The Draugr (Midnight Gunn Book 3)

  THE DRAUGR

  A MIDNIGHT GUNN NOVEL #3

  C. L. MONAGHAN

  The Draugr

  A Midnight Gunn Novel #3

  Copyright © 2021 Claire Monaghan

  Published by Hudson Indie Ink

  www.hudsonindieink.com

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it wasn’t purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referred to in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  The Draugr/C.L. Monaghan – 1st ed.

  ISBN-13 - 978-1-913769-75-8

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  1. The British Museum, London

  2. Meriton House

  3. Meriton

  4. Little Surrey Street

  5. Meriton

  6. Stones End

  7. Meriton

  Journal Entry of D.I. Arthur Gredge

  December 24, 1862

  8. Churchyard

  9. Meriton

  10. St. Thomas’

  11. Meriton

  12. Meriton

  13. The British Museum

  14. Berkeley Square

  15. Meriton

  16. Stones End

  17. Surrey County Gaol

  18. The British Museum

  19. The British Museum

  20. Meriton

  Journal Entry of Arthur Gredge

  21. An Unexpected development

  22. ᛞᚱᚨᚢᚷᚱ ᛞᛟᛟᚱ

  23. The Otherworld

  24. The Saffron Walden Mound

  25. Meriton House

  26. Stones End

  27. Southwark Magistrates Court

  28. Meriton

  29. Crawley Manor

  30. Meriton

  31. Meriton

  32. Royal Docks

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by C. L. Monaghan

  Other Authors at Hudson Indie Ink

  PROLOGUE

  JANUARY 6TH 1863

  The shadows grew long as the dull orange of the sputtering oil lamp dimmed. The heavy silence of the parlour inside Number 13 Little Surrey Street was permeated by the drip drip of spilled whisky from atop the cluttered desk and the alcohol-induced snores of one Detective Inspector Arthur Gredge. Constable Rowe regarded his superior with a combination of pity and unease as he surveyed the room. The desk, upon which his boss lay recumbent in blissful ignorance, stank of ink and cheap booze. An empty glass remained clutched in Gredge’s right hand, and a half-empty bottle of potent amber liquid—The Rose and Crown’s finest, no doubt—lay on its side, expunging its contents onto the unswept floor. The fire in the range was out, and Rowe gagged as the stench of what smelled like three-day old soup hit the back of his throat. Taking the iron pot from the range, his face wrinkling in disgust, he emptied it out the back door, gagging again as the rancid slop spattered on the cobbles outside. It looked, and smelled, like vomit.

  “Christ save us,” Rowe muttered into the crook of his arm. Back inside the house, he plonked the pot down roughly on the dresser and marched to where Gredge slumped, still snoring. Rowe lay a hand on Gredge’s shoulder and shook him gently.

  “Boss? It’s Rowe. You need to wake up.” He shook harder. “Inspector? Wake up!” he shouted.

  “Away!” Gredge screeched and flung himself backwards off his chair, landing in a tangle of flailing limbs. He caught the whisky bottle with his arm, causing it to crash to the floor and shatter, eliciting an incoherent scream from the inspector.

  “Sir, it’s me, Constable Rowe. It’s alright. It’s just me, see?” Rowe held up his hands, palms out in placation. It unsettled him seeing his boss like this, and it wasn’t the first time of late. Gredge hadn’t been right since he came back from Scotland.

  It took a few moments for the pained expression to fade and the Inspector’s breathing to regulate, and as lucidity gradually returned, Gredge shuffled onto his knees and pulled himself to his feet. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his unkempt hair, before smoothing his bushy moustache. Rowe had the good grace to not let his concern show.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Well… the Super sent me to find you,” Rowe said. “We’ve got another case.”

  “What time is it?” Gredge frowned.

  “After eight, sir.”

  “Couldn’t it have waited a half hour? I’m not due in until eight-thirty.”

  “Eight p.m.”

  “Oh. Really?” Gredge swept a glance over his rumpled clothes and inhaled deeply. “Must’ve overslept.”

  “Mmm,” Rowe muttered as he inadvertently glanced at the smashed bottle.

  “Hate Mondays,” Gredge explained.

  “It’s erm… Tuesday, sir.”

  “What?”

  Rowe shrugged. “Tuesday.”

  “Fetch my coat!” Gredge shouted.

  “Yes, boss.” Rowe looked relived to have somewhere to go. He shot out of the parlour and into the hallway. “I’ll wait for you by the door,” he called back, graciously giving Arthur a few minutes to collect his thoughts.

  Tuesday? How in the hell was it Tuesday?

  Arthur Gredge had never missed a day’s work in his life thus far. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall the events of the previous few days. He’d had supper at the Rose and Crown early Sunday night. He’d brought a bottle home and then… What? Nothing. His mind drew a blank. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall a damned thing that had happened between then and now.

