The Bedlam Detective

by Stephen Gallagher

  He said, “I’m not here to drink. I’m here for what you know.”

  “Upstairs,” Sebastian said, and led the way.

  The residents’ corridor was as silent as it could be with a public bar directly beneath. As Sebastian stepped first into his room, he took a moment to look around before touching anything.

  “What?” Stephen Reed said.

  “I was downstairs for less than an hour,” he said.

  He went over to his Gladstone and looked inside. The bag was exactly as he’d left it, but there was no mistaking that the contents had been disturbed. Sebastian knew his own packing. Or rather, he knew Elisabeth’s. She folded everything with precision and stowed it to a certain plan. No intruder could ever hope to recreate the effect.

  He looked at Stephen Reed.

  “I do believe I’ve been searched,” he said.

  “Not by me,” Stephen Reed said.

  The bedcovers didn’t appear to have been touched, and when Sebastian tipped over the bolster, his book and the papers were still there. “Do you know what this is?” he said, holding the volume up.

  Stephen Reed shook his head.

  “It’s Sir Owain’s account of his Amazonian adventure. Though it purports to be a factual account, it’s actually a fantasy of the most extreme order. He leads an expedition party into an unknown land. They find that they’ve ventured into a territory where monsters roam. The party is cut off from civilization and attacked from all sides. His men are carried off, one by one. At first the creatures move by night but then openly, by day. In the end, Sir Owain barely escapes with his life.”

  “And he presents all that as truth?”

  “He offers photographs and documents as proof of his story, all manufactured. The truth of it seems to be that these are the facts as he believes them.”

  “Hence your interest.”

  “He’s been of interest to my employers since the book was first published. You heard nothing of this? It caused quite a stir at the time.”

  “All I know is that he lost his wife and child under tragic circumstances in South America. I can imagine that being enough to damage any man’s reason.”

  “Not just his wife and son. His entire party, from the mapmakers and surveyors right down to the cook. There’s no true account. The inquest took place in a town where the British consul appeared to spend his nights in local whorehouses and his days sleeping off the drink, and his reports were useless.

  “Questions from the bereaved families were met with offers of generous settlements. But the families have never been satisfied. There’s a thirdhand rumor of a Portuguese bearer. He’s supposed to have walked out of the jungle with a tale of the mad white captain who turned on his own crew when the river took his mind.”

  “More storybook stuff.”

  “That’s how it’s been dismissed,” Sebastian said, taking the papers from out of the book. “Your police commissioner’s response was a robust exoneration based on his personal knowledge of Sir Owain’s character. I have a copy of his letter here.”

  “Let me understand this,” Stephen Reed said, with no more than a glance at the letterhead. “You’re telling me that Sir Owain is no mere eccentric. He’s known to be mad.”

  “There are degrees of lunacy.”

  “But you’ve known this for some time and he’s allowed to go free.”

  “One needs a good reason in law to deprive a man of his liberty.”

  “Especially a prominent man.”

  “Prominence should have nothing to do with it,” Sebastian said. “But unfortunately, that’s not always the case. This list was compiled by my predecessor. A more meticulous man than I.” He gave the handwritten sheet to Stephen Reed.

  As the young policeman scanned it, Sebastian went on, “My predecessor toured every parish with a border adjoining Sir Owain’s estate and noted every death or disappearance in recent years. Suspicious or accidental, report or rumor, they all went in. A woman drowned in a pool. A girl who set off for school and neither arrived nor returned. The disappearances were always at a time when Sir Owain was at home.”

  Stephen Reed looked up from the list. “I know two of these names,” he said.

  “You do?”

  “Grace Eccles and Evangeline May Bancroft. Local girls. They’re my age. I knew them growing up. We went to the same school.”

  “Do you know what happened to them?”

  “I remember some concern when they were lost on the moors one night. But it turned out they’d each misled their parents and gone camping together. They were found the next morning, miles from anywhere.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Evangeline’s gone. She went away to London. And Grace is not an easy woman for anyone to speak to.”

  “Easy or not, this is no time for reticence. What if today’s crime has a precedent?”

  “It’s not a matter of reticence,” Stephen Reed said. “Believe me. If you were to meet Grace, you’d understand. May I hold on to this?”

  At that moment, there was a knock at the door. It was Dolly, to say that Sebastian’s supper was waiting for him in the dining room.

  “Keep it,” Sebastian said. “And do with it what you can.”

  TEN

  Extract from

  The Empire of Beasts

  By Sir Owain Lancaster, FRS

  It was the morning after the night attack on our camp. The dead and the injured lay where they had fallen. Everyone came down out of the trees and out of their hiding places and began to share their stories of what they had seen. One of the camaradas told, in his halting English sprinkled with phrases from his native Portuguese, of seeing four of our fellows carried off alive.

  I had witnessed no such thing myself. I am ashamed to say that the attack had been too sudden, and too overwhelming, for any response other than hasty self-preservation. One moment we had been sitting by our separate campfires, doing our best to raise each other’s spirits for the further trials ahead; the next, it was as if a combined landslide, whirlwind, and stampede descended upon us, all at once.

