Requiem

by Skye Knizley

  Price tamped the tobacco into his pipe without looking up. “Did you contact the police? If he admitted to a crime he should be arrested and tried.”

  Chastity stood and moved closer to Price. “Inspector, his punishment already outweighs the penalty for a few bags of stolen coffee, believe me. The point of the story is he says he was supposed to bring the stolen cart to a certain place in the city, and that is where he saw his monster.”

  Price struck a Lucifer on a firebrick and touched it to his pipe. It lit with some difficulty and he exhaled a cloud of sweet smoke. “What does that have to do with Moody?”

  Chastity turned and paced the length of the room. “I think perhaps that Moody was the monster that Jacob saw. By all accounts Moody isn’t exactly normal.”

  “That makes sense, I suppose,” Price said. “Do you intend to tell me where he took the cart?”

  Chastity smiled and shook her head. “Not at all. But if you will escort a lady, I’ll take you there. We can investigate together.”

  Price set aside his pipe. “Withholding information that could lead to an arrest is a crime, Miss MacLeod.”

  Chastity held out her hands, wrists up. “Then arrest me, Inspector, and spend the night wondering why you were such an idiot.”

  She saw a glimmer of doubt cross Price’s face and thought she may have pushed too far when Price stood, but instead of slapping her in irons he reached for her coat. “Fine, I’ll escort you. But if there is any trouble you stay behind me. Deal?”

  Chastity let Price help her into her coat. “Agreed.”

  Price slipped into his own jacket and the pair left the house in search of a coach.

  THE LIGHT SNOW had become a squall which blanketed the city in thick drifts of white that glowed in the flickering light of the streetlamps. Chastity found herself huddling against Price for warmth, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was watching the city go by with the air of a landlord surveying his property.

  The coach moved with a hush of wheels on snow onto the London bridge. They were just picking up speed when there was a scream from the driver followed by the crunch of his body falling onto the bricks. Before either occupant could react, Moody’s slime and snow-encrusted face appeared in the window next to Price.

  “Good evening, Inspector Price. I hear you’re looking for me, sir! How can I be of assistance?”

  Price pulled away from the window and drew his revolver. “Christ!”

  Moody’s smile would have frightened St. Raphael himself. “Wrong ghost, Inspector.”

  Moody began to yank on the door which, mercifully, was locked. The coach shook with the boom of Price’s Colt and Moody screamed in anger and frustration, mucus running from the hole in his chest. Still howling, he climbed on top of the coach, out of sight. Moody fired twice more through the roof before the coach lurched, causing him to bang his head against the door. In moments, the coach was moving at a breakneck pace across the bridge, almost out of control.

  Chastity opened her door and craned her neck to see Moody’s naked form huddled over the seat, reins in hand. He grinned at her over his shoulder and shook them, sending the pair of horses into a frenzy of fright and pain.

  “What are you doing?” Price yelled. “The roof of a coach is no place for a lady!”

  Chastity ignored him and stepped onto the footboard. “Moody, slow down, you’re going to get us all killed!”

  Moody frowned. “How do you know my name, pretty lady?”

  One moment he was hunched over the seat, the next he had his taloned hand around her throat. Mucus was weeping from the gaping hole that used to be his nose, but Chastity could hear him snuffling through the ruined orifice with a sound like a sick dog’s wheeze.

  “You!” he snarled. “You took my hand! It came back, but do you have any idea how much it stings to lose a limb?”

  “Not really,” Chastity replied. “I’ve got all mine.”

  “Only for the moment,” Moody said.

  He let go of the reins that were trailing from his other hand and raised it to run one of the sharp, black nails over Chastity’s face. “I think I’ll make you look like me!”

  Chastity tried to turn her face away. “No thank you, I’m quite happy with God’s work. If you could just let go, we’d both be happier. When was the last time you bathed?”

