the floor and began to crawl away from the sound. There was a group of gentlemen only a few yards away. If he could just reach them, he would be safe. Fisher would not kill him with witnesses.

“I am a constable,” shouted Fisher, his voice booming round the building. “I do not wish to alarm you, but there is an escaped felon in the cathedral. He is a convicted murderer, but he is but a boy and armed only with a butcher’s knife. Could any of you good gentlemen assist me?” Just as Fisher had known it would, the cathedral emptied in seconds.

“’Tis just the two of us now, boy!” he shouted. “And what better place to meet your maker?”

Tom crawled away from the voice. His breath roared in his ears like a storm and his heart seemed to be booming out in the silence. Silence! Tom suddenly realized that he could no longer hear Fisher’s footsteps. Somehow the silence seemed more dreadful.

He held his breath and peeped round the base of a column. There was no one there. He retreated behind the column again, fighting to catch his breath. The door seemed so far away, but he had to try and reach it; he might not get another chance. He got to his feet and looked again; still no Fisher. He took a deep breath and ran toward the door.

Tom had not run two yards before a foot shot out from behind a column and sent him sprawling across the floor. It was Fisher. He strode forward and, in one movement, dragged Tom to his feet. He pulled the boy toward him by his lapels with one hand, holding an open clasp knife in the other. Tom could see his own frightened face reflected in its blade.

Fisher smiled and Tom brought his knee up with as much force as he could muster, hitting his attacker solidly between the legs. Fisher groaned and cursed and loosened his grip on Tom just enough for him to break free and run. But Fisher still blocked his exit; Tom was forced to run back into the cathedral.

Pain slowed Fisher down for a few seconds, but anger is a powerful anesthetic, and he was furious. He was soon only yards behind Tom, who feared he was now trapped; but then he saw an open door and made a dash for it. Fisher was after him immediately.

The door opened onto a spiral staircase, and Tom ran up the steps, two at a time. He could hear Fisher at his heels, and his breath came in gasps, the muscles in his legs begging him to stop, but fear and willpower urged him onward and upward.

His heart was thumping against his rib cage as he burst through a door that led out onto a circular gallery inside the dome. Tom looked over the balcony to see the sunburst pattern in the stone floor far below. He pulled himself back from the edge, dizzy with vertigo and breathlessness.

“Where now, boy?” said Fisher as he too emerged into the gallery.

Tom did not answer, but set off through another door and found himself climbing yet more steps, climbing for all he was worth in the dark, with Fisher scrabbling up behind him. Tom could hear Fisher’s breath as he made for a small door ahead of him.

As he opened it, he gasped with the realization that he was now at the top of the dome, on a tiny parapet looking down on the whole of London, which was spread out below him. But even more extraordinary than this was the incredible spectacle taking place in the sky above.

Suddenly Fisher grabbed him. “Now, lad,” he said, “let’s see if we can’t find you a quicker way down.” But then he too became aware of the otherworldly darkness. “What the...?”

The sun turned black and the shadow of the moon rushed toward them across the hills and over London, until it plunged the city into another night. Tom and Fisher both stared in wonder as a luminous ring appeared round the black disk of the moon, a weird mother-of-pearl glow.

Flashes of light shot out and shimmered, and then the edge of the moon turned blood-red. Both hunter and prey were rooted to the spot with some kind of animal terror, but it was Tom who came to his senses first.

He pushed Fisher away and shrugged off his grip. Fisher, still mesmerized by the eclipse, staggered backward, correcting his balance too late to stop himself from flipping over the railing. He screamed as he slithered down the curving roof, bouncing once before plummeting out of sight.

Tom made his way down to ground level and managed to slip away as a small crowd gathered round Fisher’s body. Someone shouted that he had the Death and the Arrow card on him, and more people ran up to take a look.

Tom walked through the gloomy streets as the sun began to reappear from behind the moon. Sparrows twittered and pigeons cooed at this false dawn, and church bells rang out in celebration of the world’s return to daylight.

However, Tom’s only thought was to reach Dr. Harker’s house safely, and he walked the whole way in dread of seeing Shepton’s evil face appear in front of him again.

“Tom?” said Dr. Harker after the maid had showed him up to the roof. “Whatever became of you?”

Tom fought to catch his breath, then told the doctor and Ocean about his escape.

“Good Lord,” said Dr. Harker. “This must end, Tom. There is too much danger. You could have been killed.”

“No!” shouted Tom. “Not now. I have to know what happened to Will. I won’t have Will’s life forgotten, and neither you nor my father nor anyone else will stop me.”