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

by Tony Rattigan

  ‘Oh, that’s Soames. He’s trying to teach himself to play the violin,’ replied Woodson, rolling his eyes.

  Mercifully the wailing stopped and Soames walked into the front of the shop carrying a violin and a bow and shaking his head. ‘I can’t understand why it’s so difficult to play … its only got four strings!’ he muttered to himself. ‘Oh hello Mr. Cobb, Miss.’

  Soames put down the violin and bow and turned to Cobb. ‘I’m glad you’ve dropped by … have you been reading about the “so called” werewolf attacks, Mr. Cobb?’

  ‘Er … yes,’ Cobb answered reluctantly. Don’t ask! Don’t ask! he telegraphed mentally to Adele.

  ‘Well I have a theory about them,’ continued Soames.

  At this point, Cobb grabbed hold of Adele’s sleeve and started to inch surreptitiously towards the door. Don’t ask! Please don’t ask! he begged her mentally but to no avail. She fell into the trap.

  ‘What do you mean, “so called” werewolf attacks?’ she asked.

  ‘Well …’ beamed Soames, delighted to have found someone to listen to his latest theory, ‘we don’t have werewolves in Albion, do we? At least, not since the outbreak in Surrey in ‘05 and the quarantine laws have seen to it that that doesn’t happen again, haven’t they? So, the only ones we get in this country are the ones that visit it with circuses and that one from Dingaling’s Circus can account for his whereabouts during each of the attacks. So where is a werewolf going to come from then, eh?’

  ‘Erm … I don’t know, replied Adele.

  ‘Exactly!’ said Soames, ‘So it’s not likely to be a werewolf then is it?’

  ‘Well, what is it then?’ asked Adele.

  ‘Simple … it’s a dog, a large dog.’

  Adele raised her eyebrows and looked at Cobb.

  Cobb shut his eyes and thought, here we go again. ‘What makes you think it’s a dog?’ he asked with a sigh.

  ‘Well, think about it. It can’t be a werewolf but someone wants us to think it is. I believe someone has trained a large dog to kill on command. He is just pretending that it is a werewolf so that when the time comes to commit the real crime, we will naively believe it is just another random attack.’

  ‘And what’s the real crime?’ asked Cobb.

  ‘Murder!’ Soames replied dramatically.

  ‘And who’s the victim?’ asked Cobb.

  ‘I don’t know that yet,’ admitted Soames.

  ‘And what’s the motive?’

  ‘Er … I don’t know that either.’

  ‘Well for your information Mr. Knowit-’ Cobb bit his lip, ‘… Mr. Soames, many people have seen the creature and it is a werewolf.’

  ‘Frightened, stupid people who believe whatever they are told.’

  ‘I’ve chased it, it stands on its hind legs.’

  ‘Wild imagination!’

  ‘I fought with the damned thing, it’s seven feet tall!’

  ‘A trick of the light!’

  ‘It’s a werewolf!’ said Cobb leaning across the counter.

  ‘It’s a dog!’ said Soames leaning across the counter to glare back at Cobb.

  ‘Werewolf!’

  ‘Dog!’

  ‘MINCE!’ said the long-suffering Woodson, slamming the wrapped meat on the counter between them. ‘Here’s your mince Mr. Cobb. Soames, why don’t you go back to practising your violin?’ Both of the antagonists looked at Woodson, then at each other and backed away from the counter.

  Adele, who had stood there shocked by all this, managed to rouse herself to take some money from her purse, lay it on the counter and pick up the mince. Taking Cobb by the arm she led him out of the shop before he could start his argument with Soames again.

  As they were leaving they heard Soames say to Woodson, ‘Have you finished measuring those pheasants yet?’

  ‘Yes Soames, as you say they are all at least twelve inches long.’

  ‘I told you Woodson …’ replied Soames, peevishly, ‘the game’s a foot!’

  ***

  The prime minister’s carriage pulled up outside Buck House. It had been nearly a week since he had last seen the king, when Duke Luga had left. What was so damned urgent that the king would summon him at this time of night? The prime minister was getting on in years and his rheumatism wasn’t helped by being out on a cold night like this.

