The Silent Legion

by P W Hillard

  “Are you alright?” asked Augustus.

  “Yes,” said Titus, “I think…I think I’m okay. I was floating, a sea of stars, then I saw something, a vision I think? A creature murdering a woman, here, in Rome.”

  Augustus nodded. “You have the right of it. It was a vision, a true image of something that has happened, or will happen soon. This, Titus, is how I knew of the creatures in Germania. This monstrous thing seems to have links to its, let's say, cousins. This is how those ancient oracles foresaw things. How they sent those heroes of myth to slay monsters.”

  “That thing I saw. It was in our streets, murdering our citizens. We have to do something about it.”

  “And we are. Titus, I will give you your own legion. A secret one, one that walks the streets of our nation, cleansing it of these fiends. You must be discrete, these fiends must be purged without inciting fear, without causing panic or chaos. Yours is to be a silent legion. You have proven yourself capable in the Germania campaign, Titus. I have sent several expeditions to face beasts, and yours was the first to be successful. I wish for you to continue your work. You shall have the guardsmen who went with you at first, but I shall leave additional recruitment up to yourself." Augustus removed his hand from Titus’ shoulder.

  “You want us to use this…thing to do that?”

  “It will prove useful I think," said Augustus. “Use their own kind against them. Once your mission is done, then we can slay it and be free of monsters.”

  The two men turned and looked at the creature, which regarded them with contempt, as though it understood what they were saying. Both stood there silently for a moment, thinking on Augustus' words. Somehow, deep down, they both knew the task would never truly be done, that they would never really be free of monsters.

  Chapter Ten

  A few hours turned into a few days, Lucille’s estimate of how long her attacker would be asleep had proven to be woefully inaccurate. The woman snored loudly in her holding cell, rattling the cot the officers had gingerly placed her into. Whilst she slept, her belongings, the contents of her van, and the remains of the bomb had been taken to be tested and examined, a careful search for clues as to her identity.

  The items removed had proven to be largely, useless. Scraps of cardboard and fake delivery forms. The device used in the bomb had been simple and small, designed to scatter the contents of the box like an occult fragmentation grenade. It was a simple, effective idea, one which the officers of the special investigations’ unit had made a note of, passing the details to their firearms officer. The van itself was empty, a rental under a fake name, no other packages save its sole explosive cargo. There were two objects of interest found tucked inside the woman’s jacket. The first was a long stiletto dagger. Its blade gleamed a radiant silver, its handle was two twisting strands of metal, spiralling each other like a double helix. At its pommel was a coin, easily identifiable as Roman, though the specifics would require more research. The second object was a small box. It was walnut, the polished wood a rich deep brown. The box was small, it looked like the kind you might receive containing an expensive pen. The inside of the box was inlaid with crimson velvet. On the cloth were two coins. They were similar to the one on the dagger, though they were a different style, perhaps a different minting.

  Jess and Mark stood before an old Georgian townhouse, a thin three-story building sandwiched between two others. No light escaped from the house, the windows blocked with the backs of cabinets or faded movie posters. Above the front door was a sign, reading “Johnsons’ Emporium of Antiques”, the incorrect grammar annoyed Jess in a way she couldn’t quite articulate. The door itself was a large black thing, heavy wood flanked by white stone columns. On the door was a large metal knocker in the shape of a lion's head, the handle clamped in its mouth. They didn't knock, instead, Mark pushed open the door. There was the faint tinkle of a bell as it swung open, and they stepped inside.

  The inside of the shop was a maze. A dense warren of furniture and art. Old chairs lay scattered around like oak landmines, waiting to trip up anyone unwary with their footing. A painting, its frame resting on an armoire seemed to glare at Jess as they walked past it. The ceiling was a canopy of lampshades and chandeliers, all attached to a hanging metal frame. This meant they hung much lower than usual, Jess having to duck under them whilst the shorter Mark stormed onwards, unimpeded by the low hanging glass.

