The Claws of Evil

At some point, Ben must have drifted off.

The room could hardly have been colder; the curtain had frozen to the window pane, his blanket was as stiff as leather. All Ben wanted to do was to stay asleep a while longer, but something was tugging him back to wakefulness.

There was a noise.

Ben listened intently, straining his ears to pick up the sound. It came again, a scuffling from somewhere above his head. What was it? Rats in the rafters again? He shuddered at the thought. There was something about those fat bodies and naked pink tails that really disturbed him. Nasty beady eyes, teeth made for biting, claws for scratching. Ben felt his body tense at the thought. Anything but rats.

Bolt upright now, he waited for the noise to come again.

Far beneath Benjamin’s feet, two rats were scurrying his way. They were in a secret tunnel, just one of a warren of secret tunnels that was the Legion’s hidden home below the London streets. And behind those rats, moving softly and with purpose, came two young Legionnaires. They went by the names of Mickelwhite and Bedlam, and it would be hard to find a less likely couple. Mickelwhite was tall, lean, pale, aristocratic; Bedlam was short, squat, dark, as rough as a tosher’s dog. The only thing they shared was hate.

They had their various reasons, they had their own stories. But they had made the same choice: join the Legion.

They were two boys who had promised to give their all for the Council of Seven, two soldiers in a war where the prize was more than they could possibly comprehend; two Legionnaires obeying orders, scouting out the enemy. Most nights they did the same. Hunt for Watchers. Look for signs of light.

Snuff them out.

Not so far above Benjamin’s head, Lucy Lambert maintained her silent vigil. The wind tugged at her long coat, trying its best to catch her with her guard down and throw her off the roof to a death of cobblestones and shattered bones.

The Watcher did not flinch. She and her kind lived on the rooftops of London. The high places were their domain. Friends with gargoyles and pigeons, they spent their days amid the chimney pots, turrets and towers, only touching solid ground when their mission demanded it. What was a little wind and snow to her?

Lucy had often wondered what the Hand would be like when he was finally revealed. She found it hard to reconcile the image she had built in her mind with the swaggering boy that she was standing guard over. Ben Kingdom didn’t appear to be special or powerful. He didn’t even come across as especially bright.

Although he is sort of handsome, she supposed...but then she dismissed the idea, angry with herself for even having thought it.

Lucy clenched her quarterstaff more tightly, pumping some fresh blood into her fingers in case she needed to defend the stupid boy in a hurry. Time would tell if he was worth it.

One thing was for certain, a storm was coming. Day after day, the Legion were becoming more powerful, and soon they would make their move. There were even whispers that the last of the lost Coins had been found. Open war was on its way and the Watchers were prepared.

Lucy spun her staff from hand to hand, practising the lunge, slash and jab that would have any Legionnaire who faced her begging for mercy.

She was ready.

The lintel creaked and a fine shower of plaster rained down on Benjamin. No, not rats, he decided. These feet were far too heavy, too slow. But if not rats, then what?

Benjamin shot out of bed. There was someone on the roof. He dismissed the thought as impossible and yet, as he listened, there it was again: the definite sound of a human foot on the tiles.

Careful so as not to disturb his father, Ben made his way to the window which jutted out of the sloping roof of their attic room. He rubbed the glass but he couldn’t see anything through the spider’s web of ice and his lip curled back in frustration. Above him the roof groaned again as a body adjusted its balance, shifting weight from one foot to another. It couldn’t be a burglar, he reasoned; they had less than nothing and none of that was worth stealing. There was only one answer: the Weeping Man had found him already.

Ben’s first instinct was to run. To wake Pa and Nathaniel and then all of them could leg it. But then he remembered Molly Marbank and his sense of shame came back to haunt him. His hands began to rage within, throbbing with the same invisible power that had nearly shot Jago Moon out of his chair.

A sudden anger took hold of him, bigger than his fear, bigger than the danger. He had unfinished business with the Weeping Man. And if he couldn’t handle him on his own, then there were two more Kingdoms in the room – surely they could manage him together?

The sash window was frozen shut, and Ben began to hammer against it with his palms, desperately trying to force it upwards.

Come on then!

