The House Of Smoke

by Sam Christer

  ‘Some would. Gaols like this are either being cleaned up or closed down. Newgate is rotten to the core. Built on bribery and corruption, it will be gone within half a decade. Probably sooner.’

  ‘A pity it won’t close in a few days.’

  ‘You will not be that fortunate. Still, as one of the officers supervising this unit, I have the means to make your life more comfortable.’

  ‘More comfortable? That sounds an impossible task to me.’ I waved a hand sarcastically across the cell. ‘As you can see, I already have all the luxuries a man could wish for – just look at that fine shit pot in the corner.’

  ‘The prison is overcrowded, so you cannot be moved. I understand this cell was a storeroom just six months ago, such is the pressure on the building.’

  ‘I weep for it. Poor building.’

  ‘Lynch, I am trying to be kind. I cannot relocate you, but I may be able to arrange some company in here for you, if you wish.’

  ‘I do not wish. I have never been with a whore and never will.’

  ‘Many of our female prisoners are also in need of comfort.’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘I noticed from the record books that you have not yet been given access to the exercise yard. From now on, you will be regularly afforded that privilege. It is important for the mind that the body is exercised.’

  ‘And my soul, is that to be attended to as well?’

  ‘I was pleased to see that you went to chapel. I knew you were a Catholic but I thought you might find comfort there.’

  ‘Comfort in the crucifixion, the pain of Christ and the nails of the cross?’ I stressed the word to see if he reacted.

  He didn’t.

  ‘We all carry a cross of sorts, Lynch.’

  ‘Do we really? Then please tell me what is your cross, Mr Huntley.’

  ‘I believe it is to serve inside institutions like this and extend humanity to men like you.’

  ‘Humanity? Let’s not dress this up to appear better than it is. Execution is no grander than murder in the name of the Crown.’

  ‘It is the will of the people.’

  ‘In my experience, the will of the people is determined by whoever pays them or whatever gin or strong ale they’ve been drinking.’

  ‘There is truth in that.’ Huntley smiled and knocked on the door for it to be opened.

  ‘Which are you?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ He looked at me quizzically.

  ‘Friend or foe, Mr Huntley? Which one are you?’

  ‘I am just doing my duty, Lynch. Just doing my duty.’ He knocked on the door for it to be opened.

  Derbyshire, November 1885

  I retired to bed immediately after leaving Surrey in the kitchen, but still could not sleep. I lay on my back in the blackness of the room and remembered the fear on her face, the blood on her hands and that mysterious sack on the floor.

  What jewels or goods had it contained that were worth spilling blood for?

  Most probably killing for. Why had she been so anxious that I did not talk about seeing her? Was it because she wasn’t supposed to have been seen by anyone? Or was it simply because she was ashamed of the state she was in?

  A bigger question came to mind. Had I just experienced a glimpse of what would be my own future? Killing to order. Murder at Moriarty’s behest. And all the anguish that went with it.

  I was still struggling for answers when a servant knocked on my door and informed me that my morning session with Mr Brannigan had been cancelled. Instead, I was to join the professor in the orangery as soon as possible.

  As I entered that cold glass room, I saw him sitting by a frosted window overlooking the snow-covered lawn. He was in only his shirtsleeves and seemed oblivious to the chill. A copy of a newspaper called the New York Times was spread on his table. Next to it was a silver coffee pot, the long spout arched gracefully like the neck of a swan, and a white cup.

  I approached his table. ‘Good morning, sir.’

  He looked up. ‘Good morning, Simeon. Come and sit. I have ordered eggs and ham for us both. A breakfast I grew fond of while in New York.’ He folded up his paper and put it to one side. ‘My mother was American, God bless her soul, and when my father was away on business, she would sometimes instruct the kitchen to cook up meals that reminded her of home.’

  ‘Like ham and eggs, sir?’

  ‘And waffles, and grits, and apple pie.’ His eyes softened with nostalgia then in a blink hardened again as he asked, ‘What did you make of your performance at Lord Graftbury’s yesterday?’

