Inspector Abberline and the Just King

by Simon Clark

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That is the stool he sat upon?’

  ‘Yes, it’s the same one.’

  Abberline’s gaze took in the room. The man was thinking hard, no doubt turning possibilities over in his mind. When he spoke it was in a whisper. He didn’t want anyone else in the room to overhear what he said. ‘Thomas, please put the stool where it was last night.’

  Thomas positioned the stool in the centre of the alcove.

  Abberline nodded. ‘Will you sit on it just as Bertie did when he said those words?’

  Thomas did so. Abberline, meanwhile, took hold of a long wooden pole with a hook on the end that was used to open and close the windows that were too high to be reached with arms alone. He held the end of the pole so the hook part was in his two hands.

  ‘Thomas,’ he whispered. ‘Visualize the little boy as he sat there last night. Try to remember exactly where he was looking when he spoke the sentence about the dog. As you do so, look in the direction Bertie looked.’

  Thomas pictured Jo standing there with her hand resting on the boy’s head. He took a deep breath and tried as hard as he could to remember every detail. When he spoke he kept his voice as low as possible so that no one, other than Inspector Abberline, would hear: ‘The room was crowded, very noisy. Bertie looked over in that direction as he said: “I spied on him taking away that big dog.”’

  Thomas stared in the same direction as Bertie had last night.

  Abberline raised the five-foot-long pole and held it level with Thomas’s gaze just in front of his face.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Abberline told him. ‘Keep looking in the same direction as he did. Now imagine you’re looking along the barrel of a rifle. What do you see?’

  The pole directed his gaze to a small area of the room.

  Thomas said, ‘I see a table. Beyond that is open floor. And beyond that …’ His voice trailed away as shivers ran through him. The child now stood on the piano stool, hitting the keys at random, producing discordant notes. ‘The piano.’

  Abberline lowered the pole. ‘So, Bertie’s eye-line was directed at either the table just there, or at the piano.’

  ‘I don’t remember exactly who sat at the table. The fishermen’s families, I think.’

  ‘And the piano? Who sat at the piano?’

  Thomas found himself holding his breath with astonishment. His heart pounded. ‘The king’s youngest son. He played music for the children as they danced.’

  Abberline gave a sharp nod. ‘Tristan. He’s now become our main suspect.’

  ‘We should tell the king.’

  ‘No, Thomas. We’ll tell no one. If Tristan doesn’t know that we suspect him then we retain the element of surprise.’

  ‘We should at least find Tristan’s whereabouts. He might have hidden the boy somewhere in this building.’

  ‘That’s what we must do, and as quickly as possible. Remember, Bertie can identify Tristan as the man who stole the wolf.’ Abberline’s expression revealed what he was thinking. ‘Tristan, if he is the killer, will want to get rid of witnesses. Even if that witness is a little child.’

  Finding Tristan, the twenty-two-year-old prince of Faxfleet, wasn’t easy. The two detectives and three constables had already led the search teams away from the palace and into the forest in order to begin combing the island. Inspector Abberline asked the men guarding the main door for the names of the people that comprised the search parties. Once again, Thomas saw that witnesses could be far less than perfect. The men listed the individuals who had left the palace in order to look for the boy. However, the men couldn’t remember all the names. One footman insisted that the head gardener had left with the first party. However, a moment, later the head gardener emerged from a room that led off from the hallway.

  The gardener blinked in surprise when Abberline asked if they’d had any luck with the search. ‘No, sir,’ said the man. ‘I haven’t been out of the palace this morning.’

  Abberline patiently continued to question the guards. In a seemingly careless way he mentioned a few names of people who might have headed out with the search parties this morning. Casually, he dropped the name of Tristan into the list. A guard said he was sure that Tristan had been with one of the groups. Another declared he was certain that Tristan wasn’t, and thought he’d heard him playing the chapel organ just a few minutes ago.

  With a tight smile, Abberline thanked the men for their help. He motioned for Thomas to follow him.

  When they were some distance from the guards, Abberline said, ‘If our luck’s in, we can catch our man in the chapel.’

