Streaks of incense floated around the cell as the towering Greek man prayed for her. His chanting, low and soothing, was the one thing that kept Nine-Nails from thrashing everything in the room.
He stood by the door, finding it difficult to breathe, and not because of the dense air. Each inhalation threatened to become a sob, so he clenched his fists and bit his lips. He had to stay firm ; he had to do it for Katerina. There would be plenty of time to lament.
Someone rapped gently at the door and they all startled.
It was time to go.
‘Do you have them?’ I spluttered as I stormed into the morgue. ‘Any results?’
Reed gasped when he saw me completely caked in dust, my sleeves torn and my shoes smeared with mud and other filth.
‘No, but— Oh, inspector, where have you—?’
‘Never mind!’
And I ran back to the office, Reed right behind me.
‘But the hue of all the samples is looking promising. I can scribble you a note. The hangman might— Oh dear Lord! What happened here?’
He was staring at the hole in the wall, the piles of brick and rubble, and the coy child peeping from the shadows.
‘Write me the damn note!’ I snapped. ‘But quickly!’
I saw a jute sack on McGray’s desk and dropped the contents on the floor – rotten leftovers of one of his lunches. I shoved in the crumbling ledger, all the candles, the receipt and Leonora’s journal. I felt my movements had never been so slow or clumsy, my pounding heart reverberating throughout my body. I climbed the stairs two at a time, crashing into a couple of officers, but I had no time to stop.
Reed chased me along the corridors, paper in hand, writing the note as he moved. He managed to sign it just as I reached the front courtyard.
‘Here,’ he said, handing me the paper, and I shoved it into the sack without even glancing at it.
I ran towards Philippa and jumped on the mount before she had a chance to react.
‘If you make but the slightest fuss—!’
Reed untied her with shaking hands and I spurred her at once, darting into the Royal Mile still dragging the tether.
‘Good luck!’ Reed shouted, his voice already faint in the distance.
The gallows awaited under the light rain, the hangman and a couple of assistants ready at their posts. Around it there was only a small retinue of guards, advocates and selected witnesses, all dressed in black. The jail’s physician was amongst them, present to certify that the sentence was carried out fully. He stood next to Mr Reynolds, the undertaker, who had the coffin ready to receive Katerina – if possible, he’d do so within minutes of her being pronounced dead. Last in the line was George Pratt, who had managed to attend as a representative of the prosecutor’s office. He smiled scornfully, as if intent on showing off his gold tooth.
Despite the few attendants, there was an unexpected uproar when the first guards stepped out of the main building. Those were the voices of the other prisoners, crammed against their barred windows, and the crowd that watched from the hill. They all burst in savage cries, as if about to witness an illegal dog fight. And their shouting roused the voices of all the people gathered on the other side of the jail’s gates.
Their screaming went wild when Katerina emerged, manacled and sporting her finest dress and lace veil, both dyed in black. She walked impassively, her chin slightly raised, her chest rising and falling as she took long, deep breaths. To the disappointment of the crowd, she looked composed and dignified.
Behind her came the Greek priest, tall and imposing, swinging a censer and chanting prayers. His vestments, bright purple and embroidered in gold with byzantine motifs, caught everybody’s eye and received the roughest abuse. Some of the prisoners even spat at him, as though he were a strange demon from a faraway land, living proof of Katerina’s wickedness.
Nine-Nails and Mary came last, she clung onto his arm, her eyes red, and tears flowing down her cheeks.
They stopped a few yards from the gibbet, and Katerina stared at the swaying noose, which moved gently under the cold wind.
The jail’s warden, a flabby middle-aged man, began reading the sentence. He spoke in a hurry, for the rain was starting to drip down his forehead.
Philippa galloped frantically across the Royal Mile, dodging carts and pedestrians. A barrow emerged from one of the side streets, right in front of us, and the driver hollered as we dived in his direction.
