A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(87)

When the creature spoke again, there was just a touch of annoyance in its otherwise neutral voice. “We are soon to enter your world. When We do, it will be well if you do not resist.”

Although (at least for Nan) the temptation to shout defiance at the thing was overwhelming, no one uttered so much as a sigh.

Its voice rose a little. “Those who do resist will be torn apart by Our minions. Those who do not will live. The pure will serve in Our Communion, and We will grow strong, until We conquer all of your world.”

That . . . was a very odd thing to say. The pure will serve in “Our Communion”? What on earth does that mean?

“We will conquer your world!” the creature said, its tone now distinctly shrill. “We will have the victory that has been denied Us! We will feed on your terror and despair, and grow mighty! All this shall come to pass! All this shall come to pass!” It had risen from its seat, and towered over them—and what was inside the arms of its robe were definitely not anything like human arms. No human arms moved that . . . bonelessly.

“Go!” the thing shrieked in fury, in tones that hurt Nan’s ears. “Go now! Return to your world and bear Our message, those of you that survive the passage!”

“Don’t run,” Sherlock said quietly.





16





THEY walked, quickly and steadily, back down the nave to the exit. Nan could feel the thing’s fury behind her. Somehow the fact that they had not reacted to it had sent it into a blind rage. And the fact that now they were not pelting as fast as they could for the exit had enraged it further. That, and that alone, was what was keeping her from disobeying Sherlock and racing for Puck and the passage out as fast as she could run.

When they reached the exit, Sherlock held out his hand, and they all paused. Nan had expected that the monsters would have clogged the path down the stairs—but no. They were still arranged up on the hills of rubble, snarling and slavering, but making no move to charge them.

“If we run, we become prey,” Sherlock said quietly. “As long as we show no fear, they may leave us alone out of fear themselves.”

“Like jackals or pariah dogs,” murmured John, and Karamjit, Selim and Agansing all nodded in agreement. “They’re used to chasing things that run away from them. When they encounter something that doesn’t do that, they can’t think how to handle it. A couple of them may gather up enough courage to rush us. Be ready for that, kill them as quickly as you can. That will make the rest even more cautious.”

“Mary and Sarah, I would like you in the middle of the group,” Sherlock said. “The main attacks will come from the side. Nan, I would like you and Agansing on the left and Karamjit and Selim on the right. Sahib Harton and I will lead, John and Memsa’b Harton, put your backs to Mary and guard the rear. We will proceed slowly in this fashion until we are past the gantlet of enemies, if that seems to be a good strategy to you, John.”

“I was just an Army Surgeon,” John replied with a shrug. “Agansing? Karamjit? Selim?”

“Letting go the fact that it will force you to walk backward, this is a sound strategy,” Karamjit agreed, and drew his sword, which never left his side. For his part, Agansing drew his two Gurkha long knives, the curved Kukri knives that were nearly as long as a sword. Selim nodded and drew his saber.

They formed up. “I have changed my mind about using my power. I’m going to see if there is anything here I can control,” Mary said in an undertone. “But don’t worry, I have no intention of doing anything that will bring yet more trouble down on us. I’m just going to . . . well, try and carefully feel things out. I can do that while we are moving, easily.”

“If you find something friendly, don’t hesitate to call it,” John advised. He got a firm grip on his stick—or rather, club, since that was what it resembled rather than Holmes’ singlestick. “We can use all the help we can get.”

Nan wished there was some way to tell Puck the danger they were in. He would surely be able to send them some aid from “their” side of the portal, if only he knew they needed it.

They made a few tentative steps down the staircase. By the time they reached the bottom of it, they were moving more confidently, as a single body. “Stand as if you are absolutely ready to fight back, but don’t challenge them,” Holmes advised, as they slowly edged their way down the middle of the street between the two mounds of rubble.

There was a strange, dry, bitter-green scent in the air. It was cold—but not as cold, Nan thought, as “their” London. Somehow Memsa’b seemed unaffected by the chill even though her tunic left arms and legs bare. A half-seen mob of creatures crowded the top of the hills of rubble on either side of them. They didn’t make much noise—nothing seemed to make much noise in this place, actually. There was some angry chittering, snarls, growls, and the scuffling of clawed feet on slippery rubble, but other than that—nothing.

Nan edged sideways with the rest of them and wished she could see the amorphous mass clearly. John’s light was not helping much. There was something more unnerving about a moving mound in which the occasional eye reflected back the light from that meager orb, like a will-o’-the-wisp over John’s head, than there would have been in seeing a horde of monsters.

Her stomach and throat were clenched tightly with fear. She held her sword two-handed, her gaze flickering above, to the rear, then ahead of them. How long was it going to take them to get to the portal this way? Longer, surely, than it had to get here in the first place.