The Apollonian Case Files

by Mark A. Latham

  ‘Stand down, Constable,’ a gruff voice commanded, the accent Irish. From the press of police and onlookers, a stern, white-haired man approached, dressed all in black. It took a moment for Jim to recognise the formidable presence of William Melville, now superintendent of Special Branch. ‘Captain Denny? Saw the signals from the ship there. Where is Hardwick? Ah, here he comes.’

  John appeared at Jim’s back, and nodded to the Irishman somewhat curtly. They had a grudging mutual respect, but Jim recalled how Melville had been made to look rather foolish once, at his flat refusal to acknowledge the existence of the Otherside. The wily old government agent had lived to regret that mistake.

  ‘You are to come with me,’ Melville said. ‘Lord Cherleten is waiting.’

  ‘Waiting?’ Jim asked. ‘How did he know we were coming?’

  ‘We’ve known you were coming since you passed Canvey,’ he replied, already walking away. ‘The fact that you aren’t dead is fortuitous.’

  Jim followed, checking that John and Miss Furnival were in tow. They left the steamboat wharf where the Daphne had moored, bypassed the primary dock, and cut across Little Tower Hill. For a man in his senior years, Melville set quite the pace. At his approach, several officers fell into line, clearing a path through the melee of onlookers as Melville headed straight for the Tower of London. It was a stone’s throw away, this great monument to the monarchy – the flames of the dockland blaze could still be seen behind them, glowing angrily above the rooftops.

  They marched across an expanse of gravel that was once a moat, the tower guards, stern and well armed, waving them through the defensive lines. As the little entourage approached the dark walls, a narrow door swung slowly open and, without missing a stride, Melville led them inside.

  * * *

  ‘A little ostentatious for a secret meeting, don’t you think?’ John asked. They had entered a large chamber on the first floor of the Develin Tower, where Cherleten awaited the agents at the head of a great oak table. Men stood on guard at each of the exits. The chair that Cherleten had chosen resembled a throne.

  ‘No, Colonel Hardwick,’ Cherleten replied. ‘It is secure. And this is not a meeting, it is a council of war.’ Cherleten indicated the chairs and bade everyone sit. He gave a fleeting look of disapproval to Miss Furnival, and a similar glare to Tesla, but said nothing. John noted Cherleten did not appear surprised at Tesla’s presence, only irked.

  Spread upon the table was a large map of the City of London, and several other large rolled sheets. Melville did not sit, but instead stood in the shadows with his men.

  ‘Five bombs have been detonated in the city this night,’ Cherleten said, ‘of a magnitude far greater than anything the Othersiders ever unleashed during the Lazarus campaign. I am afraid to report several key locations around London have been targeted, doubtless to cause the maximum disruption, and to stretch our resources as thin as possible. The death toll is mercifully low, but the destruction is considerable.’

  ‘The club?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Thankfully not. Whitehall was not unscathed, however.’

  ‘Horse Guards?’ John interrupted, drawing an annoyed glare from Cherleten.

  ‘No. Why does that concern you particularly?’

  ‘My dog is at Horse Guards,’ John said, flatly. It gave him some satisfaction to see Cherleten look at him rather stupidly.

  A loud crunch came from across the table. Cherleten glared at Tesla with some annoyance, though the Serbian appeared oblivious. Tesla munched at a pile of hard ship’s biscuits donated to him by the bemused crew of the Daphne. He poured himself a third cup of tea, from the pot that had been brought in specially. John had insisted the scientist’s request be granted, saying that the man had been a prisoner of the Artist, and ill-treated. Now he was a valuable ally, and would be extended every courtesy.

  Cherleten shook his head at the distractions. ‘The bombs were delivered on the backs of wagons late last night. Beer wagons, we believe.’

  ‘They can’t be the same wagons we saw leaving Osea,’ John said. ‘They must have been planning this for some time.’

  ‘Entry to the docks facility was gained through strong-arm tactics,’ Cherleten went on. ‘Dynamite was thrown inside when our security staff attempted to assist what they believed to be a wounded man on the street outside. We think some of the enemy died in the initial blast, before detonating a cart-load of explosives on the west side offices. Armed men were seen entering the facility by the police. We do not know how many are inside, or how many of our own people are hostage within.’

