“Guys, come on… can we please, just for once, pull together and address the issues we’re stuck with?”

  The next morning – if it could be called that when the sky was permanently stuck at midnight – a conference of duplicates sprawled themselves out in a rough circle around the main room. Huddled around a disposable light talisman, the three copies he’d summoned after sweeping away the last of the broken glass tried to make themselves comfortable on whatever surfaces were available. One propped itself up against the wall, while another leaned against the side of the armchair Henry was currently seated in. The last forwent sitting up altogether, deciding instead that the floor was more comfortable and laying flat on his back roughly opposite him.

  “What? We’ve got no shortage of time right now. Why are we suddenly in a hurry to find a way to die horrifically again?”

  “Because,” he countered, “This might very well be our last best shot. And the more we wait, the more time that London’s #1 Spider has to prepare, also. Now, if you’re all willing to bear with me here, the first thing I want to address is-”

  A duplicate raised his hand mid-preamble. The numerical tattoo on his palm – identical to Henry’s own – wavered as it reflected the moonbeams from just outside the window. The print shifted eerily along the surface, like a plant seeking sunlight.

  Henry sighed aloud, pinching his nose bridge. “Yes, what is it now?”

  “Pardon me… But…I think I speak for the rest of us that before we get too deep into the weeds here, we should make sure that this plan doesn’t involve us dying within a few hours?”

  The other two clones lazing about nodded in agreement. The one on the floor shot a thumbs-up into the air with one hand while propping his head up with the other.

  “...You’re asking a lot from me, you know.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” the clone continued. “But why would you want any of us in an early grave if you didn’t need all the help you can get?”

  “I mean, to be fair,” a third piped up. “I get where our original’s coming from. If I was stuck between choosing to keep me around for more than three days or… whatever happened to that original original, yeah, I’d be staying on top of housekeeping, too.”

  The group collectively shuddered at the memory.

  “...Moving past that, think about what it’s like from our perspective for a moment.” The last copy – the one lying down – finally spoke up. “We’re going into this, in the best case, knowing we each have three days to live. S’alright, we can get used to that just fine… but then there’s always something that pulls the rug out from under us isn’t there?”

  “A roaming werewolf, one of Cavendish’s serfs getting a little jumpy… not properly double tapping a vampire…”

  “Before you know it, we’re stuck with, typically, a day tops to live.”

  “And personally, I’d like to get more than a day’s rest before I shuffle off this mortal coil.”

  “Oh, haven’t you gotten enough already? You haven’t opened your eyes since you first laid down.”

  “Best rest I’ve had in months, I tell ya.”

  “You didn’t even exist yesterday, you-”

  “Enough,” Henry pleaded. “Just… okay. Minimize casualties. Should be doable… I think. Can we move on now?”

  “We have our word, then?”

  “Yeah, yeah, you have my word. Why does one of you always have to try and pull that hermetic shaman-talk bit?”

  “Because it never fails to get a reaction out of us.”

  Henry was thoroughly unamused.

  “…We’re getting off track.”

  Strategically changing tack, he unzipped the satchel and removed a worn travel map from a tourist stall he’d looted a while ago. Haphazard notes in various pen inks were scribbled in the margins and on the printed roads. He lifted up the light talisman and placed the map underneath, before retrieving a cheap pen to use as a pointer.

  “Right, sorting my life out one problem at a time.”

  “Our lives out?”

  “Whoever’s the sole survivor’s life out,” Henry amended. “Let’s leave it at that and move on.”

  He pointed towards a spot near the center of the city, marked with a minimalistic icon resembling a clock tower. “Last attempt, we tried going in with three of us while I stayed back here in Greenwich and tried to replenish our supply hoards. Long story short, failure on both counts.”

  Grumbling permeated the group as he confirmed the bad news they technically all knew already.

  “Silver lining, though, was that splitting up like that was the right call. Because those other three died-” he pointed to another spot along the River Thames. “-here.”

