The Death Collector doua-1

by Justin Richards

‘He was a scientist,’ George told him.

  ‘And a very eminent one,’ Sir William agreed. ‘He was destined for great things, or so it was thought.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Liz asked.

  ‘According to my sources, he died young. Very tragic, before he could realise his potential. His diaries are useful as they catalogue his discoveries and theories and give us some insight as to the mental processes he went through on his journey of enlightenment.’

  ‘So why does someone want the last volume?’ George wondered. ‘If his work is already known about.’

  ‘I really cannot imagine. His early years were apparently his most productive, before he became ill. He continued to work, of course. In fact he was one of the twenty-one scientists invited to dinner at the Crystal Palace on New Year’s Eve 1853. It was, by all accounts, quite an occasion though I was not myself invited.’ He sniffed, as if irritated by this apparent oversight.

  ‘What was the occasion?’ Liz wondered. ‘Just the New Year?’

  ‘No, it was to celebrate the creation of the dinosaur statues that are now in the Crystal Palace Park. In fact the dinner was held inside the Iguanodon statue before the top was lowered. There was a drawing of the event in the Illustrated London News, I remember. Sir Henry Glick was due to make a speech which was eagerly anticipated. But on the evening his illness took a turn for the worse. It was, I think, the beginning of the end for him. He made his apologies and left early. Perhaps,’ Sir William said with a sad smile, ‘he was sickened by the rather self-serving speech that I gather the eminent palaeontologist Richard Owen gave.’

  ‘I’ve seen a monster that looked like a dinosaur,’ Eddie offered.

  Sir William was impressed. ‘You have been to the Museum of Natural History?’

  ‘Course not. I saw it in the grounds of a big house. Monstrous it was. Huge, with great teeth.’

  ‘Not this again,’ George sighed. ‘I told you — it’s all in the imagination. All you saw was the branch of a tree blowing in the wind or something.’

  ‘George is right,’ Liz said gently.

  Eddie stared back at them defiantly. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But I went back there last night, and I heard it breathing. In a big shed at the edge of the lawn.’

  ‘You did what?’ Liz said, aghast.

  ‘Where was this?’ Sir William asked quietly.

  ‘Just off Clearview Road. The place where they nabbed your mate Albert Wilkes. Place with lizard things on the gate posts,’ Eddie told him.

  ‘Nabbed Albert Wilkes?’ said Sir William in surprise.

  ‘But that’s Augustus Lorimore’s estate,’ George said. ‘It has to be.’

  ‘The industrialist?’

  George nodded. ‘Funny thing, you know. But that’s who Percy told me to go to for help.’

  ‘Not that he was much help, was he?’ Liz said.

  Sir William was frowning. ‘How would Percy Smythe know Augustus Lorimore, I wonder. And what’s this about Albert Wilkes being there? Tell me, what exactly did poor Percy say?’

  George struggled to remember. ‘He said Lorimore’s name. And he said “help” I think. He was telling me Lorimore could help.’

  Sir William’s face was grave. ‘But the man was dying,’ he said quietly. ‘He was asking you for help, for himself. Mentioning Lorimore’s name under those circumstances … Well, isn’t it just as likely that he was telling you who was to blame for his death?’

  George felt suddenly cold. ‘I suppose it’s possible,’ he admitted. It was not something that had occurred to him, but now it seemed to make sense. And it explained Lorimore’s strange behaviour when they had met — how he had wanted the last surviving page of the diary. ‘But, Augustus Lorimore? There was something else nagging at him too, something at the edge of his mind.

  ‘Lorimore,’ Liz said. She was staring at George. ‘If you were spelling that out to someone, and they missed the first letter …’

  ‘Orimore?’ George said, bemused.

  Liz went on. ‘And if they were interrupted or the contact was broken.’

  ‘What contact is this?’ Sir William asked.

  ‘I dunno,’ Eddie told him. ‘Think she’s going barmy.’

  But George understood now. ‘If you just spelled out the middle part of his name,’ he said. ‘O R I M O.’

