by Karl Fish
Chapter 2
Nathaniel returned from the wilderness, ambled down from on high and bestowed his blessings to those that required his protection. All is not lost but the road that lay ahead will be fraught with dangers. ‘Fear not for where there is darkness I shall provide the light’
‘It’s from Tink,’ Gideon advised. ‘He needs you for protection,’ Gideon said, turning to his friend.
‘Our protection. He clearly included you,’ Noone replied, pointing out his friend’s name in the title. ‘Gideon, he wouldn’t have sent it if it wasn’t urgent,’ Noone replied.
‘I agree but I need Belle’s help first. I will follow. I need two hours, Nate, please.’
Nathaniel Noone let out a huge disconcerting sigh. ‘No,’ Noone replied. ‘This cannot wait. Trust Belle to solve this for you. All will be lost if “she” is lost.’
Gideon was torn. The answers may be right in front of them but if Agatha was in immediate danger he had to go. He turned to Belle.
‘Professor Soames, dear old Belle with the bunches.’ He smiled. ‘Will you try to solve this for us? One of us will return as soon as we can.’
‘Of course, I will,’ she confirmed. ‘Go, go on, go.’
‘You take these, Belle,’ said Noone. ‘Handing over the torches and OSIRIS card. You never know what we may have missed. Something in “plane” sight probably.’ He smiled.
‘God speed, gentlemen,’ Belle replied as she bid them farewell.
‘If we are quick, Nate, the 12:03 from Victoria will take just over an hour to the coast.’
Chapter 38
Disorderly conduct
‘I think it’s your lucky day, Pop!’ Tink said, peering through his shop window at the large black van that had ground to a halt almost opposite.
The large, gold-covered man, peered out too, dwarfing his counterpart as he crouched to look. He was just about to storm out of the doorway when Tink grabbed his wrist. It was always risky to manhandle a Braggan, especially their leader and sizeable adversary Pop could be.
‘What, Tink?’ Pop glowered.
‘Softly, softly, Pop. I think we need to know their business here today. They never come into town. Sunday’s being the exception. Something doesn’t quite fit.’
‘What ya finking then?’ Pop asked, bearing down on Tink, before being greeted by a broad grin.
*****
‘Help us! Somebody help us!’ Elizabeth cried out, crashing through Dr Beckworth’s surgery doors.
Eric was at the leg end while his older sister had her arms hooked beneath their younger sister’s. Gemima was quiet and deathly pale, a steady stream of blood from her cracked skull now absorbed into a crimson bib around her throat.
‘I say, young lady, you cannot just come crashing in here like this,’ his secretary announced scowling.
‘You stupid old bat, it’s a bleedin’ ’mergency,’ Eric snarled viciously spitting through his teeth.
The Peabodys ignored the protests from the elderly patients waiting for their minor ailments to be attended to and burst through into the doctor’s room.
‘Doc, doc, please it’s Gem, she ’it ’er ’ed,’ Eric explained as quickly as he could, panting through his exhausted purple cheeks.
‘Pop her up here then, son,’ said the wheezing, kindly old surgeon. ‘My, my that’s a nasty cut. However, did that happen, hey?’ Beckworth said towards Gemima despite her lack of consciousness.
‘She fell skipping,’ Elizabeth responded. ‘It was all my fault.’ She began to sob.
Simultaneously, the good doctor passed her a handkerchief and tended to Gem at the same time.
‘Got anything stronger for me, Doc?’ Eric chanced. ‘I fink I’m having an ’art attack,’ he puffed.
‘How would you like a thick ear, boy?’ the Doctor replied without even looking at him.
‘Ummm. No, fanks.’ Eric said, standing hastily.
‘Suggest you run along, young Eric, and fetch me Mrs McGregor.’
‘Oh Christ, no!’ Eric shouted before a swift clip around the back of his head was dispensed by Beckworth.
‘Blasphemy, child!’ the doctor explained for his swift assault. ‘Now, run along and fetch your guardian, please.’
Elizabeth gave him the nod and like a rat up a drainpipe, he shot off.
‘Is it bad, Doctor?’ Elizabeth tentatively asked, she too looking as white as Gemima laid out in front of them.