  Moody pulled his hand back to slap her and she shot him through the gaping hole in his face. He let go and staggered back, holding his nose together with his hands. Chastity didn’t see what happened next, she was too concerned with the street beneath her. She reached for the roof rail as she fell, but it was just out of reach. She felt the sickening sensation of the fall then a powerful hand gripped her wrist. She looked up to see Price leaning out the door, one hand on the siderail, the other on her wrist as she was dragged along mere inches from the rear wheel.

  “I told you this was no place for a lady,” he said.

  Chastity smiled and let him pull her up. “You were right, I’m glad I let you tag along.”

  Price opened his mouth to reply and Chastity saw Moody looming behind him. She jumped into Price’s arms, using her body weight to push him into the coach out of Moody’s reach. She lay atop him and for a brief moment forgot she was inside a mad coach careening across the Thames. Given time she felt she could lose herself in his eyes and be content doing so. Then reality came rushing back. She could feel Moody’s hand clamped around her ankle. She had just enough time to say, “stay here!” before she was dragged out of the coach and slammed onto the roof with enough force to knock the air from her lungs and consciousness from her mind. When she woke seconds later it was to see Moody looming over her, talons spread.

  He smiled and squatted over her, seeming to be oblivious to the cold and racing coach. “There you are. I didn’t want you to die in your sleep. I’m going to tear you apart, then I’m going to gut your American friend and make his skin into a hat.”

  “You are unwell, Mr. Moody,” Chastity said. “Perhaps you should be the one in Bedlam and not Mr. Lancaster.”

  Moody raised his arm to strike and Chastity kicked him in both knees. When he staggered, she was up with her sword in hand, her balance perfect atop the coach as it neared the end of the bridge. In Moody’s presence the runes in the blade began to glow with blue fire and for the first time Chastity saw fear in his eyes.

  “Wait, what is that?” he asked.

  “Your death warrant, ghoul!”

  She and Moody engaged, fiery blade and claws flashing in the snowy night. Twice Moody’s claws would have ripped through her skin were it not for the leather corset that protected her belly and ribs. Chastity got her own back, lopping chunks of steaming flesh from Moody’s body.

  After several exchanges, Chastity stepped into Moody’s guard and sliced through his arm. It burst into cleansing flame as it spun away into the night. Moody screamed in genuine pain and Chastity kicked him in the face. He fell just where she’d lain a moment before and clutched at his burning stump.

  “Who are you working for?” Chastity snarled. “Who is Dippel?”

  “It doesn’t matter, you won’t let me live!”

  Chastity leveled her burning blade at Moody’s throat. “You are an abomination in the eyes of the Lord, you shouldn’t exist. But there is more than one way to die. If you tell me what I need to know, I’ll make it quick and clean.”

  Moody glared at the blade then bared his fangs. “I will see you in hell first.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Chastity didn’t have time to argue. She had but moments before the coach careened off the end of the bridge and at the speed they were traveling it would never make the turn. The coach would topple and she, along with Price, would be killed. She swung her sword and removed Moody’s head with a single stroke. He burst into flames and Chastity kicked him off the side of the coach before sheathing her blade and reaching for the reins. She managed to grab them just as they began to fall from the footrest and she yanked, trying to slow
the horses and turn them away from the wall before the coach rolled.

  “Slow down!” she yelled. “Turn, you beasts!”

  The coach slowed and the animals showed some inclination to turn away from impending doom, but otherwise seemed oblivious to the coach behind them. Chastity hauled on the reins again and the horses turned with such speed that Chastity was almost thrown from her perch. She could feel the coach sliding beneath her and knew it was going over. Instinct took control and she leapt over the high side, hoping that Price would be okay inside the cabin. She tucked and rolled when she hit the snow and slid into the wall mere inches from a fall into the Thames. Behind her the coach rolled with a thunderous crash that snapped the headblock. The team, still in a blind panic, continued to run. Chastity could hear the pounding of their hooves echoing into the distance.

  She stood and started running back to the carriage. She was still several yards away when the door opened and Price poked his head out, disheveled, but otherwise unharmed. He jammed his crushed hat onto his head and glared at her.

