The Apollonian Case Files

by Mark A. Latham

  Jim had reached for his glass while Marie spoke, and almost dropped it at the mention of gypsies. He composed himself as quickly as he could, and took a sip of wine to buy some thinking time.

  ‘Some might not call it a science at all,’ he said, forcing a laugh.

  ‘Some have not seen what we have seen,’ Miss Furnival replied, stony-faced.

  The waiter cleared away the plates, prompting another silence, a little more awkward.

  ‘You mentioned our assignment,’ Jim prompted, when they were alone again. ‘That is why you’re here, after all.’

  ‘In a way. I prefer to work alone, Captain. When required to enter the field with an agent, I like to get the measure of him. See what he’s made of. After all, we’ll be required to risk our lives for each other.’

  ‘You think it will come to that?’

  ‘I know it. There is only one reason I would be sent along with you, Captain Denny.’

  ‘The… monsters?’ Jim speculated.

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘So it’s true – you are the expert monster-hunter.’ He could barely suppress a smirk. Miss Furnival’s nose wrinkled at the implied slight.

  ‘Do you even know what it was you saw on that ship?’

  ‘Some kind of poor degenerates. Carnival freaks maybe, imprisoned since childhood by the tong and used to scare their enemies. Naked apes from the zoo, perhaps.’ Jim shrugged. He knew the truth would be something to do with the Othersiders, and knew he would not like it. Not that it made any odds – how many times had he had to face an unpalatable truth in the execution of his duties? He steeled himself for Miss Furnival’s explanation, knowing that whatever the creatures were, he would have to hunt them, and doubtless kill them, eventually.

  ‘They are vampires, Captain Denny.’

  Jim snorted laughter. He stopped immediately when he saw that Miss Furnival was in deadly earnest. ‘Vampires? Blood-drinking nobles from the Orient? Those wretches were hardly Countess Báthory.’

  ‘That’s because Countess Báthory was a murderess given more sinful embellishment than she deserved by dime-novel writers. These creatures are real, not fictions devised by men who really ought to get out more.’

  Jim blinked in mild surprise at her language. He was starting to like this rough-talking American.

  ‘On the Otherside, vampires are a very real threat, and exist in great number,’ Miss Furnival went on. ‘An oblique mention of them appears in Colonel Hardwick’s report of the Lazarus Gate – something Agent Hanlocke said to him when he confessed his crimes. You’ve read the report, of course? Good. The vampires – or “wampyr” as they call themselves – bartered themselves great positions of power on the Otherside when the Rift was torn open. Their innate ability to see – even fight – the demons known as “Riftborn” gave them a rather large bargaining chip. Of course, they weren’t enamoured with the idea of the world dying in flames. After all, even if they survived the apocalypse, who would be left for them to feed upon? They are blood drinkers, first and foremost. And so, inevitably, a few found their way to this side when the Lazarus Gate opened, along with the countless other refugees whom you track each day.’

  Jim rubbed at his chin. She explained the unbelievable as though it were elementary.

  ‘You say “bartered”,’ Jim managed. ‘The things I saw were incapable of rational thought, as far as I could tell.’

  ‘What you saw were ghouls,’ Miss Furnival said, finishing her glass of wine and refilling it herself. ‘They are bestial degenerates, poor cousins of the true vampires, and probably more dangerous. You were lucky to escape.’

  ‘You mean to say that there are… what? Intelligent versions of those creatures, loose here in London?’

  ‘That’s what we’ll find out.’

  Jim frowned. ‘But if not, then who do the “ghouls” serve? If not their own kind, I mean?’

  ‘I guess we’ll find that out, too.’ Marie Furnival smiled. There was a feline quality to her expression.

  ‘So whoever controls these ghouls… they brand them, I take it, like cattle?’

  ‘No, actually. I saw the one in the dead-room, Captain, and it got me mighty curious. Branded nine-seven-something. I’ve never seen its like.’

