Peregrine Harker & the Black Death

by Luke Hollands

  I signalled to Louisa to remain calm. I turned slowly to find the steely faces of two tough-looking Royal Marines. I knew enough about their profession to realise they were not men to be messed with. I raised my hands slowly and followed their orders to go out on deck. Louisa copied me and we were soon both outside. They stopped us briefly to remove the revolver from my pocket, and the dainty pearl-handled pistol from Louisa’s bodice. Both were thrown into the churning sea. The other passengers in the bar threw us the dirtiest of looks.

  The Royal Marine, who had my arm in a tight grasp, had been silent so far, but as we reached the side of the ship he spoke.

  “Over yer go,” he barked. “You first, then the girl, and no funny business or she gets it, right?” There was little to argue about.

  I swung my leg over the side of the ferry and began my descent. It was tough work in the wind and rain, and with the movement of both the ships. As I looked up the chap that had barked orders at me was already helping Louisa down the ladder. It looked as if he had tied a rope around her waist. I wondered how much this was to protect her from falling, rather than to stop her escaping over the side, or heaven forbid deliberately taking her own life. The fellow’s comrade remained on deck. The rifle that had been jammed into my back moments before was now trained on me as I eventually reached the launch below. The moment I set foot in the craft a pair of big strong hands threw me to the cold wet deck of the vessel. There was obviously a third Royal Marine.

  I watched as first Louisa, then our two captors joined us in the craft. She too was unceremoniously dumped. The three armed men looked at us disapprovingly. One of them loosed the fastening to the larger ship and we set off steaming towards the shore. I wondered what fate would bring as I sat there in the cold and damp. I reached out and put an arm around Louisa who had started to shiver. I suddenly realised I hadn’t yet seen the man in charge of our craft, the man at the helm. I could see a brief outline of him at the wheel. A vague outline of his face silhouetted by the red bead of light each time he drew in on a pipe. It was not long before I had a better look at him.

  We had been travelling for some twenty minutes when the fellow at the wheel slowed our craft. He signalled to one of our guards to step forward and take the helm before turning and stepping towards us. He only had to move a couple of steps closer before I knew exactly who it was.

  27. Murderer!

  I recoiled and looked again, but it was definitely him. It was Archie Dearlove. Surely my dearest friend had not turned against me as well?

  “Archie, what the blazes are you playing at?” I demanded angrily.

  He looked back at me bluntly. “I’m not sure how you know my name you despicable criminal, but I can assure you if you use it again I shall make life very difficult for you.” He glanced left and right at the Royal Marines that were standing by us. “In fact if you try anything, these gentlemen will ensure you do not make it to the Kent coast and His Majesty’s Dockyard at Chatham.” He seemed to emphasise the Kent place name. The Dockyard was a stronghold of the Royal Navy. It was like a closed city, locked away and self contained. I didn’t know what game Archie was playing, but the fact he was playing a game was surely a good thing. Perhaps he was on our side? I decided to test the water.

  “It makes no difference, there is no fortress on earth that can hold me,” I said, delivering my best impression of a bitter villain. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could have sworn Archie winked. I decided it would be best to play along with whatever scheme he had devised. I leant over to Louisa and let her know my plan. She nodded in agreement.

  It was a long, cold and dark journey from the channel, up the coast of Kent, round the headland of Ramsgate and Broadstairs, and past the Roman abbey at Reculver. The sun started to rise as we steamed by the dockyard at Sheerness. The faint morning light fell on the dull hulls of the ships and glinted off their portholes.

  Earlier in the evening Archie had handed us some thick woollen blankets. I pulled mine round me and shivered slightly as the effects of being out at sea all night started to take their toll. Louisa had fallen asleep, her head resting on my shoulder. It would not be long now until we reached Chatham. In fact I could already spy the masts of ships sitting in the port as we entered the River Medway.

