The Draugr (Midnight Gunn Book 3) Page 5

  I fear I am losing my mind.

  Gredge placed his pen back in the ink pot and blotted his words before closing the volume. He ran a hand over his face. Weary and confused, he made his way upstairs to his bedroom. Passing the rack of coat hooks, he failed to notice his filthy mac that hung there and the dripping water that had formed a little puddle on the floor underneath. Nor did he see the delicate lace handkerchief with the initials A.P. embroidered in neat gold stitches poking out provocatively from the pocket, the letter P overlain and stained by a smear of dried, dark red blood.

  CHURCHYARD

  DECEMBER 5TH 1862

  The winter sky fell on them like a blanket of ice, and there was no light in the graveyard from which to draw upon to warm himself. Midnight shot Shins an envious look as the creature shook his thick fur tauntingly. Midnight shivered, his breath billowing from chilled lips in long, steaming clouds. How glad he was for the woollen coat and leather gloves, at least. The dark silhouette of the little church was barely visible against the whispering skeletons of the trees with no moon to highlight it. The churchyard was empty save for them, the dead, and their secrets.

  “Well?” Midnight urged his uneasy companion, who was doing his best to ignore him.

  Shins surveyed their surroundings surreptitiously before padding out from his hiding place behind a large stone memorial. As he neared the building, he glanced back towards where Midnight stood, shrouded in the natural shadows of the night.

  Shins had warned Midnight that under no circumstances must he use his powers while the portal was open, lest he attract the attention of whatever malevolence might be lurking on the other side. Polly, who had negotiated the terms of this little escapade between him and the animal, had, of course, wanted to come along but had been issued a firm no by both Midnight and Shins. On that, at the very least, they had agreed. The downside of this was that he could not fully communicate with Shins without her.

  The mutt agreed to let Midnight company him as far as the church but no further; declaring the Otherworld as unsafe for one such as himself. In truth, Midnight was most curious about the ‘Other’ after having been captivated by the tantalising glimpse of what lay beyond his own reality that night upon the hill amongst the ancient stones.

  “Make haste, Widdershins,” Midnight urged, keen to witness the event.

  He watched with increasing interest as the creature set off at a fair pace, running anti-clockwise around the little church. Upon the third pass, Midnight felt the change in the atmosphere, the barely noticeable vibrations underfoot, the way the evening now held the tang of something earthy, like the breeze after the rain has stopped. He focused on the weathered Celtic cross monument by the church where Shins had communicated that the way would open. He expected to see the same, intense blue light that had manifested on that Scottish hilltop, but it was not so.

  There was merely a shimmer, a rippling of the air around the stone cross before a circular hole appeared in the landscape. A dim glow emanated from inside it briefly, casting the silhouette of Widdershins in a subtle ethereal light. Shins gave one backward glance then stepped through onto the ley line that would traverse him across the country to his destination. Exactly where that was, the mutt would not reveal. Midnight had questioned him many times, but he had not gotten much satisfaction.

  Polly had once said, “Shins says that the Other ain’t for the likes of us to be knowing about and that the very fact we know anything at all is dangerous. So, he’ll thank you to stop askin’ about it. Oh, and he also says the roast lamb smells delightful and would you ask Mrs Phillips for the bone?”

  Midnight strained to see what lay beyond, keen to get a closer look. Perhaps if he just crept forward…

  The portal was rippling again. Shins was all the way in now, and the opening began to fade. Midnight hurried forward, stumbling on a fallen gravestone in his bid to see. He uttered an involuntary grunt, and Shins snapped his head around in time to see Midnight topple to the ground. He barked once in reproach and failed to see the horde of dark, misshapen beings that were about to fall upon him.

  “Look out!” Midnight cried, struggling to his knees.

  Too late. The creatures snatched at the Barghest, snagging his fur with clawed hands and beating him with spiked clubs. His lupine form was overwhelmed, despite his bulk and gnashing teeth, and Shins was dragged away. The portal was almost shut, a few more seconds and Midnight would be able to do nothing to help.

