The Chronicles of Jonathon Postlethwaite: The Seed of Corruption

by Denny, David S

  With this thought in his head the spectral horde began to dissolve back into the walls floor and ceiling from which they had come. A few lingered for a while and stared at Jonathon who lay slumped in exhaustion at the foot of the wall close to the door to Flax's inner chamber.

  They had felt hope in his presence but he had taken it away, he had condemned them all, past judgement on them. So they turned back to the shadow and rejoined the darkness.

  After a short while of exhausted slumber he awoke to the sound of musket fire and shouting outside in the auditorium. He lifted himself wearily to his feet and focused his attention on the battle which was still taking place in the hall in which he now stood.

  In the freezing cold which still gripped the chamber the two assassins still circled one another, oblivious rapid drop in temperature. The cold air frosted their breath and the warm sweat from their bodies shrouded them in a fog of vapour. Both were now bloodied and close to exhaustion.

  Morrell's huge muscled and tattooed torso was covered in deep cuts and tears where Chan's dagger had found its mark. The great black boars etched over all his body seemed to be ready to join the fray themselves, twitching and shimmering with Morrell’s exertions The Tan himself, despite his agility, had been unable to avoid Morrell's sword.

  He bled profusely from at least two wounds and judging from his pale face, which was contorted in pain, he was loosing blood rapidly and his movements becoming slower. Yet as Morrell charged in again and Chan slipped by the attack, he grinned again. Jonathon realised that despite his bravado the Tan could not last much longer and then he himself would be at the mercy of the Chief of Assassins.

  Then gunfire erupted again from outside the chamber accompanied by the screams of men dying. Then a lone, maniacal howl chilled Jonathon's blood. Whatever was out there, was getting closer and closer and the battle becoming more furious. Jonathon shivered and moved toward the door to Flax's inner sanctum.

  A stray musket ball ricocheted around the stone walls of the hall and rocked Jonathon into action. He had to escape and only the locked door offered any safe exit.

  He mounted the steps to the door and swung his sword at the padlock. It took three heavy blows to break it away from its securing chain sufficiently to allow him to break it free completely and push the door

  inwards.

  It opened easily and Jonathon pushed inside before looking back into the ante-chamber. The battle between Chan and Morrell still continued, but the latter looked uneasy now, his attention flitting from the Tan and Jonathon. He dodged an attack from the tiring Chan who rolled forward and positioned himself between Morrell's sweaty bulk and Jonathon.

  “Get away from there!" Morrell screamed.

  Suddenly the Chief of Assassins became strangely diplomatic. “Look it's been a fair fight” he addressed the badly wounded Tan in calm tone of voice. “But you will lose, you can gain nothing now. So ask your comrade to come away from there and I promise you free conduct out of here - you may even choose to join us if you wish, you have proved yourselves two good men, we'll need the like of you soon and it'll be worth your while." he panted his promises.

  Chan spat at the floor.

  Edgar Morrell continued. “In a few moments most of the High Hats in this place will be here, you stand no chance at all. Consider my offer - Life or death?"

  Neither Jonathon nor Chan responded. It was doubtful that Morrell's promises would materialise at all. But he was right about the arrival of High Hats. Six musket men dived into the doorway between the auditorium and the ante-chamber and took up defensive positions at the door, reloading their weapons and firing at the unseen enemy that lurked outside. Others now dashed inside to the assistance of their deputy leader.

  Morrell smiled victoriously as his men took aim at Chan and Jonathon. The first shot knocked Tan assassin to the ground and the second splintered the door close to Jonathon's head as he dived for cover onto the floor. As he lay weakened and vulnerable at the entrance to the inner hall, the defenders at the door screamed and backed into the hall as their enemy hurtled, howling into view.

  From beneath a hideous, horned helmet, the beast’s jaws gleamed wetly, red in the dim light of the braziers. Two High Hats fell in quick succession as throwing knives arced out from behind his huge, circular shield and thudded into their chests.

