A Parish Darker: A Victorian Suspense Novella

by Rhys Ermire

  A bevy of explanations occurred to my dazzled mind. Thoughts that my experience being the product of a dream or an illusion or some sort of ploy all played out in succession. I caught myself, looking at my clothes and the Baron’s, finding what appeared to be glimpses of blood on each, but I still felt doubt in my mind.

  I began to speak, recalling my earlier agreement to not question the Baron further. He continued to organize matters on his desk, checking on the small cages atop them, and only occasionally looking back to me near the doorway.

  “Baron,” I said, waiting for words that were in no hurry, “what should I think of this?”

  He smiled, positing halfway in my direction. Though he spoke with exclamation, his tone was not that of scolding but instead excitement. “My dear Edwin, you’re already breaking our agreement! We mustn’t waste time on needless questions. What is and what may be and what has been are all questions you may solve with your own mind. You needn’t my approval or appraisal to form your own thoughts.”

  The Baron never appeared to be relaxed, no matter the time of day or his dress. He now wore his dining clothes: light shirt, dark pants and a matching vest affixed to his chest. This was not typical attire for such a late hour, but for him, it felt the norm.

  My host whipped around, crossing the room. He patted my cheek in a manner that appeared sympathetic, saying, “You are remarkable, though you are naïve—unlearned. But, do not take such a proclamation as a slight. I, for one, consider those enviable qualities in this world. In truth, I sense much of myself in you.”

  I was unsure what to make of his assertion. I found myself staring forward, glancing to him only via my periphery vision. Through it, I saw my host find his way to the antique weapon gallery near the doorway.

  “I have long been a fan of armaments of this sort,” said he, taking down a small and weathered knife with a golden hilt. “Each of these weapons has been proven in battle, or so I was told as a child. This collection was bequeathed by my father and before that to him by his father.”

  Baron von Savanberg raised the knife in his hand above his head, making a slow slashing motion some distance from my chest. “Edwin,” he said, “I wish for you to have this. I see you are distraught by what you have seen here, but that will pass. Please keep this with you to ease your mind.”

  My reluctance in handling such a weapon was clear to the Baron, of that I have no doubt. Yet, he was insistent, even going so far as to take my hand in his and place the hilt against my palm. I had no doubt upon seeing the blade in my hand that it had been used in battle as the Baron had claimed. It did exhibit the hallmarks of continued use, but it also had been restored to some degree. Before it was over, he handed me a scabbard to house the weapon and helped in strapping it around my waist.

  “What are we to do now, Baron?” I asked. “If we will not call upon the police even now, what is it you intend to do?”

  “My boy, with that, I will require your assistance and your assistance alone. Age and so much activity with it have done my body no good. Having an associate to aid in this endeavor will do us both well.” He paused, running his hand over his face before patting my shoulder once more. “I am hesitant, in a great many ways, to continue upon this path. However, I feel I must, to ensure all is right and the full gravity of the situation is understood. Without that assurance, we may never be sure of what is to come.”

  I knew not what game the Baron was playing. Some solace was to be found in the sharp blade in my hand, despite the confusion mounting on all sides. Who the Baron’s next victim would be was not clear, but I felt that if it were to be me, I would not go without resistance.

  CHAPTER XI

  “Come, we must proceed,” said the Baron as he took three long steps to the stairs on the other side of the study. The stairs led upward, in a circular pattern, along the outer wall. At the top was a formidable steel door whose weight likely rivaled that of an average man. It opened outward, onto the floor above, creating an additional barrier between what awaited and any outside observers.

  The locks on the overhead hatch were various. The door itself was so heavy and the angle from the stairs so unusual that any attempt at forced entry would be, at best, protracted, and at worst, hazardous. The Baron took care in unlocking each bolt with the corresponding key, occasionally taking to special motions to undo the mechanisms.

  With the final lock undone, the Baron hoisted—with a great deal of strength even in his older age—the door onto its hinges. The resulting sound was a steel ringing on par with the loudest sounds my ears have heard.

  As the draw door was opened and the Baron disappeared into the dark crevice above, howling wind rushed into the room, causing the glassware below to shiver. The influx of air suggested the room above was a sizable one.

  My initial impression of what waited was one of abundant confusion. I was unsure of what to make of the instruments lining the walls and even the floor. The room expanded upward with numerous sliding ladders akin to those in the library. To this day, I find it difficult to describe what I saw that night. It is unlike anything I should have ever expected to see in my lifetime.

  The Baron led me around the sizable space that had existed above the study. Numerous concoctions of the steel variety had been formed near the center wall, with lines of copper affixed nearby. The source and destination for each was impossible to ascertain at a glance with so many running concurrently in varying directions.

  “Do watch your step, dear boy,” said my host with his hand outstretched in front of me. “This is not a place in which you should wish to test your luck.”

