The Vesuvius Club

by Mark Gatiss

  My indignity was, in all probability, a mite unconvincing.

  ‘Given my pressing need for fresh linen, however, I am prepared to go no further with this. But I should like to know who I have the honour of addressing.’

  The tall man laughed lightly and dropped his hands a fraction. With a jerk of the revolver, I indicated he should get them up again, sharpish.

  Instead, three black-coated and very well-armed thugs emerged from behind their master.

  Stromboli’s arm shot out towards me. ‘Kill him!’ he yelled.

  Oh lor.

  One of the thugs dropped at once to his knee, assumed the position and prepared to fire his pistol. I shot him through the forehead and took a grim satisfaction from watching his brains slide across the wall like clay-slip.

  Charlie rolled over and hid himself behind the lip of the well. Stromboli and another thug took cover behind the great raised table as I fired again. My report was answered with two shots of the thugs’ own. We were effectively pinned down, cut off from the only door.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ whispered Charlie. ‘This is a fix, Mr Box. What’re we going to do?’

  I levelled my revolver on the stone facing of the well and tried to get Stromboli’s masked head in my sights. Frustratingly, it bobbed up and down like a shooting gallery target.

  ‘You are trapped, my friend,’ he called. ‘We had been saving you for our next…rehearsal. But now I fear we must put a swift end to this sport.’

  I was breathing hard. There seemed no way out. Bullets sang off the stonework that was our only cover. I held up my arm to shield myself from the splinters of masonry. There was a cry to my left and I saw that Charlie had been hit by the debris. He crumpled to the floor at my side.

  ‘Take them!’ roared Stromboli. ‘Take them even if you have to die in the attempt! Forward, you scum!’

  Obediently, the remaining thugs dashed forward. I looked around desperately. Only one bullet remained in my pearl-handled life-saver. No options presented themselves.

  Except one.

  I glanced down at the well.

  Peeking over my stone barricade, I fired my last bullet. One black-coat was hit in the eye but the other was undeterred. Grabbing Charlie by the arm, and rolling over the lip of the well with a great unwilling cry, Lucifer descended into the pit and into the stinking darkness.

  XVI

  A DESPERATE FLIGHT

  I TRIED to grab at the chains that Charlie had hung from but we fell into nothingness: a sickening, awful lurch that felt like the hangman’s drop. I was conscious only of my arms holding on to Charlie for grim death and my stomach flipping and my head spinning as we were precipitated downwards. If this was The Fall then I understood why my namesake came out so ill-tempered.

  All of a sudden we were in water; warm, brackish, filthy water that seemed all around us, though I was hardly aware of a splash.

  I swallowed a pint and then felt myself rushing towards the surface. Charlie was like a dead weight in my arms. Our heads broke the surface and I shook mine, blinking furiously as I tried to get my bearings in that horrible blackness.

  Treading water, I managed to tuck Charlie’s head in the crook of my elbow and wipe the slime from my stinging eyes. We were in some sort of tunnel, as expected, though whether this was a sewer or the course of an ancient river was impossible to tell. That there was a form of current was unmistakable, however.

  I glanced upwards quickly. Above us, I saw the surviving thug’s white face looking down at us as through the wrong way down a telescope. Would Stromboli order his man to jump after us? I gave in to the current. Charlie, oblivious it seemed to everything, was swept along with me.

  Images are removed here

  In seconds we were moving swiftly away, borne like corks upon the effluent. As yet, no one seemed rash enough to follow us down.

  After a little time, I became aware that the tunnel broadened out and I craned my neck from the water’s embrace.

  We had reached a confluence where three tunnels met and merged. A great iron grille barred further progress. The current took us up to this barrier and I clung on to the slime-strewn metal with one hand while cradling the unconscious Charlie in the other.

  I peered through the grille. The river sluiced through it and plunged down into further darkness. It was a man-made waterfall of some kind, though not the type that Blondin would ever have chosen to cross.

  Charlie opened his eyes. He stared at me for a few moments, then his bruised face broke into a grin. He seemed entirely unaware of his circumstances.

  ‘Hullo,’ he breathed.

