The Nightmare Detective

by K Childs

  Half the damned house. “Alright. Let me in. I might have some questions after.”

  “Yes, Inspector,” the guard said.

  I stepped into the dull room; the curtains were drawn, casting the room in a soft grey hue. Persian rugs spread across the floor in front of the fireplace and under the large four-poster bed. Blood dried on the sheets, puddling on the floor. A Dreamcatcher in the window, as destroyed as the one in Charlie’s room.

  Howard’s body was gutted in similar fashion to Charlie’s. I had seen death before. It was part of the job, but it made my skin clammy and my eyes itch seeing death on faces I knew. We hadn’t been close, Howard and me. But we had exchanged words from time to time and I had liked the man well enough.

  Five talons. I traced their path in the air with my fingers and noted the space and length, measuring with a small ruler and jotting down the distance between each nail.

  I closed the door and moved the nearest table, flinging the huge rug out of the way so I could look under it for Lord Howard’s wards. The Eye’s wards were far more elaborate than Charlie’s had been. An anchoring circle was carved out of the floorboards and filled with gold. Runes of protection and smaller wards to keep the Ether at bay ran around his bed, and likely the grounds proper. Angels holding scrolls stood at the four corners of the room. The angels—Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, and Raphael—could be replaced with any iconography; religion, my studies had revealed, held little influence on Oneirology. The Dreamscape exists, whether you admit it or not. Burning out all those who dabbled in the surreal demi monde during the middle ages hadn’t made it go away. While Europe had struggled in the tempest of such storms, Orthodox Jews in Poland had made great strides in taming the Dreamscape. The Kabbalah circles we used now were handed down from books over four-hundred years in trade and translation.

  He should have been safe. His wards were the second best in the city; here they were crumbled, twisted, and shattered. I pried a chunk of gold loose and it flaked away in my hand. Blasted, exactly as Charlotte’s had been. Different materials used in the large circle under the bed offered stronger protections, depending on the layout of your wards. The All-Seeing Eye’s wards were generic, much as my own. Designed to keep anything chasing you in the Dreamscape from cutting through the fabric of reality to where your helpless body lay. Gold wards cost a fortune; most of us used chalk, clay, cheap iron. Gold ought to have kept the Sidhe themselves from bursting through.

  “I’ve never seen that happen to wards,” Darrien said.

  I had almost forgotten about the Duke. He’d been so quiet standing behind me. Not getting in the way. “Charlie’s wards were the same. Whatever did this annihilated the protections between reality and the Dreamscape.”

  “What can do that?” There was an intellectual side to the dandy; he hid it well, but his patient question showed a hint of wit hiding under all his foppish behaviour.

  “Monsters. Nameless sentinels swelling in the dark pits of the Ether. Unknowable horrors that crawl through the Dreamscape, into reality to devour towns.”

  He started to smile but sobered quickly. “Oh Lord, you’re serious?”

  “Yes. Anything this powerful would leave signs in its approach. Lord Howard should have… he should have seen it coming.” The disturbance in the Ether would have been enormous. Hell, I should have seen these ripples. Most beasts capable of such destruction would have shadowed the whole Dreamscape. Half the constables in the AOC would have been eaten or driven mad. But my beat last night had been nothing but mundane. The highlight of the night had been chasing off a few ghosts from their usual mischief, making the walls bleed in the National Library.

  I searched my mind for the last few interactions I’d had with Lord Howard. Nothing amiss. He had been focused on a few ships in the docks from Russia. We were expecting the usual ripples of creatures from foreign shores seeking new hunting grounds in the city. Last Wednesday—that was when I’d asked him to check on a constable’s beat—we’d seen children getting pulled into the Dreamscape, but the constable had been able to get them out with minimal fuss. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  I was dealing with two deaths, so far. Nothing I knew or could name in the Dreamscape’s sea of horrors would stop at two. The Eye’s home would have been a sea of blood and death if something had torn through the Ether with an appetite. So why only two dead police? The questions were piling up on this case and I didn’t have answers yet.

