by Richard Ford
‘Almost,’ smiled Trol. He pulled himself up to his full height and regarded his sullen looking crew. ‘Right you set of useless cunts.’ Snapper’s men began to rise gingerly, some distinctly worse for wear. ‘Someone’s been plotting on our patch, plotting against our good mate the Earl of Westowe, who is now, tragically, deceased. More importantly, we’ve been put in the fucking frame, and that really pisses me off. So we’ll go down the Pits and we’ll have a word with this Mr Blaklok.’ Trol turned to Geffle with a wide, horse-toothed grin. ‘And you’re going to fucking show us the way, aren’t you Geffle?’
Geffle nodded. Simultaneously his arsehole began to twitch.
Just what he needed – a night in the fucking Pits!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Amelia didn’t trust Surrey as far as she could kick him in slippers, but there was no other option left open to her. According to the grinning twerp, Lord Julius was an outcast noble, making him far more dangerous than normal members of the aristocracy due to the fact that he had nothing to lose. It was no surprise then that he was apparently deeply preoccupied with the occult; disavowed rich types were always looking for some whimsical avocation. It just remained to be seen whether this Lord knew anything useful.
If Surrey’s information was reliable, Julius had recently been attacked in his home. He had attempted to keep the trespass to himself, but apparently neighbours had notified the authorities after hearing the sound of gunfire resonating from his manor. The resultant investigation had discovered that a man had intruded on the house, but been frightened away by the Lord’s bodyguards.
This, coupled with Julius’s notoriety amongst demonic types, was too much of a coincidence so close to the demise of Beuphalus; another noble who appeared to be embroiled with the occult. Amelia had a feeling there was more to this than a mere housebreaker.
Upon arriving at his estate, Amelia was surprised to see that it covered several acres. Despite being an outcast, Lord Julius had at least managed to retain and sustain his wealth.
As soon as they entered through the elaborately rendered cast iron gate, Amelia realised her error. Three large black hounds were already bounding towards them, tongues lolling hungrily. They didn’t bark or howl in their eagerness to attack, and Amelia thought it quite unfair of them to approach in such a clandestine manner.
Before she could stop him, Hodge had produced his heavy carbine and blasted one of the approaching canines into offal. The other two seemed unstirred by the sudden demise of their fellow guardian, and continued their approach unabated. Hodge aimed and fired into the second dog, just as Bounder pulled his cudgel free from the belt at his waist and met the last hound as it leaped forward to attack. There was a dull crunch, and the black dog hit the ground, lifeless.
Amelia felt a sudden pang of regret as she walked past the bodies of the three dead dogs. They had only been doing their master’s bidding after all. Nevertheless, dog corpses were much preferable to dog bites, any day of the week.
The crisp blast of the carbine stirred the residents of the manor, and as she approached up the immaculately trimmed paving, the large front door swung inward. Two large figures appeared, initially brimming with menace, but as they saw that it was representatives of the Judicature who had come calling they soon backed down.
On their hard faces, the men bore the bruises of a recent conflict, and one of them was limping heavily. Obviously whoever had broken into the manor of Lord Julius had given these two quite a pasting. She couldn’t wait to see what he had done to lord Julius.
‘We’re here to see the lord of the manor,’ said Amelia, not breaking her stride. The two men quickly nodded and led her inside, the one with the limp grimacing in obvious pain.
The inside of the manor was just as impressive as the exterior and Lord Julius quite clearly had impeccable taste… to a degree. Some of the paraphernalia in the hallway – the stuffed animal heads in particular – turned Amelia’s stomach, but the rest was assembled in all its antiquarian glory. She spotted at least three originals by Strivengi, an artist much sought after amongst the effete classes. There were also a number of exotic busts and effigies of some unknown origin that looked aesthetically impressive if nothing else. Not a single decoration looked damaged or out of place, and it seemed that whomever had broken into the manor had not done so to pilfer Julius’s art collection.