  Abberline broke into a run as he made his way along the corridor. The chapel doors were in sight. Thomas followed. His heart pounded and he wondered what they’d find there. Organ music suddenly filled the corridor. The booming notes grew louder and louder. Abberline threw open the chapel doors. The music immediately stopped dead.

  They approached the man in black as he sat at the organ. He turned on the stool to face them.

  ‘Ah, good morning, gentlemen.’ Virgil Kolbaire lifted his bandaged hand. ‘I am delighted to tell you that I can play this instrument with just one hand.’ Turning back to the keys, he began to play a doom-laden melody. ‘See, gentlemen! Anything is possible if one tries hard enough!’

  Abberline snarled with frustration. When they were back in the corridor again, Abberline checked that nobody was close enough to hear.

  ‘Thomas. Tell no one that we’re looking for Tristan, otherwise someone is bound to inform him. We must catch him by surprise. If we don’t, he’ll kill Bertie to make sure the child is silenced forever.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘We’ll have to search the palace for Tristan by ourselves. If anyone asks, pretend we’re looking for the boy again.’

  They hurried back into the main part of the building. Thomas had seen Tristan’s name on a door on the upper floor. That was clearly Tristan’s room and their obvious destination. Abberline agreed. However, when they entered the room they found it deserted. Abberline’s expression became increasingly grim and more desperate. He knew time was running out for the kidnapped boy. In fact, it might already be too late.

  ‘Inspector,’ Thomas said, ‘I have a feeling that we won’t find our man in the palace.’

  ‘My instincts are saying the same. It’s time we headed outdoors.’ Abberline reached into his jacket and pulled out a revolver. After checking the gun was loaded, he pushed it back into his pocket again. ‘We’re entering the stage of high stakes. This will be life or death. Are you ready?’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘You’ve become a good friend. I wouldn’t trust another man with my life. I trust you, though.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector.’

  Abberline nodded then led the way downstairs to the main entrance.

  Abberline called out to one of the footmen, guarding the door. ‘Give Mr Lloyd your shotgun, and the bag of ammunition.’

  The footman obeyed. As Thomas took the weapon, Jo breezed along the corridor. She wore the leather kilt and pantaloons again, together with boots, a riding jacket and a red scarf. Thomas noted that she carried the longbow. A quiver full of arrows was slung across her back. She cut an astonishing figure, one that blazed with energy and determination.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ she called out in a powerful voice. ‘You will inform me that I am a mere woman. You will insist that it isn’t safe for me out there. You will tell me, dear Thomas, that I should stay here.’ Her eyes shone like those of a huntress from legend. ‘Let me tell you, gentlemen. I will not remain within these walls. I am coming with you.’

  Thomas realized that they made a strange sight as they left the palace. Two men in suits and hats – one in his thirties, the other in his fifties – and the young lady carrying the archer’s longbow. What would have been sure to turn heads (if there were any heads to turn nearby) was the short leather kilt she wore over the pantaloons. She looked like a female Cossack – a fierce horsewoman
from the Russian wilderness.

  There was nobody else in sight outdoors. Thomas glanced back. Several people gazed at them from the palace windows. Thomas recognized Mr William Feasby, who waved. Thomas waved back. Will we catch the killer of that man’s brother today? Could it really be that Tristan is the murderer? If so, what is his motive? Benedict Feasby was a harmless eccentric with a love of all God’s creatures. And what could Mrs Giddings have done to Tristan that was so awful that he felt compelled to poison her? Thomas would have liked to discuss Tristan at that moment, especially as so many ideas were coming to the boil inside his head, but Jo was there. Abberline had insisted that they keep their suspicions about Tristan between themselves for the moment. Abberline believed that this would, when the time was right, give him the advantage.

  They walked along a woodland path. A strong breeze tugged at the branches, making the leaves hiss and the trees creak.

  Jo asked, ‘Where do we look first for the boy? The cottages?’

  Abberline shook his head. ‘We should join one of the other search parties.’

  ‘If we can find them in all this.’ Jo waved an arm at the forest.

  ‘There will be five groups of men in all,’ Thomas told her. ‘We should come across one of them before long.’

