Mann, George - The Osiris Ritual

by Mann, George

  "If you're going to remain there in the shadows, I'll feel compelled to carry on with my investigation. I don't have time to stand around waiting for you." His voice echoed out around the empty auditorium. He heard a man chuckling in the darkness. And then a figure emerged, drifting out of the shadows like a ghost suddenly adopting corporeal form. The man strolled -boldly forward, his sword held, unusually, in his left hand. The blade glinted in the harsh electric light.

  "Bravo! Bravo! I admire your panache." The man stopped as he entered the circle of light thrown down by the electric lamp. "So, you're Newbury. How I've wanted to meet my successor."

  Newbury blanched. His successor? Then this was the much-maligned Dr. Aubrey Knox. How did he fit into the picture? Was he the one behind the missing girls? And what else? It seemed too significant a coincidence that both he and Ashford should surface in London at the same time. There had to be a connection. Perhaps Ashford really was looking for revenge. Perhaps that's why he was here, after all this time. But now was not the time to ponder on it. Newbury met his opponent's gaze. "Dr. Aubrey Knox. I can't say it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

  Knox laughed. "We're not so different, you and I. Not so different at all. You shouldn't listen to everything that others tell you, Newbury. Perhaps it is only your misguided sense of duty that sets us apart."

  Newbury shook his head. "No, we are not alike. I am nothing like you at all." He was curious to see how the situation would play out. He knew very little of his predecessor, little more than he'd learned in the last few days. He wondered if the man would live up to his fearsome reputation.

  Knox came forward, further into the light. "You sound like Charles. How is the old boy?"

  Newbury glanced across the stage at the rack of swords. His response was terse. "Well enough."

  Knox grinned. "Yes, I always thought the job would wear him down. Still, I suspect he'll hold on until the bitter end. Wouldn't, be like Charles to throw in the towel." He paused, smiling. "Oh, and Miss Hobbes sends her regards."

  Newbury's curiosity about the man ignited into rage. Knox was taunting him. He clearly knew what had become of Veronica; more than likely had a hand in it, also. Newbury sprang into action. He rushed forward, catching Knox off guard so that he could batter the other man's sword arm easily to one side and bring his elbow up sharply into the pale man's face. Carrying forward with his momentum whilst Knox was dazed, Newbury darted towards the rack of swords, grasped one by the hilt and swept it out from its wooden notch. He spun around, presenting the point of the weapon to Knox.

  There was little more than three feet between them. Knox allowed his sword arm to idle casually by his side. He was laughing, spitting blood. "So, perhaps she is more than a pet, after all."

  Newbury decided that enough was enough. He could not allow this man to slight Veronica in such a manner. He would wound him, force him to reveal what he had done with Veronica, and then take him in. Or, if it came to it, he would run him through. He lurched forward, the point of his sabre singing out towards the other man's breast.

  Knox moved like lightning. One minute, he was standing nonchalantly eyeing Newbury, jesting with him; the next his arm had flashed up in a blindingly quick parry, and he was facing the Crown detective, his wiry body poised, ready for the interplay of the two weapons. He was still laughing as Newbury thrust again, and once more was parried. Newbury had fenced in his youth, but Knox, it seemed, was an expert. He sent Newbury's thrusts wide each time, with only the smallest flick of his wrist. He barely seemed to draw breath whilst doing so. Newbury recognised the tactic. Knox was attempting to tire him out. He could not let that happen. Ceasing his series of ineffectual thrusts, he drew back, his sword at the ready.

  "Oh, come, come, Sir Maurice. Haven't you the stomach for a good fight? I was quite enjoying our little tete-a-tete." He shifted again, reaching forward with his blade, his foot stamping the floor as he threw his weight behind the movement. Newbury felt a flash of pain on his right cheek. Knox recovered his poise, and Newbury realised that blood was flowing freely from a cut on his face. He hadn't even had chance to react. He was clearly outclassed.