A terrible banging was coming from below Lucy’s feet. For some reason best known to himself, Ben Kingdom was trying to open a window that had been frozen shut. The noise echoed across the street and Lucy winced. She had been sent here to watch over him and make sure that he didn’t draw attention to himself. He might just as well shout “Here I am, come and get me!” she thought. He really doesn’t have a clue what he’s facing.

Whether Ben Kingdom was the Hand or not, it was vital that the Legion didn’t get their claws into him. They feared the Hand of Heaven more than they feared the might of the British Army, and if they even suspected that this scruffy East End kid might be the one who would bring about their downfall, they would stamp out his life without a second thought.

Lucy glanced down into the street and saw Jago Moon signalling to her. She read his hand gestures: Two Legionnaires, advancing fast from the river end of the street.

Shut up, Ben! she thought with increasing annoyance, as in the room beneath her the last hope for the Watchers continued to struggle with the simple task of opening a window. Quickly, Lucy skidded down the slope of tiles until she was balanced on the guttering, where she could get a better look at her enemy. Moon was right; she could see the disturbance in the snow around the manhole cover where they had emerged from the sewers like the rats they were. Two sets of tracks leading into the shadows.

Lucy liked Mr. Moon. He was fierce. He was strict. He terrified the younger ones and he enjoyed nothing better than a good fight. In many ways, he reminded Lucy of herself.

She stood poised, the wind tossing her long blonde hair around her slender face, waiting for the order from Moon to either hold her ground or move forward to engage.

Attack! signalled Moon and Lucy felt the rush of adrenaline as she sprinted across the rooftop; as nimble as a cat, and more than happy to use her claws.

Ben’s pounding became more insistent, his hands throbbing with inner fire.

His brother Nathaniel started to stir.

His father was rousing.

The window gave way to a final push, and Arctic wind filled the room, bringing with it a swarm of snowflakes like angry wasps. Benjamin ignored their icy stings as he scrambled his way up onto the windowsill.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jonas Kingdom mumbled, groggy with sleep.

Ben didn’t have time to answer; he had his feet on the window ledge, his arms bracing himself in the frame. He had to see.

Craning his neck, he caught a flurry of movement behind and above him. For a fraction of a second, Ben made out a figure standing beside the chimney pot. Then it was gone, running along the ridge of the roof with remarkable agility, before dropping down onto a lower roof and out of sight.

Inside the room his father and brother were both grumbling at him.

Ben sighed in resignation. As always he had some explaining to do.

The Legion scouts realized they had been spotted.

As soon as Jago Moon started to tap tap tap down the Lane towards them with his cane, Captain Mickelwhite knew it was their signal to leave. At his side, John Bedlam cracked his knuckles and made to rush the old man, but Mickelwhite reined him in with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Steady, John,” said Mickelwhite, dragging him back under cover. “We choose our fights, remember? Strike when we are ready, hit hard when we know we can win,” he reasoned at a whisper.

“Yeah, well I’m ready now,” snarled Bedlam. “It’s about time that annoying old geezer got what was comin’ to him.”

Mickelwhite controlled his own emotions, since his partner was clearly incapable of controlling his. He pointed upwards and Bedlam followed his gaze. The other Watcher was on the move as well, almost dancing across the roof towards them.

“It’s Scarface,” hissed Bedlam, catching sight of the livid wound that split the girl’s face in two.

“Come on,” urged Mickelwhite, heading back towards the manhole and the safety of the sewers. “We need to report in.”

“Another time then, beautiful,” Bedlam whispered to himself with a final lingering look at the Watcher girl. Then he dragged the metal cover back into place over their heads, locked it tight, and they both descended the ladder into the hidden world of the Legion; down into the Under.

“Benjamin!” Jonas Kingdom barked, slamming the window and shutting out the storm. “What the hell are you playing at, boy? Some of us have got to work in a few hours.”

Nathaniel gave him a look that was part smile, part pity, and then rolled over, his back to him. Jonas returned to his own bed and in minutes the pair of them were snoring again.

Ben stayed awake. He listened for footfalls on the roof. He listened for noises in the street. But the only thing that he could hear was the echo of his father’s words.

Although he loved his father, there were times when he could almost hate him too; hate the injustice of it. All his life, he had felt as if he were being punished for a crime that he didn’t commit.

It had never been spoken out loud, but Ben saw it in his father’s eyes, felt it in the tone of his voice. You murdered her, Ben. We’d be a happy family if it wasn’t for you.

