by JM Bannon
She explained how all four of them had just consumed soul worm eggs. Their flesh and eternal Ju Ju would be consumed by the Great Devourer when the worms hatched and grew. They were all bound by a death pact. In six months’ time, the worms would hatch, and in a year from that day, those that were not cleansed would be dead. Gerard and the other young Seer Hume would stay in the village and train alongside Angelica. Guild Master Huey would return to France to secure the written agreement of sanctuary. Upon his return, the four men would again sit in this hut, and he would brew the potion to cleanse them of the eggs or larva.
Huey left the next day. Gerard and Hume became pupils of Papa Lafayette alongside Angelica. Saint-Yves and Hume’s learning became fundamental to the most important of the necronists metaphysical discoveries. Ten months later, Huey returned with the compact signed by the Emperor himself.
“In the end, we learned what we could, and we gave the witch doctor and his tribe sanctuary. It was a worthwhile tradeoff for the guild, and now we know the true extent of the Voodoo power,” said the necronist.
“How are you sure it is this woman that is our murderer?” Dolly followed up.
He remembered the stories she and Gerard shared about their pasts and dreams of their future together. He remembered the times they laughed as he fumbled incantations and how disappointed he was that she chose not to return with him to Paris to join the guild. His younger self wanted so much to share Paris and the guild with her. He knew her natural spiritual manipulation would bring her to the rank of guild master and they could continue to be together, but that was not what he would share with the Englishman.
“First, I know the innate talent she had, and if she continued to progress at the speed she was learning, she would now be capable of these acts. Further, there is a connection to the murdered. She was a runaway slave before she joined Papa Lafayette. She shared with me that it was a Moya Plantation where she was born. The older Moya’s cause of death was impossible to determine and the state of his body was attributed to the house being burnt to the ground. When I heard about the younger Moya being killed and the condition of the body, I was certain that it is her.”
“Do you know if she has any family or associates in London?” asked the detective.
“No. She had never been off the island, and she would not leave until she learned everything from Papa Lafayette.”
Gerard observed the patience of the detective. This man would sit in silence and wait for him to divulge more. He needed to see the detective’s commitment to stopping the threat.
“Detective, have you ever heard of Nicolas Fouquet?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Nicolas Fouquet was the minister of finance for the Sun King. Louis the XIV. He was a trusted advisor and very influential in the court. The Prime Minister, Jules Mazarin, passed to the aether, and Nicolas very much wanted the job. He decided to throw a magnificent party in honor of the King in hope of impressing his allegiance on him.
“He opened his Chateau to all the court, he invited the greatest minds, he even had a special play written and directed by Molière in honor of the King. There were endless courses of food, some never seen before in Europe. After dinner, Fouquet invited the crowds to walk his garden, where he held a fireworks display as grand as there could be. Can you guess what happened the next day?” asked Gerard.
“He got the job,” said Dolly.
“No. He was arrested for embezzlement of taxes. It’s true. He did embezzle, but the King was complicit in the misuse of the taxes. Fouquet was sent to solitary confinement for the rest of his years. You see, the King did not see his actions as adulation, but as a rivalry to his own greatness. Now do you see where Angelica Du Haiti and Nicolas Fouquet made their mistake?” asked the guild master.
“You don’t want some primitive occult to diminish your spiritual science,” said Dolly.
The guild master’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled “Yes, Nicolas and Angelica outshine the master. That is why we are aligned in our purpose. You cannot let a murderer run around freely, and the guild cannot have some primitive witchcraft look more powerful than what we wield. So, I can help you make sure that she does not leave this island alive.”
Dolly put his notebook in his jacket and stood up. “Guild Master, that is where you and I are not aligned. My purpose is to find the criminals and bring them to the Queen’s justice. What is fitting of the crime is not my business. I leave that to the judge and the barristers. I bring the criminal, the evidence, and the witnesses. It appears to me you have already passed judgment.”
Gerard had misjudged the Englishman. He was more committed to the principles of his profession than to what it would take to keep people safe. “Please have a seat, Detective. I am sorry if I misspoke. My command of English may have led to misusing of words. What I mean is that you have my commitment to capturing Angelica, but you also have my commitment to do everything in my power to stop her from killing more English. Now, please sit down. I did promise you the best lunch in London, and they have not even taken our order,” said Saint-Yves.
The Detective returned to his seat, and that was enough of a sign to the guild master that the door was still open to get the cooperation he would need from the English police to act against the murderer of the Moyas and Sir Chilton.
Tuesday the 22st of June
9:30 AM, Muster Point A, near the Baden Gaswerks
Dolly was slow to arrive at the scene. Upon finding Keane, he quickly got up to speed on the situation. The operation would go ahead in thirty minutes. He met his fellow detective east of the plant at the Woolwich Road muster point. Here, squads one and two would divide up and seize the north and west gates, while squads from the two other muster points would take the south and east gates. The police were setting up a cordon to limit traffic into the neighborhood of the works. Unseasonably hot, the city was nearly unbearable as the humidity caused the coal ash and soot to hang heavy. This weather would only pump more pressure into an already over-pressured boiler. Dolly hoped they could methodically release that pressure before the proverbial boiler blew up and hurt someone.