  “What the hell happened?”

  Her relief combined with his comical appearance was too much. Chastity started to giggle.

  Price lifted himself out and dropped onto the snow. “I fail to see the humor in this, Miss MacLeod! You could have been killed!”

  Chastity forced herself to calm down and joined him by the overturned vehicle. “Quite right, Inspector Price. Someone could have been hurt.”

  Price made an effort to smooth his hat. “Where is Moody, is he beneath the coach?”

  “He’s back on the bridge, what’s left of the man.”

  Price put his hat back on and glowered at Chastity. “Miss MacLeod, whatever that was, it was not a man.”

  Chastity inclined her head. “Agreed. There is no doubting your observational skills, Inspector.”

  “What was he? It?”

  Chastity paced a few steps away, then looked back at Price. He was a strong man, an above average copper and, oddly, she trusted him. It was unusual for an investigator of the Order to confide in a policeman, but in this case she felt she had no choice. But it wasn’t the right place. Already, people were gathering.

  “Not here, Inspector. We have innocents to tend to and a coachman to mourn.”

  Price looked at the gathering crowd and nodded. “Fine. But soon. I want to know the truth. I’ve a feeling you know more than you’ve let on.”

  “I promise, but for now there is work to be done.”

  TWO HOURS LATER, the poor coachman’s remains had been taken away, the destroyed carriage righted and the horses rounded up and return to the stable. Chastity and Price had adjourned to a corner table at The Tabard, an inn a short walk from the bridge. The pub area was warmed by a large brick fireplace and lit by candle lanterns set high in the walls, away from any drunken hands. Though mostly empty, the inn boasted more than a dozen tables, a long bar made from English oak carved during Medieval times and a modest kitchen that provided filling stews and bread any time of the night or day.

  Chastity stared into her Whisky Skin and felt Price’s eyes on her. He hadn’t touched his own beer. He’d downed a shot of American bourbon and now sat opposite her, waiting. Chastity met his eyes and began speaking.

  “Are you a God-fearing man, Inspector Price?”

  Price arched an eyebrow and sat back. “What does that have to do with Moody?”

  “Everything, and then again nothing.”

  Chastity also sat back in her chair, her wooden tankard held in both hands for warmth. “Moody was a ghoul.”

  “A ghoul. What is a ghoul?”

  “A sort of creature that comes back from the dead to feast on human carrion. Evil, hard to kill and vicious when confronted,” Chastity said.

  Price took a long swig of his beer then held up his shot glass, motioning the barman to bring another. Chastity waited until the barman had come and gone back to his nook by the fire before resuming.

  “I found out a few nights ago when I confronted him about Davis. He tried to kill me and I fought him off.”

  Price downed his shot and blew out through his nose before putting the glass top-down on the table. After a moment he raised his eyes. “I want to say you’re crazy and put you in Bedlam with Lancaster, but I saw him with my own eyes and I saw where he fell, there was nothing left.”

  “No. I’m not crazy,” Chastity replied.

  He nodded and the look on his face made her heart sink. His world had just gotten more complicated and he didn’t appear to be taking it well.

  “How did you know?” he asked.

  Chastity put her tankard down. “It is my job to know. I’m an agent of the Order of St. Raphael, established in 1665 to combat Pestilence.”

  Price beckoned for another shot and finished his beer. “Pestilence, as in tuberculosis?”

  “As in the first Horseman of the Apocalypse. Thousands died before the seals could be closed,” Chastity said. “Since then, we’ve remained vigilant.”

  She again paused to let the barman pour Price’s drink. As he was leaving, Price took the bottle and set it on the table. The barman took one look at his face and left with a muttered, “I’ll charge ye in the morning.”

  “Don’t you think you’re drinking a bit much?” Chastity asked.

  Price snorted and downed his shot. “I saw my first ghoul and the most attractive woman I’ve seen since getting off the boat says she fought off the Apocalypse. I haven’t drunk enough.”