Philippa rose on her hind legs, neighing wildly, and I had to cling to her neck not to slide off the saddle. She fell back on all fours, only just avoiding the other horses, and even as she stumbled I had to spur her again.
We turned left on North Bridge, so fast I felt the jute sack swinging in an arc and slipping from my grip.
I clenched it as we crossed the bridge, galloping above the noisy railways. A train moved right underneath the road, and when its columns of black smoke dissipated, the towers of Calton Hill Jail emerged in the distance. They had never looked so unreachable.
Katerina squeezed McGray’s hands in hers and gave them one last motherly kiss. He could not contain his tears anymore but rushed to wipe them with his sleeve. Pratt’s smile widened a little.
‘I’m so sorry,’ McGray mumbled.
Katerina took a little step closer and stood on tiptoes. It looked as though she was going to kiss him on the cheek, but instead she whispered.
‘Your sister … she still loves you.’
McGray startled at that, and Katerina smiled.
‘There is a little corner, deep, deep in her mind, where she loves you so.’
At this point the hangman came to her, with the key to her manacles, and gently pulled her towards the platform.
Katerina gave one last squeeze to McGray, all too brief, and then walked away. She kept her misty eyes on him. ‘She’ll always love you. Remember that.’
She looked alternately at him and Mary as she climbed the wooden steps. She even smiled at George Pratt when the hangman unlocked the handcuffs.
‘When the platform drops,’ he told her in whispers, ‘don’t just let yourself go. Pull your weight down. That will help the fall break your neck. You’ll die with very little pain. Otherwise you might hang there for a very long time.’
Katerina bowed her head. That was the one time she trembled.
The drizzle hit my eyes and face like tiny, icy needles, as Philippa crossed the sumptuous Waterloo Place at full speed.
Even from there I could see the people gathered on Calton Hill. I could see them wave in excitement, and the wind brought the sound of their heartless cheering. I felt a pang of fear, thinking I was too late. Right then, from behind me, the bells of St Giles’ Cathedral chimed eight o’clock.
‘Damn!’ I grunted, just as Philippa followed the curve of the hill and I saw the jail’s walls emerge before us.
But that was no relief. There was a thick crowd gathered by the gates, blocking the entire road, already crammed with carriages and carts attempting to pass.
I pulled the reins, jumped down and darted ahead as fast as I could.
‘Let me through!’ I shouted as soon as I reached the edge of the mob.
The bells went on, unforgiving.
The hangman withdrew Katerina’s veil with utmost delicacy, almost as if she were a bride, and lay it on her shoulders, making sure it would not crease.
‘Here, madam, please,’ he said, showing the centre of the trapdoor and moving the noose aside so that Katerina could move into place.
She took a deep breath, stared at the sky and stepped ahead. She felt the hands of the hangman, surprisingly warm, as he took off the chain and crucifix.
‘Would you prefer to keep it in your pocket?’ he asked, folding the chain carefully.
She nodded, and as he inserted the crucifix into her sleeve, the hangman adjusted the noose around her neck.
‘Move! Get out of the way!’
I shoved through the people around me, my body shaking with impotence. T
he gates were less than eight yards ahead, but in-between stood an indistinct mass of bodies crushed together like fish in a can. People could not have moved even if they’d wanted.
The hangman took a step back and made a respectful bow.
‘Madam, forgive me for my sad duty.’
Katerina breathed long, deep and slow, as if feeling air through her lungs had become a sudden pleasure.
‘Forgive me …’ she stammered, ‘for not tipping you …’
The man bowed and stepped back, just as the sound of the last chime faded away.
‘Let me through, dammit!’ I howled, tearing my throat. ‘I have evidence!’
I raised the sack above my head. A grubby hand grasped it and tried to snatch it, and I threw maddened punches in every direction.
A guard saw me then. I recognised the long scar on his face. Malcolm was his name. He too recognised me from the countless visits, and immediately tried to move in my direction, having to fight over every inch.
I pushed and kicked, past caring whom I hit.
