by Tom Becker
“Mr Carnegie?”
Both men started as Raquella swished out of the gloom like a ghost.
“I’m sorry to startle you.”
“That’s all right, my dear. We’re a bit nervy tonight.”
“I’m not surprised. The atmosphere in this place tends to put people on edge. My father is waiting for you. Follow me.”
“Where’s Vendetta?”
“In bed; asleep, I hope. I don’t expect to see him until tomorrow afternoon.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Arthur fervently.
The maid led them out of the kitchen, and up a narrow flight of stairs that came out on the ground floor. As they progressed along a corridor, they passed a door that stood slightly ajar. Arthur peered inside, and then whimpered softly. Carnegie glanced over his shoulder, and caught sight of large dark stains across the walls before Raquella closed the door. The beast within him stirred at the familiar scent of blood.
“I wouldn’t go wandering around, if I were you,” Raquella said firmly. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost, or see anything you’re not supposed to.”
Sensing her guests’ unease, she ushered them towards a staircase and headed up past the first, second and third floors, and into the tower where they had seen the light burning. Here the stairs began to spiral and the maid’s heels clicked on the wooden steps. Carnegie could hear Arthur panting as the paunchy reporter struggled to keep up.
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before they spotted light spilling out from underneath a door. Raquella went through it, and gestured for everyone else to follow. A pleasant contrast to the cold confines of the staircase, the room was warm, bright, and simply but elegantly furnished. A small fire crackled merrily in the hearth. And there, in a high-backed chair, idly flicking through a book, was Vendetta.
Raquella gasped.
“Master. . . What are you doing up? I thought you were asleep.”
The vampire gave her an amused, calculating stare. “So I see.” He closed his book with a snap. “I don’t mind you inviting friends round, Raquella, but your taste leaves a little to be desired. What do we have here?” Vendetta cast an eye over his maid’s companions. “A fat man and a pet mongrel. What a combination! Will they be dining with us?”
“It is late to be eating, sir, but if you are hungry I could. . .”
“I am always hungry, Raquella,” he interrupted. “You of all people should know that.”
Carnegie stepped in front of the maid. “Leave the girl alone. I forced her to let us in. Not her fault.”
The vampire let out a scornful laugh. “Of course you did! It wasn’t as if she wrote you a letter telling you her father was here, and you came racing straight over.”
Carnegie glanced at Raquella, who blanched.
“I don’t know how he knows,” she protested. “I didn’t tell him anything!”
“You didn’t need to. Your disloyalty is so predictable. Why do you think I told you about your father in the first place? I knew that you’d run off to Carnegie. I’m only surprised the Starling child isn’t here.”
“Well, we’re here,” said the wereman gruffly. “What do you want? Where’s William?”
“William is fine. He’s in a safe place, under lock and key. With a knife to his throat, just in case you get the urge to become all hairy and throttle me.”
“I’ll do what I can. My self-control stretches only so far.”
“As does mine,” Vendetta replied, his voice as low and cold as a grave. “If you touch me, the girl’s father will have his throat slit. Continue to annoy me, and I might have him killed anyway.”
“I’ll ask again: what do you want?”
The room temperature dropped a couple of degrees as the wereman and the vampire stared at each other. Then Vendetta relaxed back into his chair with a smile.
“I was chatting to an old friend of mine from the Cain Club,” he said, inspecting his nails, “and he told me you’d been blundering around there, causing trouble. And now the Gentlemen are being extinguished one by one. (Except for our mutual friend Brother Steel, who’s been enjoying my hospitality.) All in all, I have the distinct impression you’re in over your head again, Carnegie.”
“It’s you, isn’t it?” Arthur’s voice rang with shock. “You’re Brother Fleet!”
The vampire shot the reporter a look of utter disdain.
“‘Brother Fleet?’” he said contemptuously. “Secret societies . . . symbols and special handshakes . . . nothing more than schoolboy games. I have more pressing concerns. No, I am not Brother Fleet.”
“That’s a relief,” Carnegie replied. “For a minute there I thought we were in trouble.”
Vendetta chuckled. “In that, at least, we are in total agreement. By my reckoning, it’s a matter of hours before you die very painfully. In a strange way, that’s what stopped me from having you killed the minute you entered my house. Do you really think we’re alone?”
Carnegie pushed his hat up and scratched his forehead. “It appears you have the advantage of us.”
“It does rather. I am looking forward to finding out exactly how much you’re going to suffer: it might almost make my recent illness worthwhile.”
“Yes. I heard that you hadn’t been feeling well. I do hope life hasn’t been too hard for you.”
Vendetta bared his fangs and hissed at Carnegie. Arthur edged back towards the door.
“Enough!” spat the vampire. “I would deal with you myself, had I the strength. Get out of here, and take William with you: he is no longer welcome in the house. No matter where you go, it will not take long for Brother Fleet to catch up with you. I am glad you will spend your remaining few hours fleeing like rats.”
“Where is William?”
Vendetta rang a small bell, and a door opened in the wall. A greasy-haired man frog-marched William into the room, one hand wrapped in his hair, the other holding a knife to his throat. Carnegie saw another flash of movement, and noted a third hand poking out from the henchman’s waistcoat, holding a small pistol that was trained on the wereman.