  Three muskets where levelled at him as he continued his charge undeterred. The High Hats fired, two musket balls rang out denting he shield and the third hit the Turkanschoner's metal jaws, causing a shower of sparks to erupt like a aura around his demonic visage. He came on regardless and at an astonishing speed. In seconds the three who had fired their shots lay broken and torn upon the floor before they could draw their swords. The remaining defender at the door dropped his musket in sheer terror as the horned devil's gaze alighted on him and fled towards the auditorium.

  Picking up a discarded sword, the Turkanschoner lurched into the ante-room, his eyes wide searching out that which he had come here to find. Morrell and his two companions whirled around to meet the advance of the new aggressor.

  The two High Hats who had ran to join their leader did not look too enthusiastic as bodyguards and looked to their master for advice, preferably retreat from the beast who had hacked and torn his way through their stronghold to the seat of Flax's empire. Morrell's instructions came loud and threateningly, his sword prodding their backs to emphasise the consequence of disobeying his order. “Me or IT cowards."

  The two High Hats hesitated for a moment then charged forwards at their opponent. The beast leapt at them and decapitated the first before he had moved five paces. The second, observing his comrades rapid despatch, stopped and backed off, dropping his sword. Morrell, true to his word, split the High Hat's skull to the bridge of his nose as the High Hat retreated.

  The Turkanschoner watched silently as Morrell noisily dislodged the sword from the High Hats head and cleaned it casually on the dead man's cloak. Morrell was ignorant of the nature of the beast that he faced. It found his killing of the unarmed and fleeing minion disgusting and unnecessary. Morrell was confidant now, his adrenalin was running high and he laughed in the face of the beast who, to his surprise, threw down his sword and shield and stood unarmed before him.

  The Chief of Assassins laughed and the Turkanschoner echoed Morrell's last mortal sounds. In one bound the Tallmen's beast was upon him. His artificial jaws opened up and expanded, hidden hydraulic pistons drove the metal jaws onto his skull, the upper and lower incisors cracking easily through the bone.

  Then he began to apply a slowly increasing pressure, he paused for a while as the sound of splintering bone increased and the sound of Morrell's animal whimpering decreased. With one final effort the Turkanschoner’s jaws closed fully and Morrell's head disintegrated with a loud wet crunch.

  The Chief of Assassin’s body fell to the floor, twitching as the beast spat out the remnants of his brain and skull as if he had eaten something poisonous. The killing machine that slowly regained its calm had displayed its inhuman talents for a reason. It no longer killed to eat, it showed no interest in the corpses which quivered in the silent ante-room around him.

  Jonathon, already weakened by his own experience had been pushed to the limit by the horror of the Turkanschoner's violence. Although he had touched his mind and seen it all in the well shaft below the Castle of Lepers, it had not prepared him for the full graphic horror of what the beast was in the reality of its forced being. Now he watched as its burning eyes searched of the chamber's shadows, its wiry, but impossibly powerful muscles twitching expectantly beneath the Tallman's jerkin it had donned in the tombs. The beasts crooked back with vertebrae that protruded, even beneath the leather of its clothing, combined with his blood drenched and salivating jaws and horned helmet, produced an acutely terrifying silhouette against the light of the anteroom doorway. It was primal and demonic

  Jonathon knew better though. He had seen the beast's mind and had found no beast on all just a product
of evil minds and their conditioning. He stared at the creature that had endured so much pain, its 'life of pain' it had said to him, and been robbed of all that it had ever had by the Tallmen.

  Jonathon's vision began to dim as the Turkanschoner located and walked over to him, occasionally glancing over it's shoulder for more High Hats.

  “Master." he whispered. “Master, I find you again. Please not desert me....you make me whole again."

  Jonathon neither cared for nor wanted any responsibility as the master of this sad abomination, but again, he realised it had saved his life. It hit him that this creature's debt to him had gone beyond loyalty to a master for it loved him … for what he had done accidentally.

