The Draugr (Midnight Gunn Book 3) Page 3

  “I suppose I could manage a bite or two.”

  “Glad to hear it. I’m sure the ever-attentive Mrs Phillips will rustle you up something delightfully delicious, as is her standard.”

  “Mmm,” Gredge replied. The thought of tasty—and free—food gave him a reason for mild cheer at least.

  Midnight settled himself into an armchair by the large sash window. “And how are you feeling now you’ve had a little rest? How’s your head?” Midnight asked with genuine concern, for in truth, Arthur still looked decidedly peaky.

  “’S’alright, I suppose. I don’t know why everyone is fussing. I’m perfectly fine. I’ll be off home soon—after I’ve eaten,” Gredge added.

  “Absolutely not. You are to stay in bed until tomorrow at the very least. Doctor’s orders,” Midnight warned as Arthur opened his mouth to protest. “You have suffered a concussion, and I’m to keep an eye on you while you recover. No, Arthur.” Midnight held up his hand, effectively shutting down the attempted interruption once again. “The only way you are getting out of this room before morning is if you allow me to heal your injuries. And we both know that is not going to happen, so rest you will and rest you—“

  “Will you bloody well let me speak, you infernal know-it-all!” Gredge bellowed, his pasty visage suddenly turning pink with effort.

  The room fell silent.

  Gredge glared at Midnight, whose lips remained parted, midsentence. “Jesus and Hellfire! You can be so annoying sometimes. You can’t control everyone and everything, Lord Gunn,” Gredge spat. He covered his face with his hands and moaned into them. “I’m perfectly capable of deciding whether or not I am fit enough to go home, thank you very much.”

  A few painful seconds ticked by where neither man spoke but regarded each other through unfamiliar eyes. Midnight, who, Arthur was sure, was not at all used to being spoken to in such a manner, was utterly speechless for once. A slight frown crossed his brow, and his lips twitched as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say. And Gredge, who was sweating now with the effort of attempting to rein in his temper, stared at his own balled-up fists.

  What was wrong with him? He felt as though there was a pool of volcanic rage in his gut just waiting to erupt. The awkward silence between them hung in the air, thick with volatility, at least on Gredge’s part. He felt as though he was the barrel of gunpowder and Midnight the fuse. He knew that, if Midnight spoke, the fuse would be lit, and he would go off like a bomb. Midnight’s eyes squinted almost imperceptibly, but Arthur caught it and felt himself inwardly daring the other man to respond.

  The unspoken stand-off between them was broken by a knock on the door, and the cheerful tones of Meriton’s cook and housekeeper, Mrs Phillips.

  When she received no answer, she tried again. “Inspector? I have a tray for you. Can I come in?”

  “Yes, do enter,” Midnight replied, seeing that Gredge was unable to respond.

  The door swung open, and Clementine Philips’ voluminous personage bustled into the room. She placed a tea tray, loaded with sandwiches and cake, atop the mahogany occasional table by the window. “Shall I pour?” she asked, turning to face the two gentlemen. Her genial smile faded as she caught a sense of the strained atmosphere in the room.

  “Just the one cup. Thank you, Mrs Phillips. I fear I have kept the inspector from his rest for far too long.” Midnight rose from the chair at the same time that Arthur swept back the bedcovers and stood up, wobbling slightly, resulting in a shocked squeak from Mrs Phillips, who was looking anywhere but at Scotland Yard’s finest who stood brazenly in her presence in nothing but a nightshirt.

  “Forgive me, but I am unable to stay for tea. I have pressing police business to attend to. I am leaving.” He stressed the last sentence and glared challengingly at Midnight whose expression was unreadable. Reaching for his clothes, which were neatly folded on an ottoman, Gredge steadied himself before declaring, “I should like to get dressed now, if you don’t mind.”

  LITTLE SURREY STREET

  THE EVENING OF DECEMBER 2ND 1862

  Arthur blotted his latest entry carefully before closing his journal. It was one of several leather-bound volumes he used to jot down his thoughts pertaining to the cases on which he worked through the years. He found documenting the cases both cathartic and useful when he needed to go over a chain of events in the hopes of finding a lead he may have missed.