  He stepped down from the carriage and spoke to the butler that came to greet him at the entrance, ‘His Majesty has ordered me to attend on him.’

  ‘Certainly Prime Minister, please follow me.’ The butler led Lord Parmesan through the Palace to the king’s private office where his Aide-de-Camp was waiting outside. The butler handed him over to the officer and withdrew.

  The Aide-de-Camp welcomed the prime minister. ‘His Majesty is a little, shall we say … frosty this evening. It might perhaps be prudent to humour him,’ he warned.

  The colonel knocked on the door to the king’s office and then opened it and announced the prime minister.

  ‘Thank you Colonel,’ said the king. ‘I shan’t need you again this evening, good night. You can go too,’ he said to the servant standing in the corner, ‘I’ll ring if I need you.’ The colonel and the servant withdrew, leaving the prime minister alone with the king.

  ‘Good evening, Your Majesty, what can I do for you? Your summons said it was urgent,’ asked Parmesan.

  ‘Care for a drink Prime Minister?’

  It was late and he was cold, why not? ‘Yes, thank you sir, I’ll have a brandy.’

  ‘Take your coat off and have a seat,’ said the king, waving to one of the chairs in front of the fire. He poured a stiff brandy for the prime minister and then topped up his own glass. It looked like he’d had several already; the decanter was half empty and the prime minister knew that the Palace staff topped it up daily. Handing the prime minister his glass, King Victor took the other chair before the fire.

  The king unbuttoned his uniform jacket and stared gloomily into the fire for a few moments. ‘What do you know about these werewolf attacks that Londum has been suffering from?’ he asked Parmesan.

  ‘Nothing new I’m afraid. I’m sure that Your Majesty has read the same reports that I have. Caledonia Yard have doubled their police patrols in the East End but so far they’ve come up with nothing. The beast just appears out of the night and takes its victims, of whom just a half chewed corpse is found, if we’re lucky. There are suspicions that there may be other victims that we are not finding. The strongest lead we had was somebody chased it from the East End to the Houses of Parliament but they lost it somewhere in the vicinity of King James’ Palace. Mercifully the attacks seemed to have stopped for the time being.’

  ‘King James’ Palace eh? That explains a lot.’

  ‘Sir?’

  The king stared into the fire again. He seemed to the prime minister, to be wrestling with some inner turmoil, but the prime minister knew better than to interfere. After several sips of brandy the king seemed to reach a decision and spoke what was on his mind.

  ‘Yesterday morning one of the gardeners of King James’ Palace was tidying up the grounds after Duke Luga’s party left for Pils-Holstein. He noticed some disturbed ground and dug it up to see what was there. He found some bodies. They appeared to have been killed and partially eaten by some kind of animal.’

  ‘Oh Gods, no!’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Word got to me through the Palace staff and I immediately called in the police commissioner. He got the police surgeon in to do a discreet examination and his report … based on the radius of the bite etc., was that they had died as a result of an attack by something larger than a dog, or even a wolf. His conclusion was that it was probably a werewolf attack. They were killed and then brought back to King James’ Palace where they were …’ he put one elbow on his knee and rested his forehead in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he finished his sentence, ‘… where they were feasted upon.’

  ‘But surely somebody saw something?’

  ‘They were
found in the private garden, where only the residents of King James’ Palace have access to. No grounds people, no house staff are allowed in that place when there are Royal visitors in the Palace.’

  ‘But that can only mean that Luga was somehow involved!’ exclaimed the prime minister, shocked.

  ‘Exactly,’ replied the king. ‘Luga or one of his party.’

  ‘So that explains why the attacks have stopped. He and his family have returned to Pils-Holstein.’

  They both sat there silently for a while, the king brooding while Parmesan was stunned by the enormity of what he had just learnt.

  ‘They cannot be allowed to get away with this,’ said the king, finally.

  ‘But the treaty-’

  ‘Damn the treaty and damn Luga!’ snapped the king angrily. ‘We both know he’s been playing us for fools. Before he came over here he’d been meeting with representatives of Osterreich. He’s been playing both ends against the middle, taking us for idiots.’

