Текст книги "The Bedlam Detective"

Автор книги: Stephen Gallagher

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

IT WAS SEBASTIAN’S HABIT, WHEN AWAY FROM LONDON, TO SEND a postcard home at the first opportunity. His wife would be assured of his safe arrival, and if it was a picture card then Robert could add it to his collection.

His Arnmouth card that evening was a plain one from a sixpenny packet in his luggage, and when writing it he made no mention of the afternoon’s events. He addressed it in his room and then took it downstairs to give to the landlord for the morning collection.

He walked into a fug of beer and smoke. In the hour since his return from the assembly hall, the bar had been opened. The saloon and public rooms were now filled with local men, some the whistle-wetters from that afternoon, others still in their volunteer armbands. Despite the shadow that had been cast by the day, there was nothing subdued about their conversation. Tragedy always sharpened a community.

“Will you take a drink, Mister Becker?” the landlord asked him over the roar. The landlord’s name was Bill Turnbull, and he’d shed his constable’s jacket to work the pumps.

“I was hoping to get some supper,” Sebastian said. “Is there any possibility?”

“I’ll send Dolly out when she’s got a minute,” Bill Turnbull said, “if you don’t mind a wait.”

Supposing it would make no difference if he did mind, Sebastian agreed that he didn’t. He ordered a brandy and then, turning from the bar, spied Ralph Endell. The blacksmith was behind a table with three or four others, in a nook between the fireplace and the dining room. Endell made a gesture of invitation, and Sebastian went over.

They made space for him. Sebastian supposed that he’d be expected to stand the group a round at some point, and that point came rather quickly. He called Dolly over. She fetched the drinks on a tray and took his order for a sandwich and a bowl of the local fish stew.

They knew that he’d been to the spot where the bodies were found, and wanted to know more. He gave them an account of his arrival at the scene and his treatment at the hands of the army, with as little of the indelicate detail as he could include. In return he picked up the taproom gossip and speculation, which had no real substance to it at all. No local man could ever do such a thing, so it must have been gypsies, tinkers, or German spies.

“We’ll see what happens tomorrow,” one of the party said. “When the proper police get here.” He had small hands, wire spectacles, and a hank of hair that he’d arranged across his balding head in the hope of persuading the world that it grew there.

Ralph Endell had spoken the truth when he’d said that no man was ever a prophet in his own land. Penny Dreadfuls and story papers had recreated police detectives as exotic figures of adventure. A local boy like Stephen Reed could never expect to be taken seriously as one of their number.

After twenty minutes or so, and with no sign yet of his supper, Sebastian saw Stephen Reed enter. Reed called the landlord down to the end of the bar, and the two of them were in conversation for a while. Then Bill Turnbull reached under the bar and brought out the residents’ register.

Sebastian excused himself to the company and went over.

He found that Stephen Reed was arranging rooms for the senior detectives and other officers who’d be arriving in the morning to take over the case. The young detective sergeant didn’t seem despondent about it. If anything, he seemed relieved. A weight would be off his shoulders. He explained as much to Sebastian and declined to join him in a brandy.

He said, “I’m not here to drink. I’m here for what you know.”

“Upstairs,” Sebastian said, and led the way.

THE RESIDENTS’ corridor was as silent as it could be with a public bar directly beneath. As Sebastian stepped first into his room, he took a moment to look around before touching anything.

“What?” Stephen Reed said.

“I was downstairs for less than an hour,” he said.

He went over to his Gladstone and looked inside. The bag was exactly as he’d left it, but there was no mistaking that the contents had been disturbed. Sebastian knew his own packing. Or rather, he knew Elisabeth’s. She folded everything with precision and stowed it to a certain plan. No intruder could ever hope to recreate the effect.

He looked at Stephen Reed.

“I do believe I’ve been searched,” he said.

“Not by me,” Stephen Reed said.

The bedcovers didn’t appear to have been touched, and when Sebastian tipped over the bolster, his book and the papers were still there. “Do you know what this is?” he said, holding the volume up.

Stephen Reed shook his head.

“It’s Sir Owain’s account of his Amazonian adventure. Though it purports to be a factual account, it’s actually a fantasy of the most extreme order. He leads an expedition party into an unknown land. They find that they’ve ventured into a territory where monsters roam. The party is cut off from civilization and attacked from all sides. His men are carried off, one by one. At first the creatures move by night but then openly, by day. In the end, Sir Owain barely escapes with his life.”

“And he presents all that as truth?”

“He offers photographs and documents as proof of his story, all manufactured. The truth of it seems to be that these are the facts as he believes them.”

“Hence your interest.”