  I nodded. ‘How’re you feeling?’

  He glanced down and his eyes widened as he found he was almost totally immersed in black water. His face suddenly creased in pain. ‘Been better, Mr Box. Where the hell are we, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  I manoeuvred him towards the grille and unhooked my arm from beneath his jaw.

  ‘Hang on to that,’ I ordered. ‘Need a rest.’

  He managed to push his fingers through the holes of the wet metalwork and clung on, though I could see the pain in his stretched arms was returning with a vengeance.

  I struggled out of my lovely tail-coat. It was nothing but a saturated encumbrance now and I pushed it away into the frothing water. Its immaculate tailoring ballooned briefly on the surface and then disappeared.

  ‘There doesn’t appear to be any exit this way,’ I said at last. ‘So we’ll probably have to swim back against the current. Are you up to it?’

  He didn’t look it but he said yes.

  I shook the grille with my hand but it was solid despite the corrosion on its surface.

  ‘Where’s the light coming from?’ said Charlie.

  ‘Where indeed?’ I said, hauling myself up the grille and peering through the murk. A glow-worm phosphorescence was visible somewhere past it to the right of the waterfall.

  ‘There’s another tunnel through there,’ I muttered.

  Charlie shook his head. ‘No. I meant that light.’

  He raised his arm from the water and pointed back the way we had come.

  Bobbing in the darkness were the unmistakable outlines of men in the water, the searing white light of flares hissing in their upraised hands.

  I looked around wildly. The livid new light threw huge jagged shadows against the grille before us. I looked it up and down, thinking frantically, then pushed myself off from the tunnel side, took a huge breath and plunged down into the river. It was utterly disorientating.

  Thrusting forward, I immediately felt for the grille in front of me. It was impossible to see a thing in the murky brine so I ran my hands over the surface of the submerged metal, groping for any change in the structure. Somewhere at the back of my mind I could picture one such sewer construction; a vast gated thing perhaps glimpsed as a child on a school-visit to one of Joseph Bazalgette’s shit-sifting palaces.

  For a few seconds, I groped blindly in the disgusting water, feeling nothing but the same repeated pattern of slimy iron bars. Then, yes! At last! My hands met space and I was dragged forward by the tug of an undoubtedly faster current. There had to be room for first Charlie and then me to push ourselves through.

  I kicked off from the grille and raced to the surface. Shaking the water from my hair I briefly glimpsed a flotilla of flares bearing down on Charlie then, without a second thought, I grabbed him, pushed his head under the water, took another breath, and followed.

  Bubbles rushed along the lines of our soaked bodies as we reached the hole in the grille and I forced us through.

  All at once we were tumbling down, down, half-emerging into the air, then immersed again in the falling water, finally crashing into the tunnel on the other side and freedom.

  Well, freedom of a kind. It wouldn’t take those thugs long to discover what we had done and plunge through after us.

  Charlie was taking in huge gulps of the foetid air.

  ‘All right?’ I quizzed. He nodded
exhaustedly.

  I swam ahead a little. There was now a clearer view of the strange light source. Not far from where we were floating there was a small hole in the tunnel wall. Half a dozen or so rotten bricks had tumbled through revealing a chamber beyond. I swam quickly towards the breach, gained it and managed to scramble up to get a better look. Before I slid down into the water again I saw, strung over the salt-corrupted walls like Christmas decorations, the unmistakable glow of electric light!

  Relief flooded through me. Weak as he was, I knew that Charlie would rally at the sight of dry land and the chance of a rapid escape from our pursuers.

  When I swam back to him, however, I could see that our recent exertions had taken their toll. His head was lolling back in the water and his eyes were showing white.

  ‘Charlie!’ I hissed. ‘Wake up! There’s a way out ahead. Just hold on a little longer.’

  He fell forward and attempted to focus on me. He smiled stupidly and closed his eyes.

  With a heavy sigh, I began to drag him onwards. The water in this new tunnel was much more shallow and I could feel the sediment-covered bottom squelching beneath my shoes as I threaded my arm under Charlie’s and staggered towards the hole in the wall.

