Trouble on the Docks. The Inspector Thorn Memoirs. By Jim King Part One |
Prologue. I woke suddenly, the dusty corridor dark around me. How did I get here? Where was Garrety? I staggered to my feet, my legs were unsteady, my left knee a ball of pain. There, ahead of me, that door. We had been standing by that door, constables were right behind us, we had a judge’s warrant. Then we heard the scream, a girl, loud, just behind the door. A terrible scream. Garrety kicked the door open while pulling his revolver from under his jacket; I covered him, he always went in first. Where were the men? The constables had been right behind us on the stairs. Garrety stepped in and suddenly he was gone, jerked forward like a puppet on strings. I had jumped forward to help him and then I woke in the corridor. I limped to the open door, the lock torn out of the cheap wooden panels. The room was shadows and darkness, the shapes of furniture and nameless lumps on the floor. There. One of Garrety’s shoes, he always wore dress shoes, always polished and clean. Where was my revolver? My holster was empty. No I had drawn it; I must have dropped it into the darkness. Where were the constables? A ripping sound. Cloth and something else, thicker and wetter. Movement within the shadows, a dark form, massive, shoulders far wider than mine. Strange shadows and shapes. Almost like horns and scales. One shadowed arm moved and something came into the light from the corridor. A body, its head gone, a dark suit soaked in blood, a big pocket watch, tarnished silver, just like mine. I checked my waistcoat pocket, my watch, big, tarnished silver, from my grandfather. I stared at the hands, hours, minutes, seconds. Nothing moved. My watch had stopped. When I died. Chapter 1. Normally I never notice myself waking up, I am just awake. But sometimes, if I am very tired or hurt, I wake slowly. The world comes into focus from nothing to a blur and then to clarity. This time it was taking forever, my body felt distant apart from the dull throb of heat and pain that was my left knee. There were sounds but they were so far away. The light around me was dim and I was surrounded by shapeless forms of white and black. The strange dream had faded away and was quickly forgotten. There was a noise, , getting louder and closer. Someone was muttering, I could just make out the words. “I’m sorry chief Inspector; he took a blow to the head. We have treated the wound but he could be asleep for hours yet. Yes of course. I will have a nurse keep an eye on him. Yes Chief Inspector I will send word when he wakes.” One of the dark blurs moved away and out of sight. Then the other blurs moved around and I drifted back to sleep. This time I woke up normally, bright sunlight, a plaster ceiling above me going a bit grey with age. The smell of flowers and something sharper that stung my nose. The rustle of movement, cloth and something else. Something rigid or starched rubbing against itself. The nurse leaned over and smiled. Her freshly starched uniform bright in the morning sun that streamed through the window beside my bed. I was so thirsty my voice was no more than a croak but she knew what I needed and held a glass to my mouth, I tried to gulp the warm water but she took the glass away and told me to sip. I nodded and she bought the glass back allowing me to take a number of sips. Once I could speak again I thanked her, my voice barely recognizable. She put the now empty glass on the small table and left, slipping out of the door past the short but stocky figure in an ill-fitting police sergeant’s jacket. I waved Peck into the room wondering yet again how he had ever become a constable, he was several inches below the height limit but more than made up for that by being the toughest man I had ever met. “Come in sergeant” I croaked as I gestured to the one chair in the room. While he went for the chair I lifted myself up in the bed and winced when sharp pain stabbed through my left knee as I moved it. As he dragged the chair closer I caught the faint smells that came from him, coal, rotten wood, smoke, oil, dead fish. “A Problem at the docks sergeant Peck?” # Not long after dawn and the docks were busy, newly arrived cargoes were unloading whilst goods to go out with the tide were loading. Crewmen, dock workers, merchants and passengers were everywhere. Steam driven cargo cranes lifted nets full of crates and sacks from dock to ship or ship to dock. Twenty years on the docks, five years as a crane man and still Samuel Sutton was amazed at how stupid people were. He had no sooner cleared a spot on the dock by lifting a cargo net full of barrels than some idiot passengers had decided that would be a good place to stand. Women in cheap colourful clothing, men in cheap brown suits. He dropped the cargo net safely on the deck of the ship that would carry the barrels off to some distant country. The ship’s steam engine already belching grey smoke into the sky as its crew tried to race the tide, no doubt cursing how slow the dockers were working. While the net was being unloaded on the deck of the ship Samuel took a minute to lean over the edge of the platform where he worked, twenty feet above the ground, at the point where the crane rotated. He shouted at the bloody fools to get out of the way before he crushed them flat with his next load of cargo. For emphasis he used a few of the more colourful words he had picked up working with the Irish dockers. The men below were surly, the women shouted back with a few things that were new even to a hardened docker like Samuel. One woman in particular was clearly an immigrant, half of what she said sounded Italian. Still they moved out of the way so the matter was done. As Samuel turned back to the metal saddle that served as his seat he glanced down to the water by the dockside and something caught his eye. Something bobbing up and down, a shape like a keg or small barrel but wrapped in cloth. He shouted down to the crew that loaded his nets, pointing as he did so. A few of them wandered across to the edge of the dock and looked down into the water. One crossed himself, others swore or started to shout. All across the dock people stopped what they were doing. People along the dockside shuffled away from the water, ships’ crews stood as if on guard, eyes watching the waters around them. A whistle was blown at the far end of the dock, then another further away. The great steam whistle at the dock office blew, once, twice, three times, summoning senior dockers to the manager’s office. Another victim of the monster. # What was left of the body had been pulled out of the water and left on the dockside. The closest ships had pulled out as soon as they were loaded and the whole section was being left empty. Incoming captains saw the police everywhere, the sheet of canvas covering a misshapen lump, and decided to wait for another space to become available. Constables were taking statements from the few who wanted to talk; most of the crowd were standing back as if the body was contagious or that the monster would leap from the water to claim another soul in broad daylight. Sergeant Obadiah Peck of Her Most Britannic Majesty’s Bristol Constabulary had just arrived on the dock, of the more than a dozen Sergeants available, two already standing on the dock, they still sent for him. Damn that case, African cultists, a bunch of mad men doing ungodly rituals and sacrificing girls kidnapped from the poorest streets. Peck and Inspector Thorn had worked on that one, found the hideout and gone in with a dozen constables. It had ended with the two fighting back to back. Thorn using his revolver to hold back the cultists while Peck used the heavy wooden club he had snatched from the hands of the cult leader. To fight, Something. Most of the constables had been wounded, three killed, they all saw. Something. They talked as coppers do and Inspector Thorn and Sergeant Peck had become the men assigned when the really weird stuff turned up. Inspector Thorn would have been given the case but he was still in hospital after whatever the hell had happened in that cheap hotel yesterday. So the dockside monster had struck again and it was ‘send for Sergeant Peck’, it didn’t matter that he had just finished a night shift and was going home, no, the chief inspector himself had said “Send Peck”. Bollocks. Sergeant Peck walked over to the bodies, ignoring the stares of the crowd and the looks of relief on the faces of the two sergeants who found themselves suddenly relieved of the case. Unnatural things happening, Peck had arrived, his problem. Peck pulled back the canvas sheet and grunted as he looked at what was left of a man. Right arm gone at the shoulder, left arm missing from the elbow. Both legs missing below the knee and the upper legs looked as if something had torn great chunks out of the flesh. The head was still on this one, the face was gone, just blood and bone at the front, the last one had been a bloody stump at the neck. Still wearing a jacket, now stained black from blood and water. The torso on this one looked intact, the shirt was undamaged across the chest, the other two had both been disembowelled. Peck dropped the canvas back across the body and walked across to the pair of sergeants who had watched all this from a good twenty feet away. It took only a few minutes for the two to bring Peck up to speed on the case then both left hurriedly, neither looked back at the body, the dock or Peck. When Thorn and Peck were given a case it was because it was weird, bizarre, ungodly or worse. No copper wanted to be any part of those cases and both sergeants got themselves out of sight as fast as they could. # It took over an hour before the sawbones arrived and the body was put on a stretcher and into the back of a horse drawn police wagon. Both horses spooked as soon as it was carried close to them and the driver was nearly thrown as he fought to stop them bolting. Peck watched this from a short distance away, someone standing close to him might have seen the slightest expression cross his face. Or perhaps they would have simply imagined the look of a man who was thinking of another day when police horses had been spooked, outside a warehouse being used by demon worshipers. With the body inside the rear compartment the horses calmed down and the driver was able to turn the wagon around and leave the docks, as he did so the crowd and the constables pulled back leaving a wide area for the wagon to pass by. The driver hunched down in his long coat, between his up turned collar and his hat nothing was visible apart from his eyes which were dark and squinting in the morning light. The wagon left the docks, turned onto the street and vanished in a clatter of horse shoes on cobbles. Peck dismissed the last of the constables and sighed to himself, he would need to file this which meant it would be midday before he got home. He finished his last comment in his battered old note book and put it back in his breast pocket then turned to walk back to the station, a thought came to him as he left the docks. From the docks to the station he was only a few minutes away from the Hospital where the Inspector had been taken. He could check how the inspector was doing. For the lads at the station mind you, Garrety had been from down town, working the murders, his death was another nick’s problem but Thorn was theirs and him dying would set everyone in a black mood. Chapter 2 Fully awake now and with everything that sergeant Peck had told me buzzing in my mind I found lying in bed, doing nothing, impossible. I called a nurse in and asked for paper and a pencil, she bought back paper but one of those horrible wax pens that look like a child’s toy. I sent her off to find a proper pencil or a pen. How hard is it to fend a pencil in a hospital? As it turned out fairly hard as it took her a good twenty minutes before she came back with half a pencil and one badly in need a sharpening at that. So I sent her off to find a knife. Five minutes later a doctor came in to ask me how I was and why I wanted something sharp. I quickly gained the impression he was concerned I wanted to kill myself or something equally ridiculous. “Doctor, it’s this damn pencil, I need to sharpen it. You don’t happen to have a knife do you?” “Oh, is that all.” He rummaged in the pockets of his white coat and pulled out a small pen knife I set to sharpening the pencil then came across a new problem, what to do with the shavings. The young doctor solved that problem by reaching under the bed and lifting up a small bin which I tipped the shavings into. “Thank you doctor, doctor?” “Harper” “Thank you doctor Harper”. I started to write everything Peck had told me on one sheet of paper while scribbling the few details that I could remember from last night on another sheet. The doctor turned to leave and a thought came to me. “Doctor Harper, the city mortuary is still based here is it not?” “Yes, right down the bottom, not that we talk about it though in case it upsets the patients. Why?” “The body from the docks this morning would be down there would it