The Apollonian Case Files

by Mark A. Latham

  ‘What’s she talking about?’ Marie whispered. She had moved close to Jim’s side.

  ‘Tell her, Captain. Tell her about the Nightwatch.’

  Jim sensed Marie tense, palpably.

  Soft, mocking laughter. ‘Great Britain has set foot on a dangerous path, to navigate the seas of prophecy, the skeins of fate. And to achieve this goal, to win the battle for intelligence, they resort to slavery, as surely as the traders of a hundred years past enslaved all they encountered. And in their arrogance, they think they are alone, but they are not. France, Russia, Austria and America are developing their own forms of the Nightwatch. Others are not far behind. They have no idea that the pursuit of these goals could damn the world to hell. The Artist has seen the possible outcomes. The Artist knows the danger of etherium, and has seen where it will lead.’

  ‘Does he not supply the etherium?’ Jim snapped. ‘These manifests suggest that the House of Zhengming now deals in more than just opium.’

  ‘The result would be the same. The Artist sees no harm in profiting from what is inevitable.’

  ‘No harm? If the world is dragged to hell, as you say, will it not be in Tsun Pen’s name?’

  ‘Do not speak that name!’ Footsteps thudded again. Marie aimed in their direction, but Jim stayed her hand.

  ‘Why? He’s returned, has he not?’ Jim called.

  There was a pause, and then the soft tones returned. ‘The Artist wishes it known that there is still time to save this world from sharing the fate of the Otherside. It is foretold. But there is a price.’

  ‘There always is. But he was defeated before, he’ll be defeated again. He will receive not a penny from the Order.’

  Laughter rang out from every shadow. ‘Oh, the Artist is not interested in money. But you will want to pay this price before the end. The petty psychics in Furnival’s laboratories are no match for the Artist’s talents.’

  ‘Liar!’ Marie shouted.

  ‘You, of all people, should be careful whom you accuse of lying. Or perhaps you can no longer distinguish the truth from the lie. You would not be the first. Perhaps it hurts too much… You have my sympathy, dear girl.’

  ‘What’s she talking about?’ Jim whispered. Marie gave no reply.

  ‘Know this, agents of the Crown: your efforts so far have been in vain. The veil thins daily, and the horrors of the Rift are closer to this world than even your Nightwatch could ever predict. How could they? They are a part of the sickness that threatens to tip all you hold dear into madness, and death, and fire. Only the Artist can restore balance to the world. Only the Artist can save you.’

  ‘So what does he want?’

  ‘Apollo Lycea will be contacted in good time. The Artist’s terms will be made clear then. For now, take what scraps you can carry from the Artist’s table, and go.’

  At those words, the doors behind the companions clicked softly open.

  ‘You will be sure to give the Artist’s regards to your friend Hardwick,’ the voice added. ‘Now, I advise you not to tarry, for I cannot control these servants indefinitely.’

  Jim was about to ask about Hardwick, when he heard a door creak open – the one atop the stairs. Scratching and shuffling noises sounded above; bumping and thudding along the upper tier.

  ‘Get everything you can carry,’ Jim hissed to Marie. ‘Dakin, help her.’

  He shone the light around as the others began gathering the objects from the table. The light reflected dozens of beady purple eyes. They blinked from every corner, blazed from the rafters overhead.

  A woman’s voice whispered in his ear, cold and crisp as a winter’s breeze through a graveyard.

  ‘Run.’

  Jim turned to see only darkness beside him, but the word triggered movement all around. The clattering and thudding of a press of ghouls loping down the stairs; the scratching of claws as more of them clambered over wooden pews. Growls and hisses echoed around the chamber.

  ‘Go!’ Jim shouted. ‘Go now!’

  They threw themselves through the door, and raced down long, winding corridors as baying and howling rose up behind them. They ran until they saw a shaft of daylight ahead, probing feebly through grimy glass. None of them paused to look back at the things upon their heels.

  Moments later, Jim, Marie and Dakin tumbled through a door, into a walled courtyard. Dakin tripped and fell. Marie dropped armfuls of papers. The phial of etherium smashed on a mossy flagstone.

  Jim turned and aimed his gun at the doors behind them, but nothing came through. He flung the door open and trained his weapon along the corridor. It was still and quiet.

