The Last Watchman

by Kevin Partner

“You're a good man,” Grimes said before disappearing into the darkness of the room and returning with the offensive item. His hand shook as he carried it and I almost reached out to grab him since, however unpleasant, carrying the pot was far preferable to having to clean its contents off the floor.

  The privy lay in the yard behind the lodging house, so I had the odious yet delicate task of taking the pot down three flights of stairs, along the main hallway and out through the pantry in order to tip its vile contents into one of the three booths. This task was made all the more difficult as it was still dark, and the privies weren't lit.

  I reflected, as I tried desperately to hold my breath, that I had been born into a world where one's only responsibility when it came to such matters was, shall we say, the production and not the disposal. Many times over the years I had regretted the careless manner with which I had squandered my opportunities in life, but rarely as much as I did then, spilling away Grimes' effluent.

  I turned back with relief and headed towards the light of the pantry window. Grabbing a plate, two thick slices of bread and a little butter, I made my way back up the stairs, nodding at the lodgers I passed on my way. All men, most of them on their way to work.

  “Here you are, Grimes,” I said as I pushed open his door and stepped inside.

  Mercifully, I found him dressed and sitting in the chair at his table. The light of the candle flickered across his craggy face and I could see that he was still gravely ill.

  “But you should be in bed,” I said.

  He took the plate from me and set it on his table. “Thank you, Mr Makepeace. Will you not join me?”

  “No, thank you,” I said, “I find I have little appetite.”

  Grimes gave a grunt and engulfed half the first slice in his mouth as one of the carp in the Serpentine swallows bread. “I learned long ago never to miss an opportunity for eating. Where are you going?”

  I turned back from the door. “I must hurry or I will be late for work.”

  “Oh, you'll not be going back to your former employment, my new friend. Not for now, at least.”

  “Indeed?”

  He lifted the remains of the second slice and waved it at me as he spoke. “You have seen too much and have learned even more. Do I not guess right that Valentina filled you in on how things stand?”

  I shrugged. “She explained some of the events of last night, but she said I should look to you for my education.”

  “Did she indeed?” he chuckled, spitting bread fragments over the floor and his bed. “Very crafty that lady. But she is right enough. You're working for me now. Can't promise you much other than poor pay and constant danger, but you'll be doing society a good deed.”

  I shut the door for fear of being overheard and moved closer to him. “And what if I want to simply walk away and go back to my old life?”

  “As a clerk in a soap factory?” Grimes said, laughing so loud I put a finger to my lips. “Oh, go back if you wish, I can't stop you. But make sure you come home before dark or I can't speak for your chances of making it back to your bed.”

  “What do you mean?” I spluttered.

  His face tightened in an instant and all signs of jocularity vanished. “They know you, John, and that puts you in peril. I am also a marked man, though they’ve learned to be wary of me. Nearly got me last night, for all my experience. How long d’you think you’d last?”

  I sat on the edge of the bed and cast my mind back to the horrors of the night before. I’d be dead now if it hadn’t been for Valentina and Grimes. Or, looked at another way, had I not stepped in to aid him, I’d be heading to the soap factory for a normal day’s work. I realised that, in all likelihood, my normal life was over whether I liked it or not.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I said. “I feel as though I’m caught between two awful choices—to run as far as a penniless man can go and spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, or to stay here and fight. But I am not a fighting man, Grimes.”

  He struggled to his feet, padded across and put his hand on my shoulder as he sat beside me. “You showed uncommon bravery last night and uncommon decency in coming to my aid. You stuck to your task when any sane man would have cut and run. You have it in you to fight; all you need are a few skills—and I shall be your tutor in that regard—and the courage you have already shown me. We are at war, my dear Makepeace, and we have need of you.”

  I gave a brief nod and he hauled himself to his feet. “Come, let us tidy the room and let some light in. Unless I am very much mistaken, we will soon have a visitor.”