  The chime of the mantle clock struck seven. There was time enough for him to pop down to the Rose and Crown for supper. Patting his stomach, he regretted not staying at Meriton for the inevitable feast that Midnight’s cook would have provided. He took in the vista of his compact living room with its worn, comfy armchair by the range, the bare floorboards covered by a substantial, if slightly tatty, rug, the two-seater dining table, and his desk. Never before had a room reflected bachelorhood so candidly as this one.

  Donning his signature bowler hat and cocking it slightly so as to hide the bandage then pulling on his trademark long coat, Arthur shoved a few coins in his pocket and set off. The long shadows of twilight coated the pavement on which he walked, causing him to feel chilled. He crossed to the other side of the road, something about the shadows unsettling him. The feeling stayed with him until he reached the corner of the street where the tavern stood. Music and conversation emanated from the building, a welcoming, familiar sound that bathed him with reassurance.

  Once he was settled at his favourite seat by the window, the barmaid took his order.

  “Steak and kidney, boiled potatoes, and a pint of your best, please, Doris.”

  “Only got the one ale in today, Inspector. That’ll ‘ave to do ya.”

  “As long as it’s cold and wet, I’m not fussed.”

  “It’s warm an’ watered down. Take it or leave it.” Doris grinned.

  “Better make it two pints, then, eh?” Arthur countered.

  Doris gave him a wink and flounced off.

  As he waited, he examined the room, a force of habit for a detective. He took in the same old faces that frequented the tavern almost on a daily basis. Some met his gaze and nodded or raised a glass in acknowledgement, some ignored him, and some slunk discretely out of his view. Most were blissfully unaware of his consideration. These were the people he enjoyed watching the most. Arthur didn’t peg himself as much of a conversationalist. He didn’t have any particular friends to speak of. Well… Perhaps he would’ve called Midnight a friend… Maybe not now, he thought with a pang of hurt, but he had acquaintances and the camaraderie of the constabulary and that was fine. He was a people watcher. You could say it was a hobby of sorts, one that benefitted his career. You could discover an awful lot about a person’s character through discreet observation.

  A hearty meal and a few pints later, Arthur left the Rose and Crown and headed home in the rain. The dull yellow glow of the gaslights barely penetrated the gloomy street. The noise of raucous laughter from the tavern dissipated and the steady pitter-patter of raindrops on roofs became a torrent of water sloshing from the runoff which splashed onto the cobbles, soaking him from head to toe. Arthur shucked up the collar of his coat and set off at a hurried pace, hoping the range at home had remained lit. His irritation at the rain exacerbated when he stepped, ankle deep, in a pothole full of dirty water.

  “Damnation!” He hopped out of the puddle almost toppling over on the cobbles. He cringed at the cold squelching in his shoe when he set his foot back on the ground.

  By the time he reached home, his mood was as black as the sky. The Gredge residence on Little Surrey Street was a modest middle-terraced one bedroom dwelling. He could’ve afforded better, but in truth, he had no need of anything larger. It wouldn’t do for him to be rattling around in a big house by himself. Having grown up in the area, he was fond of it, warts and all. He had everything he needed, a good job, food in his belly, and a safe place to sleep.

  No friends, no wife, no children, said the voice in his head. He ignored it.

  Arthur felt the rain trickle down his neck and under his collar. He shivered. Reaching in his pocket, he retrieved the door key. It slipped from his grasp and onto the wet pavement. Things just weren’t going his way today. The comfort and warmth of the tavern seemed an age away. There were no street lamps here, so he couldn’t see where the key had landed. Arthur grumbled and fumbled around until his hand closed on the cold iron. He plunged the blade of the key into the lock, more forcefully than he’d intended. It was at that particular moment when the skin on the back of his neck prickled.

  He paused midturn, his hand still on the key. How was it possible that the street seemed darker than it had just moments ago? He squinted, looking through the rain into the deepest shadows. The street was empty. There were no lights in the windows, but all of his finely tuned senses told him he was being watched.