  I needed to go to the Foreign Affairs office and check the library.

  The door opened, and Sergeant Benjamin Wallace entered with a wary look on his brown face. His black beard was a nest of curling hairs, a few silvers in the mix, his uniform stiff and starched but stained from some greasy dollop of breakfast that had hit his collar. Crumbs stuck in the beard and he cleared his throat, snapping out his words. “Rose, the desk sergeant sent me over as soon as I got back.”

  A knot in my shoulders eased at seeing Ben’s familiar face. He’d bounced around the Agency a lot before he’d ended up with me. Despite his rather relaxed attitude on formality, the man was reliable and a welcome friend.

  “Have both bodies taken to the coroner. I want to know if they are missing any internal organs,” I said. Some monsters took trophies. Others only ate certain body parts. Montagu might have noticed if parts were missing, but Montagu was a witness, not a coroner.

  “Do you think that is proper? Lord Howard’s wife…” the Duke started, obviously distressed.

  “Lord Howard’s wife will want to catch the killer, not lament over a medical necessity.”

  He straightened. “Yes, of course.”

  I tore off the measurements from my notebook and passed them to my sergeant. “What do you make of it?”

  Ben took the paper and pulled out his own notebook, flipping to a page about halfway through. Clearly, he’d already seen to Charlie’s body. “I reckon we have the same measurements, Rose.”

  A grim smile tugged at my mouth.

  “Call the coroner. I’ll be at the Foreign Affairs library down Whitehall Street once I’ve spoken with the family.”

  Ben gave a small snap of his heels and headed to the foyer to use the house phone. My gang of constables were already combing through the house. I recognised my team but didn’t stop to address the looks of sympathy thrown my way. I was afraid I would lose focus. The air in the house clawed at me, stuffy and thick. Not summer—it was barely halfway through spring—but the weight of mourning threatened to choke me.

  As we descended the first few stairs, we were intercepted by an elderly woman with a gaze that slid over me as if I were the lowest serf in the field. Disdain radiated from her set jaw and her steel-grey eyes. She wore a powdered wig and a pale salmon pink dress, tightened to within an inch of her life, and a small fan fluttered gently in one hand. There was more money poured into the jewellery on her neck than I made in a year on my meagre salary. She wore small, unblemished gloves over her fingers. A woman out of time, determined to stay there until death.

  The Duke stepped forward. “Mother, this is Detective Inspector Beaumont of the Agency for Oneironautic Crimes. Inspector, my mother, Duchess Anne Montagu.”

  I bowed, although it was not strictly necessary. “Your Grace.”

  She didn’t answer me, her gaze landing to her son. With a sour turn of her lips, she said, “Young woman, there are police everywhere. How is Lady Howard to grieve when her house is being turned upside down?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace, we’ll leave shortly once we have finished examining the area and confirmed it is safe.” I straightened my coat and met her gaze with my own.

  “It was clearly some beggar or thief who broke in. You should be down at the docks, not here in a respectable house.”

  “Mother, please.” Darrien took her elbow and yanked her away from me. Aside from the criminal, this flash of such a sudden, violent dislike in one’s attitude to the police approached the unusual. In the same fashion tha
t Darrien seemed to have taken an instant like to me, his mother took a dislike. What a strange pair.

  “Darrien, Lady Winchester was quite distressed this morning; perhaps you should go and attend to her, instead of doing the Agency’s work for them.” A muscle jumped in his jaw, but he nodded. He was being polite, here in public. I sensed an old argument brewing between them.

  “We will endeavour to finish our business quickly, Your Grace. I appreciate your patience in this trying time.”

  “Fools are all that try my patience, Inspector. Please see that you get some of your job achieved.” She swept away, a pointed look aimed at her son indicating he was to follow.

  He did not. Halfway down the hall she stopped, glancing back at us. Her gaze landed on me, as though his poor behaviour were somehow my doing.

