The Londum Omnibus Volume One (The Londum Series Book 4)

by Tony Rattigan

  When he was naked in the cold night air, he stretched his arms wide and relaxed his strict hold on his inner being. He began to transform, becoming the thing that was concealed inside him. It wasn’t a case of turning into the beast, it was actually more a question of releasing it, letting out that thing, which he had to fight hard to keep suppressed the rest of the time.

  The burning … it always began with the burning, as his body restructured itself at a molecular level. He felt like his head was coming apart as his skull remoulded itself. His mouth and nose pushed forward from the rest of his face into a long snout, new teeth growing to fill in the spaces, as it went. His ears grew longer and pointed upwards.

  His back arched as his skeleton began to change, his ribcage swelling, his legs and arms thickening, lengthening. He grew taller until he towered over the room at nearly seven feet tall. As he grew, his muscles, sinews and tendons swelled and stretched to accommodate his new frame until he became a muscular, powerful animal. The fingers on his hands grew longer, the fingernails turning into wicked, curved claws, as did those on his enlarged feet.

  He looked down at his muscular frame, now covered in long, shaggy hair, then out at the night. He walked to the balcony, and looked out over the city, it had come alive to his new senses since the transformation, he didn’t just see the city, he felt it. The people out on the streets … he could smell them, he could almost hear the blood pulsing through their veins, pulsing, … pulsing … it brought the blood lust upon him. He could practically taste them. He must feed and soon.

  But not here, it was too near his den even though it was only temporary, that would bring trouble. No, he reasoned, he must travel across the city, travel to a place where lives were cheap, where people died easily and no one cared, the East End of Londum. The people who ran this city obviously didn’t care about them or they wouldn’t leave them to live in such grinding poverty and disease. Therefore they wouldn’t mind if he went there and fed. It would be easy pickings.

  The werewolf climbed onto the railing of the balcony and leapt effortlessly into the dark night.

  ***

  Meanwhile in another part of town ...

  The smog swirled around the dark, cold, damp streets of old Londum. Not many people were out on the streets that night, only the … ahem … professional ladies and their customers. Everyone else was tucked away in the welcoming warmth of the various drinking establishments.

  The killer walked slowly through the streets of Whitechapel, looking for the perfect place, the perfect time, the perfect victim. Tonight would be the night!

  He had been planning this for a long time; tonight would be his first venture, his first outing … his first kill! He ran his plans through again in his head for the thousandth time.

  He had always wanted to be famous but he was a small-minded man with no talent. So he decided that if he couldn’t be famous for creating something memorable and worthwhile, then he would become infamous! He would be remembered for death and terror. His name would be on everyone’s lips. They would speak of him with fear and dread. They would write books about him one day, maybe even plays!

  He had even thought of a nickname for himself (the papers loved that sort of thing). He would write to them after making his debut tonight. He would tell them what he had done and then later, what he planned to do, signing each letter with his chosen name. He would taunt them, sending them clue after clue until finally the police would track him down (they would have to catch him before he could become famous, that was all part of the plan) and then the whole world would know who he was, know his name!

  Or at least … his nickname.

  He had plotted this all out carefully. First he would kill, but that wouldn’t be enough to strike terror throughout Londum. He would have to be more daring, more outrageous … therefore he would mutilate the bodies, which would cause horror amongst the general public. And then he would kill again and again, each murder more vicious, more gruesome than the last.

  But who to kill? That stumped him at first then he realised … prostitutes. Of course, easy meat, easy pickings. They were easy to find and they would willingly go with him to a secluded place. And there were many more where they came from; they swarmed through the East End like lice.

  He went over his preparations again. The surgical implements, the tools of his chosen hobby, were sharpened and polished in his bag along with a bottle of ether and a cloth. All he needed now was his first victim.

  He had spotted a few likely candidates but there were too many working girls in that area. He wanted one that was alone, vulnerable. He wandered away from the main streets until he spotted the right girl. She was standing at the entrance to an alley, hoping for business.