  As he began to slip into a fatigued and unavoidable sleep Jonathon felt himself being lifted gently into its arms and carried through the doors he had forced himself as the sound of running feet and the barking of orders carried into the ante-room from the auditorium.

  They approached two whirling apertures of light which seemed to bore into the opposite wall. Without hesitation the Turkanschoner entered the smaller of the two and advanced at a measured pace through it. Slipping in and out of consciousness, Jonathon watched the swirl of colour and images around them left and captured in the fabric of time which spun around them.

  He saw faces, distorted and stretched, but recognisable - Flax and two of his men. The High Hat leaders face was set in a victorious grin. A round faced man with a pale visage of fear and a feminine face, but so cold and devoid of emotion. He saw reflections of himself and the Turkanschoner marching slowly and steadily down the centre of the vortex. He saw the future, but not just one...many possible futures.

  The Turkanschoner spoke, but it was meaningless to him. “Inversion gate, many branches. Echo of generated primary. I know now. I know!" he said triumphantly reclaiming somthign of his former self.

  Abruptly the light and the images were gone as they emerged out of the dimension door into a small building bright with the light of the giant's light orb.

  Rislo leapt to his feet in astonishment, his lantern jaw agape in shock as he was unexpectedly reunited with his allies. The Turkanschoner stared at him and spat. “Bad man.” Jonathon shook his head andwhispered, wheezily to the Turkanschoner.

  “No, not all bad, much good is here." before he slipped into a deep sleep. The beast stared at Rislo and spoke again. “All! " he hissed. " All bad. !"

  After a few hours Jonathan awoke suddenly from dreams that involved Flax and himself, Milly – in fact a maelstrom of events past and future, fact and fantasy.

  Immediately Rislo rose to his feet and leaned over Jonathon as he awoke and stretched.

  “We must act now, you must come and look at a the dimension door – from this side it leads to a perfect escape!” Slowly and painfully Jonathin arose, not sure what the giant talked of, but focussed on the word 'escape' and the excited tone of Rislo's voice.

  After a few moments of paced walking they emerged into a small cave that Rislo had visited earlier. It was secluded and the night was dark. A tell tale neon haze lit the sky. Slowly the truth about this dimension dawned on Jonathon. This was linked to the dimension door Flax had left by, as the Turkanschoner had said – same place, different exits. Flax was here. He coudl almost smell him, his presence hung heavy like acrid smoke that stuck to the mind. Jonathon shivered. Flax was here. He pondered anxiously, he had to do something now, had to confront him here, perhaps stop him here? Then there was Milly, he should find her. He felt a pang inside his heart.

  Slowly he walked up the grassy bank opposite the cave and climbed over the fence into a dark graveyard. His companions followed behind, the Turkanschoner first and Rislo at a safe distance form the beat, behind.

  The church’s tall spire pierced the night sky, moving engine sounds came closer. Whilst Jonathon agonised over this priorities, the Turkanschoner noticed a young couple enter the graveyard and run giggling into its midst. Then he noticed the shadow that followed them, slipping from gravestone to gravestone, getting closer to them.

  The couple had laid down behind a tall stone and the shadow crept closer. The Turkanschoner’s nostrils flared. In the darkness he saw the glint of steel blades.

  In a instant, and to the surprise of his companions, he hurtled across the graveyard and attacked the shadowy assailant. Jonathon sprinted after him. By the time he arrived all he witnessed was the sickening crack of a neck being broken and the screams of the two young people who fled the hellish apparition who had emerged out of the darkness.

  Jonathon was in shock – had the Turkanschoner reverted back to his training? Then he saw his victim. It was one of Flax’s men. He picked up the two stiletto knives and put them in his belt.

  “Bad” the beast growled. Jonathon nodded. Rislo arrived and stared at the corpse and then accusingly at the Turkanschoner. Jonathan put his hands to his head.

  “We need to do something. I need to find Milly. Flax is here. I must stop him, he may not return to Dubh and all will be in vain!” He was approaching despair, torn in half. Milly or Flax? They need to complete their plans in Dubh too. His mind raced – one thing they must do was to get the final parts for the machine. Rislo could do that. He paced in circles, staring at the corpse. He looked at Rislo.

