Whitechapel Gods by S.M. Peters

Author:S.M. Peters [Peters, S.M.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: SteamPunk, Fantasy
ISBN: 9780451461933
Publisher: Roc
Published: 2008-02-04T13:00:00+00:00

“Tick, tick, tick.”

Irregular footfalls echoed down the long hallway. Windows of red stained glass in unknowable geometric patterns measured the wall space between arches. Clocks of brass and chrome gazed down from the ceiling. The floor shook with the rumble of the Stack’s constant eruptions. These things passed in and out of John Scared’s senses as he walked to his death.

Someone had betrayed his location. It was the only explanation. Some dishonest underling had turned informant and led the baron to him. He wondered how much money the baron had offered him, or what religious claptrap.

The cloaks had shown up on his doorstep. It could not have been accidental, as he had made an entirely new residence—in addition to his usual hides—at the side of a theatre, down an alley, in the most crowded and confusing level of Commercial Street Tower. They’d walked right up and knocked.

“Baron Hume, the First Favoured, requests your presence, sir.”

Of course, Scared had presented his most congenial smile and informed them that he was glad they’d come, and that he had intended to give a report to the baron in the near future, in any case.

“I have information I’m certain will be of great use to him.”

A quick train and lift ride later they had deposited him at the entrance of the Long Hallway, as it was called. The two cloaks who had fetched him still stood guard just beyond the bronze entry doors. There was no need for them to provide an escort, as the hallway had only the one exit.

He took another step, leaning heavily on his cane.

What bothered him was that the baron must know his intentions by now. The British agent they had captured two nights previous could not have held back any information about the designer of the god-killing device. Scared had to assume he was being brought here as a prisoner; yet if the baron had wanted information, he would have had the Boiler Men haul him to the Chimney and there would be no need for any personal meeting.

Scared did not like unknown variables.

“Tick, tick.”

Hmmm, perhaps it is a nervous habit after all, my dear.

But perhaps Baron Hume was ignorant of who had asked Scared to design the weapon and then given him the intuitive knowledge to do so. Such information might be used as a bargaining chip. All he needed was to barter passage out of this hallway. Once back inside the Stack, a thousand avenues for escape presented themselves.

The Long Hallway led from the Stack to Baron Hume’s personal chapel. Both hall and church hung in the air without any apparent means of support. An escapee, breaking through the stained glass, would find not even a beam to shimmy down to freedom. And given the proximity to the Stack’s burning maw, the air would likely kill him before he managed to descend anyway.

The hall ended at another set of bronze doors, smaller than the hall’s entry but set with greater detail. Gears and springs of all shapes and sizes covered both doors, churning faintly away.

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