  Knox smiled. He had a superior air about him, as if he were enjoying the encounter, knowing full well that of the two men, he currently had the upper hand. When he spoke it was almost genial, as if he and Newbury were nothing but two old acquaintances, sharing a conversation at a gentlemen's club. "Fight me, Newbury! I can see the fire behind your eyes. You want to know what I've done with her, don't you?"

  Newbury, composing himself, rocked forward onto the balls of his feet. He kept his blade low, ready, waiting. He would not rise to the other man's taunts. "Tell me where she is, Knox, and I shall let you live." His voice was a low growl.

  "Hmmm. Quite a dilemma. I didn't have you down as the sort of chap to make idle threats, Newbury. That's a crashing disappointment." He was sneering now, his words dripping with sarcasm. Newbury hoped he was coming to the end of his game. If Knox had no time for idle threats, Newbury had no time for cat and mouse. He may not have been able to demonstrate such finesse with a blade, but what he lacked in theatrics, he gained in brute force and spirit.

  "There is nothing idle about the threat, Knox."

  Knox whipped out his blade, aiming high, but Newbury caught it easily, their swords ringing out as they clattered, tick, tick, tick, whilst the two men thrust and parried frenetically. Searching for a means to gain the upper hand, Newbury eyed the stage behind the doctor. The hatch was still open. If he could manoeuvre the fight just a few feet closer towards that narrow opening, he reasoned he'd be able to send Knox crashing backwards into it. The difficulty came in circumnavigating the body of Alfonso, spread-eagled on the boards between the two fighting men and the hole.

  Newbury met Knox's gaze as their swords crossed, staring deep into the other man's eyes. He repressed a shudder. The man was cold and seemed to extract a discernible relish from the thrill of the fight, from the danger. Newbury recognised himself in that, and it repulsed him. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing his twisted reflection glare back at him, all sense of his humanity removed. He understood Charles's words, now, and they angered him. His path was not pre-determined. He would not allow himself to become a monster like the odious wretch he now faced. Newbury knew not to cross the line. Knox appeared to relish the opportunity to do so.

  Knox's left eye twinkled, and Newbury watched the tiny red pinpricks of light describe a circle, as whatever device had been buried inside the blinded organ turned, tightening Knox's focus. Such stunning artifice could only be the work of one man: Dr. Lucius Fabian.

  The two men broke apart, dancing, carefully, around the corpse of the dead magician. Newbury made a concerted effort to drive the other man back. Knox stepped backwards over Alfonso's legs, placing the body between them. Their swords hovered above the unseeing corpse. "So, what of your accomplice, Knox? Did he offend you in some way?" Newbury glanced briefly at the dead man.

  Knox shrugged. "He'd outlived his usefulness. Besides, he was always a conniving toad."

  "But he sourced the girls for you through his stage act? And you cherry-picked the ones you wanted. For what purpose?"

  Knox's lips curled in amusement. "Newbury, if you want to discuss it we can down our blades and smoke a cigarette together like gentlemen. Otherwise, let us put an end to this encounter. It's becoming tedious." The man's flippancy was astonishing, but it provided Newbury with the opening he needed. He slashed out with his blade, causing Knox to lurch backwards to avoid having his chest opened in a streak from right to left. The tip of the sword tore through his jacket and shirt, opening a wide smile in the fabric. As Newbury reached the end of the movement, however, he flicked the blade upwards, using the tip of his sword to catch the hilt of Knox's sword and whipping it clean out of his hand. The weapon sailed across the stage, clattering loudly to the boards.

  To Knox's credit, he barely allowed the situation to faze him. Whilst Newbury was recover
ing from his swing, Knox reached for the blade that he had left buried in Alfonso's chest, and with a powerful tug to free the tip from the stage below, he pulled it clear of the corpse. Blood sprayed in a shower as he brought the weapon to bear. Alfonso, then, had not been dead for long.

  Blood was still trickling down Knox's chin where Newbury had caught him earlier with his elbow. Yet he seemed to be enjoying the encounter, the rush of the battle, the opportunity to taunt the man who was currently living his earlier life.