  “Rislo go back and collect the machine. I need to find Milly, but I can’t leave Flax here. The time has come for our paths to cross again, for a final time. I can’t chance him staying here. It has to end.” he stuttered. Then the Turkanschoner spoke.

  “I find girl.” He grunted. “You find Shadow Man.” Jonathan stared at him.

  “How will you find her?” he stuttered.

  “I smell her scent on you, I can find, trained to find”! He pointed at Rislo. Rislo shied away from his taloned finger.” Already I smell scent before.” he added. The beast nodded his horned head affirmatively, he needed no further instruction he knew her importance to his master; he whirled around and disappeared into the darkness. He didn’t add that he also smelled her scent on the Tallman. He saw no need. He would find her as he had promised. He owed this to Jonathon.

  Rislo was disturbed by events now. He could not understand why Jonathon trusted the beast to find the most important person in the world to him. How could he trust it? He nodded at Jonathon.

  “I will get the machine from where we left it before we fled the Turkanschoner and meet you where we just left, and then we finish this.

  Jonathon sighed deeply.

  “Rislo, if I am not back in a four hours do as we planned” he said. Rislo’s eyes met his. “Take Milly with you the Turkanschoner he finds her.”

  Rislo could not understand why Jonathon had to do this task ... to confront Flax. As far as he was concerned they should flee the world now. But obediently he nodded and left, making sure he did not have to walk with the beast back to the dimension door.

  Jonathon was left alone amongst the old and newly dead. He wondered if he was due to join them soon. He looked at Scoggins whose death mask was set wide eyed in astonishment. Then he shivered, and jogged towards the neon light of the town centre…and Silus Flax.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Ben Santiago's trip on a British airway's economy flight to London had been uneventful. He had forgone the luxuries afforded by his wealth in an effort to unravel the mystery of his recurring dream. His personal jet had therefore been left in his hangar along with his normal entourage of advisers and bodyguards.

  He glided through customs almost as if he was half invisible and completely uninteresting to the officer who stamped the passport of David Lopez, a diamond dealer from Bolivia. His alias was half true, he had emigrated from South America in the late nineteen forties after the disappearance his Mother and Father in a light plane over the Andes. No wreckage had ever been found, but after a month the search was called off and Ben pronounced an orphan and a distant relative transported him to New York.

  There he grew up and lived on an allowance from the estate of his decea
sed Father. It was never quite enough to allow him to be comfortable, to fulfil his yearning for the type of lifestyle he glimpsed in the Big Apple's restaurants and hotels, but it was enough to survive on as a youth who quickly parted company with his benevolent relatives and hit the streets.

  He began life dealing in anything which brought a profit. Slowly he advanced from the world of the legal business to drugs and guns. Quickly his business grew and he found a world desperate to use his services and his complete impartiality which, as he moved into international arms dealing he found the to be of particular use.

  As he now exited customs he felt a tingle of excitement whip down spine. It was almost like a drug related flashback. For a minute, a myriad of memories tripped through his mind, the places the faces of those he had done his early deals with in far flung corners of the earth.

  He had dealt with them all. With provincial tyrants and national dictators, with military governments and desperate rebels. All their causes were his profits, their politics and the outcome of his involvement irrelevant. The catastrophe and misery he fuelled meant little to him, death and destruction gave him the opportunity for profit. He turned no one down.

  Now on this visit to England it all came back. He felt the thrills and exhilaration he had done then and it made him feel twenty years younger as the adrenalin pumped through his fifty-five year old veins. He smiled broadly and walked with a bouncing stride as he made his way to the car hire desks.

  At the Hertz desk he hired a vehicle from an attentive female clerk. She found his bronzed complexion and cold blue eyes, a result of his German Father and Bolivian Mother sent a quiver through her body. The man smiled at her and his vaguely accented English added to his appeal.

  Suddenly she wanted him.