“He’s been of interest to my employers since the book was first published. You heard nothing of this? It caused quite a stir at the time.”

“All I know is that he lost his wife and child under tragic circumstances in South America. I can imagine that being enough to damage any man’s reason.”

“Not just his wife and son. His entire party, from the mapmakers and surveyors right down to the cook. There’s no true account. The inquest took place in a town where the British consul appeared to spend his nights in local whorehouses and his days sleeping off the drink, and his reports were useless.

“Questions from the bereaved families were met with offers of generous settlements. But the families have never been satisfied. There’s a thirdhand rumor of a Portuguese bearer. He’s supposed to have walked out of the jungle with a tale of the mad white captain who turned on his own crew when the river took his mind.”

“More storybook stuff.”

“That’s how it’s been dismissed,” Sebastian said, taking the papers from out of the book. “Your police commissioner’s response was a robust exoneration based on his personal knowledge of Sir Owain’s character. I have a copy of his letter here.”

“Let me understand this,” Stephen Reed said, with no more than a glance at the letterhead. “You’re telling me that Sir Owain is no mere eccentric. He’s known to be mad.”

“There are degrees of lunacy.”

“But you’ve known this for some time and he’s allowed to go free.”

“One needs a good reason in law to deprive a man of his liberty.”

“Especially a prominent man.”

“Prominence should have nothing to do with it,” Sebastian said. “But unfortunately, that’s not always the case. This list was compiled by my predecessor. A more meticulous man than I.” He gave the handwritten sheet to Stephen Reed.

As the young policeman scanned it, Sebastian went on, “My predecessor toured every parish with a border adjoining Sir Owain’s estate and noted every death or disappearance in recent years. Suspicious or accidental, report or rumor, they all went in. A woman drowned in a pool. A girl who set off for school and neither arrived nor returned. The disappearances were always at a time when Sir Owain was at home.”

Stephen Reed looked up from the list. “I know two of these names,” he said.

“You do?”

“Grace Eccles and Evangeline May Bancroft. Local girls. They’re my age. I knew them growing up. We went to the same school.”

“Do you know what happened to them?”

“I remember some concern when they were lost on the moors one night. But it turned out they’d each misled their parents and gone camping together. They were found the next morning, miles from anywhere.”

“Where are they now?”

“Evangeline’s gone. She went away to London. And Grace is not an easy woman for anyone to speak to.”

“Easy or not, this is no time for reticence. What if today’s crime has a precedent?”

“It’s not a matter of reticence,” Stephen Reed said. “Believe me. If you were to meet Grace, you’d understand. May I hold on to this?”

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. It was Dolly, to say that Sebastian’s supper was waiting for him in the dining room.

“Keep it,” Sebastian said. “And do with it what you can.”

EXTRACT FROM

The Empire of Beasts

BY SIR OWAIN LANCASTER, FRS

IT WAS the morning after the night attack on our camp. The dead and the injured lay where they had fallen. Everyone came down out of the trees and out of their hiding places and began to share their stories of what they had seen. One of the camaradas told, in his halting English sprinkled with phrases from his native Portuguese, of seeing four of our fellows carried off alive.

I had witnessed no such thing myself. I am ashamed to say that the attack had been too sudden, and too overwhelming, for any response other than hasty self-preservation. One moment we had been sitting by our separate campfires, doing our best to raise each other’s spirits for the further trials ahead; the next, it was as if a combined landslide, whirlwind, and stampede descended upon us, all at once.

You might say that, after our earlier experience upon the river, we should have been more prepared for something like it on dry land. In our defense, I should say that even the most fertile and apprehensive imagination could never have anticipated what came to befall us. First had come the sound, like the thunder of an approaching wave, to which had quickly been added the crashing of falling trees. We had barely time to rise to our feet and then the herd was upon us, charging through the camp, scattering bodies and trampling our fires.

What little I saw, I saw by firelight. I could make no estimate of their number. Each of those beasts was a giant, of a species hitherto unknown to science. They seemed to move as easily on two legs as on all fours, their long tails providing balance and their forelimbs as well adapted for gripping as running. At the time their attack appeared to have no purpose other than to terrify and destroy.

But now, as we counted our number that morning and found no less than three of our fellows and one of the camaradas missing, it seemed that the simple peon’s story was true. There was a purpose to the attack after all; we had been harvested. There was much grieving and wailing, and a great sense of gloom and despair settled upon the camp, and I resolved that if I did not act to dispel it, our adventure might end there, and all the struggles we had endured and the losses we had borne would be for nothing. I gathered everyone together and addressed them thus:

“We have already lost many of our number and most of our supplies in that terrible incident upon the river. Last night, we suffered losses again. But for those of us who have survived, let us remember that a certain providence has brought us this far. We live because it is clearly God’s purpose that we should, and to give up now would be to go against his plan.”