  ‘Were you inside at the time, sir?’ Jim asked.

  ‘No. I was meeting with the Prime Minister, as it happens, discussing what was to be done about the Artist in light of Sir Toby’s passing.’

  ‘Is there any word about my uncle?’ Miss Furnival interjected. This prompted another irritated glower.

  ‘Physically, Sir Arthur is doing well. Mentally… he is enfeebled. The doctors are treating his condition as a brain fever; that is all they can do. I would recommend you go to him, Miss Furnival – there is nothing you can do here.’

  ‘Oh no, Lord Cherleten,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’

  ‘Hmmph.’ Cherleten turned away from the woman. ‘As we speak, a small team of hand-picked men is assembling outside. Colonel Hardwick, Captain Denny – you are tasked with leading them inside the facility and dealing with this threat. The resources therein are too valuable to lose.’

  ‘Lord Cherleten,’ John said. ‘It is my suspicion that the enemy knows more about the facility than you realise. I think they intend to use some of the Otherside machinery that you have down there to wreak havoc on this city. Some of the… most secret machinery.’

  Cherleten’s features drained of all character. John could not say in the presence of all those assembled what precisely lay in the armoury’s vaults. He did not himself know the entire catalogue of Otherside technology therein, or how many of its secrets had been unlocked by the Order’s scientists, but he knew that it would be terrible beyond imagining if it was activated.

  ‘How does the enemy propose to use it, Colonel?’ Cherleten asked, incredulously.

  ‘They sent the means to make it work ahead. The armoury took delivery of a shipment supposedly from Tsun Pen just hours ago, yes? Precisely. That shipment was purported to contain wreckage from the Lazarus Gate, but was instead the missing components of a portal. A very powerful one.’

  Cherleten’s fingers arched, nails scratching against the aged oak tabletop. ‘It does not change our course of action,’ he said. ‘Indeed, it makes it all the more imperative that we launch a counter-attack immediately.’

  ‘How many men do we face?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Uncertain. Our intelligence suggests there are Russian soldiers among their number, however.’

  ‘Ahh, Russians!’ Tesla moaned, before returning to his biscuits.

  Cherleten ignored him. ‘They will be well armed, and well drilled. The primary entrances to the facility are nigh-impossible to approach – they have not only been barricaded, but are guarded by snipers located on the upper floors. It is likely there are hostages inside, not to mention a great deal that is of value to the Order, or else I would shell the blackguards and be damned.’

  ‘Our point of entry, then? The sluice-gate?’ The most secret entrance to the facility lay on the riverside: a sluice-gate that provided access to a private dock.

  ‘It is already compromised,’ Cherleten explained. ‘The gates are impervious to bombardment. They can only be opened from the inside, but when we sent agents in to operate the controls, we heard gunfire. They did not return.’

  ‘How could this happen again?’ Jim muttered.

  ‘No one could have predicted such an audacious attack on the city,’ Cherleten said. ‘We have one of the largest police forces in the world; soldiers galore. And yet their job is to respond to danger, not anticipate it. For that duty, we have only the few good men o
f Special Branch and, of course, ourselves. And yet it seems the enemy’s intelligence is more comprehensive than our own.’

  ‘I disagree, Lord Cherleten,’ Melville interrupted. ‘With so many agencies working so tirelessly, and such secure locations affected by these attacks… all I can say is that they are too well orchestrated for the work of a criminal gang, even if the Russians are aiding them.’

  ‘The Artist is no ordinary criminal,’ Cherleten said. ‘The truth is that to combat her we have relied increasingly on more esoteric means. That, in itself, has been our downfall.’

  ‘The Nightwatch is officially deemed a failure, then?’ John said.