  He drew deeply on the eager shadows, and they rushed to him, soaking through his skin and filling every part of his body with a familiar pain—a pain that he now relished since he had learned to control both shadow and light. Directing his aim towards the shrinking portal, Midnight fired a billowing trail of his dark power at it. His ammunition penetrated the veil, and his aim was true. The black smoke struck one of the attacking creatures, and it disintegrated into a pile of ash and embers.

  Shocked in to momentary inaction, Midnight stared in disbelief. “Well, that was new.”

  The portal closed. Shins was gone. And Midnight was left alone in the graveyard to ponder what sort of magic he had produced and how.

  He had never made anything explode with his power before. Was this new development something to do with being close to this particular portal? Nothing like that had happened at the stones in Scotland. Or could it be that his abilities were changing as he aged? The latter was the most likely answer, he thought. His abilities had not mutated in a long while. He did not count the moment when he had learned to blend both dark and light when he’d fought Hemlock on Westminster Bridge whilst rescuing his daughter. His powers had not changed then; they had simply blended, allowing him full control. What had happened just now though, that was decidedly different and somewhat alarming.

  MERITON

  JANUARY 11TH 1863

  The bell in the basement room tinkled twice, indicating that something urgent was in need of attention. Giles knew that when Midnight was locked away in his secret lair, he was not to be disturbed unless it was absolutely necessary. Bad things could happen if distraction got in the way of his alchemical or supernatural practices. When the bell interrupted his studies, Midnight immediately put aside his work and made his way back up the stone steps that led to the small antechamber attached to the grand library, which functioned as his study. Pulling the rope that caused the false bookshelf to swivel outwards, Midnight found Giles already waiting for him.

  “Giles. What is it?”

  “You have a visitor. Sergeant Rowe is waiting in the front parlour, and he has news of the inspector.”

  “Sergeant?” Midnight said, surprised.

  “Apparently so.” Giles shrugged one shoulder.

  They found Rowe nervously pacing the length of the Persian rug, but he was not dressed in his usual police uniform.

  “Good evening,” Midnight said. “Am I correct in assuming that congratulations are in order?”

  Rowe turned swiftly at the greeting. “Eh?”

  “Mr Morgan, here, informs me that you are now a sergeant?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Thank you, but that’s not why I’m ‘ere.”

  “Indeed. Mr Morgan has informed me of that also.” Midnight gave a placatory smile. “So, then, what news have you of Inspector Gredge?” He indicated for Rowe to sit down before taking his own seat. “Brandy?”

  “No, thanks.” Rowe waved the offer away. “Don’t think I’ll ever drink again after what I’ve seen lately.” He sighed, and Midnight waited patiently for him to carry on. “It’s the inspector, you see; he’s been drinking his days away since his suspension.”

  Midnight sat forward in his seat.

  “Gredge has been suspended?”

  Rowe nodded. “You didn’t know?”

  “No. He hasn’t seen fit to inform me of that,” Midnight stated sadly. “I have not seen him in quite some time.”

  “Oh.”

  “We are not exactly on speaking terms at the moment.”

  “Oh,” Rowe said again, shifting in his seat. “Maybe I should go, then?” He began to rise.

  “No. Please, sit. We may not be friendly right now, but Gredge is still my friend. If something is wrong, then I would like to know.”

  “Well…” Rowe chewed his lip. “It’s just that I wanted to come to you first, see, ’cause I found this handkerchief, and I know I should take it to the chief and all, but I just can’t get me ’ead around why it would’ve been in the boss’ pocket and… and…” Rowe was rambling at speed now, and Midnight could make no sense of what the trouble was.

  “Sergeant Rowe, why don’t you take a deep breath and start from the beginning? Let’s start with why Gredge has been suspended, shall we?”

  Rowe took an exaggerated inhalation and then blurted out, “He’s under suspicion for murder.”

