by K Childs
I met the chief in the hotel restaurant. It wasn’t busy at this time of day, not yet. I ordered a meal and tea and drank some cold water.
“Report.”
“Sir, I’ve had some luck with discovering ways to thwart and kill the beast—I doubt it can be captured.”
“Magical beasts committing murder aren’t going to be missed, frankly. Capturing it is not high on anyone’s list. We may have done away with the death penalty, but even if you get him to surrender, he’ll probably be taken care of by a royalist sympathiser. The nobility don’t like being slaughtered like lambs,” Caudroy said.
To be fair, no one did. “I have narrowed my list down to three people, none of whom you will like.”
He nodded. “Ben told me as much.”
Plates appeared in front of us, and we ate for a minute or two with the speed of folk often forced to eat on the run. A quick efficient manner that police everywhere might recognise as what Ben affectionately called ‘the Yard stuffing.’
“The problem is, the Duke has not made himself a hard target. I have motive and means coming out of my eyeballs, sir,” I said.
“He does have a reputation.” He said it like he meant in one particular area. I wasn’t sure that Darrien was capable of causing unrest in only one aspect of his life. The Duke seemed to attract a lot of trouble.
“I need to talk to the Duke again, figure out what happened in the castle—who found out about the trap.”
“You don’t think your suspects were working together?”
I had debated that myself and eventually dismissed it.
Mary was no killer; a foolish woman who’d fallen for the Duke, yes, but I didn’t think she would go along with a plan to kill His Grace. Alston struck me as the sort who wouldn’t attack a man in his sleep, but he’d been stealing from the Crown, and thieves, liars, and cowards were close cousins. I doubted the Duchess was capable of uttering a word as heinous as teamwork. “I don’t know.”
“Beaumont, I wasn’t lying when I said you are one of my best. But you are also very exposed here. If anything more goes wrong, you know what the Superintendent will do. You remember the Greyson fiasco, don’t you?”
I swallowed. It was hard to forget a disaster that had led to my own promotion.
Greyson, my senior, had accused Timothy Ruthledge of murdering his daughter. Greyson had been right, but he hadn’t waited for the proof. He’d jumped the gun, and Ruthledge had gotten beaten up in the process. Greyson was stripped of his rank, thrown in jail, and I’d been promoted once I’d followed the actual trail of evidence marking Ruthledge as the snake he was. By then, however, Greyson’s career had gone up in smoke. The Superintendent hadn’t backed his man when it mattered. He could have saved Greyson from disgrace; the unit, everyone.
Caudroy had almost finished his steak and potatoes. My soup was dented, but not gone.
“If Pearceson decides it isn’t worth the trouble, you’ll be back in that cell and we’ll be calling you the culprit. The press has already been running stories of police incompetence with Lady Winchester’s death.” A newspaper hit the table between us.
“I understand, sir.”
“Don’t make a mockery of this investigation any further. I know you want to catch your cousin’s killer, but we can’t afford any mistakes, Inspector.”
“Of course not.”
He finished his meal and left, paying the bill on the way out.
I hadn’t gotten a chance to ask him about who had helped get me out. Although I had bigger problems still. I lost my appetite. A cold hard stone was lodged in my stomach and my mind whirled as I folded my focus over the problem at hand.
Caudroy couldn’t afford to have me benched; he would protect me from being thrown upon Pearceson’s sacrificial altar today because he and I were the only two Oneironauts left to hold the fort until the next Eye grew old enough to perform his job.
I was about to leave when Professor Hardigan entered the deserted restaurant, a long wooden briefcase under his arm. He saw me and rushed over. “Miss Beaumont!”
I stood and shook the offered hand. “Professor, I didn’t expect to see you in person.”
Hardigan was so much taller in person than in the Dreamscape. His hair brushed the short ceiling and his glasses seemed too big for his small face.
“I thought I ought to speak with you and tell you what I’d found. But when I came around to the jail, they said you’d left with a Chief Inspector Caudroy.”