I saw hope in their faces as I spoke. Truth to tell, we had all been through a dreadful ordeal. To see one’s comrades torn by beasts is a terrible thing. The river serpents that had upset our boats and taken our companions had left many in a state of shock, and I knew that from now on a few among us would need to have courage for the many. And with that in mind I set out the following plan.

Those injured in the night’s attack would be moved to a new camp on higher ground. Dr S– would supervise their care and set about the gathering of certain plants and herbs that would alleviate their injuries. I, meanwhile, would take my buffalo gun and follow the clear trail left by the night’s attackers, in the hope that I might find and rescue some, or even all, of our fellows.

I credited those rampaging creatures with some dim intelligence, in that they had surely taken their victims alive for some purpose. What that purpose might be was too horrible to contemplate, but it gave me all the more reason to proceed without delay. I loaded the buffalo gun and gathered my remaining ammunition, after which I devised a way to hang it around my shoulders in a makeshift bandolier.

My enemies would be formidable, but thus armed I was confident that we might be evenly matched. My greatest danger was that they might come at me all at once, for the buffalo gun carried but a single round and required a reloading after every discharge. I was, however, banking on the prospect that the devastating effect of a large-bore hit upon one of the creatures would be enough to cause its fellows to turn and flee.

The others pleaded with me and expressed fear for my life, but I grew stern with them as if they were so many children, and reminded them of my authority as their leader.

“Enough,” I said. “Bury our dead and fortify our camp against further attack, and I will return by nightfall, either with our missing comrades or with news of their ends.”

With that they were resigned. Each man insisted on shaking my hand and wishing me well, and I saw tears in the eyes of more than one. As the effort of cutting wood to build a stronger stockade began, I took a half-day’s ration of food from our meager supplies and set off to follow the trail left by the attacking herd.

Tracking them was no difficult job. No Roman army ever blazed a road so straight, nor so clearly defined, as those great primitive monsters in their advance through the jungle.

As I made progress, and as the sounds of the camp fell behind me, I began to realize that from tragedy there might yet arise some benefit to those who had survived. For this early part of the trail at least, it seemed that the herd had followed the line of the river and done much to break the way for us. Normally we had to move at a slow pace behind the Indians and camaradas, as they cut a path through the jungle with axes and machetes. But where the creatures had rampaged, they had left us a broad avenue along which we might pass with ease.

Within the hour, I had covered the kind of distance that otherwise would have taken us a day, and though I lost sight of the river for long stretches at a time, I was never beyond the sound of it. This was most important. Though we had lost our boats, the river was our God-given guide out of the wilderness. Without it we might circle forever, with the trees blocking out the sun and a steady madness descending for want of us having any purpose or direction.

Shortly after that, I saw my first signs that the creatures were near. I shall not go into detail. Suffice it to say that waste, flies, and steam played a part in my deductions. I moved onward with great caution, hoping not to betray my presence.

I had reasoned that, since the creatures had attacked us at night, then surely they must sleep by day. The night-adapted eye fares less well in the noonday sun, and the energies expended in night hunting must be recouped at some point.

My hope was that if our fellows had been taken as prey for future consumption, then there had been some purpose in taking them alive, and that keeping them alive was a part of the creatures’ plan. If the creatures slept and I approached with sufficient stealth, I might yet be able to free my party and lead them back to our new camp, where a second attack would find us more prepared.

It was with these thoughts in mind that I crept forward and met a sight for which nothing could have prepared me. Had I realized how close I was, and how the creatures had moved to conceal themselves from sight, I would have been even more conscious of the need for silence in my progress. Fortunately the spot they had chosen for their day-nest was close to the river, where an unusually raucous set of fast-moving rapids made a noise that easily masked my movements.

The creatures had smashed down vegetation covering an area about the size of a tennis court, in order to make a type of bower. Within this jungle hollow all lay curled and sleeping, a dozen or more of them, their limbs and tails intertwining. A hasty count was impossible. I wish that I could have taken the time to make detailed observations and sketches. The ones that I reproduce in this volume are made from memory and not from life. Alas, all thoughts of science had deserted me in that moment, for it was now that I saw the fates of our comrades.

