The Lazarus Gate

by Mark Latham

  ‘Closer to hell, more like,’ muttered Ambrose.

  ‘But they would slaughter us all to achieve this end?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. I believe so. Gentlemen, you must understand, the Othersiders may have brought this on themselves with nothing more harmful than table-rapping séances, and yet they must surely have convinced themselves that we started this conflict. If I had known what strife I would cause by exploring that damned portal, I never would have done it. I am somehow responsible for firing the first shot, and, make no mistake, we are at war.’

  The hour drew late, and there were few more questions before Sir Toby brought proceedings to a halt. We were all sworn to secrecy once more, and told that instructions would be forthcoming so that we might further the investigation.

  As we filed out of the room, both Jim and Ambrose made a bee-line for me, but my mind was full of questions that I had not felt it right to ask in the meeting. I asked forgiveness from my friends, and instead walked briskly along the corridor to catch up with a lone figure with whom I wished to speak privately.

  * * *

  Sir Arthur Furnival was an unusual man. I was vaguely aware of his being wealthy and hailing from a powerful family, but his bearing conveyed none of the formidable aspects of his peers, those such as Sir Toby. He sat opposite me in the library, which was now empty of clubmen, and swilled black Turkish coffee around in his cup, staring wistfully into the liquid as though it might bear secrets yet to be foreseen. In the background, silently, Sir Arthur’s man, Jenkins, stood motionless. I had been given leave by the gentleman to speak freely in front of his valet, and I wondered just how many of his master’s—indeed, the nation’s—secrets Jenkins was privy to.

  ‘So, you say that you have some sense of what will come to pass? Like a medium?’ I asked. I had pressed Sir Arthur on exactly what insight he had into the plans of the ‘Othersiders’—a word that I still struggled to use seriously—in the hope that he could aid my ongoing enquiries. He had informed me, quite matter-of-factly, that he was himself of possessed of some small psychic talent, which was how he had come to assist Sir Toby. I at once regretted talking to him, but etiquette demanded I see through the meeting.

  ‘Not quite a medium,’ he said, his voice low and soft, ‘although I do have some experience in the spiritualist arts. No; my gift is altogether more… unpredictable. It comes to me in flashes, which at times are difficult to interpret. Jenkins calls it “the Sight”.’ He smiled at that, but rather sadly.

  ‘And through this… sight… you have seen the anarchists?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking. It is more that I have felt their presence, and more keenly still the presence of their gates. If William James is to be believed, on the other side, people like me are used like laboratory animals, to tear holes in the very fabric of reality. One man’s seer is another’s weapon.’ There was a bitterness now to his tone. ‘Perhaps what I feel is not the intrusion of the anarchist agents into our world, but the pain of the poor souls who help them cross the veil. To many psychic vessels such as myself, suffering calls to us far more readily than love.’ He winced as he said it. If he was a charlatan, he was deeply entrenched in his own delusion; for my part, I believed that whatever pain he himself was feeling, it was genuine.

  ‘You said during the meeting that I was right about Chelsea Hospital,’ I said. ‘But when I went back there, I found nothing.’

  ‘I cannot explain that,’ Sir Arthur said. ‘I visited the site, and found it steeped in psychical energy, which was evidence enough for me. Too much time had elapsed, maybe. Perhaps the physical traces left behind by the gateways fade over time, as the veil between worlds is restored and reality reasserts itself. The same can be said of the Othersiders themselves, of course. We are dealing with an enemy who, over time, appears never to have existed. The perfect spies, wouldn’t you agree?’ He sipped his coffee.

  ‘If only we could all vanish into thin air at will,’ I said. At that, Sir Arthur seemed to scrutinise me, with a look not unlike that which Melville had given me earlier that night. I saw for a moment some of the authority and calculating wits that usually came with a position such as his; and realised that Sir Arthur should not be treated lightly due to his subdued and gentle manner. He was as like to be as astute—and perhaps even as dangerous—as Sir Toby, if need be.