  Archie brought the launch to a halt. A pair of Royal Marines were waiting for us. I gave Louisa a little shake to wake her. She shuddered with the cold, and opened her eyes. She looked at me, expecting perhaps an answer to our dreadful situation but all I could give her was a smile. At a sign from Archie we were told to stand and climb towards the quayside. As we arrived on dry land the pair of tough-looking chaps raised their rifles and motioned for us to walk forwards. They were joined by their colleagues from the boat, with Archie at the front of our little band, we set off. Louisa’s hand reached out for mine. I took it gently, it was cold and shaking. I flashed her another reassuring smile.

  Archie led us in to a formidable looking building I presumed had something to do with the security of the Dockyard. We were led into a brick-walled cell, with a heavy wooden door. At a nod from Archie our guards stepped aside and left us alone in the small room. Archie shut the door and turned to face us. His expression suddenly turned from the stern look it had held all night to his usual smile, there was also a twinge of sadness. Louisa looked at me a little confused, but I was too happy to care. So Archie had been playing a game all along. What a lad! I knew I could count on him. I went to hug the silly blighter, but he raised a finger to his lips, to ensure I stayed silent. He turned to Louisa and took her hand, whispering, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear; please forgive the reception, I’m usually a little more hospitable.” He motioned to a desk and chairs set in the middle of the room. “Well, well Harker, you have been busy,” he said as we sat down. He reached inside his jacket pocket and produced a folded piece of paper, it was a newspaper cutting from the Police Gazette. He laid it on the desk and slid it across to me face up. I drew in a breath as I saw the printed story in front of me.

  The first thing that shocked me was the large sketch of myself, with the caption: ‘Murderer! Smuggling killer Peregrine Harker.’ The story continued in a similar way. According to the facts before me I was in league with a group of gold smugglers. The article said I had been responsible for the mysterious deaths. It noted I’d visited the Pickled Starfish for the sole purpose of murdering my traitorous comrade Sanghar Khan. When another member of my group was dispatched from Germany to tackle me I poisoned him in his hotel room. The newspaper then reported I‘d gone on the run with the daughter of Sir Magnus Clayton, a young respectable girl I had corrupted into betraying her father. It smelled like the work of Grey.

  The article concluded with my escape to Paris, where I had used underhand techniques to outwit the brave efforts of the police before disappearing again with poor Louisa. When I finished the article I slid it across to Louisa to read, I saw the look of horror on her face as her eyes scanned the page.

  “What in God’s name are these lies?” she said angrily.

  Archie took the piece of paper and returned it to his pocket. “Now you see what you’re up against, old boy,” he said sombrely. “I’m sure you can appreciate why I had to pretend to take you into custody. Now I’ve shared my news, would you mind telling me what the blast you’ve got yourself involved in, Harker?”

  I briefly explained our situation. I also explained our need to get to London and to get to Sir Magnus’s house and question the Raja. Archie stood up and paced the room.

  “Perhaps I can offer a little help. First, I can obtain you a change of clothes. That will at least go some way to altering the description the police have for you. Second, I can arrange discreet transport to London. There’s a steamer heading for Greenwich in the next hour, the Genevieve. You’ll have to find a way to stow away in her hold. After that you’ll have to find your own transport into the centre of town. But first of all, we need to get you two out of here.” He rose and went to the door, open
ing it ajar and peering through the crack. “Damn,” he said. “There’s a guard. Right I’m afraid you’re likely to only get one chance at this, old boy; and if you mess up, it may be curtains. When you’re outside make your way as quickly as possible to the quay where we came ashore. There you’ll find the steamer. She’s sure to have a tarpaulin over the deck, stow away, keep quiet and pray.”

  He made to go through the door but stopped. “Hang on a tick, Harker,” he said reaching inside his jacket. “You’ll probably need this and some of this.” He passed me a revolver and then a roll of pound notes. “Don’t spend it all at once,” he quipped, before slipping through the door which he left very slightly ajar.

