The Apollonian Case Files

by Mark A. Latham

  John was unsure how to respond. He felt a lump in his throat rise at mention of his departed mother, but refused to let it show. Even now it was hard to reconcile Sir Toby Fitzwilliam, spymaster and Lord Justice, with Old Toby the family friend. Old Toby who was slipping away. ‘There is nothing to forgive,’ John managed. ‘We have all done our duty, and nothing more could be asked of a man.’

  Some vague expression crossed Sir Toby’s face. John had tried to offer some words of comfort, but could not help but feel the look was one of disappointment. Sir Toby’s grip slackened on John’s arm. He tried to say something more, but only a rattling wheeze escaped his lips. The life went from his eyes. A grey shadow crossed his features. John put a hand to Sir Toby Fitzwilliam’s face, and closed the old man’s eyes.

  TWELVE

  Tuesday, 3rd May 1892

  Sir Toby rubbed his hand across a gnarled brow, stood from behind his desk, and gulped the last of his scotch before pacing the floor beside his office window. John waited patiently; it was how the old man pondered things, and John had given him plenty to think about.

  ‘Almost two years to the day! You know, Colonel, that this is most inconvenient,’ Sir Toby said at last.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And embarrassing. You are turning down a knighthood, which I went to some pains to arrange for you.’

  ‘I am sorry, Sir Toby, but –’

  Sir Toby raised a hand, as he so often did, and John fell silent. Finally, the old man turned around and fixed John with his steeliest gaze. John remembered with some ruefulness how once that look had made him fumble. Now, Colonel John Hardwick was a different man. He remained unmoved.

  ‘When you ask for an “extended leave of absence”, just how long do you think you will be gone?’

  ‘I do not know, Sir Toby. That is the honest truth… indefinitely, perhaps.’

  ‘Indefinitely.’ Sir Toby repeated the word, and sucked at his teeth. ‘And you think that the Order is done with you, Colonel? Do you think that we gave you the position you have only to throw away our investment? A not inconsiderable investment, I might add.’

  ‘Sir Toby, I am through with it,’ John snapped, drawing a sharp glare from the old man. ‘I will not kill another soul for the Order. I will not take another penny from the Crown’s coffers. You played to my naivety when you persuaded me to enlist, and I see now that you expected me to carry on even after I’d seen the truth; that somehow the facts of life in Apollo Lycea would inure me to the suffering that I myself must cause at your behest. For a time, that was true. I have followed my orders to the letter, to distract myself from my own failings. I think perhaps it is time to face those failings, and pray forgiveness for them.’

  ‘No man has ever spoken to me thus, in this place,’ Sir Toby said. ‘Not even Cherleten, though I’m damned sure he’s thought worse.’

  ‘Perhaps a little honesty is long overdue, sir,’ John said, through gritted teeth.

  ‘And these failings… you speak of the gypsies? I’d have thought you had long since seen sense over that matter.’

  ‘Sense?’ John almost rose to the bait, but thought better of it. ‘So had I,’ he said instead.

  Sir Toby sighed. ‘One does not walk away from the Order. You know that. If I agree to this, Colonel, it will be with conditions.’

  ‘I would expect nothing less.’

  ‘The Order will need to know where you are at all times. That means regular contact. We also reserve the right to re-establish our… agreement… should it be deemed necessary. This is non-negotiable.’

  ‘Sir Toby… it rather sounds as if you are agreeing to my request.’

  ‘Are you giving me a choice?’

  John gave a bitter laugh. ‘The Order always finds a way to stack the deck, Sir Toby. Believe me, I’ve stacked it more than once on its behalf since London Bridge.’

  ‘Not this time, Colonel. I have seen this day coming for some time. Oh, do not look at me like that, I am no fool. I know you have suffered; I know that the role you play is not the life you had hoped for, and that can do strange things to a man. You know, your father set me on this path. I would have died at Kandahar were it not for him. Instead, I returned home wounded, my military career over. I would have been content to serve as a simple soldier all my days, were it not for circumstance. My predecessor in the Order prepared me for the life of a spymaster. Under his tutelage I took some… questionable actions, which hardened me to this life. I tried to prepare you the same way, but it was obvious that it was not to be.’

