by Tom Becker
The rain began to beat a more insistent rhythm on the ground. Jonathan checked his watch anxiously. It was five past four. The zebra should have been here by now, but there was no sign of one, and there was no mention of a zebra enclosure on the map. And anyway, he couldn’t imagine animals were allowed to wander freely around the zoo. It didn’t make any sense. Was the note in code? What if there had already been a sign and he had missed it? Would they hurt Mrs Elwood?
More tourists were trudging into view, huddling together against the slanting rain as they made their way back towards the turnstiles. A high-pitched scream made Jonathan whirl round, but it was only one of the school children refusing to put on a plastic anorak. He was about to turn away when there was a movement above the sea of heads. Wiping the damp hair from his eyes, Jonathan saw an umbrella opening out slowly into the air. It had black and white vertical stripes, like an animal’s markings. The zebra! Whoever was holding the umbrella was standing with their back to Jonathan, their figure obscured behind a long brown coat, and as he watched they walked away down the left path. There was nothing else to do but follow them.
The figure headed north, against the tide of the crowds washing towards the exit. Jonathan stayed several paces behind, unsure of whether he wanted to catch up with them, or whether he was scared of discovering their identity. They moved on, down through the underpass that ran under the Outer Circle, two sets of footsteps echoing off the walls, and out into the second, smaller part of the zoo. It was deserted, and Jonathan’s heartbeat raced as he turned right and followed along the pathway towards a small building. At the entrance to the building, the figure took down its umbrella and turned around.
“Hello, Jonathan,” said Marianne Ripper.
And really, he should have known that it would be her. Darkside’s finest bounty hunter had somehow acquired a zookeeper’s outfit, and was wearing a safari-style shirt, shorts and Wellington boots. Her hair had been tied back, save for a single lock that tumbled down her cheek – a violent shade of lime green glowing against the backdrop of her pale skin. Jonathan took a deep breath, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of looking shocked.
“Oh. It’s you.”
“Is that all? You don’t look at all pleased to see me. At the very least, I thought you’d be surprised.”
“Yeah, well, you’re never far away when there’s trouble around.”
She flashed him a dazzling smile. “What a lovely thing to say!”
As usual, Jonathan couldn’t quite decide whether she was mocking him or not, and whether he hated her or not. He tried to ignore the faint aroma of her perfume, which in the past had acted as a powerful sedative. Then the image of Mrs Elwood and the note raced through his mind, and his resolve hardened.
“You’ve kidnapped one of my friends, Marianne. I want her back.”
The bounty hunter sighed with disappointment.
“The older you get, Jonathan, the more serious you become. Before long, you’re going to be no fun at all.” A half-smile played on Marianne’s lips. “Very well, then. Let’s go inside. If we must talk business, there’s someone you need to say hello to.”
She held open the door to the building, and Jonathan moved reluctantly past her. Inside the air was artificially hot and humid, and faint wafts of steam rose from Jonathan’s soaked clothing. Marianne led him past a “Creatures of the Rainforest” exhibition, and down a flight of steps in the middle of the room. As he went, Jonathan saw the sign “Night Zone”, and with a sickening lurch he realized who was waiting in the darkness below. His instinctive reaction was to turn on his heels and flee, but a hand darted out and fastened on to his wrist like a vice.
“He’ll only get angry if you keep him waiting,” Marianne hissed softly into his ear. “And if you do care about your friend, you really don’t want that.”
He had no choice. His shoulders sagging, Jonathan allowed the bounty hunter to lead him on down the stairs.
The Night Zone was a gloomy haven for the nocturnal creatures, hiding them from the piercing glare of the sun. It was a dark world of shuffling and scuttling; of tiny faces dominated by huge, saucer-shaped eyes. As Marianne took him deeper into the bowels of the exhibit, Jonathan could see that something was terribly wrong. The jumping rats cowered in the corner of their casement, the scorpions sheltered under rocks, while the poisonous frogs trembled underwater. Like him, they could sense the presence of a powerful predator.
In the main room two people had gathered in front of a glass panel. A tall, elegant man with fair hair stood alongside a redheaded girl clad in a long black dress: the vampire Vendetta, and his maidservant Raquella. Behind the glass panel, a cortège of fruit bats were chirruping excitedly at the onlookers. They clambered around the branches like monkeys, their claws glinting, before unfurling their wings and exploding into flight.
“Guess who I found wandering around the zoo?” Marianne called out.
Vendetta didn’t turn around. Raquella cast a grave glance over her shoulder.
“That’s right! Jonathan Starling! I thought you’d be pleased.”
She dragged the boy over to stand beside the vampire, who was transfixed by the fruit bats.
“Do you know,” he began finally, in a conversational tone, “exactly how many ways I could kill your friend?”
“Mrs Elwood’s done nothing to you!” Jonathan cried, wriggling to break free from Marianne’s grip. “It’s me you want! You leave her alone!”
Vendetta gave a ghastly chuckle. “Don’t worry. She’s safe for now. Whether she remains that way depends entirely upon you.”
“What do you want?” Jonathan said, through gritted teeth.
The vampire gestured curtly to Raquella. “Give him the cutting.”
