A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1)

by William Scott

The sun had just started to burn through the fog that hung lazily in the harbour as Patrick and Liam walked along the pier. Despite the early hour the docks buzzed with activity as sailors, fishermen, and merchants tramped about. Neither man minded the cacophony of sounds and movement, as it provided them a decent amount of anonymity.

  They were scouting out the location of the ball, a hotel in the port of Marseille owned by a wealthy businessman. With the end of the Napoleonic Wars, trade between France and North Africa gained importance and the number of ships joining in the lucrative shipping trade grew. As the largest French city on the Mediterranean, Marseille was the hub of all this activity and reaped the rewards. The revitalization of the harbour front displayed this growing prosperity.

  Liam lit a pipe while Pierce chomped on an apple, both acting nonchalant as they leaned against some crates and took note of the hotel across the street. It had the same general architecture as the rest of the buildings surrounding the port, but with more grandeur of design.

  “Looks like there are only a few points of entry,” Pierce observed, noting the cramped collection of buildings across from them. There was little space between each building and sometimes none at all, meaning the doors should only be at the back and front.

  “We should check it out, but I think you’re right,” Liam agreed between puffs.

  “You look ridiculous with that pipe,” Pierce scoffed as the smoke lingered around their heads. “You don’t even smoke.”

  “I’m just trying to blend in.”

  “Very nautical. Take a look around back and I’ll keep a watch on the front.” Liam nodded and slowly knocked the ash out of his pipe and lazily walked away, blending into the crowd.

  Once he was gone Pierce turned and looked out over the ship filled harbour. A mass of timber, canvas, and rope filled his view, further displaying the prosperity of the city. The flags of various countries hung limply from the masts of the docked ships, but one in particular caught his attention. It was the stars and stripes of the USA and it popped an idea into his head as soon as he saw it.

  A quick glance around the harbour was all it took for him to find his destination and possible lead. The Harbour Master’s building sat in a prominent place in the port, as busy as the waterway it controlled.

  Once inside he pushed his way past a crowd of captains and ship owners lined up by one of the counters. He stopped to listen and discovered that a ship had run aground by the mouth of the harbour, delaying everyone’s planned departures. Most of those gathered around were maintaining their calm, but some were becoming agitated. Continuing past the crowd, it only took a few minutes before Pierce found what he was looking for; a clerk with a large ledger book working alone.

  “Excusez moi monsieur,” Pierce began after a small cough.

  The clerk was busy inscribing some information into his ledger from a document in his hand. Once completed, he looked up at Pierce through a pair of small round spectacles.

  “I was hoping you could help me,” Pierce continued in his best French.

  “If you’re here about your ship’s departure time you’ll have to speak with the Harbour Master, there’s nothing I can do.”

  “No nothing like that,” Pierce replied to the obvious relief of the clerk. “You see I’m trying to return to America and was wondering if you could tell me which ships are bound that way.”

  “Try the shipping companies,” the clerk sighed in response as he picked up another document. “I’m too busy and we’re not supposed to give out that information.”

  Pierce reached into his pocket and removed a gold coin and then flipped it onto the desk. The clerk’s eyes lit up immediately as he reached out and grabbed it.

  “When were you planning on going?” he asked putting down the document.

  “Tell you what,” Pierce began as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a second coin. “Write down a list of all the ships leaving Marseille bound for America in the next week and you get another one.”

  “Be back in an hour.”

  Pierce smiled and put the coin back in his pocket, turned and walked out of the building satisfied by the potential progress. As he walked back to the hotel he could see Liam waiting for him out front, once more smoking his pipe.

  “Just the one exit out back,” he reported as Patrick approached. “Nothing on the left side, the building on the right is really close, but it doesn’t look like there’s anything.”

  “That should make things easy then, only two exits to watch.”

  “Actually I was just thinking of something while I was waiting here,” Liam began slowly. “What if Bufford and his gang try to repeat their disappearing act from the North Tower?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if they realized that two exits wasn’t enough and they wanted a back-up?” he explained, slowly reasoning the thoughts as he went. “What if they dug a hole between the buildings through the basement? It’s close enough that the foundations might even be touching.”

  “It’s a possibility, but they would have needed time to gain entry into the building and dig inconspicuously,” Pierce replied unconvinced. “They only passed through the portal a few hours before us.”

  “This time.”

  “This time?” Pierce asked and then immediately understood what Liam meant, upset with his sluggish mind. “Of course, they had the key to the Seville portal on more than one occasion. I just figured it was to lay the ground work for their business there and to dig the connecting hole. But they could have been coming to Marseille as well.”

  “Exactly, they would have had to come here at least once to get the invitation.”

  “So there’s no telling what they’ve planned and how much they have prepared,” Pierce concurred glumly.

  “Not until we check it out.”