  Down at the docks, a gaggle of people were gathered solemnly around a pile of thick ropes and old canvas that was half hidden behind a wall of wooden shipping crates. Aside from the odd gasp, tut, and shake of a head, no one spoke and no one moved out the way as Gredge approached. He shooed people unceremoniously from his path, before finally shoving his way through the blockade of warm bodies to where two very cold and lifeless ones lay.

  “Right. What have we got?” Gredge demanded.

  “Two victims between eight and twelve years old, I reckon. It’s hard to tell ages with these poor blighters.” Rowe sighed. “I hate it when it’s kids.”

  “Don’t we all. Carry on, constable.”

  “Sir.” Rowe nodded. “One male, one female. No obvious signs of injury or cause of death that I can see.”

  “So, what makes this our investigation?”

  “The way the bodies have been displayed, similar to before, with the woman in the park.”

  “You’re right. They could well be connected.”

  “Or… could be a mercy killing by someone who knew or loved them? Definitely not natural?”

  “Are you askin’ or tellin’ me, Rowe?”

  “Tellin’.”

  “Not bad. You’re right about the bodies though. Laid out side by side. Certainly doesn’t look right. Not your typical murder. Almost looks like they fell asleep and dropped on the spot, poor buggers. Get some lads to gather evidence. There’s a crowd, so chances are someone might’ve seen somethin’. Who called it in?”

  “Couple of women. Burgess got their names.”

  “Right. Off you go then. You’ll never make a good detective with me holdin’ your hand.”

  “Yes, boss.” Rowe smiled, failing to hide his enthusiasm.

  Gredge stayed with the victims to examine the scene for himself while he waited for Rowe to send in the lads. The young boy, dressed in rags, had dark wavy hair. The girl was blonde and wore a dirty brown dress. Both were barefoot. Their extremities were blue, and the rest of their frail little bodies blended almost perfectly with the freshly fallen snow. There was no blood, no physical injury that he could see. They were just dead. The girl’s elf-like face was pinched, like she hadn’t eaten in an age, and the boy… The boy was staring straight him!

  Gredge gasped and stumbled backwards, nearly falling over his own feet and bumping into Constable Burgess.

  “Inspector. You alright?” Burgess grunted as he reached out and steadied Gredge.

  “The boy he… his eyes.”

  “What about ‘im?” Burgess looked over at the corpse.

  “They were open just now,” Gredge declared, rather breathless.

  Burgess looked again. “Look closed to me, boss.”

  “No, no. He was lookin’…” Gredge stopped midsentence when he saw the frown cross his colleague’s face. He turned reluctantly towards the boy, afraid of what he might see, but Burgess was right. The boy’s eyes were firmly shut.

  “Where’s Rowe?” Gredge asked, his voice gruff and demanding to hide his embarrassment, even though he already knew the whereabouts of his junior.

  Burgess waved a hand behind him. “Back there, questioning a witness.”

  “Mmm. Get t
his seen to then.” Gredge indicated to Burgess with a wave of his hand and walked off, shucking up his coat collar against the chill air and adjusting his hat.

  He could see Rowe standing at the far end of the street near a warehouse building with two women. As he drew closer, he could hear their voices. One of the women noticed him approaching. Her eyes widened, and she pointed straight at Gredge, talking very animatedly. Rowe looked back at him, frowning, causing Gredge to halt his steps. The two women, who both now wore horrified expressions, began to back away. Rowe seemed to be appealing to them but to no avail, and within seconds, they had both disappeared into the crowd.

  “What was that all about?” Gredge asked when he drew level with Rowe.

  “Er…” Rowe replied, scratching his chin. “Um…”

  “Well, spit it out then, man. Did they see anything suspicious? Did they see who done it?”

  “Mmm. Sort of. I suppose. I dunno.” Rowe was stuttering now and looking anywhere but at his boss.

  “They either did, or they didn’t. So, which was it?” snapped Gredge. When no immediate reply came, Gredge snatched Rowe’s notebook from him and began reading the constable’s scrawled description from the two witnesses. “Man acting suspicious… Medium build. Long brown coat. Bowler hat… Moustache.” His heart froze. He recalled the woman’s horrified look, how she’d pointed his way. Surely, she hadn’t identified— “Me?”

  Rowe shrugged then nodded, abashed. “I’m sure it’s a mistake, sir. I mean—”

  “Well, of course it’s a bleedin’ mistake, you arse! Go see if you can find them and bring them back here for further questioning.” He slammed the notebook into Rowe’s chest. Rowe grabbed it and scurried off through the crowd of onlookers to track down his two clearly confused witnesses.

  Gredge took off his bowler and ran the back of his hand across his sweating brow. Of course it was a mistake. He’d been nowhere near this area in the past week, and those bodies were no more than a day or two cold. There were plenty of men donning bowlers these days. It was quite the new fashion. It was an easy mistake to make, especially in the dim light. What a waste of time it had been, sending Rowe to question the only two witnesses. He should’ve done it himself. In fact, he would take it over as soon as Rowe returned with the women.