  Meanwhile, a series of cries and oaths told me that our pursuers had worked out our method of escape through the grille.

  When we reached the breach in the tunnel, I pushed Charlie through it and into the room beyond. Normally, the feel of strong buttocks in wet trousers might have made my thoughts wander but I shoved Charlie on without a second glance. As soon as he had fallen forward into a crumpled heap, I leaped up and pulled myself through.

  I lay dazed for a long moment. Then, as my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw that we were surrounded by packing cases and ladders, black against the garish flare of the electric light. Charlie stirred and opened an eye experimentally.

  ‘Some sort of warehouse,’ I said, getting up and testing the windows. One creaked open on a hinged pane and moments later, we had clambered out on to the street. Perhaps it was not surprising that even in Naples we had some trouble finding a cab, given our state. Eventually, we gave up and managed to drag ourselves back down towards the harbour and finally into the reassuring warmth of the Hotel Santa Lucia.

  The next day dawned blazing hot. Through the half-drawn blinds, I could see Naples sparkling almost painfully in the searing sun, as if in celebration that my life had been spared (one gets these fancies now and then). Perhaps I would go for a constitutional? A walk by the sea on this glorious morning would clear my head and lift my spirits! I drew the blinds shut and, shambling back to bed, lit a cigarette. Sod that.

  Charlie Jackpot, whose tired face and dark-ringed eyes still somehow conspired to make him a corker, lay sprawled on the bed next to me. In the mess of sheets his form showed pale and flawless as a marble tomb effigy.

  I slapped at his buttocks and he grudgingly emerged from sleep.

  ‘Good morning, Charles.’

  He grunted and burrowed further into the sheets.

  ‘Let us return to our previous conversation,’ I said brightly. ‘The one so rudely interrupted by the noxious oil-lamp. What’s going on in the Vesuvius Club?’

  Charlie rubbed at his hair and groaned. ‘Not now. I’m half-dead.’

  ‘And thanks to me, only half.’ I examined my bare knee. It was barked and bloodied. ‘As I recall, you were trying to interest me in a little bargain.’

  He raised himself up on one elbow and yawned. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You want a leg-up, yes? A way out of your sordid little existence?’

  Charlie hugged himself and shivered. ‘I just want to get a start in life, Mr Box. In return for what I know. Don’t seem too unfair from where I’m lying.’

  I nodded. A notion was forming in my early morning brain. ‘Mr Jackpot, I currently find myself in the position of requiring a valet.’

  The lad’s face fell. ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t answer me back like that, you little villain. Just listen –’

  ‘Not service!’ he moaned. ‘That’s what I want to get away from. I meant get set up! You know. Like a gentleman.’

  ‘Dear me, we are ambitious, aren’t we? What do you fancy? A villa in Broadstairs and two hundred a year?’

  He frowned sulkily.

  ‘If you don’t wish to be pitched into the street I suggest you shut your pretty little mouth and pay attention.’ I drew deeply on my cigarette. ‘Your duties will be fairly light. Valeting, as I say. Cleaning. A little cooking. Running my baths. Saving Britain from mortal peril. That sort of thing.’

  Charlie looked nonplussed. ‘What…what happened to your old valet?’

  ‘Shot,’ I said blithely. ‘You see Charles, I’m in a rather specialized line of work. If you’re genuinely interested, my firm will take you on.’

  ‘Who do you work for?’

  ‘His Majesty’s Government.’ I reached across him to stub out my cigarette on the marble table. ‘I’m a spy, Charlie. An agent. An assassin. A sharp instrument of the powers that be. And I need an assistant. What do you say? It’s not a bad life and you will have King Edward’s undying gratitude.’

  He frowned. ‘I dunno.’

  ‘“Don’t seem too unfair from where I’m lying”,’ I threw back at him. ‘There’ll be a nominal wage. Just think! You’ll be a pepper-corn renter!’

  Charlie patted his bruised eye tenderly. ‘What do you mean nominal?’

  I snorted. ‘You’re on approval, my boy. There can be no question of a decent salary until I am quite satisfied as to the depravity of your character.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  ‘Cheer up,’ I murmured. ‘I’m sure we’ll rub along together very well.’

