by Andy Emery
He turned to a safe, dialled the combination, and opened the door. He took out an object in a black velvet bag and slipped the bag off, revealing a tome about three inches thick with a battered leather cover that had once been bright red. The page edges were browning and flaky. He held it up to them.
‘The Lykopolis Grimoire!’
Polly peered at the book through the gloom. ‘Can we take a look inside?’
‘Of course. I’ll just give you a brief glimpse. if you don’t mind. The fragility of the papyrus only increases with time.’
Stark put on a pair of cotton gloves and opened the grimoire. He flicked through the pages with great care, showing them the colourful pictures and cryptic symbols.
Polly smiled. ‘It’s wonderful. Thank you, Professor.’
He placed the grimoire in its black bag, within the leather case, and they climbed back to the ground floor.
Gedge shook Stark’s hand. ‘We’ll make sure it’s delivered safely, Percy.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
39
Gedge, Polly and Darius boarded the hansom and Gedge informed the driver of their destination.
‘Right-oh, governor. I’ll drop you at the front of the University Museum. You’ll find the Pitt Rivers behind that.’
It was a short journey to the museum buildings. They travelled back south on Banbury Road, took a left turn into Park Road, and after passing more college buildings and gardens, the University Museum came into view. A blocky edifice in the Gothic style, it was imposing rather than elegant. The cab drew up and as Gedge paid the driver, he indicated they needed to enter through the main entrance. A sign showed that their objective, the Pitt Rivers Museum, was located to the rear.
Inside, Gedge announced their arrival and a man at the door asked them to wait while a message was relayed to Mr Blythe. That gave them time to marvel at the space within: a large square court with a glass roof, supported by cast iron pillars which divided the area into three aisles. Statues of eminent men of science stood at regular intervals around the walls. Gedge thought he recognised one as Charles Darwin, the father of the theory of evolution. But what he found most impressive were the exhibits displayed in large glass-walled cases, including African elephants, lions and tigers, and the skeletons of primeval dinosaurs: huge lizards that scientists said roamed the earth millions of years ago.
As they looked around wide-eyed, a small, dapper man appeared through a door in the far wall and hurried down the aisle to meet them. He seemed to be short of breath.
‘Mr Gedge, Mr Darius and Miss Rondeau, I presume? I am the Curator of the Pitt Rivers, Arnold Blythe. Whilst it’s a great pleasure to assist my old friend Percy Stark, and to take possession of what I gather is a most interesting artefact, all this cloak and dagger business isn’t good for my heart. All this running around.’
Before Gedge could speak, Polly stepped in. ‘Mr Blythe, we are sorry to have to put you out in this way, but I hope you agree that keeping the grimoire safe in your vaults is preferable to having Professor Stark endangered.’
‘Oh, indeed. I apologise for my ill humour. It’s probably because I was the victim of a prankster just before you arrived. It’s made me a little flustered, that’s all.’
Gedge raised an eyebrow. ‘How so?’
‘Some children throwing stones at the windows and doors at the front of the building. Urchins from the other side of the city, I’d imagine. I had to send Winslow the guard out to investigate. He found nothing, but after that I’ve been jumping at shadows.’
Polly nodded. ‘Scary, I’m sure. We’ll hand over our prized book, and once it’s locked away, you can get home, Mr Blythe.’
‘Yes, yes. Ignore my foolish prattlings. Now, come with me.’
He led them to the rear wall of the main museum, where a stone arch, bearing the carved words Pitt Rivers Collection, gave onto another part of the building beyond.
Blythe paused. ‘The annexe that holds our anthropological and ethnographic collection was added just a few years ago. As you’ve seen, the main museum houses natural history exhibits. That is, products of the hand of God. It is of course necessary to separate them from objects made by the hand of man, which is what we have in the Pitt Rivers.’
Polly looked around. ‘Pitt Rivers is a person?’
