The Death Collector

by Justin Richards

  Eddie did not see the figures hiding close to the iron gates that led out of the park, even though he had been half expecting them. Only when they moved – detaching themselves from the shadows and stepping towards him – did he realise they were there.

  With a cry of surprise, he turned to run. But more figures were appearing through the mist, closing in on him. He was trapped, and his only option was to stand and fight. He hefted the orange-shaped stone in his hand wondering whether to keep it as a weapon or to hurl it at the first man who came for him. He hoped it would be Blade.

  It was not. It was a tall, spindly figure that Eddie recognised immediately as Lorimore. As the figure scuttled towards him, rubbing its bony hands together with satisfaction, Eddie saw that his features were as thin as his body. His nose was barely more than a line down his face, his eyes narrowed to slits.

  ‘Well, well, well.’ Lorimore’s voice was as sharp and pinched as his features. ‘What have we here? A young lad who would appear to be missing his coat, and on such a cold night too.’ He paused several feet from Eddie, teeth visible between thin lips as he smiled malevolently. ‘Do you perchance have a spare coat that might fit this young man, Mr Blade?’

  Blade’s voice came from behind Eddie, making him jump. ‘I did, Mr Lorimore, sir. Only trouble is, it got all ripped to pieces.’

  Lorimore shook his head slowly, and Eddie thought of a cobra he had once seen at Regent’s Park Zoo. ‘Such a pity. But I suppose the thing to do is to make sure that the lad matches his coat. Ripped to pieces, you say, Mr Blade?’ His whole body seemed to shake with laughter at this – a high-pitched nasal whine like a pig in pain.

  Blade too was laughing, great guffaws that almost doubled him up. If he was going to make a move, Eddie realised that this might be his only chance. He raised the stone, and ran straight at Lorimore, shouting with rage.

  Lorimore stopped laughing at once. As Eddie grew closer, running now at full pelt, stone raised, he saw Lorimore’s eyes suddenly open wide. A skeletal finger pointed at Eddie and Lorimore’s mouth was open in what might be fear, or surprise, or …

  Eddie launched himself at Lorimore, sending them both flying. Eddie fell on top of the man as they hit the ground, winding his opponent while guaranteeing a soft landing for himself. Eddie smacked the stone down as hard as he could.

  Lorimore twisted, desperately reaching to grab Eddie’s hand as it hammered down at him. He managed to deflect the blow and almost prised the stone from Eddie’s grip. But then the blow hit home – glancing off Lorimore’s shoulder. The man screamed out in pain. Eddie wrenched himself free, rolled to his feet, and still clutching the stone he bolted straight for the gates.

  Lorimore’s men were running to help their master, and only Blade gave chase. He was knocked sideways by one of the thugs running the other way. He spun away into the mist with a loud curse. Over and above Blade’s shout, Eddie could hear Lorimore yelling at his henchmen to leave him, that he was all right, that they must get after the boy …

  But Eddie was already out of the gates and running down the main road – sprinting after a cab that rattled past. He shouted for it to stop, managed to get level with it for a few seconds, and saw the driver’s muffled face staring down at him in surprise.

  Then a heavy arm made a grab for Eddie. He gave a screech of surprise and fear.

  ‘Steady on,’ the driver said in a gruff voice as he hauled Eddie up on to the seat beside him. ‘You got any money for your fare, then?’

  ‘We should have stayed with him,’ George said again.

  Liz held his hand. She knew how he felt – she felt the same. But as Sir William had pointed out, and as they both knew, to stay in the park would have meant certain capture.

  ‘He had a good chance,’ she said quietly. ‘They can’t have known he was hiding inside the statue.’

  ‘Then why isn’t he here? He should have got here well before us – he’d have come straight here.’

  ‘He might have had to remain inside for hours. Who knows?’

  ‘Or he might have been caught, trapped inside or grabbed as he tried to get out of the park. We were lucky enough to get away ourselves.’ George pulled his hand free and turned away. ‘We should have stayed.’

