Chapter seven.
The man had continued to deny any knowledge of anything for several minutes, the two constables who had escorted him into the tea room ignored him.
Then Peck came in and sat down.
He put the photograph on the table and pushed it closer to the man.
“You have seen this or one like it, where and when.”
“What no, not in my life. Never seen it before, on me mums grave I swear. Never seen them before.”
Peck leaned closer to the man. “Them?”
The man started to stutter. “ No no, I, I meant, meant it. Never seen it before. Not them, not them, never seen any before.”
Peck looked the quivering man in the eye. “Three murders, nasty, arms torn off, legs torn off. Hanging for sure,”
“What, murders, no, not me. That was rats, they said in the papers it was rats, not me, I never did nothing, I didn’t touch them.”
Peck paused before speaking. “You said them again.”
It took ten minutes and a cup of strong police tea to calm the man down, he was clearly terrified and he seemed less afraid of Sergeant Peck than he was of someone else which was unusual to say the least.
It turned out that Jasper Hadley, thief, pickpocket, petty criminal standing, had seen about thirty such barrels not a week ago. Being unloaded from a horse drawn dray. They had been exactly as shown on the photograph and those doing the unloading had been men of the deep Somerset villages by manner and dress.
Petty thief that he was Hadley had wandered a little closer to see what else was on the dray, small metal kegs while unusual were hardly something he could pocket easily. So he had been close enough to overhear one of the men unloading tell another that these were all for Captain Aldrect at the Orchard Tavern.
After that he had been chased away by one of the men at the dray and in the process had seen the man’s face behind the up turned collar and pulled down hat. The sight had shocked and terrified him and though he would not describe exactly what he had seen even remembering the sight left him shaking.
The man had been given another cup of tea and sent on his way. Peck and Townsend spoke after he had left.
“Orchard Tavern, down the Orchard lane. Bad district Peck, not a place to visit at night.”
Sergeant Peck glanced out the window, it was now fully dark.
“Tomorrow then. I’ll talk to the Inspector in the morning. I’ll be wanting a few of the lads as well. Constable Clark and a couple more, good lads, handy if it gets rough. “
Townsend nodded. I can sort you a few. I’ll have them ready for eight.
Peck nodded and made his way out of the still crowded station to walk home.
Orchard land. The worst part of the city, populated mostly by those Somerset hicks and yokels. Even the gangs kept clear of that place. If there was ever a place that seemed right for those giant rats to have come from. Orchard lane was it.
~
I woke with the dawn, the songs of birds and the steady increase in traffic outside my window.
My fourth day in hospital, or was it my fifth. Good grief I was losing track of the days for some reason. It must be the monotony of being in a hospital.
I counted the days and came to five. Five entire days trapped here. I was frustrated by my injuries, frustrated by my inablilty to do anything. As a test I moved my legs. My right calf was sore and the stitches felt tight, my left knee was aching.
I lay back for some minutes, enjoying the peace and quiet but aware of a need. Yes of course, I hadn’t taken any of the powder yet, it was medicine after all. For the pain.
I mixed a heaped spoonful and drank it down, then settled back to relax in the peace of the early morning.
I was awakened again by a knocking on the door. By the light from the window I must have slept at least an hour and now I felt a little sluggish, my thoughts slow and unfocused.
I struggled upright and waved Sergeant Peck into the room.
“Reckon I may have something sir. Them kegs, about thirty of em. By way of some lads from the small villages. Delivered to a Captain Aldrect care of the Orchard tavern, Orchard lane.”
“Good job sergeant. Orchard lane, that sounds familiar for some reason. Why have I heard of it?”
Sergeant Peck considered for a few seconds. “Not sure sir, not one of the cases we have worked together. Nasty part of town to be honest, not the place a gentleman such as yourself would be seen dead.”
It was at this moment that Mrs Winpole arrived with this morning’s breakfast.
I sent the Sergeant to the station to collect a wagon and return to collect me in an hour, which would give me time to eat and dress properly.
