Mersey Dark

by Michael Whitehead

  “Do you know how many friends you have here Billy?” Philips asked. The young boy simply looked down at his shoes and shook his head.

  “One of my officers had to go back to the butchers where you stole those sausages. He had to beg the shopkeeper to let you off. He even paid the man out of our tea fund.” He stopped, looking at Billy, waiting for the boy to say anything. Billy was close to tears and did not want to speak in case the words allowed his eyes to betray him.

  Philips leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk, causing the mountain of paper to shift and jeopardise his tea. “How many times am I going to have this conversation with you, Billy?” he asked. The boy shrugged but did not look up.

  “I can’t keep letting you off, you know that don’t you? The people you steal from are hardworking and honest. They are only trying to feed their families, the same as you.” Philips said, and finally elicited tears from the urchin in front of him. He continued to frown at the boy but before long his expression changed to one of sympathy.

  “How about this, next time you feel like you need to nick something, you come to the station and see if we can't spare you some bread or something like that?” Philips asked, a gentle smile sliding onto his face. Billy looked up, once more spreading dirt from his hand onto his nose.

  “Thanks, Mr. Philips. I won’t let you down,” he said. The sergeant smiled at him but couldn’t help remembering the half dozen or so times he had heard the same promise from the same boy.

  “Go on, get out of here,” Philips said and Billy immediately began turning toward the door. Before the officer could let him out of the office, however, Sergeant Philips stopped him.

  “Billy, catch,” he said and threw a pair of shoes across his desk. They were worn and scuffed but looked to be in much better repair than the pair that Billy wore, they were also about the right size. The boy smiled as he looked at them, “They’re from lost property. Don’t go selling them, you need new shoes.”

  The officer led the boy out of his office and Philips allowed a smile to find his face. He was a good lad, despite his sticky fingers.

  Billy left the station and stepped out onto Argyle street holding his new shoes. He held them up and examined them, seeing the scuffs and marks their previous owner had worn into the leather. He had never had a new pair of shoes, even when his father had been alive there had always been more important things on which to spend the little money he earned.

  He kicked off his old pair without untying the frayed laces. His feet were dirty and a corn had developed on the outside of his little toe. He didn’t own a pair of socks. He slipped first one and then the other on, then stood and tested them. They were a little bigger than his old pair, which was good because the ones he had been wearing hadn’t fit for weeks. He wriggled his toes and smiled at the comfort.

  The light of the day was starting to fade as the sun dropped behind the highest of the surrounding roofs. It would be dark in an hour or so. His brothers and sisters would probably be worrying. He regularly stayed out all night, before returning to them the following morning with whatever he had managed to take. This time it had been two nights and it was rare for him to stay away so long.

  Sarah was the oldest, after him, he thought she might be eight. It had been a while since any of them had celebrated their birthday so they had all forgotten when they were. He had asked his mum but she had been too drunk to understand the question, let alone remember the answer.

  Billy rounded the street and began moving through the back alleys. The cobbles were slick with the waste that the housewives had washed from their chamber pots into the gutters between the houses. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked and a cat screeched in protest.

  He reached the end of the alleyway, swinging his footwear by their laces which he had tied together. As he rounded the wall to his left a hand reached out and grabbed him by the jacket.

  His first reaction was to run, too many people in the town knew his face and had scores to settle. When he realised the grip that held him was too strong, he began to kick out at the legs of his attacker.

  Rather than fight him, the hand that held him pushed him away, bowling him off his feet and sending him tumbling against the wall opposite. Billy felt his head contact the brick and was only saved a cracked skull by the thick tweed of his flat cap. He looked up to see three much bigger lads. Two were white skinned, while the third and biggest was as dark skinned as any black man Billy had ever seen. He looked up at them, ready to run if the chance arose.

  “Are you sure he’s big enough?” one of the men said to the other two, he spoke in a thick Irish accent.

  “He is a little on the small side,” the second replied, in the same brogue. Both of them seemed to be deferring to their larger companion. Billy stared at the third boy, noting the long, deep scar that ran down one side of his face from his temple to the end of his jaw. The short stubble that grew on his face was missing along its, making it stand out more than it might otherwise have done.

  “He’ll be fine, Davidson wants any we can find now.” The accent the last boy spoke in was so strong and his voice so deep that Billy could hardly understand what he was saying. The two Irish boys seemed to understand just fine though, as one of them reached forward to take hold of Billy once more.

  The younger boy swung the pair of shoes, catching the advancing young man a clip across the chin. He took a step back and Billy took his chance to escape. He turned and was running before he had gained his feet properly. He slipped, twisting over his outstretched hand and falling heavily to the cobbles.

  The boy who had felt the swing of his shoes reached down and took Billy by the scruff of the neck. He turned the younger boy, almost without letting his feet touch the floor. He wound back his arm and punched Billy hard in the stomach.

