Rise of the Darklings (22 page)

T
here was no sign of the other man, the one Ravenhill had called Sebastian. He must have heard the commotion and joined in the chase.

Emily ran to the huge, iron-bound door at the other end of the corridor and inserted the most likely-looking key. It clunked its way into the keyhole, and she had to strain with both hands before it would unlock the door.

It swung grudgingly open to reveal a set of darkened stairs. Emily frowned. She needed some light.

The lamps on the walls looked fixed in place. She quickly entered Sebastian’s office and paused in surprise. It was more like a sitting room than an office. A cheery fire roared in the grate. Comfortable-looking chairs were placed in a small
circle close to the hearth. Bookshelves lined the wall, and just beneath a window was a small, neat desk. It was on the desk that she found what she was looking for: a small, portable oil lamp. She lit the wick from a box of matches on the fireplace and quickly returned to the stairs.

The stone was old and weathered, the centers of the steps smoothed and bowed from years of passage. She closed the door behind her. The only light came from the lamp, a small circle of flickering orange that extended barely an arm’s length in front of her.

She hesitated, imagining all kinds of horrors lurking in the darkness, just waiting for her to walk into their midst.

“Come on, Emily,” she muttered to herself. “Do it for William.”

She took a deep breath and set her foot on the second step. Nothing jumped out at her, or reached out to grasp her ankle. Nothing slithered along the walls, or brushed against her hair.

Emboldened, Emily walked slowly downward.

The stairs soon ended in a flagstone passage. Emily held up the lamp and saw the light reflected dully off something up ahead, a huge metal door about three times taller than she was. She ran her hands over the cold metal. Corrigan was right. If iron was poison to the fey, there was no way they would be able to get close to this.

There was a large keyhole protected by a rusty cover. Emily pushed the cover aside, wincing at the loud scrape of metal on metal, and pushed the second of the large keys inside the lock. It stuck at first, but she leaned into it and pushed, and it jerked into the hole with a solid
clunk
. After she had turned it halfway, the mechanism engaged and the key turned the rest of the way of its own accord. She heard the locks releasing inside the massive door, and a second later it trundled slowly open.

Emily jumped out of the way and barely avoided being hit by the door. A dark entrance was revealed, uninviting and thick with cloying shadows, as if an air of oppression was about to waft out of the room to embrace her in clammy arms. She shivered and raised the lantern higher, but the light did nothing to penetrate the darkness.

Emily hesitated, then remembered that Ravenhill was somewhere upstairs, and Jack wouldn’t be able to keep him occupied for long. She took a deep breath, held the light out before her like a shield, and stepped over the threshold.

The room was colder than the corridor outside. Emily’s breath misted the air in front of her face. She held the lantern high, the light crawling halfheartedly over crammed shelves filled with all manner of items: wooden boxes, earthenware jars, ancient-looking books so large Emily would not have been able to lift them. She turned in a slow
circle, examining everything around her. One shelf was filled with the skulls of strange animals, some larger than a human skull, others tiny, no bigger than her own thumb. One of the skulls looked like a horse’s, but it had a large horn issuing from the center of its forehead.

Another shelf held only glass jars, all of varying sizes. Emily leaned forward nervously, thinking that perhaps they held eyes, like the jars at Miss LaFleur’s shop. She couldn’t quite make out what was inside them. She brought the torch closer—

Emily jumped back with a small cry of alarm. The jars were filled with some kind of thick fluid and suspended in the fluid were creatures of the fey. Dead, all of them, their faces bleached white and bloated. Just floating there in the fluid, forever.

Emily felt sick to her stomach. She had to get out of here, to see the streets of London again. She needed to feel the air on her face, hear the shouts of costers selling oranges and apples, hot nuts and coffee. The shouts of real people. The friendly face of Mrs. Eldridge peddling her watercress.

She looked around again, focusing on what she had come here for. The stone was valuable, said Corrigan, so that meant it probably wouldn’t just have been tossed on the shelves with the other items. And besides, there was one more key left on the ring. It had to open something.

Emily quickly searched through the room, recoiling in disgust when she came across a corkboard with the desiccated corpses of faeries pinned to it, their wings pulled wide like butterflies.

She tried the key in four small chests but none of them would open. She was running out of time. Surely Ravenhill would be coming back soon, and he would discover that the keys to the vault were missing.

Finally, at the far end of the room, Emily found one more chest. This one was constructed entirely from iron. She inserted the key and sighed with relief when it turned smoothly in the lock.

Emily lifted the lid. The stone was inside, nestled on a piece of red satin. It was exactly as Corrigan had described, a black-gray stone with a hole in the center. Emily took it out and examined it. It didn’t seem all that special. She had expected something more … 
magical
. This just looked like a stone she would find on the shores of the Thames.

