The Mesmerist(41)

“Foreigners out of our England!” calls a woman’s sharp voice.

It’s the meeting. The Great Public Meeting called for on the handbill, I realize.

Another flaming bottle crashes through a window.

The fire in the shop is spreading quickly, licking along a length of drapes and rising to the ceiling. “The whole place will be up in flames any minute!” Gabriel shouts.

“C’mon,” I urge them, grabbing Emily’s arm. “We have to get away from here!”

Now, up and down the street, men and women and even some children smash windows and light fires. Clouds of black smoke plume in the air.

The crowd is growing, and quickly. They overturn carts and wheelbarrows. They scream and shout, grabbing anyone they believe to be a foreigner. I gasp as a man in simple dark clothes is knocked down in the street. His tall hat falls off his head and into the mud. Long curls hang on either side of his face. A large book drops from his hands. “Please!” he cries. “No!”

A man with a club looms over him. I know what he is about to do, but I cannot stop him. He’s too big! Then I remember Deepa, my friend back home. I didn’t help her, but I won’t stand by idly now. He raises his club. “It’s wrong!” I shout. “Stop!”

The man turns. I reach for my lash. He is the size of a giant from a storybook. A bloody apron is tied around his waist. He leers at us, revealing broken teeth. “Little buggers!” he hisses.

“Run!” Gabriel cries.

We dash away—?to where, I do not know, but away from the madness and rioting—?crashing through vendors’ carts and crowds of shrieking people. An old woman with a terrible gash across her forehead is moaning in the street, her parcels scattered around her. I can’t stop to help her. I can’t. We have to keep running. A little farther on, a Gypsy caravan is aflame, the smoke so thick, it almost chokes my throat.

Finally, when I feel as if my legs are about to give out, we stop and rest. We are still on the High Street, but away from the terrible commotion. Gaslights sputter and hiss, providing a soft yellow glow. I hear the shriek of a horse as it gallops by, broken free from its carriage.

We huddle together, winded, hands on knees, catching our breath. I straighten up and peer around. I see no sign of the man in the bloody apron. We are standing in the street amidst a work site. A crane sits motionless, like a giant insect. Mounds of earth have been dug up, and steel beams lie in the trenches, forming tracks.

I realize we are in the same place that we passed when Balthazar led Mother and me to 17 Wadsworth Place. They call it the Underground, he had said. Steam-powered locomotives that will ferry passengers all about London. An arched brick opening is farther ahead of us. Darkness beckons from within.

“What is it?” Gabriel asks.

I don’t answer immediately but look at the newly laid tracks that lead to the ominous entrance. I step closer, nimbly maneuvering around the piles of broken wood, debris, and dirt.

“Wouldn’t step any farther, miss,” a voice calls out.

I spin around, my hands reaching for my weapons. Emily and Gabriel tense, alert and ready to spring into action.

It is a man, wearing grubby clothes. He stares at us.

“Where does this tunnel lead?” I ask.

He takes off his cap and wrings it in his hands, as if embarrassed. I imagine he believes he is talking to someone from the upper class and should not rise above his station. He looks at Gabriel and Emily and nods politely.

“Well, miss,” he starts, “sir. This here tunnel runs from Paddington to Farringdon Street. Quite a marvel, if I may say so myself.” He tries to smile, but it comes across all wrong. “No place for a lass, though, begging your pardon.”

“What are you doing here?” Gabriel asks. “What is your business?”

The man rubs his hands together. “Well, little sir, I’m just the rag-and-bone man, ain’t I? Collecting stuff. Sometimes the workers—?the navvies, you know—?leave bits and bobs about. Stuff I can sell, see?”

Only now do I see the bag at his feet. He bends down and loosens the drawstring and pulls out several coins. “Found these when they dug up the earth.” They clink in his hand.

“Let’s go,” Emily says. “He’s harmless as an old goat.”

There is a hissing sound, as if air is being released from a valve. It is coming from within the tunnel.

“Miss?” the man says. “Anything else you be needing?”

“No,” I tell him. “Thank you.”

He gives a little bow, places his cap back on his head, and ambles away. I continue to stare ahead, into the darkness.

“Jess?” Emily asks warily. “What you thinkin’?”

I squeeze the faerie stone, which glows with white light. “In there,” I say, pointing. “We need to go into the Underground.”





CHAPTER NINETEEN





Blood Will Out


The air in here is even colder than outside. Without the gaslights, we are in complete darkness.

“What’s in here?” Gabriel asks, his voice echoing.

“Darby,” I tell him. “And those who took her.”

“How do you know?” Emily asks.

“I keep seeing it,” I tell them. “In my visions. A tunnel. And there is a screeching sound that feels as if it will split my ears.”