  Whenever a duplicate died, the remainder still alive would have a brief glimpse of the fatal incident flash through their minds if they weren’t present to witness it firsthand. Yet another weird quirk of the crystal that he had yet to fully understand. It was also a bit of a double-edged sword, as sometimes it led to multiple instances of himself getting distracted from their own fatal incidents waiting to happen, at the worst possible moment.

  Not that it had mattered whenever he had a go at sneaking in to London City proper. That thing was a freak of nature, even before he embraced his monstrous spider form.

  “Unfortunately, for the time being,” he elaborated. “We have to assume the worst case and say that the webs have extended at least that far in every direction.” He uncapped the red pen and drew a circle around Big Ben, indicating the size of the ‘no-go’ zone.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  It denoted a significant increase in area from before, nearly reaching as far as the British Museum.

  “Fortunately, he’s still not crossing the river yet, otherwise we’d be deep in it already.”

  “Bloody hell,” said one of the duplicates. “That nearly cuts off Notting Hill, Kensington and East Hammersmith entirely. If we need to go that way now, we’re basically limited to taking the long way around to the north across the river, or trying to thread the needle between the south side crossings and the Shroud.”

  “It’s a bit of a rough spot for the Palatial Remnant, that’s for certain,” the layabout added. “Though in the short term, I suppose it improves their defensive issues since the wolves steer well away from anything to do with The Mad Prince and his web-fort.”

  “Hopefully, we can get this done before they’re overly threatened by that madman. Although…”

  Henry exhaled briefly while pursing his lips. “… this new extended perimeter means that any stealth plans we had are thrown right out.”

  “So, at best, we’d need some way of distracting him so we can break through elsewhere, if not just abandon the sneaky route altogether and go for a full-on frontal assault. Which, as it stands, there is no one in Hallow London who’d even consider either option besides us.”

  “We might just need to set him aside for now and take a moment to tackle a smaller issue, then.” The duplicate sat on the floor beside the chair leaned in closer toward the map, thoughtfully rubbing his chin as he examined the map closer. “Been a while since we helped out with one of those, right? Maybe we take crack at some of the other bad eggs in the city that are keeping the Landed Knights or whoever we help pinned down? Gain ourselves a few favors?”

  Henry shook his head. “Whatever we choose, we end up back at the same problem. The only weapons we have currently are the combat knife and a gun with no bullets.”

  “At least the knife duplicates with us,” mused the most present copy. “Can you imagine how bad it’d be if we had to share that, too?”

  Murmurs of agreement echoed around the group.

  “But I see your point,” he continued. “So our next question is, who do we go to to replenish our stocks?”

  “Cecil’s already made it perfectly clear that the Remnant are running on fumes currently…” Henry marked a sticky note with a large ‘X’ and adhered it over the rough location of their camp in Kensington. “Definitely shouldn’t be asking them. Matter of fact, we might need to expect them asking for supplies from us. Or using us as a proxy to get aid from the Landed Nobles.”

  “Should we just go directly to them, then?”

  “As much as I like William, and am glad that he got elevated to Knight Commander after Elias died, I really don’t want to stay in Hackney any more than is strictly necessary. Can’t walk down the street there without getting an earful of that anti-vamp propaganda Cavendish likes so much. Or, more likely, getting press-ganged into the militia to raid the thrall-camps.”

  “Oh, please,” said the one on the floor. “We all know that that’s not the real reason you stay away.”

  “Hey,” another copy replied sternly. “There’s nothing wrong with working to keep a promise. We wanted to sort ourselves out first, and now we’re here. Layla can more than take care of herself when it comes to dealing with the Nobles.”

  “…Let’s make that Plan B,” Henry acquiesced. “There’s a couple other options that we can look at first. Just give me a moment to go down the list…”

  Another brief search through the satchel later, and he held a pocket notebook in his hand. He flipped past a few pages idly, before arriving at a series of names for the various splinter factions that had developed in the wake of the first and second Witching Hours. Henry began to rattle off names one by one, starting at the top.

  “The Subway Wizards?”

  “...Meh. Although I’m sure they’d be delighted at the chance to restore their connections to London City, they’re a bit too self-reliant for the type of assistance we need.”

  “Not to mention, they’re all a bit on the loony side.”

