Lockwood & Co., Book Five the Empty Grave by Jonathan Stroud

Author:Jonathan Stroud
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Fantasy & Magic, Horror
ISBN: 9781484778722
Publisher: Disney-Hyperion
Published: 2017-09-11T18:30:00+00:00

It was a nightmarish vision: gray, shiny, and impossibly large. So tall was the creature, it had to duck to get through the door. The eyes were bulbous, the legs insectlike, long and oddly jointed. The arms ended in enormous claws. It was silhouetted in the light of the corridor beyond. As it entered, it slashed at Kipps with its right hand, shearing through his jacket as he threw himself aside. Its left hand sought Holly, but she had dropped to the carpet, and only a few strands of her hair, trailing from the back of her ski mask, were sliced away as the claws swiped past.

Lockwood and I stood directly in front of the shape as it stretched to its full height. Pistons hissed, metal squealed. Flashlight beams wheeled behind it, but the thing itself was dark. Our brains were trying to process what we were seeing. Not a ghost—too solid, too much iron for that. Monstrous, yes—but not a monster. At the heart of it, surely, was a man.

“What is it, Terence?” a shrill voice called. “What’s in there?”

“Thieves!” the thing shouted. “Burglars!”

I knew the voice; and my guess was immediately confirmed, for at that moment Lockwood stabbed his flashlight on and shone it directly at the shape. The blaze revealed the secretary of the Orpheus Society, long white hair pluming out around a giant pair of goggles, a loose-fitting chain mail suit hanging over his dark coat. His feet and shins were encased in the top of a pair of pneumatic iron stilt-legs that adjusted, hissing, as he moved. His hands wore metal gauntlets, their fingers ending in foot-long stiletto claws. He cried out as the flashlight beam blinded him, raising one arm before his face.

“Thieves!” he cried again. “Thieves in the research library!”

“Then get out of the way, you old fool!” another voice cried. “Let us at them!”

A hiss and a spring; with surprising agility, the secretary bounded aside. Clustering at the door behind him came four other misshapen forms, each one a gray-haired man or woman in old-fashioned evening dress, goggles strapped to faces, silver armor clinking. The two women carried peculiar firearms—black, snub-nosed, with coils of rubber hosing connecting them to chrome bottles fixed to the top of the devices. One of the men had a weapon that looked like a harpoon gun. His companion carried a boxlike device strapped to his back. A long piece of brass tubing protruded from it, looped over his shoulder and ended in a gaping funnel. All these items looked roughly made, with patches of soldering holding them together. Roughly made—but clearly functioning.

The four lined up inside the door, with the secretary towering beside them. Holly had scuttled into the far corner of the library, beyond the globe; Kipps, one side of his jacket around his knees, had retreated to the other. I drew my rapier. I glanced at Lockwood, but his face was hidden, his emotions inscrutable. He tucked the pamphlet inside his coat, and let his hands drop by his side.

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