  Sure enough, we’d barely had time to get his small room in order and for me to grab a slice of bread to break my fast when there was a knock at the door.

  “Come in, Jimmy,” Grimes said once he’d seated himself in the chair at his desk.

  The door swung open to admit the young scruff known to us all as Jimmy Crivens. I need not recount the tragic story of how this young lad from Glasgow came to live in a home for working men in the south of England, suffice it to say that his was not the most desperate background and neither was he the youngest tenant.

  “Mister Grimes,” he said, tugging an imaginary forelock, “genkleman downstairs says ‘e wants to see you.”

  “Did he give you a card?”

  Crivens nodded his head. “Oh aye, sir.”

  “Then let’s have it!” Grimes roared.

  The boy leapt across the little room in a blur and handed it over.

  “Send him up, if you please.”

  Crivens darted out of the room and we heard his thumping steps as he vaulted down the stairs two at a time.

  “Little blighter’ll break his neck one of these days,” Grimes said with a smile. “Handy as a page, though. Has an instinct for the wrong’uns.”

  I took the card and read as follows:

  Charles McBride

  Undersecretary, Ministry of International Affairs

  “Do you know this man?”

  “Oh yes. Charlie and I go back a long way. He’s the closest I generally get to my employers—if that is the correct word for them. A bit of a pompous ass, but not a bad chap as they go.”

  We heard a steady tread on the stairs and a single knock.

  At Grimes’ invitation the door swung open and in Jimmy’s place stood a tall man in dark clothes who cradled a top hat under his arm. He brushed the last of the morning’s rain from the cape of his ulster and then noticed me.

  “Who is this?” He had piercing blue eyes set rather too close together behind an aquiline nose that served to remind me of a buzzard or even the legendary basilisk.

  “My name is John Makepeace,” I said, feeling flustered and under inspection.

  McBride thumbed in my direction. “And what is Mr Makepeace doing here?”

  “He is my associate,” Grimes responded with complete serenity.

  “Since when?”

  “Since last night when he saved me from having my neck chewed by one of Peregrine’s missing sheep.”

  To my utter astonishment, McBride strode across the room and shook my hand with some warmth. “Well done indeed, sir. You don’t know how vital your action in saving Mr Grimes was. I expected to find him dead or missing this morning and was so relieved when the page told me it was not so.”

  “What is this?” Grimes said. “I mean, I’m touched by your concern, but all the same.”

  McBride let go of me and turned to Grimes. “You haven’t heard then? My God, Grimes, there was a purge last night such as we have never seen before.”

  “I knew about Jasper, of course. How many others?”

  “All of them, Grimes. Except you.”

  Grimes’ pale face drained of all remaining colour and he slumped in his chair, shaking his head slowly. “All? No, it can’t be so. There were two dozen that I knew of.”

  “Now there is just you,” McBride said.

  “And me,” I said stoutly, though not truly understanding what had happened.

&
nbsp; McBride shook his head. “No, Mr Makepeace. Crucial though your intervention was last night, Mr Grimes needs a suitable partner, one he can train to operate independently in time. If the truce holds, that is.”

  “Who would be suitable?” I said.

  “We will find someone from the forces—the marines, probably. Someone who already knows how to kill.”

  Grimes banged his fist on the table. “You will not!” I was surprised to see that his face was wet. “Mr Makepeace is my partner and that’s final.”

  “But surely a soldier would be a better choice; or even a policeman?”

  “Did that help the poor devils who were massacred last night? Most of them were ex-servicemen as I recall. I tell you now, McBride, we were betrayed. One of us, or one of you, knew enough about our movements to be able to attack each of us when we were at our weakest. I don’t have partners, as a rule, but I will have Makepeace because he has the one thing no-one else can boast.”

  McBride shrugged. “And what is that?”

  “My trust.”