  ‘What you said that glass spelled out at the seance,’ Eddie said jumping about in excitement. ‘Albert Wilkes told you, his spirit told you. Like I said it would.’

  ‘Well, something did,’ Liz said. ‘Unless it’s just a coincidence?’

  ‘It sounds like a big coincidence,’ Sir William said. George explained quickly what had happened at the seance, and the older man nodded. ‘We live in strange times, Archer. Though of course it could be just coincidence.’

  ‘Don’t sound like coincidence to me,’ Eddie said. ‘Specially if this Lorimore lives in the lizard house where the monster is. The house where Wilkes was dragged off by Blade.’

  ‘Monsters or not,’ Sir William decided, ‘it does seem at least a possibility that Lorimore is indeed behind these macabre events. But we should be wary of jumping to conclusions without sufficient evidence.’

  ‘And I went to see him,’ George groaned. ‘I went and told him about the surviving fragment of the diary, and what I was doing. He knows everything.’

  At that moment, in Sir William’s office at the British Museum, Garfield Berry was hunting through the papers on the desk. He found the notes from the examination that Sir William had performed on the body of Albert Wilkes, and quickly and efficiently set about making a copy.

  When he was finished, he replaced the papers exactly as they had been. He put his copy in an envelope together with a short covering letter that explained that he had received the request and hoped that this was what was wanted. He also included the address of another employee of the Museum — a man called George Archer. It had not been difficult to get into Mansfield’s office and find the information he needed. Berry sealed the envelope and quickly wrote the name of the recipient on it: Augustus Lorimore.

  Berry locked the office behind him with a duplicate key that Sir William knew nothing about. He did not expect Sir William back for a while yet, but he was still in a hurry. The man with the scar was waiting.

  Chapter 13

  Mr Blade waited patiently and silently while Augustus Lorimore read Berry’s letter. Clutching the paper in spindly, spider’s leg fingers, Lorimore read it through twice. His lips twitched as he reached the end for the second time. Then he bunched the letter into a tight ball and hurled it across the drawing room.

  Blade did not react. But he noted where the letter had fallen so he could recover and burn it later.

  ‘You wish me to deal with these people, now that we know where Archer lives, sir?’

  ‘I don’t care what happens to them, Blade.’ Lorimore turned away, studying the sightless birds that stared back at him from behind the glass. ‘Just so long as I get what I want, and they never interfere with my work again.’

  ‘I shall be happy to arrange that, sir,’ Blade assured him. He was smiling thinly, his mouth a knife-slash across his face. ‘It will be dark early this evening. We can move then, without fear of being seen.’

  Lorimore turned back from the display case. ‘I can’t wait until this evening, you dolt.’ He nodded at the window on the other side of the room. A thin mist was already pressing up against it, filtering the pale winter sunlight. ‘The smog is thickening already. I’m sure your thugs can run fast enough to escape any interference. And in half an hour you’ll barely be able to see your hand in front of your face.’

  There were springs and cogwheels and screws and oddly shaped bits of metal all over the table. Eddie watched with interest as George arranged the bits and pieces. He had a magnifying glass mounted on a metal bracket so he could see what he was working on. When Eddie tried to peer through, George pushed him out of the way with a grunt of annoyance.

  ‘What you ma
king, anyway?’ Eddie demanded for the third time.

  ‘It’s only a prototype,’ George mumbled.

  ‘A type of what?’

  George sighed and put down the tiny wheel he had been examining. He hunted for another with the tweezers, eventually selecting one that looked to Eddie to be identical to the first.

  Liz had left them soon after Sir William Protheroe. That had been hours ago now. Eddie reckoned it must be getting on for lunchtime, but he was fascinated when George got out his collection of tools. They were so tiny — like proper carpenter’s tools, only much smaller. There were screwdrivers, knives, tweezers, clamps, and even a miniature saw.

  ‘You a jeweller?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘No,’ George told him. ‘I mend clocks and watches.’

  Eddie had quite a collection of pocket watches stashed away. He considered offering them to George, but he might not approve. Anyway, most of them worked, if he bothered to wind them up.