He missed her too, didn’t they understand that?

He hadn’t killed her. It wasn’t his fault.

How did they think he felt? Knowing that his mother gave her life to bring him into the world.





The Feathered Men were restless. Their screeching echoed through the tunnels of the Under, a shrill and angry conversation in a language no human ear should hear.

Claw Carter watched them cautiously. He had stalked tigers and the rules were much the same: move slowly, move silently. Try not to reek of fear.

There were hundreds of hidden chambers in the subterranean world of the Under, the secret realm of tunnels and catacombs that the Legion called home, but none were as dreaded as the nesting pens where the Feathered Men took their rest. Few dared to approach unless they were under strict orders, and then only reluctantly. Claw Carter, however, was not like other men.

The Feathered Men were remarkable creatures: part man, part bird; all evil. Carter admired them, admired their simplicity. They were killing machines, nothing more. Looking at them, it was hard to imagine that once they had been angelic beings, members of the high order of the Seraphim, whose sole purpose was to sing the praises of their Creator. But that had been a long time ago, before the rebellion in Heaven, Carter reminded himself. A lot had happened since then. The uprising had failed and the once majestic Feathered Men had been cast out with all the other rebel angels; hurled down into the depths of the Pit. Far, far away from Heaven’s light.

In a way, the Feathered Men had never stopped falling, Carter thought, as he watched them. It was as if their hearts were set on descending lower and lower into depravity and greed. One at a time, they had been summoned by the Legion down the centuries, through sacrifice, ritual and blood. Lots of blood. And now they did the Legion’s bidding, if it suited them. The relationship between the Feathered Men and the Legion was not an easy one, Carter knew, neither side having much to offer in the way of trust. But it worked because of a shared vision: they both wanted revenge on the One who had rejected them.

Carter observed the Feathered Men as they roosted in the eaves, squatting on the beams high overhead, gripping tight with their strangely elongated hands and feet. They did not require much in the way of comfort: a vaulted ceiling where they could take their rest, straw to defecate in, fresh meat to eat. A sconce of tallow candles flickered in the corner nearest to the stout oak doors, providing just enough light to cast the nesting chamber into shadows. These ageless, immortal creatures disliked the light; perhaps it reminded them too much of the life they had left behind, Carter mused.

Every now and then a squabble would erupt and they lashed out spitefully, snapping with their beaks and raking their talons across each other’s flesh until the dispute was resolved. They were kindred spirits, Carter thought; they did what they wanted, took what they desired. Much like myself.

And although they were monstrous in appearance, like Carter with his claw, the Feathered Men were spiritual beings too; they understood the invisible things of this world. They understood the nature of the Coin. That was why he was here now.

Although he was not in the habit of explaining his plans to anyone, he continued to be amazed that even someone as intelligent as Ruby Johnson failed to grasp the significance of the Coins. Thirty pieces of silver; wasn’t it obvious? Didn’t everyone know the story of Judas, the man who betrayed Jesus for a purse of Roman coins?

The Coins of Blood.

For nearly two thousand years they had brought out the worst in men, whispering to them in the 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 Jonas, rising from the table. “Come on then, son, we don’t want to be getting under Mrs. Mac’s feet.”

Nathaniel Kingdom rose swiftly. “Yes, Pa,” he said, ready for a day working at his father’s side.

Benjamin Kingdom stood more slowly and didn’t say a word.

Stiff and cold, Ruby Johnson awoke to find herself on the cellar floor in the Punch and Judy. Rolling the numbness from her shoulders, she scanned the ground until she found the coin that had thrown Professor Carter into such a rage the night before. She picked it up, balanced it on her thumb and flicked it into the air, catching it neatly and then tucking it in her pocket. If Carter didn’t want it then she was sure that someone else would pay her handsomely; failing that she could spend it herself. She placed it between her teeth and bit. Real silver too. She didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Boys could be so silly sometimes.

Ruby left the Punch and Judy as quietly as she had arrived and set off in search of some breakfast. Eggs would be nice today, she thought, or a bit of bacon. Where can I acquire them? she wondered.

Although she would never confess it, Ruby was still irked that she had shown herself up. She had dragged Carter out on a wild goose chase. She had, in short, failed him, and that wasn’t her style at all. The mysterious Coin was clearly far more important to Carter than she had realized and if anyone was going to find it, she was determined that it would be her. Her talents deserved recognition.