Two duty sergeants discussed the present situation. The area was occupied with police loitering and talking idly, but the momentum was picking up as Sergeant Eakins issued orders for last-minute alterations to the positioning of equipment and men. At least twenty constables stood at the ready as mounted patrols drew up the horses and formed up to take the front line.
Dolly was in good spirits until he heard protestors had blocked all the entry gates to resist and impede the right of way. That meant arrests and possible bloodshed.
“Morning, Callum Keane. What have you been up to this fine day?” asked Dolly when he met Detective Keane.
“I’ve been working with Wells here to prepare. In another twenty minutes, we will have groups ready. I’m aiming to remain with the force for the west and observe the crowd,” replied Keane.
"Sorry for my delay. I have been down at the docks and to the train stations circulating pictures of my suspect,” added Dolly.
“What picture? Let me see it,” requested Keane.
Dolly pulled out one of the few remaining bills he had in his coat and passed it to Keane. In the process, he felt his pipe. He resolved if they had a half hour before the operation he would enjoy a smoke.
Keane studied the poster bill. It showed a hand sketch of an African woman’s face, including the title:
Wanted for questioning at Scotland Yard
Ms. Angelica Du Haiti
Aged 28-34
Notify a constable immediately
Keane looked at Dolly with a peculiar look of shock and apprehension. “How did you come to know this name?”
“I’m a detective, Keane. It’s my business is to identify criminals. I’m certain that’s my girl.”
“How did you come to know her name, her likeness?”
Dolly’s buoyant mood washed away at Keane’s strange interest in his case. “I obt
ained intelligence from sources, multiple confidential sources.”
“It was that witch, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, it is a legitimate corroborated lead, I assure you.”
“I am asking you, who? If corroborated, who are the two sources? Tell me,” demanded Keane.
Dolly had never seen Keane act like this and was reticent in sharing too much. “By the Foreign Office. What is up with you Keane?”
Keane continued to deliver a cold stare, remaining silent as if he was pondering about what to do next.
Dolly ripped the bill from Keane's grip. “Don’t you mind who I work with. Rose’s methods are as reliable as yours.”
Annoyed, Dolly stalked over to the side street, where a row of steam-powered paddy wagons lined up to transport prisoners and one of the new command wagons, the latest in mobile communication technology. It was grander than a paddy wagon about the size of a mover’s truck with a wire type and tape clacker. The wagon was capable of splicing into the telegraph wire system and providing up-to-the-minute communication. Two police clerks were in the back sending messages back to Scotland Yard and to the other muster points.
The detective strode up the wooden steps to take a glance at the latest in police communication machinery. “Hey, gents,” he said to the two young constables that were clerking the wire-types.
“Good morning, Detective Sergeant,” replied the youthful clerk holding the clacker tape.
“Do you mind not smoking in the van sergeant? It’s a little stuffy in here, and this is all sensitive gear."
“No worries, mate."
As Dolly turned to step down, Keane was right on his heels, glaring at him. “What the fuck, Keane? You’re on me like a case of the crabs," barked Dolly.
Keane just glared at him.
“Are you alright? You look like you need a lie down.” said Dolly.
An ear-shattering blast snapped the two men out of the conversation. More than just a sound came. The shock wave reached everyne’s bones, and it was accompanied by debris showering down across the muster site.
Dolly instinctively pulled himself into the communications truck. Lying on the floor, he could hear the constant patter of dirt and gravel raining down on the top of the communications van.
“What the hell was that?” declared the clerk.
“Wire-type for ambulances and order them to form up at this rally point,” Dolly commanded.
Sergeant Eakins ran up to the communications van. “Wire the other squads to move in immediately, then request updates.”
“Yes, sir.” The two clerks banged away at the piano keys of the wire-type machines.
Williamson had plenty of experience with explosions and bombs back when he was handling the Irish troubles. This one was bigger than anything he had experienced. He searched for Keane, but he was gone, likely towards the blast to discover what had transpired. He desired to do the same and followed suit.
Dolly could see smoke billowing above the metropolis. It had a greenish purple tint in contrast to the familiar grey smog generated by the hundreds of London’s smokestacks. Somewhere there was an LQ gas discharge.
Dolly went to the duty sergeant, who under Eakins’ orders had earlier committed the squads towards the plant. He was coaxing his men forward. “Alright, alright, move up, lads. Keep it orderly. Keep yourself calm, and let’s enforce the peace.” Twenty coppers with truncheons drawn moved in lockstep down the lane behind a line of ten horses.
Dolly grabbed Eakins’ arm to get his attention. “I need a driver and a carriage.”
“Over there. O’Neil is running the motor pool,” answered the sergeant.
The police officer in charge of vehicles was yelling over the commotion to get steam carriages in position behind the police line. “You two saddle up and follow the line in the event they need to toss in prisoners,” he yelled.