  He groaned as he suddenly realised something, ‘Oh no … he even tricked me! That damned gold dinner service. He knew that we would use it whenever he dined at the Palace so that he wouldn’t have to deal with silver. What a fool I’ve been. He must be made to pay.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The king had a swig of brandy and took a moment to regain his composure. He stood up and leaned one arm on the mantelpiece above the fire.

  ‘Duke Henried was my cousin you know, we were at school together. Of course he was a few years younger than me but the sons of Royalty tended to stick together. Henried used to follow us bigger boys around, hero worship I guess. Poor little chap wouldn’t hurt a fly.

  ‘Luga murdered him but you wouldn’t let me do anything about it,’ he said accusingly to the prime minister.

  ‘We don’t know that for certain, Your Majesty.’

  ‘We only strongly suspect it, I believe you said,’ replied the king.

  ‘But Your Majesty … it is not Albion’s policy to interfere in the internal politics of another country.’

  ‘Oh really? Tell that to the governments of Afreeka and Bharat and a dozen other colonies around the world,’ retorted King Victor, sarcastically.

  ‘Luga killed Henried and we did nothing,’ the king continued, ‘he is cheating us over this treaty and yet we play along and offer him gold and trade agreements. Now he is killing my subjects and that is unacceptable! He must be stopped. We will remove him from power and put Henried’s daughter, Lady Yuli on the throne of Pils-Holstein.’

  Parmesan rose to his feet, ‘But sir, I must protest! As the prime minister-’

  ‘I AM THE KING!’ Victor shouted. ‘And if you wish to remain prime minister I suggest that you carry out my wishes.’ They stood there glaring at each other for a moment and then the prime minister, being above all things a shrewd politician, backed down and took his seat again.

  When they had both calmed down, Parmesan asked the king, ‘And how does Your Majesty anticipate that we might be able to remove Luga from power? A military invasion would lead to the Ostro-Ungarian Empire marching vastly superior forces into the country and taking it away from us. It is on their doorstep after all.’

  ‘So we make it legal and then they can’t complain about it. Remember the fuss Luga made about the Great Seal of Pils-Holstein when it was stolen? To rule the country you have to possess the Seal. So we steal it and give it to Yuli to back up her claim to the throne. That’s the law … that’s their law.’

  ‘But if it ever got out we were involved, Osterreich would send troops straight in, it’s just the excuse they need.’

  ‘Then make sure that we are not seen to be involved. Do it quietly, do it discreetly … but do it.’

  ‘As you wish sir,’ said Parmesan, resignedly.

  ‘I’ll ring for a servant to bring your carriage around, goodnight Prime Minister.’

  Parmesan took his cue and retrieving his coat, left the room. During the short ride from the Palace back to Downing Street he mulled over the night’s events. What the king was demanding was a dangerous business. It was vital that it be done with no blame attaching itself to Albion. This was a job for Emm.

  Sir Robert Emmersley, head of Albion’s Secret Service, was affectionately known as “Emm” by his subordinates and colleagues. Under his leadership the Secret Service had become the world’s leading intelligence agency. Emm could be relied on to be discreet and efficient.

  When the prime minister reached his residence he told his private secretary, ‘I want you to send a message to Sir Robert Emmersley first thing tomorrow morning asking him to call on me.’

  As he went into his study to finish the papers he had been working on when he was summoned to the Palace, he pondered on the sometimes distasteful tasks he had to order to be carried out, as the most senior government official of the largest empire the world had ever known.

  Ah well he decided, it goes with the job when you’re the Big Cheese.

  ***

  Sir Robert Emmersley, “Emm”, returned from his meeting with the prime minister and shut himself in his office with instructions to his personal secretary Miss Cash, that he was not to be disturbed.

  He sat there in front of the fire pondering the instructions he had been given by the PM, retrieve the Seal and depose the Duke of Pils-Holstein. Above all, Albion must not be seen to be involved. That ruled out using any of his normal operatives or networks. Tricky. It would have to be someone outside the normal intelligence world, a free lancer. Someone who could be trusted implicitly, someone like …

  He walked out of his office and spoke to Miss Cash. ‘Send a messenger around to Thornton Wells’ bookshop, would you? Ask him to join me at my club for dinner at say … eight o’clock.’

