These Dark Wings
John Owen Theobald

Blackout

By Harrison D, Sir Joseph Williamson’s Mathematical School

Chapter 1


It was almost 500 years since the father had been taken from us. And it would be the 500-year mark when we would take our revenge.




The familiar repulsive aroma of smoke awoke me early on the last day of 1856. I yawned and proceeded to search through my small pile of clothing and find my foul-smelling work outfit. I stepped down the stairs, misplacing my feet several times. My eyes drooped as tiredness took over me and once again I missed the step but this time it cost me. The world appeared to turn upside down and then darkness.



“Jack! Jack!” Slowly I came to my senses, the low murmur of chatting filled my ears and the strong smell of tobacco entered my nose. My eyes fluttered as they adjusted to the dim light that surrounded me. “Jack, thank the lord you’re okay, there is only a few hours until the big day!” Came a calm beautiful voice. I felt at ease that someone sounding so kind was here with me, but then it dawned on me. Where am I and who is Jack? I finally fully opened my eyes and painstakingly slowly I turned to look at the person who was talking. To my surprise, she was staring directly at me.

“Jack” she said seemingly frustrated. “Did you hear what I said!”

I looked up. “Who is jack?”

The lady cocked her head “You may have hit your head but you haven’t lost your personality.”

I shook my head “What happened to me?”

“the doctor said that you must have been drugged, someone is trying to stop us Jack, someone knows what we are up to.” She said.


I rolled onto my back. It must be a dream. I yawned and the darkness consumed me once again.



Chapter 2

Blackout. I looked around but I could not see nor hear a thing. After waiting patiently for several minutes for my eyes to adjust to the lighting, I became extremely nervous as a huge sense of foreboding crossed my mind. I desperately tried to move but everything other than my eyes were fixed tightly in position. I sobbed, what had I done before? What was ‘john’ going to do that was so bad? What would happen to me? I fell silent. A familiar smell. I sniffed. Why did I recognise it? I returned from my trail of thought as suddenly I heard something. I viciously tugged at the bars holding me down. I had to get out. The door suddenly swung open. A hugely built man entered the room, followed closely by two women. I strained to get a better look but the strap stopped me.

“Hello Jack.” Came a deep husky voice.

“Look I don’t know who jack is, I was in an accident and I don’t know who I am!” I screamed.

“Okay then, don’t tell us and John will come for you” the huge man said.

John. I thought. Why did that name ring a bell. I dismissed the thought and flipped back to reality.

“Jack, yes that’s right it’s me, remember me? You fell down the stairs and I was the one who drugged you.” Came the calm voice of the person in the hospital, but it was no longer a kind voice, it was harsh and malicious.

“Where am I?” I shouted.

“The tower of London.”


I thought that she must have been joking but after a short period of silence I knew that I had thought wrong. I closed my eyes. That smell from earlier. I remembered where I knew it from. An ancient script that I had when I was younger, it had that same smell. With a small ounce of hope I looked up but they were gone.



Chapter 3

Tap. I looked up. Tap. I looked around searching for the answer to this sound.

“He he he!” screamed a petrifying voice. I froze and sat back. I remembered everything. John ii king of France. How his last wishes were that in 500 years our family would take our revenge for what the English did to him in the tower of London. How all the lies were just a cover up. How John our father had laid a curse on England. I sat in shock. I didn’t fulfil his wish and he was back, and he was not happy. Something sharp scratched on the door. Suddenly all of my metal grips seemed to loosen. I sat in relief, he must have seen what happened and forgiven me. With a tug my grips broke free. I sighed in relief and turned around. He was there. His dark brown hair in patches dotted over his head where it had been pulled out those years ago, a distorted face which seemed to be stuck in one position. The man had an old blue robe on which was tore all around the bottom.

“I’m so sorry sir it wasn’t my fault...”


He looked at me in the eye “I’m not john, I’m one of the ravens at the tower.”