  ‘How could you know all of this?’ Jim asked. ‘Of all the agents of the Order, I am the one usually tasked with tracking Othersiders. Why have I not heard of these vampires before?’ He could barely believe he was accepting this as truth, but then, in the last few years he had seen mediums levitate five feet off the floor, ghostly manifestations, strange devices of fantastical application and, of course, refugees from another universe who were fleeing a horde of demons. Vampires were merely another facet of the ongoing madness.

  ‘No, Captain Denny. You are the agent who is tasked with tracking rogue artefacts, smugglers, etherium, and occasional escapees from justice. There are other, even more esoteric and terrifying things in the world these days. They seek ingress from the Otherside every waking hour. And when they find a way in, I am sent to hunt them, and kill them.’

  ‘Sir; Madame.’ The waiter placed the main courses on the table with a small flourish, giving Jim a moment to take in all he had been told.

  Jim could not fathom how this young woman had come to such a role, especially within the Order, which was still ostensibly a gentlemen’s club. He resolved to find out all he could about the enigmatic Miss Furnival later.

  ‘You say you haven’t heard of the vampires,’ Miss Furnival said when the waiter was out of earshot. ‘But of course you have. Yet the stories were doctored for the press. The involvement of Apollo Lycea expunged from all official records. You remember that business in Rotherhithe earlier this year?’

  ‘The supposed return of the Ripper? I thought that was merely a hoax to sell a few newspapers. You mean to say…?’

  ‘A nest of ghouls, living in a burrow beneath a mausoleum. They got tired of feasting on the dead, and forayed above ground to find living victims. Acting on instinct, you see, like dumb animals. There were even people in that district who knew about the creatures, and lured victims to their deaths at the hands of the ghouls. A good way to get rid of your enemies. And, of course, if a predator has a full belly, it’s less likely to come a-hunting you and yours.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I found the nest, burned them all alive. It’s the surest way to destroy them. That’s why your fancy little pistol is so effective – pretty much cooks them from the inside out, brains and all.’

  ‘How many have you killed?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Too many to count. Not enough.’ She looked absently at her food. Her tone was bitter.

  ‘You hate them?’

  ‘I do. I shall confess to you, Captain Denny, so that there are no secrets that may hinder our working relationship. There is a vampire nobleman whom I suspect to be at large here in England. His name is de Montfort. I do not know where he is, or how he got here, but he once hurt someone very close to me, and when I find him I will kill him without question.’

  ‘I say… it’s unlike an agent to take his work so personally. Especially the killing.’

  ‘You kill for your country, do you not?’

  ‘I have. But I can’t say that I’ve ever enjoyed it. The Othersiders… sometimes they’re wild, do you see? They are so intent on escaping the devil at their backs that they heap further danger upon our world.’

  ‘They’re desperate. They’re scared,’ Miss Furnival said. Was that compassion in her eyes? Jim could not understand this woman, so hard one moment, so gentle the next.

  ‘They are dangerous. If they won’t come quietly, it’s best to put them down before they can enact whatever plans they might have. The Tesla weapons are testament to their ingenuity. My standing orders are to bring in every Othersider I find; “dead or alive”, as your people would say.’

  Something akin to a scowl crossed Miss Furnival’s features. Jim wasn’t sure if it was the jibe at the Americans, or something
else.

  ‘Are you always so obedient?’ she asked. Her voice was unmistakeably cold.

  ‘I… follow orders. I’m a soldier – or, I was. Are you always so rebellious?’

  ‘I like to think I do some good in the world, Captain Denny. Didn’t you leave soldiering behind you? I believe a good agent can question his orders now and again. How many frightened, otherwise innocent people have gone to their deaths by your hands, I wonder – even indirectly.’

  Jim felt as though he were treading on thin ice with Miss Furnival. He scratched at his collar, irked by her accusation. More than irked. ‘None, I’d like to think,’ he said. ‘If the Othersiders are here, then they’re already guilty of something. These are the very people who sought to kill every last one of us, and replace us. These are the people who infiltrated every tier of our society for ten years, while they built weapons of war to turn upon us. Even those who were not part of the military machine bring etherium and weapons into our midst. Some have psychic powers the likes of which are beyond we have ever seen, that could do to our world what they did to their own. You say they may be innocents? I say I’d rather see them hanged than let them threaten just one life in our world.’