“Yes, my chief came and sorted out the charges against me.”
He smacked the table, excited. “Splendid! I’ve been reading what information I could find about dragons from the university archives.” He waved the waiter over. “Can I get some tea, please?”
“Of course, sir. Anything else, Miss?”
“A cup of tea would be fine.”
I glanced at Hardigan’s huge case and wondered if he’d filled it with books… Academics were an odd bunch.
“You know the last dragon sighted in England was killed by St. George?” Hardigan began.
“Yes.”
“Well one of the professors from about ten years ago translated a Benedictine’s account of the battle. He wrote a thesis on the topic. He was studying cases of Animancy at the time. For his presentation to the university he recreated the sword that St. George used.”
The case was on the table now and Hardigan opened it with a flourish.
The sword inside wasn’t anything exemplar. I’d seen designs that the tinkers in the steamworks were developing with a blade with a rotating edge. This one looked like any English longsword you would find in a dozen locations. The hilt was plain, unadorned, the whole thing was clean, understated.
Hardigan turned it over in the silk folds it lay on and showed me the runes that had been carved on the pommel and a single rune about halfway down the shaft.
I didn’t know the symbols—Animancy was a very different study to Oneirology.
“The actual sword, I think, is in the Vatican Museum, but given your plans, I thought it might be a good idea to have this. I asked the Dean; he’d like it returned if you do borrow it, but aside from a little speech perhaps, we’re happy to lend it to the Yard.”
“You’re letting me borrow it?”
“Well according to Tolkien’s research—John Tolkien was the professor who made it—this was a common application of Animancy many years ago. I hear he works in the steam-clinker workshops now, applying the fundamentals of Animancy to clockwork machines.”
That sounded like a very curious direction for Animancy to take, and then I realized, “Ah, the replacement limbs for war veterans.”
Hardigan clicked his fingers. “You’ve the gist of it.”
I’d seen a few labourers down in the east end with clockwork replacements; Animancers couldn’t regrow a limb if it was totally severed. But they had found a way to attach mechanical replacements. Wooden cogs or metal, the link between the mechanical limb could be very impressive, enough to allow one full use of fingers once more. Folk complained they were a little clumsy, but it sure beat having no arm.
Fascinating stuff, but I had a dragon to slay and Hardigan was handing me a magic sword. “I need to go to London, Professor. Your Dean won’t have a problem with me taking it so far?”
“Ah, he was rather strict about its uses. Although, if it’s only for a day I might accompany you—ensure the weapon is taken care of.” He was much too eager.
“Alright.”
He jumped in his chair. “Of course, I mean, if that’s acceptable, I would relish the chance to see a real live dragon and a dragon slaying sword in action!” He paused, perhaps realizing how gruesome that statement truly was.
“I understand, Professor.”
We drank our tea and I managed to steer him to talk about what he had read about dragons, not just the one account of Saint George.
“There’s a lot of conflicting mythos about them. Although all agree
on size and fire-breathing. As big as a house, and capable of burning villages to the ground. Not all of them fly. The Sea Serpents off the Norwegian coast for example.”
“Any record of black dragons?”
“The Bisterne Burley dragon was black.”
“I don’t know that one.”
“In Burley, a little way east of Bisterne, there’s an account of a black dragon. Sir Moris Barkley fell in love with a maiden in Burley, but when he slept with her on their wedding night, she became a dragon. He slew the beast, and so slew her. The knight survived but was driven mad by her death.”
“Interesting. Perhaps it is a power unique of the black dragons to enter dreams?” I said.
“I’ve accounts that Chinese dragons also appear in dreams. Most appear to be associated with a range of powers. Although the Chinese are considered peaceful for the most part. Folk revered them as sacred guardians and wise guides.”
“I suspect that a dragon is rather docile by nature. No, I would hazard that something sets them into a rage… such as perceived infidelity,” I said.