  “Hm, true. How about the Ammokhan, then?”

  “Devil Number 6? Well, he’d have no shortage of functional weapons, certainly. But good luck prying them away from him or his warband. Remember the last time we saw him?”

  “He wanted to turn us into an infinite supply of perfectly realistic training dummies…”

  “Alright, pass on him too.”

  Henry skimmed past a few on the list, discarding them out of hand.

  “Let’s see… The Constable’s still MIA… Death Jr. and The Dryad are no help even on a good day… the Reformationist vampires are too busy running their species-wide civil war…”

  He wordlessly dismissed a few others further down, before reaching the very last entry at the bottom of the list. A sigh of frustration escaped his lips.

  “I should have seen this coming. By all counts, the Gentleman’s Club really was our best bet from the start. But to deal with them, we’re going to have to deal with…”

  Everyone in the group groaned together and spoke in unison. “...Guillaume.”

  A moment of silence passed as they collectively mentally prepared themselves for the inevitable meeting with the head honcho of the biggest syndicate of low-level… criminals? Thugs certainly. Biggest group of thugs inside the Shroud.

  Many words could be used to describe Guillaume Dufresne. The ones off the top of his head – colorful language nonwithstanding – were ‘maladjusted’, ‘unscrupulous’, and ‘infuriatingly reasonable’. Getting aid out of him wouldn’t be the issue. The strings he’d inevitably be attaching to it, on the other hand…

  “As much as I hate to say it,” spoke the one on the floor, “I can’t think of anyone else who’s both equipped enough to be of help, and would be willing to do so for the right price.”

  “Are we sure we want to go with him, and not the Nobles?”

  “Hey, if you feel like you want to charge headlong into battle with nothing but high explosives on a long, pointy stick, by all means go lobby them for help.”

  “...Point taken.”

  “That a pun?”

  “...Is now.”

  “Regardless…” Henry reigned the conversation back in before it could go off the rails again. He steepled his fingers in front of him, striking about as intimidating a pose as he could manage.

  “Even just getting to him in his hideout in Stratford is still by no means going to be a walk in the park. In order to get the equipment we need, we’ll have to scrounge up every cheap trick we have in the book in order to even get within 10 blocks of that place alive. And that’s after we sneak across the river and make our way past whatever roaming wolves and vamps are out and about right now.”

  He looked each of his duplicates straight in the eyes. Hammering this point home was essential. For the first two, this went off perfectly without a hitch. The lazy one needed to be poked a bit for him to finally stop checking his eyelids for holes, but they got there eventually.

  “Guillaume is no slouch either, as I’m sure you’re all aware. After all, nobody ends up in the Devil’s Dozen by pure chance. Whoever finds him first must, and I mean must, be ready for the high-level mind games he likes to play at all times.”

  The rest of the group nodded along, their expressions totally serious. Contemplative furrows creased the brows of more than one of them, as Henry brought his impromptu speech to a close.

  “This will require discipline, cunning, extreme amounts of coordination and most importantly, a bit of luck to even have the slightest hope of succeeding. Now, what is our game plan going to be?”

  < -|- -|- >

  Stratford, London

  3 hours later

  “Oi, prick.”

  Henry’s fist slammed into the patrolling sentry’s face, sending the much larger man sprawling to the concrete as he rounded the corner. The guard’s partner, directly behind him, nearly tripped over the man Henry laid out, but reacted quickly to the sudden assault.

  The second gangster leaned into his shoulder, switching the walkie-talkie he carried from receive to send.

  “Hey, we got a live one over here! Anyone who’s sitting around with their thumb up their arse, get over here now!”

  Henry sprinted past the man on the radio, rushing his way towards the office building he remembered seeing the Gentleman’s Club hole up in. Or, well, at least, he was pretty sure it was that office building. There were a bunch in the immediate area, and they all had a bit of a samey look to one another. But, at the end of the day, if there were enough guards nearby to call for backup, he had to be pretty close, right?

  From further down the street, several groups of tough-looking folk brandishing improvised weapons poured out into the street to intercept him. Time for the fun to begin, he supposed.