  What most caught my attention at the onset was a metal cask fastened to the wall. It had been split into halves, with buckles and braces affixed one quarter and three quarters high. The contraption was strange and otherworldly to my naïve mind.

  “What is all of this?” I asked, no doubt with my confusion on full display.

  He turned away, diverting his attention momentarily to an outstretched chart atop a desk nearby. Hundreds of notations had been made in various languages, no doubt in contexts only familiar to the author. The central fixtures of the documentation were magnetics, equations, question marks, underlines, and mentions of numerous disciplines outside my realm of expertise. A litany of each had been recorded on papers on the desk, floor, and walls.

  Unable to stifle my curiosity, I took one such paper in hand that mentioned, among a great many other things, references to a Peltier and forms of conduction. Before I had the opportunity to delve any further, the Baron removed the scribbled document from my hand and replaced it exactly where it had been before.

  “This may appear to be uneven to you, Edwin. It may even appear disorganized, but I can assure you I know even the smallest detail of this room by heart.”

  He was nonplussed with my interference, instead turning his attention toward something of greater importance. I refrained from touching anything more but did take the time to closely observe the rest of the room. The ceiling of the tower that housed the study and now this new space was still some distance upward. Much of the space was unused yet still felt intensely private.

  As I studied the area more intently, I noticed bunched metal threads running along the walls toward the ceiling. The leads originated at some point near the cask and stretched outward in every direction from there.

  “Despite my earlier assurance, I have to ask again,” I asserted, watching the Baron write many small numbers and symbols in succession on the outstretched chart. “Why do you want me to see all this if you’re not going to tell me what this is about?”

  “Edwin, Edwin!” said he, with more excitement than impatience. “There will be no doubt left by the time this has run its course. It is the most exciting endeavor of which either of us have ever been involved, I assure you.”

  He caught me again looking at the metal cask in front of us. “Do not worry, my friend! Such a thing is nothing at all to concern yourself with, certainly not right now.
”

  The Baron pressed his hand firmly to the broad of my back to push me more toward the entrance and away from his work. He looked at his watch on occasion until finally bringing his hands together while drawing in a deep breath.

  “If you wish to separate yourself from me,” the Baron said as he began coupling ends of metal wirings and fixtures together along the floor, “there would be no better time than now. Should you wish to leave, you should do so with immediacy.”

  I confess to not entertaining the thought at the time, though in retrospect I regret it as much as anything in life. I felt, then, that I had some duty to oversee whatever it was that was to come. That feeling is one I cannot explain with resolve, but it had situated itself deep in my being that night.

  Most regrettably, I must admit that the Baron had succeeded in convincing me the dead man’s life was not such a great loss. The more he spoke, the more he proceeded without mind for what had occurred, the more convinced I was that he was right—maybe this was not specifically a matter for the police. I did not still think him right for the way in which he handled the man’s end, or think that such an ending was necessary, but there are gray areas in life that do not always present ready answers.

  I began to think some sort of madness had infected me while in that place. In fact, I am still not so sure it did not.

  “If that is all,” said Baron Lechner von Savanberg, acknowledging my silence as an affirmation to join him, “do join me in what is to come.”

  My host took his hand off his pen, off the chart he used it on, and placed it on a lever to his right. The rusted device had been forged for this one purpose. The Baron seemed to have more skills at this disposal than it at once seemed.

  He took his pocket watch out one last time and glanced inside. Even the rain pouring outside at that time could do nothing to impede on the silence of those few moments.

  The Baron’s hand remained at rest on the lever. In one swift motion, he brought it down with intense urgency. If forged for any other purpose, it surely would have cracked at its seam.

  In the first moments, nothing happened. There was neither sound nor sight to notice. Slowly, I began to feel the unmistakable sensation of a warming room. It was as if a sizable fireplace had been ignited and reignited in one instance.

  The wires along the wall began to radiate with the fervor of magmatic embers. A crackling began to emanate as the glow intensified and sparks began to fire in various directions. While I instinctively braced myself on the desk, the Baron merely marveled at what was before him. He made no effort to move or conceal himself from any perceived dangers, instead standing with his hands clasped behind his back. Perhaps it was my imagination at work, but it also felt as if the very foundation of the tower beneath our feet had begun to quiver.

  As quickly as it began, it came to an end. The flickers became less frequent until they dissipated altogether. Likewise, the reddened glow that had settled over the wiring faded, leaving them the same dull, listless gray they were before. Ultimately, it had appeared as if nothing had changed.

  I turned to the Baron in confusion, awaiting a reaction. He remained keenly focused on his machination and did not turn away until he was satisfied it had run its course. When he did, he only smiled, nodding to me, and motioning me to move back downstairs.