  The Asylum

  I hadn't imagined I'd ever go back to the asylum after the terrors of the night I spent there, but Grimes had been most insistent. He'd spent the day of our visit from McBride recovering in his room—though 'brooding' would be a better description. I am glad I did not have to accompany him on the dark paths his mind wandered that day, and I'd spent most of the day in my own room, doing what I could to organise my affairs.

  I'd gone in to see him during the early afternoon. He was sitting on the side of his bed examining an object he was holding. “What do you think of this?” he said, handing it to me. I was taken by surprise, since these were the first words he'd uttered in several hours but was even more amazed by what I now held.

  It was a brooch of quite exquisite craftsmanship. The gold mounting was somewhat teardrop shaped and covered by intricate traces of swirling patterns with two abstract eyes on either side of the central jewel. “Is it a garnet?” I asked, losing myself as I explored its scarlet depths.

  “It is. I fancy you've seen your share of gemstones, but nothing like this.”

  I nodded without taking my gaze away from the gorgeous thing I was holding. “Indeed. My family possessed many fine pieces but though this is a mere garnet, it is quite the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

  “It's also older than anything your family was likely to own. Do you not recognise the design as Saxon?”

  I turned it over. The reverse was plain but sturdy and unadorned save for some scratches I recognised as in the ancient runic alphabet, the futhorc, though I could not read the inscription.

  “I confess I have never seen Saxon work before. It is exquisite.”

  Grimes smiled. “And it is yours, my friend.”

  “What?” I stood aghast and wearing what must have been a quite comical expression since Grimes burst into laughter. It was good to see the happiness in his face, though it lasted mere seconds before he resumed his stone-faced countenance.

  “Listen. You are in too deep to back out—I believe we are in agreement on that score.”

  I nodded.

  “You have family?”

  “I have no dependents except, possibly, my nephew. He is the son of my favourite sister. She died of consumption and he ended up in an orphanage.”

  “He had no father?”

  I felt my face warm. “None to speak of. He abandoned my sister when she first became ill. And so did my own father who had never approved of the marriage.”

  “Do you wish to make provision for him?”

  I thought about it for a moment. Of course, the correct answer was to say that I did, but, as I considered it, I realised I truly wished to do my best by him. How odd. After a lifetime of caring about no-one but myself, I realised that this lad's well-being mattered to me. Damn it, I thought, I do not need responsibility for another to weigh me down. Too late, I realised.

  “I do.”

  “Then do as I advise,” Grimes said. He reached over and grabbed a scrap of paper from his desk and scribbled on it. “This is the name of the only banker cum solicitor I trust. The jewel is to be placed in his safest vault. You will ask him to draw up a will leaving everything to your nephew. Here,” He handed me a sovereign, “this will cover his fees.”

  “But how did you come to own this gem?” I asked. “You do own it?”

  This time his laugh came out as a grim chuckle. “Oh yes indeed. I earned it through long labours, and it is incontestably mine to give to you. Now, go and do what I say, and your mind and heart will be eased.” He leaned back on his bed and, from the set of his expression, I knew that he wished to be left alone to his thoughts.

  “Thank you,” I said, though it seemed a thoroughly inadequate response. He lifted a hand in acknowledgement. I left him there and went to seek Lazarus.

  And so, my heart relieved of a burden I'd been unconscious of, I was helping Grimes make the journey on foot to the asylum. He'd been puffing before we'd even reached the end of Bow Road and I had entreated him to get another day's rest before attempting the journey, but he had insisted there was no time.

  We walked through the gates, he with a steadying hand on my shoulder, and looked at the hospital.

  “Good grief,” I said.

  The entrance was blackened, and the portico had been reduced to four stumps of soaked charcoal. There was no sign of the guard who'd waved Valentina and I past on mention of Peregrine's name. In fact, the only person we could see was a policeman who interrupted his march up and down when he saw us.

  “This area is off limits to the public, gentlemen,” he said, casting a suspicious eye at Grimes who swayed a little before looking up.

  “We are here on official business,” Grimes managed.

