by Karl Fish
*****
‘Did you hear that one too?’ Archie called out to the confused onlookers. ‘Two gunshots I have counted so far,’ he confirmed.
‘Are you sure?’ Noone asked. Neither Pop or he had the sensitivity of Archie’s hearing. ‘Can you guide us towards them?’
Archie agreed and began to walk them through the operating corridors. Passing glazed room upon room they moved swiftly, one having the rotting corpses of rats, spilling out of a large glass tank.
‘This place gets worse,’ Pop added to the conversation.
‘There. From over there,’ Archie pointed unknowingly at his own reflection at a dead end with a floor to ceiling mirror
‘That’s just a mirror, Archie,’ Pop told him.
Brian Louds gazed on through the two-way mirror as his only blind resident pointed a finger directly towards him. The face of the melted man unwittingly stared back as did the gold-laden giant with the teardrop tattoo. The blood streaming from the bullet wound that had cleanly entered and exited his left bicep was flowing quickly. Louds applied a gauze, makeshift tourniquet, and cleansed the wound with iodine as he stared upon yet more quarry with murderous intent.
‘Nathaniel, no! Seven years of bad luck!’ Pop shouted.
‘My luck was expended years ago,’ Noone replied before hurling a chair in the direction of Archie’s pointed finger.
An ear-piercing shatter sent a thousand shards of reflective glass crashing to the floor and revealing Louds’ hidden network of stone-built tunnel-ways. The orderly seized his chance and ran back into the Institute to escape.
‘Luna,’ Pop readied his dog.
‘Forget him. He served his purpose,’ Noone ordered Pop, as he took in the sight before him. ‘Wow!’ Noone expressed stepping inside. The sand-coloured blocks were reminiscent of the labyrinths of Giza. ‘You were right, Archie. You were right.’
‘God ’elp us. Wot ’ave we got mixed up in now?’ Pop offered.
Noone pointed towards the fresh bloodied footsteps leading away from it.
‘Here it comes. Can you hear it?’ spoke Archie moments before the sound was audible to the rest.
A crackling of static started overhead, and through hidden speakers the voice came. ‘Where on earth have my manners been?’ Louds’ voice penetrated. ‘Welcome to the Institute Silvera, gentlemen. Seeing as you have already made yourselves at home, allow me to introduce to you my guinea pigs,’ he finished abruptly.
Pop and Nathaniel stared uncomfortably at one another. Pop rolled up his sleeves while Noone cocked his pistol.
‘OBEY. OBEY,’ Louds repeated over and over again before introducing soothing classical music.
Upstairs, there came the sounds of chairs shuffled out as their occupants rose, copied the call to OBEY, and began to march on the spot. The deafening sound of over 100 men preparing themselves for battle. A blood-curdling scream rebounded downwards as the terrified orderly cried out in the distance.
‘What the hell is happening?’ Noone asked of Archie.
‘Wait, it’s coming again,’ Archie nervously replied as the static played out.
‘Kill them. Kill them all.’
Chapter 55
Captives
Thompson and Jones’s saloon arrived quickly at the rear of Fortnum’s. A stationary car greeted them as they rushed through the open security gates. Slumped outside of his driver’s seat, was the lone body of a man.
‘Is that Smith?’ Thompson asked of Jones.
‘It’s definitely him,’ Jones confirmed, slamming the brakes on, and rushing to his friend.
‘Wait, carefully now,’ Thompson informed his man ‘Do not remove your mask at any cost.’
Screams of civilians echoed through the streets as foreign planes would skim across the rooftops flashing light as they went. Occasionally gunfire and explosions followed.
Both men were armed as they cautiously approached the lifeless body next to the abandoned car. Belle reclined in the back of the car, nursing her arm, regaining what little strength she had left. Her heavy breathing was clouding the mask’s visor.
‘Smith? Smith, can you hear me?’ Thompson whispered into his colleague’s ear, cradling his limp head.
There was no response. His pulse was still active but his pupils dilated as he stared into oblivion.