  They pressed on through the forest. The sound of a body crashing through the bushes behind them caused them to spin round. In one fluid moment, Jo had plucked an arrow from the quiver and placed it on the bow, with the string in the arrow’s notch ready to fire. A stag broke through the greenery. It bounded across the path and vanished again.

  ‘The animal seemed frightened,’ Thomas pointed out.

  ‘Is there any wonder,’ Jo said. ‘There are dozens of men with guns tramping through the woods.’

  Abberline eased the revolver from his pocket. ‘And possibly a man who commits murder, acts of mutilation, and kidnap.’

  ‘A man?’ Jo’s eyes were sharp. ‘So, you have a suspect?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, miss.’ Abberline continued walking. ‘I shouldn’t make slipshod statements. The killer could be a man or a woman.’

  ‘Do you suspect me?’

  ‘Is there any reason I should?’

  She shot a loaded glance at Thomas. Her expression was of someone who had been cruelly misunderstood. ‘No doubt Thomas has revealed what we have discussed together. He’ll have told you that I had been examining the skulls of the islanders.’

  ‘Ah, phrenologists. I’m sure if they went to dinner with members of the Flat Earth Society they would become the best of friends.’

  ‘That is a hurtful comment, Inspector.’

  Just then, a gunshot came from some way off. They froze on the path, listening.

  Thomas said, ‘It sounded more like a shotgun, rather than a pistol or a rifle.’

  Jo’s eyes scanned the trees. ‘The gun must have been fired by one of the men in the search party.’

  Abberline cocked his pistol. ‘Or fired by whoever kidnapped the boy.’

  Thomas peered into the shadows beneath the trees. ‘This is hopeless. The forest is as thick as a jungle. There aren’t enough people on the island to make a proper search.’

  ‘Nevertheless, for now, we’re on our own,’ Abberline told them.

  Thomas shook his head. ‘Then perhaps the island should be evacuated before anyone else is hurt or abducted.’

  Jo gave a regretful sigh. ‘The ferry’s unable to make the crossing to the mainland because the tides are unusually high. There’s so much water coming in from the sea that the currents speed up to the point that boats can’t make any headway.’

  Abberline led the way along a narrow, twisting path. ‘All of which means nobody can leave, we can’t bring in reinforcements. And there is no way of sending a message to the outside world.’

  Thomas felt a growing sense of being trapped here on this little patch of land in the river. ‘Ludwig should have a telegraph wire run across the riverbed. It’s time he brought modern ways to this place. Surely it would be simple enough to –’

  A savage blow struck both of Thomas’s ears at the same time. For a moment, he thought an attacker had landed punches on him. That is, until he saw white smoke billow in front of his face. He smelt burnt gunpowder, and realized he hadn’t actually been struck with fists. No, there had been a tremendous explosion that had half deafened him.

  ‘Inspector?’ he called.

  Jo crouched down over a dark mound on the earth. That’s when Thomas saw what that mound really was.

  ‘Inspector!’ He lunged forward, his ears still ringing from the thunderous bang.

  Inspector Abberline lay on the ground. His face was twisted in pain.

  Jo shouted, ‘He’s been shot!’

  Thomas saw blood seeping wetly through the fabric of the man’s trousers, just above his right ankle. ‘He’s been hit in the leg. Do you have anything we can use as a dressing?’

  Jo pulled squares of lace from her jacket pocket. ‘I have clean handkerchiefs.’

  Thomas called out, ‘Inspector. Can you hear me?’

  He unlaced the injured man’s boot.

  Abberline sat up, pushing Thomas’s hand away. ‘No! Keep your wits about you! Look around. Can you see the gunman?’

  Thomas quickly got to his feet, raising the shotgun to his shoulder as he did so. Jo drew an arrow back on the bow, ready to fire the second she saw the attacker.

  Smoke from the gunshot drifted away into the trees – a white ghost of a shape.

  ‘I can’t see anyone,’ Thomas hissed, ‘can you?’

  She shook her head. ‘But the weapon was fired close by. It went off just a yard from the inspector.’

  Thomas searched the ground. Masses of dry leaves lay across the path. Frowning, he kicked them aside.