  Billy felt his breath rush out of him in a torrent. Then he gasped the air back, over and over, unable to breath back out. He felt like his lungs would explode, unable to take anymore but seemly never to stop trying. The world around him spun.

  In his distress he felt rough hands drag him from the ground and pull him into a gateway, out of sight of prying eyes. The boys spoke over his head but in his panic to return his breathing to normal he heard little and understood less. He closed his eyes and concentrated on simply breathing in and out, all the while being dragged to an unknown destination.

  He finally opened his eyes to find himself being pulled down into a dark passage. The air, so recently restored to his lungs, began to smell of shit and other foulness. The stench tried to steal the air back out of his lungs and made him want to vomit. The three lads who pulled him along didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong.

  One of them produced a lamp from an alcove not far into the passage, it was already lit and waiting for them. He stepped in front, leading the way with a dull light that lit the space in front of him and increased the darkness around them.

  The stench became overpowering as they left the last light of day behind and stepped into the enfolding darkness. Billy gagged and one of the Irish lads laughed at him.

  “You’ll get used to the smell after a while,” he said.

  “He won’t be here that long,” the second Irish voice said from behind Billy.

  “Shut up, both of you,” the dark skinned boy said and both of his companions did as he demanded, immediately.

  They led Billy through a maze of passages, turning left and then right without consulting each other. The tunnels through which they walked were dirty but dry, though on occasion they would pass a turning and Billy would hear water. The smell at those times became even worse than it was already.

  Eventually the party came to a stop. There was a pile of lumber and other building materials, that had been stacked in such a way that they almost entirely blocked the tunnel. Billy looked around him for a moment but beyond the lamp light there was nothing but darkness.

  One of the Irish lads began to climb the barricade, nimbly reaching the top and disappeari
ng from sight. Billy felt a jab in his back and turned to see the dark-skinned boy staring down at him.

  “You’re next. Don’t fall little man, Davidson needs you,” he said, grinning.

  Billy looked at the stack of wood, it appeared an easy enough climb but he thought it might be wise not to appear too confident. He was obviously in trouble and seeming scared and weak might work in his favour.

  “I can’t climb,” he lied.

  “I think you better learn fast, little man,” came the reply. “If I have to drag you over there it will hurt, because I won’t be gentle.”

  Billy looked at the barricade once more and then back at the face of his captor. The boy raised an eyebrow in question, then nodded as Billy turned back and placed a foot on the bottom of the stack.

  “I knew you could do it, little man, well done,” the boy mocked.

  Billy climbed slowly but steadily, hesitating once or twice. He placed his foot once and then moved it, trying to look unsure of himself. Eventually he reached the top and slid down the far side, into the arms of the boy who had climbed before him. The other two lads were soon up and over, joining them in what looked like a natural chamber. It was different to the other tunnels which were obviously man made, the stone dripped with water and the walls were rough and uncut.

  “Where are we?” Billy asked. He spoke as much to hear his own voice in the semi-dark than to know the answer. They had been underground for so long that he felt like he could be miles below Liverpool.

  A voice spoke from the darkness, “We are in one of the caves Mr. Newlands and his men have uncovered while building their fine sewers.” The voice was deeper than the dark-skinned boy but spoke with the same rich accent. Billy peered into the darkness toward the voice but could see nothing beyond the lamp light.

  “Who is he?” Billy asked, the question shocked out of him.

  “How ungrateful you people are,” The voice lamented. “You live in such modern times, in one of the most privileged countries in the world. You have everything you could dream. So much so that when you are given a gift like this new sewer system you don’t even notice that it is being built and who is giving it to you.”

  Billy thought of his family at home, and the fact that they probably hadn’t eaten in the last couple of days, and didn’t feel so lucky. He chose, however, to keep his mouth shut. This felt like a dangerous man he was talking to, even if he couldn’t see him yet.

  The voice spoke again but this time the words were directed to the boys with Billy.

  “You bring me slimmer and slimmer pickings.”

  “You said to be careful not to be seen, Davidson,” one of the Irish lads said.

  “I’m fully aware of what I said,” The voice, Davidson almost shouted. Billy felt the boy behind him shrink back from the unseen man.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the same boy said with a slight shake to his voice. “I just meant that we were trying not to be seen taking anyone, like you asked.”

  “You’re telling me in a town full of beggars, sailors, orphans, prostitutes and thieves that this is the only person you could bring me that would not be missed?” Davidson asked.

  There was silence from the boys around Billy, it hung in the air like the smell of the sewers. Eventually Davidson spoke again.

  “Bring him closer, let me see what you have brought me.”

  The three boys pushed Billy forward eager to please the man before them. As they moved they brought the lamp so that the four of them were walking in a circle of light. Soon Billy saw a seated figure, dark-skinned like the boy beside him. His hair was long and braided into dozens of thick locks. He had feathers intertwined in the hair and a heavy looking fur draped over his shoulders. A white scar stood out on the dark skin of his chest. It looked like a brand or symbol of some kind.

  “What is your name?” Davidson said, leaning forward to stare at the young boy before him.