She was led past an ornate staircase to a small door at the rear of the building. The pungent fragrance of roasting meat emanated from a door to her left, and Amelia’s stomach began to rumble in response. It plainly wasn’t vermin or bush meat Julius would be dining on, if the rich smell from the kitchen was anything to go by. This was truly how the other half lived; surrounded by trinkets and trophies, and fed at their leisure on the best of fare. It was hard to subdue a pang of jealousy at this Lord Julius and his life of privilege. One he had chosen to fritter away in disgrace.
Amelia couldn’t wait to make his acquaintance.
He sat in a large chair in what looked to be a cosy study. The pinched face that flowered from his starched collar was yellowing with bruises and one eye was almost swollen shut. Light beamed in through a wide bay window and Amelia was forced to squint as she entered. One of the hulking bodyguards was whispering into Julius’s ear as she walked in, and it was obvious the lord of the manor was not pleased with what he had been told. Nevertheless, his scowl turned into a wide and welcoming grin as soon as he spied Indagator Amelia and her men.
‘Welcome, welcome,’ he said, showing her his palms. It was an unconscious gesture of submission, but it failed to put Amelia at her ease. ‘It is always a pleasure to play host to representatives of the Judicature. Please, Milus, bring our friends a drink.’ He gestured one of the bodyguards towards a nearby cabinet stocked high with decanters of varying size and shape.
‘That won’t be necessary. I don’t think we’ll be here long,’ she said.
‘As you wish… I’m sorry, my men are remiss in their duties, I’m afraid they failed to ask your name at the door.’
‘Indagator Amelia,’ she replied warily. She would have much preferred for Julius not to know who she was, but then again whom would he tell? Had he been a prominent member of the Houses it might have mattered, he may have been able to have ‘friends in high places’ put pressure on her to ignore his indiscretions. But Julius was a fallen man. She could split his head wide and there would be scant consequences, other than perhaps a mess on her tunic.
‘And what might I do for you on this splendid day, Indagator?’
Immediately, she knew he was hiding something. His manor had been violated recently, it was common knowledge. The reason for her presence should have been obvious yet Julius was giving nothing away, acting overly friendly as though he was not intimidated by the sudden presence of the Judicature. It was easy to spot and the implication that he could fool her was insulting.
‘The break in?’ she said, pulling the gloves from her hands one finger at a time. ‘Why else would we be here? Do you have a lot of callers Lord Julius?’ She put a stress on his meaningless title in the hope of baiting him. Showing her contempt for his redundant honorific might goad him into letting something slip.
But it didn’t seem to faze him in any way, and he simply smiled wider. ‘Indeed not, Indagator. But your colleagues in the Judicature have already been here and taken averments from my employees and myself. I merely wondered why another visit from the Judicature was necessary.’
Amelia gripped her leather gloves tightly, ringing them like a damp cloth. It was a measured answer, and one that could have been true were it spoken from the lips of someone else. But something was amiss here. The more she looked at him, surrounded by his opulence and his bodyguards, the more this stank.
‘Have you ever heard of Beuphalus of Westowe?’ she asked, hoping once more to catch him off guard.
Julius twitched, an almost imperceptible movement of his mouth, but it was definitely there. Then he widened his grin even further, re
vealing more of his shiny white teeth. ‘Why of course. He was a well respected member of the Houses. Such a pity about his recent… demise.’
Well respected? Was Julius having a lark? Or was he once again trying to hide something? ‘So you know nothing about it then?’
Julius twisted his face in mock abashment. ‘Why Indagator, what are trying to imply? I’ll have you know I have a cast iron alibi for the night in question, several score witnesses to my credit. I don’t appreciate being accused in my own home. Particularly not by–’
‘Calm down Julius. It was an innocent query. No need to get yourself aroused. Unless of course you have something to hide?’
‘Something to hide? Me? Indagator, are you being serious?’
That was it, she had had enough of this vacillating nonsense. The time for diplomacy had gone; it was time to find out what Julius actually knew.
‘Am I being serious?’ replied Amelia, starting to pull her gloves back over her fingers. ‘Bounder, show Lord Julius how serious we are.’