Dolly jumped on the runner board of the steam lorry and clutched the sill to steady himself on the car. Not that he didn’t wish to walk, but it gave him a view over the patrolmen to observe what was up ahead. “Just keep moving. I’ll let you know if I see anything,” Dolly said through the passenger window to the two constables inside.
As they closed in on the Works, the air was becoming thick and heavy with soot and smoke from the explosion and ensuing fires. Out of the haze, screams and shrieks were bursting through, then citizens followed. Some people running, some shuffling, others helping the injured away from the disaster within the fog. The line of constables broke as they were rushed and overcome, not by rioters but by the injured and dismayed.
Dolly hopped off the wagon and grabbed a young man walking on his own but visibly wounded. “What happened? What did you see?” asked Dolly.
“There was a blast at the gaswerks. Absolutely horrible. People blown to bits,” said the man through tears of hysteria. The detective looked the youth over for severe wounds. It was hard to tell with all the dirt-caked blood what wounds the man had. Dolly guided him towards the muster point. Dolly assumed he must be in reasonable health that he could walk and talk. “Keep walking this way. There is help ahead.”
Another victim was wandering towards Dolly, clearly looking bewildered, “Sir, continue moving forward toward the aid station.” The man just stared at him. That is when dolly noticed the blood running from both of his ears. He wrapped his arm around the man and walked him back to the muster point and handed him off to a constable.
Dolly jogged over to the line of paddy wagons and called out to the sergeant in charge of the pool. “You need to send more wagons up to help move the wounded.”
The sergeant turned, blew his whistle and waved the steam lorries forward. Dolly jumped on the first one and leaned into the passenger window to speak to the driver and his partner. “Drive right up to the explosion so we can see what is going on. I don’t want you stopping for injured. We must assess the situation, then steam back and let the blokes in the communication truck know the status.”
“Yes, sir,” hollered the driver.
It was slow-going, as debris and bodies lay upon the road. Although the dust from the explosion was clearing, it was replaced by an eerie green haze clinging to the ground as they moved closer to the blast site. This jade mist was not LQ gas; LQ was purple and lighter than air. That alchemical element was streaking up high into the atmosphere, mixing with the smog that over hung the city, giving it a strange beautiful lavender glow.
Dolly stepped off the steam lorry and climbed over rubble blocking the way. Visibility was about eight to ten feet in the green dusty smog. Dolly began to make out shapes of people, horses, wagons and wounded on the streets. Throughout the soupy fog, the moans and cries of the wounded came through clear. The initial squad of police was now overwhelmed helping the victims, and the police whistles and yells of frantic officers trying to help came from all directions. The emerald haze thickened as he closed in on the gaswerks. Reaching the outer wall, he began to use it as a guide through the haze to the explosion. Every step of his path was littered with rubble or gore, but being able to feel the rough stone wall grounded him and helped to fix his location.
The detective reached the end of the wall where it turned to go east at the corner of the perimeter road that passed between the Lloyd Works and the Baden Gaswerks. Dolly looked up and saw the hulk of the HMS Victoria sitting in its berth. Men scurried on the scaffolding and open decks. From what he could tell, the ship looked undamaged, but the same could not be said for the plant. He could see the damage illuminated by the fires in the crater and both plants. A mere twenty feet down the road ahead, the edge of the blast crater started. At the bottom of the crater was the exposed underground pipe that transmitted LQ from the gas works to the aerodrome. It had ripped open and was spewing purple fumes into the sky. It was a monumental disaster. Having no knowledge of machinery or alchemy, he speculated what it would take to stop such a sizable leak. What he did have some knowledge in was the evaluation of a bomber’s work. A crater this size and the dama
ge done to the gaswerks and the aerodrome facilities looked to his eye to be kegs and kegs of powder, and it had to have been under the street. The explosion had damaged both work sites, obliterating buildings, damaging tanks and breaching the walls.
Through the gaping hole in the gaswerks perimeter wall, Dolly could see that the emerald gas was emanating not from the transfer pipe but from damaged tanks on the gaswerks property. The green gas had a sickly-sweet smell and taste, like having a mouth and nose full of licorice. For the first time, he thought if he should breathe in these vapors and what the effect would be on himself and his colleagues.
As Dolly peered through the fog to the other side of the crater, there appeared to be more wounded, but there was no way to cross to help. The north and west squad were cut off by the crater and he could not cross. His stomach sank as he finally oriented to where the crater was. Anyone picketing at the north gate had been standing on top of the explosion. Earlier estimates were there were a hundred protesters at that gate. If so, then there was a guarantee of one hundred casualties. By his assessment, they would need a lot more help. He had observed at least twenty dead and similar number wounded and unable to move.
He yelled to the paddy wagon driver. “Go back and get them to send up more help. Medical help. Have them wire the east road muster to move up and get help over to the other side of that crater. Have them wire the home office. We need the army here to secure a perimeter, and get the fire brigades up here.”
“On it, sir.” The steam lorry let out a big chuff of steam as he ratcheted the gearing into reverse and backed out. Dolly couldn’t recall all the orders he just shouted and figured the driver wouldn’t remember either by the time he got back, but Eakins was a professional on how to get resources in place to regain control of a situation.