  “Now, Edwin, we must leave here and attend to matters most important.” By all indications, nothing had come of what we had witnessed—strange as it appeared—but Baron Lechner von Savanberg appeared content as we descended the steps to the study with haste. He wasted no time sealing the hatch behind us and ensuring the complex locking mechanisms were back in place. Back on the ground and by my side, he took his axe back in hand. The blade had been cleaned in my absence, leaving no indications it had been used to slay a man earlier.

  As I admired the blade, a cluster of lightning strikes joined the rain that continued to fall outside the castle walls. The dark that waited us in the hallway leading out of the study was temporarily illuminated by the bursts of light. Though one would normally feel safer in a lit space, I still recall with vivid certainty the unease of peeling back the dark brought to me in that moment.

  The Baron swung the axe in his hand in circles to his side. I had not seen it for myself until now, but his familiarity with the weapon was surely not inconsiderable. With the lighting dimmed to nothingness once again, he stepped forward toward the exit.

  “Edwin,” said he with as calm as demeanor as he ever had, “do ensure you bring with you everything there is that you do not care to lose, as there will be no further opportunities for mustering courage once you leave this room.”

  CHAPTER XII

  The Baron led the way, striding in the dark as if any danger lying in wait posed no threat to his welfare. The axe clasped tight in his right hand likewise did not appear to inhibit him in any manner perceivable to the eye. I followed some three paces behind, my hand gauchely clinging to the scabbard holstering the small blade he had gifted to me.

  The main hall ahead offered few reprieves to its colorless void, especially given the state of the raging storm occurring on all sides of the castle. Fissures of lightning came quick and often, providing enough light for the purposes of navigation but little else.

  The remaining von Savanberg trotted ahead, exiting the comfort of the corridor and into the expanse of the entrance hall. There, we waited in silence some steps from doorway for what seemed an inescapable eternity.

  “Baron, what are we doing out here in the dark?” I whispered. “Should we not light at least a candle?”

  With no hesitation, he exhaled with what I can only imagine was his forefinger pressed against his lips. “While we still have lay of the land,” said he, “we must make the most of it.”

  His attempt to quiet me was successful and left me waiting in the darkness with no means of forecasting what was to come next. The Baron had no qualms with the wait, and in fact did not do so much as survey the area. His acuity appeared impeccable, demonstrating a sort of foresight that could quell the fears of any man fortunate to possess such a gift.

  Our holiday in silence came to an end with the crackle of steps on glass nearby—an unmistakable sound that leaves no ambiguity. It repeated, beginning with considerable decibels before being reduced to a whimper as it continued.

  Something was coming. Then, it began anew: More footsteps, cracking glass underfoot. Soon, the source was apparent, having certainly emanated from the broken window used by the intruder earlier in the night.

  The Baron stood attentively without the slightest flinch. He faced the direction of the disturbance that seemed to have come to pass.

  In that moment, the most extraordinary flash of lightning my eyes could fathom collided with the ground just outside the castle entrance. Its capacity for illumination was rivaled only by the deafening effect the booming sound caused on the ears.

  The light lingered, revealing Baron Lechner von Savanberg studying what had emerged from behind the stairwell: two figures, each undoubtedly having twice the strength of myself. Their dress was that of vagabonds—ragged, discolored, soaked, and torn clothing that offered little protection from anything, least of all the storm outside.

  The faces of both exhibited disfigurations of varying sorts—scars around the eyes of one, the other seemingly missing bone underneath the rugged, tight skin of his wide jaw.

  Beyond the power suggested by their size was the length of the blades in their hands. The knives had been half the length of each man’s arm and pointed outward, with no concern for shielding anyone from the pointed edge at the tip of each.

  The two men moved not in unison but with an embrace for chaotic disregard. One approached the Baron from the left and the other the right as he stepped forward to meet their advance. I expected the armed men to pose a threat that would require my aid, but I soon found I was greatly mistaken.

  Reluctant to draw my blade, and before even my grasp could remove it from its sheath, the broad s
ide of the Baron’s axe met the face of the intruder so unfortunate as to approach first. Undoubtedly discombobulated, his limbs tumbled to the floor before his torso.

  My once unassuming host took up the blade of the man he had downed in his off-hand as the second intruder made his way forward at a quickened pace. The darkness veiled the finer and more discernible motions from the Baron and his opponent, but the brief illumination of their silhouettes made no mystery of the eventual victor.

  The Baron swung the sword low with considerable strength, taking with his momentum the lower portion of the assailant’s leg. In one successive, experienced motion, the man fell in one direction while the severed portion of his leg went the other. The agony and despair of his condition was apparent but lasted only a moment as the Baron used the axe in his dominant hand to end the lives of both intruders.

  A deep breath filled his lungs as he removed the axe from the jugular of the latter victim. “I apologize, my friend, for exposing you to such violence. I realize it is not for the weakest of hearts.” His words came as my hand still rested on the hilt of my blade that had not yet left its leather housing.