  The three of them were sitting exhausted in Sir William Protheroe’s office. They had checked and re-checked that the British Museum was no longer being watched. It seemed that all of Lorimore’s men had been at the Crystal Palace. The Museum was deserted – eerily quiet and unlit. The first staff would not arrive for hours yet. Liz yawned, wondering if she was going to get any sleep at all tonight.

  ‘How long do we wait for Eddie?’ she wondered as George sulked silently and Sir William leafed through the paperwork on his desk. ‘What if he’s been here, found we weren’t back yet and left again?’

  ‘To go where? He will have waited, I’m sure. I really wouldn’t worry,’ Sir William went on without looking up. ‘If any of us is capable of outsmarting Lorimore’s employees and escaping his clutches, it is young Eddie. I imagine he’s on his way back here now.’

  ‘I wonder if he found anything,’ George said quietly.

  ‘I hope so,’ Sir William replied. ‘Otherwise I must confess I shall be at rather a loss as to what to do next, despite our brief visit to the foundry.’

  ‘So we just wait,’ Liz said.

  They did not have to wait long. Eddie arrived a few minutes later. He was, Liz noticed, wearing a new jacket. At least, it was new to Eddie. To be honest it had seen better days, and it hung heavily to one side as if he had stuffed the pocket with weights.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she cried at once. ‘We were so worried.’

  ‘Had to walk back from Marylebone, didn’t I?’ He sat himself down on the desk, prompting Sir William into a rapid scramble to move papers and books before they disappeared under him.

  ‘You got a train?’ George asked in surprise.

  ‘No, a cab,’ Eddie replied, equally bemused. ‘But I only had enough money to get to Marylebone. I’m skint now, if anyone can sub me,’ he added hopefully.

  ‘I think,’ Sir William said, ‘that we should repair to the laboratory. There is room there for us all to sit down and compare notes as it were.’

  While Liz had been to the British Museum several times before with her father, she had never found herself ‘backstage’ before. She was fascinated by the corridors and rooms hidden away out of public sight – the areas used for administration, for storage and for research.

  Sir William’s laboratory was just down the corridor from his office. It was a surprisingly large room, dominated by a central wooden workbench. Tall cupboards lined the wall opposite the door, and the other walls were covered with shelves and cabinets full of glassware, equipment and specimens of all shapes and sizes. Liz could see what looked like bones on one shelf, strangely carved statues on another. Leaning up against one of the cupboards was what looked like a plunger for unblocking drains, though it was attached to the end of a telescopic rod made of shining silver metal.

  There was a bench along one wall of the laboratory, and George, Liz and Eddie sat here while Sir William paced up and down in front of them.

  ‘We shall also,’ he said, ‘have less chance of being overheard down here. Now then, Eddie, tell us what you found.’

  ‘Nothing,’ Eddie said.

  Sir William stopped mid-pace. ‘Nothing? Nothing at all?’

  ‘He was interrupted,’ George said. ‘He didn’t have much time.’

  ‘I had enough,’ Eddie said. ‘There was nothing in there. Well, nothing much.’ He reached awkwardly into the pocket of his new jacket and dragged out the stone. ‘Just this stone, which was really handy when I needed to get away I can tell you.’

  Sir William frowned. ‘Where did you get that jacket?’ he asked. Immediately he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. ‘No, don’t tell me. I’ve a feeling I don’t want to know. Some washing line or laundry basket between here and Marylebon
e, no doubt.’

  Eddie opened his mouth to reply. But Sir William shook his head again and lifted the stone from his hands. He turned it over several times, examining it closely. ‘Curious,’ he muttered. ‘Very even shape, isn’t it?’

  Liz watched him closely, aware that George and Eddie were also leaning forward in anticipation and interest.

  ‘Quite smooth too. Yet it hasn’t been machined or worked so far as I can see. Hmmm.’ Sir William weighed it in his hand, then put it down carefully on the workbench beside him.

  ‘What is it?’ Liz asked, with a mounting sense of excitement.

