Who was the monster now?
“Run!” Valentina screamed, knocking me out of my shock.
I turned to follow her. She was dragging Peregrine behind her, pulling him along on the end of a suffocating leash she’d tied around his neck as he scuttled behind her like an upside-down crab trying desperately to breath.
A roar had gone up as we were spotted and I ran for my life, leaving the old man to expire in his own blood. I imagined that he watched me as I ran, his accusing eyes following me out of the cavern and towards the warehouse.
Valentina moved at a terrible speed as Peregrine's legs flailed behind her, but I managed to overtake them as we reached the door to the match store.
“Pitt!” I screamed. Had he had long enough to prepare? Was he even still there?
I passed through the doorway and swung the heavy oak door behind us as Valentina and the scrambling Peregrine made it inside.
“Why did you bring him?” I yelled.
The savage look in her glance took my breath away. “He will die slowly,” she said. “Do not oppose me, John,” she added as she gained control of herself.
There was no question of it. Valentina began dragging her victim towards the other end of the warehouse and the entrance to the tunnel.
“John!”
It was Pitt. He joined us just as the pounding on the door began.
“Are you ready?” I said to the red-faced policeman.
He nodded. “I have piled the boxes up so that all we need to do is lob one of Grimes' grenades into it and the place will go up like an inferno.”
“How good of an aim are you?”
“Pretty fair, and the target's large enough. I reckon I can have a head start of fifty yards and still be sure of hitting it.”
I nodded. “Good. Go now with God's speed.”
His expression clouded over. “What do you mean?”
“Someone must make sure this door is closed behind them,” I said. “We cannot risk any escaping. I will hide in the darkness, run through and close it.”
The pounding got louder.
“Go!” I cried and, whether by the force of my command or the buckling of the door, he turned and went.
“Listen for my call!” he cried.
I watched him recede, took a deep breath, lifted the bar on the door and threw myself into the shadows.
A horde ran past me like a river of horror. Shapes flickered in the dim illumination of the electric lights and I wondered if they would fill the warehouse and the plan would fall apart. Finally, however, the last of them passed inside.
I strained to listen for Pitt's call, but could hear nothing over the roaring of the multitude.
And then a flash. I had moments.
I dived sideways. A shout. I'd been seen. I fell backwards through the open door into the wider chamber and grabbed it, pulling it closed.
Clawed hands appeared in the gap and began to pull the door open with terrible strength. Then heat exploded and, with a boom, the door shattered, throwing me backwards. My back and right arm erupted in excruciating pain as I landed on something metallic.
I rolled over, struggling to breath, and forced myself up onto my knees and then my feet.
The chamber outside the warehouse was filled with smoke and I could hear pitiful cries from inside. Pulling my revolver from inside my jacket with my left hand, I cocked it and stepped into hell.
Writhing forms filled the space inside the door. The furthest from the blast, many of these monsters had survived and I emptied my revolver into them as I put each that I came to out of its misery, male or female, young or old. I was a war machine—emotionless, pitiless and efficient.
I reloaded my gun and then looked up to see Pitt running towards me. His clothes were blackened and smoking, but in the amber glow of smouldering ruins, I could see he held a dagger he was using on those that still lived.
We shook hands in that charnel house, black and bloodied though we were.
“Come,” he said. “We must get out of here before the official services arrive—I would not wish to explain what has happened.”
Together, we set a gentler flame in the remaining crates and ensured a thorough fire would burn all evidence to ash before heading into the tunnel that led to the station.
“Where is Valentina?” I asked as we emerged into the early morning light.
“I do not know. She took off with Peregrine when I returned to help finish the last of them.”
I imagined he was now discovering the depths of her hatred and the extent of her vengeance.
We clambered onto the platform and, ignoring the startled looks of the first commuters alighting from their trains, made our weary way back to 215 Bow Road.
Grimes
Grimes wasn't there. I was too exhausted, both mentally and physically, to either panic or take any immediate action, but merely cast myself onto the couch and fell instantly asleep.
