Chapter 10
In the days that followed the escape of Gaspard and the murder of Marcus Cabinteely, Steven Olocher walked the streets listening with glee to the gossip all around him. Every time he passed two people talking in the street, they were talking about either one event or the other and often times both. It was good to see the excited fear in the people. As he knew they would, each person he heard attributed the murder of Cabinteely to Gaspard.
Not so long ago, Olocher had been very worried about the unknown killer who was following him but now there wasn’t a person in the city who didn’t know who Gaspard was and hundreds had seen his face, not to mention his daring escape from the gallows. There was no way the Frenchman was going to be able to show his face in the city without being spotted. Olocher’s guess was that he was gone, already on a boat and far away by now.
Having witnessed the escape firsthand, Olocher had to admit he felt some admiration for the man. What he did looked like impossible feats but clearly they were not impossible. Since that time, Olocher had done some strength training and had started trying to do some low skill climbing to get his body into the shape required to be as acrobatic as Gaspard was. It would be a distinct advantage—as indeed the killer had shown—to be able to enter and leave a scene by unexpected and unorthodox ways. He wasn’t so naive to think he was going to master this any time soon, but every little bit of practice would help him on his way. His work was going to take him a few months and who knew what would come after that. Edwards had alluded to a possible trip to London to finish some business there.
Voice after voice spoke of the escape and the murder and Olocher imagined Edwards was enjoying the same gossip as he went about. When he’d been told Cabinteely was the next target and that it would be carried out in the tower of the ‘Black Dog,’ Olocher knew the real work had started. He wondered who would be next on the list, and more importantly, when it would be.
Though he knew Edwards was unpredictable, Olocher tried to guess all the same. He knew it would not be James or Mary at this stage but he wondered perhaps if Muc might be in mind. He would like to get rid of Muc first as the old warrior would get harder to kill and more dangerous after each subsequent killing. Perhaps he should just set up a plan to kill Muc regardless of what Edwards said. It wasn’t him putting his neck on the line after all; he was only sitting back and taking in the entertainment of it all.
As if reading his mind, Edwards suddenly stepped from a shop door right in front of him.
“Good morning, young man,” Edwards said in an extravagant manner tipping his hat and smiling.
“Hello, Mr Edwards.” Olocher said playing along but wondering if anyone was taking notice of them.
“Have you heard the terrible scandal of Gaspard’s escape and the mysterious murder of the gaoler at Newgate Prison?” Edwards asked with mock wide eyes.
“I have,” Olocher replied, “Terrible.” He felt his acting was not on par with Edwards' and he blushed.
“I can’t believe he was allowed to escape,” Edwards said, “Shocking really.”
“Yes,” Olocher shifted uneasily; this kind of theatre was not his thing. Edwards winked at him.
“Come, walk with me a little,” he said and they set off.
Olocher fell in pace with Edwards and glanced at him, expectant. For a long time Edwards didn’t say anything but then,
“Where do you suppose Gaspard is now?” he asked.
“I imagine he’s gone,” Olocher said, “There’s no way he could stay around now.” Edwards nodded,
“I was thinking the same thing,” he said, “But it troubles me all the same.”
“What do you mean?”
“He seemed to know everything, to see everything. I wonder how much of this information anyone else knows.”
“You think he wasn’t working alone?”
“I think he was a tool for someone else, but I can’t figure out what the purpose was.”
“Are you talking about the sister?”
“Yes.”
“So you want me to watch her? See what I can find out?”
“I don’t think that would be of any harm,” Edwards nodded and then turning to Olocher said, “Be mindful, however. Until we know differently, go about as though Gaspard is still here.”
“She’s dangerous?” Olocher asked of Madame Mel.
“I don’t know,” Edwards admitted, “As I say, none of it makes sense to me yet. Perhaps what you find out may shed some light on it.”
“If there’s something to find out, I’ll get it,” Olocher said in a determined tone.
“Probably best to clear this all up before going much farther with the plan,” Edwards said. This wasn’t what Olocher wanted to hear.
“Why?” he asked and even he heard the childish whine in his voice.
“It wouldn’t take much to spoil everything we’ve worked towards,” Edwards said, “but if we clear up this little puzzle, then nothing will stand in our way.”
Olocher didn’t like it but he knew what he had to do. He would start this very night, go to the brothel and begin to study Madame Mel. Before the end of the week, he intended to know everything there was to know about her. If she was hiding something, he would dig it out, and if Gaspard was still about, he would find him too along the way. Nothing was going to stop them from completing the work set out before them. He thought of the grinning face of the Devil on the wall of his bedroom and felt its power run through him. The Devil was not one to be disappointed.
“And when this distraction is out of the way?” Olocher asked Edwards.
“Then we are right back on track, just the way you want it,” Edwards said grinning.
Chapter 11
Doctor Adams, formerly of His Majesty’s Army, sipped at his morning coffee looking over the early news sheet. Some days had passed now since the murder of the gaoler at Newgate prison but it was still the main news. Gaspard was still at large; Adams chuckled at this, knowing the real truth that the Frenchman was long gone. He was somewhere in France by now, he imagined. He only hoped that Edwards would not find this out too soon. It would be best he thought Gaspard was still here, and could strike at him at any moment.