The maidservant handed him a front page from The Darkside Informer, which was dominated by a single article:
For a few sensational, precious minutes last night, the Crimson Stone was back in the public eye – only for it to disappear as quickly as it had arrived. Reputed to contain the very essence of Darkside, and convey great power to its owner, the Stone’s history has been shrouded in mystery. Apparently treasured by Jack Ripper, it disappeared during the reign of his son Albert. In recent years, some Darkside scholars have even claimed that the Stone was a myth designed to tighten the Ripper’s grip on power – erroneously, it seems.
Wealthy recluse wins bidding for coveted Darkside treasure
The Stone came to light during a special auction of Basil Gresham’s possessions. “Basil the Burglar” was one of the most talented thieves of his day, until he decided to make a new life for himself in Lightside. It now appears that he took the Crimson Stone with him. Following frenetic bidding driven by representatives of Darkside notables G. Vendetta and Marianne Ripper, the Stone was claimed by a group of men this reporter can confirm work for Cornelius Xavier, the immensely wealthy Darkside silk merchant, who himself now lives in Lightside. Mr Xavier was unavailable for comment.
Jonathan’s brow wrinkled with confusion.
“OK,” he said slowly. “And?”
The vampire didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the chirruping creatures in front of him.
“You’ll notice that both Marianne and myself were thwarted in our attempts to acquire this precious stone. Xavier’s intervention was entirely unexpected. He’s been hidden away in his Lightside mansion for years – there were rumours that he had gone insane. However, it seems he is very much alive and well. Now Marianne and I have joined forces to wrest the Crimson Stone from his withered old hands.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
Marianne gave him a sweet smile.
“Don’t you see? You’re going to get the Stone for us, Jonathan!”
“What? How?”
“I don’t know – ask nicely?”
“You have a week,” the vampire coldly intoned. “Produce
the Stone by midnight next Thursday or your beloved Mrs Elwood will be introduced to the notion of pain.”
“But this is impossible!” Jonathan protested. “I’m not a thief!”
“Well, for Mrs Elwood’s sake, I sincerely hope you learn. And quickly. At least you’ve got your pet mongrel for help. He always seems to have an answer for everything.”
Jonathan stopped in his tracks. “But . . . how do you know Carnegie is here?”
Marianne broke into a silvery peal of laughter. “Oh, Jonathan. You can be enchantingly naïve sometimes. Dear old Elias is here because we sent him.” She turned to Vendetta. “What did you tell Ismael to say to him again?”
The vampire waved an airy hand. “Some nonsense about his mother. I left the exact details up to the wight. Whatever Ismael said, it sent the mangy cur scurrying over here at top speed.”
“What?” Jonathan said fiercely. “You lied about my mum?”
“You should be thankful he did,” Marianne cut in. “Would you rather do this on your own?” The bounty hunter traced a nail down his cheek, even as he shied away from her touch. “Jonathan, my father has retired to his bed, and he will not rise from it again. If the Crimson Stone does possess magical powers, I cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands. You know Lightside better than any of us. I’m counting on you to succeed.”
“But . . . I don’t even know where this Xavier guy lives!”
“Raquella has his address,” replied Vendetta. “She can tell you on the way back.”
The maidservant started. “Sir? But. . .”
The vampire gave her a small, cruel smile. “Oh, did I not tell you you’re going with him? You always seem so eager to help the boy out – I thought I’d make it easier for you this time and save you the trouble of betraying me again. Am I not a kind and generous master?”
“But, sir, you have only just recovered from your illness! Surely you need someone to attend upon you?”
“I imagine that I’ll survive. Go now. And don’t bother coming back without the Stone.”
Looking slightly dazed, Raquella moved away from her master and stood by Jonathan’s side.
“What an adorable couple!” Marianne exclaimed, her voice heavy with mockery.
As the two teenagers trailed forlornly towards the exit of the Night Zone, the bounty hunter shot Vendetta a sideways glance.
“Satisfied?”
The vampire shrugged. “Either we get the Stone, or Starling dies. I can’t lose either way.”
“I suppose,” mused the bounty hunter. “It would be a shame if Jonathan died, though. I do enjoy our little encounters.”
“Don’t tell me you’re growing fond of the boy. Such weakness is highly unbecoming of a Ripper. Or does the fact that you’re a woman make you susceptible to moments of such . . . tenderness?”
Marianne arched a single, sculpted eyebrow. “You are welcome to test my mettle any time you wish, vampire.”
Vendetta snorted. “I don’t think that will be necessary – just yet.”
The bounty hunter pushed a lime-green lock behind her ear, her forehead creased in thought. “You know, I have a sneaking suspicion that he’ll find a way to get his hands on the Stone. He is a resourceful creature.”
“Are you willing to place a wager on that?”
“Of course.”
“If the boy dies, you pay me ten guineas. If he retrieves the Stone, I pay you ten guineas.”
“And the winner gets to kill Ismael.”
Vendetta’s fangs flashed in the darkness.
“Really, Marianne, you are quite the brightest treasure on Darkside. Deal.”