Breakfast was to Mrs Winpole's usual standards and she had bought a copy of the Times as well so I was able to read while enjoying the delights of her cooking.
It was with a start that I realised considerable time had passed. Was I losing track of the hours as well as the days. I had finished and she had departed and I had not even noticed.
I used the chamber pot, shaved and started to dress myself when I nearly fell. My knee was not painful but it had collapsed under me when I stood. After strapping on the brace I found that I could stand and walk with a tolerable limp.
As I was leaving one of the nurses asked me where I thought I was going. She clearly did not believe I was just getting some fresh air and walked off quickly to fetch a doctor. I hurried as fast as I could given my limp and made it to the main doors and out without being caught.
Sergeant Peck was waiting with a wagon and as I carefully climbed the steep step at the back to get inside helping hands came out of the gloom. There were three other constables in the back, I recognized Constable Clark and the other two were tall and heavy set men with several scars and a broken nose to indicate they were not adverse to a fight when duty called for it.
The trip across town was brief, most traffic got out of the way of a police wagon and those who thought to try their luck were greeted by the unsmiling face of Sergeant Peck. A few gentlemen’s carriages that felt themselves to have right of way were persuaded otherwise by a shout of “Police Business, make way for Inspector Thorn.
Having my name of the front of the local papers not a few days ago was most advantageous at times.
Sergeant Peck had suggested we leave the wagon and the three constables at the top of Tanners lane, five of us would doubtless have set every ruffian in the area running to hide so I agreed that this would be a good idea. They could respond quickly to the sound of a police whistle or to a shot from my police issue revolver.
~
The tavern was tucked away in the middle of Orchard lane, right in the middle of a twisted network of alleys and narrow roads that had come to be called the Orchards. Right on the edge of the river, at low tide the orchards ran alongside the muddy bank, at high tide the water was no more than a few feet from the walls of the buildings.
At one time this place may even have been orchards but it was hard to think of lines of trees heavy with fruit while looking at the tight packed crumbling buildings.
The edge of the orchards was easy to see, all the buildings in this part of the city were as run down as each other, the cobbles no more than patches and the streets and alleys thick with dirt, rubbish or other less pleasant debris.
But there was a line. A gap if you will, were the people from the surrounding streets did not stand, did not cross. A wide, empty area. Even the houses either side of that line were abandoned and boarded up.
Inspector and sergeant walked down the length of Tanners lane to the very bottom where it turned towards the river and became orchard lane. All the way down Tanners lane hard eyes had studied the Inspector, noting the quality of his suit and coat, judging his wealth. The fact that he was police would not have slowed these killers for an instant.
But the man walking behind him, shorter and ill dressed, he gave them pause.
Inspector Thorn was not known to the men of the streets but Sergeant Peck was and so the hard eyed men stood and watched and did not move.
The two men walked across that unmarked line and entered Orchard lane.
There were less people standing along Orchard lane and those that did kept back, beside the alleys or in the shadows. All wore long coats, collars turned up and hats pulled down. The clothing was shabby and dirty but patched and whole. Nothing could be seen of these people aside from the odd glimpse of wide eyes or thin lipped mouths.
~
The Orchard Tavern was unmarked, no sign hung outside but the sound of many voices and the smell of stale beer and other more unpleasant odours surrounded it.
The doorway was low, crudely made beams of wood surrounding an ugly looking door that was none the less a good inch of oak. The windows were tiny and covered in generations of dirt, the only light within came from the open door and a few small lamps hanging from the low beams.
I ducked low and stepped into the shadow filled building, as I did so I felt a chill on my neck, inside the tavern it was noticeably cooler than the lane had been.
Sergeant Peck stepped quickly through the doorway close behind me, judging by the look of wary concentration on his face he thought this place had trouble written on the walls in large letters.
Inside the tavern it took long seconds for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light but slowly tables became visible along with the shapes of men sitting at them.
