The Severed Man

by George Mann

  Harbingers Of Darkness

  They waited for about thirty minutes before they saw the hooded man return to the carriage. A young boy, obviously disturbed from his sleep by the ruffle of his hair and the manner in which his clothes had been hastily pulled on, attended to the horses, bringing them around the front of the old coach and attaching the harnesses. The man in the cloak grunted at the boy and clambered up onto the driver’s seat. A moment later, he trundled out of the yard, driving the horses to a gentle trot.

  Honoré and Emily emerged from their hiding place, keeping a cautious eye open for any other people who might still be milling around. Honoré guessed it must be about two-thirty in the morning. The night sky was still shrouded in syrupy fog and under-lit by the warm light of the sleeping city. Emily ran over to the horses’ trough and dipped her arms in up to her elbows, scrubbing off the remaining blood as best she could. Honoré joined her and rubbed away the stain across her brow with a handful of water.

  ‘Okay,’ he told her, ‘let’s make sure we keep up with him.’

  They slipped out into the street, checking in both directions, and then set off after the rattling sound of the carriage. Absently, Honoré wondered if the police had found the body of the dead man yet.

  Thankfully, the driver of the carriage did not appear to be in any hurry, and it was not too difficult for Honoré and Emily to keep up, following the trundling horses at a pace that was half-walk and half-run. The few passers-by they saw as they made their way after the mysterious coach paid no heed to the two time-travellers, and Honoré supposed that they must have had their own reasons for being out on the streets at this time of night. Sometimes, it was better not to ask.

  They continued for a good forty minutes or so, through the winding streets of the city, until the coach slipped down a narrow side street and out onto what appeared to be a circular road running around the edges of a small park. Honoré was unsure where they were, but some of the buildings looked strangely familiar. They waited out of sight by the edge of a wrought-iron railing that ran around the perimeter of the park, catching their breaths, watching for what the driver would do next. There was no-one else around, and all the other buildings in the vicinity were deathly quiet. There was a stillness in the air, a vague sense of foreboding, and both Honoré and Emily were silenced by the oppression, neither of them feeling the need to talk. It was almost as if they had entered a part of the city that was excluded from the normal humdrum of daily life; not even one house appeared to have a light in the window, and the only sound was the footfall of the horses and the creaking wheels of the old carriage as the driver pulled up to a large gate.

  The horses came to a halt, their breath making great clouds of steam in the air around them. The hooded driver dismounted and made his way over to the gate. Emily strained to see. She thought she could just make out, on the other side of the gate, another, similarly dressed figure to whom who the driver was talking. Moments later, the driver was back in his seat and the carriage was trundling on through the gates, which were swung open with a loud grating sound by the other man – obviously a watchman or guard.

  The coach disappeared into the interior of the park, following a winding path that was eventually swallowed by a large canopy of trees. Emily stood back and tried to take a measure of the railings.

  ‘What do you reckon, Honoré, about five feet?’

  ‘At the most. Here, I’ll give you a lift over.’ He reached down and supported her legs whilst she shimmied over the top of the railings, taking care not to snag herself on the sharp, originally ornamental points at the top.

  She dropped down easily on the other side.

  ‘Okay, come on.’

  Lechasseur followed suit, pulling himself up over the metal fleurs-de-lis and down onto the grass verge below.

  ‘Where do you think we are?’ he asked, glancing at Emily and trying to catch her attention. She was already making her way over to the trees, heading in the same direction as the carriage.

  ‘I’ve no idea. Somewhere in the East End, I think. We can’t be that far away from home.’

  Honoré took one last look around, trying to work out why he had a such a strong sense of déjà-vu, before catching up with his companion and trying to get a sense of where the carriage might be. He was wary that they might be wandering into another carefully prepared trap.

  Moments later, after making their way cautiously through the large boundary of trees, they came out on the other side; a huge space in the centre of the park. They could see the coach, parked up by the entrance to an imposing house, the two horses being freed of their harnesses and led away to rest. The driver was nowhere to be seen.

  The house itself was a massive, ornate structure; a grand study of architecture. Its imposing Georgian entranceway, supported by two tall stone columns and surrounded by opulent detail, was flanked by a large wing to either side, two storeys tall, with magnificent windows that punctuated the entire length of the building. It was one of the most grandiose houses that Lechasseur had ever seen. Why he’d never seen it before, he couldn’t think.

  They continued to watch for a while, studying the house for any visible signs of movement. Around them, the fog started to gather and drift through the trees and over the rooftops. After a few minutes, the hooded driver reappeared at the entranceway with three colleagues, all adorned in similar attire, and they made their way down the steps to the carriage. Once again, the driver produced his staff from under his cloak, and rapped on the side of the wooden panel. Honoré and Emily were too far away to hear what was being said, but there was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing between the men, before one of them grasped hold of the carriage door and pulled it open.

  The creature shot out like a bullet, knocking down one of the men and attempting to bolt away into the park. One of the others managed to grab hold of its left arm, and the driver stepped up and whipped it viciously around the head with his staff. Eventually, after a prolonged beating, the creature slumped limp on the gravel before his feet.