  “Sorry about that. My mother’s charm is an acquired taste.” Darrien took my elbow and steered me away.

  “The Lady Winchester, hasn’t she need of your attention?” If I were lucky, he would go off to attend his lady and leave my shadow.

  “My fiancée,” he explained. “She’s a sturdy lady, she will adapt; we have more important things to do.”

  I wasn’t getting rid of the curious Duke anytime soon. I composed myself and went to speak to the Lady Howard. She wasn’t openly sobbing, but, clearly distressed, she toyed with her handkerchief. She was barely dressed, a kimono thrown over her shoulders and the tips of her slippers peaking from under her colourful gown. Long brown hair frizzed around her face creating a halo of splotchy skin and reddened brown eyes.

  “I am sorry to ask you these sorts of questions, Lady Howard.” I was sorry. My own emotions mirrored the woman in front of me. She wore them openly, unafraid of her mourning, capable of expressing the milieu of excitements bursting inside her. I envied her that freedom and confidence. “Last night, were you or your son in the Dreamscape?”

  “I was playing with Robert in the forest.” She waved her hand impatiently. “He was looking for the unicorn.”

  Robert, her son, was eight and as far as my own exploration of the Dreamscape forest had gone, I’d never seen the unicorn in London forest. I was reasonably certain they didn’t exist.

  She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “David was here, in the tower.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I used to joke that he spent so much time in this place that he’d die here. I just never imagined…”

  I looked away, composing my questions. “Lady Howard, did David tell you anything about what case he was working last night?”

  “Just a normal shift, I think he was following…” she stopped and swallowed. “Your cousin. Forgive me, but should you be the one to investigate this? They said a constable died last night too.”

  I circled Charlie’s initials in my notes. “Can you recall what he said exactly?”

  She shook her head. “We were worried about Robert’s fussy eating more than the patrol. I think that he said something about Beaumont going to the docks.”

  The Dreamscape Docklands were as dangerous as the ones in the waking world, if not more so. We make a habit of not patrolling too close to the water. “A ship was coming in last night; did Lord Howard see some disturbance?”

  “I am afraid he retired to his room. I wish I knew more, I truly do, Inspector.”

  “Did you entertain anyone foreign yesterday? How about anything unusual in the Dreamscape?”

  “Just the Montagu party.” She indicated the Duke. “And no, everything was as it normally is in the Dreamscape. I didn’t even see what happened to the Tower.”

  Her comment gave me pause. What happened to the Tower? I scribbled that down.

  “How long have the Montagus been staying with you?”

  “Since last Thursday. Darrien’s apartment is too small for everyone.”

  “And Lord Howard’s connection with His Grace?”

  “Old school friends,” Darrien answered.

  Lady Howard nodded. “Yes. He’s like David’s brother.”

  “What about the Tower?” The Tower was constructed a long time ago in the London Dreamscape; it was a tall structure that Howard used to watch most of the city from. London’s second tower.

  “It was decimated, Detective.” Her tone was hollow. “Smashed to pieces.”

  I shivered. Howard did not leave the tower, and Charlie would have been with him. Had some terrible evil chased Charlie from the docks to the tower itself? That hardly fit. No string of murders, no, something immense killed both Charlie and Lord Howard before they could report it. Near to the tower.

  “Thank you for your time, Lady Howard.”

  I stood and left her to her mourning.

  Ben caught up with me in the main hall. “I’ve interviewed Ladies Innsford and Winchester.”

  “I’ll take the Earl if you would be so kind as to interview the Duchess.”

  “Are you sure you want me to interview her?” Ben flashed a smile.

  I wanted to say, “Yes, because I don’t have any garlic to ward her off,” but that seemed a little cruel. “She needs a gentler touch than mine.”

  Ben made a face but promptly about-faced and took his notebook in the direction that the Duchess had skittered off.

  “My mother might eat him alive if he is too gentle,” Darrien cautioned.

  I stiffened and hid a flash of a smile. “Surely not.”