6
From the moment Jonathan guided a stunned Raquella through the front door of the Starling house, it was clear that Elias Carnegie was in a surly temper. And that was before he had heard about what had taken place at the zoo, and what Vendetta had demanded.
“Blasted vampire! I’ll tear him into pieces!” he raged, hurling a glass against the kitchen wall as the rest of the room watched in shocked silence. “No more of his bidding. No more of these bloody games!”
“Elias, calm down!” Alain pleaded.
The wereman leant towards Jonathan, and the boy could sense the beast within Carnegie desperately trying to claw its way to the surface.
“You don’t get it, do you, boy?” he whispered. “You think that somehow you’ll steal this stone for them and that’ll be it. You don’t understand. This will never end. They will never leave you alone. The best thing for you – and your friend – is if I go and pay Vendetta and that bounty hunter a visit.”
Jonathan stared at Carnegie’s wild eyes, heard the raggedness in his voice, and came to a decision.
“No,” he said, quietly but decisively. “I’ve already lost one mum. I’m not going to lose another. After we get Mrs Elwood back you can do what you want, but until then we’re going to get this stupid stone, and you’re not going to place her in any more danger, OK?”
Carnegie swore and argued until late into the night, but Jonathan refused to be swayed. Realizing that for once he was beaten, the wereman eventually relented.
“All right. I’ll come with you. But this is a fool’s errand, and you should know it. Both of you.”
With a final meaningful glance at Alain, the wereman stomped off upstairs, muttering darkly to himself. Jonathan’s dad seemed unmoved, his brow wrinkled.
“What is it, Dad?”
“Might be nothing. It’s just that I’m sure I’ve heard the name Cornelius Xavier before. I might flick through a couple of books before I go to bed, see if I can dig anything up.”
“You want a hand?”
Alain shook his head. “You need to get your rest. You’ve got a mansion to stake out tomorrow.”
Cornelius Xavier’s residence was located in Kensington, a wealthy borough in the south-west of the capital where multi-million-pound flats and giant mansions hobnobbed with exclusive boutiques and labyrinthine department stores. It was where the international jet set lived, in between their skiing holidays and Caribbean cruises.
The most desired houses were located on an exclusive street called Slavia Avenue – a quiet, tree-lined avenue off Kensington High Street that ran for a quarter of a mile up a gentle incline. Early the next morning, Jonathan and a rather grumpy wereman found themselves surveying the surroundings. A long green stretched out languidly on the right-hand side. On the left, a squadron of giant houses drew themselves stiffly to attention. Foreign embassies proudly displayed their national flags, like medals pinned to a soldier’s chest. All the buildings sheltered behind steepling walls and banks of security cameras.
Although members of the public were allowed to walk down Slavia Avenue, they had to pass security booths at each end, and large signs warned that photography was forbidden. Outside one embassy, Jonathan was surprised to see a group of armed policemen cradle guns as they scanned the road.
Amongst all the grand architectural posturing, the Xavier residence was something of an oddity. It was set back from the road, in the shadow of two huge oak trees. All that could be seen of the building, above a towering brick wall bedecked with iron spikes and barbed wire, was the tip of its slanting roof. The only way in or out of the compound appeared to be through a thick metal gate.
“This place is a bloody fortress!” Jonathan exclaimed. “Who is this guy Xavier?”
Carnegie frowned. “Beyond his name, I don’t know much more than gossip and rumours. He made a fortune running silk factories back in Darkside. By all accounts, they were little more than hellholes – people working twenty hours a day, kids getting mangled in the machinery – and Xavier seemed to relish making the conditions as foul as possible. Even Darksiders tended to give him a wide berth.”
“Anyway, he moved over here a few years back, and that’s been about it. People say he’s paranoid
and he’s mad and he never leaves the house. Maybe none of it is true – maybe all of it. What I do know is, you don’t mess with him lightly.”
From somewhere across the green, a bell began tolling nine o’clock. As his head turned to follow the sound, Jonathan noticed a limousine drawing up to the gates of the Xavier residence.
“There’s a car pulling up!” he said urgently.
“Do up your shoelaces. And don’t hurry.”
Jonathan got down on one knee and promptly undid his laces, trying not to appear too conspicuous. Glancing up at the limousine as it swished past, he saw that the windows were tinted black and the bodywork had been armour-plated. When it was within yards of the mansion, the heavy front gates swung open with a sonorous hum. Jonathan caught a glimpse of a gravel driveway and a building with an ugly, gothic façade. Beside him, Carnegie stared openly through the gate.
“What are you doing?” hissed Jonathan. “Bit obvious, isn’t it?”
“Not a crime to look at something, boy. If anyone wants to come out and tell me different, they’re more than welcome.”
The limousine came to a smooth halt in the driveway, and a bodyguard of suited men carrying guns leapt out. Checking the area was secure, they opened a passenger door and helped Cornelius Xavier out of the car. The Darkside silk merchant was one of the oddest-looking men Jonathan had ever seen in his life. A little over five feet tall, he had a painfully crooked posture. A voluminous robe covered in white symbols couldn’t fail to disguise a bulbous belly, nor could a giant pair of dark glasses mask his sagging, aged skin. He shuffled across the gravel in an uneven gait that made him look even older.