  The policeman's large bearded face broke into a grin. “Oh, are you indeed, my friend? Seems to me your official business should be to get yourself back home and sleep off the drink.”

  Then his eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “He's not an inmate, is he?”

  “No,” I said, struggling to cloak my anger. “And we are on official business. We are investigating what happened here.”

  “Well that's simple enough. A fire broke out, it was eventually extinguished and some of the inmates had to be temporarily rehoused. But I'm sorry, gentlemen, that's the limit of my information and my patience. Now be off with you or I'll have you removed.”

  Grimes nudged me and placed two cards in my hand. “Give the good officer these,” he whispered.

  It was Grimes' card and that of McBride.

  “What's this?” he said, and I watched his lips move as he read. “'Special Investigator?' What's that then? And this one says Foreign Affairs. I don't see what these 'ave to do with anything. This is a police matter.”

  Sighing, Grimes drew himself up to his full height. “Look, officer number C101,” he said, reading the characters embroidered on the man's collar, “you can either let us have a gander over yonder or call your superiors. Of course, if you do that, you'll have to explain why you held up agents of the government going about their lawful investigations.”

  “Agents of the government? You two?” PC C101 said, raising a doubtful eyebrow. He stared at Grimes for a moment and then his expression changed, almost as if a moment of mental constipation had been relieved. “Ah, plain clothes, are you?” He tapped the side of his nose.

  “Exactly,” Grimes said.

  “Wounded in the line of duty? Is that about the size of it?”

  “Indeed.”

  The officer stepped back allowing us to pass. “Proceed, gentlemen, if you please,” he said. “I shall be at your disposal and I hope you understand my caution.”

  As we passed him, Grimes said, “Of course, constable. Entirely understandable. Carry on.”

  And so, we did.

  Grimes took a brief rest on the foot of the stone steps leading up to the burnt out hospital entrance.

  “What an oaf that constable is,” I sa
id, looking down at him as he struggled to catch his breath.

  “Not at all. He's just a man doing his duty. And he told us what we needed to know.”

  I sat down beside him, regretting it instantly as water soaked into my trouser seat. “And what was that?”

  “That some of the inmates were re-housed. Some, mark you.”

  I was still lost. “I don't understand, Grimes.”

  He gestured at the cobbled driveway and gardens beyond that led back to the main road. “This wasn't built to house vampires, my dear Makepeace. Most of the inmates are perfectly human and I suspect we will find that they are still here. We will, of course, check since it pays to confirm your facts, but I don't doubt we'll find the place empty of their kind.”

  “But what were they doing here in the first place?”

  Grimes gave a low exhausted moan. “I don't have the energy to give you a complete history lesson; that will have to wait. Valentina told you of the eternal battle and the truce that ended it thirty years ago?”

  I acknowledged that she had.

  “And how many wars has this country been involved in over the past three decades?”

  I gave that some thought before responding. “None that I can think of. Wait a moment—are you suggesting that all our wars are actually conflicts with vampires?”

  “Not all of them, not by a long stretch,” he responded quietly. “But I ask you to think of this—what more attractive prospect could there be to a vampire than a bloody war zone? And war weakens all the parties to it, so their policy over the latter centuries was to keep us fighting both to provide blood and to keep us weak. The truce ended that.”

  “What has this got to do with the asylum?”

  He put a hand on my shoulder and hauled himself upright. “Not everyone agrees with the truce. There are rogue elements on both sides. Some are just those that revel in chaos for its own sake, others profit from war. The vampires—you know they don't call themselves that, don't you?”

  “No, Valentina didn't mention it.”

  Grimes grunted. “I suspect she thought it a minor point given the events of last night. No, they call themselves the Nostri and they are not the creatures of myth, but they are dangerous and the worst of them come here. Supposedly under the care of Peregrine; though it appears that, for some reason, he has switched sides. I have no doubt that the inmates of Grove Hall participated in the bloodbath. But come, let us look.”