Imperial Clock (The Steam Clock Legacy) by Appleton Robert

Author:Appleton, Robert [Appleton, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Published: 2013-04-13T16:00:00+00:00

A damp, pearly mist, kept aglow by the odd streetlamp, hung low over everything in this unpopulated part of the city. Cobbles gave way to a dirt road twenty feet wide between raised pavements. Its slick mud glistened amber under the lamps’ glow, while a line of arrowheads pointed skyward above the mist on either side. A tall black fence of some kind. The area had the desolate feel of an abandoned village in the aftermath of a natural disaster—a tense energy, an absence of the souls that created it, held dominion. She could no longer see Frank’s carriage ahead, but the occasional neighing of its horses told her it was still there, ahead of them in the mist.

“Driver, what is this place?” she whispered.

“The old Yew Bank cemetery, miss, either side of us. One of my great uncles is buried ‘ere someplace. No one comes ‘ere now’days, not since them disappearances when I were a boy. Dozens, there was, all in the space of a few months. Shortly after that they pulled the old church down and fenced the throughway from Friar’s Bridge. Folks have seen and heard all sorts of strange things ‘ere: things it don’t do no good to mention out loud at this time of night. Now I’m not normally one for superstition, miss, but this place is something else. Says it all that there’s however many thousands of graves yet you can count the visitors who still come ‘ere on one hand. You sure you want to go on, miss?”

“I am. It must have a caretaker, a custodian of some sort to tend the graves, the paths, see to the general upkeep?”

“I guess so. Though whether that’s any living caretaker is up for debate.” He winked, managed a nervous lopsided smile. She nodded her appreciation for his attempt to lighten the mood.

“Where does this road lead exactly?” she asked.

“Well, the lane we’re on is a dead end. If you’re still after followin’ those men but don’t want ‘em to know it, I’d suggest goin’ on foot from ‘ere. Gates are right ahead, if I remember correct, an ‘undred yards or so.”

“Thank you, driver. I’m indebted to you.”

“Weren’t nothin’, miss. Would you like for me to wait ‘ere? It’d be no trouble. And I’d feel better if you was to have a ride home after, just in case you see something you’d rather not.”

“Such as?”

He shrugged. “Beats me, miss. It ain’t quite a full moon, but it’s moon enough for what’s been heard hereabouts before now.”

“No, thank you anyway. I appreciate your concern, but I might be some time.”

He helped her down, then tipped his hat. “If I was you, I wouldn’t come back this way, miss. It’s about the loneliest place around. On the far side of the cemetery to where we’re facin’, there used to be another cut-through across a stream; course that was when I was little. Just stick to the main path an’ you’ll find it if it’s there. It’ll lead you out to a row of riverbank cottages and a pub, the Queen Christina.

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