not?” “I suppose so, yes. Why?” The why was drawn out a little and had the first hints of suspicion in the voice. “Good, I will want to have a look at it today if possible.” Surprise, then shock then concern then determination chased each other across the doctor’s face. “Out of the question! A knock on the head like that, not to mention the knee, no, impossible. I will not have you trying to walk anywhere for at least a day or two.” The doctor had that determined look on his face that told me he would have me tied to the bed if he thought it would help but I had to get out of the room and do something. Anything at all to give my mind focus! Then an idea came to me. “What about a wheel chair then, no walking involved and I’m not planning to leave the hospital, just downstairs?” We looked at each other. I was determined to leave; he was determined to prevent me. We came to a compromise, a wheelchair and a nurse to push me around and stop me doing anything foolish. After swinging my legs out of bed and getting into the wheelchair I was very glad of the nurse, just that movement left me feeling dizzy and bending my left knee to get into the chair had almost caused me to cry out in pain. My coat was hanging by the door and I grabbed it and hung it about my shoulders as I was pushed out. # The mortuary was located in the deepest of the cellars under the hospital, a room naturally cool and made more so by the blocks of ice stacked in a pair of open topped chests at either end of the room. As soon as I entered my breath began to mist in front of my face and I quickly pulled my thin leather gloves from a pocket and put them on. A little shuffling allowed me to drape my coat over my upper body but I could see my legs getting cold under the thin hospital robe. There were three trolleys in the room, two covered with sheets, the third holding the body of a naked man, well most of the body given that it was missing an arm and half a leg on the side towards me. An elderly man stood beside this body, bent over slightly and probing at the missing leg with a thin metal tool of some sort, the shock of white hair standing above his long white coat made him seem almost ghostly in the clouds of mist coming off the ice. Professor Charles Alexander Carlyle. Doctor of Medicine, Doctor of anthropology, expert in birds, beasts and plants, acknowledged as one of the finest experts in the south west in many fields of biology. Oh and for many years the family doctor for Colonel and Mrs Thorn and their two children Arthur and Alexandra. I coughed politely. The old man stood up and turned his head. “Arthur, my boy, good to see you. How’s the knee, I heard you were upstairs as a patient again. Fourth time in as many years. You’re not a youngster anymore, you should be more careful.” I thought about explaining the circumstances behind my many visits to the hospital but decided not to. My old friend and family doctor also studied the nature of the mind and helped out at Charminster house, an asylum for the mentally deranged. A man of my status would never be sent to the Bedlam but I still had no desire to talk about some of the things I had seen over the years. “Fine professor” I lied. “Just fine”. He gave me a look that said all those years of treating me let him read me like a book. “And the Knee”. “Painful to bend, otherwise just an ache.” Professor Carlyle put down the tool he had been holding and walked over to me, as he approached he glanced at the nurse still standing behind the wheelchair. “Mary isn’t it? He will be fine here, go and have a cup of tea. I won’t let him escape.” Once the nurse had left the room and the door had closed he bent down beside the wheelchair and prodded a bony finger into the side of my left knee. I gasped as a shock of pain ran down to my toes and up to my waist. “Just an ache you said”. I gritted my teeth and said nothing. He stood up again and walked across the room to another door, he opened this to reveal a walk in cupboard, both sides lined with shelves that were filled by a multitude of items. He rummaged along several shelves for a minute then walked back toward me, something made of leather in one and a battered tin in the other. The leather turned out to be a brace that strapped above and below my knee, it was tight and made it hard to bend my knee but it was much stronger that my injured knee alone. “Be careful walking but that will help” Professor Carlyle then handed me the tin, about the size of a sugar tin, remnants of bright paint patterns just about visible. I lifted the lid and looked inside; it was half full of a fine white power and had a small silver spoon sitting half buried in the powder. “Mix one spoon of this with a good strong whisky morning and evening. It will help with the pain. Mind though one spoon only and twice a day.” I looked at the powder. “What is it?” Carlyle chuckled. “Just something from my private stock. One spoonful in whiskey and no more than twice a day.” I nodded. “Good.” He took the handles of the wheelchair and pushed me across the room to the uncovered body. “You may want to stand to see this Arthur.” I did so and found myself no more than a foot away from the remains of the body found that very morning. The professor picked up the metal rod he had been using to probe the wounds when I entered and used it to point to the wounds on the upper legs. “See here Arthur,” he said and pointed to one end of the oval shaped wounds which seemed to be deeper. Oddly staring at a torn apart dead body wasn’t bothering me, I wasn’t sure why. “Now see this one”, he pointed to another wound and then to the wounds on the other thigh. “Do you see?” I didn’t and said so. “Here let me show you over here, this may be clearer.” He stepped away from the body to the bench that ran the length of the room and picked up a number of sheets of what looked like paper but were almost transparent. He bought them to the trolley and put all but one down, this one he held next to one of the wounds and I could see charcoal marks on the paper matching the exact shape of the wound. “The bite shape, a dog or cat would have extended canines to the side; these have extended incisors or at least the front pair. Much larger frontal incisors. Only one type of creature with a bite like this.” He paused as if expecting me to have guessed what he was alluding to. “Rattus norvegicus most likely, the common brown rat. Not at all uncommon along the docks.” “Rats, these three were killed by rats?” “Eaten by rats certainly, as to killed by them, well that is not so certain. None of them drowned, no water in the lungs. All three look more like industrial accidents to be honest. The missing limbs all look to have been torn off not cut or chewed.” I looked at the body in front of us, both legs missing at the knee. “Industrial accident, he has no legs or right arm, what could have done that?” The professor gave me the look I remembered so well as a young man. “That Arthur is your job to find out.” My knee was beginning to pain me from the standing and the cold so I settled back into the wheel chair. The professor chuckled. “So not a monster at all. What! I hear the gossip even down here. Monster on the docks indeed.” “Well thank you professor, I’m sure the city will be pleased to hear that. I’ll get some constables looking for this factory that is killing people. The rats, well we can trap or shoot a few and use them as evidence, it’s not hard to find a rat in this city.” This case was looking to be concluded and I hadn’t left the hospital yet. A nice easy case for a change and nothing supernatural. “Be careful with these rats, these men were not killed by them but I have no doubts they could kill a person .” “Constabulary issue boots are quite stout professor and they cover the ankles, the men should be fine.” “Arthur I would be more worried about my throat were I you, these things could easily jump that high.” I was puzzled for a second, rat, small brown thing, a few inches long. I had the sudden image of a rat on springs and must have smiled. “I’m not joking Arthur, these things are likely to be dangerous, going after them with a few terriers will not work, they would eat the terriers for one thing.” “What, eat the terriers, just how big are these things?” The professor picked up the pile of papers, each of which had a rubbing of a wound and the bite sized marked on it. “This one is the smallest, a bit over two feet I would estimate. This one a bit bigger, maybe two and a half feet. This one, well judging by the bite size this one must be close to four feet.” Four feet, things had been looking so simple for a minute. Four foot long rats. Oh the chief Inspector was going to love this one. # The professor had called an orderly to wheel me back to my room and I had arranged for a message to be sent to the station, then, very tired, I fell asleep quickly. I was woken by someone talking next to me, the room was darker, by the sun it was late afternoon. The voice was a nurse, no it was a matron and she did not look happy. “Inspector, Inspector. Ah there you are, this man insisted he had to talk to you”. Peck stood in the doorway and she looked across at him as if he was making the room dirty. I coughed to clear my throat. “That’s fine matron, police business I’m afraid”. She harrumphed and marched out, “Five minutes, no more” floated back into the room from the corridor. By the time the sergeant had entered the room and stood half way between the bed and the door I was fully awake. “Anything to report sergeant?” “Nothing found so far sir, I have constables all along the docks asking questions. Mostly when people find out what we are looking for they either think it’s a joke or they realise it’s to do with the monster case and get right scared.” He pulled out his battered old notebook and flipped through the pages. “Five constables questioning people on the docks, I’ll keep three on the docks tonight. Any ships tied up overnight will be told to keep an eye open. Extra patrol of two constables will cover the warehouses behind the docks down to market road and the canal. I spoke to the city rat catcher, he doesn’t have anything that would catch a four foot rat other than poison. He suggested shotguns.” He put his note pad away. “I’ll keep a close eye on things sir, you rest up. I’ll be round in the morning.” He half turned toward the door then paused and looked back at me. “Anything else sir?” “No sergeant, carry on.” He walked to the door and stepped into the corridor outside but before he pulled the door shut he paused. “Four foot long rats sir, this is another weird one isn’t it?” I nodded and he closed the door. I fell asleep quickly but slept fitfully, dreams of huge rats jumping around me filled my sleeping thoughts. Chapter 3. An hour after sunset and sergeant Peck stood by the main gate to the Bristol old docks. This late at night there would be no loading or unloading unless it was the odd smuggler trying to avoid the excise but tonight it was more empty than normal. There were a few ships tied up to the docks, each one festooned with lamps or torches and the closest two had armed guards standing on deck. The three constables on night duty were supposed to be walking the dock and keeping an eye out but all three were standing by the dock masters office where one of the new electric lamps was burning brightly. The sergeant knew he should get them out on the beat but for one of the rare times in his life decided to let them be. One of the three, Constable Trapman, had been part of the team that had gone into the warehouse after the demon worshippers. Judging by the way the three stood with heads close together and with looks of disbelief on the two younger men Trapman was in the process of telling a story he had been very clearly told never to repeat. Peck was a hard man, the sort of man that would walk to his death if he felt it was worth doing. But, though he would never reveal it, the deaths of the three constables that he had led into that warehouse bothered him. He would rather not have to knock on anymore doors, standing there in his uniform waiting for someone’s wife or mother to answer. Three times was enough. So rather than order them out to patrol the docks where God alone knew what could be lurking he left them to talk in the imagined safety of the light. Instead he walked the length of the dock himself, exchanging a few words with the guards on the ships as he went. Nothing was moving and no sound disturbed the steady rhythm of the water lapping against the dock and pier. Having reached the end he spent a few minutes looking out over the water and listening for something, anything, that was out of the ordinary. But what did a monster sound like? Finally he grew bored and turned to walk back along the dock, this time he walked along the town side wall beside the piles of crates and barrels ready to be loaded on the next ship. Police issue boots are tough and cheap, designed to take constable walking the beat year after year. The uppers and bottom were hard leather and they tended to click when you walked on stone. But wear them long enough and they