  “I didn’t fight the Apocalypse, the Order did. How old do you think I am?”

  Price shrugged and poured another drink, somehow managing to get some of it in the glass. “Twenty going on two hundred, how should I know?”

  He held the shot, his eyes suddenly clear and focused. “Can anyone come back? From the dead?”

  Chastity cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, can anyone come back. People. Or is it just things like Moody?”

  Chastity pursed her lips, not happy with where the questions were going. “On rare occasions a saint may come back from the beyond. Most are creatures like Moody, or worse.”

  She leaned across the table. “I’m sorry, Inspector Price, you wife and son are not coming back. If they did, they wouldn’t be the ones you loved, they would be abominations.”

  Price swallowed the shot he’d been holding and dropped the glass on the table. “I suppose. You’re the expert.”

  Chastity picked at the table with her nails, unsure what to say. His face was troubled and he was more than a little drunk. Most people were upset when they found out that monsters were real, but most didn’t ask if people ever came back.

  “I am no expert, Inspector Price. I just do my part to keep people safe and I know that we are not meant to come back. Heaven or Hell is for eternity, not a holiday.”

  Price stood on shaky legs, knocking his chair to the floor. “As you say. I’m going home.”

  Chastity stood and kept him from falling into the table. Even drunk, he smelled wonderful, a mixture of gunpowder and spice that made her think of wide-open spaces she’d never seen.

  “Inspector Price, you can’t even walk, perhaps you should take a room for the night?”

  He straightened and immediately sagged again, moving as if his knees no longer functioned properly. On the third attempt he leaned against Chastity and waved at the barman.

  “Perhaps my lady friend is right. I’ll take a room, please.”

  The barman took Price’s weight from Chastity and began guiding him to a first floor room. Chastity followed them into the room, which was small but reasonable, with a large four poster bed covered with a white feather duvet, a chest of drawers and a basin with soap and brush. Chastity and the barman, whose name was Smith, helped Price into the bed. When he was comfortable, Chastity paid the barman.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Please fetch a pitcher of fresh water and a chamber pot. I fear Inspector Price may be sick.”

  “
At once, mum,” Smith replied.

  He closed the door behind him and Chastity turned her attention to Price’s boots, which were embroidered American-style riding boots. Chastity pulled them off and set them aside, then struggled with pulling the duvet over him. When he was mostly covered, she stood and blew an errant strand of hair out of her face.

  “I’m sorry, Inspector Price.”

  “Christian,” Price muttered.

  Chastity blinked and leaned closer to his face. “I beg your pardon?”

  “M’name. It’s Christian.”

  “Very well, then, Christian. I’m sorry you had to learn about the supernatural this way.”

  Price muttered something else and then began to snore. A moment later Smith entered carrying the items Chastity had requested. She set the chamber pot beside the bed in easy reach then filled the basin and a drinking tumbler. She put the tumbler on the night table, bid Smith a good night and settled into the room’s only chair. It was her fault Price was drunk, it was her responsibility to sit with him. Besides, you could learn much about a man in his sleep.

  She smiled to herself and blew out her candle.

  CHASTITY AWOKE TO sunlight streaming through the windows. She pulled her hair away from her face and looked around, at first uncertain where she was. After a moment she focused on Price, who was sitting up in bed watching her.

  “Good morning,” she said with a smile.

  “Good morning, Miss MacLeod.”

  His eyes were clear, but his brows were knit and he had a slight air of confusion about him. Chastity stood and moved to his side.

  “What’s wrong, Christian?”

  “Miss MacLeod, I confess I find myself at a bit of a loss over last night. I don’t normally drink so much around a lady,” he said. “I appreciate you seeing to me.”

  Chastity smiled. “It was no trouble, Christian.”

  He blushed and Chastity had to stifle a giggle.

  “Miss Macleod, I hardly know how to ask this. I mean, did we, did I—”