  They traipsed onwards, adventurers in this jungle of antiques, until they reached a clearing. An empty section of floor, the forest of furniture exploding outwards from this point. In the centre of the clearing was a large wooden desk, behind which sat a man. He was leaning back in his chair, reading a large hardback book that had long since lost its dust jacket. He was an elderly man, appearing to be easily in his late seventies. A single circle of white hair orbited his otherwise bald head. He wore a thick green woollen jumper, its elbows repaired with mismatched leather patches.

  “How can I help you today?” said the man. His voice was dry, almost dusty. He didn’t look up from his book.

  “Need you to help us with some identification George,” said Mark.

  The man placed a wooden ruler into his book, and closed it, placing it carefully onto his desk. “Ah, detectives, always happy to help the police out.” George grinned. He had made a lot of money supplying occult rarities to the police force. “What have you got for me?”

  “Two things,” said Jess. She opened the canvas tote bag she had found in the office break room and removed two clear plastic evidence bags. One for the dagger, the other for the walnut box. She placed them onto the desk. “You can open them, we’ve done all our forensics.”

  “Need to be careful with that, you could damage a valuable artefact,” said George, picking up the plastic bag that contained the dagger.

  “Bit more concerned with catching murderers honestly,” said Mark. His face was solemn, serious.

  George nodded silently, an acceptance of Mark’s priorities. He removed the dagger from the bag and tested its weight in his hand. “Not bad, not bad,” he muttered to himself. “What you have here is a weapon designed to hunt monsters.”

  “We figured out that part,” said Jess sarcastically.

  “Well, yes, I suppose you would. No, this specific kind I’ve only seen once or twice. Never got my hands on one though. The outer layer of the weapon is silver, the inner blade is iron. That’s what the handle represents, the duality of the two metals. Ideal for hunting a wide range of monsters.” George slid open one of his desk drawers and produced a loupe. He placed it to his eye and examined the coin.

  “The kind of intent a wielder one of these has, that’s going to be pretty effective,” said Mark. Mark was the go-to guy in the department for magical knowledge. He was most often found with his nose in some esoteric tome in his free time. Mark was right, the most important part of magic was the intent, the will of the caster. Rituals served to focus the mind, make that will manifest. The idea that iron within the blade was enough to harm one of the various creatures with a reaction to iron was enough to make that true, if the belief was strong enough.

  “The few of these I’ve heard of are Roman made, relics a few thousand years old,” said George.

  “I can hear a but coming,” said Jess.

  “But,” continued George, deliberately. “This isn’t very old. This coin on the top it’s a fake. Well not a fake, a replica, a very good one at that. But this is modern made, not Roman. The metalwork on it is a dead giveaway.”

  “The Roman weapons, the originals, what’s the deal with those?” asked Mark. Jess was staring at the ceiling, contemplating something.

  “No-one is really sure. We think that maybe they used to belong to some kind of Roman monster hunting group? There are a few scraps of lore, the odd legend or two, but nothing concrete. The coin is a copy of one from the reign of Augustus. He put a lot of new things into place for the Romans. Post, police, new roads. A standing army.”

  “And you th
ink maybe he put monster hunters into place too?” asked Mark.

  “Makes sense,” said George, his throat rattled as he spoke. “They wouldn’t be the first, or last society to have some kind of monster hunting caste. What are you detective if not ours?”

  Mark considered this for a moment. He didn't like the thought. In his mind, he was first and foremost a police officer. They made no differentiation between anyone; the law was the law. He looked over at Jess, who held up two fingers and produced her mobile phone. She placed it to her ear and walked off down one of the aisles of furniture. “So, this dagger is relatively new. Someone is starting up the old band so to speak?”

  “Maybe they never left?” replied George.

  The phone rang twice before the line was answered.

  “Hello? This is D.S Beecham,” said the voice at the other end.