softened to the point where they were all but silent. Peck’s boots made no more than a whisper of leather brushing stone as he walked. As he walked he listened. A gentle breeze flapping the flags and wrapped canvas of sails on the ships. The faint buzzing of those new electric lights. Two nervous French sailors standing on the deck of their ship talking loudly to ward off their fear. The creak of bending wood. Peck froze. The sound had come from the stacks of crates ahead of him by the wall between the dock and the city. Creak. Wood bending, slightly louder. Ten feet ahead, perhaps twelve. The sergeant looked down the dock, his three constables were too far away. He would need to shout and that would alert whoever was making the noise. Slowly he took a step, then another. He came to the edge of a tall stack and was able to peer round them. Deep shadows, movement. The creak of wood bending and then the crack as wood broke. A shape, twisted, inhuman. No legs, but a broad base like a tree trunk. Human arms that stuck out to either side. No head, just a rounded top. The shape was moving around a crate, its form seemed to swirl and shift, the lower half grew larger and smaller. Peck’s hand slid into his jacket, to the inside pocket that had had sewed himself, strictly not regulation but then neither was the ironwood club hidden in that pocket. That club had saved his life in the warehouse and bought him luck, it was a comfort when things got weird and he had picked it up as soon as he got to the station for duty today. Monsters made him nervous. It was opening a crate, lifting the lid. Both arms reached into the crate and Peck heard the rustle of straw. “That’s my lovely. That’ll do granny.” A human voice, a woman’s voice! Suddenly it was no monster but a woman in a floor length skirt that swirled around her legs and a hood pulled up over her head. “Oi you. Police, Stand where you are.” The woman turned quickly, squealed and ran so quickly that by the time Peck’s shout had finished she was several paces away and running fast. Her long skirts held up around her knees. The sergeant’s shout had carried across the dock. Sailors and constables looked toward the noise and saw the figure running. The woman kept looking over her shoulder to see if Peck was chasing her, he was not. Instead he stood and watched as she ran, her head turned to look back at him. She ran straight into the grasp of constable Trapman. With the woman safely caught Peck turned his attention to the crate that had been broken open. It was packed with straw so he pushed his arm down into the crate until he felt something solid. He pulled it out and carried it down the dock the three constables, one old woman and the electric light. As he reached the light he looked at what he had taken from the crate, it looked like a soup bowl, a posh one at that. The woman glared at him sullenly, a constable standing either side holding her arms. Trapman standing back a little to keep an eye on things. “Stealing plates old woman, you willing to risk gaol for some bit of crockery?” The woman just glared. “Beg pardon sergeant but that’s posh stuff. Italian! My mum works as a maid and she serves table. I grew up seeing stuff like that. It’s real expensive stuff. Sunday best for the upper class.” Peck took another look at the soup bowl then put it carefully down onto of a nearby crate. “Anything to say for yourself before we put you in the nick. Stealing some lords tableware is going to get you ten years I reckon.” Peck leaned closer to the woman who tried to flinch back but was held by the two constables. “Nothing to say. Well don’t say I never gave you a chance to talk. Take her down the nick lads, thieving.” Both young constables started walking, all but dragging the woman between them. Peck turned face Trapman. “I’ll stay with you for a bit; help keep an eye on things here till they get back.” “Wait.” The woman stuttered the word. “Wait.” She spoke more loudly. “You had your chance to speak. Off to the nick with you thief.” “I know where it is, I seen it last night.” Peck turned to face her. “The monster, I seen it.” Three constables and one sergeant looked at her, their faces hard in the harsh electric light. “Where?” “You let me go and I’ll tell you. Let me go and I’ll tell you where it went.” Peck stepped closer, his legs brushing the woman’s skirt and his breath was on her face. “Three dead and you know where it is. How many dead while you keep it secret. You tell us right now and you can walk. You keep it secret and I’ll turn you over to Inspector Thorn. He’ll have you shot or hanged most likely. An evil man is the inspector. Doesn’t like secrets.” The woman had no idea who Inspector Thorn was but she was face to face with Peck and she could look him in the eye. He had the look of a man who had done things, seen things, ungodly things. Killed men and worse. She collapsed, all her courage and bravado gone. “At the low end where the wooden pier starts, there’s a cave. I saw it dragging a body into the cave. It was just a shape. Big and black, but I saw it.” # Three constables, one sergeant and one woman stood at the end of the stone pier looking out at the mud and silt that marked the bank. A wooden pier extended out into the deeper water and some way further down the river but here there was just the bank and the walls of warehouses. The riverside bank was some seventy or eighty feet long before it became a small wooden pier hidden behind the main pier, a single ship was tied to this pier but there were no signs of life. “Down there.” The woman pointed at a tangle of weeds that covered the bank no more than a few feet from the end of the stonework. “It went in there.” Peck knelt down and leaned over the edge of the dock. There was no moon but the bright stars cast a little light, enough to see a gap under the tangle of bushes, enough to see the marks where something had been dragged across the mud and into the bank. He stood up and gestured the others to back up. He looked at the woman. “Get yourself away woman, and don’t let me catch you here again.” The woman fled. Once the woman was out of earshot Peck addressed the others. “Trapman get yourself back to the station. Rouse one of the drivers and get a wagon ready. Round up four of the night shift. No make it six. Pick good lads. Then go into the Inspectors office, there’s a rack of keys on the wall behind the door. Take the big one with the wooden handle.” “Sarge, that’s the key to the lock room.” “I know, which is why I’m sending you to do it. Nice and quiet. A couple of shotguns, some pistols, that pile of axe handles and a few oil lamps. Bring along a keg of oil as well. Remember, nice and quiet.” Trapman looked nervous but nodded. “Right you are Sarge, it’s on your head.” # Nine constables, one sergeant, two shotguns, three police revolvers and a plentiful supply of good oak handles stood watch till the first light of dawn appeared in the sky. The crew on the nearby ships could not fail to see the men as they stood watch, the two oil lamps lit the end of the dock and the bank beyond and made the shotguns and axe handles plain to see. By the time it was light enough to see both of the nearby ships had their entire crews on deck, one had steam up and the other had its sails half unfurled. Both cast off as soon as they could see to navigate. Neither captain wanted to stay with such a well-armed group of police clearly looking for something so close by. Constable Trapman walked closer to Sergeant Peck so that he would not be overheard by the others. “You reckon its safe now Sarge?” “Maybe, suns up now so maybe.” Trapman looked around to make sure none of the other constables could hear him. “You reckon this is another one of them things, from the warehouse.” “Buggered if I know but we killed that one and I reckon we can kill this one.” Peck looked at the horizon. “Head back to the station in the wagon, leave everything here. Round up the day shift and get half of ‘em down here, send both wagons back with the men. I’ll wait here till the day shift gets here then I’ll go talk to the Inspector.” “Right you are Sarge”. Constable Trapman walked over to the wagon, woke the driver and climbed up onto the drivers bench. The noise of the wagon leaving alerted the other constables who watched it leave then turned to look at Peck. “Stand easy lads, he’s off to get the day shift.” A lot of faces looked happy to hear that. None of these constables had been at the warehouse but they had heard stories and every gossip in Bristol was talking about the monster on the docks. The sun was up, the day shift was on the way and no monster had come out. A good shift by every measure. # I woke normally, someone was standing over me. The sunlight was bright, the air smelt fresh. Not long after dawn. “Inspector. I’m sorry but he insisted.” A nurse came into view pointing toward the door. I lifted my head to see sergeant Peck standing there, he looked both excited and worried. “Reckon we found ‘em sir, under the docks.” Excellent news. I sat up and swung my legs off the bed then stopped as my knee exploded with fire and pain. I must have gasped because the nurse leaned over me looking concerned. Damn this knee. I had to be there for this. I picked up the leg brace up from the bedside table, “Nurse help me with this please.” She helped to fit it and pulled the straps tight. Even with the brace I was barely able to walk, this would not work but I could not just sit here and do nothing. Then my gaze fell on the battered tin that had been sitting next to the brace. Carlyle’s powder. “That will be all nurse.” She hesitated then left, I had the feeling she was going to look for doctor Harper but hopefully he was not at work yet. The empty water glass was at hand; I opened the tin and took out the silver spoon. One spoonful, was that flat or heaped? I dipped the spoon in the power and pulled it out heaped as high as possible, powder was trickling down the sides of the heap as I moved the spoon to the glass and tipped the powder in. My flask was in my jacket; I took it out and hesitated. Seventeen year old Glenlivet, such a waste. I up ended the flask and poured about a double measure into the glass. The powder was slowly dissolving so I used the spoon to stir it. Finally the powder was gone, nothing but an unpleasant looking film on top of the whiskey. Oh well, nothing ventured. I drank the glass dry in a single gulp. Such a waste. Nothing happened. I sat there on the bed and nothing happened. I looked at the sergeant, he looked at me. Nothing happened. My knee was still painful, the bright sunlight coming through the window sparkled and danced on the walls. My fingers tingled. I could hear bells somewhere. Still nothing happening. “You alright sir, you look sort of peaky?” Nothing happening, the powder had done nothing though the sergeant was oddly out of focus. Perhaps he was standing too far away for me to see clearly. I felt sleepy, slow. My pain had gone, my knee felt fine. Suddenly I was cheerful, happy. I stood, the brace supported my knee and with no more than a twinge I was able to cross the room to my clothes. I dressed quickly while the sergeant waited in the corridor. Once dressed I went out to join him. “Do you have a wagon here sergeant?” “Yes sir, waiting downstairs.” “Good man, to the station first for my shotgun then down to the docks. Let’s go find this monster.” Sergeant Peck was looking at me a little strangely but that didn’t matter. There was no pain, everything was nice and clear again, I felt happy. We had monsters to hunt. Chapter 4 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 I could see the cave like opening led into a circular tunnel. Some twelve feet across. The visible walls and ceiling of local brick 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 of stagnant water at its deepest point and the rest of the bottom was mud and dirt. 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 sewer work of the 50s and 60s. Now it carried nothing more than a trickle of water, the sewage was diverted downstream 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 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. 