Miss
Penny Dreadful introduces
“The Life and Crimes of Lockhart and Doppler”
Part Six The Stone of
The Sons of Horus
The Major was, Major Jack Union. Renowned
Monster Hunter; R.H.A, N.R.D, Defender of Her Majesty that is Victoria, upright
British officer, bon vivante, charmer…
“Is that why you have a cutting of him from the
newspapers?” Doppler enquired significantly.
“That’s
research, it was for the article.” I stated feebly,
“Needed to know what he was doing with all those
body parts. I mean, what can one man possibly wants with all those Jub-Jubs,
Jabberwocks and…anyway, you’re distracting me, I’m compiling a letter.”
The letter was sent from the Edinburgh Instagram
Scan Service. One simply wrote the message on a sensitised plate, the lid
closed like a large sandwich and, by a process far too technical and boring to
set down here, a facsimile was sent to a receiving office, who would then tear
off their portion and send someone running, bicycling, roller skating or
hopping the final stretch to the recipient. Who could, should he or she choose,
tootle along to their Instagram Scan
Service and reply immediately – marvellous. Back at our lodgings I made
preparations. Clothing; dark, practical (this meant pants –oh the freedom of
bifurcated legs!), accommodating. Equipment; portable, concealable and
appropriate. For this last, we would have to wait for a reply from the Major.
The reply came:
Dear Mses Lockhart
and Doppler,
Ladies, (remember, we hadn’t met the chap!)
What a disturbing
communication. Of course I will do my utmost to advise you in ridding our great
Empire of this creature you described. It seems clear to me that what you are
facing is a ‘Construct’. I refer you to the pages of my Practical Guide to
Monster Hunting which I have taken the time to Instagram Scan for you. The device
stolen from the museum possibly is a housing for Shem, the liquid of animation
– whatever you do, please return the device to the museum, on no account utilise the Shem!
My other concern is regarding the pair who
are performing this atrocity. Your description raises, as yet, unidentified
unease, I highly recommend you proceed with extreme caution. I would say find a
stout man to accompany you, but I fear this advice would fall on deaf ears, in
which case, against my better judgement, take some cannon fodder.
Ladies, I bid you Good Luck and I look forwards to hearing the results of your undertaking, maybe over a cup of Earl Grey or even a refreshing gin and tonic.
Ladies, I bid you Good Luck and I look forwards to hearing the results of your undertaking, maybe over a cup of Earl Grey or even a refreshing gin and tonic.
Yours most
faithfully
Jack Union. Major
I read the correspondence twice over, Doppler
grabbed it from me, speedily scanned it, dropped it to the floor and rummaged
about in her packing case, emerging with what appeared to be a mediaeval stiletto
dagger. I hadn’t seen this implement before and a demonstration was provided.
With a flick of the wrist such as I use with my whip, Doppler caused the blade
to extend from its usual six to eighteen inches, tapering to the most wicked
point I’d seen on any blade. In fact it was so fine as to be quite difficult to
see at certain angles –lethal in the dark. Doppler smiled at me as she tucked it
safely into her waistband at the small of her back. We didn’t take regular
guns, we didn’t want the noise to attract unwanted attention, so we had my
Tesla gun and pistol flamethrower from Meadows, Lady Celia Fox’s’ Butler
(remind me to tell you about them sometime), a couple of daggers down the sides
of our boots and we were ready.
We made our way across the city, back to the
mean streets beyond the Old Town of a partially sleeping Edinburgh, for one
thing I had learnt whilst here, was that this resplendent city always had one
eye open. On the corner of Leith Street
stood a horrible little public house, outside of which stood and sat pairs and
small groups of lads, men, boys and ex-mariners. Smoking pipes, drinking small
ale, playing quoits and peeing against the neighbouring walls. We were noticed.
Two ‘gents’ strolled and slunk over to where we loitered. They were probably
the same age, and probably the same class. That’s where the visual similarities
ended. One was like a greasy rat, dark, lank hair hung from beneath his
Cambridge bowler, the rest of him smothered in a once black cloak. The other
was wearing a battered top hat and a grey frock coat that had seen better days.
His nose was wide like it had been broken a number of times. They had Irish accents.
Both were shifty. Both contemptuous. Cruelty and malice given form.
And
so we ‘hired’ them.
They didn’t ask our names, I didn’t want to know
theirs. We told them the job was an in and out. But the whole place had to be
cleared. I gave them all the money I was carrying and promised fifty-fifty on
goods retrieved. I could see they thought I was a complete amateur. They eyed
Doppler up and down like easy meat, she smiled back sweetly.