Voices that had fallen silent when we entered started again, at first no more than whispers then quickly rising to a more normal volume.
The accents were of deepest Somerset, from the lowlands, the fens and the tiny villages along the north of the country along the coast.
The men of the levels kept to themselves and other folk had learned not to bother them or intrude on their land.
I kept one hand in my coat pocket resting on my revolver, I didn’t have dealings with the men of the levels But I had heard of them. They had a villainous and unsavoury reputation and I intended to take no chances.
Clannish, Suspicious people. Seldom seen in the city and then only along the docks. They spoke with gruff voices, slurring their words and often using words and phrases that did not seem to be English.
As my eyes became used to the gloom I noticed how many of the men in the tavern seemed to be related to each other, alike enough to be cousins. Or more likely looking at the sallow skin, the bulging eyes and thin lipped mouths they were the product of too many marriages between brothers and sisters. An unhealthy looking lot to be sure.
I walked toward the back of the room where planks set upon upright barrels marked the bar and the sallow faced wretch that no doubt ran this place.
“I am looking for Captain Aldrect, I am told he is to be found here.”
“Never erd of im.” The barkeep slurred his words in the manner of the yokels of deepest Somerset
“Captain Aldrect, where is he?”
The barkeep shrugged his shoulders that seemed oddly misshapen beneath the filthy jacket he wore, he turned away as if to ignore me then froze as the loud crack of wood on wood came from close by.
Sergeant Peck had rapped his lucky club on the planks that made up the bar and the barkeep looked down at the club, then quickly to Pecks face, then back to the club. It was hard to read an expression on his face, he was clearly related to every other man in the room but he certainly acted as if he were, concerned, worried, maybe even afraid.
The bar keep gestured to another man who sat nearby to come close and quickly whispered something, I could barely hear what was said and did not understand it, perhaps some dialect of Somerset but it sounded like nothing so much as hissing and croaking rather than good English.
The messenger walked quickly to a staircase half hidden in the gloom and climbed the steps, his gait odd, as if he had bad knees or hips. Perhaps another result of all the in breeding I could see sign of on every face around me.
No more than a minute later he came back down the stairs and waved for me to ascend. The steps seemed oddly greasy and with my knee I took them carefully, I had no wish to fall in front of the men who watched so carefully. Not from embarrassment, I had no idea why they feared Sergeant Peck but I planned to use that fear and to do nothing to weaken it. Such as falling on my backside in front of them.
Upstairs was a little lighter, the windows up here had less dirt and I could see several small tables and one larger, a long narrow table with five figures seated behind it.
The smallish figure at one end of this table waved us over and looked at Peck.
“Sergeant Peck, we know you. We not fear you here. We not fear Godslayer.”
Ah that explained it, these deluded fools were perhaps more of the same that we had fought in the warehouse, faking rituals and proclaiming some misshapen beast to be their god. Well the good sergeant had killed the last one we met so that would explain the fear.
“Sergeant Peck, the photograph if you please.”
Once it was produced I placed it on the table in front of the five figures. The one who had spoken seemed younger and less inbred, three of the others shared the look of those downstairs. The fifth and last seemed larger but sat hunched under a long coat and hood, his face and hands hidden within the volumous cloth.
“I am looking for these, I am told that Captain Aldrect is the owner.”
“Nooo”, the voice came from the completely hidden figure, the voice harsh and rasping.
“You look for the monsssster, killer of mensssss.”
“What if I do, would you know where to find it?”
The hidden figure leaned sideways and the youth stretched across the table so that their faces were very close together. They spoke at length, their words quiet and impossible to understand, the same hissing and croaking dialect of the men downstairs.
Then the hidden figure sat back and the youth turned toward us.
“The captain says he knows where it is, what you hunt. Very dangerous, it hunts us, takes our cargo, takes the 'bthnk hupadgh shogg, the, the, the kegs you seek. It is old enemy, old warrior, from war long before. Big, strong, tall”
The youth held one of his hands well above his head to indicate height; perhaps seven feet or a little more than stretched his arms out sideways to indicate shoulders far wider than his own.