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. “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 constables 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 a 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 nearer. Each barrel 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 sizeable 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 scotch 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 disapproving 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. Chapter 5. I woke quickly, opening my eyes to the bright midday sun. That could not be right; it was later than that when I returned to the hospital after fighting the huge rats. My stomach rumbled and I was suddenly overwhelmed by a powerful hunger. A nurse chose that moment to walk past in the corridor and I called for her to come in. I asked her what time it was and when could I be provided with something to eat. “It’s past lunch time sir; you slept a full twenty hours. We will be serving tea at four thirty.” My stomach rumbled again, loudly. “I’ll send word to the kitchen sir, they can make you a nice bowl of something, they have porridge on all day.” My face must have fallen because she clearly saw how happy I was to hear that. “As it’s you inspector I’ll ask them to make some soup, we can’t have a hero of the city going hungry now can we.” She left quickly and I settled back to take stock. Apart from my hunger my knee ached, my calf ached, my stitches itched and I had a powerful need to locate a chamber pot. Oh and I was very thirsty. A few minutes later I had solved two of those problems and was waiting eagerly for the solution to third. Half an hour later an orderly came into the room holding one of those trays with legs that you can use while in bed, it had a soup bowl covered with a plate on top and a single spoon. He put the tray over my legs and lifted the plate to reveal Luke warm beef broth. As hungry as I was, the sight of the watery mess did nothing to inspire me. I had not eaten in two days but the bowl of broth in front of me was not something I could face. I gestured to the orderly to take it away then called for him to wait as an idea came to me. After explaining what I wanted he left, a shilling the richer and with the promise of the same when the message had been delivered. My family were at the country house but they kept a small staff at the city house all year and that included the mistress of the kitchens, Mrs Winpole. The house was a good few minutes away but I had no doubt she could make me a basket of sandwiches and the like. The porter came back to report that the message had been delivered and the woman was sorting something out for me. With nothing else to do I added what I could to my notes, about the events of yesterday, and speculated on the mysterious barrels and whatever had left the claw marks so high on the sewer wall. I was broken out of my thoughts an hour later by the sound of Mrs Winpole’s voice in the corridor. She bustled in followed by the assistant gardener who was wheeling a wicker basket on wire wheels. It looked for all the world like a pram only without the frilly bits. She immediately set to work, lifting out warming trays with small oil lamps under them and the most wonderful smells filled the room. She chased the lad out with orders to return in an hour then came face to face with the matron who was trying to come into the room. The two women gathered their skirts, heaved their generous bosoms and leaned toward each other so that their faces were no more than a hands width apart. I could not hear what they said but at one point they both stopped and with perfect timing turned to look at me for several seconds then returned to talking. Finally the matron nodded and left. I have no idea what they were talking about but I have found that, when strong willed and matronly women decide to take charge of parts of my life, it is far easier to stand back and let them go about their business. Mrs Winpole turned to look at me and clucked. “You’ve not been eating proper young sir. You need some meat on your bones. Your mother will be unhappy to find you starving yourself. That house of yours, no servants, you need to hire a woman to cook for you.” “I’ll think about it Mrs Winpole but I’m hardly there.” “Too busy by half sir, you need to look after yourself. The state of you now, your mother will not be happy to see you half-starved and in hospital again.” “My mother is in the country and will not be back for months, I will be fine by the time she gets back.” I hoped. “Oh no sir, she sent word, back next week, bringing a young lady with her. Said to prepare her room” My mother was interrupting her time at the country estate to return to Bristol. Out of season. Without father. With a young lady. Dear lord no. Not again. A fine young lady, unmarried. In need of someone to show her the city, someone to escort her to a few shows. To keep her company. To take her to the best restaurants. After that it would be ‘you’re not getting any younger. A man your age should be married. Not healthy living alone. That house of yours needs a woman’s touch. I miss having young children in the house. Your sisters little girls are wonderful but a grandson would be such a joy.’ I sighed loudly then looked down as a plate was put in front of me. Roast beef, rare and sliced very thin. Mrs Winpole’s secret gravy. Potatoes boiled in salt and sage then sprinkled with chopped mint. A good dash of the strong horseradish that I so enjoy. A platter heaped with perfectly cooked greens and a bottle of wine. I ate everything. My hunger was not just satisfied, it was stretched out in a comfortable chair under the Mediterranean sun with crystal clear water lapping at the golden beach, chilled Champagne, an excellent book in hand and utterly at peace with the world. I sat back with a contented sigh. “Mrs Winpole that was magnificent. Thank you” She beamed. “Don’t want you starving on hospital food sir; I’ll have a word with the matron for tomorrow.” She cleaned up the empty plates and left with my thanks following her. I dozed for an hour or so after the magnificent meal then woke suddenly, startled and looking around me for whatever had woken me. There was nothing. But I was sure, something had woken me. Unless there was a rat under the bed. The huge rats. They would be down in the morgue with Professor Carlyle. I wondered what he had found. I was rested and well fed, time to get back to work. I slid out of the bed and tried to stand then fell back as my knee failed me and my calf twitched and spasmed with pain. I must have groaned aloud as a nurse appeared immediately to see what was wrong. “What are you doing Inspector, get back in bed at once or I’ll be forced to call Doctor Harper.” # The orderly pushing the wheelchair got me down to the lowest level quickly and quietly. It had been so much easier to persuade the doctor to provide me with a wheelchair this time. He opened the double door to the morgue and pushed me in. I was immediately struck by the cold. There were at least six ice chests in here now and I was glad I had bought my thick woolen coat again as my breath frosted in the air. Professor Carlyle was leaning over one of the examination tables talking to a man bundled in a heavy coat who was standing next to him. There was a camera beside them on a tall tripod, the box angled down toward whatever was on the table. The man looked a little green around the gills but was paying close attention to the professor. “There, that’s it; now take a picture of that. As close as you can. Good man. Oh hello Arthur” The man adjusted something on the tripod and tilted the box camera then raised a flash and took a picture. “Arthur, come over here and look. Fascinating, absolutely fascinating.” I carefully stood up and limped closer, my knee was making it hard to walk and I regretted not stopping to take some of the strange powder before coming down here. In fact I resolved to take a little when I returned to my room. Just half a spoonful to take the edge of the pain. Or perhaps a bit more, I would see how I felt. I stopped next to the examination table and looked down at the corpse of one of the rats, neatly dissected. Its skin cut away and spread to either side, its organs being neatly removed one by one and photographed. “Fascinating. These rats. An Enigma. They should not be this size, very strange. So many questions.” He picked up a metal probe and pointed at something greyish still within the rats body. “Do you see that, very odd. Far too small. All of these rats should not be alive. Very odd.” “They seemed very alive when they were trying to kill me professor.” He waved his free hand at me. “Yes, yes. But they should not have been.” He gestured me to the bench that ran along the wall, there were more than twenty photographs spread along the top, separated in three groups. He pointed to the first group. “See here, the heart, too large, the lungs crushed and small. This one was having trouble breathing. I doubt very much it would have survived growing up with a condition like this.” He pointed to the second group of photographs. “Now this one, the biggest. Heart, lungs, all about the size you would expect for a creature this size but the intestines were far too small. It was literally starving to death. It would eat till it was full but that was not enough to sustain it. It would have starved in a month, maybe less. The creature could not have grown up this way.” He pointed to the third one. “This one was even worse, oversized lungs, small heart and other organs. Back legs smaller than they should have been, front legs too big.” He paused to draw breath. “These creatures, all of them. They did not grow naturally to this size. It’s almost as if they were adult rats and them something forced a significant growth spurt on them. But it was random, some organs or body parts grew faster or slower than the others.” He turned to look at the dissected rat on the table. “Something very strange happened here. There are cases of gigantism in animals of course, but in so many at once? No this must have had an external trigger. Some environmental condition. A chemical in the sewer. My paper on this is going to have those Cambridge fools cursing into their warm beers.” I took the opportunity to glance around the room and noticed the five unusual kegs stacked at the far end of the room. Professor Carlyle noticed the direction of my gaze. “Aluminium.” I had heard of it, the new metal, but I thought it was very expensive. I must have spoken aloud because the professor answered my question. “Well yes it was but it’s coming into more common use. Still those five kegs represent a considerable value. Given that they seem to be pure metal and the size. I would guess about twenty five guineas.” My family was comfortable when it came to wealth but even so, twenty five guineas for what looked like small beer kegs seemed rather expensive. “Indeed, very excessive. You could cast them from iron or even steel for a tiny fraction of the price and the weight would not be so much more if they were full. Speaking of which, I managed to get some samples from inside them.” He rummaged in the paperwork that was scattered on the bench and picked up a letter. “I sent it to a friend who is a better chemist than I am, he was stumped. A complex compound including several identifiable chemicals that should not mix together along with at least one that does not seem to appear to have been identified before. Of course I did ask him to rush; he should get some results that make sense in a few days.” “Any idea where they would have come from, are there many places making aluminium?” “No idea, it’s still not that common and I have never come across anything as big as these kegs. The writing may help but I had trouble trying to read it. I took an etching but my eyesight isn’t what it used to be. Every time I try to read it my sight blurs and I get a headache. If it’s important I have some old friends at Oxford who are very good with Oriental languages, they should be able to read it.” “That would certainly help professor. Oh can I send Sergeant Peck down to have a good look. I want him to ask around and he will need to describe them.” The professor chuckled. “Arthur my boy, we live in modern times. No descriptions or sketch artists, I’ll let him have a photograph of one” After we discussed a few of the more gruesome details of the autopsy I called the orderly to wheel me back to my room. My knee was agony and my calf was a tight knot of pain. I had him send a message to the station for Sergeant Peck to check in with me when he arrived for duty then sent him away. I had just enough left in my hip flask to mix in a full spoonful of the powder and I was soon feeling happy and without pain. Chapter 6 I was broken out of my thoughts by a knocking on the door and turned to find Sergeant Peck standing there. “Sergeant, thank you for coming. I was not expecting you till later though.” “Just on my way to the station sir, thought I would stop in and see how you were. The lads like to know.” “Ah yes of course. Now I wanted to see you sergeant because I don’t think this matter is concluded as yet. We have not as yet identified the source of death, those strange kegs or the marks on the wall. There is more to this matter than we have yet seen,” The sergeant thought this over for several seconds. “The chief Inspector said the matter was all done sir. No monster, just some huge rats off a ship from China.” I chuckled at that. “Well I’m sure the chief inspector will not mind me tidying up a few loose ends. Now I want to swap you to the day shift for a while. Finish early tonight and start in the afternoon tomorrow. I want you to check around and find out where those strange barrels came from. Pop down to the morgue and ask for Professor Carlyle, he is expecting you. He has a photo for you to show around.” For a moment I thought the sergeant was suppressing a grin. “A photo sir, very techno local sir.” “We live in scientific time’s sergeant. So collect the