  ‘Look.’ He pointed at a long strip of iron that had been partially exposed when he kicked away the leaves. ‘It’s one of the old spring-guns that gamekeepers used against poachers.’

  Jo eased off Abberline’s boot. He grunted with pain.

  ‘An automatic gun?’ Her expression was one of horror. ‘Anyone could have been killed by it. A child. Anyone.’

  Thomas pulled the device from the undergrowth. Essentially, it was a long iron strip attached to a short gun barrel.

  Thomas glared at the device in fury. ‘See? If anyone stands on the metal strip when it’s hidden under leaves or grass, it releases a spring that causes the gun to fire.’

  He glanced at a tree trunk at the other side of the path. Metal beads peppered the bark.

  Jo beckoned Thomas. ‘Hold his leg steady so I can press the handkerchiefs against the wound. I have to stop the bleeding.’

  Thomas ran his fingers over the metal shot embedded in the tree. ‘Fortunately, most of them missed.’

  ‘Thomas, help me. It’s important.’

  He crouched beside her. He supported Abberline’s leg beneath the calf and the heel as Jo pressed the squares of lace against a puncture wound just above the man’s ankle. The blood was a rich red. It glistened wetly.

  Thomas looked at Abberline’s face. He was very pale but conscious.

  ‘Do you know what happened to you?’ asked Thomas.

  ‘I stepped on a spring-gun.’

  ‘Spring-guns have been illegal for years.’

  ‘They have.’ Abberline flinched as Jo exerted pressure on the handkerchiefs to stem the flow of blood. ‘But someone has been setting them as mantraps again. The gunshot we heard earlier might have been another one of the damn things going off.’

  ‘So the killer might have set mantraps for the search parties?’

  Jo said, ‘That won’t deter us from looking for Bertie.’

  ‘No.’ Abberline grimaced as the pain bit deep. ‘But they have a sense of the dramatic. They know that the use of mantraps will result in … in plenty of … agh … newspaper stories and … and public interest. The killer wants their activities to become famous. Agh, my leg stings like fury.’

&n
bsp; Jo said, ‘It looks as if the pellet gashed your leg rather than becoming embedded in the flesh.’

  Thomas felt a great deal of relief that the wound wasn’t a very serious one. ‘Don’t worry, Inspector. I’ll get you back to the palace. We can treat the wound properly there.’

  ‘He won’t be able to walk,’ Jo said. ‘Moving his leg will open the wound up again.’

  Thomas spoke firmly. ‘I can carry him.’

  ‘My friend.’ Abberline managed a smile. ‘It’s too far. You’ll need a cart for these old bones.’

  Thomas stood up. ‘I’ll go back to the palace and bring help.’

  Jo shook her head. ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘I can run there.’

  ‘I would bet an entire pot of gold that I can run faster than you, Thomas. Besides, I know shortcuts. You’ll take twenty minutes to reach the palace. I can be back there in ten.’

  Thomas gave her a direct look to show he was concerned for her. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely. Here, keep pressure on the wound. Don’t let this policeman move one inch, otherwise his leg will start bleeding again.’

  Thomas knelt down beside where Abberline lay on the ground. He pressed his fingers down onto the delicate lace handkerchiefs that were now sodden with blood.

  Jo picked up her bow. ‘Keep applying firm pressure, Thomas. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  She darted away into the forest. Her red scarf fluttered, and her long legs were a blur. It was almost like watching a deer flitting amongst the trees.

  Thomas knelt beside Abberline as he lay on the path. There was nobody else in sight. No sounds, either, that even hinted people might be nearby. Abberline’s face had become pale. Every moment or so he grimaced in pain. The shot from the automatic gun had left a deep gash above the man’s ankle. Thomas hoped the metal pellets hadn’t shattered the bone.

  Abberline took a deep breath. ‘Don’t look so worried, Thomas.’

  ‘You’ve bled a good deal.’

  ‘Blood renews itself in the veins, doesn’t it?’ He smiled. ‘I’m sure I’ll be back on my feet in no time.’

  Thomas pulled out his pocket watch. ‘Jo has been gone nearly thirty minutes.’