There was no pause, no need for a validation of her implied instructions, as Bounder pulled forth his cudgel and smashed it into the nearest bodyguard’s face. It was the man with the limp, and the strength of the blow staggered him. He fell with a howl as his compatriot covered his head with his hands, readying himself for a blow. Bounder placed a firm kick to his exposed privates, and the man went down with a stuck-pig squeal.
Amelia didn’t watch as Bounder began to set about them with his cudgel. She merely watched the expression on Julius’s face change from smug to uncomfortable to horrified.
When Bounder had finished, neither of the bodyguards were moving.
‘A noble, notoriously linked with the occult, is found dead. Soon after, your home is broken into. And you, a famed benefactor of occult organisations. Tell me this is just coincidence, Lord Julius?’
‘Well… I… stranger things have happened.’
She glanced over one shoulder to the panting form of Bounder, who took a single menacing step forward.
‘All right,’ shouted Julius, lifting up his hands. He had obviously been given enough bruises by his prior assailant and was in no mood to receive any more. ‘Thaddeus Blaklok’s the man you want, he was the one who broke in. And I’ll give you odds he’s the man who saw to poor Earl Beuphalus.’
‘Who?’ replied Amelia.
‘You’re an Indagator of the Judicature and you’ve not heard of Thaddeus Blaklok? Well, granted, there may not be anything official in the records of the Lexiconium, but Blaklok’s reputation precedes him.’
‘Let’s pretend I know nothing,’ she said, her interest piqued.
Julius regarded her slyly. ‘Well, I suppose you are a little young. Blaklok was very much before your day but he’s made a recent resurgence, unfortunately. He was a well known underground strongarm in his time. Specialising in orphic eradication and cabalistic abrogation–’
Amelia held a hand up to silence Julius. She had heard enough, and wasn’t the least interested in his occult fantasising. ‘Why did you not tell us before about this Blaklok character?’
‘Because the man’s a menace. Have you seen my face? My men?’ Julius gestured over at the prone forms of his bodyguards lying motionless on the carpet. ‘Thaddeus Blaklok is not a man to be trifled with. Had I told you his name he would know where the information had come from. I don’t want to end up a marked man.’
‘So he didn’t come here to kill you? Your men didn’t fight him off?
‘Of course not,’ Julius seemed almost incensed. ‘Look at them, do they look like they could fight anyone off, they’re fucking useless, the cook’s more likely give a better account of herself. If Blaklok had wanted me dead I wouldn’t be talking to you now.’
‘It was just a social visit that turned nasty then? Is that it, Lord Julius?’
‘He wanted information. Names and locations of prominent House members. What they were into, when they took their respites. When I told him I couldn’t help things started to turn nasty.’
‘You couldn’t help? Come now Julius, you’re a well connected man.’
‘Was! Was a well connected man. Now I keep myself to myself. When allowed! I’m not a fucking lexicon of the nobility. Not that Thaddeus Blaklok would believe it. And from the look on your face neither do you.’
Amelia gave Lord Julius a sideways look. ‘Which nobles did he have an interest in?’
‘There were several, I can provide you with a list if you like, but it’ll do you little good.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because all roads lead to the same place. Blaklok was interested in their secret cubbyholes, their places of quiet reflection and amelioration. Everyone knows where the nobles crawl to in their hour of need. The Cistern.’
Amelia was starting to get annoyed again. This trail was leading in bloody circles.
Julius looked scared enough that she had gotten all she was going to get from him, it was time to look elsewhere.
‘Apologies for the dogs,’ she said, turning to leave.
Julius glanced over at his fallen men, obviously unsure of her meaning. When he discovered the fate of his guard hounds, perhaps he would show more remorse than he did for his men; though she doubted it.
The scenery as she walked from the grounds didn’t seem quite so nice as it had on the way in. There was bitterness in the air now – she had wanted information, but all she had was a name. It was better than nothing, but it still left an acrimonious taste in her mouth.
Thaddeus Blaklok.