‘She’ll be fine, dear,’ he reassured her. ‘A bit groggy when she comes around, but I am sure she will be fine.’
‘McGregor will not be happy with me.’ Elizabeth began to sob.
‘Now, now, dear. I only called for her so your fidgety brother could flit off. I need an adult to help you carry her over the road and confirmation we can administer a mild sedative. For both of you. You look in terrible shock too.’
‘Beckworth!’ came the loud shout of Mrs McGregor as she marched through the surgery.
‘Ahhh … Millicent.’ He smiled.
‘Bloody kids.’ She frowned at Elizabeth before plonking a bottle of single malt on the table for the doctor.
‘That’s very kind.’ He smiled. ‘Now, be sure they get their medicine, Milly. No work, just relaxation. Little Gemima may be absentminded when she comes around. If her symptoms deteriorate be sure to come straight back.’
McGregor snatched the prescription from Beckworth who was now salivating at the prospect of a dram before patients. She hoisted the young girl single handily over her shoulder. Gem was lighter than a cask of ale and no real effort for Millicent McGregor.
‘Of all the days, Elizabeth, of all the days,’ Milly moaned. ‘My only evening out of that damn pub for a month and you kids have ruined it.’
‘Oh no, is it the WI meeting this evening. I’m so sorry,’ Elizabeth replied humbly.
‘I’m sure you do it on purpose,’ McGregor carried on moaning.
‘I’m sorry. It was an accident, it was. You can still go. I’ll hold the fort.’
‘And have that drunk Beckworth berate me for not allowing you to rest?’
‘The doctor has just been given a bottle of single malt, do you think he’ll make it to this evening?’ Elizabeth smiled.
McGregor almost smiled back. ‘Come on, let’s get Gemima settled. You’re in charge of her for the rest of the day, do you hear?’ McGregor told Elizabeth.
‘What about school?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘How on earth are you and Eric related?’ McGregor responded with a minor laugh. ‘I can’t imagine that question being in his vocabulary, can you?’
Elizabeth smiled as they entered the Poacher. Peering down the Steep, she saw the waif-like figure of her brother disappear into an alleyway opposite the school. It brought a smile to her face. And what was that he was carrying on his shoulder? Was it a black-and-white bird?
*****
Professor Malcolm was enjoying the fresh air and sound of the running water of the Amble, which passed under the cobblestoned bridge he had been marched to. As he looked at the course of the river to the south, it twisted towards the cliffs and back round again. One of the hulking men who accompanied him passed him the ordnance survey map and grunted.
‘If I am not mistaken then that area over there,’ Meredith said, pointing south-westerly, ‘Is the marshland where we should find the Sussex Sedge. And here,’ he continued, pointing westerly on the map to the top of the Steep. ‘Is the farmland where the beetles should be found.’
‘We need help,’ the two orderlies replied.
‘I most certainly think we do,’ Professor Malcolm replied.
‘’elp with wot, fellas?’ came the chirpy sound of Eric Peabody as he approached the three men, a black and white magpie perched upon his shoulder.
‘You know marshes?’ one of them asked.
‘I am an expert on these marshes,’ Eric replied. ‘As I am expert in most fings round ere.’
‘You boat us?’ an orderly grunted again.
‘Actually,’ the Profe
ssor interjected. ‘We need a boat and a guide as well as some help to collect specimens here and in the fields here,’ he said, pointing to the map.
‘Just so ’appens, gentlemen, you also need permission to journey on these marshes. Don’t want to be caught trespassing on Braggan land.’ Eric smiled.
The impact of what that might mean was lost on the two large men who just stared back at Eric.
‘Tell ya wot,’ Eric said. ‘You show me the colour of your money, I’ll get you a guide and all the ’elp you need.’ Eric’s gesturing hand encouraged them to pass over some cash and was met with one of the men revealing a large wad of American dollar bills wrapped in an elastic band.
‘Ahh!’ Eric replied. ‘Bit of a tuff sell to me local lads but I’m sure the yanks will want ’em.’ He smiled. Pulling a couple of the bills out he placed one in The Lady’s beak and shooed her away. She swooped in a huge circle overhead before returning and landing just yards away at the cobbler’s shop near the bridge. Where she persistently pecked at the door fame.