  ‘Not a great deal, sir. I know that I failed. Most miserably.’

  ‘You did. But the odds were somewhat unfair. Let me see, there was Alex, myself, Lord and Lady Graftbury, their pug of a daughter, and Sirius; that’s six against one. Oh, and of course the butler, Giles; that’s seven. Furthermore, we all knew exactly what you were going to do and when you were going to do it.’

  I felt heartened by his words. ‘I take some comfort from that observation.’

  ‘You should. But only a little. To survive in life, you will often face greater odds and opponents with more knowledge of a situation than you have. The lesson, Simeon, is to always check that what appears to be so, really is so.’

  ‘I will, sir. I will.’

  ‘Remember, Truth is not a friend, he is a deceitful enemy.’

  ‘I will.’

  A maid arrived and put down plates laden with heavy slabs of tangy, salted gammon and huge, fried duck eggs. Moriarty punctured one of the deep yellow yolks and watched with satisfaction as it flooded his plate. ‘Eat,’ he urged. ‘We will continue our discussion when you are nourished.’

  I was grateful for the chance to do so because I had missed two meals yesterday. So good was the smell and taste of the food that it was a struggle to remember my manners and not to wolf it all down.

  Despite my efforts at self-restraint, I finished long before Moriarty did.

  He picked up his napkin, wiped his mouth and put the egg-yellowed square of cotton to one side. ‘It is time for us to speak openly. About you and about why I have brought you here.’

  ‘I am eager to know, sir.’

  ‘I am sure you are. You were chosen, Simeon, by me and by no one else. I saw you box as a young workhouse boy and noticed a spark of innate savagery in you. I even won some good money on your fists. As a result, I made enquiries and my men traced you to your last abode in Manchester.’

  ‘But why? For what purpose, sir?’

  ‘For the brotherhood, an organisation that has existed for many generations.’ He paused then added, ‘I know you have seen its symbol, the tattoo on Mr Brannigan’s not inconsiderable bicep, and have asked about it, so let me illuminate you. The name of the brotherhood is the Trinity, hence the triangle. Those swearing allegiance are bound in blood to shed blood. Not only their own, if the cause necessitates, but primarily, that of my enemies. In short, they are sworn to kill, Simeon, to take the lives of other people.’

  ‘What kind of people, sir?’

  ‘Evil people. Truly evil people. The kind that would endanger you, me and all those we hold dear. People who deserve to roast in the fires of hell.’

  His face told me he believed what he said. That despite the probability that every murder committed in his name grew his empire, he saw the killing as justified.

  ‘Mr Brannigan,’ he continued, ‘Mr Gunn and Miss Breed are killers. Assassins. Highly trained murderers who do my bidding. They are my power of three. My Trinity.’

  The enormity of his statement rendered me silent. Of Brannigan, I could believe it. But not Gunn – he looked far too much like a pixie. And until the early hours of this morning, not Surrey.

  The professor sensed my doubt. ‘There’s more to murder than brawn or savagery,’ he pointed out. ‘Take Miss Breed. She is a true virago. Her bravery is unbounded. Her slightness of size and flatness of form allows her to convincingly act as either a boy or girl. Urchin, housema
id, barrow boy or courtesan, she can play any part with distinction. Her litheness allows her to slip through spaces that butterflies would become lodged in. And once she is where she wishes to be, then she strikes, like a crack of lightning.’

  Again, I pictured Surrey in the half-light of the kitchen, hands shaking, fighting to gain her composure. I had seen her spirit broken, and then I had witnessed her determination to become whole again. ‘You mentioned yesterday that she was dealing with a Chinese ‘problem’. Did she …’

  ‘Did she what?’ His eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘Resolve it? Yes, she most certainly did.’ He poured himself more coffee. ‘Usually, Miss Breed favours poison. In drinks such as this.’ He lifted his cup and smiled. ‘Sometimes she is more physical. A hatpin, through the heart or throat. Occasionally a blade, though I have to say this is not her forte; she tends to be somewhat untidy when it comes to the shedding of blood.’