“It hunts, takes kegs, kills for fun. Kills many more unless you end it. Is on ship, lairs on ship. Takes kegs. Words say rats, no. Rats come from ‘bthnk, rats not kills. It kills. You stop, you kill, godslayer kills.”
The youth spoke carefully as if he had difficulty saying the words, clearly lacking in even the most basic education. The more I came to see of these deep Somerset men the more I came to be disgusted that such savage and primitive men should exist in Britain of all places.
“Where is this monster, where is its lair and this ship?”
The youth tried to explain but struggled over street names and after several minutes I grew exasperated.
“Can you draw a map, a picture?”
He nodded and I pulled a page from my note book and passed him both paper and the half pencil I had obtained from the hospital.
He scribbled a crude picture, taking his time and clearly finding the task difficult.
Finally he finished and slid the messy collection of lines and marks back toward us. It meant absolutely nothing to me but Sergeant Peck leaned forward and took a closer look. He then pointed at a spot on the squiggles and asked “This is us?”
The youth nodded.
“You know where this is sergeant.”
“Yes sir, these would be the warehouses south of the docks. This is the alley between the old coal store and the Belkin Imports warehouse. Odd though, I have walked past there a hundred times and I would swear that alley is a dead end.”
“Good. Captain it would be best for all concerned that you have told the truth here.”
He said nothing and did not move. Then he slid one arm across the desk, his hand hidden within the folds of his sleeve. When he withdrew his arm he had left a key behind, large and ancient looking, the metal was darkened with rust or wear and looked crudely made but when I picked it up I could see the teeth of the key were sharp edged and clean. Well used.
I had had enough of this place and these people and wanted to breathe the clean air of the city again. Well away from the Orchards and the most unwholesome people that lived there.
Our trip back to the police wagon was fortunately uneventful and quick.
The man had continued to deny any knowledge of anything for several minutes, the two constables who had escorted him into the tea room ignored him.
Then Peck came in and sat down.
He put the photograph on the table and pushed it closer to the man.
“You have seen this or one like it, where and when.”
“What no, not in my life. Never seen it before, on me mums grave I swear. Never seen them before.”
Peck leaned closer to the man. “Them?”
The man started to stutter. “ No no, I, I meant, meant it. Never seen it before. Not them, not them, never seen any before.”
Peck looked the quivering man in the eye. “Three murders, nasty, arms torn off, legs torn off. Hanging for sure,”
“What, murders, no, not me. That was rats, they said in the papers it was rats, not me, I never did nothing, I didn’t touch them.”
Peck paused before speaking. “You said them again.”
It took ten minutes and a cup of strong police tea to calm the man down, he was clearly terrified and he seemed less afraid of Sergeant Peck than he was of someone else which was unusual to say the least.
It turned out that Jasper Hadley, thief, pickpocket, petty criminal standing, had seen about thirty such barrels not a week ago. Being unloaded from a horse drawn dray. They had been exactly as shown on the photograph and those doing the unloading had been men of the deep Somerset villages by manner and dress.
Petty thief that he was Hadley had wandered a little closer to see what else was on the dray, small metal kegs while unusual were hardly something he could pocket easily. So he had been close enough to overhear one of the men unloading tell another that these were all for Captain Aldrect at the Orchard Tavern.
After that he had been chased away by one of the men at the dray and in the process had seen the man’s face behind the up turned collar and pulled down hat. The sight had shocked and terrified him and though he would not describe exactly what he had seen even remembering the sight left him shaking.
The man had been given another cup of tea and sent on his way. Peck and Townsend spoke after he had left.
“Orchard Tavern, down the Orchard lane. Bad district Peck, not a place to visit at night.”
Sergeant Peck glanced out the window, it was now fully dark.