  He stepped into the shadows and watched her for a few moments. Young, attractive, she was perfect! He would approach her, pretend to be interested in her wares and then take her down that alley, where he could do his dirty business. The man looked around and there was no one else in the street, just him and her. He was just about to make his move when the girl turned and headed off down the alley, alone. Even better, he thought, I can take her from behind, by the time she realised what was happening she would be dead. Then he would drag her to a secluded place and mutilate the body.

  He crossed the street quickly and followed her down the alley. He could just see her dimly ahead through the smog. He stopped and placing his bag on the floor, opened it. Taking out the bottle of ether he soaked the cloth in the sedative and returned the bottle to the bag. Then he took out the sharpest of his knives. He closed the bag as his prospective victim turned the corner and disappeared from view.

  He felt powerful … omnipotent. He would hold that girl’s life in his hands and no matter how much she begged or pleaded, he would snuff it out. He had the power of life and death … he was a God!

  He was just about to pick up the bag and set off after her and thereby put himself into the history books, when he felt hot breath on the back of his neck. His blood ran cold as a large glob of saliva dripped onto his shoulder. He turned around slowly.

  The creature stared back at him with huge, red eyes. It must have stood seven feet tall; he had to look up to meet its eyes. It had a head like a dog, with pointed ears and a long snout filled with sharp teeth. He could see that it had wide shoulders and a broad muscular torso. But although it was covered in hair, it stood on two legs like a man, and at the end of its long sinewy arms it had hands, not paws.

  The man couldn’t believe his eyes. It was a wer … a were … he was so scared his mind couldn’t form the word properly … a werewolf! It stood there silently just watching him. He stood there, frozen, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a carriage. A low growl came from the beast and the man dropped the knife and the ether soaked cloth and opened his mouth to scream. A large, hairy hand clamped itself across his face, stifling him. Another one gripped his neck.

  The creature’s two hands began to twist in opposite directions and as his head reached that point where nature and human anatomy said it should stop - but kept on turning - his last thoughts were … I’m going to die and nobody’s ever going to remember “Jack the Ripper”.

  When the body went limp, the creature let it drop to the floor. Crouching over the limp form, it ripped the man’s shirt open and bit into his chest. It stayed in the alley for some time, dining on its unlucky victim.

  When it had finished eating, it threw the body aside, where it would lay until it was discovered next morning. (And, in a pleasing touch of irony, would go into the history books as the first victim of the werewolf attacks of Londum.)

  The werewolf looked around the alley. It spotted a drainpipe running up the side of the neighbouring building and climbed swiftly up it to the roof. Time for a couple of more victims, it thought. Although it had satiated its own hunger it had to take food back to the rest of the pack. It loped away over the rooftops.

  ***

  Cobb sat at the desk in his office, drinking a cup
of tea and reading the daily paper. The headlines were all about the werewolf attacks. Since the first attack a week ago, there had been three other outrages. Cobb read in amazement as the broadsheet detailed the finding of the grisly, half eaten corpses and the search for the perpetrator.

  The authorities claimed that they were just wild animal attacks but several eyewitnesses reported seeing a werewolf, although there was still some doubt in official circles. Police were puzzled by the attacks; there was even some mystery about the first victim too. Although he was just a butcher, for some reason he had been carrying a full set of surgical tools when found.

  Cobb shook his head in dismay and wondered what was happening to the world. Things were never like this when he was a boy. Then he realised that thinking things like that made him feel older than he actually was. Next thing he knew, he would be complaining about how young policemen were. Oh well.

  He delved deeper into the paper. It contained news from a Brimidgham newspaper about a big robbery in Brimidgham several days before, at the home of William Talbot, the industrialist. Talbot was unpopular with the Brimidgham press and industrial activists, the paper explained, as he made his workers live in slums that he owned, for which he charged them high rents but only paid them measly wages for working in his factory.