  He resisted the urge to shout, Go away, Midnight! because that would invite the meddling swine to make contact with him, and right now, Midnight was the last person he wanted to see. The argument had unsettled him. He was used to the banter between himself and his friend, but this had been wholly different. He had snapped. In all his years in the force, keeping the rookies in line, he had never lost his temper in such a way before.

  Arthur closed and locked the door behind him, dropping the key on the little tray atop the hall table. His mind was elsewhere as he removed and hung up his coat and hat. Attempting to self-analyse, he went over the events of the last few months, determined to understand where his sudden aggression had come from. Midnight was right, he hadn’t been himself since his return from Scotland. There was no one thing he could think of that could trigger his outburst, however. He had investigated countless cases with Midnight in the past, witnessed an alarming variety of otherworldly creatur
es, and grown to accept that the unexplainable occurrences he’d been part of were a necessary evil to endure in his particular line of work.

  Arthur poured himself a large whisky, tipped it down his throat in one then poured himself another. He wiped a drop from his moustache and gave it a habitual tug. A sense of extreme isolation settled over him, coupled with a level of anxiety that was altogether unfamiliar.

  Feeling suddenly reminiscent, he indulged in the urge to read through his older journals. His awareness of being stalked by Midnight in the street had prompted memories from a similar circumstance from when he and Midnight had first encountered each other years ago. Reaching in a drawer, he pulled out a well-worn leather volume and, flicking through to find the relevant entry, began to read about it.

  Arrived at the scene at 8:20 p.m. The body was still warm and had the same puncture marks to the neck as the others, although not drained of blood this time. Obviously interrupted the bastard! We’re getting closer, though. Got my first look at the swine tonight. Should get the report finished before I retire for the evening. If I can figure out what the hell it was I witnessed.

  Lord in Heaven knows how I’m supposed to explain this one to the Guv. Rowe nearly shite himself, poor sod. He’s a proper Captain Flashman, that one. Bloody typical P. Division. No balls. Nice boy, though. Keen. Maybe I should have him transferred to me. Make a proper bobby out of him.

  I digress. I will try to explain in my own words, the events of this evening, before attempting to write my report.

  Me and Rowe rolled up just after dark. We’d been scouting the area after receiving the letter from Y.N. The other two bodies were found by the Victuallers’ Asylum in Peckham and on Kent Street near London Bridge. Y.N.’s letter pointed towards the next location being somewhere near Our Lady of Sorrows, down on Friary Road. Turns out it was right on the bleeding’ steps of the church. Body laid out as bold as brass but not as neat as the others. This one looked ‘unfinished’. That’s when we saw it.

  I say ‘it’, because for all it looked like a man, what it did is beyond the realms of human capability. I swear, as I live and breathe, smoke shot out of its hands, like steam from a kettle. Young Rowe actually squealed. I would have laughed had I not been so shocked. The thing was heavily cloaked and was lurking by the corner of the church. Wouldn’t have even noticed, had we not startled it. Can’t work out why it was hiding in the shadows when it clearly hadn’t finished with its victim. I have a mind to think on it as a master artist stepping back to contemplate the composition of a piece. If only we’d gotten there sooner. Could’ve caught it in the act. Bloody thing buggered off sharpish before Rowe had even picked himself off the floor. Shit.

  Gredge half huffed, half chuckled as he continued to flick through the journal and read random snippets. He noticed that more and more entries contained notes about his times with Midnight, and he got to wondering what his life might have been like if the two of them had never met. Would he still be investigating unusual cases? Would he have perhaps taken his career in a different direction, maybe been promoted further by now? Would he have met someone and gotten married, had children even? He closed the journal and shut it away in a drawer.

  Well, he thought, perhaps now is the time to find out.

  MERITON

  DECEMBER 3RD 1862

  The study at Meriton House was heavy with silence and shadows, broken only by the intermittent, frustrated sighs of its resident. Midnight’s brow furrowed as he sat, deep in thought. He remained oblivious to the darkening of the light around him, and the charged atmosphere, full of concern for his friend.