‘Check for blood; a gunshot wound,’ Thompson ordered Jones.
Between them, they turned the man and checked all over but no bullets had passed through him.
‘Sir, here sir,’ Jones directed his superior.
A tiny crimson trickle on the palm of his hands led to a recent hole from a sharp needle that had punctured the skin, forced the poison through, and rendered the man incapacitated.
‘The treacherous swine,’ Thompson angered, fumbling quickly into his pockets.
The two phials, one of light green and the other a thick viscose emerald, were well-protected within their black casing. Thompson uncorked the lightest fluid, took the accompanying needle and injected a tiny pinhead of anti-venom into the already tiny hole created via the assailant. All they could do now was wait.
*****
‘She poisoned ’er!’ Eric shouted out as Nelly untied Agatha.
‘Did she now,’ Nelly replied, forcing Dove onto her knees.
Aggie, in turn, untied Eric. Using their best efforts, they sat Sister Harvey upright, her drooling mouth lent against Dove’s shoulder. Eric frisked the governess, searching for the poison in her pockets but it wasn’t there.
‘Where is it?’ he demanded. If he had Nelly’s gun, he would surely have ended any more malevolence from Dove.
‘You silly child. You have all lost. They are coming for you all.’ She laughed.
‘I only asked to see how co-op-ri-tiv you’d be.’ Eric smirked back, turning Dove’s belt buckle to reveal the two phials of liquid. ‘I’m guessing the poison one is the one with less liquid, doubt she’s ever used the other for anything good.’ Eric suggested to Nelly, examining them towards the light of the letterbox window.
‘If that’s right how much to administer the cure?’ Nelly directed towards Dove, who remained defiantly silent.
‘Very well. Poison it is,’ Nelly confirmed, drawing the remaining dark green fluid and moving to Dove’s neck vein.
‘No, no, that will kill me!’ Dove cried out. ‘Please, no, just a drop. A pinprick is sufficient to bring her around.’ She screamed as Nelly pierced her skin and administered a pinprick of the darker poison.
Dove shook while her muscles contorted. Her hands retracted like claws before she fell down slobbering on the floor.
‘Nelly!’ Aggie screamed in shock.
‘I don’t trust her. Do you? She’s a rat. Why not make her a lab rat?’ Nelly replied un-wielding. ‘I need to be certain. My sister’s life is at stake.’ She then reached for the second liquid and began to tease a tiny droplet out.
Static interference broke the tense atmosphere in the room. It reverberated through the brass vent they had listened into so carefully.
‘Come on, Eric,’ Aggie encouraged her friend. ‘Let’s find what she was hiding.’
Nelly nodded her permission and Aggie led her friend along the winding school corridors. They stopped temporarily at the large Aspidistra as the violins continued through the public address outside and throughout the village. Purple light shone through the cracks between blinds. Creeping quietly towards the slatted window, Eric peeked outside. The town folk were moving slowly and swaying. One or two firmly clasped children in their hands and were marching them down the Steep towards Amble Bridge. Above them, the bunting burned brightly and the smoke engulfed them all.
‘Bring me your children, OBEY. Bring me your children OBEY.’
Eric Peabody, who was rarely lost for words, turned to Aggie with a stunned silence.
‘What, Eric? What is it?’ Aggie asked worriedly.
‘They’re rounding up all the kids. I don’t know what’s going on.’
‘Le
t’s find that radio first. Then we can decide what to do. Nelly will know.’
The two of them continued into the governess’s room. Apart from a square of pristine wall, where the Priory crest had recently hung, nothing looked out of place at all.
‘Think, Eric. What did we hear? Think,’ Aggie said out loud, searching for items in the room.
‘It was like opening a case. Two clicks, always two clicks. We need to look for a case. Two clicks and then the crackling.’
‘Yes, that’s good,’ Aggie encouraged him.
The two of them looked high and wide for a case. Nothing under the table, not much furniture at all, the room was reasonably bare. Eric opened the drawers to Dove’s desk and tossed everything out with great exuberance. Ransacking a head teacher’s room was a long time coming for him.