  ‘Sir Arthur,’ I said, ‘I thank you for granting an audience, though perhaps we should talk more another time. The hour grows late and you will want to get away, I’m sure.’

  ‘You are right, Captain. If I may be of any assistance in the future, you may contact me through Sir Toby. I am only too happy to help.’

  We both stood, and Sir Arthur extended a hand, which I shook. And then something most strange occurred.

  Upon touching my hand, Sir Arthur twitched as though he had received some electrical shock. His hand squeezed mine tightly, and his eyes became momentarily glassy. He gasped, like a drowning man emerging from the water, and before I knew it Jenkins was at his master’s side, prising his hand from mine and steadying the baronet. Sir Arthur recovered quickly, and waved Jenkins away before taking a breath to compose himself.

  ‘Sir Arthur, are you all right?’ I asked.

  ‘My dear Captain, it is not my condition that should concern you. You are in grave danger.’

  ‘What?’ I forgot my manners, such was Sir Arthur’s imploring tone.

  ‘A dark fate hangs around you like a pall, sir. You will be betrayed, more than once, I fear, and will be led to a house of the dead. From there, your future is… uncertain.’

  There is no escape from the house of the dead.

  I was rattled, but before I could speak, Sir Arthur’s legs buckled, and Jenkins was back to help his master into the library chair. Sir Arthur had turned a ghastly shade, and put a hand to his head gingerly.

  ‘Please, Sir Arthur, I must—’

  ‘The master is unwell,’ Jenkins said, standing between me and the baronet. The valet, I noticed for the first time, was a broad-shouldered man, straight-backed and square-jawed. A soldier if ever I knew one. I cast a glance around him at Sir Arthur, nodded, and made my way to the door.

  ‘Captain Hardwick,’ Sir Arthur said, weakly. I turned. ‘This is the curse I have had to bear for the longest time now. If what Mr. James says is true, my kind have brought upon the other universe a great calamity. It has occurred to me that, if they weaken our universe with their gates—with their very, unnatural, presence here—then the same thing could happen to us. The Othersiders seek to wipe us out—spiritualists, psychics, and such like, I mean. And perhaps they are right to do so. They are living proof of the dangers presented by people with… certain gifts. Be wary, Captain Hardwick—you will meet others like me before the end, and you would be wise not to dabble in these forces. You, at least, have a choice.’

  With that, the baronet slumped in his chair as if he was sickening, and Jenkins—with a hard look back at me to ensure I was leaving—attended to his master.

  Outside the library, I was surprised to find Holdsworth. The man always seemed to pop up whenever he was needed, and often when he wasn’t.

  ‘Captain Hardwick,’ he said, ‘Sir Toby apologises for the late hour, but requests that you take supper with him in his office. If you will follow me, sir.’

  Clearly there was no refusing the request, and so, confused, tired, and beginning to feel my aches and pains again after a long day, I followed the porter to see what new surprise awaited me.

  SIX

  We ate an informal supper in a room just off Sir Toby’s office. It was a small but comfortable study that smelt of old books and polished wood.

  We went over some of the more fantastical points of the evening meeting, and Sir Toby listened patiently as I expressed in equal parts excitement and incredulity about what lay ahead. He explained some of the details to me again, and I found myself believing every word. Sir Toby Fitzwilliam was one of the most respected, sober judges in England, and if ever there
was a man not prone to flights of fancy, it was he.

  ‘John, I said before that I had an assignment for you. I am sure that you are anxious to get to business,’ Sir Toby said at last. I nodded in response. ‘There is a man, here in London, who we believe to have knowledge of the Otherside agents and their movements. He may well have intelligence that could prevent future attacks, or enable us to apprehend agents who are already amongst us.’

  ‘How can this be? Why have we not brought this man in for questioning already?’

  ‘It is not quite so simple. He is certainly a criminal, yes, but he lives outside the law. Let us say that his knowledge is vast, his webs of intelligence myriad, and his cunning infinite. He has secured immunity from prosecution by the brokering of intelligence, and now he has secured such a position of power that he sells information to Her Majesty’s government as and when it suits him.’