The mere thought of Edwards was enough to lose his happy mood. Adams recalled the smug face when Edwards confronted him about the murders Adams had committed, and how he told him to leave the city like he was a naughty child being sent to bed. How enjoyable it was going to be to turn the tables on him.
A light knock came on the door. Adams recognised it,
“Come!” he called. The door opened and a hotel clerk came in with a letter on a tray. Adams smiled; there were only two people who knew he was here and a letter from either was welcome. “Thank you,” he said as he took the letter from the tray. He rummaged in pockets and produced a couple of small coins, handing them to the clerk who thanked him and then left quickly.
The writing on the address told him it was from London before he even noticed the stamp. That meant it was from Philips, but whether it was good news or bad was the real question. He opened it and read the short note:
Halter still where he’s supposed to be. Checking his post daily, nothing from Edwards yet. Will have him reply same day if something shows up.
P.
David Halter was the man who had been keeping tabs on Adams since his arrival in London. He knew Edwards would have someone keeping an eye on him, and to Halter’s credit it took months to find out who it was. Once he knew, though, Adams didn’t waste any time neutralising him.
At that moment, Halter was in the old Chambers country house twelve miles north of London. He was there against his will, but he wasn’t being treated badly. All he had to do was go along with his instructions, send a letter to Edwards every now and then saying Adams was still in London and answer anything that came from Edwards. Once this was no longer necessary he would be freed. That was what he’d been told anyway. Adams had other ideas for him, however. He didn't like the ide
a that he’d been followed and observed for so long. He’d kept his nose clean in that time though it had been very hard, but it left a bad taste in his mouth all the same.
Looking back outside to the street, he wondered when he was going to hear from Madame Mel again. He’d known her a long time, ever since his first posting in Ireland. Theirs was what could only be described as a professional relationship, however. He was a customer in the brothel and she was its owner. Adams always had a great desire for her but she was off limits to customers. He had his doubts about this and suspected if the price was high enough she would become more available. Unfortunately for Adams, an army surgeon’s annual salary was not close to her asking price. It was unlikely he was going to get to experience her now either. Still, a deeper urge was much more satisfying to him.
Adams’ own thirst was growing day by day. It was understood that he was here as part of an enterprise and was supposed to act accordingly, but he knew he wouldn't be able to stay clean for long. From the second he set foot back in Dublin he could feel the powerful urge to kill come over him. It was like he could smell it in the air. It called out to him and there was only so long he was going to be able to hold out.
It would be better, Adams decided, if he were to plan an outing rather than kill in the moment it finally became unbearable not to. He was much more likely to make a mistake if he was not prepared. He would do as he used to. A few days planning and then he would strike. It had worked well in the past and if not for chance occurrences, Edwards would never have known he was the real ‘Shadow of the Dolocher.’ The name irked him as he thought about it. Even though he had played on the previous murders to keep the Alderman at bay, he still craved the recognition for what he’d done. Spencer went to his grave a guilty man for these crimes; at least that was some consolation.
Madame Mel wasn’t going to like that he’d decided to kill while he was waiting on the whole Edwards affair to play out, but then, was there any reason for her to know about it? Adams thought on this a moment and then shook his head. It was likely she would know. She was a very clever woman and who knew where her spies lurked. It would be best to tell her what he had done. After he’d already done it of course. What could she say then? Nothing that would matter. She would know that they were equal partners in this at least; that she was not the one who held all the power. It would be a position she was not too familiar with, but one he was sure she would get used to in no time.
After all, it wouldn't do her any harm to remember who she was really dealing with and what the consequences could be for upsetting him. Looking to the sky now, he started counting down the hours to the darkness.
Chapter 12
Alderman James stood in the anteroom of the office of the Mayor of Dublin. It was the first time he’d ever been summoned here and it didn’t bode well. Mayor Wallace was a gruff character and thankfully to date, James had had very little to do with the man. The Mayor’s Secretary sat writing a letter, glancing disdainfully at the pacing James from time to time. Half an hour had passed in this way already.
James was in no doubt he was here for a dressing down in relation to the escape of Gaspard; it was the form this would take that worried him. It was unlikely he would be dismissed from his post but Wallace was known to be prone to temper and snap decisions. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, James thought. He’d been thinking of retiring anyway hadn’t he?
“Send him in!” a shout came from within the Mayor’s office. The Secretary waved a hand at the door saying,
“The Mayor will see you now, Alderman James.” James made a slight bow, more in jest than anything else, and went to the door. He knocked twice in rapid succession and entered.
Mayor Wallace was alone standing behind a table strewn with papers and unfolding scrolls. He looked irate; his face red and clammy looking.
“What are you going to do?” he shot at James, staring at him as though he were about to attack. James assumed he was talking about Gaspard and thought it better not to ask for clarification,
“I have as many men as I can muster in the search for Gaspard Delacroix,” James said, “It won’t be long now.”