  Someone had robbed Talbot’s house while he was attending a ball and stolen his wife’s jewellery, valued at around £15,000. The press in Brimidgham were having a field day, calling it “rough justice” and “no more than he deserved”.

  Further down the paper there was also a reference to a mysterious donation of £14,000 to a Brimidgham charity for ex-factory workers who were unemployed due to age or illness. Nobody knew the identity of the benefactor; the money had just been pushed through the letterbox of the charity offices, with a note attached saying “With grateful thanks to the factory workers of Brimidgham”. The press were speculating that there was some connection with the Talbot robbery and that someone was imitating the hero of Shorewood Forest, Robyn Blynde, who “robbed from the rich and gave to the poor”.

  So there are some good guys left in the world, thought Cobb. He was just finishing his tea when the doorbell rang. He stood up and walked into the hall but Won Lungh had already beaten him to it. Cobb didn’t know how he always got there so fast, he always beat Cobb. Cobb had even been standing at his front window once, had watched someone walk up his front steps and by the time he had made it to the door Won Lungh was already there.

  Won Lungh opened the front door to reveal Jim Darby. “Gentleman Jim” Darby as he was known around the East End of Londum, due to his expensive clothes and fine manners. Despite these he still preferred to spend most of his time hanging around the East End, where he was well known and liked by the locals.

  Cobb knew that Darby had many contacts amongst the criminal classes, without apparently being a criminal himself. Cobb suspected him of having some kind of criminal life style, otherwise how could he afford the clothes and the apartment in Mayfair, but Cobb had never figured out exactly what it was and in his book, a man was innocent until proven guilty. Besides, Jim had been useful to Cobb once and since then they had got on really well.

  Jim was a bit taken aback to see this large, barrel-shaped Cantonese man opening the door to him. ‘I’m sorry; I think I’ve got the wrong house. I was looking for Mr. Cobb.’

  ‘Jim,’ said Cobb, ‘Come on in. It’s okay Won Lungh, Mr. Darby’s a friend of mine.’

  Won Lungh stood back and opened the door wide, allowing Jim into the house where he wordlessly took his hat and cane.

  ‘Come on through to the office,’ said Cobb waving him through. Jim followed him into the room. ‘Have a seat,’ invited Cobb and as he sat down Cobb poured him a cup of tea from the pot that Won Lungh had made for him earlier.

  ‘Did I hear you right? Did you just call him Won Lungh?’ asked Jim.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘But isn’t he Marcus Quist’s right-hand man?’

  ‘Was Marcus Quist’s right-hand man. I don’t know if you’ve heard but Quist is dead now and Won Lungh seems to be perfectly happy to just be a butler for Adele and me,’ replied Cobb.

  ‘But I don’t get it, what’s his connection to you and Adele?’

  ‘Ah well, I’m afraid I have a little confession to make. When I came to you for help in finding Adele, I didn’t give you all the facts. Adele is … was … Quist’s stepdaughter, it was him that hired me to find her. All part of one of his murky schemes. Anyway, after Quist died, Adele asked me to let Won Lungh live here with us, as he had practically raised her.’

  ‘And you gave in?’

  ‘You do remember seeing a short, stocky, Cantonese guy on the way in, don’t you? Well that’s him.’

  ‘Blimey, I never knew Quist had a daughter,’ admitted Jim.

  That’s the point, no one did. It was for her safety, apparently. Anyway, how do you know about Won Lungh?’ Cobb asked Jim.

  ‘Well you know how it is … if you keep your ears to the ground, you hear lots of things. And I heard about Won Lungh. So what’s this about Quist being dead?’

  ‘Yep. Dead as a doornail, I was there when it happened.’

  ‘I bet there are many at Caledonia Yard who would like to shake your hand.’

  ‘What do you mean? It was nothing to do with me,’ stated Cobb.

  ‘You mean, you didn’t …?’

  ‘No I didn’t. Let’s just say … it was an Act of the Gods.’

  Jim looked round to make sure the door was shut. ‘Aren’t you a bit … you know … wary about having him around the house. He’s got quite a reputation in certain circles, you know.’

