Authors: P R Mason
Rom walked me to the handrail and we gazed down at the roadway of the bridge and the river probably about one hundred and fifty feet below us. Fighting off the nausea that came with my fear of heights, I forced myself to continue surveying the area. I didn't want to flashback to that other bridge...with Adam.
“Look there.” Rom pointed to a structure on shore, a structure I recognized as the Tower of London. With that came the knowledge of where we were. The Tower Bridge, with its two robust towers, was more like a medieval drawbridge than a suspension bridge. Suddenly, I recognized that the rook chess pieces on Prince Leopold’s board had been carved based on the design of these towers.
Scanning the cityscape brought more confusion. I’d visited London two years ago with my family before the divorce, and much of what I was seeing was familiar but twisted somehow. For one thing the walkway I was on had appeared enclosed when I’d seen it in my world, but the one Rom and I stood on was precariously open to the elements. For another thing, the city I saw before me was not a modern version of London with its skyscrapers, but more like the Victorian era I’d seen portrayed in movies and on television. But there were also some oddities that met my eye. So much of what was laid out before us seemed overgrown with vegetation as if it hadn't been in use for some time.
I gazed at the horizon. The huge population of the city and crowds of tourists were missing from this London. Right at this moment, I couldn’t identify one living—or un-living—creature moving below. I had no idea of the local time, but whatever the hour, it wasn’t rush hour.
Rom took the map from his duffle and unfolded it.
“We’re here.” I placed the tip of my index finder on the line over the Thames drawn on the map. “That building over there is the Tower of London and I see St. Paul’s cathedral in the distance.” I gazed up at him with a smile. “We’re in London. At least the Dorcha version.”
“Thus, north has that direction.” Rom pointed into the distance.
“Yes. And if the rest of this map is accurate, we should cross to the north side of the bridge and make our way west along the river bank to head for Buckingham Palace.”
A dark something caught my eye.
“What’s that?” I said, squinting to focus better on the dark something perched on top of one of jagged tooth-like castle keep walls of the Tower of London.
Rom followed my gaze and held a hand over his eyes. “I know not.”
Unfortunately, the “something” turned out to be alive and capable of seeing us too. Giant black wings unfolded from around it and stretched wide. The creature took flight and soared in great arching and swooping movements as it flew closer to us. Only in statuary and carved into architectural elements had I seen this creature before: a gryphon.
For a few moments I could only stand in awe of its magnificence. The golden brown creature’s wingspan was at least twenty feet in length. It had the head and wings of an eagle. The body was that of a lion apart from its eagle-like front talons. I’d always thought a gryphon was a mythological creature. Yet here it was...flying
“Run,” Rom yelled and seized my hand.
As we sprinted, heading for the cover of the north tower, the gryphon headed for us. Its screeching yell reverberated through me. The fear provoked by that call tripped me up and I stumbled. Rom dragged me forward again which earned him my eternal gratitude. Getting caught in that enormous beak would really blow.
The gryphon flew to a perch on the edge of the walkway between the tower and us. Rom skidded to a stop and pulled me up short. The gimlet eyes of the gryphon took us in—no doubt it was eyeing its prey—as the head twitched. Rom began to back slowly away pushing me behind him.
At that moment, two more winged creatures swooped down from the sky. As they came closer, I saw they were not as large as the gryphon; each of them was probably not more than about five feet in length. Amazingly, these beings had the heads of women and the bodies of birds. Their claws were even longer and sharper than the gryphon’s talons. Fantastic.
Initially, it seemed they’d come to our rescue because they dove at the gryphon. Their long, wavy hair whipped in the wind like flags. I could have cheered, until one of them spoke.
“Nasty bird,” one of the flying bird-women screamed as she clawed at the gryphon’s head. “This food belongs to us.”
Rom and I clearly qualified as the food.
“Harpies.” Rom shouted over his shoulder.
The other bird-woman landed on the gryphon’s back. The gryphon screeched and tried to fly upward but couldn’t achieve lift off.
I continued to scuttle backwards sheltered by Rom. As he moved he unzipped his duffle. My own duffle lay about two feet behind me on the walkway where I’d dropped it in the haste of our initial run from the gryphon.
One of the harpies spotted our movement and abandoned clawing at the gryphon to dart in our direction. Rom rummaged in his bag not taking his eye off the harpy descending on us fast. He pulled at something inside but it caught on the material of the bag.
Finally, tugging free the super soaker water gun, he trained it on the harpy. We stopped moving backwards and Rom fumbled inside the bag again for a few long moments as the harpy closed in on us. When she was about six feet away, he drew out a lighter, squeezed the trigger, and the smell of WD-40 permeated the air.
Rom ignited the lighter beneath the stream and a twenty-four inch length of flame burst from the muzzle in an arc. The fire fell just short of striking the harpy, although I did smell singed feathers.
“Aghhhhhhh,” the harpy yelled as her wings widened and flapped backward. She trod air to stall her forward movement. “Damn you!”
“Run,” Rom yelled to me. “South tower.”