  Glancing back at the bodies, Gredge tugged his moustache. A growing sense of unease itched the recesses of his mind. A flash of an image of the boy with blue eyes, open as before but not the same. He drew his brows together in earnest concentration as the prickle of a memory lay tauntingly just out of reach. If he could just… think.

  THE BRITISH MUSEUM, LONDON

  DECEMBER 2ND 1862

  “Why am I here?” Gredge bemoaned. He scanned the vast exhibition hall with marked disinterest.

  “Because I fancied the company,” Midnight Gunn replied. “And because my daughter insisted I extend you an invitation to Christmas dinner.”

  “A letter would’ve sufficed.”

  “Now, Arthur. Knowing Polly as you do, do you think anything other than a personal invitation would have satisfied her?” Midnight cocked an eyebrow and smirked.

  “Mmm. Nothin’ to do with Rowe and his interfering ways, then, eh?”

  “Nothing at all. I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Mmm,” Gredge repeated. “But why a museum? It’s not exactly my scene, Midnight. A pint down the pub, now that’s somethin’ I could’ve got on board with.”

  “A bit of culture never did anyone any harm. Besides, I have some business here, and I thought you could maybe help.”

  “Business?”

  “Yes. I recently made a discovery in my attic, and I wanted some help researching its origin. We’re here to meet one of the museum’s curators.”

  “Thrillin’,” Gredge said, rolling his eyes as he followed Midnight’s path between the exhibits. “Is that what’s in the bag? Your discovery?”

  “It is, indeed.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m not gonna like it?”

  “Oh, ye of little faith, Arthur. It’s an intriguing artefact, I can assure you. Ah! Here we are.”

  Midnight came to a stop outside an inconspicuous-looking wooden door with the name E. Bird painted in gold lettering at the centre. He knocked on the door then sat down on the oak settle to wait.

  “If you say so.” Arthur had barely sat down when the door opened and a short, buxom woman sporting men’s breaches and a pile of purple-tinged hair strode confidently out to greet them.

  “Lord Gunn? Elldy Bird. A pleasure to meet you. Do come in.” She turned and strode straight back into her office, leaving the two men outside slightly aghast.

  “Close your mouth, Arthur,” Midnight whispered.

  “She’s a woman!”

  “I can see why you’re such a successful detective. Your observational skills are second to none. After you.”

  When they entered the room, they were met with a warm smile and an offer of tea, to which they both agreed. The lavender shortbread biscuits that were served to them as an accompaniment were about the only remotely feminine things in the entire office. In fact, it looked so unlike an office that Midnight could have been forgiven for thinking he was inside the sales room of an old curiosity shop. Every conceivable space was rammed full of unusual antiquities.

  “You mentioned in your letter that you needed help identifying an object in your possession, Lord Gunn?” Elldy asked.

  “Indeed, I do,” Midnight replied. He reached into his bag and extracted a bundle of white linen. Holding it in one hand, he carefully unwrapped the cloth to reveal an intricately carved wooden cube roughly the size of an apple. Handing it to the curator, he said, “I think I recognise the runes. Viking, perhaps? I am unsure about the more complicated ones, but I am curious as to the purpose of it. My library at home is a little lacking in Norse mythology, something I intend to remedy. But in the meantime, I hoped you might shed some light on the matter.”

  Elldy took the cube in both hands and held it close to her face. Squinting, she turned it slowly so as to carefully examine each side.

  “Hmm. It’s not an object I have seen before, I’ll admit. Very interesting though. You are correct in assuming it is of Nordic origin. I estimate it to be late eleventh, possibly twelfth century, but no later. It’s remarkably well preserved. Where on earth did you find it?”

  “My attic.” Midnight smiled at the shocked look on the curator’s face. “My late father was a hoarder and somewhat of a collector of curious objects,” he offered by way of explanation, not wanting to admit to the whole truth—that his father had, in fact, been an enthusiast of world mythologies and the occult. “I was having a bit of a clear-out and stumbled across a small chest, well hidden in the rafters. When I managed to unlock it, I found this inside.”

  “There may be a good reason it was locked away,” Elldy said. “See these runes here? These look similar to bind runes—two or more runes combined to represent something else—although I have never seen ones like these before.” She paused and turned the cube over in her hands, squinting, trying to make sense of the glyphs carved on it. “In this case, they may be intended as a warning or a binding of some sort.”

  “What sort of warning?” Gredge asked, his tone not one of interest but of distinct wariness.

  “I am not sure at this point. I would need to study it at length. I may be completely off course with my initial assessment. We do have a number of Viking artefacts in storage, many of which haven’t been catalogued, I’m afraid. But we do have a good amount of articles in our archives that may be of use.” She looked up from the cube and, with a twinkle in her eye, asked her two visitors if they would like to see the archives.