A Problem at the Docks. Chapter Four.
Two constables climbed down onto the mud while the rest of us stood watchfully on the dock. They pulled the tangle of weeds aside to reveal an opening in the dock wall. Half circular and perhaps five feet high, the sides and top of brick, the bottom blocked by silt and mud from the high tides of the river.
Bending down to look more closely I could see the cave like opening led into a circular tunnel. Some twelve feet across. The visible walls and ceiling of local brick though now showing signs of age and wear from the flood waters that once rushed down to the river. The floor was covered by a foot or more of stagnant water at its deepest point and the rest of the bottom was mud and dirt.
I knew what this was. Originally part of the upper level sewers of the city this tunnel had carried flood water and sewage into the harbour but it had become dangerously overused along with the rest of the system and had been superseded by the major Bristol sewer works of the 50s and 60s.
Now it carried nothing more than a trickle of water, the sewage was diverted downstream of the city rather than through this tunnel and the others like it that had once dumped it straight into the harbour and docks. The entrance half blocked by dirt and silt from the high tides on the river outside.
With the weeds cleared away daylight lit the tunnel for the first fifty feet or so and two constables carrying oil lamps would light the way further in. The constables climbed down onto the mud in front of the opening first, I clambered down more slowly and clumsily thanks to the leg brace. By the time I was down they were standing by the cave opening.
I limped up to the group of constables, my shotgun in my arms. I had ordered the pistols be left behind, other than my own. The men were not trained to use pistols and I wanted no mistakes.
“Load your shotguns gentlemen, let’s be about this.”
~
We had advanced a good one hundred feet up the sewer, I myself leading with Sergeant Peck just behind me. The two constables with shotguns were behind him and to either side. One constable with a lamp was just behind the shotgun armed man on my right; the other was a few steps behind us.
The tunnel sloped up and we found ourselves out of the stagnant water and instead walking on mud and silt left behind by rain or floods. There were plenty of marks in the wet mud ahead of us, a lot of drag marks and thin lines in the mud. Small prints about the size a dog would leave and something much bigger, mostly wiped out by the drag marks, just the hint of some huge foot. With claws.
The ground quickly became dry and our boots began to kick up dust. One of us must have kicked a stone because we heard it roll across the ground, almost like the skittering of feet on the dry dirt.
Skittering feet!
“Hold up the lamp, quickly man, hold it high!”
He did and the light was thrown further along the tunnel revealing movement, small dark shapes moving left and right in the shadows.
They charged us. I fired once, too quickly, a gout of dirt was blown into the air, the rats rushed toward us. I sighted more carefully and fired again. A three foot rat collapsed, its head gone.
The tunnel was deafening, every shotgun had been fired, men were shouting, the chattering of huge rats high pitched and clear above the sound of gunfire.
No time to reload, the rats were on us. I kicked at one and missed, another jumped at me aiming for my chest. I blocked it with the shotgun and quickly grabbed the barrels with both hands. Another rat jumping at me, waist high, I swung, I hit. A perfect four and the broken body hit the wall.
Around me the constables were shouting and stamping at the rats. The two lamp holders were swinging the oil lamps wildly, trying to knock the rats away. The rapid movement made the fight chaotic, light, darkness, light and everyone moving. It was as if I was blinking and the rats moved between blinks.
A scream, high pitched, a man in pain. The lamp carrying constable at the back was flailing at his right leg, a great black shape clinging to his trousers and trying to sink its teeth into his groin.
Sergeant Peck shouted at the man. “Jones, stop moving so I can hit it ya bloody fool.” The constable didn’t hear him or didn’t care so Peck grabbed him by the shoulder, the taller man stopped as suddenly as if he had run into a wall. The huge rat pulled back its head to strike the tender target. Sergeant Peck’s police issue truncheon crashed into its skull.
The rat blinked and looked at Peck as if to say was that the best you can do puny human.