“You think they are like brownies then?”
“You can turn a boggart back into a brownie by mending its clothes and offering it fresh cream and teacakes. Is there some way to turn a dragon docile again?”
He shook his head. “Not that I can tell. There’s no account of a peaceful resolution with a fire-breathing beast as big as one’s house. Besides, surely after a few days it would calm down.”
“It didn’t appear to have calmed when I fought it. I believe it will only get worse until it simply does away with hiding.”
“They are prideful, cunning creatures. They desire gold above all else. There’s a few Scandinavian myths that greedy folk turn into beasts hungering for gold in this way. A dragon is a master at deception, probably when docile as well. And they will sleep for centuries.”
“It does seem rather an inefficient way to kill someone in the Dreamscape when the beast could do away with the Duke in person just as quickly.” I twirled my teacup in my hands, watching the dregs swish back and forth.
“Yes, I thought so too. Especially after the Agency was brought in.”
I placed my cup back in its saucer. “Professor, let’s pack your bags and get to London.”
I was glad I still had a job and the ability to bill my expense of flying to the Yard—for the moment. Flying was not cheap, and I would never afford it on the pittance that I made. The wind was with us, the pilot announced from loud pipes in every corner of the ship, and we got back halfway into the evening.
Supper had long since passed and Hardigan and I stuffed ourselves on stale sandwiches offered from the little cart that toured the halls of the dirigible.
We landed at Heathrow and got another of the cabs I hated the most. The cabin rumbled with the force of the engine. The driver was dark skinned and wore a cap over his black hair. He spoke with an accent and asked us if we were honeymooning.
We were in Piccadilly when I saw a closed-down building aglow with gentlemen outside, and Simmons standing there smoking, talking to a pretty woman. I leaned forward, speaking to the driver. “Pull over, please. What club is that?”
“Ma’am?” the driver asked.
“Do as she says; pull over.” Hardigan waved. “What is it Inspector?”
“Simmons.” I didn’t explain who that was to the Professor. I threw some coin at the driver and got out of the cab.
Hardigan yelped and moved to follow me.
What on earth was Simmons doing here?
I recognised the woman from the last time I had seen her from Lord Howard’s house. She had curled red hair, a brilliant smile and a skinny red dress that clung to her form in all the ways men liked. She wore a stole over her shoulders—doubtful it was keeping her very warm—and her décolletage was very much on display.
Simmons wasn’t exactly hideous, but he was too old for a lady like that.
“Simmons!” He didn’t look up; the woman had told a joke and he was guffawing like a man crazed.
I crossed the street and called out again, “Constable
Simmons!”
Hardigan came behind me, lifting the trunk with the sword in both hands.
Simmons didn’t look up, but the woman did. She smiled. It was the sort of smile I imagined a theatre star had; bright, seductive, sensual… and the smile travelled up and down my body. My gaze fell to the white glow of her skin; the way her body moved in the dark was incredible. Her dress strained to contain her, and I found myself wanting to touch all that exposed, gorgeous skin with my hands, my tongue and my mouth.
The place smelled of sulphur, and something sticky and
noxiously sweet.
I’d seen another club just like this in the East End. Tonight was going to be messy.
“I say, good evening, Ma’am,” Hardigan breathed as we got closer.
“Florence Friday.” She held out a hand. Hardigan dropped the trunk and pushed past me. He kissed her hand like she was a lady in waiting, and he a knight.
“Oh hi, Detective Inspector.” Simmons had a stunned, breathing whine to his voice. “I was just chatting with Lady— I’m sorry, Miss Friday.”
She turned to me now, offering her hand. I took it in mine, marvelling at how smooth and soft her skin was, like silk to the touch. “An absolute pleasure to meet a woman in power. I bet you will just love my club.”
Her voice slithered down my spine, sliding along my body and making me shiver with delight. Ether stirred, thick and
pliant.