  ‘You saw me as… your successor?’ Sir Toby never failed to surprise John.

  ‘I did. And why not? Your father was my equal in the running of the Order. He was the vital link between the army and the Order of Apollo, and I rather hoped you would take on that role. Now, all I have is Cherleten, and we both know he does not wish to share power.’

  ‘You have Denny,’ John said.

  ‘No, Cherleten has Denny. Besides, he has not served, not really. I know they don’t receive you kindly at the War Office, in no small part due to your employment here, but they respect you. You have seen more action than most of the men in the barracks, and they damn well know it.’

  John nodded. He was wary of Sir Toby’s flattery, but it had the ring of truth. He had let his current feelings towards Denny show at the Army & Navy Club once, and had felt a general air of approval from the clubmen of ‘The Rag’. James Denny had many fine qualities, but they had not been tested in the forges of battle, and thus his honorary captaincy was greeted with some resentment in certain quarters. John’s retention of rank, by contrast – even his promotion to colonel – had never been begrudged.

  ‘I am not my father’s son,’ John said. ‘As I have told you more than once.’

  ‘Quite, quite. Where will you go?’

  ‘Back to Kent, I should think. Take over the old house, run the estate. I cannot be idle.’

  ‘You have done good work, you know,’ Sir Toby said, with utmost sincerity. ‘It may appear otherwise at times, but the Empire prevails thanks to your efforts.’

  John only nodded. He was no longer certain if the Empire prevailing was a good thing, if it did so at such a terrible human cost as he had seen these past two years. He waited for the catch; surely Sir Toby Fitzwilliam would not let John go without some last revelation, or some contractual bonds hitherto unknown. But instead, Sir Toby stepped forward and shook John’s hand.

  ‘I shall have the arrangements made, papers drawn up,’ he said. ‘We expect certain secrets to go with you to your grave. Remember, too, that you are always a member of the Apollonian. I would hope to see you from time to time.’

  ‘I would hope to stay away from London for some time to come. Goodbye, sir.’

  ‘John…’

  ‘Yes, sir?’ There was a queer look in Sir Toby’s eyes – some look of fellowship for John that had never previously been expressed.

  ‘Just… live a life, Colonel Hardwick. Go and live a life, so you have nothing to regret when the time of judgment comes.’

  John considered this. ‘I’m afraid it is too late for that, sir.’

  THIRTEEN

  Wednesday, 4th October 1893

  The boardroom was too large for the needs of such a small gathering, but it was windowless, and private, much like the office that Cherleten kept at St Katharine Docks. Jim was unused to seeing his commander openly rattled. There was something about his manner that made Jim feel this large, cheerless room was now a bolthole, and Jim was not one for hiding.

  Hardwick sat in silence. The death of Sir Toby had taken some toll on him. Jim could not tell if he was about to descend into a pit of despair, or explode with pent-up rage, but some storm certainly brewed in the colonel’s mind.

  ‘What has happened this night will have grave repercussions,’ Lord Cherleten said. He held a whisky glass in a trembling hand, ice rattling. ‘Very grave. Nothing will ever be the same again.’

  ‘How could this happ
en?’ Hardwick asked, his voice quiet, but there now was the edge of threat that had made him so feared. ‘We are the foremost agency of intelligence in the land, are we not? Who could have done it?’

  ‘That is what we must establish,’ said Cherleten. ‘Believe me, we all have our part to play in bringing Sir Toby’s killers to justice.’ He downed his whisky in one gulp.

  There was something about Cherleten’s tone that bothered Jim immensely. He sounded insincere, as though he were not at all concerned for Sir Toby. Were his nerves born out of fear for his own safety, perhaps?

  ‘Let us not dwell solely on this tragedy, Lord Cherleten,’ Sir Arthur said. He had eschewed his usual timidity for an air of resoluteness. ‘Rather, we should brief our agents, for they will face great peril in the coming days. It is only right, under the circumstances, that they should know why.’

  Cherleten frowned at Sir Arthur. ‘You think we should go ahead with Sir Toby’s plan? Even after this?’

