A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(83)
“Then—” Holmes began, when Sarah shrieked.
They all turned to see she was pointing at the door to the study and quickly looked in that direction, expecting something horrific to be coming in the door.
But worse, she was pointing to where the door had been. Because the door was almost certainly gone now, and in its place was a door-shaped area of utter blackness, like the darkness of the void between the stars itself.
Instinctively they all leapt to their feet and backed away from it. And just in time, for a moment later, the void erupted with tentacles, tentacles that flailed into the space where living humans had just been.
In the next moment, Nan felt the Celtic Warrior Woman erupt from her slumber deep within her. Anger, rather than fear, filled her. She raised her head and screamed defiance at whatever was trying to reach them, unsurprised to discover her gown had turned into a short checkered tunic and leather trousers, that her feet and legs were wrapped in crude leather boots, and that there was a bronze sword in her hand. With a matching scream of defiance, Neville launched himself from his perch and landed on her shoulder, now the size of an eagle.
Behind her Selim uttered a bloodcurdling war cry in which the name of Allah figured prominently; in the next moment he, Agansing, and Karamjit were beside her, their own swords in hand.
As the tentacles continued to flail, the four of them charged.
They could scarcely have missed if they had tried; there were plenty of targets, and the main concern Nan had—beneath the Warrior’s white-hot rage—was not to hit the other three by accident. With one stroke, she lopped off three squirming tentacles. She had braced herself, expecting some reaction, a hideous scream, mental or physical—but there was nothing. Just silence, and the amputated tentacles vanished into mist.
Abruptly the rest of the monster, or monsters, withdrew, and the void began to shrink.
That was when Puck leapt past her and thrust a green, glowing staff, sprouting vines and vividly emerald leaves, into the blackness. “I’ll hold the door!” he shouted. “Go! You’ll never get a better chance to cut this thing off at the root!”
Nan didn’t hesitate, and neither did Selim. Side by side the two of them vaulted into the darkness, with Neville clinging to her shoulder.
They emerged under a cold, starless sky, landing on ground that felt like ashes. Faint, sourceless light seemed to come from that sky; just enough to see by to keep from stumbling into things, not enough to see far, or clearly. With a glance at each other, they moved out of the way, just in time for the rest to come through.
And half of Puck. He planted his glowing staff in the barren soil; it lit up the night like a beacon. “I’ll have to stay here to hold the door,” he said, grimly. “This is not my world, and I have little power here. But I will stay as long as any of you remain.”
Nan tore her eyes away from him and took in her surroundings—and recognized them in an instant. The shattered buildings—the skeletal trees—the cold wind moaning among the branches—
“This is—” she exclaimed.
“The same place as Amelia’s visions,” Memsa’b finished for her, grimly. “Well, now at least we know it is a real place, and not some presentiment of a diabolical future.”
Memsa’b too had transformed; she sported a scandalously short Grecian tunic and carried a spear. Like Nan’s bronze sword, it gave off a faint light. Sahib had taken on the aspect of a medieval knight—Selim, Agansing, and Karamjit were all enhanced versions of their everyday selves, chiefly with more bits of armor. Sarah, Sherlock, John, and Mary remained as they had been, except that Grey was the size of a very large hawk.
Sherlock stared at them all incredulously. But he did not permit their transformation to hold his attention for long. The first thing he did, once he tore his eyes away from them, was to stoop and scoop up a bit of the soil they were standing on, feeling it carefully, holding it to his nose and sniffing it, tasting it.
“Is this what I think it is?” John Watson asked his friend.
“Without making exact tests, I would say this earth is identical to that which I removed from the clothing of the latest victims, yes,” Holmes replied. “I wish I had a fighting stick, or my revolver.”
“Come over here and lay your hand on my staff,” Puck ordered. Not even questioning him, Holmes did as he was told. A moment later one of the vines straightened, thickened, then broke off, dropping to Holmes’ feet. He bent and snatched it up. “This will do admirably,” he said. “Thank you.”
“I’d like one of those,” John said. “And so would Mary and Sarah.” Soon everyone who wasn’t already armed at least had a weapon. Nan hoped, coming as they did from Puck’s staff, the sticks might also have some magic to them that would work against whatever lived here.
“Sherlock, does this look like London to you?” Mary Watson asked. “It does to me.”
“It looks enough like London to me,” John added, “Though I’ll be damned if I know where.”
Nan looked around her at the broken buildings and shivered. Many of the buildings were without roofs. And the dim light coming in through the glassless windows made the broken walls look like stacks of gargantuan skulls.
“I’m not surprised neither of you recognize this place,” Holmes replied. “You haven’t had much cause to visit the Royal Courts of Justice, or consult a barrister. It’s Temple. I fancy in our world we’re not far from the Blackfriar Bridge. I—” he coughed. “I suppose you magicians can create a light?”