  ‘I still don’t know what it is,’ Eddie said, watching closely as George started to assemble various components he had built into a single compact unit.

  ‘It’s for Liz — Miss Oldfield. She wants me to work out a mechanism for sending a silver ashtray flying across the stage.’

  ‘What stage?’

  ‘At the theatre. She indulges in amateur dramatics.’

  George sat back and inspected his work. The spring was fixed between two metal plates. One kept the whole contraption stable on the top of the table. The other was fixed to the top at an angle. A small key emerged from the side of the device, and George wound it carefully. As he did so, the spring contracted and the top plate, which was slightly indented, lowered and levelled.

  ‘Pass me that ball bearing, will you?’

  Eddie did so. ‘It isn’t an ashtray,’ he pointed out.

  ‘This is just to test if my design will work.’ George placed the ball bearing on the top plate. The small steel ball sat easily in the middle, where the plate had been hollowed slightly. ‘If it does, I can build a larger version that will catapult the ashtray.’

  George turned the device so it was pointing across the room towards the door and reached for a hinged sliver of metal that was protruding from the edge of the device. He hesitated just before his finger reached it. ‘Come here, Eddie. You do it.’

  ‘Do what?’ Eddie joined George at the table, and George pointed.

  ‘Press that trigger.’

  ‘Trigger? You mean, this is like a gun?’

  George sighed. ‘Not really. Just push it. Gently, mind, so you don’t jolt the thing.’

  ‘Like this?’

  Eddie gingerly pressed on the bit of metal. It was sharp and bit into the skin on the end of his finger, but it moved easily enough. There was a dull click as the spring suddenly expanded. It forced the top plate rapidly upwards, pivoting it around a metal rod so that the ball bearing was flung off.

  The steel ball was hurled across the room like a bullet. It hit the door, embedding itself in the wooden panelling with a splintering crunch.

  ‘Wow!’ Eddie exclaimed with delight.

  George was grinning too. ‘Maybe a bit fierce,’ he noted. ‘We need to angle it so the ashtray is lobbed up in the air rather than shot out like that.’

  ‘It worked though,’ Eddie said. He was impressed. For the first time he realised that George Archer was maybe not just a boring grown-up who delighted in telling other people what to do.

  While George set to work adjusting the spring slightly, Eddie started to tidy away the tools and spare components. George was winding up the device once more when there was a knock at the front door.

  ‘That might be Liz,’ George said eagerly. ‘Have a look, will you?’

  Eddie went to the window and peered out into the street. The fog was thick now, and all he could see was a grey blanket hanging across the world. There were several darker patches that could be people. He leaned forward until his forehead was against the cool glass and tried to make out who it was outside.

  ‘I meant, answer the door,’ George said irritably.

  ‘Keep your hair on, I’m going.’

  Eddie leaned back from the window. But he did not go to the door. For at that moment, a face loomed out of the mist. Someone was leaning towards the window, trying to look in. The face was contorted, grinning horribly as it saw Eddie on the other side of the glass. It was a face Eddie instantly recognised, even before he saw the pale scar running down one side of it.

  ‘Cripes!’ Eddie yelled. ‘It’s him — they found us.’

  At the same moment, the knocking at the door became a hammering. Then a splintering as the wood around the lock gave way.

  ‘Come on,’ Eddie shouted at George. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘But this is my home,’ George protested.

  Eddie did not wait to argue. He pushed George across the room towards the door.

  ‘Wait.’ George struggled free of Eddie’s grasp and ran back to the table. He scooped up his device and several ball bearings. Then he was running back across the room and together they tumbled out into the hallway.

  The front door was shaking and shuddering as the men outside put their shoulders to it. A strip of wood flew off and spun down the hall, just missing Eddie. The lock had almost broken away. Another few seconds …

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Eddie said. ‘Come on, through the kitchen.’ There was a kitchen door leading to the yard and the alley at the back of the house. Eddie had opened it earlier to let the smoke out.

  ‘We need to slow them down,’ George shouted back at him as the door finally crashed open and a swirl of fog and dark shapes fell into the hall.

