A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(86)

Nan kept her grip on her sword firm, but not a clench. The Celtic Warrior did not recognize any of those sounds out there, but she also did not flinch from them. She had been, in the deep past and another lifetime, a warrior not pledged against the common foes of other tribes or even Romans. She had fought monsters, directed by the Druidic leaders of her clan. This was nothing new to her, even if it was to Nan.

The nearer they drew to St. Paul’s, the closer those creatures out in the dark came. Now they began darting into and out of the light, growling or snapping, and making sure the humans could see them.

“I believe we are being herded,” Sahib said, in a conversational tone. “I have seen this in India, when our enemies wished to drive us in a particular direction.”

“And I in Afghanistan,” replied John Watson tightly. “We have lost any element of surprise, if we ever had one.”

They turned a corner and came into full view of the wreckage that was this world’s version of St. Paul’s Cathedral, Christopher Wren’s masterpiece. If it had not been for the surroundings, it would have been beautiful still in its ruin. The elegant lines of the building had been shattered by something impossibly powerful—Nan could not imagine what could have brought such a monumental work down.

The two towers at the front were nothing but drifts of rubble. The great dome had been cracked unevenly off, as if someone had shattered a soft-boiled egg with the bowl of a spoon. The whole was covered in a thicket of black, ropy, leafless vine. That was, perhaps, the most unnerving part. The stems near the ground had to be the size of three or four tree-trunks put together! She had seen monstrous trees and vines in Africa, but nothing like this! Where had this thing come from, and how had it come to cover the face of St. Paul’s as if it was trying to strangle the building?

There was a center path up the steps to the entrance; that path was clear of rubble and vine. Unnervingly clear, actually, since it was obvious that it was used regularly. And standing on the mounds of rubble on either side were . . . horrors.

Shoulder to shoulder, with ranks behind them, were hybrid monsters—the spider-dogs they had already seen, enormous naked, flightless birds with the heads of lizards, rats the size of mastiffs with wolf-heads, ape-like creatures, and things Nan couldn’t even really make her mind understand. And what was most unnerving about them . . . was their utter silence. Not a snarl. Not a squeak.

No one spoke. It was clear now they had made an enormous mistake and completely underestimated their unknown foe, but it was too late to turn back. Even the Celtic Warrior within Nan was cowed, and as for Nan—she was petrified. Neville huddled down on her shoulder, making himself as small as he could, his eyes darting everywhere.

They entered the gaping holes where the doors should have been and walked into the nave. The roof was intact here, although the huge columns on either side were chipped and cracked. The aisles to either side were filled with rubble, but the nave itself was clear. The checkered marble floor was a ruin, the tiles shattered or buckled, the few intact stretches caked in mud. At the end of the nave, beneath where the apex of the dome would have been—was something. Another huge pile of rubble, of course, but there was something large sitting on it, as if it was a throne, and the entire thing, rubble pile, creature, and all, glowed like foxfire.

Inside was only silence, a silence so profound that it made Nan’s ears strain to try and hear anything other than the sounds of their own footsteps.

They paused and looked at one another, but no one said anything. What was there to say? That they were trapped? That it was quite likely none of them were going to get back to Puck alive? That coming here had been the biggest mistake any of them could have made? That they were going to vanish from the face of the earth, and if they were lucky they would die here—and if they were not, their soulless bodies would be spit out and they’d join those unfortunate girls in the hospital?

I won’t believe that, Nan thought to herself and set her chin, warring within herself against the terror that threatened to take her over, body and soul. There had to be a way out of this.

But right now, it looked like the only way was forward. So forward they went.

With every step they took, the creature sitting on the pile of rubble grew clearer. Or at least, the long robes and hood it had draped itself in grew clearer. The shape beneath the robe, not so much, although Nan fancied she saw movement in places under it where there would be no movement if the thing was actually humanoid. It was roughly ten feet tall, and sitting about ten more feet above the floor.

“You may stop there,” it said, when they were about twenty feet away. It had a curious voice—absolutely expressionless, and impossible to describe as male or female. Loud without sounding loud. It had no accent at all, as far as she could tell. “We have allowed you to come this far without devouring you, because We wish you to carry a message to your world.”

They said nothing. The oppressive silence filled the space beneath the shattered dome. Nan lowered her mental shields slightly and reached tentatively for Sherlock’s mind.

Only to find he was thinking one fierce thought at her. You are the strongest telepath. Tell the rest to say nothing. We will get more information out of this creature if we give it nothing to react to.

Quickly, she did as she had been told, passing on to Sherlock the fact that everyone knew as soon as she was done. Immediately his mind became occupied with a chess problem—the tactic she had shared with him of how a non-telepath could shield his mind from telepathic probes. She took her cue from him, and immediately put up the strongest protections she had.