Blood Royal

by Jonathan Green

  A pistol crack sounded from somewhere close by, curiously deadened by the fog. The werewolf’s head snapped sideways, blood spraying from the ragged remains of one ear. The brute reeled, recovered and then launched itself in the direction of this new threat as another pistol shot echoed from the walls of the bridge.

  “Nimrod!” Ulysses bellowed as he pushed himself away from the wall, hurling himself after the monster, the sword-stick gripped tight in his hand becoming an extension of his arm as he lashed out again. This time he caught the werewolf across its flank.

  The enraged beast turned once more, unsure which attacker to take on first, being goaded as it was by both the dandy and his manservant.

  Ulysses stumbled to a halt behind the transformed Cossack, almost losing his balance and coming dangerously within reach of its muscular arms.

  Something flashed silver in the suffused glow of one of the gas-lamps that lined the bridge. Out of the corner of his eye Ulysses caught a glimpse of spidery movement as something clambered up over the side of the bridge and onto the cobbles behind the beast.

  With a snarl the werewolf went for Ulysses –

  – as the Ripper pounced too.

  The Ripper-thing landed on the brute’s broad back, the weight of it sending the werewolf stumbling forward as Ulysses threw himself out of its way.

  “Slice and dice,” he heard the cackling voice say as it set to work with its silver-coated blades.

  A terrible sound escaped the monster’s jaws and the beast arched its back; its body contorting in agony as the razor-sharp knives of the automaton dug and gouged at its unnatural flesh.

  Where the blades cut the werewolf’s body the flesh burned. Blood bubbled from its wounds, only to hiss and evaporate at the Ripper’s continued caresses.

  The Ripper worked fast, hacking and snapping at the creature’s body with its scissoring blades. An ear flew here, a piece of pelt there.

  The werewolf pawed at the thing latched, limpet-like, to its back, eventually managing to get a grip on the automaton. With a bellow of fury and pain the creature hurled the cyber-organic assassin clear across the bridge, the Ripper’s bladed hands tearing through its flesh.

  The Ripper clattered across the cobbles and came to a sudden stop, crouched on all of its multi-jointed limbs. A split second later it sprang back onto the werewolf and set to work again.

  The beast was weakening now. As Ulysses watched, it seemed to him that the werewolf was shrinking in stature as it slumped to its knees. The werewolf’s fur was disappearing back into follicles in its skin, its long lupine feet and ankles re-shaping themselves into something more human.

  In one deft move, the Ripper-thing put a pair of blades against the werewolf’s flesh and slit its throat from ear to ear.

  A final, gurgling cry bubbled up from somewhere within the beast’s chest as thick, black blood bubbled from the fatal wound. The Cossack fell face-first onto the ground and did not move. As the dead man’s blood steamed in the cold night air, the cyborg scuttled clear of the corpse, fixing Ulysses with a sinister needling stare.

  “Goodbye, silver man,” the Ripper giggled, a sly smile bisecting its face. Then, it darted back over the side of the bridge and was gone.

  For a moment Ulysses almost considered following his saviour but then thought better of it. He turned and hurried to the side of Agent K.

  “Ulysses? Ulysses, is that you?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I think it is my turn to die now,” she said.

  “You’re not going to die,” Ulysses told her.

  “I have lived a long time, Ulysses.”

  “And you’re going to outlive all of us.”

  “No, not this time, I think.”

  “You’re not going to die!”

  “Hold me, Ulysses. I do not want to die alone.”

  “I’m here. I’m holding you,” he told her. “But you’re not going to die. You’re not going to die!” he hissed urgently into her hair as he held her close, cradling her head as she pressed her face into the hollow of his neck.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Brave New World

  UNDER A CLEAR blue sky, a Rolls Royce Mark IV Silver Phantom rolled along the private road that led to a large Gothic pile set within sixteen acres of flat green fields, oak and beech-studded woodland.

  It was some weeks after the traumatic events surrounding the attempted assassination of the Tsarina and the late April sun shone like an irradiated pearl, giving the mansion a honeyed glow.

  “Do you think she’ll be alright here?” Ulysses asked his driver.

  “Indubitably, sir,” his manservant replied, although there was a certain anxious tension in his face, despite his suggestion to the contrary.

  Ulysses turned to regard Miranda, the uniform she was wearing making her appear suddenly three years older.

  “Now, you’re sure you’ve got everything?”

  “Yes, I told you, Uncle Ulysses; I’m sure,” Miranda Gallowglass replied.

  “You’ve got all your games kit?”

  “Yes, Uncle Ulysses.”

  “And your hockey stick? Tennis racket?”

  “They’re in the boot.”

  “You’ll remember to brush your teeth?” Nimrod threw in.

  “Don’t worry, Nimrod, I will.”

  “And wash behind your ears.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t forget to keep your fingernails clean.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And do remember to write,” Ulysses told her.

  “Every Saturday.”

  “Have you got your toothbrush?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ve got my personal communicator number, and Nimrod’s, should you need anything?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anything at all, you understand?”

  “Look, don’t worry, Uncle Ulysses. It’s going to be fine. In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”

  “We probably sound like a pair of old women, don’t we?” Ulysses said, smiling.