Sergeant peck dropped his useless truncheon and kicked the rat in its furry face, knocking it off the constable's leg to land a few feet away. The rat scrabbled to its feet and turned, crouching to jump. Four feet from nose to tail, the size of a dog and just as lethal. It would not be denied. It jumped, powerful rear legs pushing it high into the air, a man’s throat its bloody target.
A heavy club of ironwood slammed into its side and knocked it flying again, one shoulder and several ribs shattered by the force of the blow. Sergeant Peck took several quick steps across to where the huge rat was now struggling to rise and stomped his size ten police boot down on its neck.
Another rat slipped past my kick and bit down on my boot, the sharp teeth cut through boot and trouser and flesh with ease. I swung the shotgun again and knocked it away from me leaving it stunned on the ground where Constable Clark caved in its head with the butt of his shotgun.
The damn thing had its teeth sunk in my boot when I knocked it off; these were handmade and tailored for me. Now the right boot had a gash ripped in it as wide as my hand. The trousers were probably ruined as well. It didn’t seem to hurt though which was probably good.
I realised that it was now quiet. The lamps were steady. Constable Jones was being held up by Sergeant Peck, his entire left leg a mass of torn trousers and bloody slashes. Everyone else was breathing hard but still standing.
We were surrounded by the remains of eleven huge rats.
~
It took us several minutes to compose ourselves; I ordered the badly hurt constable to go back to the entrance and sent another constable to help him. I kept Clark with me; the man had proved himself handy in the fight. Constable Migan, Higan, Wigan, that was the name, constable Wigan was holding the other lamp so I kept him with us as well.
Reloaded shotguns at the ready the four of us that remained continued along the tunnel.
We advanced another sixty feet or so and came to the end. The tunnel was blocked by a cave in, bricks and dirt mixed together to block the way.
There was something else as well. A scattering of small metal barrels, each big enough for half a gallon or so. The metal was a dull grey that did not reflect the light of the lamps. Each was scratched and dented as if from heavy use.
There were five of them in total; each had the top smashed in. Four of them were empty and lying on their sides, the final one was standing upright and seemed to have something at the bottom.
I perhaps foolishly kicked it over and a thick liquid flowed out and onto the dirt. For a few seconds it seemed to glow purple then it faded. Oddly for something that had seemed more like oil than water it seemed to soak into the ground rapidly and in no more than a minute was gone completely.
Looking more closely at the barrels I called for the light to be bought closer. Each had a band of some sort of writing around the widest point. It didn’t look carved or scratched, the strange letters almost looked as if they had been melted in the metal. Twisted and curving, the strange letters seemed to flow together, blurring and becoming the same shape that seemed to spin before me.
I blinked rapidly and they were no more than marks on the metal sides.
“Sir, look at this.” The sergeant was pointing at the wall behind the strange kegs. There were great slashes across the brick work, each as wide as a finger and several inches deep. Four of them running parallel to each other.
The sergeant put his hand on the wall, little finger bent onto his palm, the other three straight and his thumb stretched sideways. As wide as he could spread his hand the slashes were wider still. He drew his hand slowly along the lines. Suddenly they looked for all the world like the marks of a massive claw slashing through the bricks.
No rat had left this mark so high on the wall.
~
We made it back to the river and climbed up onto the dock. The constables we had left there had been joined by a sizable crowd. The hurt officer had been sent straight to the hospital in one of the horse drawn wagons. Leaving the other wagon, three waiting officers and the four of us.
“Sergeant, I’m sure we will need the dead rats and those odd barrels. Send a couple of constables down to collect them if you would.”
I suddenly felt very tired; perhaps the energy I had gained from the Professors odd powder earlier was wearing off. Still no pain thought.
A convenient stack of crates provided a makeshift chair while I waited for the constables Peck had sent into the tunnel to clean up.
It took a number of trips to gather up all of the dead rats and the strange barrels. At some point several newspaper men and photographers had arrived. Several attempts to ask me questions were blocked by the sergeant so they amused themselves by writing detailed notes about the rats which were being laid in a line along the dock. One of them had a tape measure and was reading the lengths in a loud voice.
As it turned out the smallest was twenty two inches, the largest an inch over four feet.