  ‘What?’ For a moment, he seemed not to realise what she was asking. Then he gave a short laugh. ‘Oh it’s probably just an old stone,’ he said. ‘Curious, but I imagine unremarkable. Though I should like to examine it properly when all this is over and done with and I finally have some time to myself.’ He sighed. ‘But just at the moment we have something of a problem. Either we were wrong about our evidence being inside the iguanodon, or we were too late and it has already been removed. Either way, the question is: what do we do now?’

  He tapped his fingers on the workbench as he considered the problem. Liz glanced at Eddie and George, but neither of them seemed to have a clue what to do next either.

  ‘We must have missed something. Something in the diaries,’ Liz decided.

  Sir William nodded thoughtfully. ‘I agree. Let me see that scrap of paper from the diary again, would you?’

  George retrieved it from his wallet. ‘You have an idea?’

  ‘Just a notion. Almost certainly nothing, but you never know …’ Sir William took the small piece of paper and held it up to the light. ‘Well, we shall soon see,’ he murmured, and put it down beside Eddie’s stone on the workbench while he busied himself on the other side of the room.

  ‘What’s he up to now?’ Eddie wanted to know.

  Liz shrugged. Sir William was hunting through a collection of bottles and jars. All three of them – Liz, Eddie and George – were so intent on what Sir William was doing that they failed to notice the movement from the other side of the laboratory.

  Liz was the first to realise they were not alone. A figure had emerged from one of the tall cupboards where he must have been listening to their deliberations. He ran to the workbench where the precious scrap of paper from Sir Henry Glick’s diary lay. He was a young man, thin and gangly with slicked back dark hair.

  Sir William turned at the sound of running feet and Liz’s cry of warning.

  ‘Berry? What are you doing, man?’ he demanded.

  But Berry did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the workbench, and his hand shot out towards the paper.

  George was already there, knocking the young man’s hand away and trying to grab hold of him. But Berry twisted out of George’s grip and took flight. He was across the laboratory and out of the door in a moment. Eddie was after him at once.

  ‘It’s all right!’ George shouted after Eddie. ‘He didn’t get it.’

  But Eddie had already gone. George ran after them both, the door banging shut behind him.

  ‘He’s right,’ Sir William said to Liz in the stillness that followed. ‘We need to talk to Berry. Short of trying to see Lorimore himself, which I do not think would be a good idea, Berry may be the only lead we have left.’

  George could see them both ahead of him as he ran. Berry glanced back frequently, the fear on his face easy to see. Eddie had his head down and was running for all he was worth. He was gaining on Berry, but not enough to catch him.

  Berry slammed a door behind him and it crashed into Eddie, knocking him into the wall. But he was up again in an instant. George caught the door before it closed, and pelted after them.

  They charged through the foyer, but Berry was already disappearing through the main doors. Eddie was close on his heels. George, out of breath, was still too far back. He tried to forget that he could hardly breathe, tried to ignore the blood drumming in his ears, and raced after them – out of the doors, down the steps.

  The fog was swirling in the black night, thickening the darkness. A figure solidified out of the air in front of George, and he grabbed at it.

  But it was Eddie.

  ‘He’s gone,’ Eddie said. ‘I lost him in the fog. He’s got away.’

  Chapter 20

  After losing himself in the fog, Garfield Berry had no idea what to do next. He had no wish to find Mr Blade again, and he could not return to work at the Museum. People would be looking for him – Blade wanting details of what he had discovered. Or Protheroe. They would look for him at home, and while he wasn’t there, his family was. Berry was not concerned about Sir William Protheroe confronting Lucy and the children. But Blade was a very different prospect. His men would be waiting for him.

  He hurried home.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Lucy asked him in the little hallway as soon as he came in.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said quickly, the words coming out in a nervous rush. ‘Are you all right? What are you doing up, I thought you’d be asleep. I told you I would be late. Very late. Has anyone been looking for me?’ He took her by the shoulders, looking deep into her eyes and trying not to cry at how lovely she looked.

  ‘There was a man,’ she said slowly, pulling away confused. ‘It’s the middle of the night – I told him you were out on business. But he said you would be on your way back here. I didn’t believe him.’ She turned away. ‘How did he know?’ she asked quietly. ‘Are you in trouble?’