“Father!” Raquella shouted.
“I’m all right, child,” William said, with difficulty. “Stay calm.”
“You can let him go now, Yann.”
The greasy man nodded, and stepped away from William. He kept the pistol firmly trained on Carnegie. William Joubert hugged his daughter tightly, then nodded at Vendetta with a familiarity that surprised the wereman.
“Time to leave,” he said briskly. “Raquella will come to no harm?”
“No promises,” Vendetta replied. “I’ll see what I can do.”
William looked at his daughter tenderly. “Stay here. Believe it or not, this is the safest place for you right now.”
And with that, he spun on his heel and headed down the stairs.
The three men hurried down the driveway of Vendetta Heights and out on to Savage Row. Even as they strode along the broad avenue Carnegie didn’t feel any safer for having left the vampire’s lair behind. He could smell violence in the air. It was only a matter of time, now. The wereman could feel an invisible net tightening around them all.
Their carriage was waiting for them at the bottom of Savage Row. Lucien was sat up in the driver’s seat, his skeletal body muffled against the cold in a thick black overcoat with the collar turned up. As William and Arthur climbed into the carriage, Carnegie went round to speak to the editor.
“You know what you’re doing up there?”
Lucien picked up the reins and nodded. “The Informer’s got a safe house on Puck Avenue, the other side of town. We’ve used it in the past to interview sources and hide reporters. William should be safe there, for a few days at least.”
“Sounds like a good plan. You’ll have to go ahead without me, though. The boy should be back at my office by now. I have a feelin
g things are going to get very nasty very quickly, and I don’t want him on his own.”
“Why don’t we just go via Fitzwilliam Street?”
Carnegie shook his head. “No time. William’s the priority. I’ll catch you up as soon as I can. Don’t stop for anything.”
The editor nodded, and tightened his cloak around himself. William called Carnegie over from the carriage window.
“I’m sorry you have been dragged into this. I never helped them, you know . . . killing James. They ostracized me because of it, did everything they could to make my life a misery afterwards. It seems now I will have to pay the ultimate price.”
Carnegie shook his head. “You’ll be all right, William. I promise.”
The wereman banged on the side of the carriage, and watched as it sailed off into the night.
The storm over the Grand had eased off by the time Carnegie arrived back at Fitzwilliam Street, but pools of brown water were still eddying in the gutters. The wereman splashed across the cobblestones and up the stairs to his lodgings. His night had been so full of surprises that he barely registered the fact that Jonathan was deep in conversation with Harry. At the sight of Carnegie, Jonathan leapt to his feet.
“Where’s William?” he asked.
“He’s fine. Lucien and Arthur are taking him to a safe house across town. I came here to pick you up and—”
“Oh no!” Jonathan cried, and his face crumpled.
“What is it now?”
It was Harry who responded.
“Lucien’s Brother Fleet. He’s the Ripper. You’ve just sent William to his death.”
23
Elias Carnegie stood on the carriage like a charioteer, staring at the road ahead, the reins in his hands and death on his mind. The carriage tore through the streets of Darkside like a comet, rocking dangerously from side to side over the cobblestones.
The wereman’s snarls carried to inside the cab, where Harry shot Jonathan a questioning glance.
“He’s on our side, right?”
Jonathan didn’t say anything. He had seen Carnegie angry before, but never as driven as this. Back in the lodgings, the wereman had listened to Harry’s story without saying a word, even when the young man had confessed the identity of his father. But as Harry went on, a muscle began to twitch in Carnegie’s cheek.
“In the beginning I didn’t know that Lucien had anything to do with James’s death. I only joined The Informer because I thought it would provide cover for my own investigations. But then I broke into the Cain Club and saw him about to burn that newspaper article. It looked suspicious, so I jumped in to try and stop him. . .”
“. . . only we turned up, and got it the wrong way round,” Jonathan added.
“Yeah. And after that, I didn’t know who to trust. I went to the Panopticon hoping to get some answers from de Quincy, but ended up running into that . . . thing up in the watchtower.” Harry shivered. “I heard de Quincy screaming as I came in through the window. It was pitch-black though, and I couldn’t see anything. Then from nowhere this creature was on me. It was all I could do to throw myself out of the window. I’ll tell you straight – I’ve seen some pretty horrible things in Darkside, and nothing’s ever scared me before. But the creature in that room just made me want to run away and hide.”
Jonathan thought back to his encounter in his Panopticon, and how even the sight of the cloud had chilled him to the bone. He was amazed that Harry had stood toe-to-toe with the creature and survived. Carnegie, on the other hand, looked distinctly unimpressed. He loomed over Harry.
“This is all fascinating stuff, but why don’t we cut to the chase? Why don’t you tell me where your uncle’s taken William Joubert?”
“Hey!” cried Jonathan. “That’s not fair!”
Harry’s eyes flashed dangerously.“He’s no uncle of mine, half-breed. I’ve no idea where he’s gone, but I’ll track him down, and I’ll make him pay. You have my word on that.”