Then I noticed the sudden silence. The bells had stopped. The cheering of the crowd rose steadily.
Katerina looked at Mary and McGray one last time, made a little nod, and then, gently, closed her eyes.
The noose was not even itchy.
People had lost all restraint. The crowd on the hill roared, demanding blood, and the sound of their clapping reverberated in my chest like a roll of drums.
I could see the guard in front of me, his freckles, even the beads of sweat on his upper lip. He stretched his arm in my direction. We were inches away, yet people would not move. They couldn’t move.
I growled, brought a hand to my pocket, reaching for my gun. I went cold as I remembered I’d not carried a weapon. I had not carried one since—
I felt something ; cold metal against my hand.
The butt of Harvey’s derringer. The one I’d snatched from his trembling hand as he threatened me lying on the floor. I pulled it out in one desperate yank, praying it was loaded.
The gibbet’s platform dropped. A split second before the shot.
Katerina heard it just as her feet slid down the wooden boards. She gasped, opened her eyes and looked up, finding nothing but the grey sky.
And then she fell into the void.
50
The crowd parted in front of me, as if the shot had been an invisible shockwave. I ran forwards, hearing their panicked cries but also the commotion that came from within the jail and the hill behind me.
A male, drunken voice boomed around, brought by the wind seemingly from all directions.
‘She’s dead!’
There were cheers all around me. People clapped and whistled.
My entire body went numb, as if my blood had instantly drained from my limbs, and I nearly stumbled, but then Malcolm grabbed me by the arm and pulled me forwards.
Another guard opened a side door, just enough to let us in, and I ran into the esplanade, where I wailed in horror.
Katerina was hanging by the neck, squirming like a worm on a hook, gagging in agony and grasping the rope around her neck. Her skin was turning purple.
‘Stop!’ I hollered, dashing in her direction.
A guard blocked my way, grabbed me by the waist and pulled me backwards. I jerked desperately, my eyes fixed on the dying woman, not even hearing the shouts from the crowd. I saw her tender neck, the skin beginning to tear, and suddenly my entire body shook.
I was in the Highlands again, witnessing someone’s death whilst being pulled backwards by unyielding hands.
‘I have evidence!’ I screamed. ‘I have—!’
Someone pulled me from the guard and I had a fleeting glance of McGray hitting him with the butt of his gun.
I had no time to think or look. I hurled myself in Katerina’s direction. In her despair she kicked me, and I had to drop the bag and clasp her legs with all my might. She gagged and retched as I struggled to place her calves on my shoulder. Mary ran to me and helped me push upwards.
Only then did I see McGray embroiled in a fist fight with the two nearest guards. Another two men came to us and tried to pull Mary away.
‘She’s innocent!’ I growled, my voice even louder than Mary’s shrieks. ‘I can prove it!’
A giant hand threw a blow on the guards’ arms, freeing Mary, and then the poor gaolers flew backwards, pulled by the back of their collars by the world’s strongest arms.
‘You?’ I panted.
It had been the priest.
The man planted himself in front of us, arms outstretched, and we finally managed to get a proper hold of Katerina.
There was a gunshot then, and I heard McGray’s voice.
‘Och, stop it, youse idiots! Ye, pick that up!’
Katerina stopped jerking. I looked up, fearing the worst, but then I heard her cough and gulp.
I barely managed a deep breath, and then peeped over the priest’s shoulder.
McGray was pointing at the guards and witnesses with his gun. The man I recognised as the hangman had just picked up the jute sack. Behind them stood …
‘This is outrageous!’ Pratt shouted. ‘Move away! You’re just prolonging that whore’s agony!’
‘Whore yer mother!’ McGray snapped. ‘The dandy says he has evidence.’
‘The jury have spoken! She has been sentenced!’
I felt my knees trembling. ‘I can explain!’ I groaned. ‘There’s evidence in that bag!’
‘A few candles?’ the hangman asked, rummaging through the contents.