The fuel supply in the super soaker was dwindling fast. The arc of the flame had decreased in length by at least six inches. Turning his body, but keeping his arm outstretched behind him so the muzzle remained pointed in the general direction of the harpy, Rom ran, pushing me ahead of him.
I grabbed up my duffle as we passed it.
The harpy kept pace with us, clearly seeing that our makeshift flamethrower wouldn’t last for much longer.
Once at the tower, I clutched at the iron handle of the huge oak door and pulled it open just wide enough for me to enter and for Rom to follow me in. The flame from the super soaker had shrunk to a few inches so Rom threw it at the harpy as he slid into the opening.
We both used our bodies to slam the door shut and immediately felt the impact of the harpy and her furious attempts to force it open. A heavy brass bolt about three quarters of the way up the door caught my attention and I pushed it into the locked position.
Slowly, hesitantly, I backed away from the door. The lock held despite the continued rattling from the harpy’s pounding.
Not wanting to take a chance on the ancient elevator system, Rom and I ran down about three hundred stairs to the bottom to reach the roadway level. We passed through the archway leading us outside.
“Does the wristwatch yet work?” Rom panted.
Holding up my arm for inspection, I saw the mechanism clicking and moving as the seconds slipped by. Twenty-one hours, fifty-six minutes, fifteen seconds to zero hour. Fourteen seconds. Thirteen seconds.
I reported the time left and I’m certain there was more than a hint of panic in my face. Just as certainly, that look of panic increased when a group of soldiers emerged from behind the tower and surrounded us.
“Halt!” A soldier—probably an officer from his medals—ordered us.
He stood at the center of ten other soldiers all of whom were dressed in antiquated uniforms consisting of red tunics over khaki pants. More significantly, with his yellow eyes, sharp teeth and claws, this officer was clearly a ghoul. My scrutiny of the rest of the soldiers confirmed they were ghoul-like also.
“I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Kizzy Taylor?” The officer eyed me with a sly smirk. “And her friend Rom?”
“Who wants to know?” I asked.
“Colonel William Crowder.” He introduced himself with a slight bow. “As you are to be the honored guests at the court, His Royal Highness, the Prince Leopold, sent us to meet and convey you safely to him."
No matter how charming his manner, it was clear we would have no choice but to go with them.
Colonel Crowder clapped his hands and two of the soldiers stepped forward to grasp our duffle bags.
“We can carry our own things,” I said, resisting the pull.
The ghoul soldier tugging at my bag bared his teeth and hissed at me. Rom was having a similar experience a few feet away.
“I really must insist you allow us to take them,” the Colonel said, a threat underlying his words. “We wish to be good hosts and honored guests do not carry their own luggage.”
Reluctantly, I released my hold on the duffle, as did Rom. So much for our weapons. But this turn of events wasn’t so bad, I assured myself. At least we would easily find Prince Leopold. And if we found the prince, we would find Juliette also...
Oh yeah, Billy would probably be there too.
“All right.” I held up my hands. ”Take me to your leader.” No doubt this was the only time I’d ever have a chance to use that line.
At the exact moment the words left my mouth, gunfire sounded. Several of the ghoul soldiers dropped, blackish blood spurting from their wounds. The others scrambled for cover and lifted their own weapons before commencing to return fire.
Rom pulled me with him back into the shelter of the tower. Colonel Crowder ran in after us and cowered near the wall. The ghoul soldiers remaining outside were cut down in quick order, many of them taking gunshots to the head.
When they all lay still on the ground we heard a shout.
“Come out. No weapons drawn,” a female voice called.
Crowder shook his head and remained where he was. Rom raised his hands and walked out. I followed him with my hands up too. We were confronted with a group of five individuals who were armed with rifles and dressed in street clothes. One, a young woman of about twenty, with dark hair styled in an enormous beehive, stepped forward into my face. Wearing an oversized black duster-style coat and heavy knee high boots, gave her skinny body bulk and toughness she wouldn't otherwise have projected.
She grasped me by the shoulders and stared into my eyes, squinting. “Show me your teeth,” she barked out.
I gave an exaggerated smile.
“Now you.” She pointed the rifle at Rom and he opened his mouth wide. After a few seconds she nodded and said, “You both seem human."
Her group seemed human to me too.
The woman turned to a man standing a few feet away.
“Go get the other one out.”
The man saluted and followed her command, disappearing through the arch. He appeared a few seconds later nudging Colonel Crowder ahead at the point of the rifle’s muzzle.
The young woman approached the colonel and looked him up and down.
“Ghoul,” she pronounced with a sneer without even examining his teeth. As she cocked the rifle, Crowder recoiled and held up a hand.
“No—“ he began.
She fired a shot to his gut, knocking Crowder back even as a black oozing wound opened.
“Okay. Do it,” the young woman directed her companions. Each of the five humans pulled a sword from beneath their trench coats and began cutting off the heads of the fallen ghoul soldiers. I had to turn away from the gruesome sight. Who were these humans? Would Rom and I be treated to this brutality next?