  I looked through the open crack. Archie had sparked up a conversation with the guard. It would give us just the distraction we needed. I slipped through silently and brought the revolver down violently on the unsuspecting guard’s neck. He fell like a sack of potatoes. Then before Archie knew anything about it, I shamelessly did the same to him. It was a cheap shot, but I had to do it for his sake. There was no way I was going to let my friend be dragged into this mess. I caught him as he fell forwards. Sorry, old chap, I muttered under my breath. I grabbed him under the arms and dragged him back into the cell before collecting the guard who was lying crumpled in the corridor. Before we made our break for freedom, I removed Archie’s hat and his overcoat and put them on. It would offer us at least some protection. I noticed there was a suitcase in the room. I opened it and discovered the clothes Archie had promised. There was no time to get changed now, they would have to wait until later.

  I took Louisa’s hand and slipped into the corridor. I waited to see if our breakout had raised any alarm, but the silent corridor gaped back at me. As soon as we were outside I began walking at a normal pace. Perhaps we could bluff this out, me as an officer in the Royal Navy and Louisa as my companion. I placed her arm in mine and whispered to her to walk slowly. I placed my other arm inside the overcoat, in easy reach of my newly acquired gun.

  I was saluted twice on that short walk, once by a squad of men marching back to their barracks at HMS Pembroke, and then by a junior watchman. As we neared the river’s edge I spied the vessel we were after. I stepped behind a motor truck that was parked nearby, and dragged Louisa with me. I took off the coat and hat and rolled them up into a ball before throwing them into the driver’s cabin. I checked the coast was clear before dragging Louisa across the short stretch of land between us and the waiting vessel. As soon as we were on board we made straight for a tarpaulin and climbed underneath. It was covering a collection of wooden crates. With a little bit of shifting we managed to create a hiding space.

  It was probably only a matter of minutes before the ship set sail, but it felt like an eternity. I peeked out from our cover. As we pulled away from the quayside I noticed a flurry of movement on shore. I could hear a series of whistles being blown and the crunch of hob nail boots on cobbles. It looked like our escape had not passed unnoticed. I willed the ship to speed up. We were still within distance of being stopped. And then I saw a coatless and hatless figure by the water’s edge, directing a group of Royal Marines away from the quay. God bless Archie Dearlove. I just hoped I would see him again.

  28. The man with the scar

  It was dark before we arrived at Sir Magnus’s house. The journey from Greenwich had been one fraught with nerves. We both saw danger around every corner, and by the time we reached London we were desperate to discover some answer and end the mystery once and for all.

  I tried desperately to convince Louisa to let me investigate alone, but she ignored my requests. She convinced me her knowledge of the house was reason enough for me to take her along. And so the pair of us set off into the night in the search of our destiny and a funny man with a scar. What would fate bring us? We pondered as we slipped through the dark streets, collars pulled up around our faces and hats pulled down low in a bid to hide our identity.

  Louisa led me to the front of the house and down a flight of stairs to the tradesman’s entrance. She pulled out a key from her overcoat and quietly slid it into the lock, turning it gently to not make any noise. The door opened silently and we stepped inside. I removed my revolver in readiness for a fight. Louisa had her sword stick sheathed, but close to hand, ready to deal with any attackers.

  We were in what looked like a dark pantry. Louisa took my hand and led me through a series of doors and corridors until we reached a familiar room, her father’s study. She headed for the shelves to the right of her father’s desk and studied the bookcase intently.

  “It’s one of these,” Louisa muttered quietly to herself. “Which one, which one?” She whispered as she tried to move some of the books but nothing happened. On the fifth book she tried, we both heard a small click. I saw a look of relief on her face. Louisa moved the hinged shelves gently to one side and we stepped through the opening. I took the flashlight I had brought with us and lit it, before pulling the bookcase door to. I made sure I did not shut it fully, in case we needed to make a quick getaway. I ventured ahead in front of Louisa with my revolver in hand. We reached the bottom of the stairs and the room opened up into the high-ceilinged space I had observed the first time I arrived at the house.