  “Speak for yourself, sir,” Nimrod said.

  There in the shadow of the school chapel a black limousine, was already parked. Its blacked out windows and lack of number plates immediately told Ulysses that it was a Ministry car. Nimrod pulled up alongside it, turned off the engine and got out, opening the rear passenger door for Miranda to exit the vehicle as Ulysses let himself out.

  A middle-aged woman awaited them at the foot of the steps which led to the grand entrance. She was grey-haired, dressed in a tweed twin-set and pearls and had the physique of a beanpole. Standing next to her, his face set in a disgruntled grimace was a large man – thickset, darkly handsome, rugged in the classic sense of the word, looking like the quintessential English country gent in his tweed jacket and breeches.

  As Nimrod unloaded Miranda’s trunk and a plethora of other luggage, Ulysses guided the suddenly hesitant child towards the steps and the prim and proper headmistress.

  It was Lord Octavius De Wynter who spoke first.

  “Quicksilver,” he said curtly.

  “De Wynter,” Ulysses replied.

  “I’d like you to meet Miss Haversham.”

  “Mr Quicksilver, a pleasure to meet you,” the middle-aged woman said, bending stiffly and offering Ulysses her hand. He took it and was momentarily startled by the force of the headmistress’s handshake.

  “Likewise,” he replied.

  “And this must be Miss Gallowglass,” Miss Haversham said, turning to Miranda and offering her hand. Miranda took it uncertainly and bobbed a curtsey, blushing nervously.

  “Oh, how charming,” she said.

  “What do you say?” Ulysses prompted.

  “Good morning, Miss Haversham.”

  “Good morning, my dear,” the headmistress said.

  “Thank you ever so much for finding Miranda a place here at your school,” Ulysses said.

  “Oh, it was the least I could do after all she’s been through,�
� the woman said. “I am sure that St Trinnian’s will be lucky to have her.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Miss Haversham,” Miranda parroted.

  “Now then, my dear, I must introduce you to your housemistress. After all, lessons are already well underway and we need to get you to your dormitory and unpacked before the lunch bell. Gentlemen, if you will excuse us.”

  “Of course,” smiled De Wynter.

  Putting a guiding hand on the girl’s shoulder, the headmistress took Miranda under her wing and led her towards the open front door.

  Ulysses watched them go.

  When she was halfway up the steps Miranda suddenly stopped and, slipping out from beneath the headmistress’s guiding hand, skipped back down the steps to where the two men stood watching. Flinging her arms around Ulysses she caught him in a great bear-hug, squeezing him tight.

  “Goodbye, Uncle Ulysses,” she said through the tears now streaming down her cheeks and, standing on tiptoes, planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “Goodbye, Uncle Octavius,” she called to De Wynter, and then turning her gaze on Ulysses, blew him a kiss.

  Then she turned and was gone at last.

  “Right. Job done,” De Wynter said. “Walk with me, Quicksilver.”

  As Nimrod struggled up the steps after the departing Miss Haversham and Miranda, dragging the child’s trunk and other belongings, Ulysses and De Wynter set off at a gentle stroll .

  “Thank you for arranging the place for her here,” Ulysses said.

  “Look here, Quicksilver, I’m not here to make small talk and I don’t want your thanks. You’re lucky we’re even having this conversation.”

  “What do you mean?” Ulysses said, taken aback.

  “What did you think you were doing?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “When I expressly told you to leave the matter alone?”

  “Ah, I see. You mean following up the Russian connection.”

  “Of course I bloody well mean following up the Russian connection!”

  “Now hang on a minute, I saved the day!”

  “You think you’re some kind of hero? You made a bloody shambles of things is what you did.”

  “But thanks to me another dangerous megalomaniac was thwarted before he could put his damnable scheme into operation, not to mention that Tsarina Anastasia of Russia is still alive, thanks to me.”

  De Wynter stopped walking and turned to look at Ulysses with a face like thunder. “You put a loaded gun to her head!”

  “It was the only thing I could think to do to save her life. I would never have pulled the trigger.”

  “But she didn’t know that! I’ve spent half my time since your return trying to smooth things over with the Russians and they’re still not happy. They want your balls over this and if it wasn’t for the apparent soft spot the Queen seems to have for you, you’d be languishing in some Russian gulag by now!”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “I told you to leave the Gallowglass case well alone.”

  Silence descended between them.

  There was obviously nothing Ulysses could say to make things any better.

  But as quickly as it had arisen, the storm passed. De Wynter took out his pipe and began to fill it. He turned and gazed out across the courts where two teams of teenage girls were trooping out into the sunshine for a game of netball.

  “Your actions may only have delayed the inevitable,” De Wynter said as he gazed into the distance, as if to some secret horror that was lurking there just out of sight, beyond the horizon.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “War is coming.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “Dark times lie ahead, and of one thing you can be certain, things will never be the same again.”

  Managing to light the wad of tobacco at last, De Wynter gave it a few puffs and then, exhaling a great cloud of smoke said, “Does she know what she really is?”