  "Sandy, hey, its Jess." Jess had walked away from the two men; a sudden realisation had come to her during the conversation. She leant against an empty wooden bookcase, phone to her ear. "Listen, you know that woman we brought in, the bombing case?"

  “Yeah, sleeping beauty, right?”

  “Exactly, well, we’re getting a dagger we found on her identified, apparently it’s a replica of a weapon used by Roman monster hunters. I was thinking, the brownie case from a few weeks ago, that was a stabbing, right?” Jess stood up straight, the bookcase had begun to wobble worryingly.

  “I get it,” replied Sandra, “you think they might be linked? That bombardier Betty is also stabby Susan. That's a good idea. A neighbour did see what looked like a Mormon missionary visit the home around the time of death. Arrived by car."

  "If it's like the van, the car is a rental. Maybe check with companies in the area."

  “I’ll ring around,” said Sandra. “I’ll let you know if we find anything.

  Jess returned to the desk, as George was removing the wooden box from its bag. He slid it out carefully, laying it flat on the desktop before him.

  “Everything ok?” asked Mark as Jess stood next to him.

  “Yeah, all fine,” replied Jess, “had an idea I needed to pass on to Sandy.”

  Mark thought for a moment. "Ah right, I get you. Good thinking."

  George gripped the lid of the walnut box and slowly opened it. He stared at the two coins inside. “Hmm, ok, these are real Roman coins, not copies like the one on the dagger.” He picked one up and turned it over. “They are in excellent condition. Hmm, either of you have a dowsing crystal to hand?”

  Mark reached into his pocket and removed a small blue crystal tied to a string. He handed it over to George who let it hang from his fingers. He held it over the coins, the dangling crystal began to rotate slowly. He jerked the string, catching the recoiling crystal in his hand. He passed it back to Mark. “So, they’re haunted coins?”

  “Not haunted, no,” corrected George. “They do have a link to the other side though. There’s a fair trade in real Roman and Greek coins for a specific ritual. I thought maybe these were components for that, and I seem to be right.”

  “Ritual?” asked Jess.

  "Of a sort yes. With the right preparation, the coins can be enchanted to allow someone to see into the veil beyond. You must treat them with a liquid, a mix of embalming fluids and herbs known to please the gods. You lay flat, place the coins on your closed eyes and poof!" George opened his closed hands dramatically. "You get to see the spirit of a loved one. The coins are payment, for the ferryman.”

  “Does it work?” said Mark.

  “As far as I know. Like I said coins trade hands all the time.” George closed the box and placed it back into the bag.

  Jess stared at the table, lost in thought. “You know…” she said.

  “Go on, I can see the wheels turning,” said Mark.

  “If you were going to convince someone to do something, being able to show them a dead loved one is a really good motivator.”

  “Linda Carlisle aged thirty-four. Sandy was able to track her real details down after speaking with a rental firm who recognised her. She used a fake name there, but they track all their cars. She stopped at a petrol station and used her real bank card to buy a coffee,” said Jess, staring at the woman sitting alone in the interview room through the small screen.

  “We know anything else?” asked D.C.I Florence Weston.

  “Yes, she was a single mother, lost her son about a year ago. Was attacked and taken to a local hospital. She reports it as being a large black dog with fiery red eyes. Local bobbies listed it as a stabbing and didn’t include the dog in the official reports, so we never picked up on it,” said Jess.

  "God damn it,” muttered Mark.

  “We can’t get them all,” said Florence. “We’re stretched thin at the best of times. We can only do our best. Well? Time you go find out what she has to say.”

  “So, Linda,” said Mark, sliding out the plastic chair from under the table. The tabletop was cheap, a grey plastic coating across the wood designed to make it look like painted pine. In the centre of the table was a black triangle that curved upwards slightly in the middle. The small bump was covered in dozens of tiny holes. “You are in a lot of trouble. Multiple attempted murders, terrorism charges and that’s just to start with.”

  "It's an impressive list," added Jess, who had taken the seat next to him. A light blinked on the triangle, indicating it was recording."