The creatures had, indeed, taken four men with the intent of preserving them alive. However, their method for this had evolved for use with prey more robust than man. Each member of my expedition lay pinned to the ground by an outstretched limb or tail, in a move calculated to prevent any from escaping while the creatures slept. But the crushing weight of those monstrous limbs had caused them to bear down with devastating effect. Our men had survived their kidnap only to be suffocated under the enormous weight of the creatures’ extremities. In the case of one man (I shall not name him for fear of further distressing his widow), he had been pressed down onto broken vegetation so forcefully that the sharpened ends had passed through him like so many spears.

Fearsome though the scene was, I could not leave it without satisfying myself that no spark of life remained in any of my former companions. I crept as close as I dared, and then gathered my courage and crept closer still, until I was so close to those great beasts that I might have reached out and laid a hand upon their thick hides, had I been so inclined. Alas, it seemed that my daring was in vain. C–, our instrument-maker, was cold to the touch. The injuries sustained by R– the cartographer and Dr B– were only too obviously mortal. As I moved from one to the other, one of the creatures stirred in its sleep and gave a huge sigh. The beast’s hot breath washed over me, as when a wind changes direction over a bonfire and one is bathed in the heat that it carries. But what a fire! One that stank of putrid swamp, and rotting meat. Being now on the riverward side of the nest, and in danger of being cut off from the jungle, I was almost persuaded to withdraw without further investigation, when I noticed a wasp landing on the nose of the sole non-European among the abducted, our mule-driving camarada. It lit there for only a moment, but was met with a definite twitch of the nostrils.

I never knew his name—for the purpose of this narrative I shall call him Pablo—but he opened his eyes and, upon seeing me, stretched out a hand in entreaty and began to call to me. I quickly motioned him to silence, and such was the discipline that I had imposed upon our party that he immediately obeyed.

I took a moment to assess our situation. I could not leave him to his fate, there was no question of that. No loyalty had been fiercer than that of these bare-footed, uneducated bearers, many of whom had already laid down their lives in the service of white men whom they did not know, for an expedition whose purpose their simple minds could never hope to understand. To abandon him now would be a poor reward for such devoted support.

Pablo lay with the tail of one of the creatures pinning him to the ground, as a fallen tree might trap an incautious logger. By signs I managed to get him to move his legs, thus proving that his back was not broken and that, once freed, he would have a reasonable chance of continuing his escape.

I considered, and quickly dismissed, any idea of provoking the creature in the hope that it might raise its appendage without being fully roused from its slumbers. To risk waking one was to risk waking all, so closely were they intertwined. Instead I noted that the part of the riverbank on which Pablo lay was of soft red sand, and might be dug away with some care. To this end I retreated into the jungle, and searched around for anything that could be used as a makeshift spade. As I was unable to explain my purpose to him, the despair on Pablo’s face as he saw me withdraw was a pity to behold, and I spent no longer than was necessary in securing a broken gourd that would suffice for the task. I returned with it and, once more signalling him to silence, began to scoop out the river dirt from around and under his body.

Once he’d realized my purpose, he attempted to help by digging away with his bare hands. Too late, the inadvisability of his action became obvious. Thick though the creature’s hide was, it had enough sensitivity to register Pablo’s movements and transmit them to its distant brain. After a while its great sides began to stir, and I stopped all movement for a second or two; but when I saw that this would not be enough to make the great beast subside again, I threw caution to the winds and resumed digging as quickly and as carelessly as would be required to get the job done.

Waking, the creature gave us unexpected aid; the flick of its tail as it began to raise itself had the effect of releasing Pablo completely, and I flung the gourd aside and dragged him out. As I picked up my buffalo gun, Pablo struggled to his feet; his movements were mirrored by those of the waking creature before us, struggling to disentangle itself from its fellows and causing them all to stir in their turn.

Now we were in a pickle. The creatures were rolling over, and the Celtic knot of their daytime nest was rapidly unravelling. The jungle was only yards from us, but our chance of reaching it was quickly vanishing. “Run, Pablo!” I cried, bringing my buffalo gun to bear on the heart of the tangle, and whether or not he understood my words, my dusky friend was in no doubt as to their meaning. As he leapt for the foliage, I fired at the head of the biggest and most dangerous-looking creature at the center of the herd, reasoning that this roughest of beasts must surely be its leader.

As I had predicted, the roar of the gun threw the half-awake beasts into an immediate state of panic and confusion. They fought each other to get free, and I saw Pablo reach safety and disappear into the green without seeming to be noticed.

My own situation was far less certain. Forcing myself to remain calm, I dropped to one knee and reloaded. I was aware of a tail sweeping over me like the boom of a yacht, missing by inches. Within moments, the gun was back to my shoulder and I fired again.

That second shot did it. There was a sudden scream, like no animal sound that I had ever heard before, and the creatures scattered like a mob, crashing off into the jungle on every side. All except for one, this being the beast that I had hit.