  ‘Especially after this. Before, we gave lie to Tsun Pen’s claims. I rather imagine he expected we would. And so we dithered, again as he expected we would. And then he arranged for the murder of our commander. There is no doubt in my mind as to why, Lord Cherleten. He wishes to demonstrate that he is serious; that he indeed wields the power and influence that he claims; that we are not safe even here, behind the hallowed walls of the Order of Apollo. And so we must assume that he is deadly serious indeed, and that all of his claims, therefore, must also be true.’

  ‘And you would bow to his demands?’ Cherleten sneered. ‘You? Despite the cost?’

  ‘If I am willing to bear the burden,’ Sir Arthur said, ‘then you should also. No victory is worth winning without sacrifice. Sir Toby told me that.’

  ‘Would anyone care to explain what is going on?’ Colonel Hardwick asked. Jim was glad he had – neither he nor even Miss Furnival would dare. Yet John Hardwick had positioned himself uniquely within the Order – an agent rarely called upon, afforded great freedoms by Sir Toby, and yet still trusted with secrets that would curl the toes of most operatives. It crossed Jim’s mind that, in light of the night’s events, Hardwick might find his various liberties rescinded. The look Cherleten gave Hardwick certainly suggested as much, although if the colonel was cowed in the slightest, he did not show it.

  ‘Blunt as ever, Colonel Hardwick,’ Cherleten said.

  ‘Colonel, you have every right to know what is going on, for it affects you directly,’ Sir Arthur said. ‘Captain Denny, Lord Cherleten and I believe that you will have a part to play also. And you, Marie,’ he gestured to his niece, who had positioned herself a few seats away from the rest of them, so quiet one might hardly know she was there. ‘My dear, I have no great wish to see you set upon a more dangerous course than the one you have already forged. And I have less wish to instigate any development that may estrange us. But for all that, you have seen tonight with your own eyes the peril in which we find ourselves. If, after hearing what we have to say, you wish to walk away from the Apollonian, and from the bosom of your family, then I certainly could not blame you. However, if you will stand with us, then I promise to set right that which has made you doubt me.’

  ‘No time for sentimentality, Furnival,’ Cherleten snapped.

  ‘It is precisely the time, Lord Cherleten – there may be no other time.’

  ‘Uncle… what are you saying?’ Marie looked worried.

  ‘He is saying, my girl, that we are about to send these two agents on an assignment that may result in their deaths; and that you are invited to accompany them.’ Cherleten had a face that always looked as though he were smirking at one’s expense. Perhaps he is, Jim thought.

  ‘The assignment, then,’ Hardwick demanded.

  ‘Very well, Colonel,’ Cherleten relented. ‘Sir Toby told you earlier of the Artist’s potential deal with the Russians. It is clear now that the Artist was telling the truth – he is indeed conspiring with our rivals, and therefore we can conclude that he does indeed hold the Otherside contraband that he claims. And a fine claim it is – he says he has enough etherium to tear a rift in the fabric of reality the likes of which would make Lazarus weep. Yet he has no qualms about selling it to the highest bidder, along with weapons and other devices captured from the Othersiders’ secret caches… unless, of course, we give in to his demands.

  ‘First and foremost, the Artist wants amnesty for himself and his most loyal followers, so that they may return to London in a legal place of business. It seems he wishes a return to the old status quo; to be once more of service to government despite his many transgressions.’

  ‘Outrageous!’ Jim cried.

  ‘It is. Oddly, however, before that happens he has made another request. He wishes a member of the Nightwatch to be delivered into his hands, to aid him with his prophecies. Not only that, but he has specified a particular subject – one that he could not possibly have known about, and yet has identified as being of singular talent.’

  Jim’s stomach knotted, for he knew what was to come. He glanced first at John Hardwick, and then at Miss Furnival, who was already scowling at the mention of the Nightwatch. He wondered again if Miss Furnival could be trusted.

  Sir Arthur spoke up. ‘We can only put the Artist’s great knowledge of our Nightwatch subjects down to his own uncanny powers. The one he has singled out is indeed our best. Her predictions, in fact, have been consistently more accurate than those of her fellows, even when she has disagreed with the consensus entirely, though unfortunately it is only with hindsight that this was ascertained. Captain Denny has seen her incredible abilities at first hand.’