‘I can ex—’ I faltered, nearly falling on my knees, and McGray had to rush and help me.
‘Ye took yer fucking time!’ he hissed.
‘Why, you are welcome!’
‘I’ll take it from here, ye try and reason with those sods.’
In one swift movement he pulled Katerina’s feet, and immediately supported them on his very broad shoulder, all the while pointing his gun at the guards.
I rubbed and patted my face, trying to catch my breath as swiftly as possible. The rain was falling harder, but it helped me reawaken. I heard the booing from the hill and the jail, and the scornful screams demanding death.
‘Let go of that woman!’ Pratt spat. ‘She has been tried!’
‘This proves she is innocent!’ I cried, snatching the bag from the hangman’s hands.
‘Does it?’ said a fat man, whom I recognised as the jail’s warden.
The hangman, whose voice was surprisingly civilised given his profession, came closer. ‘If that is true, I cannot proceed with the execution. However …’ he glanced at Katerina, still suspended in the air and coughing from the depths of her throat, ‘I doubt you can convince us with candles.’
‘Step back and I will show you,’ I said.
Pratt shook his head, splattering rain like a bulldog. ‘I refuse to—!’
‘Do what he says, ye Pratt!’ McGray cried and shot at the skies.
The sound silenced the crowds, and the hangman took the chance to push Pratt and the jail’s warden away.
‘We’ll give them a chance,’ he concluded.
I pulled out one of the candles I’d snapped in half, its wick surrounded by a thin layer of powder much whiter than the wax itself. I stuck the stub in-between a crack on the flagstones, so that it stood upright.
‘Lord, I hope this damn thing works,’ I mumbled. I searched frantically in my pockets, but found nothing. I looked up, feeling flustered. ‘Does … sorry, does anybody have a match?’
‘Jesus!’ McGray snapped.
Malcolm threw me a box.
I struck the match, protecting it from the rain with my hand, and drew it closer to the candle stub. I had to wait until some of the wax melted, before the actual wick caught fire. All the while I stretched my arms, holding my breath and praying for the damn thing to ignite.
It finally did and I jumped backwards.
We all stared at the tiny flame, watching it grow and flicker in the sof
t wind. We waited in absolute silence. Even the crowd had quietened.
Nothing was happening.
I gulped, and a moment later saw Pratt striding towards the gibbet.
‘Very well, you had your—’
‘Look, look!’ the warden shouted.
There was a spark, and then something moved.
It was a tiny shape beginning to protrude from the wick. At first it looked like an earthworm emerging from disturbed soil, the same slithering, unsettling movements. And then it grew and ascended, as people around gasped.
The shape became thicker ; a repulsive form that swirled and twisted. It was as if the dry skin shed by a serpent had been suddenly awakened by a fakir and it now moved upwards in some sort of enchantment.
A second snake emerged, much thinner and swirling in faster movements, coiling around the first one. The mass became too heavy ; it broke and fell on the ground, where it went on growing, swelling and twirling, moving like a living thing that crawled towards our feet.
‘Look!’ someone else shouted, and our eyes went back to the candle.
More and more worm-like masses kept erupting from it, twisting like a mass of tangled snakes materialising from the bluish fire. The tip of a serpent caught fire, and side-snakes grew from the spot like ghastly tentacles. I pictured the same things sprouting at the séance, looking like a hand from a certain angle.
We all watched the spectacle unfurl, mesmerised, until …
‘Put that out!’ the warden screeched.
A moment later, just as the second knot of serpents broke and fell, one of the guards came with a bucket and threw water on the candle.
As the ghastly residue cooled down, white vapours hissed and ascended lazily to the sky, people instinctively stepping backwards.
All faces were pale, all mouths open, and for an eerie moment nobody could utter a word, until the warden rose a trembling finger, pointing at Katerina.
‘She’s a witch!’
I slapped my forehead. ‘Are you really so stupid? It was the fumes! The fumes these candles release that killed those people!’
The Darker Arts Page 33