photo and check around tomorrow afternoon. I will send word to the station that you are working on a case for me.” “Right you are sir.” He left and I was suddenly tired again. For having done nothing all day I was exhausted, my various injuries ached and I lay back on the bed to rest my eyes. # I woke just after dawn and lay in bed for a while, the noises of the waking hospital around me and my thoughts unfocused and confused. Then I moved my legs to a more comfortable position and a sharp stab of pain from my knee bought me back to clarity. My knee was the main source of pain but the stitches also ached. I was reached for the battered tin before I remembered my hip flask was empty. I mixed a little of the powder into water but a single sip left me gagging, the taste was truly foul. Careful of my Knee I strapped on the brace and dressed myself though as I had no plans to leave just yet I put on my waistcoat but left my jacket hanging on the door. Rather informal but I was technically a hospital patient so I doubted anyone would mind too much. I was relaxing in the room’s single chair, looking out of the window at the bustle of traffic building up in the street outside and my thoughts far far way when there came a clatter from the corridor and the sound of Mrs Winpole cursing someone for being clumsy. She had somehow managed to bring a full breakfast to the hospital, piping hot. Freshly squeezed grapefruit and all. The woman is truly a marvel. She also bought a letter from my father, this had been delivered the night before by courier with instructions that it be delivered to me as quickly as possible. I opened the letter and put it on the tray beside my plate to read as I worked my way through the feast. Arthur. One of the neighbours bought round a Bristol daily Broadsheet, newly delivered this morning. They thought it would be of interest since the front page was filled with the story of our son saving the city from a host of monstrous rats. The story was full of wild details and what I hope was speculation, rats as tall as a man indeed. There was also mention that you had single handedly defeated them. Though there was a later mention that one of your constables was injured during the battle, so it is my hope that you were leading a sizeable group of well armed men and not doing anything as foolish as that lone hero nonsense. The reason I am putting pen to paper however, is your mother. She found the paper before I could hide it and while she was full of praise for how brave you had been the last paragraph caused her great concern. This was quoting from a source within the hospital that mentioned that you had gone to fight these monstrous rats despite previous injuries sustained while dealing with a murderer and that you had sustained such wounds that you were now unable to walk and were being moved around the hospital by wheel chair like an invalid. She was much concerned by this and very set on talking to you at the first available opportunity. She has ever been against your career as an Inspector with the constabulary. She is strongly of the view that it is something far below your station and hardly the job for a gentleman. For myself I am happy to allow you to serve as you wish and I am fully aware that you serve the Queen against her enemies much as I did with the army. I remember well your story of the events of last year and I have many old friends who keep me well advised of some of your more unusual cases. Your mother, however, will never understand. She was terrified of being left at home to wait for word that I had fallen on some distant battlefield, it was for this reason I resigned not long after your sisters birth. Now she sees you facing the same threats and I feel that she will be most insistent, I feel the best course would be for you to resign your role with the constabulary; she will never be at peace otherwise. There are a great many challenges for you and I am sure you will have no lack of interests. Oh by the way, the young lady is a fine woman and would make a good match, your mother will be most insistent on this as well. She worries so about the fact that you are now twenty eight and yet unmarried. The girl is from a fine family, her grandfather is navy but I served with him on a campaign many years ago. Married life is not so bad that you must fear it and putting your mother’s mind at ease would be well worth accepting the inevitable. Having spent some time talking with the young lady she is well educated, forthright and has some unusual views. I am sure you would like her if you give her the time. I would ask that you not mention this letter to your mother. I am sure she will suspect I have written but let this be between the two of us. Your ever loving father. I read the letter twice then signed and folded it back into its envelope. This had been building for some time. My mother introduced an eligible young lady at least once a year and two years ago managed no less than three. I knew in my heart it was inevitable but it was not such a great worry. My job however, that was a different thing. My mother had ever been against it but as long as it was no more than a harmless hobby she remained silent. I dearly loved her and did not wish to cause her pain. Perhaps it would be for the best that this became my last case. In four years I had been badly injured four times, oh there had been countless bruises and scrapes but I have been in a hospital or under the ministrations of a doctor four times. Now in the space of a few days I had added two more to my total. I would give this matter some thought though in my heart I knew I would not refuse my mother if she came out and demanded I resign my position. With breakfast done I thanked Mrs Winpole and asked her to deliver a message to her husband the butler when she returned to the house. I had been in this hospital room for several days now and found myself needing a number of items, clean shirts and the like, a razor and a few other items. There was a spare key to my home kept safe at my parent’s house so he could let himself in and I was sure that a change of clothes and a shave would leave me feeling much better. As a final thought I also asked him to bring a bottle of good scotch, my flask had been empty since yesterday and I was feeling the need for some good scotch whiskey and another spoonful of that magical powder. She promised that she would pass on the message and having cleaned up the remains of the breakfast left the room. This left me at a loose end. I had nothing more on the case, my idle speculations were going in circles and I quickly became bored. The view from the window was of no more than the street and the passing of people and horse drawn vehicles did nothing to inspire me. I called to a passing nurse to send an orderly to attend me and when one arrived I sent him out to purchase as many broadsheets, newspapers and journals as he could find. I gave him a shilling for his time and the promise of another when he returned. I made a note to send word to my bank to have one of their men bring round some more change. My pocket was becoming somewhat empty of minor coin and I could hardly start paying for these little errands with crowns or half sovereigns. He returned quickly, it seemed there was a cart selling a selection of broadsheets and papers outside the hospital for the convenience of visitors. Today’s Times, yesterdays London Journal. The Bristol Mercury. A copy of this week’s Somerset County Gazette and a handful of popular journals and other such rags. I started to throw the popular publications in the bin but then paused; the insight of the working class prints would give me a differing view on events and may contain something that my more usual papers would not contain. I had barely started into my reading when there came a cough at the door heralding the arrival of Mr Winpole along with a fresh suit in a travel bag and a suitcase. Shaved and properly dressed I was feeling like myself for the first time in several days. Also thanks to a double whiskey and a liberal spoonful of Carlyle’s powder my aches and pains were gone as well. Before I set to reading the many papers and periodicals spread across my bed I called for yet another orderly and sent him to find a messenger who could carry notes from myself to various people across the city. Again he returned quickly, most conveniently there was a telegraph office just a short distance from the hospital and they sent a young lad. Properly uniformed and eager. I wrote several messages. One to the station to confirm I wished Sergeant Peck to be working on days for me. A second to the bank to arrange for the delivery of sufficient small coins to last me another few days. A note to Cavendish gentlemen’s outfitters. I felt my boot was ruined beyond repair and asked for them make another pair, they had my measurements. If it turned out the boot could be repaired it would make a spare for the next time I found myself in such a circumstance. With the lad sent on his way I turned to the papers and began to find out what had been happening in the realm while I had been locked away in this hospital. # Sergeant peck had spent the afternoon checking with every person he could think of along the old docks, the new piers, the excise offices, the main warehouses and a few establishments that may or may not have dealt with items where the official customs seals were missing. None had seen the like of the strange dull metal kegs thought the idea of having a photograph to show around struck a few as most strange. The fact that Sergeant Peck was the one showing them the photograph was perhaps more the cause for amusement thought they were careful not to say as much. Finally as the light began to fade he returned to the station. It seemed most unusual to be heading to the station with the setting sun to finish a working day rather than to start one. The station was busy, the day shift reporting back and the night shift getting ready to head out. In addition to the constables there was something of a press of rough looking men and a few street women in scanty clothing. Spotting one of the day shift sergeants Peck walked over to ask what this was all about. It turned out that there had been a raid on a tavern, looking for stolen goods. In the process of the search there had been a scuffle and Inspector Alderman had ordered the entire tavern be arrested. Now the two day shift sergeants and the station sergeant were trying to sort out the mess, assign some sort of charge or send them on their way. Sergeant Townsend noticed the folder Peck was carrying. “Not your usual Peck my boy, you turning into an inspector?” There was a chuckle behind that but it was light hearted. Townsend was something of a bully to the constables under him but he knew where the line was, he had been one of those who helped clean up after that incident in the warehouse last year. Peck opened the folder and took out the photograph. “Techno local policing, that’s what Inspector Thorn calls it.” Townsend looked at the photograph and shrugged. Out of the corner of his eye Peck caught a movement. One of the men standing against the wall waiting to be processed had been looking at the photograph and had suddenly turned away and ducked his head. To an experience constable like Sergeant Peck this was a red rag to a bull and he spun on his heel and pointed to the man who was now trying to push his way deeper into the crowd. “You! Yes you with the ears, over here and be quick about it.” The man pretended not to hear and tried to push several other men aside, they blocked him by pushing themselves against the wall further away from that pointing finger. Sergeant Peck waved several constables over with his other hand and they grabbed the man Peck was pointing at, hauling him roughly across the room to stand in front of the two sergeants. Peck held the photograph toward the man. “You recognize this?” “No, no. Never seen it before in my life. Honest guv, on me mums grave. Never seen it before.” The two constables holding him were both young but even to their ears he was lying. Peck and Townsend could read the man like a book. Townsend asked “That picture to do with Inspector Thorns case Sergeant Peck?” Peck nodded, still looking hard at the now quivering man held upright by the two constables. “Tea room should be empty, nice and quiet with the door closed. If you want to ask any”, Townsend paused dramatically, “loud questions.” The two sergeants exchanged a knowing look and Peck turned to the constables holding the, by now quivering, man upright. “Take him in and sit him down, I’ll be along in a minute”. The man was half led, half dragged, toward the back of the station. His boot heels scraping on the flag stone floor. The threesome went into the tea room and the door was slammed shut behind them cutting off any hope of escape. 