  “She can be somewhat acidic.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” I said.

  Darrien laughed.

  “The Earl is in the east wing?” I opted to change the subject.

  Darrien waved for me to follow, still chuckling to himself.

  The east wing was where most of the men had been bunking and I saw the tear-stained face of young Robert Howard spying out of his doorway as we passed. He said nothing, merely watched us as though we were the strangest part in all this topsy-turvy day of his. To lose one’s father at such a young age seemed rather horrid, I knew. There was a child who would be thrust into adulthood at a tender age. I’d seen that innocence stolen many times in my line of work with the yard; children ended up in the Dreamscape too often to count. Worse, Robert Howard, would now be rushed into Oneironautic training. He was the new All-Seeing Eye of London.

  The nanny appeared in the edge of the door and drew the child back into the darkness of his room. Today was a day where he could cry and wallow in the indulgence of self-pity and loss. Tomorrow he would be in need of a stronger mien.

  The tightness of mourning was smothering me.

  Darrien stopped at a large pair of white doors and knocked sharply.

  “Damnit, Darrien.” The Earl opened the door and stopped short when he caught sight of me in my jacket and the flash of the badge I held up. “Good gracious, an interview, already?”

  “Sorry Ian. His Lordship Ian Alston, this is Detective Inspector Rose Beaumont.”

  The Earl’s handshake was delicate, as though he were afraid he would break me. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lady policeman.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lord Alston. Can we go inside and talk in private?”

  He pulled at his tie, sparing a look at Montagu that seemed loaded, and then bowed his head and ushered me inside.

  His room was looking somewhat frantic. A collection on papers lay on the writing desk and bed. He was in the middle of looking for a letter, perhaps.

  “I’m hoping to find any witness information about last night,” I said.

  “Last night?” Alston asked. He was olive-skinned with a military stiffness to his shoulders. His brown beard was trimmed long, his hair thinning on top. Premature balding, but there was no effort made to hide it. He sat in Parliament; I was reasonably certain I’d read his name in the papers.

  “Lord Howard’s death…?”

  “Oh, right. Yes, I mean, of course. That is the reason you are here.” He emitted a nervous titter.

  We sat down on chairs near Alston’s writing desk and he poured a
spot of vodka from a bottle.

  I normally didn’t drink this early, but this was hardly a normal day. I took the offered sniff gladly and found the seat.

  “Lord Alston, last night did you see or notice anything strange while you were asleep?”

  He chuckled, stopped, then hid a smile. “I mean, does one normally see or notice anything when they are asleep?”

  “Did you have any strange dreams?”

  He shook his head. “I rarely recall what I’ve been dreaming about.”

  “Was last night a sound sleep?”

  “I expect so. I didn’t hear the burglar if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Lady Montagu shared her opinion with you?”

  “I mean, I just assumed… it wasn’t?” He downed his vodka and poured another one. “Well now, that is distressing. What happened?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss it in detail, Lord Alston.” I tapped my notepad and took a sip of the sharp alcohol. “What about late last night. Did you wake up for any reason?”

  “Uh no. I’m afraid I sleep like the dead.”

  I’d seen undead sleeping in pockets of the Ether. I doubted anyone slept quite like them. Alston didn’t look like he hung upside down, covered in the skins of his victims. “Right. How about before bed?”

  “It was all quiet. After… after dinner.” He looked at Darrien.

  “We had a brief chat,” the Duke put in, “in the downstairs lounge.”

  “Right… yes… Then we all retired.”

  “How was Lord Howard through the evening? Any remarks or thoughts that he might have passed along?”

  “We talked a little about his team losing the last football match. He was cross, lost a full quid on that bet.” Not useful. Unless my monster also lost a quid and decided to take Howard’s life for it. I scratched down the details anyway; small details lead to big clues, my instructors used to say. “And how long have you known Lord Howard?”

  “We all grew up in Eaton together,” Darrien said.

  “Bosom buddies?”