They were so interested in the rats they ignored the arrival of the strange barrels which I sent to the wagon with a wave of my hand.
With everything cleared out and all the constables’ back I was done with the docks and wanted nothing more than a good cup of tea, with a shot of whiskey in it of course. Or perhaps two shots.
I called Sergeant Peck over and told him to get everything in the wagon.
“Right you are sir. Erm inspector, you may want to get that leg sorted sir.”
I looked down at my leg, the right leg with the ruined boot, the torn trousers. The bloody wound left by the rat bite.
“Oh, I didn’t notice. Back to the hospital then sergeant.”
The dead rats were lifted by their tails and stacked in the wagon beside the barrels. The crowd shuffled closer as they were being lifted and gasps came as the largest rat was lifted. The constable was no weakling but he struggled to lift the four foot monster one handed.
The sergeant helped me to climb into the back and I took a seat on the bench trying to keep my feet off the rats, he elected to ride up front with the driver. The constables were sent to walk back to the station.
~
The ride back seemed to take no time at all.
Moments after we left the docks I blinked and we were pulling up at the hospital. Word had obviously preceded us. A crowd of hospital staff stood outside along with a few of the patients. Professor Carlyle did not wait; the wagon had barely stopped when he appeared at the door.
“You found them then, marvellous. Can I see them? Bring them out into the light. Oh Arthur, you didn’t hurt yourself again did you?”
I carefully climbed out and let him clamber into the wagon where a succession of happy exclamations told me he had found the dead rats.
I heard a noise beside me. A disproving grunt.
Doctor Harper had arrived and was pointedly looking at my torn boot and trouser leg.
I was bustled inside and a nurse was sent for various items.
With the blood washed away I needed eleven stitches and the good doctor did the work himself.
There had been nothing but a dull ache before he started, by the time he had finished my knee was burning, the wound on my leg was a screaming pain and I was so exhausted I was unable to stand.
I have some memories of a wheel chair and watching the blue painted corridor walls roll past me then a brief moment of being in a bed before I fell asleep with my wounds.
Two constables climbed down onto the mud while the rest of us stood watchfully on the dock. They pulled the tangle of weeds aside to reveal an opening in the dock wall. Half circular and perhaps five feet high, the sides and top of brick, the bottom blocked by silt and mud from the high tides of the river.
Bending down to look more closely I could see the cave like opening led into a circular tunnel. Some twelve feet across. The visible walls and ceiling of local brick though now showing signs of age and wear from the flood waters that once rushed down to the river. The floor was covered by a foot or more of stagnant water at its deepest point and the rest of the bottom was mud and dirt.
I knew what this was. Originally part of the upper level sewers of the city this tunnel had carried flood water and sewage into the harbour but it had become dangerously overused along with the rest of the system and had been superseded by the major Bristol sewer works of the 50s and 60s.
Now it carried nothing more than a trickle of water, the sewage was diverted downstream of the city rather than through this tunnel and the others like it that had once dumped it straight into the harbour and docks. The entrance half blocked by dirt and silt from the high tides on the river outside.
With the weeds cleared away daylight lit the tunnel for the first fifty feet or so and two constables carrying oil lamps would light the way further in. The constables climbed down onto the mud in front of the opening first, I clambered down more slowly and clumsily thanks to the leg brace. By the time I was down they were standing by the cave opening.
I limped up to the group of constables, my shotgun in my arms. I had ordered the pistols be left behind, other than my own. The men were not trained to use pistols and I wanted no mistakes.
“Load your shotguns gentlemen, let’s be about this.”
~
We had advanced a good one hundred feet up the sewer, I myself leading with Sergeant Peck just behind me. The two constables with shotguns were behind him and to either side. One constable with a lamp was just behind the shotgun armed man on my right; the other was a few steps behind us.
The tunnel sloped up and we found ourselves out of the stagnant water and instead walking on mud and silt left behind by rain or floods. There were plenty of marks in the wet mud ahead of us, a lot of drag marks and thin lines in the mud. Small prints about the size a dog would leave and something much bigger, mostly wiped out by the drag marks, just the hint of some huge foot. With claws.