  ‘And what of their lives?’ Marie snapped.

  Jim’s colour rose. They had strayed beyond barbed repartee, that was for certain. ‘Their lives were forfeit as soon as they crossed over. They do not belong here. In truth, they do not even exist here, so what rights do they have?’

  Marie’s large eyes burned angrily; her lips pursed. ‘There’s another saying from back home – coined by a soldier like you – which I rather think you’d subscribe to, had you the chance.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘They say “the only good Indian’s a dead Indian”. It’s how we justified driving a race to near-extinction. Or subjugation.’

  ‘I must remind you, madam, that the Othersiders planned to do exactly that to us. Their extinction is not our doing, but their own. Their plan to replace us was barbaric. I am tasked with removing the last dregs of their race from our great country, and that I will do. It is no different from killing every last wolf in Scotland, and believe me when I say my quarry is every bit as dangerous. I wish to cause no offence, for you speak from a place of compassion, as a woman is wont to do; but compassion has little place in our line of work. Perhaps it is best that you hunt the monsters, and I hunt the humans. That way, neither of us shall be found wanting.’

  The waiter approached with trepidation, noting the almost untouched plates. ‘Sir; Madame. Is… everything in order with your meals?’

  ‘I’ve lost my appetite,’ Miss Furnival said. She stood, throwing her napkin to the table. Jim rose awkwardly, out of politeness. ‘I’m sure the captain here will be able to finish. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to lose either appetite or sleep over such a trifling disagreement.’

  Even as Jim searched for some reconciliatory words, Marie Furnival turned on her heel and walked away, drawing a few surreptitious glances from bemused diners.

  Jim slumped back into his chair and blew out his cheeks, not for the first time that evening. The waiter, face red, stood expectantly, waiting for some instruction.

  ‘Take this away,’ said Jim. ‘And bring something stronger to drink. Scotch, I think. Better make it a large one.’

  As the waiter scurried away, Jim checked his watch. The night was still young; he might just get away with a spot of debauchery after all. He’d need it to get over the whirlwind left in Marie Furnival’s wake.

  FOUR

  Sunday, 1st October 1893

  APOLLO LYCEA, ST KATHARINE DOCKS FACILITY

  Sir Arthur Furnival led the way through the tight corridors of the docks facility, where the Order of Apollo Lycea stored Otherside technology and conducted its most secret research. Sir Arthur’s little enterprise shared an uneasy cohabitation with Cherleten’s armoury. Jim reported to the docks regularly, but was never permitted to venture into Sir Arthur’s domain, which was reserved for ‘special projects’.

  Jim looked askance at Sir Arthur as they walked. The baronet’s head always looked too large for his body, Jim thought. Pale blue veins stood proud at receding temples. Probably a result of all that mental exertion. The man was likely trying to read Jim’s thoughts even now.

  Sir Arthur turned his head, on cue, and Jim looked away quickly, pretending that he hadn’t been staring. It was ridiculous of course; the Othersiders had psychics, but on this side of the veil – the real world – only freaks like the Artist had ever been proven to possess true psychic prowess.

  Sir Arthur stopped at a door in a dimly lit passage, and rang a bell-pull. A moment later, a club servant appeared, bowed to Sir Arthur, and showed him in. Jim followed tentatively. Most of the St Katharine Docks headquarters was off-limits to field agents.

  They now stepped through what looked and smelled like a hospital ward, though most of it was screened off from prying eyes by large curtains. Jim wondered just what took place down here – who the patients were – but could not stop to find out, as Sir Arthur had already hurried onwards.

  Soon they reached a door, which the baronet opened with a key, and Jim followed him into a wood-panelled office. It was similar to Cherleten’s room, on the other side of the dock, albeit smaller and tucked far away from the rest of the Order’s inner circle.

  Sir Arthur turned up the gaslights, and indicated a chair beside his desk. ‘Please, take a seat,’ he said. ‘I had the electric lights removed from this room. Rather harsh on the eyes, don’t you agree?’