I snapped back into consciousness as I felt myself being shaken. The image of a ravening jaw engulfed in fire lingered from whatever unremembered nightmare I'd been having, and I lashed out at my attacker.
“John, it's me. It's Ichabod.”
I overbalanced and fell onto the floor. The wheels of my mind were only just beginning to turn as they protested against being awakened. “Ichabod? Who?”
“Grimes, you fool. Now, get up. I need to sit.”
I rubbed my eyes and looked up. It was he—standing in a shaft of sunlight like a returning angel. If, that is, St Peter's standards had been allowed to drop sufficiently to admit such a woebegone figure into the celestial guard. I shook my head to clear the fog. What was I thinking about?
Sitting with my back against the sofa, I watched as, with a grunt, he sat down, sending dust into the bright air of this remarkably clear London day.
I turned at the sound of footsteps on the carpet to see Pitt shaking hands with another man. “McBride!”
He walked across and held out his hand and I used the leverage to move onto the sofa beside Grimes. McBride then pulled across my chair and sat himself down opposite me. Pitt turned Grimes' chair to face us and dropped into it with a relieved sigh.
“I must first apologise,” McBride said. “I am entirely responsible for the dangers you faced last night and will tender my resignation later today.”
I was too tired to care. “Where have you been with Grimes?”
“Tidying up the mess you left in the asylum basement,” Grimes said, his voice betraying his exhaustion.
A thrill of shock ran through my heart. “Oh my God, those poor people!”
“Indeed,” McBride responded. “Shocking. It was just as well that Inspector Pitt was here and, ahem, awake when I came to find Grimes. He was able to recommend a small number of his most trusted officers to help in this... unpleasant... endeavour. Most of the poor devils were beyond saving, but those that survive, and the officers, have been sworn to secrecy. I will be making Inspector Pitt’s position, and that of his department, official before I resign.”
“You will not resign,” Grimes said, and McBride's face tightened, but before he could respond, Grimes spoke again. “You said yourself that you're responsible for this mess so, by all that's holy, you can sort it out. The last thing we want is Mycroft Holmes taking over at the ministry.”
This surprised me. “You knew about him? He seemed a good enough chap when he was here.”
“Helpful, was he? Offer to come with you to do the dirty?”
“Well, no. But he did give me the key to your arsenal.”
“And then left you to it,” Grimes added. “He is a schemer, John. A useful ally and a terrible enemy. No, McBride here is a much more pliable minister.”
McBride's face flushed. “Pliable? How dare you, Grimes?”
“How dare I?” Grimes roared, before collapsing back into the sofa under a coughing fit. “How dare I? Because of you, I was captured, tortured and left to rot. Had it not been for my friends, I would have died an exc
ruciating death and the enemy would be drinking the blood of London right now. Because of you, the primary city of Christendom came within a hair's breadth of falling. No, McBride, you can stay where you are and, when you have repaid your debt to us and your species, perhaps then you will be allowed to quietly retire.”
I pitied McBride then. He had lost his daughter and his pride, and I did not blame him for wishing to escape and start a new life. But Grimes was correct—he had a debt to pay first.
Grimes resumed, his voice calmer now. “You can begin in the match factory. I believe you will find the charred remains of a large number of, let us call them, some unfortunate workers. One of whom was careless in that tinder box. I suggest you enlist the help of Theodore Bryant—he also has reparations to make.”
McBride gave a resigned sigh and stood up. He held out his hand to me. “Again, I offer my apology, Mr Makepeace. Thank you for your role in bringing me back to my senses.”
“Oh, my dear fellow,” I said, shaking his hand warmly. “Your poor daughter.”
“She is at peace now,” he responded as he put on his hat. “I pray that I, also, will find such rest before too long. Farewell.” He nodded to Pitt who, with a smile to me, followed him out of the room.
“What of Valentina?”
Pitt shrugged, but it was Grimes who spoke. “I do not think we will see her for a while. Peregrine will take some time to die and I would not swap places with him for anything. And, John,” he added, looking me in the eye, “when she does re-surface, take care. She is dangerous—very dangerous—to know.”