  “For the benefit of the tape, I am Detective Constable Mark Curren.” Mark leant towards the recording microphone. It was unnecessary, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “I am Detective Constable Jessica Holden,” said Jess.

  “The time is, eleven twenty-four A.M on the sixth of June twenty nineteen. Proceeding with the interview of a Miss Linda Carlisle on suspicion of attempted murder and terrorism offences,” continued Mark. “Linda, you have anything you want to say before we begin?”

  “You’ve got me mixed up with someone else,” she muttered. “My name is Drusilla.”

  “Funny that,” said Jess, “because we have images of you from the cameras of a petrol station, using the debit card of a Linda Carlisle. All her social media is also photographs of you.”

  “You made an easy mistake to make Linda, tripped yourself up there I’m afraid. Now, why don’t you tell us how you ended up in a bar with an explosive device,” said Mark. Linda sat there, arms crossed, silent. She glared at the two of them, unblinking, her face a scowl.

  “I think,” said Jess, breaking the silence, “that you were there to try and kill two demons.” She nodded as Linda’s face switched to shock. “Yes demons, we know about those. Ghosts, vampires, fairies, the whole lot. You think you’re the only person to have figured it out?”

  “This police department has existed since eighteen eighty-eight. We keep people safe. All people, human or supernatural alike. We make no distinction aside from the law. The two people you tried to kill have never, as far as we know, broken any laws.” Mark placed a photograph onto the table, it was of the pink carbon paper. “This is some pretty advanced spell work. I think, that you had help Linda, is that right?”

  She ignored the question, instead proposing her own. “You help these…monsters? They’re killers, murderers.”

  “That’s not true. That brownie woman you stabbed, and yes we know about that, we just got confirmation that the dagger you carried matched the stab wounds,” began Jess. They hadn’t but she was confident enough that it would to make the bluff. "She never hurt anyone. In fact, some colleagues of mine spoke to some of the families she worked for. As far as they knew she was just a perfect housekeeper. A real-life Mary Poppins."

  Linda sneered. “She tricked those people, lied about what she really was. She must have had something to gain from it. I doubt she was as squeaky clean as you claimed.”

  “So, you did kill her then? You didn’t answer my question though, who are you working with. Someone must have made you that dagger, given you those enchanted coins, told you where to go and who to k
ill,” said Mark.

  “I work alone,” said Linda. Her conviction was impressive, but the response felt rehearsed.

  "I'll tell you what I think," said Jess. "I think that after your son was killed, by what you described as," Jess picked up a sheet of paper from the table, "a large black dog, with a single red eye, someone came to you. Told you that you weren't crazy, offered you a chance at revenge maybe?"

  “Fuck you,” spat Linda. “You would never understand.”

  “Oh, I understand plenty,” said Jess, struggling to keep her voice calm. “I’m a mother. I ended up working here, working these cases, because my family was attacked. What’s called a changeling, a sort of fairy shapeshifter. It steals children and replaces them. I was angry, at first, but once I learnt more I came to understand that a changeling is from, another place, its no more than an animal really, acting on its instinct. It’s like a cuckoo stealing a nest. The thing you saw, that’s Black Shuck, it’s a kind of elemental spirit, it’s been prowling England for longer than man has walked the earth. It’s not sentient, it’s a force of nature, no different to a flood or hurricane.” Jess reached out to touch Linda’s hand, but she recoiled, her eyes ablaze with anger.

  “Nature!” Linda shouted. “There was nothing natural about that…thing. Nothing natural about any of these monsters!”

  “Supers are just as natural as you or- “started Mark.

  “They killed my boy!” screamed Linda.

  "I think we better give her a moment," said Jess, touching Mark on the arm. "Recording paused, eleven-thirty A.M." She stood up, and Mark followed.

  “Answer me one thing,” whispered Linda as the pair opened the interview room door. “That woman, she glowed, brilliant white light, it was…radiant. What was she?”