  Ulysses found himself glancing back to the grand facade of St Trinnian’s and wondering when he would see Miranda again.

  “What, that she was only created to be the cure to a lethal bio-weapon or that she’s a clone of Queen Victoria?”

  De Wynter gave a grunt that might even have been something like laughter.

  “Don’t you think she’s been through enough already?”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that was then shall we?”

  “With pleasure.”

  At a shrill blast from the games mistress’s whistle, the netball match got under way.

  “She’ll be alright you know,” De Wynter said.

  “I know.”

  “It’s a very good school.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “And we’ll be keeping a close eye on her.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “Anyway, I can’t spend all day talking to you. I have a meeting back in London.”

  He turned and set off back across the green sward, leaving Ulysses watching the netball game, his mind swimming with a whole host of new concerns.

  “You know that holiday we talked about,” De Wynter suddenly added, turning back to face Ulysses for a moment. “Now might be a good time to get away, don’t you think? But somewhere further away this time, where you can’t get into any trouble, at least until all the fuss and furore has died down a bit.”

  “My brother’s recently moved to the Moon,” Ulysses offered.

  “Perfect,” De Wynter returned. “Can’t stand the place myself. No atmosphere,” he said, and obviously meant it. There wasn’t any hint of mirth in either his expression or his tone.

  As the head of Department Q made for his waiting limousine, Ulysses went over what his employer had said again, one nagging thought coming to mind more than any other.

  Things will never be the same again.

  “Well, you got that right,” Ulysses said, putting a hand to the cravat that was hiding the two small yet distinct puncture marks that were still healing in the side of his neck.

  “How right you are, indeed.”

  He could feel her inside him now. What it just childish fancy or did the two of them really share a unique bond? Just as there was a bond of blood between him and Miranda now, it was his blood that had saved the vampire.

  Even though she had been prepared to die, Ulysses had offered his blood willingly, after all that she had done, and Katarina had drunk deeply. He had been on the verge of losing consciousness when Nimrod had stepped in and pulled him away from the voracious vampire.

  After that she had slept the sleep of the dead, and had remained in that state for four days. Ulysses had split his time between her bedside, in their suite at the Ambassador, and that of the child. Miranda’s recovery astounded them all, so much so that Ulysses wondered whether her erstwhile father and Dr Doppelganger hadn’t added something else to their incredible science experiment.

  On the fifth day, Ulysses woke to find himself still in the chair by the vampire’s bed, a blanket draped over him, and Katarina gone. He hadn’t seen her since, but he still fancied he could feel her inside him, and the scars of her feeding remained.

  He had done a little probing, curious to know what consequences there might be to having a vampire feed on him, and of course Miranda had suffered the same indignity, but he had been assured by those with more knowledge on the subject than he that as long as they had not ingested vampiric blood themselves they would remain unchanged. He certainly didn’t feel any aversion to sunlight and didn’t have a craving for raw steak, but, as the netball game advanced before his dead-eyed stare, Ulysses Quicksilver couldn’t shake the feeling that De Wynter had been right.

  Things would never be the same again.

  THE FOOTMAN, LOOKING splendid in the livery of the Inferno Club, opened the door and admitted Ulysses to the small, opulently decorated room beyond. “If you would like to wait in here, sir?”

  He tipped the youth who bowed graciously – “Thank you, sir.” – and pulled
the door closed behind him.

  Alone again, Ulysses made himself comfortable in the padded leather armchair and fixed the large, gilt mirror with a needling stare.

  “Hello?” he said, after a few minutes had passed. “Anybody there?”

  “Good evening, Mr Quicksilver.”

  “Ah, Hermes, there you are.”

  “You wanted to speak with me.”

  “Yes, as it happens.” Ulysses continued to stare at his own mirror image, imagining who it might be that lay behind the glass. “I played your little game and now I want some answers. I take it that the outcome of my trip to the continent was to your liking.”

  “As I said at our first meeting, it was in both our interests that you get to the bottom of the mystery.”

  “Right, and considering what my little jaunt cost me, by my reckoning you owe me some answers.”

  For several long seconds the speaker beneath the mirror remained silent before humming into life again.

  “What do you want to know.”

  “Let’s start with Pavlov. What was he doing offing royals on the Isle of Wight?”

  “As I explained, he was trying to recreate Dr Gallowglass’s work.”

  “But why take such risks? Why expose himself like that?”

  “He was desperate. He had not managed to secure the necessary formula from the good doctor before Gallowglass set about destroying all evidence of what he had done.”

  “But I still don’t understand.”

  “Really? Tell me, what did you find in the dungeons of the Winter Palace, other than the child.”

  “You know about Rasputin?”

  “I know that Tsarevich Alexei Romanov had kept him alive for close to eighty years in perpetual torment as punishment for condemning his to his twilight existence. If you had been in Dr Pavlov’s shoes, would you not have done all you could to stay on the right side of him?”

  “But he still failed his master.”

  “He also showed great determination.”

  “Very well. Moving on to Gallowglass, there’s something that’s troubled me more than anything else about this case and that is what was Victor doing creating a weapon that could kill the Queen? And what was Dr Doppelganger doing helping him?”