  Around them, dark broken windows looked down upon the courtyard. Pigeons fluttered between the brown-stone hospital buildings, disturbed for perhaps the first time in years. Jim finally allowed himself to catch his breath.

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ he said. ‘But first… Constable Dakin, you’re going to round up a bloody army of policemen, heavily armed, and come back here. Tell them about your comrades. Tell them about Craddock. I want them angry, and in numbers, do you hear? Exterminate anything you find in this hospital, and secure those paintings. And then, Miss Furnival, you and I are going to have a long talk.’

  SEVEN

  Jim followed Marie into an empty lounge at the Apollonian Club. The American had said nothing on the journey – indeed, she had resisted all attempts at conversation – but had palpably seethed the whole way. Now she stormed across the room, turning on her heels, rumpling the Turkish rug beneath her feet.

  ‘What did she mean about the Nightwatch?’ Marie Furnival’s eyes blazed, her cheeks blushed hot.

  Jim, taken aback by the woman’s sudden fury, shoved the door closed.

  ‘I’ll ask the questions, I think,’ Jim said, firmly.

  ‘The hell you will!’ The more angry she grew, the less ladylike she sounded; the more American. ‘What’s this about the Nightwatch? Is it true? Are you and my uncle in cahoots?’

  Miss Furnival stepped towards Jim, her face close to his. He grabbed her firmly by the shoulders just in case she was tempted to strike him.

  ‘I advise you to ask your uncle in regards to confidential information,’ he said. ‘But perhaps you’d care to explain the things you have clearly withheld from me. Like where exactly you came from, for a start.’

  Miss Furnival shrugged Jim off angrily, and took a step backwards. ‘Don’t lay your hands on me, sir,’ she seethed. ‘Remember the last time?’

  ‘Quite. I remember how surprised I was that a young woman had become so accomplished in the martial arts. How surprised I was that a young woman was accepted into the Order, on even an honorary basis. And, of course, how surprised I was at your knowledge of these “ghouls” and “vampires”. You seem to have trained for a long time to fight them, seeing as how the first time you encountered them was three years ago, after the Battle of the Thames.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Really?’ Jim raised an eyebrow. ‘Not many agents have seen the Otherside for themselves, or know the effect it can have on a person. That… thing in the sky. The way it calls to you, calls to your very soul. But you’ve seen it, madam. I would stake my oath on it. Yet there were no female agents back in ’90, and no one but my men could have crossed over during that fight. So when did you see the shadow? When did you see the sky that burned?’

  ‘You’re talking like a fool. Perhaps you are unmanned, Captain Denny. The Artist’s doxy got you rattled?’

  ‘On the contrary, I think I see things most clearly now. This is twice I’ve been led into a trap, Miss Furnival, despite all the Order’s intelligence.’

  ‘And where did this “intelligence” come from, Captain Denny?’ Marie snapped. ‘That woman back there said you’ve been following the Nightwatch. I ask you again: is my uncle involved in this madness?’

  ‘Oh, I rather think you already know the answer to that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

 
‘I mean you have unprecedented access to a senior member of Apollo Lycea. It’s absurd that you did not know, or even suspect that Sir Arthur was running the Nightwatch. That you could have learned about the Nightwatch’s predictions, and planned accordingly, certainly gives me great cause for concern.’

  ‘What?’ Miss Furnival faltered. ‘Are you suggesting that I tried to sabotage the mission?’

  ‘I never said “sabotage”, Miss Furnival. But I am suggesting that you are not who you appear. That you are one of them.’

  Marie Furnival’s eyes narrowed. She made to speak, but apparently thought better of it.

  ‘I shall take your silence as an admission of guilt. I do not know whether your uncle is party to this deception, but I plan to find out. For now, Miss Furnival, you will come with me. I am arresting you in –’

  ‘You certainly are not, Captain Denny.’ A stern voice from behind Jim cut him short. Jim turned to see Lord Cherleten standing in the doorway. ‘And keep your voices down; this is a club room. There are ordinary members passing by regularly – I should not have to remind you of our need for discretion.’

  ‘Sir,’ Jim nodded. Miss Furnival said nothing.