“Tomorrow then. I’ll talk to the Inspector in the morning. I’ll be wanting a few of the lads as well. Constable Clark and a couple more, good lads, handy if it gets rough. “
Townsend nodded. I can sort you a few. I’ll have them ready for eight.
Peck nodded and made his way out of the still crowded station to walk home.
Orchard land. The worst part of the city, populated mostly by those Somerset hicks and yokels. Even the gangs kept clear of that place. If there was ever a place that seemed right for those giant rats to have come from. Orchard lane was it.
~
I woke with the dawn, the songs of birds and the steady increase in traffic outside my window.
My fourth day in hospital, or was it my fifth. Good grief I was losing track of the days for some reason. It must be the monotony of being in a hospital.
I counted the days and came to five. Five entire days trapped here. I was frustrated by my injuries, frustrated by my inablilty to do anything. As a test I moved my legs. My right calf was sore and the stitches felt tight, my left knee was aching.
I lay back for some minutes, enjoying the peace and quiet but aware of a need. Yes of course, I hadn’t taken any of the powder yet, it was medicine after all. For the pain.
I mixed a heaped spoonful and drank it down, then settled back to relax in the peace of the early morning.
I was awakened again by a knocking on the door. By the light from the window I must have slept at least an hour and now I felt a little sluggish, my thoughts slow and unfocused.
I struggled upright and waved Sergeant Peck into the room.
“Reckon I may have something sir. Them kegs, about thirty of em. By way of some lads from the small villages. Delivered to a Captain Aldrect care of the Orchard tavern, Orchard lane.”
“Good job sergeant. Orchard lane, that sounds familiar for some reason. Why have I heard of it?”
Sergeant Peck considered for a few seconds. “Not sure sir, not one of the cases we have worked together. Nasty part of town to be honest, not the place a gentleman such as yourself would be seen dead.”
It was at this moment that Mrs Winpole arrived with this morning’s breakfast.
I sent the Sergeant to the station to collect a wagon and return to collect me in an hour, which would give me time to eat and dress properly.
Breakfast was to Mrs Winpole's usual standards and she had bought a copy of the Times as well so I was able to read while enjoying the delights of her cooking.
It was with a start that I realised considerable time had passed. Was I losing track of the hours as well as the days. I had finished and she had departed and I had not even noticed.
I used the chamber pot, shaved and started to dress myself when I nearly fell. My knee was not painful but it had collapsed under me when I stood. After strapping on the brace I found that I could stand and walk with a tolerable limp.
As I was leaving one of the nurses asked me where I thought I was going. She clearly did not believe I was just getting some fresh air and walked off quickly to fetch a doctor. I hurried as fast as I could given my limp and made it to the main doors and out without being caught.
Sergeant Peck was waiting with a wagon and as I carefully climbed the steep step at the back to get inside helping hands came out of the gloom. There were three other constables in the back, I recognized Constable Clark and the other two were tall and heavy set men with several scars and a broken nose to indicate they were not adverse to a fight when duty called for it.
The trip across town was brief, most traffic got out of the way of a police wagon and those who thought to try their luck were greeted by the unsmiling face of Sergeant Peck. A few gentlemen’s carriages that felt themselves to have right of way were persuaded otherwise by a shout of “Police Business, make way for Inspector Thorn.
Having my name of the front of the local papers not a few days ago was most advantageous at times.
Sergeant Peck had suggested we leave the wagon and the three constables at the top of Tanners lane, five of us would doubtless have set every ruffian in the area running to hide so I agreed that this would be a good idea. They could respond quickly to the sound of a police whistle or to a shot from my police issue revolver.
~
The tavern was tucked away in the middle of Orchard lane, right in the middle of a twisted network of alleys and narrow roads that had come to be called the Orchards. Right on the edge of the river, at low tide the orchards ran alongside the muddy bank, at high tide the water was no more than a few feet from the walls of the buildings.