‘Yes. Lieutenant-General Augustus Henry Lane Fox Pitt Rivers, to give him his full title. He had an illustrious career in the Grenadier Guards and has been an avid collector of anthropological specimens. He retired in ’82 and in ’84 he presented a collection of about thirty thousand objects to the University. A few thousand more have been added since. Shall we step into my domain?’
Blythe led them through the door between the main museum and the smaller Pitt Rivers annexe. Smaller, but hardly less impressive. Polly gasped, marvelling at the numerous display cases occupying the floor ahead, each jam-packed with artefacts. And above, two terraces ran around the walls, supported by intricate iron posts, also full of display cases.
Even Darius let out a low whistle at the sheer quantity of material.
Blythe guided them through the maze of cabinets, past exhibits of the shrunken heads of Amazonian Indians, elaborate Japanese samurai costumes and agricultural implements, and stopped at a low, glass-topped case marked Ancient Scripts towards the rear of the hall. The case contained objects featuring several different examples of both the Sumerian cuneiform and Egyptian hieroglyphic writing forms.
Blythe took a step back from the case. ‘If not for the fact that we’ll need to keep this item carefully locked away from prying eyes, at least for the time being, it would take pride of place in this cabinet. Can I see the book now? Just one glimpse, and then I’ll take it below to the vaults.’
Gedge unfastened the straps of the leather satchel and removed the black velvet bag containing the grimoire.
A harsh voice rang out from behind one of the display cabinets. A cockney voice.
‘Everyone stay still! Stand where you are!’
Polly started, and Blythe nearly jumped out of his skin, as four men emerged from behind the displays and surrounded their group. They were unusually attired to be sure, but for Gedge, the Death Dogs’ furry masks had long since lost their shock value. Each of the interlopers carried a levelled shotgun.
The same thug spoke again, addressing Gedge. ‘Don’t try anythin’. You’re the bastard we’ve run into twice before, eh? If it was up to me, I’d kneecap you right here, but my boss wants this all squared away nice and clean, so next time maybe?’
Gedge angled his head. ‘And who is your boss? That’s the interesting question.’
‘Interesting, but none of your business.’
‘No doubt the stone-throwing youths were actually you four?’
‘Funny how the simplest things work sometimes. That old guard went wanderin’ off trying to find the culprits, and we sneaked in behind his back. Easy to creep around in here with so many hidin’ places.’
Polly looked down at the lead thug’s shotgun. ‘How did you find us?’
‘Oh, you might say a little bird told us you’d be comin’ ’ere. We were even on the same train as you. Right, time to stop chin-waggin’. You. Take the book out of that black bag and toss it over here.’ He jabbed the barrel of his shotgun towards Gedge.
Instead of throwing the grimoire in a gentle loop, Gedge flung it into the man’s midriff. He almost dropped the gun as he frantically scooped up the book. The other three thugs cocked their shotguns and moved a step closer.
Blythe quivered with fear and cried out. ‘Please. No shooting! You could destroy the exhibits!’
The spokesman ignored him, and turned to Gedge. ‘Very clever. What did you think that would achieve? Try anythin’ else and we will leave the lot of you full of holes, instructions or not. And you. Next time I see you…’
He tucked the grimoire under the same arm that held the shotgun and drew the forefinger of his other hand across his throat.
Gedge
and the others had little option but to watch as the four cult members withdrew, edging backwards and keeping everyone covered with their shotguns. They passed through the door into the main museum, and headed out towards the main entrance beyond.
When he was sure they had left the building, Gedge hurried after them. The others stayed with Blythe. Darius fetched him a chair while Polly comforted him.
Gedge returned in a couple of minutes. He shook his head. ‘I was just in time to see the last one throw himself into the back of a hansom. It picked up speed rapidly. No sign of our own cab. They must have paid him to leave or scared him off.’
Blythe waved a hand. ‘The nearest cab rank is down on Broad Street. But they’ll be well away before you could get there.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
Polly stared at Gedge. ‘Lucas, what are we going to do?’