I kissed her hand and glanced at Simmons. “Where is the Duke? Please tell me he’s not here?”
He nodded. “He’s inside. It’s a wonderful place.”
Tarnation.
I exhaled, trying to remain calm and keep my feelings in check. Miss Friday was merely being polite, and this was the reaction she elicited. It didn’t take a genius to guess her species.
“Can I go inside?” I asked Florence Friday.
She took me by the arm, gooseflesh rose along my skin and she led me up the first step to the club. “Of course, my love. Tell me, do you have anything in particular you like…?”
She wasn’t my type.
“I… I would like to know why men are such idiots.” I held on to her arm when it stiffened.
“I’m sure I don’t…”
I pointed at the two men staring at her derriere like lovesick puppies and pulled on the Ether. I summoned cold water above them, drenching them both and causing Simmons to curse.
The smell of sulphur and perfume was drowning my nose, and I sneezed.
Miss Friday pulled free of me, knocking me back a little. “Was that called for? They were fine. I’m not hurting anyone, Inspector, I have all my licences.”
Since I doubted she had any trouble whatsoever getting a licence for anything under the sun, I didn’t question this.
“Succubi sex clubs are not a legitimate business. How long have you been in London, Florence Friday?”
She pouted. “I’m a legal citizen. I just came over from Australia, if you must know. I have a passport and I paid the visa fees.”
She was volunteering more than she needed to. Nerves or guilt. Given what she was trying to do to the men of London, I figured it was a bit of both. More importantly, now I had to save Darrien. Again. He needed a full-time babysitter.
“I’m going to need to see your licences. And I need the Duke.”
“The Duke?”
“Tall, dark, handsome, probably tastes delicious and very experienced. Also, you’re going to be fined for attempting to bewitch a member of the Agency.”
She snorted.
I said, “Now.”
The succubus ushered me inside with a disgusted noise. I heard her grumbling something about police abuse under her breath.
The Emporium was exactly what I expected.
We had a succubus infestation right here in the he
art of Piccadilly. I counted six of them, walking around in tight leathers, dancing to jazz and serving drinks that cost more than a pair of new boots.
“Christ almighty.” Simmons was behind me.
“Tell the professor to stay outside.”
“I’ve never seen something so indecent,” Simmons hissed.
At least the water had sobered him up.
The women wore short skirts exposing long, long legs cased in black and red stockings, high boots or heels; nothing but leather and lace touched their bodies. They looked like something right out of the pornographic photos my youngest nephew hid under his bed.
I’d heard this was what happened when a den of them moved in.
This was going to be a goddamn nightmare. “Couldn’t you have set up in Soho?”
“What’s wrong with this place?” Hardigan had followed us in. “It’s a terrific example of a species from the Ether in their natural habitat.”
“Piccadilly is not the natural habitat of succubi,” I snapped. “Simmons, Professor, stay out—” But I’d already lost them to a woman with black hair down to her thighs bearing a tray of drinks beckoning them into the main floor. “—side.”
Florence Friday gave me an innocent shrug and smile. “Are you sure we can’t forgive and forget the accident outside and get you a drink, on the house?”
“Miss Friday, I’m Detective Inspector Rose Beaumont from the Agency of Oneironautic Crimes. Do you have a phone?”
She sighed and pointed at one mounted behind the bar.
I inserted a coin and called Chief Caudroy’s direct line.
“Chief Inspector Caudroy’s office, Bernadette speaking.”
“Hi Bernadette, it’s Rose.”
“Oh Rose, good to hear from you. Shall I put the chief on the line? He’s at work right now.”
“Yeah, you’re going to want to wake the whole office. Tell them we’ve got a den of succubi in Piccadilly and they’ll want to be warded up.”
Florence slammed her fist down on the phone, disconnecting me. “Hey, that’s not very polite, Miss Inspector.”
“It’s just Inspector. And I told you, get those licences. If I don’t see them soon, I am going to start arresting naked women.”