  Newbury's face, in turn, was set with grim determination. With every second that passed, with every one of Knox's arrogant remarks, he grew more and more anxious for Veronica's safety.

  Knox was now only a few feet away from the open hatch in the stage. Newbury pressed on with a series of deft, forceful strikes. He thrust relentlessly at Knox, not attempting to strike the man, but to- drive him backwards, forcing him to parry, constantly, and to distract him from where his feet were taking him. Newbury knew he was leaving himself open to a counter-attack, but at the same time, he was succeeding in forcing the other man back towards the hole. Clambering over Alfonso's body, trying desperately not to lose his footing, he pushed forward.

  The two men fell into a smooth rhythm: thrust, parry; thrust, parry. The steel blades clanged noisily. Slowly, they inched towards the open hatch. Newbury-was growing hot and tired. The rooftop dash and the fight on the Underground had taken it out of him, and he knew his endurance would soon reach its limit. And the need for laudanum was a persistent itch, growing in intensity with every moment that passed.

  As Knox neared the lip of the hole, Newbury took his chance. Using the flat of his blade to batter Knox's sword wide, he leapt into the air, kicking out, his foot connecting hard with Knox's breastbone. But the man had been expecting as much. Pivoting around on his left foot, he swung himself out of danger, narrowly missing the hole. He came to rest at a right angle to Newbury, his back to the empty auditorium. He was chuckling. "Really, Newbury, if you'd expected to—"

  Knox's words were lost as Newbury's fist thundered into his face. His head snapped to the side and Newbury stepped closer, dropping his weapon so that he could rain blow after blow into the other man with both fists. Knox sputtered and tried to raise his sword, but Newbury beat him back, providing no opportunities for him to retaliate. Spittle and blood flew into the air as Newbury pounded Knox's face. He knew he did not have the finesse of a swordsman, but at Oxford he had taken to the ring and he was quick with his fists. Knox staggered backwards, heading towards the edge of the stage. Newbury saw his opportunity. He stepped in close again and aimed a powerful hook at Knox's kidney. As Knox bent forward with a rasping gasp, Newbury shoved him over the edge.

  Knox tumbled backwards, crying out as he struck the ground. Newbury dashed forward to see. Knox was attempting to gather himself. He shuffled backwards on his hands and feet, still clutching the sabre tightly in his fist like a talisman. He looked dazed, and his face was raw and puffy from the battering. His good eye darted from left to right, as if he were trying to work out from which direction his assailant would come next.

  Newbury could find no sympathy for the man. He wanted only to know what had become of Veronica, and to bring the criminal to justice. At the back of his mind, however, he recognised that he also needed to prove, to himself and to Charles and the others, that he and Knox were not as alike as they had imagined. He hopped down from the stage, standing over the rogue agent as Knox pulled his head and shoulders up against the front row of seats. He lay there panting for breath.

  Newbury stepped closer. He needed to bind the man, to stop him from escaping. But first he needed some answers.

  Knox had not given up, however. As Newbury leaned over to reach for Knox's collar, Knox flicked out his left hand, stabbing at Newbury with the point of his sword. Newbury was ready for him, though, and leaned back, grasping the hilt of the sword and following Knox's move through, so that the sword swept in a tight arc in front of him. He forced the blade down, hard, driving the point of the weapon through the outstretched palm of Knox's right hand, spearing him to the back of the nearest seat. Knox howled in agony as Newbury pushed the sword deeper, pinning the doctor in place.

  Twisting Knox's other hand free from the hilt of the sword, Newbury looked down at him in disgust, and slapped him hard across the face. "Where is she?" Knox was still laughing, blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth. Newbury struck him again and repeated his question. "Where is she?"

  Knox looked up at him, his strange, milky eye regarding the Crown investigator with something approaching admiration. "In the basement. She's still alive."

  Newbury straightened. Grasping at his own collar, he pulled his necktie free. He stooped, using it to bind Knox's free hand to a post between two other chairs. In this state, the man had no chance of escaping. Newbury would come back for him. He needed to find Veronica.