‘That, my friends, has just secured you the best navigator and boatman of these marshes. He’ll be along in a minute. Now, wot were we saying about the farmland?’
‘I need to collect as many of these as I can,’ Professor Malcolm replied, pulling out a small glass jar with a single scarab in it.
‘Dung beetle?’ Eric laughed. ‘You want to collect these smelly little bleeders? It will be a princely price to pay to sift through all the crap for them. They’ll be hibernating now.’
‘A princely price indeed,’ Professor Malcolm acknowledged, beckoning his captors to hand over a large swathe of cash. ‘A dollar a beetle?’ he suggested.
Eric stood in silent disbelief. That was a preposterous amount. Surely that was hundreds of dollars that had just been thrust into this hand. ‘Blimey,’ he replied, eyes wider than saucers. ‘I’ll need the whole school to help me.’
‘We need today!’ grunted one of the large men.
‘Keep your ’air on. You’ll get ’em today. Don’t worry,’ Eric reassured them. ‘Must be proper posh beetles like those ones Gideon always goes on about.’
Professor Malcolm turned to him, took off his hood to reveal his hirsute features. ‘Gideon?’ he questioned, before a fist in the ribs shut him up.
‘Yeah, Professor Gideon,’ Eric replied, staring at the man who was not burned at all, as most residents of Silvera were but sporting a brilliant moustache instead.
‘Someone order a ferryman?’ interrupted the deep voice of Pop Braggan. He was no longer draped in gold, apart from the single solid bar that was secured across his right hand’s knuckles.
‘Show me man ere wot ya want,’ Eric advised, pointing towards Pop. ‘’E’ll row you to the best spot and I’ll meet you ’ere this evening. With hundreds of those beetles.’
‘Two hours,’ one of the men grunted.
‘No chance.’ Eric laughed, running up the Steep as fast as his legs would carry him. ‘See you this evening.’
‘Shall we then?’ Pop suggested, pointing towards the small slipway where a rowing boat was secured onto the Amble.
*****
‘Can we expect a welcome party?’ Noone asked Gideon.
‘I’m sure Wink Waverley would have put measures in place to minimise our journey,’ Gideon confirmed.
The escalator ascending the underground creaked and seemed slower than usual. Noone kept his head down. His scarring attracted unwelcome attention even at the best of times. Gideon continued surveying the area. There were innumerable people who could have been Waverley’s men, or otherwise. As they reached the top, the crowds of people were being corralled into a single file. A man with a large acoustic trumpet was organising from the front.
‘Due to an unexploded device between Victoria and East Croydon, we regretfully inform you there will be no services running directly to the south coast today.’
‘You have to admire her efficiency,’ Noone whispered.
‘Should you require transport, a temporary double-decker bus has been supplied by the transport union. Please, ensure all tickets and identification are made available to the guards.’
‘Change of plan, old friend,’ Gideon decided, turning around and returning back down the escalator. ‘Time to travel incognito.’
‘Oh no, not again,’ Noone replied.
*****
‘Now, where on earth could he have gone?’ Major Collingdale bellowed as the realisation Professor Gideon Belchambers was no longer in the Museum hit him.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ came Thompson’s cut-glass crispness. ‘Would you happen to be Major Boyd Collingdale?’ he asked.
Collingdale eyeballed Thompson and his two subordinates over. Long black macs, and matching fedoras. This looked ominous, he thought.
‘Official business is it, gentlemen?’ the Major enquired.
‘Afraid so,’ Thompson confirmed.
‘Best follow me,’ Collingdale replied, directing them towards his office, back down past the innumerable exhibits of strange and peculiar beasts that were lined up and packaged to go.
‘What do you know of a Professor Gideon Belchambers?’ Thompson asked.
‘I bloody knew it; knew he was trouble,’ the Major hollered.
‘Didn’t say he was trouble, old boy, just what do you know of him? He advises us he was here only the other evening,’ Thompson reassured him.
‘He was, I can confirm that, but then he took off without so much as a by your leave. I thought I’d lost another one in Entomology; thought the corner rafters had fallen in and crushed him like the other fellow.’
‘Which other fellow would that be?’ Thompson questioned.