At one time this place may even have been orchards but it was hard to think of lines of trees heavy with fruit while looking at the tight packed crumbling buildings.
The edge of the orchards was easy to see, all the buildings in this part of the city were as run down as each other, the cobbles no more than patches and the streets and alleys thick with dirt, rubbish or other less pleasant debris.
But there was a line. A gap if you will, were the people from the surrounding streets did not stand, did not cross. A wide, empty area. Even the houses either side of that line were abandoned and boarded up.
Inspector and sergeant walked down the length of Tanners lane to the very bottom where it turned towards the river and became orchard lane. All the way down Tanners lane hard eyes had studied the Inspector, noting the quality of his suit and coat, judging his wealth. The fact that he was police would not have slowed these killers for an instant.
But the man walking behind him, shorter and ill dressed, he gave them pause.
Inspector Thorn was not known to the men of the streets but Sergeant Peck was and so the hard eyed men stood and watched and did not move.
The two men walked across that unmarked line and entered Orchard lane.
There were less people standing along Orchard lane and those that did kept back, beside the alleys or in the shadows. All wore long coats, collars turned up and hats pulled down. The clothing was shabby and dirty but patched and whole. Nothing could be seen of these people aside from the odd glimpse of wide eyes or thin lipped mouths.
~
The Orchard Tavern was unmarked, no sign hung outside but the sound of many voices and the smell of stale beer and other more unpleasant odours surrounded it.
The doorway was low, crudely made beams of wood surrounding an ugly looking door that was none the less a good inch of oak. The windows were tiny and covered in generations of dirt, the only light within came from the open door and a few small lamps hanging from the low beams.
I ducked low and stepped into the shadow filled building, as I did so I felt a chill on my neck, inside the tavern it was noticeably cooler than the lane had been.
Sergeant Peck stepped quickly through the doorway close behind me, judging by the look of wary concentration on his face he thought this place had trouble written on the walls in large letters.
Inside the tavern it took long seconds for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light but slowly tables became visible along with the shapes of men sitting at them.
Voices that had fallen silent when we entered started again, at first no more than whispers then quickly rising to a more normal volume.
The accents were of deepest Somerset, from the lowlands, the fens and the tiny villages along the north of the country along the coast.
The men of the levels kept to themselves and other folk had learned not to bother them or intrude on their land.
I kept one hand in my coat pocket resting on my revolver, I didn’t have dealings with the men of the levels But I had heard of them. They had a villainous and unsavoury reputation and I intended to take no chances.
Clannish, Suspicious people. Seldom seen in the city and then only along the docks. They spoke with gruff voices, slurring their words and often using words and phrases that did not seem to be English.
As my eyes became used to the gloom I noticed how many of the men in the tavern seemed to be related to each other, alike enough to be cousins. Or more likely looking at the sallow skin, the bulging eyes and thin lipped mouths they were the product of too many marriages between brothers and sisters. An unhealthy looking lot to be sure.
I walked toward the back of the room where planks set upon upright barrels marked the bar and the sallow faced wretch that no doubt ran this place.
“I am looking for Captain Aldrect, I am told he is to be found here.”
“Never erd of im.” The barkeep slurred his words in the manner of the yokels of deepest Somerset
“Captain Aldrect, where is he?”
The barkeep shrugged his shoulders that seemed oddly misshapen beneath the filthy jacket he wore, he turned away as if to ignore me then froze as the loud crack of wood on wood came from close by.
Sergeant Peck had rapped his lucky club on the planks that made up the bar and the barkeep looked down at the club, then quickly to Pecks face, then back to the club. It was hard to read an expression on his face, he was clearly related to every other man in the room but he certainly acted as if he were, concerned, worried, maybe even afraid.
The bar keep gestured to another man who sat nearby to come close and quickly whispered something, I could barely hear what was said and did not understand it, perhaps some dialect of Somerset but it sounded like nothing so much as hissing and croaking rather than good English.
