The Claws of Evil - By Andrew Beasley Page 0,16

secret hours of the night, enticing them to yield to the evil lurking inside their own hearts. The Watchers had tried to hide them, of course, scattering them around the world and locking them away. Tried and failed. Carter smiled; such naivety. The Watchers would never understand that greed would always win in the end.

As far as he understood, the great power of the Coins was that they freed a man to do the unthinkable. To hold just one of the Coins in your hand was to break the last chains of morality that kept you bound. They encouraged you to give in to your darkest urges, to do whatever you desired without a care for the consequences. To become totally free.

Free to kill Mr. Sweet, for example. Free to wipe out the Council of Seven and install yourself as supreme ruler of the Legion.

Carter had grown to despise the Seven. They were weak, insipid. They had amassed twenty-nine of the Judas Coins but they lacked the courage or the imagination to do anything with them except to shut them away in the dark. True, they might be working on some grand plan from which he was excluded, but whatever their scheme was, it was taking far too long for Carter’s liking; he was a man of action. No, he was decided. When the last Coin was his, he would make his move.

The last Coin was the key. Each of the thirty held some power, but the thirtieth was the most potent, the most corrupting. Twenty-nine coins had not been enough to turn Judas from good to evil. But thirty...that was enough to unleash Hell.

And that was precisely what Carter intended to do.

But the Coin had eluded him. So far.

The Feathered Men would aid him, he knew, just as they had done in the past. The Council of Seven had decreed that the Feathered Men were only to be released from the holding pens with their express permission, but Claw Carter wasn’t really in the business of seeking approval from anyone. No one understood the Feathered Men like he did; no one else fully appreciated their needs. Many was the time that he had let them fly free on an errand for him. All they needed was the right motivation.

As if on cue, there was a tentative knock on the doors and two trembling youths appeared, leading a cow. The cow was blindfolded, out of necessity. It would panic if it saw the Feathered Men. Just as the two boys were doing now.

They left gratefully, only too happy to close the door behind them and run. They did not see Carter guide the poor animal into the middle of the nesting chamber. They didn’t see the expression on his face as he ran his claw along the cow’s belly and then, in one swift slash, ripped her open from gullet to groin, spilling her steaming entrails onto the floor. But they could hear the terrible ecstasy of the Feathered Men as they feasted.

“Breakfast!” Carter declared. “Come and get it!”

Ben looked into his bowl. Porridge; at least that’s how Mrs. McLennon described it. It was actually a sticky, grey sludge with more than a hint of sawdust. Although that didn’t stop all of her tenants from gobbling it up, the adults around the kitchen table, the children and infants scattered across the floor. Except for the slurping, it was a moment of happy silence. Even the Vineys didn’t row over breakfast.

Ben looked at his father across the table, hoping for some sign that he had been forgiven for the disturbance the night before. Jonas Kingdom gave him a quick smile, and Ben knew that their relationship, such as it was, had been restored.

Ben lifted his bowl to his mouth and licked it clean with his tongue. Satisfied that he hadn’t missed a solitary scrap, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and then flashed his most dazzling smile at the O’Rourke girls.

They did not respond.

Mrs. McLennon started to gather up the empty bowls and they all understood that it was time for them to leave. There were never any seconds, so no one asked.

When she took his bowl, Mr. Wachowski belched appreciatively and scratched at a morsel that was nesting in his beard. “Kind lady,” he said.

“Och, no,” Mrs. McLennon demurred. “Nothing but my Christian duty.”

They all paid extra in their rent for the “Christian duty”, but again no one said a word.

“That was splendid, Mrs. McLennon,” said