  You might say that, after our earlier experience upon the river, we should have been more prepared for something like it on dry land. In our defense, I should say that even the most fertile and apprehensive imagination could never have anticipated what came to befall us. First had come the sound, like the thunder of an approaching wave, to which had quickly been added the crashing of falling trees. We had barely time to rise to our feet and then the herd was upon us, charging through the camp, scattering bodies and trampling our fires.

  What little I saw, I saw by firelight. I could make no estimate of their number. Each of those beasts was a giant, of a species hitherto unknown to science. They seemed to move as easily on two legs as on all fours, their long tails providing balance and their forelimbs as well adapted for gripping as running. At the time their attack appeared to have no purpose other than to terrify and destroy.

  But now, as we counted our number that morning and found no less than three of our fellows and one of the camaradas missing, it seemed that the simple peon’s story was true. There was a purpose to the attack after all; we had been harvested. There was much grieving and wailing, and a great sense of gloom and despair settled upon the camp, and I resolved that if I did not act to dispel it, our adventure might end there, and all the struggles we had endured and the losses we had borne would be for nothing. I gathered everyone together and addressed them thus:

  “We have already lost many of our number and most of our supplies in that terrible incident upon the river. Last night, we suffered losses again. But for those of us who have survived, let us remember that a certain providence has brought us this far. We live because it is clearly God’s purpose that we should, and to give up now would be to go against his plan.”

  I saw hope in their faces as I spoke. Truth to tell, we had all been through a dreadful ordeal. To see one’s comrades torn by beasts is a terrible thing. The river serpents that h
ad upset our boats and taken our companions had left many in a state of shock, and I knew that from now on a few among us would need to have courage for the many. And with that in mind I set out the following plan.

  Those injured in the night’s attack would be moved to a new camp on higher ground. Dr Swould supervise their care and set about the gathering of certain plants and herbs that would alleviate their injuries. I, meanwhile, would take my buffalo gun and follow the clear trail left by the night’s attackers, in the hope that I might find and rescue some, or even all, of our fellows.

  I credited those rampaging creatures with some dim intelligence, in that they had surely taken their victims alive for some purpose. What that purpose might be was too horrible to contemplate, but it gave me all the more reason to proceed without delay. I loaded the buffalo gun and gathered my remaining ammunition, after which I devised a way to hang it around my shoulders in a makeshift bandolier.

  My enemies would be formidable, but thus armed I was confident that we might be evenly matched. My greatest danger was that they might come at me all at once, for the buffalo gun carried but a single round and required a reloading after every discharge. I was, however, banking on the prospect that the devastating effect of a large-bore hit upon one of the creatures would be enough to cause its fellows to turn and flee.

  The others pleaded with me and expressed fear for my life, but I grew stern with them as if they were so many children, and reminded them of my authority as their leader.

  “Enough,” I said. “Bury our dead and fortify our camp against further attack, and I will return by nightfall, either with our missing comrades or with news of their ends.”

  With that they were resigned. Each man insisted on shaking my hand and wishing me well, and I saw tears in the eyes of more than one. As the effort of cutting wood to build a stronger stockade began, I took a half-day’s ration of food from our meager supplies and set off to follow the trail left by the attacking herd.

  Tracking them was no difficult job. No Roman army ever blazed a road so straight, nor so clearly defined, as those great primitive monsters in their advance through the jungle.

  As I made progress, and as the sounds of the camp fell behind me, I began to realize that from tragedy there might yet arise some benefit to those who had survived. For this early part of the trail at least, it seemed that the herd had followed the line of the river and done much to break the way for us. Normally we had to move at a slow pace behind the Indians and camaradas, as they cut a path through the jungle with axes and machetes. But where the creatures had rampaged, they had left us a broad avenue along which we might pass with ease.

  Within the hour, I had covered the kind of distance that otherwise would have taken us a day, and though I lost sight of the river for long stretches at a time, I was never beyond the sound of it. This was most important. Though we had lost our boats, the river was our God-given guide out of the wilderness. Without it we might circle forever, with the trees blocking out the sun and a steady madness descending for want of us having any purpose or direction.

  Shortly after that, I saw my first signs that the creatures were near. I shall not go into detail. Suffice it to say that waste, flies, and steam played a part in my deductions. I moved onward with great caution, hoping not to betray my presence.

  I had reasoned that, since the creatures had attacked us at night, then surely they must sleep by day. The night-adapted eye fares less well in the noonday sun, and the energies expended in night hunting must be recouped at some point.

  My hope was that if our fellows had been taken as prey for future consumption, then there had been some purpose in taking them alive, and that keeping them alive was a part of the creatures’ plan. If the creatures slept and I approached with sufficient stealth, I might yet be able to free my party and lead them back to our new camp, where a second attack would find us more prepared.

  It was with these thoughts in mind that I crept forward and met a sight for which nothing could have prepared me. Had I realized how close I was, and how the creatures had moved to conceal themselves from sight, I would have been even more conscious of the need for silence in my progress. Fortunately the spot they had chosen for their day-nest was close to the river, where an unusually raucous set of fast-moving rapids made a noise that easily masked my movements.