The messenger walked quickly to a staircase half hidden in the gloom and climbed the steps, his gait odd, as if he had bad knees or hips. Perhaps another result of all the in breeding I could see sign of on every face around me.
No more than a minute later he came back down the stairs and waved for me to ascend. The steps seemed oddly greasy and with my knee I took them carefully, I had no wish to fall in front of the men who watched so carefully. Not from embarrassment, I had no idea why they feared Sergeant Peck but I planned to use that fear and to do nothing to weaken it. Such as falling on my backside in front of them.
Upstairs was a little lighter, the windows up here had less dirt and I could see several small tables and one larger, a long narrow table with five figures seated behind it.
The smallish figure at one end of this table waved us over and looked at Peck.
“Sergeant Peck, we know you. We not fear you here. We not fear Godslayer.”
Ah that explained it, these deluded fools were perhaps more of the same that we had fought in the warehouse, faking rituals and proclaiming some misshapen beast to be their god. Well the good sergeant had killed the last one we met so that would explain the fear.
“Sergeant Peck, the photograph if you please.”
Once it was produced I placed it on the table in front of the five figures. The one who had spoken seemed younger and less inbred, three of the others shared the look of those downstairs. The fifth and last seemed larger but sat hunched under a long coat and hood, his face and hands hidden within the volumous cloth.
“I am looking for these, I am told that Captain Aldrect is the owner.”
“Nooo”, the voice came from the completely hidden figure, the voice harsh and rasping.
“You look for the monsssster, killer of mensssss.”
“What if I do, would you know where to find it?”
The hidden figure leaned sideways and the youth stretched across the table so that their faces were very close together. They spoke at length, their words quiet and impossible to understand, the same hissing and croaking dialect of the men downstairs.
Then the hidden figure sat back and the youth turned toward us.
“The captain says he knows where it is, what you hunt. Very dangerous, it hunts us, takes our cargo, takes the 'bthnk hupadgh shogg, the, the, the kegs you seek. It is old enemy, old warrior, from war long before. Big, strong, tall”
The youth held one of his hands well above his head to indicate height; perhaps seven feet or a little more than stretched his arms out sideways to indicate shoulders far wider than his own.
“It hunts, takes kegs, kills for fun. Kills many more unless you end it. Is on ship, lairs on ship. Takes kegs. Words say rats, no. Rats come from ‘bthnk, rats not kills. It kills. You stop, you kill, godslayer kills.”
The youth spoke carefully as if he had difficulty saying the words, clearly lacking in even the most basic education. The more I came to see of these deep Somerset men the more I came to be disgusted that such savage and primitive men should exist in Britain of all places.
“Where is this monster, where is its lair and this ship?”
The youth tried to explain but struggled over street names and after several minutes I grew exasperated.
“Can you draw a map, a picture?”
He nodded and I pulled a page from my note book and passed him both paper and the half pencil I had obtained from the hospital.
He scribbled a crude picture, taking his time and clearly finding the task difficult.
Finally he finished and slid the messy collection of lines and marks back toward us. It meant absolutely nothing to me but Sergeant Peck leaned forward and took a closer look. He then pointed at a spot on the squiggles and asked “This is us?”
The youth nodded.
“You know where this is sergeant.”
“Yes sir, these would be the warehouses south of the docks. This is the alley between the old coal store and the Belkin Imports warehouse. Odd though, I have walked past there a hundred times and I would swear that alley is a dead end.”
“Good. Captain it would be best for all concerned that you have told the truth here.”
He said nothing and did not move. Then he slid one arm across the desk, his hand hidden within the folds of his sleeve. When he withdrew his arm he had left a key behind, large and ancient looking, the metal was darkened with rust or wear and looked crudely made but when I picked it up I could see the teeth of the key were sharp edged and clean. Well used.
I had had enough of this place and these people and wanted to breathe the clean air of the city again. Well away from the Orchards and the most unwholesome people that lived there.
Our trip back to the police wagon was fortunately uneventful and quick.