  ‘Miss Furnival,’ Lord Cherleten said, ‘kindly return your weapons to the armoury, and then repair to the ladies’ waiting room. And you should know better, Captain Denny. Make yourself presentable, man. You’re in the Apollonian Club, not some Hackney chop-house. Black tie. Both of you will meet me and Sir Toby in his office in half an hour, and there will be no repeat of your outbursts here, do I make myself clear? Good. You are dismissed.’

  * * *

  When Sir Toby Fitzwilliam was displeased – which seemed to Jim to be most of the time – the ticking of the clock in his office felt like some form of torture. Why a man would have a clock so loud was beyond Jim. It certainly did not feel conducive to quiet contemplation. Jim could think of nothing but the clock, in fact, until Sir Toby stopped writing and gave him a fixed stare.

  ‘Where are the paintings now?’ Sir Toby asked. It was not the first question Jim had expected after recounting the details of the morning’s exploits.

  ‘The police have orders to deliver them to St Katharine, sir.’

  ‘Do they? And you thought it wise to leave the constabulary to this task?’

  ‘When I left, Sir Toby, there were almost fifty constables making a search of the hospital, although the… creatures… were gone. I believed that was more than enough men to secure the evidence.’

  Sir Toby stood bolt upright, and pounded his fist upon the desk. ‘And what if I told you, Captain, that those paintings, which are of singular import to the Crown, were stolen shortly after leaving the hospital?’

  ‘Stolen? How? By whom?’ Jim had expected neither the news nor the outburst, and his stomach tied itself in knots.

  ‘By whom, we know not. How? A simple matter of a hold-up, as Miss Furnival might say. Highway robbery, here in London. Three of the constabulary, whom you purport to care so much about, slain in cold blood for a cargo that you should have secured personally. Shall I tell you their names?’

  Jim rubbed his face with a trembling hand.

  ‘Constable Herbert Briggs,’ Sir Toby went on, reading from his notes. ‘Constable Jacob Leese; Constable Robert Dakin.’

  Jim could hardly breathe. Was this what he had kept Dakin alive for? To survive a hellish threat only to meet a sudden end in the company of his fellows…

  ‘If that were not enough, Captain, you tell us “almost fifty” common policemen saw the evidence in that room, because you found the task of delivering it beneath you. Or perhaps you deemed an unseemly argument in the first-floor lounge of greater import?’

  ‘That’s not what –’

  Jim stopped short as Sir Toby’s brow furrowed. He cursed inwardly; he had been so intent on sending men back into the hospital to kill whatever lurked there, and, he had to admit, on saying his piece to Marie Furnival, that he’d quite overlooked normal procedure. That mistake had borne a greater cost than he could have imagined.

  ‘And then there is the etherium recovered from the docks,’ Sir Toby said. ‘Also now in the hands of Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Sir, I am sorry. Truly sorry,’ Jim said. He could barely look the Lord Justice in the eye.

  Sir Toby sank back into his chair, and sighed. His expression of anger turned to one of bitter disappointment, which Jim found worse still. ‘What is done is done. This mishap could prove costly, but it is beyond our control.’ His eyes flicked briefly to the door behind Jim and Miss Furnival. Jim glanced over his shoulder and saw a club steward nod curtly, and slip from the room. The man wasn’t merely a steward, of course, but one of the Order’s trusted servants. Jim expected he was going to arrange for the safe return of the etherium, and again cursed his own sloppiness.

  ‘Also beyond our control,’ Sir Toby went on, ‘is the regulation of the black market in Otherside artefacts. If what this mysterious woman told you is true, we have enemies across the globe arming themselves with technology they cannot possibly understand.’

  ‘Do any of us understand it?’ Lord Cherleten scoffed. ‘Even Sir Arthur’s great experiment is a leap into the unknown; its results are too unpredictable, as has now been proven.’

  ‘The results are open to interpretation,’ Sir Arthur said. It was the first time he had spoken; his voice was quiet. Jim fancied that the baronet stared very deliberately into the middle distance, scrupulously avoiding the gaze of his niece, who glared at him intently. ‘If there is a fault with the intelligence received from the subjects, perhaps the fault is mine. It does not mean the experiment is a failure.’

