Inspector Abberline and the Just King

by Simon Clark

  ‘Someone is detonating explosive.’ Abberline hurried to the door. ‘Ludwig, send out your male servants in pairs with orders to bring all the islanders here – at once, sir! At once!’

  ‘Of course. Yes … yes …’ Ludwig had lost his regal composure. He groped on the desk for paper and a pen, knocking over a tea cup as he did so. The man’s hands trembled.

  Abberline called out, ‘Thomas, Ludwig will dictate the order. You write it down.’ He briefly paused as he opened the door. ‘Whatever happens, don’t let anyone go out onto the island alone. Everyone must travel in groups of at least two, and I mean everyone.’

  Thomas nodded. He drew a chair up to the desk.

  Abberline called back over his shoulder as he went, ‘And make sure that everyone who can safely handle a gun has one. This is war.’

  Thomas Lloyd wrote down the order that King Ludwig dictated to him. Ludwig’s hand shook so much he couldn’t even grasp a pen let alone write a single word. Eventually, Ludwig did manage to add his rather shaky signature at the foot of the order then Thomas handed it to the butler with instructions that he tell his staff to go out onto the island and gather all its residents and bring them to the palace. Meanwhile, the king’s eldest son enthusiastically handed out pistols and rifles, saying in excited tones, ‘If you see the killer, aim between the eyes! Shoot the swine dead!’

  Thomas felt like pointing out that nobody knew what the killer looked like, whether they were male or female, or if they operated individually or part of a gang. He hoped that the assortment of footmen, gardeners and office staff, now armed with guns, wouldn’t fire off shots at the first person they saw approaching the palace. What’s more, Thomas realized the killer might be one of those men who now brandished a weapon. Richard could have armed the murderer, and nobody would be any the wiser.

  Thomas tried to set aside these troubling thoughts as he headed out of the door. He found Abberline in the courtyard, talking to the three constables who had been sent a few days ago from the local police headquarters in Hull. Just then, another explosion shattered the silence. Birds flew squawking from trees nearby. Everyone looked this way and that for the source of the noise. Presently a large cloud of black smoke rose above the forest. Despite the explosions, male servants ran from the palace. They were in pairs and they hurried to the paths that led to the cottages dotted across the island. Their mission, to bring everyone to the safety … well, conceded Thomas, the relative safety of the palace.

  Abberline took a pistol from his pocket and handed it to one of the constables. Thomas stared in surprise. He didn’t know that Abberline had even brought a weapon with him. Abberline said something else to the men; they saluted before hurrying towards the stables.

  Abberline beckoned Thomas.

  ‘Thomas, I’ve told the constables to bring the fishermen and their families to the palace.’

  ‘The king won’t be pleased to house them.’

  ‘He has no choice. This is an emergency.’

  ‘We should start barricading the windows and doors.’

  ‘Professor Giddings is an ex-military man. He’ll know what needs to be done.’

  ‘After he drugged Kolbaire? You trust him?’

  ‘Sneaking the drug into the wine was spiteful. But I think what he did was an aberration brought on by his wife’s death. I’m sure he’ll act properly now and help protect his neighbours.’

  Yet another thunderous roar bellowed out across the island. More smoke billowed above the trees.

  ‘Thomas, try and get a fix on the direction of that smoke. Come on.’

  Abberline reached into his coat pocket again. When he withdrew his hand he gripped a revolver. Thomas’s heart pounded against his ribs. Right now, it seemed a possibility – a decidedly lethal possibility – that soon they would come face to face with the killer that terrorized this island in the River Humber.

  Thomas walked through the forest with Abberline. Their intended destination was the site of the latest explosion. Paths criss-crossed the island through the trees. Those paths had plenty of bends so it wasn’t possible to see ahead more than fifty paces at any one time. They came upon cottages where Ludwig’s male servants passed on the orders that everyone must go to the palace immediately.

  They observed academy members leaving their homes. One man carried a trombone, another a crate of books, a woman strode boldly out with a telescope over her shoulder. She told the servant in piercing tones, ‘The comet becomes visible in Scorpio in three days. I must have my telescope. Careful with those star charts, man, they are priceless!’