  According to Rowe, the inspector’s drinking had increased significantly, not that Midnight had seen much physical evidence of that as yet. After all, supper at the local public house was hardly cause for concern, but the fact that the constable had voiced his concerns did raise alarm bells. The dilemma he faced, however, was what was he to do about it? Should he actually do anything at all? Or would the damned stubborn Inspector Gredge not thank him for getting involved and for being a… What had he called him? An infernal know-it-all?

  A low growl startled him from his reverie. Two glowing eyes emerged from the inky darkness that had now engulfed the room. Widdershins stalked cautiously towards the desk where Midnight stiffened, suddenly on guard, noticing the raised heckles on the creature's neck.

  “What is it?” Midnight hissed, eyes travelling quickly from corner to corner, attempting to locate the danger whilst also wondering why his own senses had failed to pick up any threat.

  Shins whined a little then chuffed at Midnight, dipping his heavy head at the deepening shadows. It was then that Midnight understood the reason why his senses had supposedly failed him.

  “My apologies. I had not realised,” he said, abashed. It had been a while since he had lost his grasp on the shadows. His concern for Gredge had clearly penetrated his control.

  Midnight closed his eyes briefly and inhaled slow and deep. As he did so, the shadows receded, and the room morphed back into its usual, pleasant, organised state.

  The barghest’s heckles flattened, and the tension melted away from its bulky frame. Shins sneezed derisively and fixed Midnight with a look of reprimand.

  “I said I was sorry. What more do you require? And besides, this is my house, in case you are unaware. I will not be chastised by a dog.”

  Shins bared his teeth.

  “Fine! By a mutt.” Midnight shrugged one shoulder at Shins, to which the creature promptly turned its back on him and started towards the exit. “Wait!” Midnight cried, a sudden idea entering his head. “I need you to do something for me.”

  Shins stopped, one paw in the air as if deciding whether or not to stay and listen.

  “Gredge is in trouble, and I think you can help him.”

  Shins pricked up his ears.

  “Please?” Midnight implored. “He is my friend… I will let you sleep in Polly’s room tonight.”

  The mutt’s haunches jiggled, and he turned his head to look Midnight in the eye.

  Incredulous, Midnight continued. “Are you… laughing? Why you deplorable—”

  Shins chuffed again and padded back in to the study to sit, upright and attentive, by the fire.

  “I should think so, too,” Midnight scolded. “Our inspector is not well, as you may know. It is my belief that something untoward may have happened to him up on the hill that night by the standing stones. When I was down on the ground and the portal opened, I saw someone… or something attempting to break through.” He paused, trying to think how best to word his request. “Is it possible that something did, and that it has somehow affected Arthur? Would you enter the… otherworld and see what you can find out?”

  The creature shook his head.

  “Why not?” Midnight asked.

  Shins blew air out heavily from his nostrils.

  “I do not know what that means. Oh, this is ridiculous. I am attempting to have a meaningful conversation with an animal. It is never going to work.” He ran his palm over his face, sighing. “If you would just let me see for myself—“

  Shins growled, flattening his ears.

  “Fine! I won’t touch you although that seems to me to be the quickest way to understand what you are saying.”

  Shins chuffed again and pointed his nose at the ceiling.

  “What now? I do not understand what you are telling me!”

  He could have sworn the mutt rolled his eyes in exasperation before he looked up at the ceiling again and barked. Realisation hit.

  “Ah, of course. You want to fetch Polly.”

  Shins wagged his tail and rambled quickly from the room in search of the girl. She and the creature had a special connection; they were able to communicate telepathically somehow, a trick that caused the pair of them to get into a lot of trouble of late, and one that Midnight wished he possessed.

  It was damned inconvenient that the dog would not allow him inside his head. Since that night on the hill, Shins had communicated to Polly that Midnight’s touch disturbed his equilibrium, to which Polly had said that she didn’t know what that meant and so had just told her father that he made Shins feel all ‘squiffy’. However, on an occasion such as this, being able to directly ‘talk’ to the animal would’ve proven most useful.