  Jim felt Marie Furnival’s eyes boring a hole in the back of his head.

  Cherleten picked up where he had left off. ‘The Artist has requested that Colonel Hardwick deliver the subject to a remote location in Essex. It is a stretch of woodland in a place called Mundon, far removed from town or train station. Crucially, it is near the coast, and Sir Toby had already begun making inquiries at the Admiralty. It would seem logical, given our recent dockside discoveries, that the Artist may be planning to move the cargo by boat.’

  ‘Sir Toby also mentioned the Prime Minister earlier,’ Jim said.

  ‘Yes,’ Cherleten said. ‘Given the unusually high stakes, we need Gladstone’s approval, but I am confident it will be given. Gladstone is a God-fearing man. He has little tolerance where psychics and prophecies are concerned – sees them as blasphemy. But especially now, after the assassination of a ranking intelligence officer by a foreign agent on British soil… The Prime Minister is not a weak man. He will want a reckoning of Biblical proportions. I shall provide one.’

  ‘When Sir Toby wrote to the Prime Minister, he advised caution,’ Sir Arthur interjected. ‘Lest the Artist was merely bluffing.’

  ‘Well, it appears he was not!’ Cherleten snapped. ‘After that awful business with Prince Albert Victor, Sir Toby made an enemy of the Russians. Against my better judgment, I might add. It stands to reason that they allied themselves with the Artist in order to take revenge on him. However, in exchange for meeting his demands, the Artist has promised us the full list of spies that he alluded to in his earlier message, along with lists of all the stockpiles of Otherside artefacts they were planning to purchase. If Sir Toby’s killer is on that list, he’ll bloody well hang, diplomacy or no.’

  ‘Why would he give up the ace in his hand?’ Hardwick asked.

  ‘I doubt very much he will give us everything, unless his desire for revenge upon you is so powerful it has caused him to lose all reason. Regardless, Colonel Hardwick, you will deliver the cargo to the Artist tomorrow.’

  ‘You speak of cargo,’ Marie Furnival spoke up before Hardwick could reply. ‘This is a human being.’

  Hardwick gave Miss Furnival a curious look, and then turned back to Cherleten. ‘Miss Furnival is right, Lord Cherleten. Who is this subject in which the Artist is so interested?’

  ‘A gypsy. Your kind of girl, all told,’ Cherleten s
aid, barbed smile returning. ‘More than that, we do not know, for she has not spoken lucidly since she came to us.’

  Hardwick’s jaw tightened. Jim wondered if he knew that Elsbet had been inducted into the Nightwatch. If not, he certainly did now – John Hardwick was no fool. He had seen the girl three years ago, alive at St Katharine Docks. He had told Jim all about her, and sworn him to secrecy. And now he was being asked to deliver the girl into the hands of his most hated enemy. Jim could already foresee the myriad things that could go wrong, and yet honour dictated that he could say nothing still about Elsbet – at least not to Cherleten and Sir Arthur.

  ‘Lord Cherleten,’ Jim said, acutely aware that John was on the verge of giving away his vested interest in the girl. ‘Miss Furnival and I were summoned also; what, might I ask, is our role?’

  ‘There was no stipulation that Colonel Hardwick had to travel to Essex alone. You are to follow, and to observe,’ Cherleten said. ‘That is, if you can set aside your differences for long enough.’

  ‘I…’ Jim saw that Hardwick was now staring at him. He had not mentioned his mistrust of Miss Furnival, let alone the cause of it. ‘Of course, sir. Will we have men?’

  ‘Every agent of the Order presently on these shores has been recalled to the club. We expect to have naval support along the coast, and the Essex constabulary on side by morning. We cannot act rashly, however much we may desire revenge. It is unlikely that the Artist will himself be at the rendezvous point; and so his men must be followed if we are to find and capture him.’

  ‘Capture?’ Hardwick said, with some of the surprise that Jim also felt. ‘The man plans to sell catastrophic amounts of etherium to our enemies, yet you seek to double-cross him, and let him live?’