  Eddie saw that George had the clockwork device in his hands and was winding it up furiously. He set it down on the hall floor, dropped a handful of ball bearings on to the plate on the top, and then adjusted the angle — aiming it along the length of the hallway.

  Three men were advancing slowly, the fog drifting behind them so they were silhouetted against the cloudy grey. One of them was Blade, and he was holding a long knife. The other two men hefted wooden cudgels.

  ‘Hurry up,’ Eddie urged, bouncing from one foot to the other as he prepared to run for it.

  George did not reply. He waited, timing the moment, then gently pressed down on the trigger. As soon as he had done so, as soon as the top plate of the device had whipped upwards, George stuffed the contraption back into his jacket pocket and ran after Eddie.

  Eddie was also running. But he had waited just long enough to see the ball bearings smash like shotgun pellets into the approaching men. Blade had been caught on the arm, dropping his knife with a cry of pain. One of the other men seemed to have escaped, perhaps shielded by his fellows. But the third had taken several ball bearings in the face. He collapsed backwards with a shriek of pain. He clutched and clawed at his face, the cudgel he had been carrying clattering to the floor.

  ‘Gotcha!’ Eddie cried. Then he was gone.

  The last thing he heard as he fled was Blade’s laughter.

  ‘I don’t know what he finds so funny,’ Eddie told George as they slammed the door behind them.

  George had taken the key from the inside of the door, and he locked it behind them. ‘Won’t hold them for long, but it all helps.’

  Eddie wasn’t listening. ‘Unless there’s someone waiting for us out here.’ He stared at George through the thickening air. ‘That’s it — they’re chasing us out of the house for someone else to catch.’

  ‘They’ll never find us in this pea-souper,’ George said. He grabbed Eddie’s hand and pulled him across the small yard to the gate. ‘Keep hold of me, or we’ll both get lost. No one in their right mind will be out in this.’

  The alley was thick with smog. Grey-green and acrid, it caught at the back of Eddie’s throat as he gasped for air. They looked both ways along the alley before George set off to the left, still pulling Eddie after him.

  The fog deadened the sound of their
feet slapping against the damp cobbles. It muffled the sounds of splintering wood as the back door gave way. It deadened the cries of the men who gave chase.

  But it did nothing to mitigate the sudden roar of sound from ahead of them. Eddie skidded to a halt. It was a sound he knew.

  ‘Come on!’ George urged. ‘It’s just a tram or a train or something.’

  Eddie shook his head, almost speechless with fear. ‘That’s what anyone else will think. But it’s not …’ As if to confirm his nightmare realisation, a shape solidified out of the fog above them.

  Hot steam-like breath blew the fog from around them, whipping it into a vortex. Half-glimpsed jaws snapped inches from George’s face as Eddie pulled him backwards. With a snarl of rage, something lunged towards them again. Enormous feet slammed down on the ground; claws scraped and clinked on the cobblestones. From behind them came the shouts of Blade and his fellows.

  ‘We’re trapped,’ George gasped. ‘God help us, we can’t go back.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to go sideways.’

  ‘There’s a wall.’

  ‘No,’ Eddie said. ‘There’s a gate.’

  The gate was locked. Together they battered at it, without success. The reptilian head had lost them in the gloom. But an ear-shattering roar told them the creature was not far away. A massive claw slashed through the air, splitting the fog apart.

  At the last moment, George pushed Eddie aside. The claw smashed into the gate, shattering it and sending planks and splinters and hinges flying into the small yard beyond. Immediately after them went George and Eddie. They fled down the narrow path that led along the side of the house.

  Terrifying roars echoed round them as they raced down the passageway and out into the street. Eddie was almost crying with relief as they emerged.

  ‘We were lucky to escape,’ George gasped.

  Eddie was about to answer when a dark figure stepped out of the fog. Strong arms wrapped round him and dragged him backwards.

  ‘Not as lucky as you think,’ Blade’s voice rasped in Eddie’s ear.

  He didn’t think, just acted. He kicked out backwards, struggling to break the man’s grip. But Blade was holding on tight to his coat.