Whoever this Blaklok was, he had better look out. The Judicature was on its way, and he was only a man, after all. At least that was what Amelia was hoping.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It hurt to admit it, but the bastard had gotten away.
Blaklok had trailed Castor Cage for almost an hour, at times thinking he was on him, only to find the trail led to a dead end. He would pick up the scent again minutes later, but that too would only lead to nothing.
In the end, Blaklok was forced to admit defeat.
That irked him even more than being slapped around in Big Betha’s. He hated giving in; conceding defeat was worse than actually being beaten. At least losing in a fair fight meant you’d been done in by a better bloke. Giving up meant you were a fucking coward, only beaten by yourself.
He had been made to look an idiot in Betha’s and now had no way to atone for it. His only consolation was that the bastard Cage would keep. There would be another time for a reckoning; and soon if Thaddeus had anything to do with it.
Anyway, he had let himself become distracted by the circumstantial. All this traipsing around the Cistern was not getting him anywhere but humiliated. He had a job to do: procure the Key of Lunos. No amount of slogging round in the Cistern was going to help him do that.
Thaddeus began to make his way back up through the stinking tunnel towards the surface. Once he was out in the open air with the smog and the pollution he would be able to think better. He might even come up with a plan to break into the Repository, although he couldn’t imagine he would come up with anything different to the usual: storm in, break heads, steal goods.
It was thinking of this that distracted Thaddeus from where he was and what he was up to. It was how they managed to get the slip on him. Three of the fuckers, and big lads each, all tooled up to the nines. The first jumped out of the shadows behind him, garrote in hands. Blaklok had been out of the game a while and he had obviously slowed down during his time off, that was how the geezer managed to get so close before he noticed. Nevertheless, he still managed to spot the attack before that garrote was secured around his throat.
Blaklok grabbed the bloke’s wrists and twisted, turning them so his attacker’s hands were crossed, and then he was in the driving seat. He pulled back, thick arms yanking, and the garrote was around its owner’s neck in no time. Gritting his teeth, Blaklok tightened his grip, pulling with all his might and trying to strain the life out of t
he bastard. He was starting to enjoy the wheezing, hacking noises that were coming from his victim when a second garrote flashed over his head. Thaddeus barely had time to reach up with one hand and cover his throat before the wire tightened. It cut into his palm, shearing deep into the flesh, but better his hand than his throat. Blaklok was still holding his own victim, still pulling that wire tight around the bastard’s neck, but it was all he could do to fend off his second attacker. The one behind was doing all he could to strangle him, and Thaddeus had his hands full. If he let go of the first attacker to concentrate on the second he could be in even worse bother.
Before he could come up with a plan, attacker number three jumped from the shadows. Thaddeus didn’t have time to react as the last one hit him with a thick black sap. The first blow didn’t knock him out, and Blaklok was pleased with the surprise on the bloke’s face when his attack failed, but it was soon replaced by a stern look of determination as he struck again. This time everything went black.
The room he came round in was dim and stank of damp. As his eyes came back into focus, Blaklok could see it was more a vault than a room, metal walls on every side dripping with rust red moisture that gave off a rotting, metallic stink.
He was tied to a chair, the bonds were well tightened and as he tried to move he realised the seat beneath him was secured to the ground. Obviously this little torture chair was built for purpose. There was no gag on his face nor blindfold across his eyes, which instantly told him two things: they wanted him to talk and they didn’t care if he saw their faces. It also meant he was probably going to end up dead whether he sang a tune or not.
‘He’s awake,’ said a gruff voice from behind. Thaddeus tried to turn and see who had spoken but he couldn’t quite twist his head far enough.
‘Right then, let’s get started.’ The second voice was a deep growl.
Heavy footsteps resounded off the concrete floor and a tall figure walked into view. A black mop of hair sat over a horsey face and a startling set of huge teeth smiled down at Blaklok. This one was an ugly bastard and no mistake, but his suit was well pressed and a fine watch chain glinted on the front of his waistcoat. He took pride in himself despite his ugly mug. Blaklok liked him already.