  Wiping his brow on the sleeve of his jacket, Newbury crossed to the stage. He staggered up the wooden stairs. Backstage, he would find the route to the network of underground rooms beneath the theatre, and from there, hopefully, Veronica.

  Glancing once more over his shoulder at the pitiful figure of Aubrey Knox — who lay there with his arms outstretched, the sword blade pinning his hand to a seat, his body propped awkwardly against the front row — Newbury knew that he would soon have more answers. But one thing was certain. Knox was not the fearsome monster that Charles had claimed him to be. For that he was more than grateful.

  Sighing, Newbury slipped into the shadows behind the curtains.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Veronica fought ineffectually against her bonds. The gag was dry and choking, and tasted stale with oil and grime. She tried her best to spit it out, but to no avail; she could gain no purchase on it with her tongue. Knox had known what he was doing when he'd forced it so deep into her throat. She wondered where he had gone. Perhaps to confront Alfonso.

  Veronica tried to move into a more comfortable position, taking the weight off her shoulder. Beneath her, the cellar floor was cold and damp with condensation. It was clear the laboratory was a makeshift operation, a temporary workshop, and that Knox did not spend a great deal of time inhabiting it. From what she'd observed, she assumed he was now clearing out: the cancelled show, the hurry to collect up his work into the medicine bag. Either he had what he needed, or else he had discovered that she and Newbury were on his trail.

  Veronica glanced at the door, but her eyes kept flitting back to the disturbing heap of corpses just beside it. She couldn't take her eyes off the faces of the dead girls. She thought it was perhaps the worst sight she had ever seen, worse even than all of those burnt, twisted cadavers she'd discovered on the wreck of The Lady Armitage, or the drained, desiccated corpses that she and Newbury had encountered at Huntington Manor. No, it was the heartlessness that disturbed her most, the careless manner in which the bodies had been tossed, used, into the corner, like commodities, like discarded meat. She hated the thought that a human being could be reduced to that. It was this, more than anything else, which offered her insight into Knox's cold, calculating mind. He was truly a monster. He would do anything for his own ends.

  Veronica kicked at the ground in frustration. Knox knew what he was doing, that much was clear. The bonds with which she'd been tied were unbreakable. She could see no means of escape.

  She heard footsteps from the passageway outside, and flinched. Knox was returning. It was likely she did not have long left to live. The footsteps approached the door. It creaked open. She found it hard to see the figure in the gloom of the passageway. A man in a suit. Yes, Knox. He stepped forward into the room.

  Her heart leapt. Sir Maurice! It was Newbury. She tried to call out, but was able only to offer up a muffled squeal. Newbury turned at the sound and saw her there, sprawled on the floor. He rushed over to her side. Lifting her head, he reached inside her mouth and gently extracted the gag. Veronica gasped for breath. "Sir Maurice! How?"

 
Newbury smiled softly, the relief evident on his face. "Well, Miss Hobbes, of late it seems I have provided you with ample opportunity to save my life, and you have done so on more occasions than I care to count. I felt this would be the appropriate opportunity to redress that balance."

  "Oh, you foolish, brilliant man." Veronica smiled, warmly, and Newbury swept her up in his arms, cradling her to him. He held her there for what seemed like an age. She could feel his heart hammering hard in his chest, his breath becoming shallow. He brushed her hair tenderly away from her eyes where it spilled loose over her face.

  "I thought I'd lost you."

  Veronica gave the briefest of nods. "Me too." She expected him to chastise her, but he only held her close, trying to make her feel safe once again. She wanted to sink into that embrace, to be away from this place, this horrible place with its stench of death and decay. Newbury knew her so well, knew where to find her in a crisis, knew everything about her... except...

  She had to put it out of mind. There was still work to be done.

  Newbury held her for a moment longer, before placing her gently back on the ground so that he could attend to her bonds. She looked up at him, noticing the state of his suit. "What —"

  "Later. First we have to free you from these damnable knots." He reached into his pocket, searching for a penknife.