And so we arrived at the familiar
neighbouring yard. Broken nose barely glanced around before kneeling to the
lock and applying a homemade pick. Of course, I could have accomplished all
this more quickly and easily myself, but I was taking the Majors advice! Ratty
was living up to his name, jigging from foot to foot, licking his lips,
clenching and unclenching his hands. I could easily imagine what he thought was
going to happen when we all got indoors. (Poor deluded fool).
The door was finally unlocked, the two men
advanced first, I followed closing the door behind me, gently. There was very
little light in here, what there was crept through the weathered slats of wood
and seeped slowly through grimed windows from outside. There was a dreadful
smell, a smell I recognised, the smell of the grave.
I pulled down my night goggles. Nose
and Ratty edged into the room. I could hear one of them rattling matches from
his pocket. I looked about and saw the stairway – through the broken limbs,
torsos and fragments of what had possibly been the neighbours.
“Roight ladies” leered Nose as his match flared.
At first not realising what was about him.
“I tink we might have a change of… what in the
name of Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”
As Nose
and Ratty stared about in horror I became aware of an odd glow, turning around
to face a semi clad individual, who opened his mouth as if to speak and emitted
only a dry, grating. I stepped away as Nose (quite bravely, I thought) charged
and punched the monster on the jaw. A sound of contact, Nose shaking his hand
then a flick knife appeared as if by magic in his other hand and he went at the
thing again. Maybe he didn’t know what he was fighting, I thought as I stood by
watching the show. He was pummelled, he dropped to his knees and spat a tooth.
Ratty, was attempting to light another match when a whistle from the next floor
dragged my attention away. In a brief flash of match flare I watched as Ratty
and Nose took turns stabbing the construct, slashing at the construct and being
shaken by the construct.
On the next floor were three doors leading off,
a weird light emitting from the open one. I raced forwards, the huge dead man
Doppler had described was a walking, talking travesty. The room, lit by an odd
glowing globe set on a side table, was sparsely decorated; three chairs, three
side tables, a writing bureau. A Turkish rug added much needed colour to the
otherwise Spartan surrounds.
“I’ll let the Marthter know you are here” it
creaked “maybe you would care to wait downthtairth.”
And began to head for the next flight of stairs
heading upwards. Although
I had thoroughly read Major Unions account of the constructs, to actually
experience it was unbelievably chilling. The man was clearly dead, at least his
body was. His skin was colourless. There were odd pustules, punctures and
lacerations about his torso, but that was the least of his worries – for the
man had a massive wound in his chest, the sternum having been ripped open by
some means and, pulsing like a sickly buoy, the device from the Pilkington
Museum of Chronological Curiosities was wedged in –some distress signal! I needed to prevent
the construct from alerting its ‘Marthter’.
“Ahem. I was hoping…”
I needn’t
have bothered. A shrill cry from below and racing footsteps up towards us cut
me off.
“Christ
Almighty! What’s goin’ on here? Ye trollop, you led us into a trap!”
Nose yelled, panting, bloodied, one arm hung
limply at his side. Then he noticed the second figure, taller, broader, and
more alert as it turned towards him. It moved at frightening speed, knocking
into Doppler as it passed, flinging her aside like a child’s doll, she stumbled
into a chair. I pitched myself sideways to avoid the hulking form as it bore
down on the felonious fellow. I saw him raise his good arm, knife ready, the
construct grabbed it in one hand, then using his other on Nose’s shoulder to
get leverage, ripped it from its socket. Nose screamed like I’d never heard before,
high pitched, tortuous, and final. The limp form was tossed down the stairs.
The construct turned on us as the two figures from the museum arrived at the
base of the second flight of steps. Without their darkened glasses, we could
now see their eyes –and they were definitely
not of this world.
This new
and incomprehensible strangeness caught me off guard. A peculiar clicking sound
passed between them. I pulled my Tesla gun and fired, hit the male who doubled
over in evident pain, the female paused. But the construct didn’t, it reached
for my outstretched arm as a metallic slick sound caused me to duck. Doppler
whipped horizontally with her extending stiletto, striking the creature squarely
across both eyes. It stumbled, raising its hands to its face. I was trapped
between the construct and the two ‘aliens’, I pulled the flame thrower out and
stood my ground between them, a gun pointing in either direction. The construct began flailing blindly, hoping
to catch something, it was like a horrid game of Blind Man’s Bluff. Doppler
raced up behind it, waited for her moment, and plunged her dagger into the dead
man’s lower back, hung on as he twisted in annoyance and then yanked the blade
sideways. I heard metal on bone. It fell to its knees. The other two were
backing off up the stairs, a curious and disquieting hissing coming from them
like some kind of reptiles.
I fired at the retreating forms then turning to
the construct, I placed the Tesla gun to the back of its head and fired and
kept on firing. The dead man shook as the electricity poured through him,
crackling over the surface of his skin like tiny lightning bolts. Flesh burned,
hair sizzled and the few remaining vessels of blood burst like flowers blooming
across his pale skin. Finally, he was still. I looked up at Doppler who was
watching, fascinated as if at a lecture at the Edinburgh Medical School. A
peculiar humming suddenly made its way through the haze of singed flesh, blood
and fury.