  ‘I… Sir Arthur, I was expecting to receive orders today. I perhaps should not tarry…’

  ‘Do not worry, Captain Denny. I have your orders here.’

  ‘You? I’m sorry, it’s just that I expected Lord Cherleten to summon me.’

  ‘No need to apologise. You are not used to receiving orders from me, and I am unused to issuing them. Since your discovery on Friday last, however, my little corner of Apollo Lycea has received renewed attention from the powers that be, and it has been decreed that agents assigned to work for me should do so directly… cut out the middle-man, so to speak.’

  Jim nodded. It wasn’t that he was particular about receiving his orders from Lord Cherleten. Indeed, like most agents of Apollo Lycea, he didn’t really like Cherleten at all. Sir Arthur was an unknown quantity, and Jim was wary of him – more so, given the things people said about his ‘talents’.

  ‘I am not accustomed to the formality of command, Captain Denny, so forgive me if I break protocol on occasion,’ Sir Arthur said. ‘Indeed, before we get to business I must speak with you about a related, and yet rather personal matter.’

  ‘Of course.’ Jim tensed. He knew what this would concern.

  ‘You will have a new partner on your next assignment. I’m sure you have guessed by now that my niece, Marie, is also on my staff.’

  ‘I had made that assumption, yes,’ Jim replied. He was cautious; he did not want to indicate that he was already acquainted with Miss Furnival outside of club meetings. He could not, however, tell an outright lie, in case Sir Arthur already suspected as much, and was testing him. For all Jim knew, the baronet could have read his mind.

  ‘I know that working with a woman, especially on a dangerous mission, would not sit well with most agents. But I would very much like for you to extend her all the professional courtesy that you would any other agent. Marie’s work has been largely conducted in secret, but believe me when I say that she has earned her position within the Order.’

  ‘And what exactly is her position, Sir Arthur? She is certainly not a member of the club, and I note she is never referred to as “Agent” Furnival.’

  Sir Arthur offered a mirthless smile. ‘You are quick of mind, as Lord Cherleten said. No, Marie is not officially part of the Order. I employ her. She has no rank, and little authority, save what I can arrange for her. Through grave circumstance, however, she found herself embroiled in our secrets. She knows more
about Othersiders than most agents of the Order, and works for us on a voluntary basis. Her skills have become rather invaluable.’

  ‘Is she… like you?’ Jim now wondered just what Marie might have gleaned from their liaison if she, too, was psychic.

  Sir Arthur smiled. ‘My abilities are exaggerated by the common agent. Marie is far more extraordinary than me, though not in the way you mean.’

  ‘I see. So, might I ask… what are her skills?’

  ‘Hope that you do not need to find out, Captain Denny, for if you do, things will surely have taken a dire turn. Now, I said that I wished to discuss a personal matter.’

  ‘Of course, forgive me.’

  ‘Not at all. There is much that Marie understands about our work, and indeed much that she has personally contributed to the cause of Apollo Lycea. But as you rightly point out, she is not an agent. What’s more, she is a woman, and has certain… sensibilities… which do occasionally manifest themselves. Although I would ask that you encourage her in her work, and allow yourself to be guided by her expertise, you would do well to remember that there are certain secrets within the Order that we must never reveal to… outsiders. Am I making myself clear?’

  ‘I understand, Sir Arthur. But if Miss Furnival has been working with the Order already, how am I to know what is beyond her clearance?’

  ‘If you need explain it to her, Captain, then she should not know it. And there is one secret in particular that I would ask you to remain particularly tight-lipped about.’

  ‘The Nightwatch?’

  Sir Arthur raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Miss Furnival’s reaction on Saturday,’ Jim said quickly. ‘She was most agitated about the Nightwatch. I presume she objects to the project on some… sentimental level?’

  ‘Ah, quite right. Yes, you really are quick, Captain Denny. Now, the Nightwatch. I am sure you understand what we are dealing with by now, so there’s no point beating around the bush. In fact… oh, it is deuced hard to put into words, Captain Denny, for so much of my work here is based on intuition, you see?’