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 and 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. Chapter 8 Back at the police wagon, Sergeant Peck had given the driver directions to the alley that gave access to the ship we sought. But before I climbed into the back of the wagon I stepped up beside the driver’s bench. “Driver, do you know Dunbeck and Carter?” “The place what does all the guns, yes sir, I does.” “Good, take us there first, I have some shopping to do.” Sergeant Peck looked slightly puzzled at this. I spoke quietly so that the driver and constables in the back could not hear. “As big as a bear, claws that can cut through brick. I feel the need for something a little larger than my police revolver for this hunt.” The Sergeant nodded at that. No doubt thinking about the last time we had fought a monster together. # Dunbeck and Carter was a strange little shop. The front windows were covered with old grey lace curtains so nothing could be seen of the shop as you walked passed on the street. The sigh overhead was faded with age and contained only the name and street number. No mention was made of the nature of the shop. It looked no more than a small, harmless shop in a row of small, harmless shops. Inside however it was very different. The door from the street led into a small hall and a second door, this of iron like the vault of a bank. Beyond this door was the shop proper, and though it was narrow, it ran the full depth of the building to a staircase at the back. Each wall was lined with rifles and shotguns along with some displays of pistols around the black oak counter. Mr. Carter had run the place for as long as I had known of it. Few had ever met Dunbeck; he was the craftsman who made many of the weapons that graced the walls but was an intensely private man. Still, many as far away as London or the Midlands were proud to own the fine weapons either made or customised here. “Inspector Thorn, sir, a pleasure to see you again. Nice to see you up and about. Your injuries not troubling you I hope.” “Mr. Carter. Thank you for asking. I am in good health.” He was polite enough to not notice that I was limping a little as I walked across to the counter. “How can I be of service today Inspector? A new shotgun perhaps? The papers made much of your battle with those rats.” “Perhaps not Mr. Carter. Though, I would value your advice with regard to a new weapon.” I considered carefully for a few seconds, how it would be best to put this. “I am engaged on a hunt, a creature, most dangerous. Large and at loose in the city. The size and strength of a bear. In fact, I will say it is a bear, a most fearsome member of the species.” Carter looked thoughtful. “A bear you say, large and aggressive. Would that be the monster on the docks, sir? Perhaps escaped from the same ship as those giant rats? You may trust our discretion here, Inspector.” He turned and gestured to a rack of rifles on the opposite wall. “We have a fine selection of hunting rifles. Single chamber, lever action. Single or double barrel. Belgian, German, American, and of course, British made.” He pointed at several rifles in turn. “Lion or tiger at 120 yards. Perhaps this one; I have received reports of such a rifle being used to drop a full-grown Canadian bear at fifty yards. Or for the largest prey, we stock several elephant rifles in single or double barrel.” He turned back to face me. “Do you have an idea as to the range you will be shooting at?” “It is on board a ship so perhaps ten or twenty feet.” Carter stopped at that. “On board a ship, tricky. Long arms would be difficult to use, something smaller. Ah, I may have the perfect thing for you, Inspector. Something that was ordered but never purchased. You will be needing several shots at that range, just to be certain you bag your game of course.” He gestured me to sit on one of the upholstered chairs that dotted the room to allow gentlemen to sit while viewing a potential choice, and he walked the length of the room to the back where there were shelves rather than racks. He rummaged around, picking up and moving several boxes or paper-wrapped parcels before finding a plain wooden box and a pair of card boxes. He returned to the counter and placed all three in front of me. I turned the wooden box around so the hinges were away from me and lifted the lid. Inside it was padded with blue cloth around the shape of a blue steel revolver. But one of considerable size. I reached into the box and lifted out the revolver. The weight alone told me this was a substantial weapon. Easily three times the heft of my police issue revolver. Carter opened one of the card boxes and slid out a wooded tray that held twelve bullets, each the size of the top of my thumb. I checked the action; the cylinder spun smoothly; the trigger action was clean and crisp. This was a monster of a revolver. It seemed an appropriate weapon to use when hunting a monster. A smile came to my lips, and Mr. Carter's face brightened. He clearly saw a sale confirmed. “Would you like me to send the invoice to your house Inspector?” I nodded, still distracted by the weight of steel in my hands. Now how to carry it? The only pocket I had that would even vaguely fit such a pistol was inside my jacket on the left, where I carried my notebooks and such. I tried to fit the heavy and sizable weapon into the pocket. It did not fit and would fall out. I twisted and pushed, and suddenly the lining of the pocket ripped. The barrel slid down between the inner and outer layers of the jacket, and the revolver sat nicely within the pocket. I slid it back out to ensure I could draw it cleanly then loaded all five chambers with the hefty rounds. The remaining seven from that box went into a pocket on the right of my jacket, and the other box of rounds went into my overcoat. With the revolver back inside the jacket it pulled down the left side but not such that it would be any great inconvenience. I looked up to see the smiling face of Mr. Carter. “Perfect, sir. That should stop your bear, and no one can see you are armed.” “Ah, Mr. Carter about the, shall we say, bear.” “You may rely on our discretion, sir. Good luck on your,” he paused for second, “bear hunt.” # Following directions from the Sergeant who sat on the driver’s bench beside the driver, we again made good time to the docks and the warehouses that filled the streets and lanes immediately behind the docks. The driver entered the alley then stopped suddenly with a curse. The alley was clearly a dead end, blocked by a great pile of old and weathered crates and barrels. The wagon could go no further and neither could we. “Perhaps they lied to get rid of us Sergeant. Foolish though, as we can easily return to find them again.” “Maybe not sir, maybe not.” Sergeant Peck had dismounted and walked closer to the blockage. “You might want to see this, Inspector.” I walked along the alley to join him, and as I did, something became apparent. From the street or even just inside the alley it was clearly a dead end, blocked by a wall of crates. But close up, it was two walls of crates, the first covering two thirds of the alley but leaving a gap some three feet wide. The second was set close behind on the opposite side. From a distance it looked like a solid wall. Up close, there was a clear dogleg that allowed passage. “Sneaky bastards. Never knew this was here.” The sergeant turned from commenting on the passage and called back to the constables and the wagon driver. “Keep the wagon here. You three gather up the, erm, items and follow the Inspector.” “Items, Sergeant?” I said as all three of the constables reached into the wagon and emerged with long items wrapped in blankets or coats. “Just in case sir. Never be too careful. Not after last time.” I couldn’t argue with that and turned to walk between the walls of crates. On the other side I found myself in the sunlight and standing at the edge of the river beside a wooden pier. Oddly, the water here seemed deep, rather than the mud at the river’s edge. I looked down into water deep enough for the ship that floated here. The wooden pier was old and well worn; the planks creaked beneath the steps of the five of us. The main docks ended some eighty feet upriver, and the commonly used wooden pier extended downstream from there along the deeper water channel. The ships and hoardings along that pier formed a barrier that concealed this old pier and the ship docked here from the sight of traffic on the river. In fact, as I looked along the mud back toward the stone dock I could see the opening where we had found the giant rats. The ship was an old one, a single main mast amidships, a cargo hatch forward, and extensive single deck cabins to the rear. She looked odd somehow. I was no sailor, but something was out of place. She looked old and worn, but as I stepped on the gang plank, I could see the hull planks, though covered in faded paint and dried salt spray, seemed to be well maintained and smooth. Her name was barely visible on the bow, the paint faded with age and the constant impact of salt water. I peered a little closer, trying to read it. Certainly not French or Latin, not German. Perhaps one of the Far Eastern languages. I wrote the name in my notebook. I could find out what language the name ‘Thri Gof’nn’ was later. The deck was no more than four feet above the water line. There was a small half deck at the bow that was not more than seven feet above the water, and the wheel, which was mounted on a deck above the cabins, was no more than ten feet above water. Not a good ship to take out in a storm unless you could breath underwater. The mast was not that tall and did not look as if it could carry much in the way of sail, which was odd. The ship looked low and fast, but with such a short mast and limited sail, it could be nothing but slow. By this point, I had taken three steps up the gang plank and reached the deck just in front of the mast. Looking toward the bow, I could clearly see the forward cargo hold hatch, it was like a portcullis, a grid of heavy beams. Judging by the thickness of the beams, it must weigh a ton or more. The crew must winch the thing up and down. Looking toward the stern, there was a single steep stair on either side leading up to the wheel deck and three very solid looking doors leading into the cabin, one in the middle and the other pair set together and to the right. No windows anywhere that I could see. Perhaps that was what felt so odd about the ship. I walked towards the bow for a closer look at the hatch. It was constructed of well weathered timber beams some four inches square, the gap between the beams was about the same size. Looking down through the hatch the cargo hold was mostly shadows and shapes covered with canvas. A narrow walkway left clear directly under me to allow the crew to walk the length of the hold. Oddly, I could see no sign of a winch to life the thing. It could not be lifted by a handful of men. Aha, the mast was just aft of the hatch and had a winch to lift the beam; they must use that. I walked around the hatch and found that it was hinged on the starboard side, huge cylinder hinges, well greased against the weather but still rusted from age and spray. Continuing round, I reached the port side and found a simple bar bolt to hold it in place. The bolt was fixed to the hatch and was a good foot long and twice the thickness of my thumb. Simply moving it would take a strong man. It must lock to a ring on the deck, but there was no ring. The deck was splintered and torn, the wood new and raw. I could see into the darkness of the cargo hold through the ragged hole marked by the drilled remains of bolt holes. What on earth could have torn the bolt ring completely off the deck and ripped a hole through the deck planks? Perhaps one of the dockside stream cranes had caught it. I could think of nothing else that could do such a thing. Looking back along the length of the ship, I noticed yet another odd thing about this strange ship. The guard rails along both sides curved inward to match the shape of the hull; the deck also curved slightly to match the hull. Something was wrong though, the curves, the bend of the hull, the shape. Flowing together, becoming a single shape that twisted and spun. I shook my head to clear the strange buzzing that had suddenly come upon me and walked back along the length of the ship toward the doors into the cabin. “Sergeant have a look up there would you. I’m going to check the cabins.” Peck looked at me. “You want us to separate, sir?” “No, just check the top deck and come back. I will go no farther than the doorway.” “Right you are, sir.” Peck sounded dubious as if the Sergeant either thought I would rush into the depths of the ship or one of us would be killed because we were out of sight of each other. It was broad daylight, not the stygian depths of a moonless night deep inside a crumbling old warehouse. Nothing would happen out here in the light of day. I tried the middle door first; it was locked and just as solid and heavy as it looked. The captain’s key worked, and the door swung open, daylight streamed in to reveal a corridor leading aft. Two doors set equally along the left, one at the far end which looked to be halfway to the stern and one on the right opposite the furthest door on the left. I checked, and there was no door on the