  A heavy and sudden silence descended on the room, the atmosphere thick with disbelief and a thousand unanswered questions. Midnight found he could not speak. He was questioning whether or not he had heard the man correctly. Arthur Gredge, a murderer?

  “This is clearly a mistake.” He had meant it to sound like a statement of fact but could not help the slight hint of doubt from creeping into his words. He thought back to past months as he’d watched his friend’s countenance change. He recalled how Gredge’s behaviour had been oddly troubling of late, and then he considered Shins, who had gone into the Other to investigate if Gredge could somehow have been affected by a spirit or possession.

  Like Hemlock Nightingale, he thought.

  “Exactly what I thought too. I mean he ain’t been himself lately. That’s true enough. But I would’ve staked my pension on him not being a killer. That is… until today.”

  Midnight frowned as he watched Rowe reach into his pocket and
pull out a dainty piece of white cloth before laying it out on the chair arm.

  “Amelia Prescott, a governess at Kingsley House on Berkeley Square, went missing on Christmas Eve as she was walking home to her parents’ residence in Cadogen Square Gardens. She was due to spend the night with them to celebrate Christmas the next day. We found her body on December twenty-sixth in Green Park, all peaceful and laid on her side on a park bench. Just looked like she was sleeping or that she’d passed out, maybe had one too many tipples. The inspector wasn’t convinced she’d died from exposure or some other natural cause. He said she looked too perfect, almost like the body had been arranged that way.” He paused and asked for a glass of water. Giles quickly obliged.

  Midnight’s heart had skipped a beat at the mention of Berkeley Square. He recalled his feeling of unease and the sense of Arthur’s presence hidden in the shadows near Kingsley House on the very night of December twenty-fourth.

  “And what has this—“ Midnight indicated the square piece of silk. “—got to do with the unfortunate Miss Prescott and the inspector?”

  Rowe picked it up and handed it to Midnight.

  “There’s the initials A.P on it, see? And… blood. Now, why would he have that in his pocket, eh? It was never documented amongst the evidence at the scene; no mention of any silk handkerchief in the report.”

  “As you say, he has been acting a tad strangely of late, forgetful even. Perhaps he found it at the scene and put it in his pocket and merely forgot about it? It is entirely possible. Quite honestly, I don’t see how such a mistake is enough to tar and feather the man.” Midnight regarded Rowe speculatively. “Unless… there’s something else?”

  “Two more bodies turned up at the docks on Tuesday. Kids. A boy and a girl. Same sort of thing; no obvious cause of death and both laid out side by side like they were sleeping. There were a couple of witnesses who knew the kids. Said they’d seen ’em knocking around the day before, offering to polish shoes for coin. It was me that interviewed ’em, see? And… well, I asked ’em if they’d seen anyone who seemed especially interested in the little ’uns, and they said yes. I was taking down the details when the two women became upset. One of ’em kept sayin’, ‘It’s him, it’s him! He’s the fella.’ And well…” He paused, not being able to say what he needed to say.

  The skin prickled on the back of Midnight’s neck. “They identified Gredge?” he said, incredulously.

  “There’s more.”

  Midnight could tell that Rowe was struggling now. The young sergeant was hunched forward in the chair, his arms resting on his knees whilst he wrung the tweed cap he was holding between his hands. Midnight waited for Rowe to deliver more revelations regarding his friend and colleague.

  “The day the inspector got suspended, the superintendent hauled me into his office and told me to keep watch on him, like. I was to follow him, day and night, and see where he went, who he met, and what he got up to. I didn’t want to at first. It don’t feel right, spying on the boss. But Branford—he’s the super—he said if I wanted to help the inspector, then I shouldn’t feel bad ’cause I’d just be doing my job.”

  Perceptive as ever, Midnight took advantage of the break in Rowe’s tale to reply.

  “And since you are now here, in my home, telling me all of this, I’m assuming you have observed our dear Gredge doing something he shouldn’t be?”