  Thomas shook his head. ‘The king’s orders stipulated that people bring the essentials for a few days away from home. I think these people’s idea of what’s essential is different from anyone else’s.’

  William Feasby struggled out of the cottage with Sir Terror in his arms. The wolf with the wings of an eagle looked heavy. A servant helped him.

  Feasby sang out in his high voice, ‘I will not leave Sir Terror behind. He has been taken once. I won’t risk him being stolen again.’

  Thomas caught Abberline’s eye. ‘Would it be flippant of me to compare this island to a madhouse?’

  Abberline sighed. ‘The word “eccentric” isn’t strong enough to describe the behaviour of some of the islanders, is it?’

  They continued walking. Thomas constantly glanced through the trees, expecting to see a man appear with a gun. The murderer could easily conceal themselves in the dense woodland. A rustle of bushes made Thomas glance back. Two men in the uniforms of footmen blundered out.

  ‘I told you that Lookout Cottage is back near the old barn,’ one of the men grumbled. ‘Now look at the mud on my shoes.’

  The other scowled. ‘I said we should have used the main path. But oh no, you, Sir Know-it-all, said you knew a shortcut.’

  The men bickered as they headed back into the forest. Thomas and Abberline pushed onwards along the path. A moment later Abberline held up his hand.

  ‘This is it,’ he said.

  Thomas saw that one of the trees had about two feet of bark stripped off at head-height. The branches above the bare wood didn’t have a single leaf on them. All around the tree were shredded leaves and twigs. Some of them were scorched. Thomas picked up a strong odour of burning and gunpowder.

  Abberline sniffed. ‘We’ve found the site of one explosion anyway.’

  He examined the tree trunk with part of its bark missing.

  Thomas picked up the remains of a metal can that once, according to what was printed on the outside, contained boiled meat in gravy.

  Thomas held up the mutilated can. ‘This probably held the gunpowder. There’s a hole drilled in the top, which could have been where a fuse had been inserted.’

  ‘So, if this bomb had been made by the killer then they know how to construct explosive devices as well as electrical batteries.’

  Thomas gazed at the devastation caused by the bomb. Pieces of the metal can were embedded in the tree.

  ‘They failed to hurt anyone this time, thank heaven.’

  ‘They didn’t fail, Thomas. These explosions are reminders that the killer is dangerous and they are capable of catching us off guard. The killer is saying to us: “Don’t ignore me. I can strike whenever and wherever I want.”’

  Another loud boom rolled through the trees.

  Abberline’s expression was a grim one. ‘Thomas, it’s time we returned to our new fortress and pulled up the drawbridge.’ He shot Thomas a direct look. ‘All right, we might not have an actual drawbridge, but it’s time to barricade the palace doors and see what the devil does next.’

  ‘From past experience, it’s bound to be what we least expect.’

  Abberline nodded. If anything, his expression grew even more serious as he headed back in the direction of the palace.

  That afternoon events moved quickly. The academy members arrived first. They were allocated rooms in the palace. The fishing village lay at the other end of the island so,
accordingly, the villagers were the last to arrive. Their living quarters were more humble. Families were put in the refectory where meals were normally eaten. Servants brought blankets and straw-filled mattresses. The fisher-folk had to make themselves comfortable with what they were given. Children ran around the tables and climbed on the king’s throne at the top table. The butler clapped his hands and scolded them. Abberline found Ludwig and told him that small gunpowder bombs had been left in the forest, and that each bomb had been detonated by a slow fuse that could have been left smouldering for an hour or more. This gave the person responsible plenty of time to melt back into some remote corner of the island, or – more disturbingly – reassume the guise of a law-abiding academy member, or employee of the king.

  Richard, meanwhile, had mounted a huge duck-hunting gun on a windowsill. This weapon had a six-foot-long barrel. He aimed it across the courtyard. Many academy members continued with their work. Already, Kolbaire attempted to play the violin with his hand swathed in bandages. Another man sat in a corner with sheets of paper on his knee. He made notes in pencil, oblivious to what happened around him. Professor Giddings endeavoured to make amends for his reckless behaviour earlier when he’d slipped a drug into Kolbaire’s wine. Giddings, helped by a pair of gardeners and Bertie, the ten-year-old, built barricades at vulnerable windows and doors, using wooden boards and furniture.