  ‘And Mr Gunn?’ I asked. ‘What is his expertise?’

  ‘Treachery,’ he answered, proudly. ‘Sirius has a consummate charm that wins the admiration of men and a handsome look that hobbles even the most intelligent of women. Once he pays his victim the attention they crave, then they are his. From that moment forth, it is only a matter of him timing his great betrayal and seizing the moment in which to despatch them.’

  Moriarty took out a small silver snuff box, laid a pinch on the back of his hand and took it before continuing, ‘Mr Brannigan is the longest-serving and final member of my Trinity. He kills quickly, unquestioningly and without remorse.’ The box was closed and he returned it to his jacket pocket. ‘Recently, he had to despatch an eleven-year-old boy. Not for one second did this trouble him.’

  ‘A child?’ I regretted saying the word aloud, but my conscience back then was not as corrupted as it is now.

  ‘Yes, a child, Simeon. Evil is not confined to maturity – you of all people must know that. Pre-pubescent assassins are plentiful among the ranks of street Arabs that populate both London and New York. And there are moments when these deadly delinquents need disposing of, just as much as evil adults do. Just as much as evil women do.’ He paused briefly to take stock of my reactions, then added, ‘Whether at home or abroad, I run my enterprises in ways that do not require anyone to be murdered, but sometimes those I deal with force my hand. Or to be more precise, the hands of those in my service.’

  ‘And Mr Brannigan, I suppose his hands contain an expertise for …’ I struggled to find a delicate way of expressing it, ‘for strangling?’

  ‘Yes, you are correct. As he has no doubt taught you, he is particularly adept at creating ligatures from whatever environment he finds himself in. His favourites include silk belts from ladies’ gowns or piano wire plucked straight from the ribs of a grand or baby in a fine gentleman’s home. Out in the wilds of the country, he once despatched a fellow with a garrotte fashioned from his own bootlaces and some oak twigs. Michael is most inventive.’

  ‘And they are the three members of your “Trinity”?’ I asked. ‘Sirius, Surrey and Brannigan.’

  ‘Yes, they are.’

  ‘And am I to be some form of assistant? An errand boy to fetch and carry for them?’ I thought once more of Surrey in the kitchen. ‘To wipe up after them, to clean their bloodied hands and garments?’

  ‘You have not been brought here to provide such meagre service.’ He paused for a moment then added more solemnly, ‘Unfortunately, Mr Brannigan has a terminal growth on his lungs. One that the best doctors in Harley Street say is inoperable.’

  I was shocked. ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea …’

  ‘How could you have known? You are not a medical man, are you?’

  ‘No sir, you know that I am not.’

  ‘If you had been, then you would have been aware that an insidious parasite is relentlessly devouring parts of his inner self and causing him immense pain.’

  ‘Poor man.’

  ‘Poor man, indeed. But do not let him hear you say such a thing, or you will be the one needing pity. Pity and a basket of bandages.’

  I shared a smile with him.

  ‘The growth will kill him shortly,’ continued Moriarty. ‘We do not know if that tragedy will play out within days, weeks or months. But play out it will.’

  ‘And then there will be two,’ I said, recalling the brutality of my terrible fight with Brannigan and the agony he must have secretly endured.

  ‘No, Simeon, by then there will be three. You will be the third. That is the purpose of all this training and testing. It is to ready you for the moment when you will fill the void left by Michael.’

  The enormity of what he was saying began to sink in. I was being trained to kill at Moriarty’s bidding, to earn my way in life by ending the lives of others.

  ‘I don’t think that is something I will be able to do, sir.’

  ‘Not now. But in time you will learn. You have the anger to kill. It is in your blood. I see it flare up in your eyes. Michael says rage is rooted deep in your soul. When we have added brains and subtlety to your savagery, then you will be ready.’

  ‘And what, sir, if I don’t want to be ready?’

  ‘That is not an option, Simeon—’

  ‘Sir—’

  ‘Do not interrupt me! You have killed already. Taken the life of a good and honest person, by all accounts.’