  Pierce nodded in agreement and led the way across the street to the building beside the hotel. It was a plain three story building with evenly spaced windows spread across the façade. It was well kept, with new paint and few cracks visible. Pierce figured the hotel owner didn’t mind its proximity to his own building, making it appear more elegant in contrast.

  “What’s in this building anyway?” Pierce asked as they reached the front door.

  “Not sure about the basement, but there’s a women’s boarding house on the two top floors,” Liam winked before receiving a cold stare back. “What? Not all of us got to bring one with us.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pierce replied sharply after they entered. “And she’s not my woman.”

  “Does she know that?”

  Pierce shushed him as he opened the door to the basement, glad at the interruption. Rickety wooden stairs led down into a damp gloomy expanse, dimly light by random grimy windows. The basement floor was made up of hard dirt and littered with old crates, broken furniture, and some large pails of coal.

  The two men split up and started following the walls, searching for any clues. Remembering the trick used in the Manor’s north tower, they moved any large objects that covered parts of the wall to make sure that there were no holes. After ten dirty minutes of searching, they both met up at the stairs where they began.

  “Find anything?” Pierce asked wiping his hands on a rag he’d found.

  “Nothing really,” Liam answered hesitantly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It might be nothing,” he started with furrowed brows. “There was a large wardrobe wedged against the wall. I couldn’t move it to check behind, but that should mean they couldn’t move it either.”

  “How big is this wardrobe,” Pierce asked thoughtfully.

  “I don’t know, big enough that I couldn’t move it,” Liam rebuked. “Why does it matter?”

  “Clearly you’re not familiar with the works of C.S. Lewis.” Liam merely stared back in confusion as he pointed Pierce in the direction of the wardrobe.

  The wardrobe was indeed a massive piece of furniture, wedged between th
e dirt floor and a large wooden beam above. It had two large vertical doors at the top with a small drawer underneath. Pierce walked over and inspected the small brass door handles, grinning almost immediately.

  “What’s so funny?” Liam asked peering at the handles for himself. “They’re just ordinary handles.”

  “More than that, they’re ordinary handles with no dust or dirt on them,” Pierce explained as he grabbed the right door handle. Very gingerly he pulled it open, his grin doubling as he did so.

  “I’ll be damned,” Liam whistled as he looked through the open door and saw a small hole in the wall.

  The hole was actually more of a tunnel, since it was about six feet to the exit on the other side of the wall. It was just wide and tall enough that one person could crouch while walking through it without much trouble. Liam was about to attempt just that before he felt a strong grip on his shoulder. He whipped his head around to see Pierce signalling for him to be quiet.

  Both stood listening by the wardrobe for a few seconds before they heard the distinctive sound of footsteps on the other side. This was soon followed by soft whistling and the grating noise of a shovel scraping stone.

  “What do we do?” Pierce looked at Liam, they were both shocked that their gamble had paid off. Liam chewed his lip but then immediately flashed a rascally grin.

  “Hey you!” he yelled in perfect French through the hole. “What are you doing there?!”

  Pierce wanted to slap him for blowing the element of surprise as the man on the other side immediately started running. But instead of the footsteps getting fainter from increased distance, a loud thump sounded through the hole. Pierce shot Liam a questioning look and received a shrug in reply.

  The two members of the Brown Pack shuffled their way into the tunnel, their curiosity driving them through the tight space. They emerged to find a bearded man in dirty clothes with a gash on his head. In unison, both raised their eyes from the man’s wound to a large iron pipe above.

  “I can’t believe that just happened,” Liam chuckled, checking the man for a pulse.

  “He looks familiar.”

  “He should,” Liam replied after finding a pulse and light breathing. He walked over to a wooden stool in the corner by the tunnel and picked something up. “His name’s Ivan, one of Bufford’s hounds.”

  Pierce looked up in time as Liam threw what he’d picked up. He caught it before it hit the ground, feeling the distinctive supple grain of leather. Moving over to a small light he could tell it was indeed a long grey leather jacket and similar in style to the two they were both wearing.

  “I was hoping we could stop him and interrogate him,” admonished Pierce as he threw the jacket back at Liam.

  “I didn’t think he’d run,” Liam countered defensively. “I thought he’d try and talk his way out of it. That’s usually what we do on hunts, so as not to arouse unwanted suspicion. So what are we going to do with him?”

  “We can’t leave him here. He’ll just wake up and continue his work.”

  “And we can’t bring him with us; it’s too far, he’s too heavy, and conspicuous as hell. So that only leaves…”

  “No, we can’t do that,” Pierce shook his head, blanching at the thought of killing a defenceless man.

  “He’d probably do it to you.”

  “That’s why we’re the good guys,” Pierce retorted vehemently. “We don’t kill for kicks or convenience. So what does that leave us?”

  “What if there was a way to avoid killing him, but also separating him from Bufford?” Liam asked after a brief moment of reflection.

  “You’ve got an idea don’t you? Alright spit it out.”

  The reply was another mischievous grin.