The ground quickly became dry and our boots began to kick up dust. One of us must have kicked a stone because we heard it roll across the ground, almost like the skittering of feet on the dry dirt.
Skittering feet!
“Hold up the lamp, quickly man, hold it high!”
He did and the light was thrown further along the tunnel revealing movement, small dark shapes moving left and right in the shadows.
They charged us. I fired once, too quickly, a gout of dirt was blown into the air, the rats rushed toward us. I sighted more carefully and fired again. A three foot rat collapsed, its head gone.
The tunnel was deafening, every shotgun had been fired, men were shouting, the chattering of huge rats high pitched and clear above the sound of gunfire.
No time to reload, the rats were on us. I kicked at one and missed, another jumped at me aiming for my chest. I blocked it with the shotgun and quickly grabbed the barrels with both hands. Another rat jumping at me, waist high, I swung, I hit. A perfect four and the broken body hit the wall.
Around me the constables were shouting and stamping at the rats. The two lamp holders were swinging the oil lamps wildly, trying to knock the rats away. The rapid movement made the fight chaotic, light, darkness, light and everyone moving. It was as if I was blinking and the rats moved between blinks.
A scream, high pitched, a man in pain. The lamp carrying constable at the back was flailing at his right leg, a great black shape clinging to his trousers and trying to sink its teeth into his groin.
Sergeant Peck shouted at the man. “Jones, stop moving so I can hit it ya bloody fool.” The constable didn’t hear him or didn’t care so Peck grabbed him by the shoulder, the taller man stopped as suddenly as if he had run into a wall. The huge rat pulled back its head to strike the tender target. Sergeant Peck’s police issue truncheon crashed into its skull.
The rat blinked and looked at Peck as if to say was that the best you can do puny human.
Sergeant peck dropped his useless truncheon and kicked the rat in its furry face, knocking it off the constable's leg to land a few feet away. The rat scrabbled to its feet and turned, crouching to jump. Four feet from nose to tail, the size of a dog and just as lethal. It would not be denied. It jumped, powerful rear legs pushing it high into the air, a man’s throat its bloody target.
A heavy club of ironwood slammed into its side and knocked it flying again, one shoulder and several ribs shattered by the force of the blow. Sergeant Peck took several quick steps across to where the huge rat was now struggling to rise and stomped his size ten police boot down on its neck.
Another rat slipped past my kick and bit down on my boot, the sharp teeth cut through boot and trouser and flesh with ease. I swung the shotgun again and knocked it away from me leaving it stunned on the ground where Constable Clark caved in its head with the butt of his shotgun.
The damn thing had its teeth sunk in my boot when I knocked it off; these were handmade and tailored for me. Now the right boot had a gash ripped in it as wide as my hand. The trousers were probably ruined as well. It didn’t seem to hurt though which was probably good.
I realised that it was now quiet. The lamps were steady. Constable Jones was being held up by Sergeant Peck, his entire left leg a mass of torn trousers and bloody slashes. Everyone else was breathing hard but still standing.
We were surrounded by the remains of eleven huge rats.
~
It took us several minutes to compose ourselves; I ordered the badly hurt constable to go back to the entrance and sent another constable to help him. I kept Clark with me; the man had proved himself handy in the fight. Constable Migan, Higan, Wigan, that was the name, constable Wigan was holding the other lamp so I kept him with us as well.
Reloaded shotguns at the ready the four of us that remained continued along the tunnel.
We advanced another sixty feet or so and came to the end. The tunnel was blocked by a cave in, bricks and dirt mixed together to block the way.
There was something else as well. A scattering of small metal barrels, each big enough for half a gallon or so. The metal was a dull grey that did not reflect the light of the lamps. Each was scratched and dented as if from heavy use.
There were five of them in total; each had the top smashed in. Four of them were empty and lying on their sides, the final one was standing upright and seemed to have something at the bottom.