  ‘Sir Arthur may never recover from his experiments. And Sir Toby… well, he paid the price for our over-reliance on mysticism. If the Prime Minister sees fit to assign me permanent command of the Order, then I assure you I shall entertain no thought of psychics ever again. After this night, Colonel Hardwick, the Nightwatch is finished.’ The gleam in Cherleten’s eye as he spoke did not escape John’s notice. Cherleten had lusted for control of the Order for so long that his anticipation of that goal betrayed him. He enjoyed the moment, even at this great cost. And that made John suspicious.

  ‘Now,’ Cherleten said. ‘Time is of the essence. Colonel Hardwick, I would have you select what men you wish to take into the lion’s den. We have agents, police, guards… pick the best. I would advise a small party of capable fighters – too many, and you will be detected and fired upon before you even cross the street. Take what you need from the Tower armoury – Melville will show you. And this plan, here, is of the facility. Study it well, for most of the rooms on the lower levels have never been accessed by agents of your rank. If Miss Furnival insists on going along, take her with you. Mr Tesla, you will remain here under guard. You are now our –’

  ‘No,’ John interrupted.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said no. Tesla comes with us. If there is any way to sabotage the Artist’s portal, then he will know how. What hope do the rest of us have?’

  ‘That is out of the question. Mr Tesla’s status as a citizen of the Otherside makes it quite impossible –’

  ‘I’d listen to the colonel, Lord Cherleten,’ William Melville interjected. John was surprised to see a twinkle in the Irishman’s eye; perhaps he too disliked Cherleten. ‘As you were saying earlier, the threat is an esoteric one. Sending in men to shoot at the problem might not be the best strategy. But sending in a supposed genius like Mr Tesla…’

  ‘Supposed?’ Tesla said over a loud slurp of tea.

  ‘No offence, sir,’ Melville smirked. To Cherleten he said, ‘We should not send our men in there under-equipped.’

  Cherleten sighed, exasperated. ‘Have it your way, but on your own heads be it. Captain Denny, I must speak with you in private while the others prepare. Come now, it will only take a minute.’

  * * *

  Jim and Cherleten emerged onto the east curtain wall of the Tower, the vast pillar of smoke before them; flames, men scurrying to and fro like worker ants.

  ‘Sir, Colonel Hardwick is still the most senior-ranking agent present. Surely he –’

  ‘He is not my concern, and he is not my man,’ Cherleten snapped. ‘Think on it, Captain Denny. Hardwick has been in self-imposed exile for over a year. He did not answer our missives regarding Bertrand. He could have been a rogue agent for all we know.’

  ‘Sir, I really think not. He –’

  ‘Listen to me. Colonel Hardwick is compromised, or at least he will be when he finds out what the Artist has in store.’

  ‘And what would that be, sir?’ Jim eyed Cherleten with suspicion.

  ‘There is no time to go into all that. Just know that we are in the business of intelligence, Captain, and that sometimes intelligence must be withheld for good reason.’

  ‘Like the full extent of the Otherside devices in the armoury?’

  Cherleten gave Jim a sharp look. ‘Sir Toby is gone. Sir Arthur insensible. I have spoken to the Prime Minister, and he has endorsed my plans for the future of the Order. For all intents and purposes, I am the Order, Captain Denny, and you are my man. Can I depend on you to do your duty?’

  Jim did not trust Cherleten to play him straight. And yet he did not believe Cherleten would endanger England with his plots and schemes. In fact, for all his brashness, Cherleten had actually been right all along – certainly more so than Sir Arthur, who had got more than one of Jim’s men killed for his errors of judgment. And the wily old devil always knew things that mere agents did not. ‘Devil’ sounded about right, and better the devil you know. ‘Always, sir,’ Jim said, finally.

  Cherleten held Jim’s gaze for a moment too long, then seemed to accept the reply. ‘Very good. Now, somewhere in that facility, there is a man. Dr Crookes – do you remember him? Good. If he is alive, it is vital you rescue him, for he has knowledge that is invaluable to us, and must not fall into the wrong hands. If it becomes impossible to see him safe, or if the Artist’s gate threatens to flood our world with horrors, then I am afraid there will be only one avenue open to you if you are to avoid disaster.’ Cherleten handed Jim a large bunch of keys. ‘The larger keys will admit you to areas of the facility that were previously off-limits. If possible, you will enter those areas alone, for they contain secrets not intended for the likes of the Furnival girl, and certainly not for the eyes of common soldiers. Each of the smaller keys opens a secure box, located at each of the six security checkpoints within the facility. You know four of them. The others are located in the centre of the facility, one outside the engineering lab, and one at the north entrance to the Nightwatch ward. Within each box is an explosive charge, which you must prime.’