Besides, not all of the others in the organization to which she belonged possessed her social graces. Rewards and honour would be wasted on them, in her opinion. Some members of the Legion, she had to admit, were not pleasant people at all.

And if the thugs and bully boys didn’t get their grubby fingers on the Coin, then the Feathered Men surely would. She shuddered at the thought. She wouldn’t want to receive a visit from the Feathered Men for all the money in the world.





Back in their room, the three Kingdom men got ready for their day; two as dockers, one as an apprentice cooper and sometime mudlark. Ben didn’t mind learning the trade of barrel-making. He didn’t really mind mudlarking either, searching for things he might sell that had fallen into the filthy banks of the Thames. Although he was less than happy that the very best pickings were always to be found in the deep mud around the gratings, where the sewers flowed into the river. But what made him unhappy was that his father never asked him to work in the docks at his side.

Jonas Kingdom was a good man, everyone said so. The salt of the earth. Ben could easily see why his mother had fallen in love with him; in spite of everything that was harsh about their lives there was always a sparkle in his eyes.

Today his father’s eyes were positively ablaze.

“Can you show Ben, Pa?” Nathaniel spoke and Ben snapped out of his daze.

Jonas threw a silent glance in Ben’s direction and then, with no further hesitation, drew something from inside his jacket.

“Just quick,” said Jonas. “Then we need to get this little beauty tucked away somewhere safe.”

Both boys drew close and watched as their father unfolded a square of dark cloth, like a magician performing a trick. Nestled in the velvet was a single silver coin. It was small and old, and not very much to look at, and yet as Ben gazed upon it, he was filled with a yearning that he had never known before. He reached out to touch it, but his father snatched it away. “It’s not for touching,” he said, “it’s for buying us a better life.”

“How did you get it?” asked Ben.

Again, Nathaniel and Jonas shared a glance.

“It was the strangest thing,” said Nathaniel. “Can I tell him, Pa?” Jonas nodded. “There was this ’Jyptian fellow,” Nathaniel began, “dressed in these long robes and a turban. We get all sorts down at the docks, don’t we, Pa?” Another nod. “Anyway, he was acting all peculiar, walking back and forth and waving his arms like he was arguing with someone, ’cept he was the only one there. He looked old, as if his face had been all dried up by the sun, and there was something else about him too, wasn’t there, Pa?”

“The man was scared,” said Jonas, taking over the tale. “I went over to him and introduced myself, to see if he was in trouble, anything I could do, and he gave me this look – it sent a shiver right through me. It was as if he was in prison and I was the first light he had seen in years.”

Jonas’s expression became distant, as if he was remembering something he would rather forget. Then he continued. “He grabbed my wrist. His hands were as bony as claws, although I don’t think I could have broken his hold if I’d wanted to.” He shook his head slightly, as if trying to shake off the memory of that skeletal grip. “Then he forced the coin into my palm. ‘Take it,’ he said. ‘Take it and destroy it.’ And then he ran away.”

“Ran like the bobbies were after him,” laughed Nathaniel.

“Why would he want you to destroy it?” asked Ben, incredulous.

“Perhaps he wasn’t right in the head,” Jonas suggested, forcing a laugh as if to chase his own doubts away. “Don’t suppose we’ll ever know his half of it. And truth be told, it doesn’t matter, because for once a bit of luck has landed in our laps.”

All three of them gazed at the small circle of silver; the miracle in their midst. “I could take it if you like,” suggested Ben eagerly, breaking the silence. “I’m sure Professor Carter would be able to tell me all about it. He could even give us an idea of how much it might be worth—”

“Right before he took it away and put it in a case in that blasted museum.” Jonas shook his head in disbelief. “I just don’t get you sometimes,” he told Ben. “You act like you’re so full of learning, yet you don’t do much thinking.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Do you think anyone else is going to believe for one minute that some Egyptian geezer just gave us this coin? Don’t you think that Carter will start asking questions that we don’t have the answers to?” He closed his fist around the coin to display his resolve. “No, Ben, my mind’s made up. Your precious professor is just the same as the rest of them. He’d take this coin off us and keep it for himself.”

Ben wanted to protest. Professor Carter was not like that. He’s a good man, Ben thought, like you.

Instead, he held his tongue.