“It’s already been too long!” Wallace shouted, “A man is already dead!”
“If you’ll excuse me, Mayor, but I don’t believe the murder of Marcus Cabinteely was related to Gaspard’s escape.” James had only a moment to notice that he too had called the Frenchman by his first name just as everyone else seemed to be when speaking of him, before Wallace shot back.
“If you’ll excuse me, Alderman, I believe otherwise.” His gaze on James was stony and James elected not to say anything for a moment; he was sure any words would be the wrong one. Wallace stayed silent a moment too breathing hard.
“What’s your next move?” he asked shortly, his tone a little less gruff now as he looked over a large map of the city on the wall. James glanced at the map and said,
“The docks are being watched, there are patrols all day and night—”
“That’s what you’ve already done,” Wallace interrupted, “I asked what you are going to do next?” James was flummoxed by the question, as it was one he’d been asking himself and hadn’t come up with a decent answer yet.
“I’m going to have some men search some of the areas on the outskirts of the city and the woods of the Phoenix Park,” he said hastily. Wallace nodded and James was relieved; it seemed the Mayor didn’t have a better idea to offer up.
“And if you don’t find him?” Wallace asked bitterly.
“Then I may have to start going building to building in the city,” James said though this was the last thing he would want to do.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Wallace said, “I don’t imagine the general populace would approve.” This last part was said with such disdain that it reminded James of Edwards’ feelings about the people of Dublin.
“I don’t think it will,” James said to ease Wallace’s mind but the Mayor looked at him harshly once more,
“It better not” he snapped. “I think I should make something very clear here, Alderman,” he went on, “I’m new enough to this position, but if I had been Mayor at the time of the Dolocher you would have been dismissed long ago.” James was angered by this but he managed to hold his tongue. Wallace spoke further, “How long did that go on? Two years? And then after it Spencer running wild for the best part of a year, then this crazy French acrobat terrorizing for months.” Wallace let all this settle a moment as James flushed with shame at his poor record being laid bare before him. “This is your last chance, James. If you don’t get Gaspard to the gallows soon, you’re finished here as Alderman. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Sir,” James answered, “Perfectly clear.”
James left the building furious, waving away his carriage driver and pounding down the street on foot. Never before had he been talked to in such a way or threatened like this. It was an outrage! The Mayor’s words ran over and over in his head and each time he got angrier.
“What the hell does he know, sitting there looking at papers and maps in his cosy office?” he said. A couple of women talking nearby stopped and looked at him as he passed but he paid them no heed.
Enough days had passed now that James was almost sure Gaspard had escaped fully. It was unlikely he was still in the city, and if he was James didn’t understand why. Did that mean his career was over, or at least very soon to be? Quite possibly. Did that matter all that much?
Thinking on this he settled that it did. If he was right about the Cabinteely murder being the start of something new, he had to try get to the bottom of it at once. He could only do that in his current role and with the resources it provided. He’d yet to earn the forgiveness of the people that he so longed for. He knew he would never be able to forgive himself until he had that. Alderman James was well aware that this was a tough ask but he’d vowed not to stop working at it for as long as he was able. Time, as ever was running out, and this new pressure f
rom the Mayor had the danger of stopping the clock for good.
Chapter 13
Daniel Deek sat in the whiskey cabin on Cook Street, all eyes on him as ever when he agreed to talk about the Devil.
“This is from my travels in the Hapsburg Empire,” he said, “It relates to the Krampus.” The men in the room looked around at one another and it was clear no one had ever heard this word before.
“What is it?” the bar man asked.
“It’s unclear if it was only a legend to begin with or something more diabolical,” Deek said, “He was said to be a creature not unlike the Devil, who would accompany Saint Nicholas on his rounds at Christmas. Where Nicholas would reward the good children, it was said Krampus would punish the wicked ones.” A revered silence filled the room as the listeners thought about this.
“Of course we all know there is no Saint Nicholas, and this led to the people of the Alps to believe that this meant there could be no Krampus either.” Deek surveyed the men’s faces in a long pan of the half circle around him. “But those of you who have listened to me before will know better than this. Krampus did not need Nicholas to exist. He was the truth and the present giver the fallacy.
“One early December evening, in 1712 I believe, the people of the small town of Valken decided to dress up as Krampus as part of their Christmas celebrations. They thought it was quite a laugh. They donned the wooden masks of a demon and made cloaks and hoods from wolf hides. They made long pikes to prod in jest at the children and adults who would come out to see them pass by in the roads. Everything was fun and faces lined with smiles were all around.
“There were three men dressed up and after they had finished entertaining the town they went to the cabin of one of them and drank in celebration. It was late into the night and the dark crawled all around the cabin when an argument broke out. Apparently it was over something very silly, but when men are drunk the smallest thing can be the most important thing in the world.” At this, he smiled at his audience and raised his jug. A low murmur of laughter rippled around the room as some men drank and others raised their own drinks to Deek.
The Light Beneath the Cauldron Page 4