40
Gedge, Polly and Darius made their way across London from Paddington station in near silence. Few words had been exchanged since boarding the train in Oxford. They’d thought they were securing the supposedly magical object which had been the cause of the crimewave in East London, but had ended up handing it to the very mob they were trying to protect it from. None of them wanted to think about how the cultists had known they were heading to the museum.
As the hansom turned into White Lion Street, Gedge said ‘Someone’s waiting outside the house. I recognise that profile. It’s Miss Fowler. What’s she doing outside?’
Gedge jumped out of the cab before it had stopped. Polly wasn’t far behind.
Miss Fowler’s face streamed with tears. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I wanted you to know as soon as possible. I had to tell them. About Oxford. But are you all unharmed?’
Polly hugged her tight. ‘Yes, yes. We’re all fine. Please don’t upset yourself. I’ve put you in danger just by working for me. We’ve lost the grimoire to them, but we’ll get it back, don’t worry. But what about you? What happened?’
Miss Fowler wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘I’m alright. I wasn’t harmed, and I’ve calmed down now. Mr Raistrick has been very good, consoling me and plying me with his soothing herbal tea.
‘But it was my own fault, blabbing to my neighbour, when I know she can’t keep a secret to save her life!’
Polly shook her head. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself. We may have lost the damned grimoire, but we’re all still in one piece, aren’t we? What’s more important?’
But it was Miss Fowler’s description of her main abductor that caused Polly’s eyes to open wide. One hand covered her mouth, while the other took hold of Gedge’s arm to steady herself.
‘Polly? What’s wrong? Do you recognise the man she’s describing?’
‘He does sound familiar. Maybe somebody I’ve seen around here recently. But I can’t think when.’
Miss Fowler looked at her. ‘That caller the other day?’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘Well, I’m sorry if I’m speaking out of turn, but you said someone had called, and then you changed the subject quickly. But for the rest of that day you were very remote, and stayed in your room a lot of the time. It really seemed to have knocked you for six. I just wondered...’
Gedge stepped forward. ‘Is this something to do with those anonymous letters and flowers you’ve been getting?’
At this, Polly’s lips pursed and quivered, and she motioned for them to go inside. As soon as the door was closed, she turned to Gedge. ‘I’d better just come straight out with it. Lucas, you know Claude adopted me. Although as far as I was concerned, I was his daughter. But it turns out that the person who has been sending the letters and packages is my real birth father.
‘He was the one who came to the house the other day. He’s a Russian, called Nicolai Volkov. I remember seeing a reference to him in Claude’s files. He’s a revolutionary, intent on overthrowing the Tsar, and he gave me into Claude’s care so he could go back to the motherland and carry on his work.’
‘What does he want? Just to see you, or something more?’
‘He wants me to join him in his Bolshevik activities. He knows that, just as Claude was, I’m sympathetic to people who struggle against oppressive regimes. And Imperial Russia certainly seems to qualify as one of those.’
‘You’re not actually considering going with him? Back to Russia?’
‘Of course not! Quite apart from the fact that he abandoned me as a baby, in the few minutes I spent with him, and in those letters he wrote, I found him... I don’t know. A little unstable, I suppose. Manic. As though the slightest thing might set off a violent reaction. But then a small part of me wants to believe that he is acting for the best. Perhaps that shows we do have a blood connection. But there’s something else.
‘Miss Fowler’s description of her kidnapper. It’s him down to a tee. I think Nicolai Volkov is a member of the cult, perhaps a leader.’
‘It’s just a coincidence, surely?’
‘He said he’s been in this country for several months. It would be interesting to know if the cult’s had any new members in that time.’
‘But why would a hard-nosed Bolshevik get involved with a bunch of misfits, albeit dangerous ones, like the Mystical Order of Wepwawet?’
She shrugged. ‘You’re right that he can’t actually be a true believer. It must be a cover for something.’
Darius piped up. ‘The grimoire is supposed to be very valuable to the right buyer, is it not?’