  “Yes. He keeps going back to the scenes of the crimes. I mean, it’s all very strange. He’s not even hiding it, doing it in broad daylight most times. I mean, it perhaps doesn’t sound too strange. I suppose he could just have decided to carry on with the investigation despite his suspension. But when he gets to the location, he doesn’t do anything. Just stands and stares.” Rowe’s voice climbed an octave as he continued to explain his concerns.

  It was clear to Midnight that the young man was battling with loyalty to Gredge and his loyalty to the Yard, but he still could not yet understand what Rowe hoped to achieve by coming to him first. At best, all this evidence was circumstantial, and very likely, Arthur would have a good explanation for it, wouldn’t he?

  “I see. And what is it you want me to do to help?”

  “Well… I know I ain’t supposed to talk about you know… your abilities and all,” Rowe stammered, “but it’s just that I notice things, and you and I, we’ve worked together with the inspector for a while now so… I just wondered, if I could get you into the mortuary—“

  “You want me to look at the bodies?”

  “Yes. If you would. You’ve done it before on cases, and well, I dunno exactly what it is you do, but could you do it now? For the inspector, like? Perhaps whatever you discover, it might help get him off the hook.”

  Rowe looked so pleadingly at him that Midnight had no trouble agreeing to his request. In fact, now that the sergeant had explained what had been going on these last weeks with his boss, it seemed like the only logical thing to do at this moment. Depending on the time that had elapsed between now and the time of death, he should still be able to view those last critical moments of each victim’s life by tapping into their memories, ergo putting Gredge in the clear.

  “When would you be able to do it?” Rowe asked.

  “No time like the present. That is, if you aren’t already committed this evening and the access to the bodies isn’t too restricted.”

  “No, I am not busy at present. All three victims are being stored at the new house for the dead in Westminster. We’ll go now, then, eh? It’s past seven now. By the time we get down there, it’ll be nearly a quarter to eight. Place should be empty by then—no gawkers, at least, just the night attendant. How much time will you need?” said Rowe.

  “It all depends on the condition of the remains and how much time has elapsed since their deaths. Memories fade as the body decomposes, but I shall do what I can,” Midnight assured the young copper.

  “Thank you, Lord Gunn. I do hate to put you to any trouble, but you’re the only one I can think of who might help the inspector. I don’t think he’s a killer any more than you are.”

  If only you knew, Midnight thought as memories of the two victims he’d left behind at The Rainbow Club flashed in his mind. Nevertheless, he smiled graciously at Rowe, accepting the backhanded compliment.

  They took a Hansom cab rather than Gunn’s personal carriage as it was faster and less conspicuous. When one was planning an evening raid on the mortuary, it paid to be discreet.

  Midnight and Rowe alighted from the cab just past the new Westminster Bridge a little way from the main building of St. Thomas’ Hospital. Midnight glanced back into the murky waters of the Thames where the deadly currents swirled beneath the stone arches.

  He still could not pass by this spot without thinking of that frightening night with Polly and Gredge—who had been held to ransom in those freezing waters—and the subsequent fight with Hemlock Nightingale, the human-demon hybrid that plagued his dreams still. He wondered what had become of his enemy’s corpse, last seen still, defeated, and presumed dead atop a hill in Scotland.

  Since Gredge’s discovery that the body had disappeared, both he and the inspector had found themselves once again looking over their shoulders, wondering who or what had taken Hemlock’s mutilated remains and why.

  They had been through so much together, he and Arthur. A wave of guilt hit him in the chest, bringing him back to the present and the grim task ahead.

  “Lead the way, Sergeant.” Midnight indicated to the young officer.

  The street by the hospital was well lit; the gas lamps glowed, casting their flickering light across the cobbles. At this very moment, Midnight felt as though all the lime lights of the London theatres were upon him, announcing to all who passed by that he was here and planning something dastardly. He followed Rowe down the side of the main building towards a shadowy corner at the rear. Midnight’s relief at the shelter the near darkness offered was clear. Attempting to reanimate the dead was not something one should perform under a spotlight.