The beast did not panic like the others; instead, pain had concentrated his attention on me, his tormentor. I had the river at my back, while the beast stood between me and any chance of escape. I saw it clearly for the first time. Its shape lay somewhere between that of an ape and a dinosaur, only one of the many fantastical forms that I was to encounter in the dark days ahead. Blood was leaking down its hide from a chest wound. Its yellow eyes were fixed upon me, and they blazed with fury as the creature lunged.

I had no chance to load and fire again. I could only run in one direction, and that was to the river. The river held terrors of its own; they were beneath the surface and out of sight, but those terrors were there nonetheless. I had, however, noted the presence of a line of rocks in the shallows and the rapids, that when taken together might serve as a series of islands in the manner of large stepping-stones. Of course, a pursuing creature might cross these as easily as I; but this creature was wounded, and though it could run on two legs, on less certain footing I was gambling that it would be happier on four, and so would be unable to reach for its prey.

As I leapt from rock to rock, I was aware of the beast following me; and when I reached the largest of the rock islands with the rapids all around, I looked back to see that it had left the shore. Along with all the pain and rage, there was a growing uncertainty in its movements. With more confidence, it might have strode across this natural causeway through the boiling stream and reached me in seconds; but by attempting to gain its balance with all four of its limbs on one stepping-stone at a time, it was severely compromising its ability to progress.

Here was my chance. And just as well, for I had reached the last island and could run no farther. With my back against the rock, I reloaded and took aim. Spray from the river was lashing me, but while running I had kept the gun held high, and my ammunition was dry. My target was no more than fifteen yards away, and the size of a house.

My gun spoke, and my bullet did not miss. And yet my pursuer did not drop; he roared in pain, again that terrible sound that I’d encountered nowhere else in nature, and rose to his full height so that those great, broad claws could clutch at a second chest wound. Though my large-bore rounds were doing certain damage and had the power to drop an elephant, even these were not enough to stop him on their own.

Fortunately, I had two good allies to come to my rescue; the force of gravity, and the forces of the river. In rising so hastily, the creature caused himself to overbalance and now he lost his footing. He hit the surface with an almighty splash and immediately began to tumble away from me in the raging current. That on its own would have been enough, but there was more to follow. Within seconds, shadow-shapes were rising from the depths and flocking to him.

What I felt then was something close to pity, as teeth fastened on his body and one tentacle after another wrapped over the beast and finally drew him under, silencing his dying cries. He went down like a pig among crocodiles, the whole angry, battling mess being borne away around a bend in the river as I watched.

I took the precaution of reloading before I returned to the bank. There were more of the creatures about, after all, and one or more of them might return. However, all was silent as I crossed the site of the nest, and after listening for a while I was confident that all had flown. I called out to Pablo, and after a few moments was rewarded with the sight of his cautious face peeping out from the bushes.

I do not think that any man has ever expressed his gratitude to another more eloquently, or with greater enthusiasm, than that simple peon in his moment of deliverance. While he did not quite grovel at my feet nor place my foot upon his head, his actions left me in no doubt as to his feelings. I raised him, and by one means and another gave him to understand that while I appreciated his thanks, there were still dangers all around us. In this more somber mood, I supervised as he used the broken gourd to scrape out shallow graves for the remains of those fallen Englishmen. After a few simple prayers, to which a lack of comprehension didn’t prevent Pablo from adding a broken and charming Amen, I led our way back to the main camp.

There was a cheer when we were spotted emerging from the jungle and it was seen that I had not returned alone, but the general jubilation turned to sadness as my party learned the fate of their own people. That night, while Pablo celebrated with his fellow camaradas and no doubt embroidered the tale of his rescue until my actions gained some heroic stature, ours was a more subdued campfire gathering. During my absence, this new camp had been set up within a palisade of sharpened pickets with their points angled outward; though we heard many a worrying sound from the jungle that night, we suffered no further attack.

When all of our injured had either died or recovered sufficiently to travel, we broke camp and moved on. We followed the trampled “road” until we reached the clearing by the river. I was surprised to see how the broad avenue was already beginning to vanish, and how all signs of the creatures’ nesting were gone. Fresh bamboo was growing up through the broken vegetation, and I was unable even to locate the shallow graves of our lost companions in order to point out their final resting places. Everything in the jungle consumed something else, I concluded; and failing that, the jungle consumed itself.

My name among the camaradas was now Assassino da Alimárias, which I’m given to understand means “slayer of beasts.” I received the news with grim amusement.

We had far to go, and many more such perils to face. I decided then that where the slaughter of such monstrous game was required, I would forever stand ready.