“Upstairs!”
I shouted, and raced two at a time up the darkened steps, turning a
corner to expect to come onto the third floor landing. I slammed into an
invisible force and fell flat on my backside, Doppler almost falling over me.
She leapt sideways over my shoulder and stopped. Before us was, I didn’t know
what it was. As wide as a house at the
base, smooth as polished glass all over, a metal conical flask enclosed at the
top, no seams, joins, welds. The odd humming was coming from this. The male,
standing before it, had his hand stretched forward towards me, palm and fingers
spread. As I scrambled up, he pressed forwards and I fell back. What was this
magic?
A flash of steel and a knife
appeared, sticking from his shoulder. He grabbed at the injury and turned his attention
to Doppler, she fell onto her back and began writhing, struggling to get
upright, then began a low growling which grew to a pained cry. I dived for the
occupied entity, sticking my dagger into its neck. A sticky gloop slopped onto
my hands, the knife slipped from my grasp. The sound was becoming more of a
vibration now, I could feel my teeth oscillating against each other. I had my
hands around the creatures’ neck, squeezing and squeezing, when it spat in my
face.
Momentarily startled, I ceased, frozen in position. Then I felt the
burning begin. I released my hold, and began wiping at my eyes. I was shoved
severely, I staggered and fell, backwards. I could sense the empty stairwell
beckoning behind me, when, the edge of my duster was grabbed. The force yanked
me around and I fell sideways, slap onto the floor. Doppler was pushing my
hands away and pouring water into my eyes. Snapping a tiny glass phial and
pouring the contents into my mouth. The building about us began to tremble,
creak and strain. Splintering wood, shards of glass and fittings blasted
outwards as if by a hurricane. Doppler bent over my head. We curled together as
we were shaken across the disintegrating floorboards. A sudden updraft…then
silence and stillness.
I don’t know how long we huddled there amidst the remains of numbers 11,
13 and 15 Corby Street. But thank the Gods for Tesla, chemistry, water and the
Major. Doppler’s quick action, pouring water into my eyes, washed the majority
of whatever the vile sputum was, from my eyes. No lasting harm, although it did
leave an effect that lasted about an hour; that was, whenever I looked at
something then away, I had a strange kind of visual ‘echo’, a trail of images
in vibrant colours, purples mainly. We retrieved the museums device from the
chest of the burnt, double dead man, plus one from the first construct we
encountered. There were spiral shavings of brilliant metal which we collected
in an old canvas postal bag. And some other little ‘trinkets’.
The Shem container was returned to
the museum (after Doppler had managed to extract a small amount!) plus the
shavings, which we saw no use for, and received a handsome reward and a
personal letter from the Chairman of the Board of Chronological Studies. They would
have the spirals identified and send us the results. We sent an intriguing item
to Rene de Cavellier, after all, this ‘holiday’ had been because of him, we had
caused the fellow immense trouble, and I wanted to keep him sweet. Only two by
six inches, less than half an inch deep, it was an ancient Egyptian bas relief
of Akhenaten, in profile, raising his hands to his single deity. Except it wasn’t. The metal was not any we had
seen before, it looked very much like the shiny vessel that had taken off in
Corby Street- a fine addition to a private collection.
A complete and comprehensive report was forwarded to Major Jack Union.
Information about the two ‘foreigners’, I believed, may be of use in his
further endeavors. I included illustrations of the monstrosities, living and
dead, made by yours truly. Sample phials of the Shem and phlegm were enclosed,
with a copy of the Edinburgh Evening Standard, whose front page report on the
‘amazingly brave actions of two English ladies, which saved the City of
Edinburgh from foreign invasion’ (in this case, they were blaming the French)
and for ‘the intelligence provided by one Major Jack Union, Defender of The
Empire’.
Of course, we kept some finds for ourselves, goes without saying. As we
were packing to return home, something caught my eye on the cover of the
Evening Standard. A small article at the bottom of the right hand column;
Bodies Are Missing Criminals
Two bodies found in a collapsed
building on Corby Street, have been formally identified as missing grave
robbers Mr. William Burke and Mr. William Hare. Our reporter can confirm that
both men were brutally mutilated. Burke and Hare had been suspected of not only
grave robbing, but of murder and selling parts to medical professional, Doctor
Robert Knox, who is himself now a suspect in the murder of the two men. Burke
had; “one arm ripped from the roots, there was blood everywhere,” said Police
pathologist Mr. Holden Megroin. “Hare
had the most severe injuries of multiple fractures, a broken spine and crushed
skull”.
Police
are not asking for witnesses.
The End
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