A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1)

by William Scott

The drumming of rain on the glass ceiling filled the Hunt Room, occasionally drowned out by the crash of thunder. Flashes of lightning augmented the light given off by torches and candles, while simultaneously displaying the intricate designs of the glass ceiling above.

  “Very ominous, yes?” smiled Schell, leaning over to Pierce. He agreed with a nod, wondering why it always seemed to storm during momentous occasions. And this seemed like such an occasion.

  The entire room was full, awaiting the arrival of the Master of the Hunt. The atmosphere was further enhanced by the uniforms and demeanour of those assembled. The sombre hues of the clothing matched the silence of the majority, broken only by the odd whisper amongst neighbours.

  “The lads gathered the required equipment and have it in duffle bags behind them.” MacDuff informed Pierce from the seat behind. “Everything is 1930’s era. Liam said he even packed a Tommy gun for you if you wanted to feed you inner Capone.”

  Pierce turned around to shoot a dark glance towards Liam sitting in the top row, but his minion simply smiled back in mock confusion.

  “Lords and Ladies, the Master of the Hunt!” bellowed a black uniformed attendant as the doors drew open, signalling for everyone to stand. As before Lord Cleaver was trailed by Drummond, then members of his own pack as he entered. They took up the same positions as before, sitting after a ceremonious pause. The rest of the room then followed suit and sat back down.

  “The Hunt has been called,” began Lord Cleaver with a steely voice as he stared out on the assembly. “The Black Pack has answered it. Who else has answered the call?”

  “The Gold Pack has answered,” Zeidt replied formally.

  “The Grey Pack has answered!” hollered Bufford with a wave of his fist.

  “The Silver Pack has answered,” Laflamme said with theatrical flourish.

  In due course the rest of the Hunt Members announced the presence of their pack following the long standing protocol. Even Pierce managed his reply with some dignity, despite the ridiculousness he felt uttering the over dramatic words.

  “My Lord!” began Drummond officially, clearly relishing his role in the proceedings. “The Secretary of the Hunt confirms the Call of the Hunt has been answered.”

  “Thank you Mr. Secretary. Lords and Ladies, you have all answered the call blindly and may defer without disgrace. I can tell you that this hunt is possibly the most dangerous one to date, with a cunning and dangerous prey.”

  The assembled members began eagerly shouting questions all at once, wishing to know what was ahead of them. Pierce could sense a rising feeling in the room. It started slowly as varying levels of excitement, fury, passion, and intoxication were thrown together. As it reached its peak, Pierce recognized it as bloodlust and they were all getting high on it.

  Cleaver’s eyes became wide and trance-like, his mouth twitching into a smile, and he gripped the arms of his chair like the talons of a bird of prey. He soaked up the emotions with vampiric thirst, feeding on their energy. It was with slow deliberation and slight disappointment that he raised his hands to quiet everyone down.

  “Mr. Secretary please provide the Hunt with the details,” he announced dramatically to the hushed crowd. Drummond rose from his desk in the center aisle, nodding assent to Lord Cleaver before turning to each side of the room as he spoke.

  “Lords and Ladies, my assistants are now passing out the only documents and information you will receive for this hunt. You will undoubtedly have discovered from your pack that we will be travelling to the 1930’s, as that is the era from which they have collected your equipment. You may also remember that the Master of the Hunt let slip the destination.” He said this with fake recrimination, which elicited a chuckle throughout the room and a good natured raise of the eyebrow from Cleaver.

  Despite having already known this information, everyone in the room was concentrated wholly on Drummond. Everyone save Pierce, who was trying to casually observe Bufford to see what his reactions would be.

  “If you turn to page 1 of the file you will see that you will be hunting on new and dangerous ground, possibly the most dangerous you have faced yet. Your incursion will be from a villa in Seville, in the middle of the Spanish Civil War, the summer of 1937.”

  Again the room erupted with gasps of pleasure and shouts of delight. Schell muttered something beside him, but Pierce was busy watching Bufford’s reaction. Rather than the exuberance he expected from the crazed Colonel, it was a more troubling reaction. Colonel Bufford leaned back with a clever smile and tented his fingers together below his chin. It was as if he had planned it, or at the very least expected the news.

  “You will find a map of troop disbursements in your package,” continued Drummond as he left his desk and began walking the center aisle that divided the seats in the room. “This will be essential as the hunting area will be in the entire Iberian Peninsula, not just the city or it’s surrounding areas.”

  “Is there a possibility of the prey going beyond even Spain or Portugal?” inquired the Lord of the White pack further down the row from Pierce.

  “A distinct possibility,” he answered swiftly before continuing from memory. “Your target is only known by the name The Reaver and there are no pictures on file. As you can see from the physical description, it could fit over half the men in this room.”

  Rather than be deflated from this news, everyone became even more excited by the challenge. Pierce noted this to his neighbour.

  “The last hunt was not terribly challenging,” whispered Schell in reply. “It was in 1740’s Vienna… again. The prey was a leader of bandits running around the woods with clubs. We could have made the kill within 24 hours, but decided to prolong our stay for the full week. The Viennese Opera was in full form.”

  “The Reaver is an arms dealer working both sides of the conflict. He is apparently providing arms to both the Nationalists and Republicans alike, therefore he could be anywhere.”

  Drummond continued providing what limited details on the target he had. Some of the Members took notes, while others simply listened intently. Pierce was doing neither, as he had no intention of hunting some shadowy arms dealer in the middle of the Spanish Civil War. He was planning on shadowing Colonel Bufford instead.

  Pierce was once again troubled by Bufford’s demeanour as Drummond rifled off information. He seemed uninterested by the conversations around him, sitting back, apparently lost in thought. Even his Pack was busy with their heads together in conversation, paying scant attention to their surroundings.

  “They look like their planning something,” MacDuff concurred from behind him. “I wonder how long they knew the target and the destination, since they weren’t surprised by the news.”

  The room quieted down immediately as Cleaver stood, prompting those assembled to follow suit. Everyone waited in anticipation for him to speak, eager for the challenge and a change from their lives of leisure.

  “The portal will be opened when we adjourn and will remain open for only four hours. Those who miss the deadline will not be able to enjoy the hunt. Mr. Secretary!”

  “Yes my Lord,” replied Mr. Drummond.

  “Unlock the portal and release the hounds!”