  ‘Certainly sir, right away,’ she replied.

  ***

  Emm filled a glass of brandy for Thornton and himself then offered him a cigar. Both men lit their cigars and sat back in their chairs, puffing away gently.

  ‘Thanks for a splendid meal Emm … now, what do I have to do to sing for my supper?’

  ‘Well, this is all a bit complicated not to mention disturbing, so listen closely. First off all, what do you know about Pils-Holstein?’ asked Emm.

  ‘A tiny country in the Alpen Mountains but with strategic importance as it gives us rapid access through the mountains in the event we have to respond quickly to a situation in Eastern Europe. If our access was denied it would take us weeks to go around the mountains, by which time it may be too late.

  ‘Which is why we have played host to its present rulers in the hope that they renew the treaty allowing us free passage through their country. Presently they are playing Osterreich and Ungary off against us. Seeing who will give them the best trade deal, foreign loans, that sort of thing,’ said Thornton.

  ‘Very good, spot on,’ said Emm, ‘And we need that access through the mountains, the war clouds are gathering over Europe Thornton and we can’t afford to be stuck on the wrong side of the mountains when it does happen.’

  ‘So we kow-tow to these petty Royals and bung them lots of gold to keep them sweet.’

  ‘Exactly, you’ve got it,’ said Emm. ‘Now then, did you know that to hold the throne in Pils-Holstein you must be the possessor of the Great Seal of Pils-Holstein? Some ancient, obscure custom of theirs, however, it is strictly adhered to. So whenever the ruler leaves the country for any length of time, the Seal travels with him for safekeeping.

  ‘That’s what happened with the old Grand Duke, Henried, some five years ago. He and his wife went on a state visit to one of their neighbours, taking the Seal with them. As they were returning their convoy was ambushed. Nobody knows exactly what happened, as when they found the bodies they had been picked over by wolves, so the evidence is a bit scant.

  ‘Anyway, a few days later, while the country was still in shock, one of the minor nobles, Count Luga, turned up at the Royal court, produced the Great Seal and claimed his right to the throne by anci
ent custom.’

  ‘But surely it must have been obvious to all and sundry that it was he that had murdered the duke?’ asked Thornton.

  ‘Yes it was, although he denied it. But you see, although the Seal has been handed down from father to son in recent years, in the olden days, that was the way they used to gain possession of it. The nobles would fight amongst themselves and the winner got the Seal and took the throne. It had historical precedent, ancient laws. They take that sort of thing seriously in those parts of the world. So, as Luga had the Seal, by their laws he was entitled to claim the throne.’

  ‘Barbaric if you ask me. Did the duke leave any family?’

  ‘There was a daughter Yuli and her aunt Mira. Fortunately for them they were both in Albion at the time. Yuli was at school and the aunt was here as her guardian. King Victor took care of them, gave them a house in Richmount Park and a generous allowance. Duke Henried was a relation of his.

  ‘Anyway, when the present Grand Duke arrived on this state visit, naturally he brought the Great Seal with him. When he and his entourage arrived we put them in King James’ Palace and the Seal was locked securely in the strong-room in the basement and guarded by the Albion Army.’

  ‘Well you can’t get much safer than that I suppose,’ said Thornton wryly.

  ‘Not exactly, it was stolen from the strong-room, right under our noses!’

  ‘You’re joking!’ exclaimed Thornton.

  ‘I afraid not,’ replied Emm. ‘So … you hadn’t heard anything about it?’

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Well, that’s reassuring. If you haven’t heard about it then there’s a good chance nobody else has either.’

  ‘So what are we doing about it?’

  ‘The prime minister contacted the police commissioner, Sir Arthur Wilberforce. Told him to investigate and get it back, quickly and quietly. Sir Arthur said he knew someone outside the force who was capable and could be trusted. That man was your son-in-law, Rufus Cobb.’

  Thornton paused with his brandy glass half way to his mouth, then with a smile he said, ‘Good choice.’