Gedge nodded. ‘I was nearly on the point of saying perhaps we’re well rid of the blasted grimoire, but now getting it back takes on a whole new significance. But we still have no idea where the Death Dogs took the thing.’
Polly looked away. ‘And don’t forget. We still need to track down Sally.’
Soon after, Dr Raistrick returned to the house.
‘I’ve been to check on train times for tomorrow. Something’s come up back home in Sussex, and to be honest I feel as though I’m just getting in everyone’s way here.’
Gedge shook his head. ‘That’s certainly not the case. Your clear thinking is something we could make more use of. But what’s the problem at home?’
‘Although I’m not allowed to work as a doctor officially, on the quiet I do help people out occasionally, when there’s something that confuses or overwhelms the local medical practitioners—the licensed ones. This is one of those times. A rather virulent strain of some disease or other is afflicting some of the communities on the south coast. Nothing to worry about I’m sure, but I must offer my help.’
‘Alright, if you must go. But for now, have something to eat and see if you can help us decide what our next move should be.’
They talked together for another hour, but they were all tired, having had little sleep in the last couple of days, and Polly made up an extra bed for Miss Fowler so she didn’t have to trek home to Bethnal Green that night.
The next morning, Cotter appeared on the doorstep.
‘First off, I’m sorry. I’m going to have to take a back seat on any shenanigans you get into with this cult bunch. Ruby’s really shook up, and I need to stay with her for now. Try and get her confidence back.’
Polly smiled. ‘That’s absolutely fine, Leo. I’m sure Lucas and Darius can handle everything.’
‘Just as long as you know I did want to help. But the real reason I came round ’ere is that Seamus Flynn’s been round to see us, asking after Ruby. He’s had several of the gang watched since the O’Neill business. One of ’em’s an old bloke called Yallop.’
Gedge pricked up his ears. ‘That is interesting. He was the one who disappeared with Levitt from the asylum.’
‘Exactly. He says Yallop’s been lyin’ low, actin’ scared. He was goin’ to sweat him about it, see if he knew something, but then he remembered you’d be interested. Flynn says he’ll bring him to you, but Polly, you’d better defer to Lucas and Darius on this one. Yallop might be wobbly looking, but he’s hard as nails.’
Polly frowned. ‘What do you mean, “defer” to them?’
Gedge smiled. ‘I think he means that we might have to get a little persuasive with Yallop.’
Gedge and Darius waited in a small back room at the Admiral Jervis Inn. Gedge nodded at his friend as he heard sounds in the bar. An elderly voice was saying, ‘You really don’t need to go to all this trouble, men. And just to take me for a drink, as well!’
The door opened, and two of Flynn’s thugs shoved the con-man into the room. He was thin and wiry, with a pointed nose and white hair, but his alert eyes flicked around the room and appraised Gedge and Darius.
‘Who are you two, for God’s sake? Whatever you want, you won’t get anything out of me!’
‘My name is Lucas Gedge, and this is my friend Darius. Fear not, Mr Yallop. We just need you to answer some questions.’
‘Oh, really? Bigger villains than you have tried to get me to squeal, and the finest minds of the police, as well. With no luck. You’ll be wasting your time, and more importantly, mine!’
‘I beg to differ. Actually, I just missed you, Mr Yallop. A few days ago, at the asylum. The day of the riot? You vanished into thin air with a Mr Theodore Levitt.’
‘What of it?’
‘I need to find out about the death of my friend. I believe the murderer is a young lady called Sally O’Riordan.’
Gedge noted the slight flicker in Yallop’s eyes as he spoke her name.
‘She visited you at the asylum the previous day. She, like you, is a member of the Banshees, and I’m convinced that a faction of the gang thought Levitt could help track down a valuable book that was also of interest to an esoteric cult. That was the reason for the prison riot. As cover for your breakout with Levitt. Sally was waiting, wasn’t she?’
‘What are you raving about? I’ve never heard so much rubbish in all my life!’