  ‘Did this man say that I was?’

  She turned back, her cheeks damp. ‘He didn’t say anything. Only that you would soon be back and he would wait.’

  ‘Wait? You mean he’s still here?’ Berry was unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

  ‘Something is wrong, isn’t it?’ Lucy said quietly. She clasped her hands together in front of her. ‘Oh why won’t you tell me what it is?’

  ‘I …’ What could he say? What could he tell her? He was so ashamed of himself already, without the burden of confession. Without her condemnation as well. She had been so proud when he got the job at the Museum. How could he tell her he had betrayed the man who was so generous to him? And for what? Money – money they desperately needed to keep the bailiffs from the door. But it was just money. The same thing that had seduced Judas.

  She could tell he would say nothing more. She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded towards the door to the tiny sitting room. ‘He’s in there. I’ll be in the kitchen.’ She walked briskly away without turning back.

  He expected Sir William. Blade would have struck terror into Lucy merely by his appearance. In a way, Berry wished it was Blade – he would know where he stood, how to react. But what could he say to Sir William?

  It was neither. Berry did not recognise the figure that stood by the fireplace, though he knew at once who it must be. The man was staring down into the glowing embers. He was tall and incredibly thin, his whole face and body apparently composed of sharp angles. He did not look up as Berry came in, and Berry gave a stammered account of what he had discovered at the Museum. He wasn’t sure how he knew that this was Augustus Lorimore, but he was somehow certain of it.

  ‘I believe you owe me rather more of an explanation than that,’ Lorimore said quietly. ‘You have provided information, told Mr Blade that they have what I want in the Museum with them. Yet you have been unable, or perhaps unwilling, to acquire it for me.’ The man’s voice was sharp and angular too. Still he did not look up from the fire. ‘You know these coals burn inside as well as out. When the fire around them has gone, they still burn within. It happens underground sometimes – a whole coal seam can burn under the ground. All it needs is a little air to breathe. Until it has exhausted all the inner fuel and burns itself out.’

  He turned and fixed Berry with a startlingly fierce gaze. His eyes were themselves pin-pricks of coal that burned deep inside. ‘Has your inner fire gone out, I wonder,’ he said quietly. ‘Have you exhau
sted your usefulness, and declined to help me just when I need you most?’

  He crossed the room in two rapid strides, spindly fingers suddenly clamped tight about Berry’s throat, squeezing hard. ‘Because if that is the case, then you won’t need that little air to breathe any more, now will you?’

  The room blurred, running red as Berry tried to focus, tried to drag the hands away from his neck. He could feel himself sagging, his strength ebbing away. His inner fire going out …

  Then suddenly he was sprawling, gasping on the threadbare carpet.

  The man’s voice was deadened by the rush of blood in his ears and the rasping of his breath. ‘Or could you perhaps summon the fire for one more simple task? Hmm?’

  Berry’s hands were rubbing at his throat, feeling the swelling and bruises. The man leaned down and pulled one of his hands away. Berry gave a hoarse cry of fright, but the man had pulled a plain white envelope from his inner jacket pocket, and he slapped it into Berry’s palm.

  ‘I could entrust this to the post, but it is urgent and I am a generous man. I shall give you one last chance to redeem yourself.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Lorimore,’ Berry croaked.

  ‘I would like this delivered into Sir William Protheroe’s hand this morning. Coming from you, he is more likely to accept it, and he will be sure it is genuine. In return I will pay you what I promised for this month. After that, our obligations to each other are ended. Is that clear?’

  Berry nodded, his throat still burning inside.

  Lorimore paused in the open doorway and looked back pityingly at the figure still sprawled on the floor. ‘It may be that Sir William wishes you to deliver a reply,’ he said. ‘If so, you will bring it promptly to Mr Blade who will be waiting outside the Museum. If not …’ His mouth twisted and turned as he considered this eventuality. ‘If not, then I suggest you tender your resignation and come straight home. No doubt your charming wife will be worried about you.’