  I hung my head in shame.

  ‘The die is cast. You are what you are. Only instead of being stretched on some gallows, you will be educated. I will protect you and reward you with money and luxuries that a runaway urchin could never have imagined.’

  Still my conscience prevailed. ‘But, sir, what if I am unable to do what you ask of me?’

  ‘You will be able.’ Moriarty rose from his seat. ‘And if you are not, then as you say, there will be only two.’

  ‘What do you mean, sir?’

  His stare hardened. ‘You clearly need me to be blunt. So I will oblige. You will be killed, Simeon. You know too much to walk away from here as a free man. A grave will be dug, your life will be taken, and you will fill it.’ A thin smile ended his sentence. ‘Do you have any other questions?’

  PART THREE

  Ale-glasses and jugs,

  And rummers and mugs,

  And sand on the floor, without carpets or rugs;

  Cold fowls and cigars,

  Pickled onions in jars,

  Welsh rabbits and kidneys – rare work for the jaws! –

  And very large lobsters, with very large claws;

  And there is M’Fuze,

  And Lieutenant Tregooze;

  And there is Sir Carnaby Jenks of the Blues,

  All come to see a man “die in his shoes!”

  The Ingoldsby Legends; or, Mirth and Marvels, Thomas Ingoldsby

  Derbyshire, March 1886

  Winter thawed into a new spring and with it melted much of the ice wall that Elizabeth had constructed between us. I suppose my educational and cultural improvement made her warm to me.

  Paradoxically, as my feelings and optimism grew, Brannigan’s strength and general health ebbed away. By the time the cherry blossoms flowered, the hacking cough that he had initially dismissed so lightly rendered him permanently bedbound.

  Every morning, I made time to sit with him and stayed for the same duration we used to devote to training, sparring, and more latterly sharing stories. He would tell me of his journeys with the professor to America – to Boston, New York and New England. He enjoyed talking about their funny ways and accents. ‘I’d been sent to teach this crooked businessman a lesson,’ he told me. ‘The fella was a proper Charlie from Harvard who’d messed up some investments. When I said the professor wanted things put right he told me ‘Go fry an egg!’ Can you believe that? Go fry an egg!’ Michael laughed so hard it caused him to cough.

  I smiled. ‘What did you do to him?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I did. I fried him. I heated the stove in his shitty room and cooked his hand. I said that unless he made good
on the money he owed then I’d come back and boil his head.’

  ‘And he did?’

  ‘Within two days. He paid in full and with interest. The professor loves the Yanks but I can’t stand them.’

  I plumped up his pillow. ‘You need to rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘And you need to train harder. You’re going weak in the arms and stomach. Just because I’m not able to crack the whip, doesn’t mean you can grow soft.’

  ‘I am not soft. I train daily.’

  ‘When? When do you do this?’

  ‘Right after I’ve seen you. I go through all the drills you gave me. I do them as though you are watching over my shoulder.’

  He seemed pleased. ‘Good. But don’t cheat, Simeon. Cheat in training and you cheat yourself.’

  ‘I know. I’ve been taught by the best.’ I patted his arm.

  ‘That you have.’ He coughed painfully. I passed him a bowl and he retched more of the dark matter that was killing him, then he lay back and looked exhausted.

  ‘Would you like me to get you some water before I go?’

  ‘No. Any more water and I’ll bleedin’ drown. I want whisky.’

  ‘You know I can’t give you that. Doctor’s orders.’

  ‘Fuck the doctor. I am dying, aren’t I? Not having whisky isn’t going to cure me.’

  ‘I’m still not getting you any.’

  ‘Bastard.’

  ‘You are a bigger bastard. Bigger and uglier.’ I raised a pretend fist.

  He rasped out a laugh. Gripped my arm. ‘Be useful then, before you go running after the few skirts that work around here; distract me with a story.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Anything. Just take my mind off this room and the damned pain in me gut. I know; tell me about this other trainer you had. The one half as good as me.’