Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,19

spilling into the water. An iron ladder led into the darkness below. Rip peered through. Could be anything waiting. As Blade moved, he caught his arm.

“Lemme go first.”

“Expect anythin’,” Blade said with a curt nod.

Rip stepped through into the opening. The ladder vanished down what looked like an old air vent. Below he could see fan blades slowly circling. Bending his knees, he leapt out into the darkness, air whipping past him as he dropped.

Landing in the middle of the fan, he knelt low to absorb the shock, his eyes adjusting to the dim light that streamed from the open vent above. The fan blades had once been dull but now sharp edges gleamed as they circled below him. Rust coloured stains edged them.

Another crude opening had been hacked into the wall. This was a part of Undertown he’d never explored. Close to where the original underground train tunnel had collapsed.

“Careful,” he called.

Blade landed beside him, the tails of his leather coat slapping the backs of his thighs. Rip steadied him and nodded at the hole in the wall.

“Looks like someone missed.” Blade noticed the bloodstains.

“Unless they were thrown.” Rip shouldered through the small tunnel.

Just big enough for him. It left him at a disadvantage, for he could barely swing his arm, let alone a knife. By the time he reached the end, he’d have been sweating if a blue blood could.

Light beckoned ahead. The narrow tunnel opened into an enormous cavern of shadows. From the slight breeze, it must have gone a fair ways. As his eyes adjusted, Rip saw the train platform stretching into the distance.

One of the abandoned stations that had once been carved beneath London. No doubt the tunnel he’d just come through had been hacked out by someone of an enterprising nature, trying to unearth their own little hidey-hole in the caved-in sections.

Movement shifted. Rip stiffened as a man stepped out of the darkness, dragging a young woman in a stained gray gown. Dusty red curls tumbled over her dirt-marred forehead and her eyes were glazed with pain and horror as the man sank a hand into her hair and yanked her throat back.

“Come on out, little rats. I see you,” the man called, taking a sniff of the stale air. “I smell you.”

Tall enough to fill out the brown coat he wore. Rip examined him ruthlessly. Whoever he was, this man knew how to fight – and dirty. The fingertips had been cut from his gloves, but razor blades gleamed over his last knuckles, where’d he’d cut them through the leather. Land a punch with them and they’d tear a man to shreds.

A cap covered his hair, his cheeks gaunt and dirty, though the way he stood – as if he were king of this lair and they supplicants – gave Rip some idea of his character.

Behind him, Slashers crept out of the shadows, crawling low on hands and knees as they fanned out. Armed with an assortment of knives and bludgeons, they bared teeth and snarled in Rip’s direction.

“You afraid o’ Bloody Bill ‘iggins?” the leader called. “You ‘eard o’ ‘im, ain’t you? ‘Eard what he can do--”

“Can’t say rightly that I ‘ave,” Rip called. “Slashers come. Slashers go.” A shrug. “They all bleed the same colour in the end.”

Higgins’s smile died. “You’ll know me fuckin’ name by the end o’ this. I’ll carve it in your bloody forehead.”

Behind him, Rip could hear Blade fanning out in the other direction.

“All this,” Blade called, “just to get me attention? Should ‘ave just left your callin’ card. I mighta gotten round to you. In the end.”

A knife came up, pressing against Annie’s throat. Higgins dragged her back against his chest, hissing through his teeth as she gasped. “That were me callin’ card. Thought you’d like the blood.”

Rip stilled, shooting Blade a look. The man was on edge. Mock him too much and he’d cut her throat just to taunt them.

“So what d’you want?” Rip called. “Why the games?”

“I want the ‘Chapel.”

Blade laughed. “She’d eat you alive, boy-o.”

The knife cut just enough to break Annie’s skin. “Please,” she whispered.

“Let ‘er go,” Rip called, taking a step closer. “She got no part in this.”

Higgins pressed his lips to her cheek, never taking his eyes off the pair of them. “She’s the bait. The good times. The fun.” Shutting his eyes for a second, he rubbed his cheek against hers, as if smelling her. A long trickle of blood slid down the muscle of her throat and pooled