‘It’s not here. Perhaps it’s in another room?’ Aggie suggested.
‘There are too many rooms to search, Aggie. It’s gotta be ’ere. She’d never risk letting it out of her sight,’ Eric shouted, kicking the desk in anger.
‘Think, Aggie, think,’ she said to herself once more, tapping a finger on her forehead as if Florrie was encouraging her in a lesson. ‘Think!’ she shouted at herself.
‘I got it,’ Eric answered. ‘Nelly said the room hadn’t changed much, didn’t she?’
‘Apart from the case,’ Aggie quickly responded.
‘Bookcase, not suitcase,’ Eric answered, pointing to the neat piece of furniture propped against the wall.
Eric took one end and Aggie the other. The hidden wheel bearings allowed it to turn smoothly and there it was, a suitcase, hidden within the bookcase. Static crackled louder on the revelation. Right there beneath, where the case had been hidden against the wall, was an elaborate brass vent. Dove could not have known how it was revealing her secrets.
Two clicks, from the locks at each end, and they had opened the suitcase between them. A radio transmitter, recording spools, microphone, and headset all perfectly placed for clandestine communications.
‘It’s still on. Still working,’ Eric whispered to Aggie, the crackling of interference feeding back to them. ‘Say something,’ Eric encouraged. ‘pretend you’re Dove.’
Aggie shook her head in defiance. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Just say something. What does it matter? You ’erd ’er. They’re already coming for us. If you don’t, I will, and then the game will definitely be up,’ he insisted. Eric thrust his hand down on a large black button in front of the microphone preparing himself to speak.
‘Guten abend,’ Aggie improvised, impersonating Dove. She was hoping the static and interference would mask their vocal differences. ‘This is Taube, over, Tuchhandler are you there?’
*****
Gideon held on with both hands. The drop below could be any number of feet down. The moonlight beamed through the prism above and reflected onto the staff below where the Scarlet Scarab was set against silver and gold razor-sharp wing casings. He began to pull himself upwards when the distant sound of violins began in the background.
‘What on earth?’ he said to himself before the smashing of a glass pane penetrated through the corridors.
The echo of footsteps paced closer to where he hung. They disappeared momentarily while descending the stone steps in the adjacent chamber, before falling silent.
With a final surge of energy, Gideon hauled himself up and clung onto the trapdoor from below his elbow joints. His chin resting on the wooden surround using every notion of leverage he could.
‘Dear friend, leaving so soon?’ came the sinister voice from the darkness beneath him. A voice he had not heard in a long, long time, but recognised instantly.
‘Ahhhhhhh!’ Gideon screamed aloud as the ceremonial staff, with its gold and silver wings, was unceremoniously thrust into his leg.
Brain Louds slowly tore the ornate, razor-sharp wings of the scarab through Gideon’s calf muscle. The excruciating pain was too much to bear. Gideon lessened his grip and crashed into the chamber below.
‘Nice to see me after all this time?’ Louds laughed, removing his facemask and smiling through sinew and bone.
*****
It wasn’t instant and therefore Thompson doubted his actions immediately. Turning to Jones in despair he shook his head.
‘Wait,’ Jones replied as Smith’s diaphragm retracted and a volley of breath shot from him.
Coughing and spluttering, Smith vomited bile and blood as his body reacted to the poison leaving his body. Thompson quickly removed his gas mask and placed it on his colleague, clutching his own airways to stop the smoke penetrating. Jones sought one from the boot and replaced in onto this friend.
Smith struggled to get his words out. ‘In there,’ he advised, pointing towards the previously hidden entrance to the department.
The bin that covered the hidden cellar way was displaced several yards from its position of stewardship. The oak doors hidden beneath were now upright, leaving the entrance exposed.
‘Get them to a hospital, now,’ Thompson ordered Jones.
‘I’m coming with you,’ came Belle’s voice from behind.
‘You’re too weak, Belle,’ Thompson told her.
‘And you are too few. I can help. I can,’ she insisted.
‘Come on then,’ Thompson said, having no time to argue. ‘Stay behind me.’
