Malcolm stepped back into the alley and motioned them to follow. He whispered, “There’s someone in the churchyard. More than one person. Might be our quarry.”
Kate breathed hard in anticipation, ready to put practice into action. She felt for her father’s pistol in her belt and the short sword at her hip. She also had a leather bandolier over her shoulder. It was designed for large hunting shells, but it now contained vials of potentially useful potions. Her long dress was gone, replaced by a heavy skirt that fell midcalf. She wore boots and a leather jacket over a thick man’s shirt. She felt rather rugged in a way. Excitement rather than dread coursed through her.
She heard a quiet snapping of impatient fingers. Malcolm was already crouching atop the spears of the iron fence, reaching down for her. She stretched up and he dragged her into the air and onto the precarious fence top. She barely kept herself from toppling headfirst to the grass of the churchyard. Simon up came beside her.
Malcolm dropped silent as a cat. He turned and took her as if she were weightless. Simon hit the ground with a grunt that brought a cautionary glance from the Scotsman. Malcolm signaled for them to be silent and follow. He kept along the fence, moving in the shadows of the neighboring buildings, toward the northern yard, which was some twelve feet above the road outside, thanks in part to the natural roll of the land and in part to the centuries of dead, buried layer upon layer under the church’s grounds. Gravestones stood everywhere, many crooked and colored black by time, scattered chaotically through the burying ground.
They crouched behind a stone sarcophagus. Kate heard noises now. Not voices, but shuffling steps and the light crunch of clothing. She crept upward, her fingers feeling the cold marble even through her gloves. Eyes topped the mossy vault and she saw three figures walking among the graves, all wearing long coats with hoods. They moved slowly and awkwardly toward a long, low mound of freshly turned earth, where she noticed several small shapes shining white in the dark dirt. Tall, high-capped mushrooms sprouted from the grave.
Simon whispered from the corner of the oblong tomb where he peered out. “Get down.”
One of the figures turned in their direction and Kate saw a ghostly pale face. It was gruesome, flat, and misshapen, with large, bulbous eyes.
She gasped and dropped quickly. “It’s a homunculus.”
Simon hissed, “Did they see you?”
Kate raised an acerbic eyebrow. “Just after they heard you, yes.”
Growling with annoyance, Malcolm pulled his pistols as he rose to his feet. A ropy white object flew at him with a solid wet thud. He was spun around hard, losing one of his pistols.
Simon grabbed the Scotsman to keep him from falling. “Malcolm, don’t kill them.”
“Don’t kill them?” Malcolm exclaimed, wide-eyed, recovering his bearings.
“We have to follow the—” Simon’s whisper was cut off by another tentacle whipping around his throat. His scarf began to smoke.
Kate drew her weapons and swung the broad-bladed sword, crushing the taut tendril against the marble. She heard the crunch of mechanicals and fluid spurted out, hissing over the lichen.
“Acid!” Simon shouted roughly, pushing Kate back. He took hold of the tentacle while whispering a word. He pulled once and snapped the appendage where Kate had cut it. The white creature stumbled back onto the ground several yards away.
Malcolm vaulted the tomb, while Simon frantically stripped off his sizzling gloves. The white man-thing fought to push itself up on the ends of one of its sleeves. Where its hands should have been there were white tendons that whipped along the ground like angry snakes. Malcolm stepped up to the creature and the other tentacle slapped around his ankle with a hiss. The Scotsman didn’t react, but calmly placed the barrel of the pistol against the pale face.
Simon came around the vault, tossing his scarf aside. “Careful! He’s full of acid.”
Malcolm blasted the creature’s head into pulp. “What did you say?” He turned, wiping chunks of brain matter from his face. The Lancaster pistol let out a whisper of steam as the quad-barrel assembly rotated the smoking barrel away from the breech and clicked a fresh, loaded one into place.
Kate saw a second homunculus staggering forward. She aimed and fired her pistol with a spark and a massive whoom. The homunculus flew off its feet and slammed to the grassy ground. It rolled from side to side, moaning in pain, scrabbling at the wound in its chest.
Simon looked back at her in surprise. “Nice shot.”