‘Well it’s not Professor Malcolm, that’s for sure,’ Collingdale confirmed.
‘Sorry, I don’t follow, Major.’
‘I retrieved Belchambers myself from Ambledown, a small village on the coast, so he could identify the Professor. Only, it was an imposter.’
‘Sorry, can you confirm that for me. Did you say Belchambers was brought here on your advice to identify a fellow of this Museum, only for it not to be that fellow?’ Thompson probed.
‘Exactly,’ the Major confirmed.
‘This is all too confusing. May we see this body, Major?’
‘Of course,’ Collingdale replied, showing them out of his office.
‘Perhaps you can take a look at this photograph too, and tell me if you recognise anyone?’
Thompson handed the picture over. The tiger-lady was dominant in the centre alongside Colonel Malling.
‘Of course, I do,’ Collingdale confirmed. ‘Malling! Colonel Malling. One of yours, isn’t he?’
‘Correct, Major. No one else though? Look carefully,’ Thompson encouraged.
‘No. Just Malling,’ Collingdale reconfirmed.
‘Thank you, Major. Now, shall we continue?’
As the Major began his hearty yomp through the Museum, Thompson’s man, Smith, stayed behind to search his private office. Jones walked ahead on reconnaissance. The sentry of exotic animals and beasts greeted them to the well-lit and structurally secured Entomology department.
‘This is where Professor Meredith Malcolm used to reside,’ Collingdale directed.
‘The man you thought was deceased?’ Thompson asked.
‘Affirmative, but, alas, it was not the Professor, but an imposter.’
‘Doesn’t it strike you as strange that someone pretending to be the Professor winds up dead on your patch and the real professor is nowhere to be seen?’ Thompson questioned.
‘Well, of course, it bloody does,’ Collingdale replied with immediacy. ‘The real Professor left me a scrawled note to engage Belchambers and that, sir, is what I have done expecting it to lead me to Meredith. It has, however, just raised more questions. And now you turn up.’
‘Quite,’ replied Thompson.
Ilya Debrovska’s corpse was covered in a muslin sheet. The insect feast had not quite finished but Major Collingdale ha
d tried his best to protect the man’s dignity. Disturbing some debris as they moved, the repugnant sight of a scurrying scorpion flashed in front of them. The Major’s army edition size nines were just about to come crashing down on it when Thompson stopped him.
‘I am going to need all of those,’ he said, pointing at the pincers and stings disappearing beneath the cadaver’s sheet.
‘Christ, man, why?’ Collingdale replied.
‘Could save a man’s life,’ Thompson replied. ‘Can you have someone round them up?’
‘They’re not sheep, sir,’ Collingdale challenged.
‘Nevertheless, I need to secure them,’ Thompson curtly stamped his authority.
A whistle from behind Boyd Collingdale’s impressive moustache and several workers came running. Unluckily for them, they were now on scorpion-hunting duty.
‘Sir,’ came Smith’s voice as he joined them around Ilya’s body. He whispered in his superior’s ear and placed a small white card in his hand.
‘Are you sure you do not recognise anyone else in this photograph, Major?’ Thompson asked again holding it up in front of him.
‘Definitely not, sir,’ Collingdale replied defiantly.
‘And this? Recognise this?’ he continued, holding up the white card that represented the organisation OSIRIS.
‘Hmmm,’ the Major pondered, racking his brain. ‘I cannot remember who gave me that.’
‘But it is yours?’
‘Yes, old boy, it’s mine but I do not recall who gave it to me.’
Thompson flashed Smith a confused look. Jones, meanwhile, returned from his search and held aloft a tiger-skin coat and a blonde wig.
‘For the final time, Major. Do you recognise anyone else in this photograph?’
Collingdale’s skin was turning its customary scarlet. ‘And for the last time, sir, no!’ he shouted back.
‘In that case, I suggest you come with me,’ Thompson advised him with a pair of pistols trained on him from behind his back.
‘No need for that,’ the Major replied. No doubt he could put up a good fight but he had no reason for that. As far as he was concerned, he was not guilty of anything. ‘Quick march!’ he ordered to himself, made an about-turn, and walked at a speedy pace with the Peacekeeper tucked under his right arm.