Cassandra Clare - Infernal Devices 1 Clockwork Angel

THE INFERNAL DEVICES

Book One

Clockwork Angel

Also by Cassandra Clare

THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS:

City of Bones

City of Ashes

City of Glass

MARGARET K. MCELDERRY BOOKS

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Childrens Publishing Division

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people,
or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents
are products of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2010 by Cassandra Claire, LLC

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Book design by Mike Rosamilia

The text for this book is set in Dolly.

Manufactured in the United States of America

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Clare, Cassandra.

Clockwork angel / Cassandra Clare.1st ed.

p. cm.(The infernal devices ; bk. 1)

Summary: When sixteen-year-old orphan Tessa Grays older brother suddenly vanishes,
her search for him leads her into Victorian-era Londons dangerous supernatural underworld, and when she discovers that she herself is a Downworlder, she must learn to trust
the demon-killing Shadowhunters if she ever wants to learn to control her
powers and find her brother.

ISBN 978-1-4169-7586-1 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-4424-0946-0 (eBook)

[1. SupernaturalFiction. 2. DemonologyFiction. 3. OrphansFiction.
4. Secret societiesFiction. 5. London (England)History19th centuryFiction.
6. Great BritainHistoryVictoria, 18371901Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.C5265Cl 2010

[Fic]dc22

2010008616

For Jim and Kate

Thames River Song

A note of salt

slips in and the river rises,

darkening to the color of tea,

swelling to meet the green.

Above its banks the cogs and wheels

of monstrous machines

clank and spin, the ghost within

vanishes into its coils,

whispering mysteries.

Each tiny golden cog has teeth,

each great wheel moves

a pair of hands which take

the water from the river,

devour it, convert it into steam,

coerce the great machine to run

on the force of its dissolution.

Gently, the tide is rising,

corrupting the mechanism.

Salt, rust and silt

slowing the gears.

Down at the banks

the iron tanks

sway into their moorings

with the hollow boom

of a gigantic bell,

of drum and cannon

which cry out in a tongue of thunder

and the river rolls under.

Elka Cloke

THE INFERNAL DEVICES

Book One

Clockwork Angel

London, April 1878.

The demon exploded in a shower of ichor and guts.

William Herondale jerked back the dagger he was holding, but it was too late. The viscous acid of the demons blood had already begun to eat away at the shining blade. He swore and tossed the weapon aside; it landed in a filthy puddle and commenced smoldering like a doused match. The demon itself, of course, had vanisheddispatched back to whatever hellish world it had come from, though not without leaving a mess behind.

Jem! Will called, turning around. Where are you? Did you see that? Killed it with one blow! Not bad, eh?

But there was no answer to Wills shout; his hunting partner had been standing behind him in the damp and crooked street a few moments before, guarding his back, Will was positive, but now Will was alone in the shadows. He frowned in annoyanceit was much less fun showing off without Jem to show off to. He glanced behind him, to where the street narrowed into a passage that gave onto the black, heaving water of the Thames in the distance. Through the gap Will could see the dark outlines of docked ships, a forest of masts like a leafless orchard. No Jem there; perhaps he had gone back to Narrow Street in search of better illumination. With a shrug Will headed back the way he had come.

Narrow Street cut across Limehouse, between the docks beside the river and the cramped slums spreading west toward Whitechapel. It was as narrow as its name suggested, lined with warehouses and lopsided wooden buildings. At the moment it was deserted; even the drunks staggering home from the Grapes up the road had found somewhere to collapse for the night. Will liked Limehouse, liked the feeling of being on the edge of the world, where ships left each day for unimaginably far ports. That the area was a sailors haunt, and consequently full of gambling hells, opium dens, and brothels, didnt hurt either. It was easy to lose yourself in a place like this. He didnt even mind the smell of itsmoke and rope and tar, foreign spices mixed with the dirty river-water smell of the Thames.

Looking up and down the empty street, he scrubbed the sleeve of his coat across his face, trying to rub away the ichor that stung and burned his skin. The cloth came away stained green and black. There was a cut on the back of his hand too, a nasty one. He could use a healing rune. One of Charlottes, preferably. She was particularly good at drawing iratzes.

A shape detached itself from the shadows and moved toward Will. He started forward, then paused. It wasnt Jem, but rather a mundane policeman wearing a bell-shaped helmet, a heavy overcoat, and a puzzled expression. He stared at Will, or rather through Will. However accustomed Will had become to glamour, it was always strange to be looked through as if he werent there. Will was seized with the sudden urge to grab the policemans truncheon and watch while the man flapped around, trying to figure out where it had gone; but Jem had scolded him the few times hed done that before, and while Will never really could understand Jems objections to the whole enterprise, it wasnt worth making him upset.

With a shrug and a blink, the policeman moved past Will, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath about swearing off the gin before he truly started seeing things. Will stepped aside to let the man pass, then raised his voice to a shout: James Carstairs! Jem! Where are you, you disloyal bastard?

This time a faint reply answered him. Over here. Follow the witchlight.

Will moved toward the sound of Jems voice. It seemed to be coming from a dark opening between two warehouses; a faint gleam was visible within the shadows, like the darting light of a will-o-the-wisp. Did you hear me before? That Shax demon thought it could get me with its bloody great pincers, but I cornered it in an alley