makes them vampyres.”
“But there’s no such things!” said the Artful. “They’re myths and stories and things that parents try to scare their children with!”
“There are such things,” the boy said firmly. “And there’s more of them than you’d think, and they are more highly placed and in positions of influence than you can imagine. Which is why we cannot trust anyone in authority.”
“Well, I’m with you in that regard, at least,” said Dodger. “Still, you can’t think that — ”
“Bloody hell!”
It was a startled exclamation from the driver above. Immediately, Dodger leaned out the side to look up and see what was happening, and then he gaped at what he saw.
The second blackguard, the one whom Dodger had slowed, but not badly injured, was running after the speeding carriage. Not just running; bounding, as if he were a great jungle cat.
And he was overtaking it.
Yet with all that before him—and all the boy had said—still the Artful Dodger was having trouble grasping the reality of what he was seeing, precisely because it all seemed so utterly unreal . But the threat presented seemed real enough, and Dodger shouted , “Faster! Faster !”
The horse needed no urging from its driver, for there was terror in the creature’s eyes.
The carriage turned sharply onto Great Queen Street, losing a bit of speed in the turn but able to take advantage of the greater width of the road. Their pursuer drew closer, and his clawlike fingers almost reached the cab. Then the cab picked up speed and barreled down Great Queen, heading toward Long Acre Road. Their pursuer seemed to be falling back, and within moments Dodger was certain he would lose his taste for the chase.
Dodger sagged back in his seat, the hansom cab—not precisely designed for high speeds—swaying wildly back and forth as it sped down the road. “I think we’ve lost him,” he said, and that was the moment that Drina let out a scream of alarm, because their pursuer was right there, right next to them, having picked up speed with apparently no effort whatsoever, and was now clinging to the side of the hansom cab. His arm was thrust into the cab, and he was clawing at Drina, trying to yank her bodily out of it. She cried out, trying to pull loose from his grip, but he was clearly too strong.
The Artful Dodger tried to wad up more spit, but his mouth was dry. He lunged forward, yanking at the villain’s hands, trying to force them off, but they were like unto iron. The villain looked at him, and his appearance seemed to change as his fury mounted upon seeing Dodger. His eyes were blazing an unearthly red, and his lips were drawn back to reveal fangs that would have been more at home in the mouth of a snarling beast.
That was when Dodger saw that as Drina had endeavored to pull free of the villain who was trying to yank her from the cab, a jeweled necklace had slipped out from under her bodice. Dangling from a string of purple beads was an ornate cross.
Desperate in the face of the unreal, but remembering the ancient tales that he’d heard, Dodger grabbed the cross and yanked it free of the beads. It snapped off and he held the cross up directly before the intruder’s eyes.
The fiery eyes widened and the creature hissed, reflexively drawing back, allowing just enough slack in his grasp for the Artful to yank Drina away from him. But there was not much room in the cab, and with a roar of fury, overcoming his initial revulsion to the cross, the monster yanked open the door, presenting the entirety of his body as he prepared to climb in and do the Lord only knew what to the passengers.
And it was at that moment that the boy, a youth still in his short pants, grabbed up Dodger’s cane—or the remnants of the cane, which was now little more than a long wooden pole with a jagged point—and thrust forward with all the strength his small but determined body possessed. The villain clinging to the cab had only a moment’s warning,
“But there’s no such things!” said the Artful. “They’re myths and stories and things that parents try to scare their children with!”
“There are such things,” the boy said firmly. “And there’s more of them than you’d think, and they are more highly placed and in positions of influence than you can imagine. Which is why we cannot trust anyone in authority.”
“Well, I’m with you in that regard, at least,” said Dodger. “Still, you can’t think that — ”
“Bloody hell!”
It was a startled exclamation from the driver above. Immediately, Dodger leaned out the side to look up and see what was happening, and then he gaped at what he saw.
The second blackguard, the one whom Dodger had slowed, but not badly injured, was running after the speeding carriage. Not just running; bounding, as if he were a great jungle cat.
And he was overtaking it.
Yet with all that before him—and all the boy had said—still the Artful Dodger was having trouble grasping the reality of what he was seeing, precisely because it all seemed so utterly unreal . But the threat presented seemed real enough, and Dodger shouted , “Faster! Faster !”
The horse needed no urging from its driver, for there was terror in the creature’s eyes.
The carriage turned sharply onto Great Queen Street, losing a bit of speed in the turn but able to take advantage of the greater width of the road. Their pursuer drew closer, and his clawlike fingers almost reached the cab. Then the cab picked up speed and barreled down Great Queen, heading toward Long Acre Road. Their pursuer seemed to be falling back, and within moments Dodger was certain he would lose his taste for the chase.
Dodger sagged back in his seat, the hansom cab—not precisely designed for high speeds—swaying wildly back and forth as it sped down the road. “I think we’ve lost him,” he said, and that was the moment that Drina let out a scream of alarm, because their pursuer was right there, right next to them, having picked up speed with apparently no effort whatsoever, and was now clinging to the side of the hansom cab. His arm was thrust into the cab, and he was clawing at Drina, trying to yank her bodily out of it. She cried out, trying to pull loose from his grip, but he was clearly too strong.
The Artful Dodger tried to wad up more spit, but his mouth was dry. He lunged forward, yanking at the villain’s hands, trying to force them off, but they were like unto iron. The villain looked at him, and his appearance seemed to change as his fury mounted upon seeing Dodger. His eyes were blazing an unearthly red, and his lips were drawn back to reveal fangs that would have been more at home in the mouth of a snarling beast.
That was when Dodger saw that as Drina had endeavored to pull free of the villain who was trying to yank her from the cab, a jeweled necklace had slipped out from under her bodice. Dangling from a string of purple beads was an ornate cross.
Desperate in the face of the unreal, but remembering the ancient tales that he’d heard, Dodger grabbed the cross and yanked it free of the beads. It snapped off and he held the cross up directly before the intruder’s eyes.
The fiery eyes widened and the creature hissed, reflexively drawing back, allowing just enough slack in his grasp for the Artful to yank Drina away from him. But there was not much room in the cab, and with a roar of fury, overcoming his initial revulsion to the cross, the monster yanked open the door, presenting the entirety of his body as he prepared to climb in and do the Lord only knew what to the passengers.
And it was at that moment that the boy, a youth still in his short pants, grabbed up Dodger’s cane—or the remnants of the cane, which was now little more than a long wooden pole with a jagged point—and thrust forward with all the strength his small but determined body possessed. The villain clinging to the cab had only a moment’s warning,
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