right to match the closer door on the left. I stepped sideways to the double doors, again the captain’s key opened one and both pushed inward. If anything, these were even heavier than the main door. They led directly onto a broad staircase that led down then turned sharply and went down again. This must be how they got to the forward cargo hold, but why waste so much space hiding the stair behind so strong a door? “Inspector. Up here sir.” I stretched up, barely able to see over the level of the wheel deck to where the Sergeant stood. “Something you should see sir,” he was pointing toward the very rear of the deck. I climbed up the steep stair and reached the wheel deck. The deck was some fifteen feet wide and at least thirty feet long. The walls of the cabin followed the curve of the hull round and inward at the top so the deck was noticeably narrower than the main deck. Again this seemed odd, a waste of space. Something about the way the hull curved, trapping my gaze. I blinked and shook my head again. The Sergeant was at the rear, and I walked to join him beside something that was sitting on the deck well behind the wheel. It had been painted black and recently by the look of it. A cylinder of metal sheet about a foot across and some eight feet in length. It was tied to rings set in the deck. The rear railing and last ten feet of railing either side were hung with old canvas sheeting so the cylinder would be hidden from casual view lying on the deck as it was. Just in front of the cylinder I could see there was some sort of frame around a circular hole in the deck. As I reached it and took a careful look it seemed to me that one end of the cylinder would fit into the frame and be exactly over the hole. The smell of soot confirmed my suspicion as I bent for a closer look. “She’s steam powered, Inspector. Real sneaky. Probably a smuggler.” “Yes, they must put up the funnel when they are out of sight. Something for the excise lads to be taking a good look at I think,” “You reckon she will be here by the time they get the word sir? That captain fella must have known we would find this.” “Not our job, Sergeant, leave that. Let’s check the cabin.” Chapter 9 We both descended the stairs to the main deck. Sergeant Peck walked down onto the pier and spoke to the three constables waiting there. All three unwrapped the blankets and coats to reveal shotguns and oak handles or a pry bar. The three officers took post by the gap in the wall of crates that led to the alley. From there they could see anyone attempting to leave the ship and would also see anyone who tried to enter the cabin behind us. He then returned to my side, and we both looked into the cabin corridor. We stepped inside. There was no light in the corridor apart from that which came from the open door. As we entered, we blocked that light and were walking into deep shadow and darkness. I found myself blind within no more than a few feet and stopped. From behind me I heard the sound of a match striking, and suddenly a flickering flame sprang up in the sergeant’s hand, a small candle he had pulled from one pocket or another. “Good thinking, sergeant. Let me have that, and I’ll go first.” He handed me the candle, and I walked a few steps to the first cabin on my left. This door was unlocked and more like a normal door.It opened to a simple push, and the light from the candles revealed a strangely shaped room. The curve of the wall and roof, which I had seen from the deck, left much of the room low and claustrophobic. The floor was covered in a great pile of rags and scraps of canvas, piled higher around the edges and lower at the centre of the room. It looked for all the world like a giant nest of some sort, but this could not be where the crew slept. What sort of men would huddle together on the floor in a nest of rags? There seemed to be no furniture in the room, save for a few hooks on the walls for hanging clothes or coats. No chairs, no beds, no bunks. I had no desire to search under the rags, and as we sought something the size of a bear, it was clearly not hiding here. Then with a start, a thought came to me: Did bears live like this? Could this be the monsters lair? No, my rational mind replied. The outer door had been locked, and the door to this room had been closed. Did this monster politely open and close doors? Having reassured myself, I then noticed that my right hand was in the pocket of my coat, my police revolver held in a death grip. I forced my hand to relax and slid it out of the pocket. I returned to the corridor, perhaps a little faster than was warranted, perhaps not. As I passed, I tapped the wall on the right. It was solid and without any sign of a hidden door. It seemed that the stairway down to the hold took all of the space that would have been a cabin. A few steps further on, we came to the pair of doors, one left and one right. I chose the door on the right to open first. The door had opened no more than a crack when the stench hit me. I pressed my right sleeve against my nose to try to block the foulness that drove me back a step. Like the docks on a hot summer day when the entire cities sewage had been dumped there to mingle with the discarded fish from the days catch, the stench was beyond belief and beyond endurance. I step back again then turned and walked quickly to the welcoming light of day and the fresh air of the deck. Sergeant Peck was right in front of me; as soon as I had turned to flee, he had done likewise. We both reached the deck and drew deep breaths of the fresh, clean air. “Cough. Might want to let that one air for a bit, inspector. Something died in there, and that’s the honest truth.” I whole heartedly agreed with him on this one, but before I could reply, I noticed movement on the docks. All three constables had seen us rush from the cabin choking and gasping; they had taken steps towards us as if to offer help. I waved them back. “The air in the cabin is truly foul; we will let it clear for a minute. Nothing to worry about.” They did not look reassured by my words, and it was at that point that my mind began to speculate as to what the smell was. Had we found the rotting corpse of another victim? After a few minutes I tried to enter the cabin again and found the smell little diminished so I returned to the cargo hatch and spent some time trying to see if there was anything stored below that was not hidden by canvas. “It’s a bit better now, sir.” Sergeant Peck’s call broke my train of thought, and I realised I had been day-dreaming. Clearly, this time in hospital was having a greater effect on me than I had thought possible. Day-dreaming of all things. The stench was much diminished now, but still foul enough to be most unpleasant. I stepped back into the corridor and walked to the opposing doors. I pulled the door to the right closed. That one could be left for a while. Instead, I opened the door to the left and found another room much like the first, another nest of rags and cloth. What manner of ship was this? Did the crew truly sleep in these rooms? If not the crew then who, or what, slept here? Again I had no desire to turn aside the rags and search more deeply, so I stepped out of the room and closed the door. One door remained, at the far end of the corridor. We took the few steps required to reach this last door and I tried the handle. It was locked. The captain’s key did not fit this lock; it was small, and more like a household lock than the heavy and secure locks that had sealed the main doors into the cabin. “We may need to search these rooms a little more carefully, sergeant.” The thought was unpleasant, but we needed to search this room. Sergeant Peck stepped past me and in a single movement kicked the door; the thin wood shattered; the lock smashed and fell to the planks of the deck. “Door’s open, sir.” I limped to the open door, the lock torn out of the cheap wooden panels.The room was shadows and darkness, the shapes of furniture and nameless lumps on the floor.Suddenly my mind spun, my thoughts twisted. I knew this, I had done this. Where was Garrety? As quickly as it had come, the confusion vanished, and I was myself again. Sergeant Peck was peering into the dark room; this was not a dream. I stepped to the doorway and lifted the candle to cast light into the room. Beside me, Sergeant Peck drew a deep breath then exhaled it. “Bugger me. Er, sorry sir.” In front of us was a narrow stair which ran to the left and down. The entire aft of the cabin was an open space and set several feet lower that the deck on which we stood. It was filled with machinery and the strong smell of smoke and steam and coal dust. I stepped into the room and down the stair to the floor. This room extended forward, under the cabins above, the space no more than a few feet high and filled with coal. More coal was piled in bins along both walls to a good five feet in height. Bronze tanks, water most likely, stood behind the mass of machinery and along the stern. Sergeant Peck had walked straight up to the machine and was now rubbing his hands on the wheels and sides of the great device, muttering as he did so. “Triple expansion, forced draught. Secondary expansion chamber, high pressure bleed. A beauty, what a beauty. Drop fed coal loading. Twenty-two knots easy.” I coughed. “Sergeant, I had no idea you were so knowledgeable about steam ships.” He managed to look embarrassed without his expression changing. “Sort of a hobby, sir. You won’t be mentioning this to anyone, will you sir? Don’t want people getting the wrong idea.” Now he definitely looked embarrassed. “Of course not, sergeant. A gentleman does not go gossiping.” He looked relieved and was about to turn back to the steam engine. “Still, your knowledge is most useful. You seem to have a good grasp on what this is.” “Yes sir. This is a wonder. French-forced draught intake on a triple-expansion drive. Even the navy hasn’t started using these yet. Long, thin hull, this beauty diving her. Twenty-three knots, maybe more.” He paused as my puzzled look registered. “She's fast sir, very fast. Outrun most ships, a few sailing ships can catch her if they have the wind, but she will outrun most anything else. Nothing the excise lads have will even get close, and I reckon she can outrun the navy as well. Real beauty.” I glanced at the coal and water tanks. “Fast yes, but what sort of range?” He looked at the coal bins and then stepped round the steam engine to gauge the size of the water tanks. “Well, at full speed she'll be thirsty and hungry. Spain for sure, Italy maybe. If she runs slower and burns less coal, America maybe, South Africa, maybe the Arab nations. Of course she can always refuel on the way.” I considered that carefully, that sort of range and speed suggested that this ship had cost someone a great deal of money. What sort of cargo where they carrying to pay for all of this? Click. This was something the excise men should be appraised off, perhaps even the navy. What had attracted the monster to this ship? The young man in the tavern had said the monster was taking their bith shugg something. Perhaps that was the value that made this ship worthwhile. Click. What was that? “Did you hear something, Sergeant?” He was clearly focused on the boiler and gearing of the steam engine and had heard nothing. Click. It seemed to becoming from forward, but at this level. Behind the coal bins. Was there anything under the other cabins? Of course, the cargo hold. “Sergeant, I heard something in the cargo hold. I’m going to have a look.” He grunted to say he had heard me though he did not speak. I went up the stair and along the corridor to the ship’s deck, turning to the open double doors and onto the staircase down to the hold. Click. There it was again, closer now, clearly coming from the hold.I walked down the stairs to the shadow-filled hold. I was alone. The sergeant was still in the engine room, but somehow that was not important. In front of me was a clear area, a walkway between the cargo, that led from here along the centre of the hold to the bow. Directly in front of me were crates piled one upon the other. Canvas sheets covered the top, but I could see the lower crates and some markings on them. I recognised the letters but not the language. I stepped toward the centre of the hold and the cleared walkway. As I did so, the glint of dull metal caught my eye. One of the strange barrels of aluminium was on its side in the clear area, the top smashed in and the contents gone, just as I had seen in the sewer where I fought the rats. Beyond it were torn canvas and several more of the small barrels scattered on the path next to a stack of many more to the side. There were dozens stacked four or five high, perhaps scores. The ropes and canvas that secured them were ripped apart on the side, and there were several gaps showing where barrels had been taken from the pile. Click. This time it was close, very close. Just beyond the pile of metal barrels. Where the shadows became deepest. Where there was movement within the shadows, a dark form, massive, shoulders far wider than mine. Strange shadows and