“This coin isn’t going anywhere, you understand?” said Jonas. “Not until I’ve had proper time to think on how best we can use it.” Nathaniel showed his agreement by nodding hard. “In the meantime, we’ve got to keep it out of the way of prying eyes and sticky fingers.”

Jonas turned to Ben. “Make yourself useful, lad, and go and keep watch on the stairs. Sing out if you see anyone. I need to get this treasure buried.”





The man was not from Egypt as Jonas Kingdom had assumed. His name was Nazir el Hussain and before he became a murderer he was once a prince of Persia.

None of his subjects would recognize him if they saw him now. His robes had lost their lustre, and his face, which some had called the most handsome in all of Arabia, was haunted and gaunt. He was old before his time.

Nazir looked at his hands and wondered when they had wasted away to skin and bone. They were trembling and he understood why. He was shaking with need. Since he had given the Coin away it was as if he was burning up from the inside.

He wanted it back so terribly.

A year ago, when he first saw the Coin, it had belonged to another man who was as consumed by its power and beauty as he had become. He would never forget the surprise on the old man’s face when he had pushed the dagger into his chest, or the sound of the aged fingers snapping as he broke their dying grip.

“The Coin is mine; you shall not have it,” his father had said with his final breath.

It was poison to the soul, Nazir understood that now. That was why he had to put as much distance between himself and the Coin as possible, if he was to have a chance to be free. Since he had given the Coin to that poor fool at the docks, Nazir had not stopped running. Or looking over his shoulder.

That same day he took passage on the first ship that would carry him, not caring which shore it was headed for. He paid the captain too much and, as soon as the deal was struck, he wasted no time in getting below decks. His only plan was to stay hidden in his cabin with the door locked until an ocean separated him from that merciless piece of silver.

Nazir turned the key in the lock and then sank to the floor, with his back against the door. It was cool and dark in his cramped cabin and a wooden shutter across the single porthole easily held back the feeble daylight. Perhaps if he could survive the voyage, endure the ceaseless pull of the Coin until he was totally beyond its reach, then he might have a chance to live again. Not that he deserved it, his conscience told him.

It was only then that he realized he was not alone. There were other shapes in the darkness.

His eyes strained against the dim light until they rested on a huddle of lean bodies in the far corner. Hashshashin, he thought; assassins come too late to steal the Coin. But the more he looked, the more he knew these were not mere men sent to kill him. Their limbs were disturbingly disproportionate; slightly too narrow, slightly too long. Fingers with nails as sharp and hard as bone. He could see their strong, wiry frames and naked skin which looked as if it had been stretched too tight over elongated muscles.

Things with the forms of men but with the heads and wings of eagles.

His religion taught him that demons were real. And Nazir el Hussain understood instantly why these ones had come for him.

“The Coin,” one of them hissed at him, its voice an ugly croak. “Where is the Coin?”

Nazir spread his arms and showed them his empty palms.

Another of the creatures opened its beak and issued a harsh shriek. They observed Nazir for one more second and then fell on him as one; a sudden rush of talons and feathers as black as the night.

“The Coin!” they screamed. “Where is the Coin?”

Nazir el Hussain did not resist the embrace of the Feathered Men, not even as they ripped his flesh and began to feast on his body. For a minute he lay twitching on the floor as his soft innards gave way to the rampage of their beaks.

“Kingdom,” he said at last. Then he twitched no more.

Perhaps death would bring him the peace that he longed for.

“Anyone about?” asked Jonas Kingdom.

“Not that I can see, Pa,” Ben replied from his lookout post in their bedroom doorway. He was watching the landing to make sure that Mrs. Mac or any of the other residents didn’t come upstairs to pay them an unexpected call.

Satisfied that they were alone, Jonas rolled back his mattress and set about gently loosening a short piece of floorboard, rocking it back and forth until it quietly came free in his hand. This was where the Kingdoms hid their wealth, such as it was, amid the dust and the mouse droppings. At the last count, their combined savings amounted to two shillings and eleven pence: the price of a new pair of boots, although none of them imagined that the money would be squandered on such a luxury.

This Coin would turn their fortunes around, his father was right about that.

Although he was meant to be watching the stairs, Ben’s eyes never left the Coin. Not for a second. He had never seen anything so fascinating before.

And it was then that he decided he would take it to Professor Carter anyway.

Where was the harm in that?