Rise of the Darklings (7 page)

She stopped and crept back along the wall. She peered into the alley and saw the two men poking through the mildewed crates and heaps of rubbish, searching for something. Did that mean they knew about the creatures? Were they hunting for them?

Emily shuddered. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

B
y the time Emily crossed Stonecutter Street and approached the iron gates of Farringdon Market, the area was already a bustling hive of activity. She knew she would be too late to get the extra watercress.

But it didn’t bother her as much as it should have. She was finding it hard to concentrate on her surroundings. After what she had seen in the alleyway, everything else had taken on a taint of unreality. Emily felt as if she were trapped in a dream, that any moment now she would wake up in her bed and realize that none of this was real.

Oh, a part of her knew it was real. The part that enjoyed bedtime stories—
that
part knew. But the part of Emily that
had to deal with everyday life, with finding food for herself and William, refused to accept it. It was dangerous to allow yourself such flights of fancy. Once you accepted things like that, you started to believe in princes coming to rescue you from your dreary life, in magical creatures that could fix all your problems.

Emily didn’t believe in such things. She
couldn’t
.

She paused for a moment and let the hustle and bustle of the market drive the events to the back of her mind. She could think about them later, when she had the time. Right now she had to focus on the real world. She took a deep breath and looked around with fresh eyes, letting the familiar, everyday surroundings drive the unreal events from her thoughts.

Emily had always loved the markets. To her they were the true heart of London, the places where the city lived and breathed.

Buyers and sellers shouted to be heard over one another, calling out to friends and acquaintances, haggling over the price of goods. Everyone—buyers, sellers, families, friends—shouted over the background din in an attempt to be heard by people no more than a foot away. To a stranger, the noises could be overwhelming, but Emily found them comforting.

The wide iron gates of the market stood open. The usual
loiterers were clustered outside, begging for a ha’penny or just waiting for something to fall from one of the many baskets and food carts coming and going through the gates.

Jack Doyle was one of them. Or Spring-Heeled Jack, as he liked to be called, named after the bogeyman who could jump through people’s windows and then disappear into the night. He and a few of his friends were clustered around a potato seller, holding their hands out to the tiny firepot suspended beneath the large potato can in an attempt to ward off the morning cold.

Emily hoped he didn’t see her. Jack was a year older than Emily, and while they were friends, she wasn’t talking to him at the moment. She had recently found out he’d taken up with Jasper Three-Fingers, a notorious thief in the area. She’d always known Jack was a bit of a scoundrel, but now he was turning it into a real career. She’d warned him he’d end up being arrested and shipped to Australia, but he’d just laughed and said they’d have to catch him first.

She tried to use the crowd for cover as she crossed the street, but he spotted her and trotted over.

“Mornin’, Snow,” he said, touching his hand to the dirty hat he always wore.

“Don’t call me that. You know I don’t like it.”

Jack bowed low. “Apologies, I’m sure. Mornin’,
Miss
Snow.”

“Leave me be, Jack. I’m late as it is.”

Jack look pained. “Are you still not talking to me?”

“You know I’m not. I’m surprised the crushers haven’t caught you and Three-Fingers by now.”

“No chance. Spring-Heeled Jack is too fast for them.” Jack nodded at the crowds gathered inside the market courtyard. “Want me to clear a way through? It’ll be no bother.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“You sure? Looks plenty busy to me.”

Emily eyed the bustling crowd doubtfully. She could hear the cries of the women selling the cresses, but she couldn’t catch a glimpse of them through the mass of people. It didn’t matter. There was no way she would get that extra bunch now. All she could hope for was to get her penny’s worth.

“No, I’ll get by.”

Jack grinned. “Suit yourself.” Then he darted forward and kissed her on the cheek. Emily spun around, outraged, but all she could see of Jack was his dirty wool jacket as he darted through the crowd. She wiped her cheek, glancing about quickly to make sure no one had seen.

No one was looking, so Emily took the opportunity to reach inside her coat, searching through the hidden pockets for the penny she would use to buy the watercress.

She frowned, her fingers searching more and more
frantically. Then she yanked the coat off and turned it inside out, her stomach sinking with dread.

The penny was gone.

But where—

She froze. The alley. She’d thought she’d heard a noise as she ran from Ravenhill. It must have been her penny falling from her pocket.

Emily pulled her coat back on and ran through the crowds, praying with all her being that the penny was still there. She needed that money. Without it, she and William wouldn’t eat tonight.

When Emily arrived back at the alley, the first hint of daylight was seeping into the sky above London, dimly outlining the edges of buildings against the gray.

Emily stopped at the mouth of the alley and peered into the shadows. There was no sign of Ravenhill and his fat friend, no sign of the creatures, so she walked slowly back along the lane, searching for the telltale glint of metal.

She couldn’t see the penny anywhere. It was gone.

What was she going to do now? If she couldn’t sell the watercress, she couldn’t get money for food. If they didn’t eat …

“You. Girl,” said a voice.

Emily whirled around, her heart racing. The alley was deserted. She quickly turned again, half expecting to see Mr. Ravenhill stalking toward her.

Nothing.

She peered into the shadows, shadows that looked thick and threatening, capable of hiding any number of enemies.

“Over here,” said the voice, clearly irritated.

Emily took a hesitant step back.

“I know you’re just a stupid girl, but you’re meant to walk
toward
my voice, not away from it.”

Emily straightened her back. “I am
not
stupid. I’ve had schooling.”

“Good—” The voice broke off, taken over by a fit of coughing. “Good for you. Now, why don’t you prove it and actually do something
intelligent?”

Emily narrowed her eyes and looked around. Another half hour and she’d be able to see into every corner of the alley, but right now …

“Where are you?”

“To your right. By the apple crates.”

Emily saw the crates, three of them piled one atop the other. But there was no one there. “I can’t see—”

“Just walk forward.”

Emily bit down a desire to tell the voice to go and swim
with Jenny Greenteeth and slowly walked forward. The apple crates were black with damp and mildew. She leaned forward and stared behind them.

There was no one there. Where had the voice come from?

She heard a scraping noise from the bottom crate. Emily looked down and saw something emerge from between the wooden slats. It was thin and sticklike, about three times the length of her index finger.

Emily took a frightened step back. It was an arm, dangling over the side of the thin wood.

“If you leave me here, I’m dead,” said a small voice from inside the crate.

Emily stopped in her tracks.
Think about this logically
, she told herself. That was what her old teacher used to say. Something was talking to her: fact. She was currently looking at a very small arm dangling from the apple crate: another fact.

Which meant that what she had witnessed that morning was real and not something she could pretend hadn’t happened.

“Are you still there?” said the voice.

“I’m here,” she said.

The arm lifted and waved weakly. “Then get me out of here. Before they come back.”

“Before
who
comes back?”

“Take your pick. The Black Sidhe or the two men from the Order. Both of them want me dead.”

The two men from the Order? Did he mean Ravenhill and Blackmore?

Emily stepped forward and lifted the two top crates from the pile. She placed them to the side, then peered into the bottom crate.

One of the small creatures she had seen earlier stared back at her. It lay propped up in the corner of the crate, one hand holding its thigh where an arrow had pierced its leg. The creature was stick thin. Its walnut-brown skin was covered in the strange blue whorls and patterns she had noted earlier.