  With all the commotion and the sudden blur of movement, Honoré had not been able to see clearly what it was the men had let loose from the carriage, but as they pulled it up onto its feet – its two feet – he was stunned to bear witness to such a horrible abomination.

  It was a man, but a man who had been so horrifically mutilated and altered that he was now more monster than human being.

  Emily, beside him, gasped in shock. ‘Oh my God, it’s Abraxas!’[1]

  Lechasseur paused for a moment. ‘It’s not Abraxas, but it’s something close.’

  He looked more intently. The creature was a patchwork of body parts and mechanical limbs. Strange, rubber-like tubing ran from his throat to his chest, as if all his breathing was automated, pumped through his system by some wicked machine. His right arm was entirely mechanical, a strange, angular construct that looked as if it was intended to mirror not so much a human arm as a crude, bird-like talon. Patchwork leather criss-crossed his body, replacing large expanses of his own flesh, giving him a kind of dead, waxy look that suggested he was actually more an animated corpse than a living being. Just like Abraxas.

  But it was his mouth that revealed the true horror of what this man had become. As he was poked and prodded in the direction of the building, the man cast his head back and howled into the night, a terrifying shriek of anguish and pain that made the hairs on the back of Honoré’s arms stand on end and caused Emily to shiver as if she were icy cold.

  And as his head was briefly silhouetted against the moonlight, both Honoré and Emily could see that the man actually had a second set of jaws; a set of razor-like metal teeth, embedded inside his own mouth, that thrust outwards as he howled. gnashing viciously at the air. It was as if he had no control over this horrendous additional body part, and that to keep it contained, he had to clamp his jaws shut and whimper in defiance.

  The driver continued
to whip at the creature with his staff, until all five figures had disappeared inside, swallowed by the ornamental doorway.

  Emily had tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. ‘How could they do something like that? It’s an abomination. Did you see anything, or get any idea where he was from?’ She looked at Honoré over her shoulder.

  ‘No. It all happened too fast. Besides, as horrific as it is, at least we now know what it is that’s been tearing those poor people’s throats out.’ Their eyes met. ‘I also think that whatever they’ve done to him is beyond the technology of this time period. There’s something deeper and more worrying going on beneath all this. Something to do with time.’

  Emily looked worried. ‘I think you’re right. But what do we do now? We still have no idea why they’ve been killing these people, or why the severed man led us to this time period.’

  ‘We go take a look inside.’ Honoré set out, moving around the edges of the line of trees, trying to see a different way in.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Emily joined him.

  ‘A house of this size must have a servant’s entrance. If we can find that, we could probably sneak in through the kitchen or something.’

  ‘Good thinking. I’ll take a look round this way.’ She indicted the left wing. ‘You take a look around there.’

  They split up, heading in opposite directions, both looking for a way to get into the old house without being seen. For Honoré, the more worrying thought was what they might actually find inside.

  Having both completed a half-circuit of the house, they met again around the rear of the building. Emily was the first to point out the door.

  ‘Look, over there.’ Honoré tried to see where she was pointing. ‘No, there.’ She jabbed her finger at the air. He tried to follow the line of it. Sure enough, there appeared to be a small wooden door at the back of the house, leading to, Honoré presumed, the servants’ area.

  ‘I think that’s our best bet,’ he agreed.

  Emily rested her hand on his arm. ‘What exactly are you hoping to find in there?’

  ‘Some answers,’ was Honoré’s only response.

  They checked quickly in both directions to make sure there was no-one else around in the grounds, then made a dash for the door, trying to tread as lightly as possible on the gravel to avoid detection.

  Once they were both standing against the side of the house, Honoré tried the door.

  ‘Be ready to run. The kitchen may be full of servants.’

  The door cracked open with a loud creak. Holding his breath, Lechasseur stepped cautiously inside.

  The room was deserted.

  He beckoned to Emily to come through, and swung the door shut behind them. The room they were in had at one time been a kitchen, but now it appeared to be entirely abandoned, pots and pans laying about the place as if, one day, the staff had just upped and left and never returned.

  Honoré made his way over to the table, where a chopping board lay covered in fibrous mould. The dust was thick and dry in his nostrils, and he had the sense that the room had not been used for a long time.

  ‘What do you make of this?’ he whispered to Emily, who was standing by the old range, trying to figure out what had been cooking in the pots.

  ‘Looks like someone just walked out one day and never came back.’

  ‘Just what I was thinking.’

  ‘Except for the fact that the room is obviously used to get in and out of the house. Look at the marks on the floor over there. Not to mention the fact that the door was open.’

  Honoré nodded. ‘If the house isn’t lived in, I wonder what they use it for?’

  ‘I hate to think.’ Emily placed one of the pans back on top of the stove. ‘Let’s move on before someone comes through.’ She made her way to the door on the other side of the room. Little plumes of dust followed her in a trail as she walked across the floor. She turned to Lechasseur. ‘Come on.’