  ‘That is outrageous,’ I said. My sense of right and wrong was affronted by the thought of a known criminal being allowed such liberties. ‘If he knows of this threat then surely the ends justify the means. I will be happy to bring him in for questioning if that is your wish.’

  ‘If only it were so simple.’ Sir Toby washed down the last of his meal with water, and poured a glass of brandy from a decanter. ‘Our man is based on the Isle of Dogs, in a small Chinese quarter. The area is mostly dockland, but what community lives there is poor indeed, and this fellow rules the roost. You would be hard pressed to find many police officers willing to go there to arrest him, for fear of their lives.’

  ‘Can this be? In our own city?’

  ‘I am afraid so. What I am in need of is not a policeman—why, Melville is champing at the bit to go there himself and put a bullet in our man—but no. I need an honest man who will enter the web of the spider and parley with him. Use your skills in negotiating with the enemy. Bribe him if necessary. Arrest him if you have no other option; kill him if you must; but find out what he knows of these Othersiders first of all.’

  I took a glass from Sir Toby, swirled the cognac around for a moment, and took a sip. Despite my misgivings, I found myself nodding an acceptance.

  ‘Good. And are you… physically up to the task? How soon can you take on the assignment?’

  ‘I am feeling much better, thank you Sir Toby. If I may be afforded some assistance then I will go as soon as possible.’

  ‘Oh, you will have men, do not worry about that. I will assign you some experienced officers—Melville will be only too keen to assist in that regard.’

  ‘I am honoured, Sir Toby. Does that mean that Agent Hanlocke will not be involved?’

  ‘I am afraid not,’ replied Sir Toby. ‘One of Mr. Hanlocke’s more recent assignments involved extensive undercover work with a circle of international criminals. Many of the men he brought to justice were Chinese, and some of those were in the employ of your target. Were Ambrose Hanlocke to return to the Chinese quarter, I fear it would be on pain of death.’

  That was the first I’d really heard of Ambrose’s previous exploits as an agent, and the fact that he had done more for the order than simply pick locks and blackmail dignitaries came as a surprise to me. I passed no comment, preferring to stick to the matter at hand. ‘May I ask more about the target? Who is he? How will I find him?’

  Sir Toby reached to a nearby shelf and took down a dossier.

  ‘Take this with you tonight. It contains all that we know of the target. He is known as the Artist, because of his reputation as a painter; he’s quite good, by all accounts. Unfortunately he is also a gangster, drug trafficker and embezzler. He is probably a spy for the Chinese, though we can prove nothing of course. You will find him at the House of Zhengming, the largest opium den on the Isle of Dogs, and a veritable fortress. There is no point approaching by stealth—his men are everywhere. I doubt you could set foot within a mile of that drug den without his knowledge.’

  I barely heard those last words. When Sir Toby mentioned the opium den, a mild panic overcame me. It took all my strength to stay focused on the matter at hand, and to maintain a veneer of calm.

  ‘When you get there, remain vigilant. Every detail you can gather about his headquarters may be of help to us in the future. No agent has ever had an audience with the Artist before, and you will have a unique opportunity to glean insights into his operation.’

  ‘Will he grant me an audience?’ I asked.

  ‘He will have no choice. We will offer you every advantage—I will not go into the particulars now, but before you go I will send more detailed instructions. Oh, and it almost slipped my mind; you will need this too,’ Sir Toby added. He handed me a large envelope. I opened it and found inside several papers, and a small, silver-plated card case. ‘This is your identification—I apologise that we did not provide this earlier; it may have helped to avoid that unpleasantness at Commercial Road. There is some paperwork that I would ask you to sign before you leave, confirming your honorary membership of the club.’

  I took one of the cards from the case. Printed upon it in neat copperplate were the words:

  CPT. JOHN HARDWICK

  The Apollonian Club

  Pall Mall, London

  I scanned the topmost document in the sheaf, and realised that it was signed not only by Commissioner Monro of Scotland Yard, but also by Sir Henry Ponsonby, the Queen’s private secretary. It was almost too much to take in, as even a cursory glance led me to understand that I now held some sway over the Metropolitan Police, and that they would recognise me as an agent of the Crown.