Descending into the underground cavern, they were greeted with pitch black.
‘Torch?’ Belle asked.
Thompson passed it over as he kept his gun raised. She lit it up. Its now-familiar violet guiding their way under sets of illuminating eyes.
‘They’re everywhere!’ Belle cried. ‘Everywhere.’
The overwhelming sense of defeat crippled Thompson’s confidence. What were they fighting?
‘Sshhh … listen a minute,’ Thompson said, stalling. ‘It’s coming from outside.’
The welcome sound of the air-raid sirens arrived at last. A moment of relief as the Protocols remained intact.
‘People of London, OBEY. People of London, OBEY!’ came the surprise voice following the first siren before being overtaken and drowned out by violins.
Belle looked towards Thompson. They acknowledged to each other their theory had come to fruition.
‘Listen,’ Belle directed Thompson tugging on his shirtsleeve.
‘I know. I heard it too,’ he acknowledged.
‘No, really listen,’ she replied, tapping her ears. Her voice was still muffled under her mask.
‘People of London. OBEY! People of London OBEY!’ they heard against a screech of feedback, this time echoing and near, not just from the public address speakers across the city.
Thompson suddenly realised where the sound was coming from. An index finger raised to his gas mask was sufficient enough for Belle to remain silent as they crept through the daunting corridors.
*****
‘You need to do something quick, Archie,’ Pop fervently suggested as the army of veterans began their slow march down the winding ramp.
‘I don’t know this part of the building. It was hidden to me,’ Archie replied.
‘Just listen for any sounds or feel those breezes, Archie, or we are all dead,’ Noone hurried him.
‘It’s difficult to concentrate with that damn distraction,’ Archie replied, pointing towards the hidden speakers.
Pop walked towards their direction. He felt the wall. It was lathe and plaster, not stone. He thrust his fist through it and tore out whatever wires he could find. The speakers in their immediate vicinity rang silent.
‘Thank you. That’s better,’ Archie informed them
Noone and Pop could still hear the many hidden speakers playing out the concerto, and informing the imminent army to Kill them.
‘I can’t find them all. There’s too many,’ Pop advised.
‘Perhaps there’s a master relay,’ said Noone.
They started looking for any cables or piping, which would carry such wiring.
‘Here goes nuffink,’ the giant gipsy said, clasping his ham fists around the pipework.
As the pipe yielded to his great strength the lights of the Institute began to flicker. The more he pulled, the more the intermittent they became.
‘Wait, Pop, wait!’ Noone cried out – too late!
Bang! The sparks of electricity flew above their heads. A live cable hissed and thrashed serpent-like, just missing the huge man. Immediately, they were plunged into darkness. The music stopped too.
‘Yes!’ Pop applauded. ‘It worked, kinda.’
‘What’s happened?’ Archie asked.
‘We’ve lost the music but also the lights. Everything has gone dark,’ Noone
‘Welcome to my world.’ Archie smiled. ‘Wait, what’s that?’
The whirring of static as a gramophone, slowly coming to life, came across the speakers once more.
‘Kill, kill, kill,’ it repeated in its deep monotone.
‘Oh great,’ said Pop, as if things couldn’t get any worse.
Then, in the distance, tiny flickers of lights began illuminating the Institute once more.
‘The back-up generators, I think,’ Archie piped up.
The purple lights that replaced the fluorescent hospital tubing in times of emergency, stuttered and came to life, illuminating the walls to reveal the secrets of Silvera. The hidden eyes of RA staring back from the picture-less frames.
Kill, Obey, Follow, daubed across every surface, walls, floors and ceilings.
‘You were saying?’ Noone said to Pop. ‘Run!’
Luna barked rapidly, snarling and snapping as the army had moved to within feet of them, following them through the hidden chamber. Unrelenting they drew closer and closer.
*****
Thompson gestured to Belle to enter the room cautiously as he carefully opened the door. The banks of desks, headsets and telephone relays hastily rearranged so that cables ran in an incomparable interconnecting web.