  ‘Uncle!’ Miss Furnival gasped, and then collected herself at once as all eyes turned to her. ‘It is just… I’m sorry. I have explained my feelings about the Nightwatch previously.’

  ‘And we do not need to hear your objections again,’ Lord Cherleten said. ‘We listened, and we chose to follow a different course from the one you would advise, as is our right. These are desperate times, my dear, and they call for desperate measures.’

  ‘These measures aren’t merely desperate,’ Miss Furnival said coolly. ‘They’re foolhardy. And dangerous.’

  Cherleten met the American’s gaze, and smirked in his usual, infuriating manner.

  ‘Might I say something?’ Jim asked. Now everyone looked at him, and he squirmed in his seat.

  ‘Do enlighten us,’ said Cherleten.

  ‘It seems to me that the intelligence we have received both for this morning’s assignment and the raid on the Glarus was not just incorrect, but deliberately false. I believe we have been manipulated into a trap.’

  ‘A serious allegation, Captain,’ said Sir Toby. ‘But, under the circumstances, I would hear your theory.’

  ‘When I saw the Nightwatch with my own eyes, there seemed to be no true consensus between the subjects. As Sir Arthur has told us, their predictions must be interpreted, and I am sure that there is no finer mind in England to undertake such a task. However, if there is a viper in the nest, then the Nightwatch would surely be the best place to strike. We are becoming reliant on intelligence from esoteric sources, it seems. It is possible, given all that we know, that Tsun Pen may be able to manipulate the Nightwatch from afar, but it is far more likely – in my view – that the interference comes from a source closer to home.’

  ‘Just come out and say it!’ Marie snapped. Jim faced her, and saw her face flushed, her eyes like coals.

  ‘Yes, Captain Denny, let’s clear the air,’ Cherleten said. ‘You were ready to arrest the lady when I saw you upstairs. I assume that’s what all of this is about.’

  ‘It is, my lord,’ Jim said.

  He turned away from Miss Furnival; he hardly knew the girl, but there was enough anger and indignation in her eyes to make him doubt his conclusions already. Jim took a breath – he knew better than most how convincing the Othersiders could be; how they could play a role so well it was impossible to unpick the trut
h from the lie. He remembered Ambrose Hanlocke. Jim had never liked the rogue, but never in a million years would he have suspected Hanlocke of being an Othersider. There was another, too, in Jim’s past, whom he did not wish to think about, even now. Jim steeled himself for the inevitable furore he was about to cause.

  ‘Miss Furnival is not who she claims. Perhaps she truly is the niece of Sir Arthur, but not the real niece. I suggest to you, gentlemen, that she is an Otherside agent, perhaps the last vestige of our counterparts still operating in London for some unknown ends.’

  Jim’s great revelation was met with stony silence. There was no incredulity, no outrage, and no resistance from Miss Furnival. Only Cherleten looked anything but nonplussed, his lips twitching as though he struggled to keep his familiar smirk from becoming outright mockery.

  ‘Captain Denny,’ Sir Toby said, after an unbearable delay. ‘Perhaps it was remiss of us to keep you ignorant of all the facts – not that it is our custom to furnish mere field agents with the private details of one another. What if I told you that your discovery is a surprise only to yourself? Miss Furnival’s history is known to us, and as such, her character is vouched for by us.’

  ‘Sir? I… You mean to say we have Othersiders in our midst?’ Jim felt his colour rise. Though he’d had many encounters with Sir Toby and Lord Cherleten that had left him exasperated, this was the first time he had been truly angered by it.

  ‘Just one, actually,’ Sir Toby replied. ‘Miss Furnival’s history is quite unique amongst those from the other universe that we have encountered. She is not one of those agents you battled against three years ago. Indeed, Miss Furnival was opposed to them then, as she is now.’

  Jim looked to Miss Furnival, who glared at him defiantly, and then to Sir Arthur, who avoided his gaze entirely.

  ‘Don’t look so confused, Captain Denny,’ Lord Cherleten said, almost coughing with laughter. ‘Sir Arthur’s one of us, eh! The Furnivals who emigrated to the United States never had a daughter – but on the Otherside, they had two, Miss Furnival being the younger and sprightlier of them. You see?’