  ‘You will also find some documentation from Horse Guards,’ said Sir Toby.

  I found the papers almost as he mentioned them, and glanced up at him quizzically.

  ‘In effect,’ he continued, “you are made full captain again, and returned to active duty. You are employed by Apollo Lycea, but your status in Her Majesty’s Army is retained indefinitely. We felt that you would be more effective with your rank behind you… Do go to Horse Guards at your convenience and collect your new uniform. You are entitled to wear it, if only for formal occasions and such.’

  Perhaps I should have been dismayed that my military life had not been left behind as I had thought, but in fact I glowed with pride. The letterhead bore the familiar arms of the Sixteenth Lancers, a regiment that had been my family for so long.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, trying not to show how overwhelmed I was.

  ‘Don’t mention it, Captain. Though you may yet find that it is not such a favour, depending on the rigours of your future assignments. I would, of course, remind you that, despite our newfound spirit of cooperation with Her Majesty’s Army, you must keep your own counsel on the details of any assignments you receive.’

  ‘Does this have anything to do with Colonel Stirling and Captain Denny?’ I asked, reluctant to bring up Jim’s name. I was sure I saw a flicker of disapproval in the old man’s eyes before he spoke.

  ‘In part. There are… some… within the order who feel closer ties with the War Office will be essential in the future, and now more than ever. Today is our first step on that road.’

  ‘Some within the order… if I may be so bold, Sir Toby, do you refer to Lord Cherleten?’

  That drew a glower, and I at once regretted pursuing the topic.

  ‘I see Ambrose Hanlocke has been his usual soul of discretion. Were it not for his undeniable talents I’d have him locked up until the end of his days,’ Sir Toby grumbled, though not without humour. I was still unsure exactly what talents had made Ambrose so indispensable, beyond his incredible capacity for drink, but it certainly didn’t seem the time to ask. ‘Yes, I suppose it is no great secret that Lord Cherleten and I do not always agree on the direction of the order, but have no doubt that we both have the best interests of the Empire at heart. I will warn you, though, John—as I am your patron, as I vouch for you and protect you from the secret meetings and tangled webs of intrigue that plagued your father before you, Lord Cherleten does likewise for other agents within
the order. If the time ever comes for you to choose where your loyalties lie, I trust I may depend on you to choose wisely. Do we understand each other?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ I said, although in truth I had no idea what import any such choice on my part could have to such men as Sir Toby and Lord Cherleten.

  The rest of our discussion was of less consequence. Each of us was tired and, I think, determined to end the night on a less grave note. As the hour was late we concluded our business quickly. There was only one final thing for me to see to before I went back to my lodgings: Sir Toby advised me to go with Holdsworth to the basement office and sign the paperwork affirming my membership of the club.

  * * *

  The basement was very much like the upper floor, characterised by narrow, dimly lit corridors with numerous doors. Holdsworth explained that on one side lay private rooms for members, whilst on the other side were stores, accessible from the kitchens via servants’ stairs. But our business was not on that level. Holdsworth opened a small door at the end of a corridor, revealing a set of narrow stairs leading down another floor. At the foot of the stairs was a tiny office, in which a large and officious-looking night watchman sat. I wondered if there was always a man stationed here, and thought what a lonely role that must be. Holdsworth greeted the man, addressing him as Perry, and the guard took up a large bunch of keys and unlocked another heavy door that led to the lower basement proper. This second cellar was as large as the first, but colder and less comfortable. The floors were flagged rather than carpeted, and the walls were whitewashed plaster rather than wainscoted.

  We stopped at a small, unmanned reception desk, where Holdsworth saw to my paperwork. To my surprise, I was also given a small key and a card containing a safe combination. Seeing my confusion, Holdsworth led me to a remote cellar room, which was attended by another stout watchman, and showed me a wall of safety deposit boxes.