  At first it appeared as if the makeshift cell I had spied before was empty. But on closer inspection there seemed to be something trapped inside. I couldn’t quite make out what it was, it almost looked like a bundle of discarded rags, but as I brought the light closer to the bars I realised it was a human figure hunched over double. He didn’t seem to respond to us at first but as we came closer he glanced in our direction. He stood up, with some difficulty and hobbled towards us. It was then I realised who it was. He seemed to have changed since I had last seen him. Despite his dishevelled state he almost seemed to have grown in stature. His shoulders were broader, his hair was not so slicked back. And where his locks had once appeared jet black, they now seemed a warm shade of brown and the scar running down his face was less pronounced, even in the shadows thrown by the lamp. But the real change came when he spoke. There was not a hint of a foreign accent. In fact he spoke as if he had just walked out of the House of Lords, a deep rich English voice.

  “I wondered how long it would take you to come,” he said through a smile.

  Despite all the changes it was still the Raja Ranjan Charan.

  “You were expecting us?” I replied, a little in shock.

  “Ah, I have a great sense of faith my boy, I also know a great many things that are currently beyond your knowledge. But before I explain more, I need to tell you a story.”

  Charan pulled his rags about him as if trying to make himself more comfortable. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “My name, as I am sure you have now guessed, is not Ranjan Charan. I am not a Raja, and I was not even born in India. Instead I had more humble beginnings, in a humble English village. My name is Richard Clayton, and for my sins I am the brother of Sir Magnus.”

  At this Louisa and I looked at each other stunned, could this be true? We sat dumbfounded as Richard continued his tale.

  “Magnus and I were both poor when lads, so we decided to take the Queen’s Shilling and enlist in the army. For me it was about doing my duty, but for my brother it was about chasing fortune and glory. Due to a peculiar quirk of fate, we found ourselves serving in the same regiment in a dusty corner of India. It was there, in that mysterious land, that we met Kitty Blackmore.

  “Kitty was the most beautiful girl in Northern India. She was the orphaned daughter of a Lord and the sole heir to a substantial fortune. I quickly fell in love with her, unfortunately what I didn’t realise was that Magnus too, wanted to steal her heart, as well as having designs on her considerable fortune. The bond between Kitty and I grew and I eventually plucked up the courage to ask for her hand in marriage. When Magnus discovered she had agreed to my proposal he was taken over by a terrible jealousy. Anger and bitterness grew inside him until it was almost unbearabl
e, and he could contain it no longer. He swore he would take his revenge.

  “I was racked with guilt, but my mind was blissfully distracted by other matters. Kitty and I married and soon afterwards she gave birth to a daughter, the most delightful little babe you could ever wish to set eyes on. Then I was handed a promotion and a posting to a small fort in the Himalayas. I was allowed to take my new bride and young daughter with me, and did so gladly. High up in our mountain fortress I felt safe from whatever retribution my maddened brother might be inclined to wreak upon me, but my safety was misplaced.

  “It was at this time that Magnus met Sanghar Khan. Ah, I see from your faces you know of this blackguard. Well I doubt very much you know about his villainous past.

  “Sanghar Khan was a ruffian of the highest order. Orphaned in the Indian mutiny he had been taken in at an early age by a despicable religious band called the Brotherhood of the Black Death. Not the make-believe smuggling gang you have been lied to about, but the real Brotherhood, a bloodthirsty Indian cult of the worst order. I suspect you have never heard of the Thuggees. Few have these days. But in those dark times their name brought a shudder of fear to any who heard it. The Thuggees were groups of Indian bandits who worshipped the Hindu deity Kali, the god of death and destruction, and they copied their heavenly leader far too well. The Brotherhood were experts in lethal poisons, specialists in painful torture and adept with razor-sharp blades and rifles in equal measure. They were incredibly wealthy, having plundered villages far and wide of their treasures.

  “These riches had a peculiar effect on the young Sanghar Khan. He was obsessed with them, and fantasised about having them for his own.