  Tristan, King Ludwig’s youngest son, played cheerful melodies on a piano in the ballroom. The fishermen’s children immediately hurried there to dance around. The young man smiled and nodded as the little ones cavorted and sang nonsense words to the music. Tristan improvised a game that involved the children dancing when he played – and when he stopped they had to stand as still as statues.

  A little while later, Abberline introduced two men of around thirty years of age to Thomas.

  ‘These are my colleagues from Scotland Yard,’ Abberline told him. ‘The ferry managed to make a crossing to the island, but it won’t be able to make the return journey yet. The current is far too strong.’

  Thomas shook the men’s hands. Both were clean-shaven. One wore spectacles with gold wire frames. The other man was short but very powerfully built. His handshake was crushing. These two detectives wouldn’t have looked out of place in a lawyer’s office. They were sleek, well groomed, and the way they spoke suggested a good education. Their names were Lionel Metcalfe and Harry Scott. The men answered Abberline’s questions fully and were clearly respectful toward their superior. Thomas didn’t always get on well with Abberline’s colleagues. The other policemen were often suspicious, perhaps believing he would portray them in a poor light in his newspaper stories. Not that there was any evidence to support this. Thomas always wrote about Abberline’s colleagues fairly, and portrayed them as conscientious men who strove to protect the public from criminals.

  The short man, Harry Scott, smiled. ‘This is quite a scene, Thomas – if I may call you Thomas?’

  ‘By all means.’

  ‘Like a scene from a picture book about castles under siege from barbarians.’ He grinned. ‘Is that lady carrying a bow and arrow?’

  Thomas saw Jo with her longbow. She smiled and waved at Thomas before vanishing through a doorway.

  Thomas said, ‘A lot of the islanders are very keen on archery.’

  ‘Bless my soul.’ Lionel raised his eyebrows in amazement. ‘An island full of bowmen.’

  ‘And bowgirls,’ corrected Harry.

  ‘It seems a long, long way from London.’ Lionel shook his head, clearly astonished. ‘By the by, Thomas. Do you play chess?’

  ‘I enjoy a game now and then.’

  ‘Would you play later this evening?’

  Thomas smiled. ‘Yes, I’d be delighted.’

  Abberline was clearly pleased that his fellow detectives were on friendly terms with Thomas. ‘Have your game of chess, gentlemen, but we will need to take it in turns to stand guard tonight. We don’t want that scoundrel throwing a bomb through a window.’

  ‘By Jove, sir!’ exclaimed Harry. ‘You’re right, that wouldn’t do at all.’

  ‘I will see that you are armed with revolvers. There is quite an armoury here.’

  The palace was a hive of activity. Giddings continued work on the improvised fortifications. Scents of freshly baked bread flowed from the kitchen as the cooks worked to feed the new arrivals. Abberline spoke to the king again. The two detectives, Harry and Lionel, chatted to Thomas and he told them all that had happened. Outside, the shadows grew longer as the sun set on another extraordinary day.

  Thomas realized that an extraordinary evening might follow when Jo whispered to him, ‘I must see you later. Meet me in the music room at seven. Make sure you’re alone.’

  At ten minutes to seven Thomas made his way to the music room. This was at the back of the palace, overlooking the lawn. The hallways and corridors were crowded with people. Most talked in excited voices. Even though the palace had been turned into a makeshift fort, and essentially they were under siege from an unknown assassin, the academy members and the fisher-folk talked in loud voices: they clearly anticipated dramatic events tonight.

  Thomas encountered the harassed-looking butler. The man told children not to touch the paintings on the walls, and paused to stare in horror at muddy footprints on the rugs.

  He said to Thomas, ‘I’ve never seen anything like this. All is disordered. Will Inspector Abberline apprehend the criminal soon, sir?’

  Thomas told him that Abberline was doing his best and hopefully there would be an arrest in the near future. Thomas had to admit to himself that what he’d told the butler was shamelessly optimistic. In truth, they were no closer to identifying the murderer than when they first stepped onto the island several days ago. The butler darted away to scold children who slid down the banister of the main staircase.

  Thomas wove his way through the crowds. He was eager to reach the music room. Jo had something important to tell him. He wondered what the striking woman wished to confide.