  ‘No, really? Seriously, I do have my reservations but Adele is adamant that he stays. Apparently he dotes on her so I know that he will always protect her when I’m not around and that can’t be a bad thing, can it?’

  ‘Well, I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘So you hadn’t heard about Quist?’ asked Cobb.

  ‘No, not a word, although lately I’ve been spending some time up in Brimidgham on business, so I’ve missed out on all the gossip.’

  Cobb looked at the paper lying on his desk and an alarm bell went off in the back of his mind, he was a detective after all. Oh really, Brimidgham eh? he thought. Cobb picked the paper up as if clearing space on the desk and casually dropped it to the floor behind the desk, so Jim couldn’t see it. ‘Business eh? So how was business?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, quite profitable,’ replied Jim.

  Cobb glanced again at the paper lying on the floor. ‘Good … good … glad to hear it.’

  ‘Have you heard about these werewolf attacks?’ asked Jim.

  ‘Yes, I was just reading about it in the paper. Shocking isn’t it?’

  ‘Terrible and they happened on my patch. Luckily the first victim wasn’t a resident, just a visiting customer from the sound of things. But now its attacking my people and I can’t allow that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well if the police can’t do anything about it then I will. I’ve instigated patrols of men to watch the streets and look out for this werewolf.’

  ‘Look Jim, why don’t you just let the police do their job,’ advised Cobb.

  ‘I’m afraid you have more faith in them than I do. As long as the trouble doesn’t travel uptown to the West End of Londum, they don’t seem to care what happens to us. We could all kill each other, die of plague or be eaten by dragons for all they care. I believe they call it “containment”. Whatever happens to us doesn’t matter as long as it doesn’t impinge on the rich people’s lives.’

  ‘You’re being unfair, I’m sure the authorities are doing what they can. Resources are limited, as always … besides, who really knows how to track and capture a werewolf in Londum? That’s specialist work that is.’

  They looked at each other for a moment, neither accepting each other’s point of view.

  ‘Anyway, what brings you
here?’ asked Cobb.

  ‘Well I’d heard you were back in town but I was too busy to get over before my trip, so now I’m back I thought I’d pop round and say hello.’

  ‘Well that’s good of you, It’s been a while since-’

  Adele burst through the door ‘Cobb could you give me a hand for a mom- … I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had company.’

  Cobb and Jim got to their feet. ‘Adele, let me introduce a friend of mine, Jim Darby. Jim this is-’

  ‘The lovely Adele Curran,’ interrupted Jim, ‘I recognise you from your photographs and may I say they don’t do you justice. You’re far prettier in real life.’

  ‘Thank you Mr. Darby, I’m pleased to meet you. Erm … did you say photographs?’

  Cobb answered her question. ‘When you ran away from Quist and went up to Caledonia, I had some photos of you printed and showed them around to people. I gave Jim some and he used his contacts to trace you up to Caledonia. That’s how I found you.’

  ‘So if not for you, Cobb and I wouldn’t have met’ she said to Jim, ‘and for that I thank you. Welcome to our home Mr. Darby.’

  ‘Please … call me Jim.’

  ‘Very well and you may call me Adele.’

  ‘What was it you wanted dear?’ asked Cobb.

  ‘I’m having trouble with the lock on one of the suitcases. I wondered if you could give me a hand?’

  ‘Adele’s mother died recently and she is moving her things out of her house in Swanwick prior to putting it on the market. We’ve been bringing stuff up here to Londum,’ Cobb explained to Jim. ‘Show me the problem, Adele.’

  Adele led Cobb into the drawing room that contained several trunks and suitcases. ‘It’s that one there,’ she said pointing to a suitcase sitting on the table, ‘the lock seems to be stuck.’

  Cobb took the key from her and tried to undo the case but the key refused to turn in the lock. ‘I’ve got a chisel in the kitchen, I may have to use that, I’m afraid.’