“Is that so?” hissed the wereman. “You’ll have to get in line, son.” He glanced over at Jonathan. “Time to get moving.”
“Where?”
It was Harry who answered. “The Cain Club. That’s where it all started. That’s where my father was most powerful. Lucien’ll want his final victory to be there.”
Carnegie began moving towards the door, then paused and looked meaningfully at the young Ripper.
“I gave William my word he’d be safe. We’re going to find him tonight, if I have to tear Darkside down brick by brick. So if you even think about getting in my way, you’re going to regret it.”
Now they were racing across town against the merciless ticking of the clock, in the desperate hope that William and Arthur were still alive. A cold killer awaited them, a merciless Ripper.
The first streaks of dawn were smearing the early morning sky by the time Jonathan saw the Cain Club coming into view. Its patrons had long since beaten a merry retreat back to their mansions, and the windows were dark and lifeless. Even the doormen had abandoned their usual posts at the front entrance.
Tugging furiously on the reins, Carnegie brought the horses to a halt by the steps, and Jonathan and Harry hopped out of the cab. The wereman made a final check of his possessions, and Jonathan was shocked to see a gleaming array of weaponry strapped to his body. Carnegie looked up and saw him staring.
“Bad things are going to happen in here, boy. The pair of you would be better off staying in the carriage.”
“No way,” Jonathan replied fiercely. “We’ve come this far together. And this isn’t just about William, remember? What about my mum?”
“And my dad,” said Harry. “I’m in, too.”
The wereman shrugged. “Fine. It’s your funeral.”
And with that, he strode up to the doors. Sizing up the thick wood, he reached into his pockets and pulled out a bottle of his “Special Recipe”. After soaking the doors with a thick coating of the liquid, he retreated behind a pillar and gestured for the boys to do the same. Then he flicked a match into life on his grizzled cheek, and tossed it towards the entrance.
Even pressed up tightly against a pillar, Jonathan was nearly knocked off his feet by the force of the blast. Planks flew past his nose like giant matchsticks, and the air was filled with smoke and the smell of charred wood. His ears ringing with the sound of the explosion, Jonathan stepped gingerly out from the behind the pillar and surveyed the damage. The doors had been blown from their hinges, and angry flames were licking the scarred frame. Through the smoke, he could see the plush interior of the Cain Club.
Carnegie stepped over the rubble and into the building. Jonathan glanced at Harry, and was strangely reassured to see the fear in his eyes. Both of them knew that there was a real chance they wouldn’t leave the Cain Club alive. Jonathan picked up a couple of smouldering planks of wood, and tossed Harry one.
“I think you might need this.”
Harry grimaced. “It’ll have to do. After you.”
And in that, for the first time, Jonathan heard a note of respect in his voice. The two of them stepped over the threshold.
The last time Jonathan had been in the Cain Club, he had been struck by the air of preening complacency and comfort. But now, with the hallways cleared of the braying members, and the gas lamps burning low on the walls, it had assumed an altogether more sinister atmosphere. On the grand staircase, the upper floors were shrouded in darkness. Each doorway was an unspoken threat. Carnegie hesitated as he weighed up the different options, then strode purposefully up the stairs and on to the first floor.
It was impossible to know how long they spent wandering though the labyrinth of identical rooms and corridors. Time seemed to lose all meaning. To Jonathan, whose nerves were shredded by the silence, every second seemed like an hour. It was a struggle to keep control of himself: more than once, he swung his plank at an invisible assa
ilant. His senses had gone into overdrive: he could hear Carnegie’s rasping breaths, more beast now than man; could see Harry losing himself in thoughts of murderous revenge; and could almost taste his own fear.
And then there were figures up ahead, lounging lazily against the corridor walls. Four men, their faces covered in the grotesque masks that marked them out as members of the club. Jagged rips ran down their suit jackets, and their white shirts were splattered with blood. All of them were carrying knives. At the sight of the intruders, one of them swaggered to the front of the group.
“What have we here?” he sneered to his companions. “They don’t look like members. They don’t dress like members. You know, I’ve got a feeling they shouldn’t be here at all.”
“In that case,” replied another, “we’re going to have to hurt them. This is a private club, after all.”
Carnegie growled. “This is not your fight. Go away now and I’ll let you live.”
The leader giggled. “How kind of you!” He brandished his knife. “Now come here, mutt, and let me housetrain you.”
They rushed as one, weapons raised aloft. Two men engaged Carnegie, while the others split up and made for the boys. Jonathan heard Harry cry out in alarm, and was then forced to duck as a knife whistled over his head. Overbalanced, his assailant grunted as Jonathan swung the plank into his midriff. He followed up with an instinctive charge that sent the man crashing to the ground. Jonathan was about to make a grab for the knife when a heavy hand restrained him. He whirled round, plank raised, only to see Carnegie’s matted face.
“I’ll take it from here.”
The bodies of the two man that had attacked the wereman were sprawled out on the floor. Carnegie wasn’t even breathing heavily. Unusually for him, he had fought in silence. There was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, and Jonathan knew that Carnegie felt better with his claws out and the beast rage coursing through his veins. Beyond him Harry was standing over another body, hands on his knees, shaken but unharmed.