  Kolbaire loomed from a doorway to seize Thomas’s arm. He brandished his bandaged hand. Part of the wrappings had been cut away to reveal two of his fingers (the other two from that particular hand floated in a glass jar full of gin at Samarkand Cottage).

  With a quivery note of triumph, Kolbaire declared, ‘See, Mr Lloyd. I’ve freed two of my fingers from the bandages. I can play the violin again. The injury to my hand will not cheat the world of my music.’

  ‘Are you in pain, Mr Kolbaire?’

  ‘There is laudanum here. I have consumed half a bottle and I feel wonderful.’ The man smiled, looking as if he wanted to dance through the hallway crowds. ‘I can hear the music shimmering in these walls. I divine melody in the hearts of everyone here.’ He swayed unsteadily. ‘I shall compose such an opera. I will call it Night at the Enchanted Castle – it will tell the story of what happens tonight. You shall be in it, sir: the chivalrous knight that moves through this world, haloed by golden light. Protector of everyone here.’

  Thomas thanked him before trying to side-step the inebriated man.

  Kolbaire wouldn’t let go of his arm. ‘Mr Lloyd, I will take the opera to Milan, Paris, Vienna.’

  At that moment, William Feasby managed to thread his way through the crowded hallway.

  ‘Mr Kolbaire,’ Feasby said. ‘You promised to remain lying down on the sofa. You must rest, you know? You have lost blood – lots of it.’

  ‘And two fingers.’ Kolbaire slurred the words. ‘The devil cut off my fingers. What have I done to any man to make him so angry with me?’

  ‘There, there, my good chap. Mr Lloyd is a busy man. He personally assists the great Inspector Abberline of Scotland Yard. Come along now. Let’s get you settled under that warm blanket again.’

  Thomas nodded his thanks to William Feasby as he led the tottering figure of Kolbaire away. The hands of the grandfather clock now stood at six minutes to seven. He’d agreed to meet Jo at seven. Time to quicken the pace. He once
more made his way through clusters of men and women who chatted excitedly to one another. At one point, he had to stand aside as the butler led a procession of servants, carrying steaming tureens.

  The butler called back to his staff, ‘Rabbit stew. It’s all that Cook was able to muster at short notice. At least there’s plenty of bread. This way. Take it through to the refectory. Don’t let those children trip you. They are demons!’

  Thomas had barely taken five paces again when he saw the king’s youngest son, Tristan, who had been playing the piano for the children. As the young man stepped aside, to avoid a servant carrying a basket piled high with loaves, he dropped a wad of paper he was carrying. Sheets spilled over the floor. The man crouched down to pick them up. Thomas hurried forward to help before the paper was spoilt by the muddy boots of fishermen who followed the procession of food. Thomas saw that the paper was covered with musical notation.

  ‘Your compositions?’ he asked Tristan.

  ‘Yes, I rather hoped to show them to my father at some point. However, he’s frightfully busy.’

  ‘This is like a Covent Garden street on market day,’ said Thomas.

  ‘We’ve never had so many people in the house.’

  Thomas stood up and handed the last of the dropped pages to Tristan. The young man smiled.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Lloyd.’

  Richard energetically pushed through the mass of people. In each hand he carried a shotgun. ‘Mind aside … mind aside, there.’ The powerful man strode up the staircase.

  Tristan gave a shy, nervous smile. ‘I think my brother rather enjoys all this commotion. Then he does like noise and firing guns.’

  ‘I take it you don’t share his passion for firearms?’

  ‘Goodness, no. My melodies have always been enough for me.’ He brushed dirt from the sheet music in his hand. ‘These musical notes never age. Whenever someone plays them they are fresh and new again. Music – its time signature and its notes – a precisely ordered spectrum of sound that exquisitely transforms disorder into order. Music reflects an instinctive desire we all feel to convert our chaotic lives into ones of serenity.’ The young man smiled fondly and somewhat dreamily at the sheets of music. ‘If I should be so egotistical as to claim that I have a mission in life it is this: music, beautiful music.’ He blushed. ‘I do beg your pardon, Mr Lloyd. I am lecturing you, aren’t I? Thank you for rescuing my manuscript.’