  The creatures had smashed down vegetation covering an area about the size of a tennis court, in order to make a type of bower. Within this jungle hollow all lay curled and sleeping, a dozen or more of them, their limbs and tails intertwining. A hasty count was impossible. I wish that I could have taken the time to make detailed observations and sketches. The ones that I reproduce in this volume are made from memory and not from life. Alas, all thoughts of science had deserted me in that moment, for it was now that I saw the fates of our comrades.

  The creatures had, indeed, taken four men with the intent of preserving them alive. However, their method for this had evolved for use with prey more robust than man. Each member of my expedition lay pinned to the ground by an outstretched limb or tail, in a move calculated to prevent any from escaping while the creatures slept. But the crushing weight of those monstrous limbs had caused them to bear down with devastating effect. Our men had survived their kidnap only to be suffocated under the enormous weight of the creatures’ extremities. In the case of one man (I shall not name him for fear of further distressing his widow), he had been pressed down onto broken vegetation so forcefully that the sharpened ends had passed through him like so many spears.

  Fearsome though the scene was, I could not leave it without satisfying myself that no spark of life remained in any of my former companions. I crept as close as I dared, and then gathered my courage and crept closer still, until I was so close to those great beasts that I might have reached out and laid a hand upon their thick hides, had I been so inclined. Alas, it seemed that my daring was in vain. C, our instrument-maker, was cold to the touch. The injuries sustained by R. the cartographer and Dr. B. were only too obviously mortal. As I moved from one to the other, one of the creatures stirred in its sleep and gave a huge sigh. The beast’s hot breath washed over me, as when a wind changes direction over a bonfire and one is bathed in the heat that it carries. But what a fire! One that stank of putrid swamp, and rotting meat. Being now on the riverward side of the nest, and in danger of being cut off from the jungle, I was almost persuaded to withdraw without further investigation, when I noticed a wasp landing on the nose of the sole non-European among the abducted, our mule-driving camarada. It lit there for only a moment, but was met with a definite twitch of the nostrils.

  I never knew his name-for the purpose of this narrative I shall call him Pablo-but he opened his eyes and, upon seeing me, stretched out a hand in entreaty and began to call to me. I quickly motioned him to silence, and such was the discipline that I had imposed upon our party that he immediately obeyed.

  I took a moment to assess our situation. I could not leave him to his fate, there was no question of that. No loyalty had been fiercer than that of these bare-footed, uneducated bearers, many of whom had already laid down their lives in the service of white men whom they did not know, for an expedition whose purpose their simple minds could never hope to understand. To abandon him now would be a poor reward for such devoted support.

  Pablo lay with the tail of one of the creatures pinning him to the ground, as a fallen tree might trap an incautious logger. By signs I managed to get him to move his legs, thus proving that his back was not broken and that, once freed, he would have a reasonable chance of continuing his escape.

  I considered, and quickly dismissed, any idea of provoking the creature in the hope that it might raise its appendage without being fully roused from its slumbers. To risk waking one was to risk waking all, so closely were they intertwined. Instead I noted that the part of the riverbank on which Pablo lay was of soft red sand, and might be dug away with some care. To this end I retreated into the jungle, and searched around for anyt
hing that could be used as a makeshift spade. As I was unable to explain my purpose to him, the despair on Pablo’s face as he saw me withdraw was a pity to behold, and I spent no longer than was necessary in securing a broken gourd that would suffice for the task. I returned with it and, once more signalling him to silence, began to scoop out the river dirt from around and under his body.

  Once he’d realized my purpose, he attempted to help by digging away with his bare hands. Too late, the inadvisability of his action became obvious. Thick though the creature’s hide was, it had enough sensitivity to register Pablo’s movements and transmit them to its distant brain. After a while its great sides began to stir, and I stopped all movement for a second or two; but when I saw that this would not be enough to make the great beast subside again, I threw caution to the winds and resumed digging as quickly and as carelessly as would be required to get the job done.

  Waking, the creature gave us unexpected aid; the flick of its tail as it began to raise itself had the effect of releasing Pablo completely, and I flung the gourd aside and dragged him out. As I picked up my buffalo gun, Pablo struggled to his feet; his movements were mirrored by those of the waking creature before us, struggling to disentangle itself from its fellows and causing them all to stir in their turn.

  Now we were in a pickle. The creatures were rolling over, and the Celtic knot of their daytime nest was rapidly unravelling. The jungle was only yards from us, but our chance of reaching it was quickly vanishing. “Run, Pablo!” I cried, bringing my buffalo gun to bear on the heart of the tangle, and whether or not he understood my words, my dusky friend was in no doubt as to their meaning. As he leapt for the foliage, I fired at the head of the biggest and most dangerous-looking creature at the center of the herd, reasoning that this roughest of beasts must surely be its leader.

  As I had predicted, the roar of the gun threw the half-awake beasts into an immediate state of panic and confusion. They fought each other to get free, and I saw Pablo reach safety and disappear into the green without seeming to be noticed.