I perhaps foolishly kicked it over and a thick liquid flowed out and onto the dirt. For a few seconds it seemed to glow purple then it faded. Oddly for something that had seemed more like oil than water it seemed to soak into the ground rapidly and in no more than a minute was gone completely.
Looking more closely at the barrels I called for the light to be bought closer. Each had a band of some sort of writing around the widest point. It didn’t look carved or scratched, the strange letters almost looked as if they had been melted in the metal. Twisted and curving, the strange letters seemed to flow together, blurring and becoming the same shape that seemed to spin before me.
I blinked rapidly and they were no more than marks on the metal sides.
“Sir, look at this.” The sergeant was pointing at the wall behind the strange kegs. There were great slashes across the brick work, each as wide as a finger and several inches deep. Four of them running parallel to each other.
The sergeant put his hand on the wall, little finger bent onto his palm, the other three straight and his thumb stretched sideways. As wide as he could spread his hand the slashes were wider still. He drew his hand slowly along the lines. Suddenly they looked for all the world like the marks of a massive claw slashing through the bricks.
No rat had left this mark so high on the wall.
~
We made it back to the river and climbed up onto the dock. The constables we had left there had been joined by a sizable crowd. The hurt officer had been sent straight to the hospital in one of the horse drawn wagons. Leaving the other wagon, three waiting officers and the four of us.
“Sergeant, I’m sure we will need the dead rats and those odd barrels. Send a couple of constables down to collect them if you would.”
I suddenly felt very tired; perhaps the energy I had gained from the Professors odd powder earlier was wearing off. Still no pain thought.
A convenient stack of crates provided a makeshift chair while I waited for the constables Peck had sent into the tunnel to clean up.
It took a number of trips to gather up all of the dead rats and the strange barrels. At some point several newspaper men and photographers had arrived. Several attempts to ask me questions were blocked by the sergeant so they amused themselves by writing detailed notes about the rats which were being laid in a line along the dock. One of them had a tape measure and was reading the lengths in a loud voice.
As it turned out the smallest was twenty two inches, the largest an inch over four feet.
They were so interested in the rats they ignored the arrival of the strange barrels which I sent to the wagon with a wave of my hand.
With everything cleared out and all the constables’ back I was done with the docks and wanted nothing more than a good cup of tea, with a shot of whiskey in it of course. Or perhaps two shots.
I called Sergeant Peck over and told him to get everything in the wagon.
“Right you are sir. Erm inspector, you may want to get that leg sorted sir.”
I looked down at my leg, the right leg with the ruined boot, the torn trousers. The bloody wound left by the rat bite.
“Oh, I didn’t notice. Back to the hospital then sergeant.”
The dead rats were lifted by their tails and stacked in the wagon beside the barrels. The crowd shuffled closer as they were being lifted and gasps came as the largest rat was lifted. The constable was no weakling but he struggled to lift the four foot monster one handed.
The sergeant helped me to climb into the back and I took a seat on the bench trying to keep my feet off the rats, he elected to ride up front with the driver. The constables were sent to walk back to the station.
~
The ride back seemed to take no time at all.
Moments after we left the docks I blinked and we were pulling up at the hospital. Word had obviously preceded us. A crowd of hospital staff stood outside along with a few of the patients. Professor Carlyle did not wait; the wagon had barely stopped when he appeared at the door.
“You found them then, marvellous. Can I see them? Bring them out into the light. Oh Arthur, you didn’t hurt yourself again did you?”
I carefully climbed out and let him clamber into the wagon where a succession of happy exclamations told me he had found the dead rats.
I heard a noise beside me. A disproving grunt.
Doctor Harper had arrived and was pointedly looking at my torn boot and trouser leg.
I was bustled inside and a nurse was sent for various items.
With the blood washed away I needed eleven stitches and the good doctor did the work himself.
There had been nothing but a dull ache before he started, by the time he had finished my knee was burning, the wound on my leg was a screaming pain and I was so exhausted I was unable to stand.
I have some memories of a wheel chair and watching the blue painted corridor walls roll past me then a brief moment of being in a bed before I fell asleep with my wounds.