But that didn’t matter. She had it. Now the Queen could help her find William. Then she could use the stone to read the spell and get back to Faerie. Everyone would win.

About to leave the vault, Emily hesitated. Would it be possible for
her
to use the stone to find William? That would save a lot of time. If she could do that, she could just hand the stone over to Corrigan while she and Jack went to rescue
Will. Emily turned the stone over in her hands. How would it work? It was magic, obviously, but did it need a magical command? She held it up to her mouth and whispered into the hole.

“Find William,” she whispered.

Nothing happened. Emily lifted the stone to her eye and looked through it, thinking of William as she did so. Again, nothing. Emily sighed. Maybe the Queen was the only one who could use it.

Emily hid the stone inside her coat, then quickly left the vault, locking the door behind her. She hurried back up the steps and paused at the door leading out into the passage. She listened for a moment but didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary.

She waited a few seconds more, then stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her. She contemplated taking the keys back but decided against it. Ravenhill would see the damaged safe regardless. If she kept the keys, there was no way the Order could gain access to the vault to see what she had stolen.

Feeling rather proud of her reasoning, Emily pulled open the door to the library.

And found herself face-to-face with the young man Ravenhill had called Sebastian.

His eyes widened in shock. “Who—?” he began, but he
didn’t get any further, because Emily burst suddenly into tears.

“Please, mister,” she sobbed. “Don’t kill me. Jack made me come with him. I was supposed to be a lookout, only I’m no good at it, because it’s wrong. Please don’t lock me up. My mum is sick, and … and …” Emily faltered, rapidly running out of things to cry about. She risked a glance at the man and almost smiled to see the distressed look on his face. “…  and I have to look after her. Jack forced me to do it, see. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Er … there, there,” said Sebastian awkwardly. He glanced nervously over his shoulder. “Um … yes. I think …” He looked at Emily again and tried to look stern. “Have you learned your lesson, young lady?”

Emily wiped her eyes and sniffed. “Oh, yes, sir. Ever so. I won’t never ’sociate with the likes of him again. He’s a bad apple, he is.”

“Yes. Um … a very
fast
bad apple, as it turns out. I hope he didn’t get away with anything valuable. So you promise not to try something like this again?”

“Promise, sir.”

“All right. Then I think you should just go. And quickly, before Mr. Ravenhill comes back.”

Emily thought about trying to find her way back through the corridors and down to the boat. She didn’t think she
would be able to row it on her own. Actually, would it even be there? Jack had probably used it to escape. She looked at Sebastian, her lower lip trembling.

“Can you show me how to get out? I can’t remember the way.”

“I really don’t think—”

Emily scrunched up her eyes, and Sebastian waved his hands in the air.

“All right,” he said. “Hurry now.”

He turned and guided her through the library, then along corridors and hallways and down grand-looking stairs. After about five minutes, he was hastily unlocking the front doors of Somerset House. Emily looked around the large entrance hall. There were statues all around, and massive paintings on the walls.

“Hurry, now,” said Sebastian, pulling the door open onto a flight of steps. “And remember, you’d better not come back.”

“You needn’t worry there, mister,” said Emily, almost running through the door. “Thanks.” She rejoiced at the feel of cold air against her face as she hurried across the open square that fed onto the Strand. The stone was reassuringly heavy in her pocket.

From Sebastian’s words, it seemed that Jack had gotten away. Emily remembered Jack had said to meet back at the coffeeshop if anything went wrong, so she made her way
there through the dark, late-night streets. The coffeehouse was almost empty, with only a few stragglers left.

Jack wasn’t one of them.

Had he been caught, then? Maybe Ravenhill had caught up with him after Sebastian had given up the chase.

“Looking for someone?” said a voice behind her.

Emily whirled around to find Jack lounging against a lamppost, grinning at her.

“Will you stop
doing
that!” she shouted, relief washing through her body.

“Did you get it?” he asked.

Emily nodded, her features breaking into a smile.

Jack’s grin widened. “Now, aren’t you glad you came to me for help?”

“Moderately glad,” said Emily. “How did you get away?”

Jack spread his arms wide, like an actor on the stage. “I’m Spring-Heeled Jack, Snow. No one catches Spring-Heeled Jack.”

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

T
he neighborhood of London called Seven Dials was named after an old column that used to stand in its central plaza. Emily’s schoolmaster had told her that the column had seven dials on it with which to tell the time, and each one of these dials faced one of seven streets that radiated away from the courtyard like the spokes on a wheel. The column was long gone, but the name remained. (Even though Jack had once told her there were only six dials atop the column. How he knew that, Emily had no idea.)