Never had Doyle been more willing to take him at his word. 'Why didn't you wait for them?'
'Eileen was with you,' he said, without looking at them.
Doyle stepped on something soft and yielding; his foot slipped off before he could replant it, but he regained his balance before falling. He was left with a vague, unpleasant impression that whatever he'd stepped on had moved when he touched it.
'Jack, they've got Prince Eddy—'
'I understand—'
Something cracked sharply under Eileen's foot.
'What was that?' asked Doyle.
She shook her head; Doyle held the torch as Sparks cleared the straw under her feet.
'Oh God,' she said.
Her foot had snapped the rib cage of a human skeleton lying half beneath the surface of the water, the bones bleached white, picked clean. A gruelly substance gleamed on the straw, trails of silver excretion circling around and away from the remains.
'We've seen this before—the stable at Topping,' said Doyle.
'Don't move,' said Sparks. He was looking over Doyle's shoulder.
An undulating shape humped toward them beneath the straw, a slow, rippling, ophidian movement. The distinctive smell suddenly grew more potent, stinging their eyes.
'Ammonia,' said Doyle.
Doyle looked to his left; another shape slithered toward them from that direction.
'There,' said Eileen, pointing straight ahead to more movement in the straw.
'What are they?' asked Sparks.
'If they can grow cabbages as big as globes and trout the size of dolphin ...' said Doyle.
'I'm not sure we want to know the answer to that,' said Eileen.
The straw on every side of them seemed alive, as active as sea foam. The shapes closed in from every direction, but a gap opened in front of them.
'Go. Straight ahead,' said Sparks, readying the sword.
Doyle moved ahead, brandishing the torch. He felt something brush against his boot and stepped quickly to avoid it.
A black shape slithered out of the straw to their right to a height of five feet. Its limbless, cylindrical shape ended in a fluttering orifice rimmed with palpitating suckers that surrounded a set of three gnashing jaws, each equipped with symmetrical rows of sharp white teeth.
An identical shape lifted to their left, drawn by a rudimentary sense of smell. Another rose behind them. What they smelled was blood.
They were leeches.
Jack darted underneath the swaying head of the one to their right and ripped the sword down the length of its body. A sac punctured, spilling a fetid black fluid, and the creature tumbled back into the swampy water.
Doyle waved the torch, keeping the creatures to the front at bay. Their black wrinkled bodies recoiled instinctively from the fire, moisture sizzling on their glistening skin.
'Light the straw!' said Sparks.
Another monster reared up behind Sparks and struck; teeth ripped into his shoulder before Jack wheeled with the sword and severed the thing in two. The surviving halves scurried frantically away.
Doyle set the torch to the straw around them; the drier stuff on top ignited rapidly and spread across the room in a solid sheet of flame. The leeches nearest to them fell in its advance, combusting, bursting apart.
'This way!' yelled Doyle.
They chased the burning straw. Water sloshed as creatures fled from the heat, explosive plops filling the air as the fire consumed more of the loathsome worms. Sparks finished off the few survivors they encountered. The fire at this end of the room fizzled as it burned down to the soggy straw below. Holding the torch high, Doyle found a door in the wall ahead. Sparks lifted the heavy latch, and they were through the door.
They found themselves outside, near a cooperage, barrels stacked around them, limiting their vision. Horses' hooves, carriages, and angry voices could be heard nearby. A full moon burned high in the night sky above. Doyle extinguished the torch.
'I'm going to be sick,' said Eileen quietly. She moved off. Doyle went with her and held her gently as she voided the corrupt meal they'd been served. Sparks waited a discreet distance away. When the spasms had ended, she clung to Doyle and closed her eyes, shuddering against the cold air, nodding that she was all right in response to his entreaties. Refusing to speak about the nightmare they'd encountered was a way to deny its reality, Doyle supposed. He wondered how many other skeletons lay buried in that hellish breeding ground. Convenient way to dispense with disciplinary problems. Or drive one's enemies mad with fear—he
thought of the lines of salt across the halls of Topping; they had indisputably done the job on Lord Nicholson.
Did these monsters give credit to Vamberg's ravings about dark spirits and relationships with elementals? Had some fundamental secrets of spirit and matter been revealed to them?
The thought broke off with the approach of Sparks.
'How many did you kill?' he asked quietly.
'Chandros. The Bishop. Probably Vamberg.'
'Alexander?'
Doyle shook his head.
'Wait here,' he said, patted Doyle on the shoulder, and crept out of sight.
'I killed him. That horrible man,' said Eileen, her eyes still closed.
'Yes, you did.'
'Good.'
She lay quietly in his arms. Sparks returned minutes later with two servant's outfits and, even more welcome, warm woolen coats. They changed behind the barrels as Sparks kept vigil. Eileen stuffed her hair under a mobcap.
Through a gap in the barrels, they looked out at a grounds-eye view of the courtyard where Doyle had earlier seen Jack slip from under the wagon. Servants and convicts ran in every direction. Panicked horses reared as they were held at rein before wagons and carriages. Platoons of guards gathered and dispatched under the direction of officers.
'Evacuation,' said Sparks quietly. 'The soldiers will arrive in time to mop most of this lot up.'
'They won't fight?' asked Doyle.
'Not without orders. And we've ruptured their chain of command.'
'What about Drummond?'
'He won't make a stand unless Alexander is with him.'
'Maybe he is.'
'There's no cause on earth for which he'd sacrifice himself. He's miles from here by now.'
'Where will he go?' asked Eileen.
Sparks shook his head.
'What about Prince Eddy?' asked Doyle.
'I would imagine Gull's already gotten him well away.'
'To where?'
'Back to his train. Back to Balmoral. He's not much good to them now.'
'He'll probably sleep through it,' said Eileen.
'They wouldn't keep him a hostage?' asked Doyle.
'To what purpose? They'd be hunted down like dogs. He can't harm them as a witness. Why would they risk confiding in him? He was the guest of some distinguished citizens for a country weekend.'
'If that's the case, we've beaten them, Jack. They've given up.'
'Perhaps.'
A more troubling question occurred to Doyle. 'Why haven't they come after us?'
'They've got a few other wickets to mind, don't they?' said Eileen.