  There came a knock at the door. Cursing, I jumped from the bed, slipped into a dressing gown and padded to the door.

  A uniformed telegraph boy bowed to me. He was a stringy thing wearing the insolent slouch of the adolescent like a badge of pride.

  ‘Signor Box?’

  I nodded and he placed the wire into my hand. I scrabbled at the envelope. Sir Emmanuel vanished, I read. Come at once. Thos Stint (Butler).

  The boy cocked his head. ‘You answer, signor?’

  ‘No. No answer.’ I closed the door.

  Charlie had risen and was struggling into his frightful grey knickers and striped socks. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Your former master has disappeared, Charles. We must make our way there forthwith. You can continue your interrupted tale as we go.’

  I dressed in a whirlwind, reloaded my pistol and, as I followed Charlie to the door, passed the pile of clothes I had discarded from the previous night’s adventures. I pulled up sharp. Something shiny was projecting from the damp-mottled cloth of my destroyed waistcoat.

  Stooping, I pulled it out. It was a fragment of chart that I must have salvaged from the round room. It showed some kind of cross-section, coloured in various lurid inks. It was impossible to make out much detail and I realized at once that I must consult some literature on the subject.

  ‘Two birds with one stone,’ I muttered to myself with a smile.

  ‘Eh?’ said Charlie.

  ‘Nothing. Come on.’

  We raced down the quayside and found a cab. The driver, an old fellow with eyebrows like white sea-urchins, propelled us northwards with gratifying expedition.

  Rocked from side to side as we sat in the dingy carriage, Charlie continued his story.

  ‘Well, I kept me eyes and ears open, like Mr Poop’d said to do. I didn’t pick up anything for ages –’

  ‘Not like you.’

  ‘Then one night I overheard a bit of talk. It concerned some old geezers back in Blighty and one over here. Well, my ears pricked up because the one over ’ere was his nibs – Sir Emmanuel. My bleedin’ employer. Hello, I thinks, what’re they up to?’

  ‘And did you find out?’

  ‘Not exactly. But I ’eard them saying there was a woman to be br
ought across too. Party called Knight.’

  I gave a satisfied grunt. ‘K to V.C. Go on.’

  ‘Well, I told all this to Mr Poop but then he never come back.’

  I looked out of the window and frowned. ‘No, he wouldn’t have. They were on to him, Charlie. They smashed his brains in with one of their quaint antiquities. Anything else? It seems to me your precious information is rather thin.’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘Listen, I’ve risked everything to throw my lot in with you. I tried to hear more but I weren’t allowed in. Venus’s fella –’

  ‘You’ve seen him?’

  ‘Just the back of ’im.’

  ‘Big fellow? Broad back?’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘No. Not at all. Slight, really. He had a hat and cloak on but he looked pretty slight to me.’

  ‘Oh I see. Well, you were saying?’

  ‘Don’t know if I should tell you, seeing as how you set so little store by my “precious information”.’

  I sighed. ‘Please go on.’

  Charlie gave a small smile. ‘All I know is, Venus’s fella has something to do with the House of the Lightning Tree, the biggest den in Naples.’

  ‘Den?’

  ‘Opium, Mr Box.’

  I was pondering this when I was jerked forward as the cab drew to a halt. ‘Ah! We’re here!’

  We were outside the crumbling manor house. I jumped from the cab and positively wrenched the bell from its housing as I summoned the butler.

  The old retainer came stumbling out and pulled open the gates. He glared at Charlie.

  ‘Where the devil ’ve you been, young man?’

  ‘Never mind that now,’ I interrupted him. ‘What’s happened? We came as soon as –’

  The servant was shaking his head mournfully. ‘He’s gone, sir. Vanished!’

  ‘Anything unusual in his behaviour?’

  Stint ushered us towards the door, casting venomous glances at Charlie. ‘No, sir. Not at thing. I brought him the post as usual at a quarter to nine. I returned at ten to bring him his morning coffee but found the library locked. When there was no reply to my knocking I had the door broken open.’