shapes. Almost like horns and scales. Chapter 10 It moved toward me and came into the light falling through the grated hatch overhead. My mind struggled to understand what my eyes could see, it seemed to blur and become clear but each time I could see it clearly it was somehow different from before. It was tall, a head taller than me and perhaps seven feet in height. It was huge, twice my width, the vast bulk of its shoulders some four feet wide, even without counting the spikes that covered the huge plates of scale or bone that overlapped across its upper body. I knew this, I had seen it. Before, in the hotel. When it killed Garrety. When it killed me. Its face, its face, twisting, swirling, I wanted to be sick, no. I must be strong, dizzy, falling, no. Its face was broad; the entire lower half was a mouth of fangs larger than my fingers, dizzy, my stomach churning. The upper half of its face was bone or scale covered in spikes or horns jutting out sideways and to the back, two eyes set like a man and two more of equal size set to the sides like a horse . The mouth was ringed with... ,with… I staggered back and grasped at the closest crate for balance as my stomach heaved and everything I had eaten for the last two days burned its way up my throat and out of my mouth. I gasped as soon as I could draw breath and glanced up to see the creature much nearer, all four of its eyes set deep within the heavily armoured head stared straight at me and the short writhing tentacles that ringed both sides of the mouth were reaching towards me. My stomach turned again and even though there was nothing left I heaved again and again, my belly a band of tearing pain. Crack, Crack. The shots of a police .36 rang out close to my face. One bullet vanished into the gloom, the other bounced off the thick plates on the creature’s chest. Of its own will my right hand had found the butt of my revolver and drawn and fired from the hip. Realising what I had done I bought my arm up and sighted at the creature now no more than a dozen feet from me. Crack, Crack. Both rounds bounced, I saw one glance off the head just above one of the eyes on the front. Crack. Crack. Click. Click. My revolver was empty, but my mind took seconds to recognise the sound. This close the smell struck me. Death and decay, flesh and blood left to rot. The stench of a great carrion beast, the stench of the grave. My stomach again fought against me, I could not stop it but I was exhausted and did no more than gasp and choke as the muscles across my belly spasmed and could do no more. I was holding onto a large wooden crate beside me and I used it to turn myself and stagger back along the walkway of the hold, dropping the useless hand-me-down army revolver as I did so. I staggered step by step toward the stairs leading to the upper deck and safety. My left knee was stiff within the leather brace but all pain was long since forgotten. I reached the steps and glanced behind as I did. The creature was a few paces behind me, the smell of death billowing around it like a cloud. I stumbled, my foot slipped on the first step and I half fell, only my iron grip in the rail kept me upright. Forcing myself up the stairs by fear alone I reached the top and stepped onto the deck, into the light and into safety. It would not follow me up here. I was safe. The creak of the stairs beneath the creature’s massive bulk broke my thoughts and left me but a thread away from panic. It was coming up the stairs. It was coming up the stairs. I staggered backward and hit the ships rail, a solid clunk bought my thoughts back to my control for a second. Something in my coat had hit the rail, something heavy. Something solid. The massive revolver. I tried to open my jacket, my hands suddenly clumsy. My jacket seemed to fight against me, tying itself round the revolver and blocking my hand. My fingers touched rough metal and locked around the grip of the heavy weapon. I dragged it out of my jacket pocket and turned to face the stairs as the creature’s head came into sight. I stared at its eyes, my mind spinning, dizzy. My arm fell, the revolver too heavy to hold. Its shoulders scrapped the edges of the stairwell, gouging and splintering the wood. I dragged my arm back up, the revolver’s sights came between my eye and the creature and I felt calmer. Suddenly everything became clear. The gulls wheeling overhead. The gentle thump of a steam engine nearby. The splash of the waves hitting the hull beneath me. The maker’s stamp on the revolver, Tipping and Lawden of Birmingham. The blur beyond the forward post on the revolver’s sights snapped into focus and I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, I had barely moved the trigger. I pulled again with all the strength of my finger. The boom was incredible, stunning me and pummeling my ears. My hand was yanked upwards, sharp pain tearing at my wrist. The massive .577 bullet struck the creature, a scale was shattered and a great wound opened on its chest, as big across as my palm and inches deep. It was still coming. I fired again, this time the shoulder was hit, one of the large scales broken in two and dark fluid sprayed from beneath. It was still coming. Nothing could stop it. I was going to die, I had to run. Everything began to blur again, my legs were shaking. The weight of the revolver dragged my arm down. The ironwood club came from behind the creature and smashed into the back of its head just above the neck. The monster and I had been so focused on each other that neither of us had seen Sergeant Peck come out of the cabin. The black wooden club was twice the length and three times the weight of a police truncheon but it was not that which caused the creature to stagger and roar. Hand carved over the lifetime of the shaman that had created it from the hardest and heaviest wood on earth and three hundred years old, the entire length of the club was covered in tiny lines and marks that swirled and came together in patterns. Every line had been filled with hand beaten age blackened silver no thicker than a woman’s hair. Every line, every sigil, part of a single pattern of silver. There was no magic to the club, no spells had been cast upon it, no enchantment lingered within it. It had no power. But that was its purpose. For as it came into contact with the monster’s skull the magic that surrounded the monster flowed into the silver patterns and reached the sigils. Magic was drained away, splintered and shattered and thrown to the void. The ironwood club smashed the scales and cracked the mighty skull beneath and the monster knew pain such as it had not felt for centuries. I saw the sergeant’s blow and I saw the creature begin to turn, Peck was so close he would be torn into pieces. Suddenly the revolver was a feather and it floated into position. The boom was less than before but I could hear nothing else, every sound had died around us. The bullet struck the monster in its side, just above the waist where the scales were smaller. It bellowed in pain as the bullet smashed deep into its flesh and a great gout of thick greenish fluid spurted out and splattered across the deck. I fought the revolver down and back onto the creature and fired again. It was trying to turn back toward me but slowly now, it was hurt. My shot struck it in the belly and tore through flesh and fluid and great loops and strands of grey. It staggered toward me and once more the sergeant’s ironwood club came from behind, so vast was the creature that as it stood this close I could not see Peck at all. Still he struck hard and well and one of the creature’s knees shattered. One leg collapsed and it half fell, blocking its fall with one clawed hand. It lifted its face toward me and roared its hatred, teeth like daggers spread wide, tentacles writhing from side to side. I took careful aim, so close now that my outstretched arm could almost touch it. Time slowed, everything stopped moving, the gentle breeze stopped, gulls hung in the sky overhead. The boom was muffled, the cloud of smoke hid the monster’s face from me and the revolver floated upwards. Then everything started again. My wrist was screaming in pain from firing the oversized revolver so often, the deck beneath my feet was heaving and bucking, I was falling. But as I fell I watched my last bullet fly past the tentacles and enter that fang lined mouth, I saw the bullet, more than half an inch of lead shot strike the back of the creature’s throat and punch straight through. I saw flesh and fluid pulverised to a mush. I saw the bullet pass through the creature’s brain and strike the back of its skull. I saw shock waves ripple across its head as the skull shattered sending shards of bone through what remained of the brain and head. I saw the back of its skull and head collapse, fragments of bone held together by flaps of skin and scale. I saw the stained wooden deck of the ship race toward my face and everything became fire and pain and darkness. # Normally I never notice myself waking up, I am just awake. But sometimes, if I am very tired or hurt I wake slowly. The world comes into focus from nothing to a blur and then to clarity. This time it was taking forever, my body felt distant and dull apart from the throb of heat and pain that was my left knee and the ball of fire that was my right wrist. There were sounds but they were so far away. The light around me was dim and I was surrounded by shapeless forms of white and black that slowly came into focus. Bright sunlight, a plaster ceiling above me going a bit grey with age. The smell of flowers and something sharp and chemical that stung my nose. The rustle of movement, cloth and something else. Something rigid or starched rubbing against itself. A nurse leaned over and smiled. Her freshly starched uniform bright in the morning sun streaming through the window beside my bed. She held a glass to my mouth and I took several small sips, washing the water around my dry mouth before swallowing every drop. She put the glass back on the table beside my bed and looked across the room. “Five minutes please Chief Inspector, he needs to rest.” She then left the room in a rustle of cloth and starch. Chief Inspector McCollum had been the undisputed head of the Bristol city constabulary for a decade and had managed to avoid any embarrassing incidents very well. Mostly by making sure the bodies were never found again. He and I had, how should I put this, exchanged opinions before and I had the strong feeling this was going to be another frank exchange. He stood close to the bed and used his standing position to loom over me. “Bit of a mess Thorn. Not the sort of thing we want people hearing about. Bad for the city.” Oh, it was going to be another of those. I settled myself more comfortably on my pillows then gasped as I forgot and moved both knee and wrist in the process. McCann leaned a little closer. “You look a mess, take a few days off. Then I want your report on those large rats. The bodies are on ice downstairs. Rodents of unusual size eating the bodies of people who drowned. No monsters, no mention of the ship. I trust you understand me Inspector?” I nodded. That didn’t hurt which was nice. He grunted and turned away then paused. “Make damn sure Thorn. Rats.” He then walked out leaving the door wide open. After a few seconds a figure in an ill fitting sergeant’s jacket peered round the doorway. “Come in sergeant, all safe now. I think”. Peck came in and glanced around then looked at me for permission. I nodded and he dragged over the one chair. “Everything’s gone sir. The chief inspector took personal charge; he told us to take the monsters body off the ship then some men from London turned up last night and took it. We weren’t allowed to call the excise and the crew sailed the ship out with the afternoon tide. Every constable that may have seen or heard anything has had the frighteners.” He looked around the room and spoke more quietly. “Just like the warehouse. Nothing happened.” I sighed, feeling tired. “Just like the last time sergeant, just like the last time.” Oddly just talking and thinking seemed hard to do. “I’ve been given a few days off so I’ll be in next week. Keep an eye on everything for me.” Peck came to a semblance of attention and then hurried out. A thought came to me and I looked around, my jacket was hanging by the door. I pushed back the covers and swung my legs out and down. The leather brace had been taken off and I had to carefully limp across the room. I reached my coat and checked my pockets. There it was. I took out the oversized revolver and a handful of fresh bullets then limped back to the bed. I sat down and opened the cylinder dumping the spend rounds onto the bed clothes. I leaned over and looked under the bed, the little bin and the pencil shavings were still there. I brushed the used rounds into the bin and pushed it back under the bed then loaded the revolver with fresh rounds. The cylinder snapped back into place and I slid the weapon under my pillows. I stretched out and settled myself. I could feel the revolver under my head. Heavy, hard, comforting. I drifted off to sleep. |