I feigned ignorance, but I knew from his weary smile that he saw through it, so I changed the subject. “And the truce?”
“Holding for now. Ultimately, remember, our actions resulted in the most troublesome of the enemy being incinerated. Amongst those charred remains are surely the killers of the police officers and the ministry official, Yaxley. London is a safer place today than it has been since the night of the attack. And we have the makings of a new watch—you and I. McBride will be good to his word and that means we will have stronger cooperation from the official force. Unofficially, of course, but it will do. Pitt proved to be a capable ally, did he not?”
I nodded with some emotion. “He was incredible, Grimes. Could we not recruit him to our ranks?”
“He is more useful where he is. He will form his own team of irregulars but, I am afraid, it is up to us to build the new watch because, make no mistake, though we have won the battle, we are still at war.
I relaxed back into the sofa and then tensed again as an image leapt into my mind. “Who, what, was that creature who held you hostage? What happened to him?”
“There is much in those questions, John, and I do not have it within me to give a full account. I hope it will suffice for me to say that there are more than humans and vampires. He is what he appears to be: a demon from, for want of a better word, Hell. He was the mind behind what occurred—from the purge, to the plan to take over London and turn it into a beacon for every vampire in the world. Had he succeeded, London and, eventually, the whole country would have been dead to humanity. But, because of your actions, he did not succeed.”
“Is he dead?”
Grimes' grey locks shook. “He has been sent back to his dimension and, to our regret, Stephan and Otto have followed him.”
“Could they have survived?”
His face darkened. “I cannot imagine how. No, I'm afraid they are gone.”
“And the blue light we cast him into? Where did that come from?”
Grimes shrugged like a naughty boy caught in the act. “From the same place as the flames I used to rescue you from the asylum on that first night.”
He would say no more of the matter, despite my pleading. But I knew that there was far more to this man—if indeed he truly was a man—than his scruffy, bear-like exterior would suggest.
For now, however, I was content. For now, we held the darkness at bay.
More Makepeace
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More Books by Kev
I write all sorts of fantastic fiction including:
The Faerie King Trilogy: a Comic Fantasy homage (or hamage) to the great Terry Pratchett.
The Robot Empire series: Galactic sci-fi in the classic mould.
The Long Night series: A Post Apocalyptic collaboration with million selling author Mike Kraus.
You can find all my books here: scrib.me/kevsbooks
Acknowledgements
Writing a book is a team game, and I’m incredibly grateful to the following for their help in making it the best it could possibly be:
Copy Editing: Bethany Cousins
Proofreading: Peta Partner
Beta Reading: Rosemary Kenny, Dick Lunde, Jan Drake, John K. Kuempel, Denise Moy, Barbara, Colt.
Author’s Note
This novel, and the Makepeace & Grimes world it’s set in, has a personal connection for me. 215 Bow Road, the establishment that houses our heroes was a real “Working Men’s Home” back in the late 19th century, and it was run by my great-great-grandfather, Thomas Partner along with his wife and a couple of house servants.
Thomas, like so many of his contemporaries, had been born in the country (in a little village called Finchingfield that’s featured in this short story), but was (presumably) driven to the big city as jobs on the land were lost to agricultural machinery. His father, George, never left the village and died at a ripe old age in a charity cottage next to the pub. By contrast, Thomas died in his fifties from diseases caused by alcoholism, a common problem at the time, and now.
So, I’ve described the house and its environs, including the church opposite and the Baptist chapel in which our story begins, as accurately as I can. Most of the characters are fictional, but Bryant existed and he was a Quaker. And I’m afraid I couldn’t resist Mycroft Holmes, though I have no plans to feature Sherlock in future novels.
A request
I hope you enjoyed this story. If you did, I would really appreciate it if you’d leave a review.
You see, others will come across the book and they will value your opinion of it (as would I).
By reviewing it, you make it that bit more likely that they’ll give it a try and that, my dear friend, helps keep the candles lit around my steam powered typewriter.
If you have any questions or comments, then I would love to hear from you. My email address is [email protected] and I do my best to answer every email I get.
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