  Jim looked at Cherleten in disbelief.

  ‘Pay attention! There is technology in that facility that you could only dream of. Much of it we barely understand ourselves. It cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy. You must prime all six, make sure of it. Then take the red key to the wet dock. The detonator is located beside the sluice-gate controls. The key activates the electric circuit that will detonate the bombs and destroy the facility. Once turned, you will have only five minutes to evacuate via the lifeboats. Five minutes exactly, so do not tarry. The sequence cannot be reversed, so be sure of your course of action before turning that key.’

  ‘Is this my mission, sir? To destroy the dock facility?’

  ‘No, of course not. Your mission is to kill the Artist, and wrest control of this facility from her.’

  ‘That is the second time you said “her”, sir. So you already know…’

  ‘You are being dashed insubordinate today, Captain Denny. Your priority is to stop the Artist, and save the facility at all costs. But if it transpires that you cannot – if the Artist’s forces are too great – then use the keys. Destroy everything.’

  ‘But sir – the facility staff. Agents, scientists, nurses, engineers…’

  ‘You will be pleased to hear the facility is operating with a skeleton crew, although how many of them live still is anyone’s guess. In any case, it is not your concern.’

  ‘I cannot just let them die!’

  Cherleten fixed Jim with a glare halfway between supreme annoyance and seething rage. ‘If it comes to it, Captain, it will already be too late for them, and for us. By the time you make the decision to turn those keys, believe me when I say the choice will be clear. Destroy the facility, or see everything you hold dear destroyed in kind. Is that clear?’

  ‘Perfectly.’ Jim almost choked on the words.

  ‘Do not trust Hardwick. He will not see this act done – it was not out of charity that Sir Toby allowed him to go on a long leave of absence, and it was not gladly that I agreed to his reinstatement. Hardwick’s insistence on bringing Tesla along is suspicious at best. And as for the Furnival girl… she has done what she came here to do. With de Montfort dead, her bonds of loyalty to the Order are severed. She would be as like to abscond this world at the first
opportunity as help you further.’

  ‘What do you mean, sir?’

  ‘I mean, she is not quite what we would call a refugee. Oh, her loyalty is not to our Otherside counterparts, but neither is it fully to us. She works for herself. She rids our world of vampires. But the only man on our side to whom she lends any affection is Sir Arthur, and he, it seems, is little more than an imbecile for the foreseeable future. She has no place here. She belongs on the Otherside, and she knows it.’

  Cherleten, as ever, adopted the least charitable view of the situation. But was he right? ‘Whatever Miss Furnival or even Colonel Hardwick might wish,’ Jim said at last, ‘I shall do my duty.’

  A familiar deviousness played across Cherleten’s freckled features. ‘That’s my boy.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  There was but one entrance to the docks facility that had escaped the attentions of the enemy, and John now oversaw its opening for the first time in many a year.

  There were eighteen men in all – or, rather, seventeen and Miss Furnival. John had selected mostly policemen and Special Branch operatives, with a few riflemen for support. He had ignored Cherleten’s recommendations in favour of seasoned officers with experience of fighting in confined spaces, such as rookeries and warrens. To that end, he had ordered the majority to arm themselves with shotguns, pistols, truncheons and sabres. Once within the facility, John expected the fighting to be close and bloody.

  They stood in a tiny, tree-filled square opposite the walls of the Royal Mint. Behind a nondescript monument – a crumbling obelisk unadorned but for the small carved seal of Apollo Lycea – three burly Coldstream Guards prised a large, heavy drain cover from the ground. Beneath lay not a drain at all, nor a ladder to some Roman sewer, but instead a steep flight of steps, leading to a metal door. An emergency exit, forgotten by all but Cherleten.