  Billy replied, telling the truth, wiping his nose on the back of his hand unconsciously. The man before him was huge and intimidating in a way Billy had never experienced before, he loomed over him, even while sitting.

  “How would you like to be part of something great?” Davidson asked. Billy stood staring at his new shoes, unable to speak.

  “You bring me such weak specimens,” Davidson said, looking at the three boys. Like Billy they did not answer, Billy thought they might be as scared of the seated man as he was.

  “It is a good thing that my other pets are so strong,” Davidson said. “Very well, put him with the others. I expect better from you next time or I will show my displeasure.”

  Two of the boys took Billy by his shoulders, pulling him into the darkness. He began to struggle, sure that he would have no chance to escape if he allowed them to take him from this place. The hands that held him were too strong, however.

  As they led him away from the seated figure, tears began to fall. For once he was powerless to stop them.

  Chapter Seven

  Templeton held out his hand, catching the attention of the driver of the carriage he had arranged to take the two men to see the scientist Mr. Rathbone had advised. The horses rattled to a halt at the side of the street and both he and Tanner stepped into the carriage’s interior. There was the musty smell of old pipe tobacco and body odour, but the seats were clean. He leaned out of the window and gave the address of their destination. The driver tipped his cap in acknowledgement but said nothing. With a crack of the whip and a shout, the streets began to rumble under the wheels of the taxi.

  As always, the cobbles and uneven packed mud surfaces of the roads made for an uncomfortable and noisy ride but Tanner turned to his companion with a serious expression.

  “Time for a little honesty, don’t you think?” He said, raising his voice but trying to keep the question casual and not too accusatory. Templeton gave a wry smile and nodded slightly.

  “What do you wish to know, detective?” the older man asked.

  “Firstly, I’d like to know how long you’ve been investigating this case. I get the impression that nothing you’ve seen is new to you.” Tanner leaned forward so that he would not have to shout or struggle to hear the answer. Outside the window they were reaching the edge of the town and were heading out into the Lancastrian countryside. Tanner was not exactly sure where their destination was, but the driver seemed confident.

  “I first came across a murder similar to those on Falkner Street three months ago. I was in Nottingham at the time. The young man who had been murdered was in a very similar condition to the body which we found in the wardrobe.”

  “So you were expecting what we found in that house, you’ve seen such a thing before?” Tanner asked.

  “So far, just the once. I did some preliminary investigation but as there were no more murders I was instructed to bide my time.”

  The air in the carriage was heavy and hot. Templeton took a handkerchief from his pocket and removed his top hat. He used the cloth to wipe sweat from his brow.

  “You received notice of the bodies on Falkner Street while you were in Nottingham?” Tanner asked, trying to work out how long it might take a man to travel the hundred or so miles between there and Liverpool.

  “I was,” Templeton agreed.

  Tanner opened his mouth to ask a question, hesitated and then asked it anyway.

  “So you knew about the murders at least a few days before the police? Exactly how does that happen?” Tanner asked, allowing a little accusation to creep in to his voice.

  “As I have stated previously, Detective Tanner, my employers are extremely powerful people. I do not question how they come across their information and they would not tell me if I did.”

  “Who exactly are these people you work for, Templeton?” Tanner demanded.

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose that, certainly not in any detail,” Templeton replied, smiling.

  “Then tell me in as much detail as you can, just to satisfy my curiosity, so to speak.”

  �
�Who runs the empire, Mr. Tanner?” Templeton asked. It was a simple question but it caught Tanner off guard.

  “Queen Victoria? The government?” he formed his answer as the question, unsure what Templeton was expecting him to say.

  “A reasonable enough assumption,” Templeton agreed. “Now imagine, if you will that there were men powerful enough that they work outside the remit of both the crown and the government. A group who work both for the good of the empire and themselves. They deal in trade and politics but only so that they have the freedom to follow their greater pursuits.”

  “Greater pursuits?” Tanner asked but after their previous conversation about the ancient cursed amulet he thought he might have a good idea where this was going.

  “Power, Detective. True power. Magic, if you like that term although I don’t tend to think it covers the subject sufficiently. They spend their time collecting items and people of potential.”

  Tanner leaned back in his seat, feeling the bounce and jostle of the carriage as it travelled along country roads. The horses were pulling them at a much higher speed than they could in the town and the hard packed dirt of the road had quieted the wheels.

  “So, your employers think that whoever...or whatever, is committing these murders has...potential?” Tanner asked, trying to get his thoughts straight.

  “Exactly,” Templeton agreed, returning his top hat to his head and peering out of the window. As he did the carriage began to slow and then stop. Tanner wasn’t sure how his companion had known they had reached their destination but he was beginning to understand that the older man might be one of the “people of potential” they had spoken about.

  “One last thing,” Tanner began, putting his hand on the carriage door. Templeton had begun the stand but now returned to his seat, looking attentive. “How much did you learn in Nottingham?”