  He followed behind her, unsure. Things weren’t working out the way he had expected them to.

  Beyond the disused kitchen, a corridor fanned out in three directions. Straight ahead, Emily presumed, would lead them to the main entrance hall, so they decided to take a right and head towards the left wing of the house. There was no-one around in the corridor, but in contrast to the air of calm that pervaded outside the building, it was obvious that there was a great deal of activity going on in other parts of the house. Muffled noises and the occasional sound of voices could be heard coming from beneath them. The corridor itself was lined by blank white walls, with no sign of any of the paintings or plaques that Honoré would have expected to find in such an old, traditional manor house. The floor consisted of plain polished floorboards, and they had to move slowly to avoid making a noise and drawing attention to themselves.

  Soon, the corridor terminated in a large hall. Again, the room seemed relatively abandoned, with no obvious evidence of recent occupation. An old, moth-eaten tapestry hung from the far wall, portraying a scene from the Bible based around The Last Supper. Honoré wondered if it had been left there as some sort of sick joke.

  At the far end of the room, a small staircase led down to a lower level.

  ‘What do you think? Down there or back the way we came?’ Honoré was starting to feel a little edgy.

  Emily looked back the way they had come. ‘I say down. If we check it out down there and don’t find anything, we can head back that way afterwards.’

  Honoré thought he could still hear noises coming from beneath the hall, and urged caution. ‘We could check upstairs first – make sure the way is clear?’

  ‘Why don’t we split up? You go upstairs, I’ll head down. We can meet up again in a few minutes.’

  ‘No. I think we should stick together. Let’s head down and see what’s going on. Just take it easy, and don’t give the game away. I’m sure there are people down there.’

  They made their way over to the staircase. From the makeshift way it had been put together, Honoré assumed it was a recent addition to the house. Many of the similar Georgian properties he had seen had large cellars, but they were usually accessed through the kitchen or from a doorway beneath the main stairs. To have a set of stairs in the main hall was unusual, to say the least.

  He climbed down, stooping to try to make out what was at the bottom.

  There was obviously something going on down there. A small tunnel had been carved out beneath the house, right through the very foundations; a long, thin passageway with a number of small doors leading off from it. The passageway was lit by a number of free-standing coal braziers. These cast a warm orange glow and enlivened the shadows, which danced around the walls like the players in a dark harlequinade.

  Coming from the far end of the passageway, Honoré and Emily could hear a soft chanting, a repetitive set of words or sounds being sung over and over by a multitude of different voices. Honoré turned to Emily. ‘I guess that’s our Devil cult then.’

  Emily looked a little shaken at the thought.

  ‘You don’t think it’s Mestizer again, do you? Another group of Subterraneans summoning their god?’[2]

  Lechasseur shook his head. ‘I doubt it. I’ll go take a look. You check out some of these rooms.’ He strode down towards the end of the tunnel, and quickly disappeared around a slight bend. For a moment, Emily hesitated, unsure what to do. Then she went after him, jogging to try and catch up. She found him kneeling in an open doorway behind a brazier, trying to stay out of view. He glanced up at her, waving his hand sharply, telling her to get back. She pushed her back up against the wall and shuffled over to where he was crouching. From here, she could just about see what lay beyond.

  It was a vast chamber, a huge underground cavern that had somehow been opened up and turned into a sort of temple or shrine. From the roughly-hewn passageway, a small set of steps led down into the cavernous space,
a space that was filled, as far as Emily could see, with about fifty men and women, all dressed in dark black cloaks like the one worn by the driver of the carriage they had followed here.

  On the far wall, a vast starscape had been painted in intricate detail; a view of the night sky so realistic that Emily would have wondered if it were a window, had she not known that, outside, the fog had almost totally obscured the night sky. Of more concern, however, were the immense, horned effigies of the Devil that stood on either side of this starmap, staring out unblinkingly at the audience. A man was standing at the foot of one of these large statues, leading the others through the incantation. In his hand he held some sort of ancient book, and he was reading from it, pleading with some unseen entity to enrich the souls and enlighten the minds of the assembled throng. Emily couldn’t quite hear everything he was saying, but the terminology sounded terribly familiar. He kept referring to ‘pollutants of the time streams’, and declaring that his people would ‘cleanse the way’; saying that the ‘time creature’ was an invaluable gift, and would allow him to ‘purge the forces of falsity forever’.

  Emily caught Honoré’s attention, but he simply shrugged. He didn’t know what to make of it all. Together, they crept back up the passageway and away from the bizarre ceremony.

  Once they’d rounded the bend, Honoré called a halt. ‘Any idea what all that was about?’

  Emily looked at him sternly ‘No. You?’

  ‘No. Except I’m now more sure than ever that these fanatics are responsible for the murders. But that doesn’t explain where the tramp comes into it all, or how they’re able to find all the time sensitive victims in the first place.’

  ‘He said something about a “time creature”?’

  ‘He said a whole load of stuff. I think most of it was just mumbo-jumbo. Cult stuff. Anyhow, let’s check out what’s in these rooms, while we’ve still got chance.’